nsfwrpg

[nsfwrpg]

Tian

So, I just graduated. The reason for my absence was my undergrad thesis that kept me from really pursuing most hobbies. Though now I'm on my sort-of break before enrolling into another form of schooling. It feels good to be back!

5,191 words of Zhou Xinyu. Enjoy!

It was the end of summer, and the rain had begun to fall. Driving from city to city, town to town, watching each sign telling me hello and goodbye in the span of almost a blink. Perhaps the snacks we’ve eaten should’ve done the trick, but I can’t help but think that I should’ve gotten another helping of coffee. It didn’t help that I was driving a car almost just as old as we were, though maybe I should be glad it had a digital player, and not a dial one, to at least keep us company while I drove back. 

Headlights on the road, I gave a glance at the dashboard, 00:15. We need to sleep now, I thought, yet that idea clashed with the idea that no, we need to make it by sunrise. Ignoring whether or not my passenger was only asleep, she must feel so lucky. I just sighed and tried to hum the song in my head, only to realize it was a slower ballad, and now it sounded like a lullaby. 

I tried to remember what I had seen in the guidebook, remembering there was supposed to be a traveler's inn a few kilometers ahead. How much, hell if I knew.

I just sighed, maybe I could quietly pull over and sleep, though I didn’t want us to be a horror film victim, too. I was already lectured about not catching “get-there-itis” behind the wheel. I just muttered, thinking about how far I needed to drive, and went, “fuck.” 

“Don’t you want to rest a bit?” Xinyu quipped.

“Hm?!” I replied.

“Pull over and take a nap,” she ordered, repeating herself much clearer now.

“In a bit, there’s an inn up ahead.” 

“Are you sure it’s safe for us?” she asked. 

I didn’t answer, but I understood her reservations because I shared them. I am sure I saw it a few times in the yellow guidebook, as for the budget inn part, we didn’t have any more money left from our stipend. 

“Yes, it should be.” 

It better be. She sighed as she opened the dash compartment and tried to read the map in the dark. Having stuck it out in a small field down south, a few northerner university students, tending to a small control field with a mentor, sounded stupid on paper. Yet, a government stipend was all that was needed to push this little journey to the south. Now, at the end of those 90, now 92, days, it was only me and Xinyu left to drive the rental back. 

A relieved sigh and restrained elation overcame us when a weak neon sign appeared ahead. It clearly said “roadside inn.” 

Everything else was procedural after that, I reversed the car in. Before Xinyu and I made our way in, we both agreed it looked pretty rundown, but then again the choice was: a creaky, dusty bed, or ending up in a ditch. Settling down wasn’t an issue at all, save for the madamé at the front desk staring at us for a second or two, backpacks and duffle bags in hand, before telling us water only comes by 7, and handing us a key whose tag we could barely read. 

Opening the door, I just looked at Xinyu, a bit dejected. It was exactly what we paid for; a cheap, little room a few meters in size, slightly peeled walls, tall but with a weak fluorescent light, a stove and old cabinet, a bathroom with only a sink, a fan, and a hard bed only big enough for both of us. 

“Well, we can’t complain now,” she shrugged.

“Just think about going to sleep,” I replied, dropping my things inside the cabinet. Xinyu followed. It was procedural, a haze, and took us only a few minutes to change, letting her wash up before we decided on our side of the bed. I decided to shower, but it took me a while to get the water going. 

I did, however, feel a silent tension, a slight rocking of the boat, and uneasy eyes that quickly tried to rationalize and compose themselves. Maybe it was just the light novels or rumors getting to me, chuckling on the sink before I just washed my face and all that before I carefully got onto the bed. Xinyu had already turned off the lights, and I had stoked the small stove in the corner to keep us warm, using it as some crude nightlight. Hopefully, at least. A fair glow came from the fire that colored the room orange. It was better than pitch darkness in our last change of clothes. 

“You’re not gonna tell them about this right?” I asked as I tried to read the map. She was blocking most of the light as we both sat up against the outer wall. It was just a bit colder than the fan. 

“Huh, why would I?” Xinyu wondered, or maybe it was just me.

“Never mind, I mean, we’re classmates, it shouldn’t be a problem,” I deflected, trying to get myself out of the situation. Focus on the mag.

“Well, don’t make it awkward!” Xinyu snapped back, almost laughing at me. 

“I’m not, it’s just you know, not a setup that usually happens. Not in our group at least.”

She slammed the hardcover and looked at me, puzzled. Fuck. “What?!”

“What?” I asked, folding my magazine, she had put her book down on the floor by now.

“I mean, let’s not lie,” Xinyu started, her eyes looking around for a bit, “You heard some of our classmates right?” before letting out a small giggle.

She leaned closer, and knowing I was one of the late sleepers, I knew what she meant. 

“Yeah, they were doing it in the outhouse,” I flatly replied. I mean, I already had an inkling of the couple she was talking about. Though knowing the girl was one of Xinyu’s friends, she may have told her more intimate details. I could tell my passenger was one part curious and excited.

“I…I don’t know,” she began to stutter, then asked, “Isn’t it kind of thrilling?”

“I don’t know about him, they seemed shy the next morning. We all knew. I’m just glad our professor never noticed,” I replied, trying my best to hide my feelings. It sounded exciting because it sounded straight out of a rumor. 

“Have you ever asked him about it?” Xinyu pressed on. I could notice she was inching closer.

“Yeah,” I broke and cackled a smile, “It was simple, sure, but you’re right to say it was thrilling.”

“Well? Tell me,” Xinyu prodded, noticeably growing more playful. I could just about scratch my head and not mix up the details of it. So I began, at least from what I remembered.

Xinyu and I weren’t that close, blockmates sure, but not at that deep end of what I consider friendship. Of course, no adversaries either, maybe a few group projects here and there, where her goofiness can shine through. I always thought that the campus, as privileged as we were to go inside every time, was not exactly a place to find love from your classmates. Yet here we were talking about somebody else's sex lives.

Xinyu could only be so shocked once I ended my retelling of it. Her mouth was just slightly open, though she had let out a few giggles and gasps, but she did let me finish talking. She was much closer now—and beside me.

“They did a lot more than I thought,” she remarked.

“Yeah, talk about doing more than..,”  I replied, thinking quickly, “you know, a porno,” I was just guessing her friend's bluff. Given that the boys and girls had separate quarters, it seemed bound to happen. Giggling about it a bit, I could just about hear Xinyu turn to me, while her gaze scrambled across the room, and then she began leaning closer. I was backing by the bit, sensing her apprehension, I shut my eyes the same and leaned, closing the distance, and our lips met.

It was a simple kiss, yes, not more than a few seconds, nothing too dramatic or malicious—yet her gaze stayed fixed—Xinyu wanted more. 

Talking was awkward. I leaned towards her for another kiss, half-expecting her to stop me. Instead, she put her left hand on my neck, sliding and slightly pulling me towards her again. It was more intimate, longer this time, a smack rang out once, twice, before Xinyu slowly pushed me away. 

“Wait, you’re okay, right?” she asked.

“Okay, with what?” I asked Xinyu, “Shouldn’t I be asking that?” and well, yes. I was okay with it.

“This,” she replied, “You’re not going to tell anybody, right?” 

I think, I just think, that Xinyu knew it would spread like a grass fire if I told this out. She probably knew I was thinking the same. We both had scrambled minds. Certainly uncertain. 

I just nodded, “I won’t.”

She pressed herself forward, another smooch quickly followed by another, before I could feel her shifting to get herself right on my lap. It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be, perhaps it was her pheromones talking to me. To be fair, she always smelled good, and I thought I smelled like a bath, so it couldn’t be me. A kiss was all it took for more to follow, and so it did. It was not too fast, smooching, yes, but I can’t tell if we were both good kissers or just lucky to be average. Hands on her waist, there was no rushing, frizzled touches, hasty undressing, yet perhaps it was more so our sense of prudence taking over for that last one, being our last change of clothes. Yet I just knew with how Xinyu had her hands around me, on my shoulder and my neck, that she didn’t want a change of pace just yet. I knew that this torrid kissing, warming herself up, just had to lead somewhere, and with her right on top of me, she was beginning to grind ever so slowly. 

Sliding my hand to her legs, I slowly slid them inward, and bit by bit, forward. Xinyu stopped, she was staring at me. I asked her.

“You want to go through with this?”

She just nodded, “Isn’t it a little late to ask that?” and giggled, another peck, “Keep going.”

Following her, we kept at it. Xinyu’s grind started to move a little faster, urging me on with how hot her breathing was becoming. Taking my left hand around her waist, sliding it toward her ass, fingers slowly dug in on her flesh. Slowly tilting her head and kissing me deeper, she was tight, and I responded in kind and gave her my tongue. Yet a faux tongue was ready between her legs, fingers cupping her pussy, warmth, teasing her. Hearing her hitch at the sudden contact, but not stop as I continued, slowly using two fingers to feel her, up and down, up and down.

The entire time, she never moved her hands downward, perhaps she liked making out more than doing the same to me. Xinyu’s kisses, from simple, playful pecks, to making out, a messy affair where both of our tongues fight to keep in control of ourselves. Short of undressing ourselves, I decided to push my chances further, and sliding my hands in to grope her ass. Just a little more, a little warmer, a little wetter, I thought, before I would do the same to the front. It took a while, but her voice shook a bit when she asked.

“Why won’t you just finger me?” 

I didn’t respond, perhaps thinking of some one-liner that just wouldn’t come out. I had a slender woman sitting on my lap, waiting for me to do something beyond second base. 

“How about this then?” Xinyu followed. Her left hand moved downward while she pressed her lips to mine. Mirroring my hand, her fingers wrapped around my crotch, quickly getting the shape of my shaft through my pajamas. Breaking off a little, I could just a little “oh,” leave her.

That was the permission I needed. Our lips came together again, I took my hand out from behind her and switched, yet somehow fumbled to find the hem of her panties. Slowly beckoning me on with the way her fingers slid and stroked my cock even under the layers, trying to make it a solid shape for herself. Trying to find a moment where she stopped moving, I slid my hand in, but not under her panties where it would be hard to do anything. I had more in mind.

Xinyu was warm. A wet spot had formed over her panties from the circles I was drawing on her. A layer past that, there was a moistness that had formed over her panties, just a little more, I thought. Pressing my fingers down, I traced her folds where they would be, her responding as I struck her clit more times than she’d like, slightly moving backward. Hearing her let out a quiet moan as I kept rubbing further through the fabric. 

Sensing some boldness in the air, Xinyu tried to put her left hand in my boxer, though I grabbed her by the wrist with my right hand. I was fine, she was a bit shocked, did I suddenly get cold feet? I don’t know what came over me, but I was more than fine getting hard from hearing her alone. Not yet, Xinyu, not yet.

“I-I’m okay,” I blurted out, trying to string something while I had my hands between her legs, using my fingers to send my message. It was her moment, not mine, “Just let me.” 

Xinyu just smiled, withdrawing her hand, but not before grabbing my cock through the cloth this time, sighing before saying, “You know, I started wondering about this when..,” squeezing my shaft and turning into a whisper, “I saw you doing it one night.”

I was in shock, turning red, and Xinyu knew it, but by now she knew how to shut me up. If that was the case, we continued making out, slowly I tried to move her panties to the side just to gain an entry, but almost always missed. She was a little more frisky now, I was at a position of disadvantage, yet I could pin her down, but she had me pinned down with her lips. She was moaning as we made out, tongues together, while the other pair of lips was just waiting for my fingers to push through. She then stopped for a second to plunge her hand right between her legs too, sliding her panties to the side for me, telling me as she pulled her lips away, “Put it in.”

Xinyu was wet enough, and I wasn’t just going with one, so two fingers went in. My fingers weren’t as long as hers, but her sudden moan and pull meant I must’ve hit something good. Not stopping, I prodded further to my amusement, and she shuddered a bit. I awkwardly tried to get a grip as her fingers scrambled while beginning to move inside. Though trying to finger her with her panties was quite limiting. I tried what I could, and well, it just seemed to work. Not long after, our lips were back together while she began to move to my fingers, timing playing my fingers jammed between her lips as the others also slammed with hers.

Xinyu was whispering when she pulled her lips away, but not to me, to herself. I was unable to make it out, but I couldn’t even think as her breath would hitch and latch onto my lips again. 

By now, we had melted out of our tenseness. Yet when Xinyu kissed me first, it was different from the same woman whose tongue I was against now. She quickly did away with formalities, and now, my fingers are wet. 

“Go deeper.” 

Eh? It wasn’t even that long after I started, nor was there much for me to give with my fingers. Yet she wanted deeper? Fine. Perhaps she was trusting me too much.

I stuck them as deep as I could, hooking my fingers inside forward as my pinky began to strain. Keeping our lips together, I could hear Xinyu hitch her breath and pull me closer, hearing a squeal as she seemed to melt right onto my fingers. She was holding on much closer now, with her lips picking up the pace as she kept moving her hips. Listening to her and waiting for the occasional command. Through the muted moaning, shuddering, squealing, and squelching, we both knew we could hear, I was leading her.

I pulled my fingers out for a second. They were wet. I jammed them back in and her breath hitched, catching onto my lips again as I continued rolling my fingers in a hook, feeling the warmth of her slowly flowing down, then dripping between my fingers. I tried to think of anything to say but just nothing, only the warmth of Xinyu’s guts right at my fingertips filled me. Her moans kept my warmth going, yet I wanted her, but I needed to wait.

“You okay?” I asked as I felt Xinyu shaking ever so often. I couldn’t lie to myself. I was mirroring her too. With bated breaths and shaking fingertips, we both knew what would come next and at the same time, didn’t. I don’t know what she wanted to do next, but the pace we were in wasn’t so bad, moving a little fast, but otherwise just evidence of our youth. Impatient yes, with her tongue pushing at my lips, my hands occupied with her neck and her pussy, fingering away until she just broke. 

“I want to ride you already.”

I almost swallowed my tongue. I didn’t know if I nodded or not, but I did meet Xinyu with a peck on the lips, and like ink on a signature, it was automatic.

She got off, fingers on both my underwear and pajamas as she pulled it off. My cock sprang out followed a weak giggle from Xinyu as she pulled my clothes off my foot, throwing them over her pile. I wasn’t paying enough attention, absent-minded from the ruffling of the sheets, and never noticed hers join them too. 

Hands on my shoulders, Xinyu—more like Chang’e—hovered over me, fully naked.

I swallowed, I could hear her huff and ask, “Been a while?” 

“A while.” I nodded slightly.

It was both running in our heads. We were printing the same telex message among ourselves in our twenty-three year old heads. Reading along the lines of relax, relax, relax—you’re young, it’s just casual—was it? 

Placing her hands on my shoulder, Xinyu met me with a kiss, only noticing her warmth around my shaft as she began to stroke it. Pushing her tongue onto my lips as her long fingers tugged at my twitching cock, was she going to push herself down this soon? I had my answer as she gestured at me to open my legs, I complied with what she wanted. Holding out breaths as she stared me down, giving me a peck on my lips as if to distract me from her descent. It was hot. Both of us flinched as I penetrated her, a drawn-out exhale coming from her that slowly pitched up into a moan when it got past the tip. Our heads filled with warm, unadulterated sexual embrace as our hands searched for something to hold on to.

I had to control myself. It’s been far too long, and this wasn’t me doing it solo anymore. This was Xinyu on top of me. I don’t know for sure, but with how her face was contorted in a manner no pocketbook smut or porno magazine could capture. A slight tremor in her grip, on my thigh and then on my shoulder, and for the first time, she opened her eyes to look at me. She didn’t need to talk.

Having set herself down, she slowly began to move. Closing her eyes again and letting her carnal instinct take over for her as her hips began to roll. Up and down, up and down, she went. I was twitching because she was just that tight. Now, what the hell was I supposed to do to not finish early? Recite the hóng bǎoshū? Perhaps. I began to lay kisses on her collarbone, slowly tracing down to the top of her tits, she moaned and clutched at my nape, feeling her gaze down at me as she finally broke the silence.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

Perhaps it was the other way around—she felt better. It was a boyhood dream come true. Zhou Xinyu, for all her height, had her legs open and sitting on my cock, her pinkish folds enveloping it with her top half in my embrace for my lips to kiss. I could feel the goddess that she was beginning to turn hot as moans began in crescendo, although to my dismay, sitting straight meant her red lips were quite far yet I could sense she looked on approvingly.

Taking my lips off her chest for a second, I met her gaze. Xinyu was drunk with how good it felt, her hands having not changed places since she had sat down, clearly enjoying herself for only I to witness. Stopping just for a bit to kiss me deeply before she continued riding. In just a while, she had a constant, labored breath between moans, both of us sometimes sharing a smile, then a kiss, amidst the pleasure as we tried to keep ourselves quiet. Though keeping hush was difficult when it struck her spot just right, her eyebrows furrowed as an instinctive moan left her. She stopped for a bit.

“I don’t think I’ve gotten this close this quick before,” Xinyu sighed, then chuckled as she blurted, “Your size does help.” 

I just rolled my eyes. Here comes the ego fuel, I thought. Though she caught on quickly to my disbelief, “A lot more than I expected.” 

She must’ve thought feigning underestimation might do the trick. I would’ve said the same thing about her, yet found my stream of consciousness slipping as she proved me right anyway. I needed a second to appreciate the sight; her pretty face contorted in pleasure, small tits, flat tummy, hips moving, rolling. Pacing herself almost at a shallow hop, riding halfway up, followed by the faint sound of a squelching beginning every time she put her weight down.

Though, by this point, my legs were just about to betray me, having folded slightly upward for a while to cradle a tall woman slamming down on them was taking its toll. I wasn’t going to interrupt Xinyu now, not so close, but I was inviting a broken arrow and a cramped leg if I didn’t. So I moved us to the edge of the bed, with my feet flat on the floor—and a sigh of relief from me—with our top halves pretty much in the same manner. Though now there was the bonus of being able to lean forward so I can finally suck on her nipples, it did take some adjusting, and even more when I noticed I was already straining.

Xinyu groaned with how deep I was. Essentially cradled in my grip, hand on her hip and arm up her back as she inched herself closer to an orgasm. It was just a slight lean but it took every ounce of effort for me to not cum then and there. The whole image of us fucking and the feel of her on me. When she would stop to catch her breath and kiss, she was messy but beautiful, even more so now. I was minding her wetness as it trickled down my balls. Suddenly, her grip tightened as she switched her pace up, biting her lip as she squealed, looking up to see her head thrown back while she shook some. Grabbing her ass while her legs squeezed at my sides, with her squeal rolling into a moan, then tired huffs. I thought she’d take longer. Did she just cum? 

“You came?” I asked. Xinyu nodded

“You’re not tired yet?” 

She couldn’t lie with her huffing and nodded. 

We switched. For the first time since we started, I could see the slight sheen of sweat all over Xinyu in the few seconds she stood and threw herself to the bed. I suppose this was a better method of keeping ourselves warm. Now it was my turn to stand up and kneel on the bed, greeted with a sight as she lay down with her legs open for me. I was a curious kid, touching her with my fingers again like earlier. She was warm, very warm, one finger in, hypnotized until I thought, “I should put my cock in.”

Placing my hands on her hips, I slightly lifted her. It caught her somewhat off guard, eyes locked as her expression shifted, mouth hung open, annoyed, then pleasured. I slid back, her eyes looking upward, then rolling them back as I arched her back. She shut her eyes and craned her neck as I thrust a second time, deeper, trying and failing to catch her moaning. Repeatedly, I gave it to her that way, appreciating how easy it was for me to slide so deep in such a tight hole. Her hands moved quite a bit, though she settled on tradition, hands low on my waist while I kept a grip on her. Though for a few times, she had an arm holding onto the covers behind her, or looking at how I was fucking her, moaning at almost every thrust. Xinyu was a singer, yes, a trained one at that, and she sang the loudest when my entire length was in. I tried to keep a neutral expression, thinking “Don’t finish early”—it was all about Xinyu—and she wasn’t even asking me to go any faster. 

She did, however, always requested “harder” right before letting out a hushed long moan and rattling under me. Meanwhile, I was mentally reciting Party passages to distract myself a bit from hearing her slosh and contract under me, her medium-length hair already a mess from moving around quite a bit. I was getting close right then, yet talk about living out fantasies. 

Yet, by that point, I could feel my knees beginning to get sore from kneeling for, how long has it been, two, three minutes? It felt like forever. Xinyu then pressed her hand on my stomach. All stop, aye, ma’am.

“Have you cum already?” she asked. I shook my head, tired, to which she ordered, “Sit down.”

I thanked my lucky stars that I felt like masturbating before I showered, so, how’s that for a foresight? I thought, but I smirked, and so did she as we switched, though now I leaned a bit so her face was closer, and kissed me just before sliding me back inside. That was more like it.

Now, everything about Xinyu was long, her arms embraced me as she began to ride. Though in honesty, it felt more like a pummeling. She knew I was close, so she kissed harder, tongues out in a frenzy. Yet when she wasn’t, she whispered all sorts of good things between her noise. Less than a minute now, we guessed as I began to twitch, no amount of recitation of everything I remembered was going to save me now, nor was my earlier delay, that trick was about to run its course. 

Hearing her goad me with my eyes as she stared into me, together with the warmth of her lips, and of course the intimacy of us. This was her consummation, and the only thing left was carnality. 

“You’re close?” Xinyu asked. I couldn’t say anything. I was just nodding now. 

“Me too,” she huffed. Giving me that non-verbal look, a slightly raised eyebrow. It was a question, I let out a sly smile, and so did she. I would let her overrun me. We kissed, deeply, not nervously like a while ago. It was a consenting kiss—we were gonna cum together.

Hand up her back, I slid it down her hip as her movements became more controlled now, if not a bit faster, but still amateur. She was much closer than I thought, her moans were beginning to betray her as well. Our expressions were shared now, as we had let go of pretense, I had given her part of the fun but knew that this was the orgasm we were waiting for. 

Xinyu’s arms held me closer, I saw her move her mouth just before putting her lips on mine, I couldn’t tell what she was trying to say. The moment I pulled back, she had her eyes closed, only opening for a second before continuing, moaning even when our lips and tongues were together. She was louder now, her arm and pussy's embrace on my shaft grew tighter, shuddering as I tried to hold on to something. Then, her right arm flew to my thigh, breaking away as she let out a long, low moan as her orgasm came onto her. She shook—and I blew—with my lips barely able to get on her neck as I felt the first twitches unload. It was intense, hot, painting her walls with my cum. I shut my eyes and felt my strength drain into her, our fingers clawing, my legs pushing her to me as I came down from myself. 

We held each other as we caught our breath, now we were tired. A long kiss goodnight followed, and she assured me she was going to be okay. 

Once again, it was a blur after that. We cleaned up after ourselves, repeating our procedures, and not feeling like changing the sheets, just decided to crash on the bed again. Though now the same bed was stained with a young couple’s juices, much to the truth of the madamé at the front desk. I thought about grabbing some food from whatever we had left in a futile bid to get our energy back. It wasn't until Xinyu, leaning on my shoulder, dropped her book in my lap that we decided it was lights out. I shut the stove door to at least plunge the room into some semblance of darkness and came beside Xinyu.

She, after confusing me for a bit, grabbed my right arm and pulled me into a cuddle. I was quite shocked, but a kiss on the back of her head was all I could do. I was sleepy, too lazy to talk by then. 

Xinyu then asked. 

“Want to go eat together next week? Oh, and,” she pulled my arm just a bit closer, “You’re not going to tell anybody, right?”

“You know,” another kiss on her hair, pulling her closer, “They’ll know, sooner or later,” I replied.

“Good. Better you than somebody new.”

[nsfwrpg]

Almost is never enough. (Ive Gaeul)

23.7k words

Content advisory: Act III is practically an F1 fanfic. Please enjoy the feature presentation!

——————

The fluorescent lights stab your eyes like ice picks. Every blink sends fresh waves of nausea rolling through your gut, thick and sour. There’s a low, insistent throb radiating from—everywhere. Your skull feels packed with wet sand, your chest aches with a deep, bruised soreness, and there’s a strange, heavy numbness anchored to your right leg. The air tastes sterile, sharp with antiseptic and something vaguely metallic. Plastic tubes snake from your arm, taped down with irritating precision. You have no idea where you are.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the fog, sharp as a scalpel.

"You fucking idiot."

The voice is strained, ragged, laced with a fury that vibrates in the aseptic air. It takes monumental effort to turn your head, your muscles screaming in protest against stiff sheets. The world swims, blurs, before coalescing into a figure hunched in a plastic chair beside the bed. 

Gaeul.

Her usually pristine dark hair is a chaotic halo around a face devoid of its usual softness. Mascara streaks like inky tears carve paths down pale cheeks, dreary against the furious flush high on her cheekbones. Her eyes, usually holding a calm, observant depth, are wide, bloodshot pools of raw, unvarnished anger and something far more terrifying: sheer, unadulterated panic. She’s clutching the edge of your thin hospital blanket, knuckles bone-white.

"What—?" Your own voice is a dry, painful croak, barely recognizable. It scrapes your throat raw. Your tongue feels thick and clumsy.

"What?" Gaeul snaps, the word cracking like a whip. She leans forward, her gaze boring into yours, intense enough to make you flinch back against the fluffy pillow. "That's all you have? 'What?' After everything? After you nearly—" Her voice hitches, the fury momentarily choked by a sob she viciously swallows down. "What the hell is wrong with you? Were you even thinking? Were you trying to leave me?"

The accusations land like physical blows, adding to the symphony of aches. Confusion wars with the pain. 

Leave her—what is she talking about? 

Your mind feels like a shattered mirror, reflecting only disjointed, meaningless fragments. The sterile smell, the ache, Gaeul’s devastated anger—nothing connects. You still have no clue as to how you got here. The last clear memory—it’s like trying to grasp smoke. A flash of speed. A deafening roar. Nothing solid. Only this crushing weight of now.

You try to push yourself up slightly, a reflexive move to meet her intensity, but a searing bolt of agony lances through your torso, stealing your breath. A gasp escapes you, sharp and involuntary. The movement shifts the thin hospital gown, pulling taut against your body, and your gaze finally drops downwards.

Reality crashes in with brutal clarity.

Your right foot, encased in stark white plaster, juts out at an awkward angle from the edge of the bed. It looks alien, heavy, and wrong. The cast climbs halfway up your calf. Taped wires snake across your chest beneath the gown, connecting to blinking monitors that chirp with infuriating cheerfulness. Your left arm is braced in a sling, resting heavily on your abdomen. You tentatively flex the fingers of your right hand—stiff, sore, but mobile—and they brush against bandages wrapping your ribs. A dull, persistent throb emanates from your shoulder. 

You glance down at exposed skin on your forearm, a latticework of dark purple and yellow bruises, intersected by angry red abrasions, like you’d been dragged across concrete. The sheer scale of it hits you like dynamite, amplifying the disorientation. 

This wasn't a mere fall. This was—demolition.

"Gaeul—" you manage again, the confusion now mixed with a dawning horror. "I—I don't—remember. What happened?"

Her furious expression flickers. For a moment, pure, unadulterated fear replaces the anger, making her look terrifyingly young. "You don't—?" she whispers, the fight draining out of her throat, leaving only hollow disbelief. "You don't remember Spa? The rain? Eau Rouge?" 

The names mean nothing. Empty sounds in the echoing void of your memory. Her gaze sweeps over the cast, the wires, the bruises, the sling. The fierce, scolding idol vanishes. The tears she’d been holding back overflow, spilling hot and fast down her cheeks. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, her carefully maintained composure dissolving into pure, raw grief. 

"You—you went into the barrier," she chokes out, the words thick with tears. "So fast—so much smoke—they couldn’t get you out—I thought—" A ragged sob cuts her off. She buries her face in her hands, her slender frame trembling. "I thought I had lost you. They said—they said it was touch and go for hours."

The image—vague, nightmarish—flickers at the edge of your consciousness: blinding spray, a sickening sense of weightlessness, an impact that shakes through your very bones. Afterwards, nothing. Just this sterile purgatory and Gaeul’s shattered presence. 

A cold dread seeps into your veins, colder than the IV drip. You had almost left her. The evidence was strapped, wired, and plastered all over you. The anger hadn't been scorn; it had been the desperate, terrified backlash of someone who’d stared into the abyss of losing everything.

Driven by a need that transcends the screaming protests of your body, you move your unslung right arm. Every muscle groans. Wires tug; monitors protest with a flurry of beeps. Ignoring it all, you reach out, your bandaged hand trembling slightly. Your fingers brush against the tear-damp skin of her forearm where she’s clutching her own arms.

She flinches slightly at the touch, then stills. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifts her head from her hands. Her eyes, red-rimmed and swimming, meet yours. The anger is gone, replaced by a vulnerability so profound it steals your breath more effectively than the pain in your ribs. 

You don't have words. The confusion, the fear, the sheer immensity of the pain—it’s too much. All you can offer is the warmth of your touch, the feeble attempt at connection through the layers of bandages and her own trembling skin. Your thumb strokes a clumsy, soothing pattern on her arm, a silent plea, an anchor.

"I'm here," you rasp, the words costing you. "I'm—sorry." 

Sorry for the fear, sorry for the pain you caused, sorry for the terrifying blank space where the explanation should be.

Gaeul stares at your hand on her arm, then back at your face. A fresh wave spills over, but this time, they’re quieter, mixed with a shaky, almost disbelieving relief. She doesn't pull away. Instead, her own hand lifts, trembling, and covers yours, resting on her arm. Her grip is surprisingly strong, desperate, like she’s clinging to driftwood in a stormy sea. Her cool fingers press against your bandaged knuckles, a grounding counterpoint to the chaos inside you both.

Before either of you can navigate the fragile, tear-slicked silence further, the door swings open with a soft whoosh. A nurse bustles in, her scrubs crisp, her demeanor a practiced blend of efficiency and calm that feels jarring against the emotional wreckage in the room. Her eyes sweep over the monitors, then land on the two of you—Gaeul’s tear-streaked face, your bandaged hand clutching hers.

"Ah, good, you're awake," she says brightly, cutting through the heavy atmosphere like sunbeam through storm clouds. She moves to check the IV drip, her movements quick and precise. "We were starting to get a bit concerned, but vitals are stabilizing nicely now." She taps the screen of a monitor displaying a steady, rhythmic green line. "Pain manageable?"

You try to nod, but it sends a fresh spike through your neck. "Manageable," you grit out, the word tasting like rocks. Manageable meaning a constant, grinding symphony of aches punctuated by sharp stabs if you dared to breathe too deeply or move the wrong limb.

The nurse nods, making a note on a chart. "Excellent. Doctor will be doing rounds soon, but I can give you the preliminary good news." She offers a warm, professional smile. "You are incredibly lucky. The injuries are significant, yes," her gaze flicks meaningfully to the cast, the sling, "but nothing life-threatening now. No internal bleeding we’re worried about, no spinal damage. The concussion was severe. Explains the memory gap, but the scans look promising. You’ll make a full recovery."

Gaeul lets out a shuddering breath beside you, her grip on your hand tightening almost painfully. "Full recovery?" she echoes, her voice thick with hope and residual terror.

"Absolutely," the nurse affirms, her tone reassuring. "It’s going to take time, though. Months of physio, especially for that ankle. Complex fracture, ligaments took a beating. And the shoulder needs careful rehab." She pauses, her expression turning slightly more serious, almost sympathetic. "They said it was a miracle you walked away, really. Jesus was certainly riding shotgun with you that day at Spa. That corner—" 

She shakes her head, a flicker of something like professional awe or grim understanding in her eyes. "Anyway," she continues, her brightness returning, "the main thing is you’re through the worst. Focus on healing now. Rest is paramount." She adjusts a wire taped to your chest. "Oh, and try not to worry too much about the season. Plenty of time for that later. Right now, just concentrate on getting yourself right."

Season. The word snags in your foggy brain. Spa. God riding shotgun. The nurse’s casual comment hangs in the air, heavy with unanswered implications you can’t grasp. 

Season. Football. Basketball. Autumn. Duck. Rabbit. 

It felt absurdly trivial against the canvas of pain you were stretched across and Gaeul’s raw distress. The confusion must show on your face, a furrow deepening between your brows as you try to parse her meaning.

But Gaeul isn’t listening to the implication. The nurse’s words—'you’re through the worst', 'full recovery'—seem to be the only things penetrating the haze of her fear. The tense lines around her eyes soften infinitesimally. The desperate grip on your hand relaxes slightly, shifting from a lifeline to a connection. She leans forward, resting her forehead gently against your unbandaged shoulder, her dark hair spilling over the thin hospital gown. You feel the dampness of her tears through the fabric, the slight tremor still running through her.

"Months," she murmurs against your shoulder, her voice muffled but the relief palpable. "But you’re here. You’re alive." She lifts her head just enough to look at you, her eyes searching yours, the earlier fury replaced by a weary, profound gratitude that makes your own throat tighten. "That’s all that matters right now. Just—be here. With me."

The nurse gives a final, satisfied nod at the monitors and quietly slips out, leaving you cocooned in the beeping stillness of the room with Gaeul. The mystery of the season, the terrifying void where your memory should be, the grueling road to recovery hinted at by the nurse—it all looms like storm clouds on the horizon. But for this suspended moment, anchored by the warm, real weight of Gaeul’s head on your shoulder and her hand still clasped in yours, the only truth that matters is the one she whispered: You’re alive. 

The rest—the terrifying, confusing rest—could wait. 

The pain is a constant drumbeat, the cast an immovable anchor, the wires a tether to this fragile existence, but beneath Gaeul’s tears and the lingering echo of her furious, frightened voice, there’s a fragile, desperate kind of peace. You’re here. She’s here. The nightmare of ‘almost’ is over. Now comes the long, painful awakening.

—————

Late summer air hangs thick and sweet as the car door clicks shut behind you, sealing off the world of antiseptic corridors and beeping monitors. The familiar scent of your neighborhood—cut grass, distant barbecue smoke, the faint tang of exhaust—floods your senses, almost overwhelming after weeks of hospital sterility. 

Gaeul maneuvers the wheelchair with surprising grace over the uneven pavement, her movements precise, almost rehearsed. Every bump, every minute jolt, sends a fresh reminder of your battered body up your spine. The cast on your right leg is a leaden weight, the sling cradling your healing left shoulder a constant, restrictive presence. Beneath it all, the lingering ache in your ribs is a dull percussion.

"You good?" Gaeul murmurs, pausing at the footpath leading to your front door. Her voice is soft, carefully controlled, a complete 180 to the raw fury and terror that had radiated from her in the hospital. Now, there’s a focused tenderness, a watchfulness that never wavers. She adjusts the blanket draped over your lap, her fingers brushing lightly against your good arm. The touch is warm, grounding.

"Yeah," you rasp, trying for a smile that feels stiff on your face. "Just—surreal. Being back. Back in the real world." 

The confusion hasn’t completely lifted. Fragments swirl: the blinding lights of the hospital, Gaeul’s tear-streaked face, the nurse’s cryptic words about a season and God riding shotgun at a corner. But the why, the how—it’s a frustrating blank. 

"Gaeul—" you start, the question bubbling up again, the one you’ve tentatively asked a dozen times. "What happened? Really. Before the hospital. I need to—"

She cuts you off, not harshly, but with a firmness that brooks no argument. Her hand rests gently on your uninjured shoulder. "Later. Please. Doctor Lee was very clear. Stress impedes healing. Your focus," she says, her gaze locking onto yours, intense and pleading, "needs to be here. On resting. On getting stronger. On—" Her voice catches slightly. "On being here." 

The unspoken ‘with me’ hangs heavy in the air, echoing the hospital’s raw fear. She pushes the wheelchair forward, navigating the small ramp installed during your absence. "Let's just get you settled first, okay? One thing at a time."

The front door swings open, revealing not just your familiar hallway, but an explosion of color and care. Your breath hitches, not from pain this time, but sheer surprise. The entryway and living room beyond are filled—overflowing—with gifts. Bouquets of vibrant flowers (lilies, sunflowers, delicate orchids) jostle for space with extravagant fruit baskets bursting with exotic berries and perfectly ripe mangoes. Giant, plush teddy bears wearing Get Well Soon sashes stand sentinel beside sleek, high-tech recovery gadgets still in their boxes. Cards are piled high on every available surface. Elegant embossed ones, funny cartoon ones, simple heartfelt notes.

"Whoa," escapes your lips, the sheer volume momentarily eclipsing your aches.

Gaeul smiles, a genuine, warm curve of her lips that lights up her face. "Told you everyone missed you." She wheels you further in, navigating the sea of well-wishes. "The girls—they practically raided every high-end department store in Seoul." 

She points at a large, foreboding presence. "That ridiculous giant panda? Rei. Said it was ‘for optimal hugging comfort during recovery.’ The basket with the imported Swiss chocolates and the very expensive silk pajamas? Liz and Leeseo. Yujin sent that state-of-the-art massage pillow. Said your neck would need it. Wonyoung—" Gaeul chuckles softly, pointing to a towering arrangement of white roses and lilies so pristine it looks sculpted, alongside a sleek, limited-edition noise-canceling headset. "—went for elegance and practicality. Said you’d need quiet."

Touched doesn't begin to cover what you feel. The thoughtfulness of her bandmates, their distinct personalities shining through their choices, wraps around you like a warm blanket. But the display extends far beyond IVE.

Gaeul guides you towards the low coffee table, dominated by a different kind of tribute. Nestled amongst the flowers are model cars—intricately detailed 1:18 scale replicas. A gleaming red Ferrari SF-25 sits beside a papaya-orange McLaren MCL39. A sleek silver Mercedes W16. And, unmistakably, a dark green and black Kick Sauber C45. Propped against them are signed caps, race gloves mounted in shadow boxes, and even more cards, these bearing familiar crests and signatures.

"Charles sent the Ferrari," Gaeul says softly, picking up a card with the Prancing Horse logo. 

Inside, in neat handwriting: "Mon ami, get well soon. The grid is not the same without your crazy moves. Come back stronger. – Charles."

Gaeul then picks up the McLaren model. "Lando and Oscar sent this together." She flips open the attached card, revealing two distinct scrawls. 

"Mate! Gutted for you. Spa bites. That move was almost legendary! Heal up fast, we need you back causing chaos (preferably behind us!). – Lando" 

Beneath it, neater and subdued: "Wishing you a speedy recovery. Focus on healing. The podium will wait. – Oscar"

A pair of worn but clean racing gloves sit in a box marked with the Ferrari logo. Lewis Hamilton’s signature streaks across the cuff. The note is succinct, powerful: 

"Strength isn't just speed. It's the comeback. Heal well. We’re all praying for you. – Lewis."

Then, Gaeul picks up the Sauber model, her expression softening further. "The team—they sent this. And this." She holds up a thicker envelope bearing the Kick Sauber logo. Inside, a formal letter wishing you a full recovery, signed by the Team Principal and every department head, expressing their support and confirming your contract details for the following season. Paperclipped to it is a handwritten note on team notepaper, signed by dozens of names: engineers, mechanics, catering staff.

"Get well soon, mate! The garage is too quiet! Hurry back! – The Sauber Crew"

And then, almost hidden beside the Sauber model, a simple, unsigned card. No team logo. Just stark black letters on white: 

"Next time, brake 5 meters later. Or don't. Made it exciting. Get well. – MV." 

You stare at the initials. Max. A reluctant grin tugs at your lips despite the pang of—something—the card evokes.

Gaeul watches your face, seeing the dawning realization, the struggle to reconcile the evidence with the void in your mind. She kneels beside your wheelchair, her hand finding yours again, her thumb stroking your knuckles. The tenderness in her eyes is almost unbearable. "See?" she whispers, "You matter. To so many people."

The sight of the Sauber car, Max’s blunt note, the sheer physicality and outpouring of support—it chips away at the mental barrier. A pressure builds behind your eyes, a mix of gratitude and profound frustration. "Gaeul," you say, your voice rough, the plea undeniable this time. "Please. I need to know. What happened at Spa? What did I do?"

She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the cast, the sling, then back to your desperate eyes. The carefully maintained wall of protection cracks. A sigh, heavy with the weight of traumatic memory, escapes her. She sits back on her heels, still holding your hand, her other hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from your forehead with infinite gentleness.

"Okay," she concedes, her voice low, losing its practiced calm. "Okay. But remember: you’re here. That’s the important part." 

Gaeul takes a steadying breath. "It was Spa. Rain. So much rain. It was—brutal. Visibility was a joke. The car was a handful, even more so in the wet. But you—you were driving like a man possessed." A flicker of the old, fierce pride shines through the worry in her eyes. "You were climbing. P5 with—less than five laps left."

The words trigger nothing. Just abstract concepts. Positions. Laps. Vague sounds of engines roaring. The relentless patter of downpour.

"You were stuck behind Max. He was defending hard. The McLarens were ahead, fighting for a 1-2 finish." Her grip tightens slightly on your hand. "Coming out of Eau Rouge—up Raidillon—" She names the legendary, terrifying sweep with a reverence merged with dread. "You saw a gap. A tiny, miniscule gap between Max and the inside curb. On the exit of Raidillon, in the pouring rain." Her voice tightens. "You went for it. A divebomb. Everyone watching—we all held our breath. It was—audacious. Reckless. Brilliant. Almost."

The word hangs thick. Almost.

"If you’d made it stick—" Gaeul continues, her voice barely a whisper now, haunted. "You’d have been P3. Right behind the McLarens. Your first podium. Right there." She closes her eyes for a second, as if reliving the horrific flip-side. "But you—you overshot the apex. Just—just a fraction. The car snapped. You hit the outside barrier—" 

Her voice suddenly breaks. "Hard. Then it spun—back across the track—into the other barrier. Metal screaming. Carbon fiber shattering—" Tears well in her eyes again, mirroring the terror you can’t remember. "There was fire—so much smoke. They couldn’t get to you. It felt like forever.”

She buries her face against your good arm for a moment, her shoulders trembling silently. When she looks up, her eyes are swimming. "They pulled you out. Barely. You were—broken. Unconscious. They airlifted you straight to Liège. And then—coma. Days. Tests. Surgeries. Waiting." 

She swallows hard, her gaze locking onto yours with fierce intensity. "Gabriel Bortoleto—he’s in your seat now. For the rest of the season. The team—they had to. But you—you almost didn’t have a rest of your life. Do you understand now? Why I just—why I just need you to be here? To heal? The car, the seat—none of that matters if you’re not here."

The pieces crash together. The season. The nurse’s strange comment about Jesus riding shotgun. The model cars. Max’s card. Spa. Eau Rouge. Raidillon. Divebomb. Podium. Fire. The abstract horror crystallizes. You weren’t simply injured. You were an F1 driver. Gambled everything on one insane move for glory. And you lost. Catastrophically. Shattered your body and your season in a heartbeat of rain-lashed ambition. 

A cold wave washes over you, followed by a surge of something hot and vital. Shame at the recklessness? Terror at the near-miss? Yes. But beneath it, deeper, fiercer—a spark. The memory might be gone, but the feeling—the adrenaline echo of pushing the limit, the tantalizing glimpse of immortal glory, the bitter taste of almost—it ignites something primal. Determination.

The commentator in your mind isn’t describing a crash anymore; he’s describing the move that should have worked. "An outrageous lunge! Is he going for it? Yes! Oh, that is millimeters! If he holds this—P3! Unbelievable! Wait—no! Too much! over the curb! Loss of control! He’s into the barrier! Heavy impact! Red flag! Red flag!"

Gaeul sees the shift. Sees the confusion recede, replaced by a dawning intensity in your eyes that frightens her almost as much as the sight of you in that hospital bed did. 

"Hey," she says sharply, squeezing your hand. "Stop. Whatever you're thinking—stop. You need rest. Doctor's orders. Let's get you to the sofa."

Her voice is firm, laced with that protective fear again.

She helps you transfer from the wheelchair to the plush sofa, arranging pillows with meticulous care behind your back and under your casted leg. She fetches water, checks your medication schedule, adjusts the blanket. Her tenderness is a balm, a constant in the storm of realization. She fusses, trying to anchor you in the present, in the slow, safe rhythm of recovery.

Later, after a light meal she prepared with focused precision, Gaeul announces she needs to run a quick errand. "Medicine refill," she says, grabbing her keys. "Twenty minutes. Tops. Rest. Promise me?" Her eyes search yours, seeking reassurance.

"Promise," you murmur, offering a weak smile.

The moment the door clicks shut behind her, the silence of the house presses in, filled only by the ticking clock and the phantom roar of engines in your mind. The giant panda Rei sent grins at you vacuously. The Sauber model on the coffee table glints under the lamplight. 

Almost. The word burns through your skull.

Driven by a force stronger than the ache in your bones, you reach for the remote. It takes some maneuvering with your good arm, fumbling awkwardly. You find the highlights video on YouTube, your fingers trembling slightly. 

Searching: Belgian Grand Prix. Lap 39. Spa fills the large screen. Torrential rain sheets down. Visibility is appalling. Cars ghost through the spray.

There you are. Car #77. Kick Sauber. Lurking behind the bright Red Bull of Verstappen. The camera focuses on the climb out of Eau Rouge, up the steep incline of Raidillon. Crofty’s voice rises, tense with anticipation: "—and here comes the Sauber! Look at this! He’s glued to the gearbox of Verstappen! Is he thinking about it? Raidillon in these conditions—incredibly brave, or incredibly foolish—"

You watch your car. It darts left, a flash of dark blue cutting inside the Red Bull on the exit, riding the treacherous curb. The move is breathtakingly aggressive, a knife-edge gamble. "He goes for it! An incredible dive up the inside! Verstappen gives him just enough room! If he can hold it—!"

The ‘if’ hangs. Your car—your past self—pushes a fraction too hard. The rear snaps out violently on the slick curb. A sickening pirouette. The impact with the first barrier is brutal, spinning the car like a toy. The secondary impact with the opposite wall is catastrophic. Debris flies. A sickening plume of smoke and steam erupts, instantly swallowed by the rain. Max’s Red Bull streaks past, completely unscathed. The camera cuts away quickly, but not before showing the crumpled, motionless wreck of the Sauber.

"—devastating crash for the Sauber! Heavy impact! That looks very, very bad! Red flag! Red flag! Medical Team deploying immediately!" Crofty’s voice goes grim, shocked. "A move that was this close to being legendary—ends in catastrophe. Let's hope the driver is okay."

You stare, numb, at the frozen replay image: your car, a broken sculpture against the tire barrier. The almost. The what-if. It’s no longer abstract. It’s visceral. It’s you. 

The podium champagne that wasn’t sprayed. The cheers that died in throats. Your season handed to Bortoleto. Months of pain mapped out on your broken body.

But the numbness doesn't last. It’s incinerated by a sudden, white-hot resurgence. Not shame. Not despair. Defiance. 

A fire you thought the crash, the pain, the amnesia might have extinguished roars back to life, hotter and fiercer than before. It floods your veins, momentarily eclipsing the physical agony. 

Crofty’s words echo: "This close to being legendary." 

He was wrong. It wasn't legendary. It was a failure. A spectacular, near-fatal failure.

But the move—the sheer, audacious belief required to attempt it in those conditions—it never died. It’s still in you. Buried underneath heaps of plaster and bandages and trauma, but there. The podium wasn’t reached. The story wasn’t finished. It was brutally interrupted.

Gaeul’s terrified face flashes in your mind. Her tears, her fierce protectiveness, her desperate need for you to just be safe. The love in her touch as she adjusted your pillows. It’s a weight, a responsibility, a reason to be cautious.

But the fire burning in your chest, ignited by the sight of your own near-triumph and catastrophic failure, is an equally powerful force. It speaks of unfinished business. Of limits tested and boundaries demanding to be pushed again. Of a story that cannot end crumpled against a barrier in Belgium.

You hear Gaeul’s key in the lock. Quickly, you switch off the TV, the image of the infamous wreck fading to black. You lean back against the pillows, closing your eyes, feigning sleep. The physical pain rushes back in, a constant, grinding reality. But beneath it, deeper, more potent, is a newly forged resolve. A silent vow, etched in the phantom scent of burning fuel and the roar of an engine only you can hear.

I’m coming back.

I’m finishing that story.

The door opens. Gaeul’s soft footsteps approach. You feel her gentle hand brush your forehead, her sigh of relief when she thinks you’re resting. The tenderness is profound, a sanctuary. But within the oasis, the fire burns, waiting for the cast to come off, the bones to knit, the strength to return. Ready to fulfill unfinished business.

—————

Months bleed into each other, marked not by seasons, but by the incremental, almost obstinate, reclamation of your body. 

The sterile scent of the hospital fades, replaced by the familiar musk of your home gym: sweat, rubber mats, the faint metallic tang of weights. The leaden weight of the cast is gone, replaced by the persistent, grinding ache of bone knitting itself back together beneath scarred skin. 

First, a slow, agonizing shuffle, clinging to Gaeul’s arm like driftwood in a churning sea. Then, with crutches that dig into your ribs, each step a percussive thud of effort. Until, finally, completely unaided. The gait is stiff, a little uneven, a constant, low-level protest radiating from the rebuilt ankle and the shoulder that still twinges with certain movements. 

But you walk. You stand tall. You move under your own power, a victory wrested from the wreckage of Spa.

Gaeul is your constant, your anchor, your fiercely protective shadow. Her tenderness is a physical thing. She massages the tightness from your scarred ankle with warm oil, her fingers tracing the map of damage with heartbreaking gentleness. She sets timers for your medication with unwavering precision, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cooks meals rich in protein and calcium, plating them with a care that borders on reverence. 

When the phantom pains strike, sudden and sharp, deep in the marrow where metal pins hold you together, she’s there, a cool hand on your forehead, whispering reassurances until the wave passes. Her eyes, though, those calm, observant pools, hold a watchfulness that never fully relaxes. They track your every wince, every suppressed grimace, every moment you push a little too hard.

And you push. Oh, how you push. 

It’s a quiet, relentless fire burning beneath the surface of your recovery. While Gaeul is attending IVE schedules—practices that stretch long into the night, countless photoshoots, the whirlwind of promotions—the garage becomes your sanctuary. Physio exercises morph into something more. Gentle stretches become deep, demanding lunges that make the tendons in your ankle scream. Light resistance bands are swapped for weights that strain your healing shoulder, sweat stinging your eyes as you grit your teeth against the pain, chasing the ghost of the strength you once possessed. 

You set up a simulator in the corner, a makeshift shrine to the world you crave. The first time you strap in, the familiar grip of the wheel in your hands, the pedals beneath your feet—even the stiff, unyielding motion of the brake—sends a jolt of pure adrenaline through you, momentarily eclipsing the ache. You run laps of Spa. Over and over. Not the crash. The move. The divebomb at Raidillon. Testing the virtual limits, feeling the car’s edge, chasing that impossible fraction of control you lost in the rain. 

It’s reckless, bordering on stupid. You know it. But almost is a siren song you can’t mute.

The rest of the F1 season unfolds on the large screen in the living room, a parallel universe you observe with gnawing intensity. McLaren’s dominance is absolute; a papaya-orange juggernaut. Oscar and Lando are locked in a breathtaking duel, trading wins and podiums, their points tally a neck-and-neck dance that captivates audiences. Commentary buzzes with their rivalry, the sheer brilliance of their driving, the inevitability of one of them lifting the World Driver’s Championship. You watch Lando execute a daring overtake on Charles in Suzuka, cool and precise, and feel a pang that’s equal parts admiration and fierce, burning envy. You see Oscar hold off a charging Max in Austin, ice flowing in his veins, and the phantom feel of champagne spray prickles your skin.

Then there’s the Sauber. Your car. Now Gabriel Bortoleto’s. It’s a carousel of disaster. Race after race, the highlights reel is a grim montage of green-and-black misfortune. He spun out in Monza, clipping the barrier at Variante Ascari on lap three. Tangled with George’s Mercedes in Singapore, retiring with a broken suspension. In São Paulo, an engine fire engulfs the car on the formation lap, a plume of oily smoke marking another DNF. When he does finish, it’s invariably at the back: P18, P19, sometimes the lonely P20, lapped and struggling. 

Commentary’s tone shifts from hopeful analysis to weary, defeated resignation. 

"Another tough outing for Bortoleto and Sauber—" 

"The C45 just doesn’t seem to suit the rookie—" 

"Sauber now mathematically certain to finish last in the Constructors'— a bitter pill for the soon to be Audi."

Each failure, each DNF, each bottom-place finish is another spark thrown onto the kindling of your resolve. The fire burns hotter, brighter. It’s not just the podium you almost had; it’s the sheer indignity of seeing your seat, your car, become a laughingstock. Bortoleto’s struggles scream opportunity. 

Qatar. Abu Dhabi. The final two races. 

The car may be utter shit, and the team’s morale at rock bottom, but you could wring something more from it. You know you could. Just two races. To finish the story Spa brutally interrupted. To prove, if only to yourself, that the fire hadn’t been extinguished, merely banked.

You keep it hidden, this blazing ambition. A secret smothered beneath Gaeul’s loving care. You smile through shared meals, listen to her talk about IVE’s preparations for MAMA, her voice animated about choreography and stage concepts. You even watch their rehearsal footage on her laptop, the girls—Yujin’s commanding presence, Rei’s quirky energy, Leeseo’s youthful spark, Liz’s vocal power, Wonyoung’s ethereal grace—moving in perfect, dazzling synchronicity. You murmur appreciative words, but your mind is elsewhere. Calculating recovery timelines. Mentally mapping the Lusail International Circuit. Imagining the feel of Abu Dhabi’s twilight track under fresh tires.

The dissonance grows unbearable. Her tenderness feels like a prison. Her watchful eyes, once a comfort, now feel like searchlights probing for the rebellion she surely suspects.

—————

The breaking point comes after a particularly grueling physio session. You’d pushed too hard on the shoulder rehab, a sharp, electric pain lancing down your arm as you attempted a weight overhead. You’d hidden the worst of the wince, but Gaeul sees everything. Later, as she kneels before you on the living room rug, gently kneading the tight muscles around your rebuilt ankle, the silence becomes thick, charged.

"You were grimacing earlier," she states, her voice low, her fingers pausing their work. She doesn’t look up. "During the shoulder presses. You pushed past the limit again."

"It’s fine," you mutter, shifting slightly. "Just stiff."

"It’s not fine." Her head snaps up, her eyes locking onto yours. The calm observer is gone, replaced by a storm of worry and burgeoning frustration. "It’s never just stiff with you anymore. You’re pushing too hard. For what? The doctor said gradual. Not—not whatever superhuman feat you’re trying to pull off." Her gaze flicks meaningfully towards the garage door. "You spend hours in there. On that simulator. Like you’re—rehearsing."

The accusation hangs in the air. The secret is out, not in words, but in the raw fear radiating from her. 

"Qatar," you say, the word dropping into the tense silence like a stone. You can’t hide it any longer. "And Abu Dhabi."

Gaeul freezes. Her hands freeze on your ankle. The color drains from her face, leaving her pale as parchment. "What?" The word is a breathless whisper.

"I want to race. The final two." Your voice is steady, resolute, fueled by months of pent-up determination. "Bortoleto’s a disaster. The car’s there. I’m—I’m ready. Or I will be."

"Ready?" The word explodes from her, laced with incredulous horror. She scrambles to her feet, towering over you where you sit, her usual composure shattered. "Ready for what? To get back in that metal coffin? To tempt fate again? After what it did to you?" 

Her voice rises, trembling with fury and terror. "Look at you! Look at what’s left! You think months of playing hero in the garage erases that?" She gestures wildly at your tattered body: the subtle stiffness, the hidden scars. "You almost died, you fucking idiot! You left me staring at machines keeping you alive! And for what? A pointless lunge for glory that ended in fire and broken bones!"

"It wasn’t pointless!" You surge to your feet, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through your ankle, but you ignore it, meeting her fury head-on. "It was this close, Gaeul! Podium! My first! And Gaby—he’s young, but he’s making a mockery of the seat! The team’s dead last! I can’t just sit here watching it rot!"

"So what?" she screams, tears springing to her eyes, her fists clenched at her sides. "So what if they’re last? So what if Bortoleto crashes every week? Is that worth your life? Is a stupid trophy worth leaving me alone?" Her voice cracks, raw and desperate. "There’s a reason you’re still here! A reason you survived that—that wreck! And it’s not racing! It’s this!" She gestures wildly between you, encompassing the home, the care, the fragile life rebuilt. "It’s us! Or have you forgotten that part already? Forgotten the nights I sat by your bed, praying? Forgotten the pain? Forgotten me?"

"I haven’t forgotten!" you roar back, your frustration boiling over. "But this is who I am! It’s not just a job, it’s—it’s in my blood! That fire, that need to push, to finish what I started—you can’t just ask me to bury that!"

"Bury it?" She lets out a harsh, humorless laugh, tears streaming freely now. "I’m asking you to live! To choose life! With me! Not death wrapped in carbon fiber! Is that really so impossible to understand? Or is the roar of an engine really more important than—than this?" Her voice drops to a broken whisper, the anger momentarily swallowed by profound hurt. "Than me?"

Her raw vulnerability hits you like a physical blow, cutting through the blinding recklessness. The image flashes: Gaeul, pale and trembling in the hospital chair, the sheer terror in her eyes when you woke. The months of her unwavering care. The love in every gentle touch, every carefully prepared meal. The guilt is sudden, cold, and suffocating. But beneath it, the stubborn ember of a maverick racer still glows.

"I have to try," you say, your voice lower now, strained. "I have to know if I can still do it. Just two races. To finish the story."

"Finish the story?" she echoes, her voice hollow, all fight draining away, replaced by a profound, chilling disappointment. She stares at you, her eyes searching yours, finding only the unyielding resolve. The tenderness is gone, replaced by a bleak emptiness. "Fine. But remember—you’re not Cody Rhodes." 

The concession is flat, degrading, final. 

"Go on. Finish your story. Drive your heart out. Chase your precious podium. But don’t expect me to watch." She takes a step back, then another, her movements jerky. "I can’t—I won’t stand by and watch you throw away the second chance you were given. Not for glory. Not for anything."

"Gaeul, wait—" You reach out, but she flinches away as if burned.

"No." Her voice is quiet, terrifyingly calm now. "I need—I need space. From this. From you.”

She turns, walks towards the door with stiff, deliberate steps. 

She doesn’t look back. She doesn’t slam the door. It closes with a soft, definitive click that echoes in the sudden, oppressive silence of the room.

You stand alone amidst the remnants of the argument, the furious energy evaporating, leaving only the familiar ache in your bones and a far deeper, colder ache in your chest. The fire of your resolve still burns, but now it’s ringed by the ashes of her words. 

Selfish idiot. Worth your life? Throw away your second chance. 

The images of Spa replay once more: the near-podium, the devastating crash. The image of Gaeul’s devastated face as she walked out. The reckless drive to race feels suddenly hollow, tinged with a sullen, heavy guilt. 

You sink back onto the sofa, the silence of the house a crushing weight, the roar of imagined engines replaced by the deafening echo of that closing door. The path forward, once blazing with defiant purpose, now feels shrouded in doubt.

—————

The roar of the vast Hong Kong crowd vibrates through the very bones of Kai Tak Stadium. A physical pressure wave that hits you the moment you slip through the secure backstage entrance. It’s a stark, almost violent contrast to the sterile, homely silence you’ve inhabited for months. Neon strobes slash through the dim backstage corridors, catching on sequined costumes and anxious staff. The air crackles with adrenaline, sweat, and hairspray. Moving through the controlled chaos, you’re a ghost in plain clothes, navigating by memory and booming bass shaking the floor.

You find a sliver of space near the wings, hidden by a towering lighting rig. On stage, IVE is pure, incandescent fire. The complex choreography for their latest hit unfolds with razor-sharp precision, a kaleidoscope of color and synchronized power. Yujin commands the center with fierce charisma, Liz and Leeseo flanking her with explosive energy. Rei’s quirky charm translates into dynamic moves, while Wonyoung moves with an ethereal grace that seems to defy gravity. 

And then there’s Gaeul. Your breath catches. She’s radiant. 

Every movement is sharp, confident, utterly focused. The Gaeul who massaged your scars and watched you with terrified eyes is gone, replaced by the consummate idol, owning her space under the blinding lights. There’s no trace of the devastation you caused, only sheer, polished brilliance. The performance crescendos in a final, breathtaking formation, met by a deafening wall of screams that shakes the stadium.

Time becomes a blur of waiting in the pulsating dark. Announcements boom. Awards are given. The tension backstage is a living thing, thick with anticipation and exhaustion. Then it happens. 

The actor’s voice echoes, amplified: “—and the Song of the Year Daesang goes to—IVE!” 

The shriek that erupts from the star-studded artist area is pure, unadulterated joy. You watch from the shadows as they surge forward, a whirlwind of shimmering fabric and tear-streaked smiles, clutching each other’s hands as they ascend the stage to accept the highest honor.

Their acceptance speeches are a flurry of gratitude, breathless and effervescent. Gaeul, holding the heavy trophy alongside Yujin, smiles—a genuine, effervescent beam that lights up her face—but her eyes, scanning the adoring crowd, hold a depth that wasn’t there during the performance. A flicker of something else. Something calmer beneath the triumph.

Back in the relative sanctuary of their dedicated dressing room, the atmosphere is electric chaos. Champagne corks pop. Staff buzz around, offering congratulations and managing logistics. The members are buzzing, laughing, replaying core moments, their Daesang trophy gleaming on a central table. Leeseo is twirling. Liz is mock-scolding Rei for almost spilling her drink. Yujin is radiating proud calm. Wonyoung is meticulously adjusting a strand of hair in a mirror, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. 

Gaeul stands slightly apart near a refreshment table, holding a flute of untouched champagne, watching her members with a soft, affectionate smile that doesn’t quite reach the slight tension in her shoulders. The performer’s mask is down, revealing the woman beneath: proud, happy, but carrying an invisible weight.

You step out of the deeper shadows near the door.

The shift is instantaneous. Rei, mid-laugh while hugging her giant panda plushie (a relic from your home, brought for good luck), spots you first. Her eyes widen comically. “Oppa?!” 

The single word cuts through the celebratory noise. Heads snap in your direction. Conversations die. Jiwon’s hand flies to her mouth. Hyunseo stops twirling. Yujin’s eyes narrow slightly, assessing. Wonyoung turns from the mirror, her expression unreadable but intensely observant.

Gaeul freezes. The champagne flute dips precariously in her hand. Softness vanishes from her face, replaced by sheer, unvarnished shock that quickly hardens into wariness. Her knuckles whiten around the stem of the glass. The warmth in the room chills by several degrees, the unspoken history—the hospital, the fight, the closed door—hanging thick and heavy.

“Surprise,” you say, your voice rough, feeling utterly exposed under the collective gaze, especially hers. You take a hesitant step further into the light. “Congratulations. That—that was incredible. The Daesang—so well deserved.”

Silence stretches, taut and uncomfortable. It’s Jiwon who breaks it, ever the warm heart. She steps forward, a tentative smile replacing her shock. “Oppa! You’re here! How—?” 

She glances nervously at Gaeul, then back at you.

“Caught a flight,” you shrug, the movement sending a familiar twinge through your shoulder. Your eyes never leave Gaeul. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t blinked. Her gaze is a physical pressure. “Had to be here. For this.”

Yujin steps forward, her leadership instincts kicking in, sensing the brewing undercurrents. Her voice is calm, diplomatic. “It’s good to see you. Are you—recovering well?” 

Her eyes flick meaningfully over you, taking in the residual stiffness you can’t hide.

Before you can answer, Gaeul finally speaks. Her voice is low, controlled, but vibrating with an intensity that silences the room again. “Why are you here?” 

No greeting. No acknowledgment. Just the raw, direct question you knew was coming.

You take a deep breath, the scent of champagne and hairspray suddenly cloying. The carefully rehearsed script in your head dissolves. All that remains is the messy, uncomfortable truth. 

“Because I was wrong,” you say, the admission scraping your throat raw. “Because I’m a selfish idiot. Because I took it too far—way too fucking far—trying to push myself back into that seat before I was ready, before—” You falter, your gaze dropping for a second before forcing it back up to meet hers. The anger, the fear you saw in the hospital, the profound disappointment when she walked out—it’s all still there, swirling in her dark eyes. “Before considering what it would do to you. Again.”

A muscle ticks in Gaeul’s jaw. “Too far?” she echoes, her voice gaining an edge. “Trying to push? Is that what you call it? You were ready to throw away everything—everything we rebuilt—for two races. After everything.” She takes a step towards you, the untouched champagne forgotten. “You took recklessness to a whole new level. Again.”

The dressing room is utterly still. Rei clutches her panda tighter. Hyunseo splits wide-eyed glances between you and Gaeul. Jiwon bites her lip. Wonyoung’s expression remains carefully neutral, yet her gaze sharp. Yujin watches, her posture protective near her member, ready to step in when necessary.

“I know,” you whisper, the guilt a cold stone in your gut. “I know, Gaeul. And I didn’t go.” 

The words hang in the air. Gaeul’s fierce expression flickers, replaced by pure, stunned confusion. “What?”

“Qatar,” you clarify, your voice gaining a sliver of strength. “I never got on the plane. I packed. I went to the airport. Sat at the gate. Watched the cars—on the screen.” The memory is vivid: the roar of engines from the TV in the departure lounge, the pull so strong it felt like a physical ache. “All I could see was your face. That night—when you walked out. The look in your eyes. I knew I couldn’t do it. So I turned around. Came back. Spent the weekend—here. Planning how to crash your party, I guess.” 

You attempt a weak smile that doesn’t quite land.

Gaeul stares at you, the confusion warring with the residual anger and a dawning, hesitant flicker of something else—relief. Understanding. Her posture softens infinitesimally, the rigid defensiveness easing. “You—didn’t go?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Couldn’t. Not like that. Not without—” 

You take another step closer, closing the distance. The members are silent witnesses, the celebration momentarily suspended. “Abu Dhabi is next week. The season finale. I still want to race it. I need to—to close that chapter. For me. But I won’t. I swear to you, Gaeul, I won’t set foot in that paddock unless you tell me I can.” 

Holding her gaze, you lay yourself bare. “You were right. It’s not worth losing this. Losing you. Not for any podium in the world. I don’t care anymore. As long as I have you. It’s your call.”

The silence stretches. The distant thump of music from the stadium feels worlds away. Gaeul searches your face, her eyes tracing the lines of exhaustion, the lingering shadows of pain, the earnest desperation in your expression. The fierce protector, the terrified lover, the proud partner—they all war within her gaze. Finally, a sigh escapes her, long and shuddering, releasing some of the tension coiled inside her. A small, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips, weary but genuine.

“Stupid,” she murmurs, lacking its former bite, softened by an undeniable warmth. “Reckless. Selfish. All of those things.” She takes the final step, closing the gap completely. Her hand lifts, not to strike, but to gently cup your cheek. Her touch is cool against your flushed skin, a grounding counterpoint to the storm inside you. “But you’re mine. And I know that fire. I saw it when you woke up in that hospital, even when you couldn’t remember your own name. I can’t—I can’t hold you back from what’s in your blood. Not truly.” 

Gaeul’s thumb strokes your cheekbone. “So yes. Go race Abu Dhabi. Finish your story.” Her gaze intensifies, holding yours with fierce love and a lingering trace of fear. “But you come back to me. In one piece. Not just alive—whole. Promise me.”

The wave of relief and gratitude that crashes over you is so profound it nearly buckles your knees. You cover her hand on your cheek with yours, leaning into her touch. “I promise,” you rasp, thick with emotion. “I will come back to you. Whole.”

A collective, subtle release of breath seems to go through the other members. Rei beams, giving her panda a happy squeeze. Jiwon lets out a quiet, relieved sigh, smiling brightly. Hyunseo bounces on her toes, the tension broken. Wonyoung offers a small, knowing nod. Yujin clears her throat, subtly breathing a sigh of relief, a soft smile finally touching her lips.

“Well,” Yujin says, her voice warm but carrying a hint of gentle command. She picks up the Daesang. “This calls for proper celebration. We should find the managers, see about that after-party reservation—” She glances meaningfully at Gaeul, then at you, her smile turning slightly mischievous. “Leeseo, Rei, Liz—help me track down the coordinators. Wonyoung?”

Wonyoung, ever perceptive, simply inclines her head, her regal posture unwavering. “Of course, baby.”

Rei giggles, nudging Leeseo. “Come on, let’s go find the fancy champagne. The really fancy stuff!” 

Liz loops her arm through Leeseo’s, steering her towards the door with a final, encouraging smile in your and Gaeul’s direction.

Within moments, the dressing room vacates, the buzz of celebration moving elsewhere, leaving you and Gaeul in a sudden, intimate quiet. The only sounds are your breathing and the muffled thump of bass from the distant stage. The tension of the confrontation melts, replaced by a different kind of electricity. Gaeul’s hand is still on your cheek. Your hand covers hers. The space between you hums.

Gaeul’s eyes, no longer wary or angry, search yours—seeing the exhaustion, the lingering pain, the raw vulnerability, and the fierce determination beneath. Her gaze drops to your lips, then back up, a slow, warm blush spreading across her cheeks. The faint scent of her perfume—something floral and expensive—mixes with the lingering champagne and the adrenaline of the performance. The low neckline of her stage costume glitters under the dressing room lights, drawing your eye to the smooth line of her throat, the rapid flutter of her pulse you can see just beneath her jaw.

“They think we need the room,” she murmurs, husky now, a world away from its earlier sharpness. Her other hand comes up, fingers lightly tracing the tense line of your jaw, then drifting down to rest against the pulse hammering in your neck. Her touch is deliberate, exploratory, reigniting embers that had been banked by pain and conflict.

“They might be onto something,” you manage, your own inflection rough. 

The months of enforced distance—the fear, the anger, the relief of this fragile reconciliation—it all coalesces into a sudden, overwhelming need. 

Your free hand finds her waist, the sequined fabric cool and slick under your fingertips. Pulling her gently, irresistibly closer, until your bodies are almost touching. The heat radiating from her is intoxicating. You can feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest against yours. The roar of the crowd is replaced by the roaring of your own blood. Her lips part slightly, an unspoken invitation, her eyes darkening with an answering hunger that mirrors your own. The chaos of MAMA fades away, leaving only the quiet room, the shared warmth, and the promise of a much different kind of reunion, long overdue and desperately needed. 

The hotel key card in your pocket suddenly feels heavy with possibility.

—————

The hotel room door clicks shut behind you, sealing off the distant thrum of MAMA, the muffled bass from distant parties, the lingering scent of hairspray and adrenaline. Silence descends, thick and charged, broken only by the frantic hammering of your own heart against your ribs and the soft, quick breaths escaping Gaeul’s parted lips. The luxurious space—all cool marble and sleek furniture—feels suddenly small, intimate, charged with the electric current of months of repressed longing, fear, anger, and now, this fragile, desperate reconciliation.

For a heartbeat, you simply stare at each other across the plush carpet. The shimmering residue of her stage makeup catches the soft light from the bedside lamp, highlighting the high curve of her cheekbones, the slight tremble in her bottom lip. Her eyes, dark pools reflecting the city lights bleeding through the sheer curtains, hold yours with an intensity that steals your breath. There’s no wariness left, no residual anger. Only a raw, naked hunger that mirrors the fire scorching through your own veins. 

It’s not a gentle merging; it’s a collision. 

You meet in the center of the room, a tangle of desperate limbs and seeking mouths. Your lips crash against hers with a force born of months of separation and stifled need. 

Hers yield instantly, opening with a soft gasp that vibrates against your tongue. The kiss is deep, bruising. A frantic reclamation. Her hands fly to your face, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, impossibly closer. Your own arms lock around her waist, hauling her flush against you, the sequined fabric of her stage outfit cool and slick beneath your palms, the heat of her body beneath it radiating like a healthy furnace.

The taste of her is intoxicating: champagne, a hint of her signature floral perfume, and something uniquely, addictively Gaeul. Your hands slide down her back, tracing the delicate ridge of her spine through the thin material, feeling her powerful dance muscles coil and release. Hers are equally restless, roaming over your shoulders, down your chest, nails scraping lightly through the fabric of your shirt, sending shivers down your spine. 

The months of physio, the careful rebuilding—it all evaporates under the sheer, overwhelming need to feel her. All of her.

Clothing becomes an enemy. Fingers fumble with stubborn clasps and zippers. Breathless curses mingle with hungry moans against each other’s skin. You push the glittering straps of her outfit off her shoulders, the delicate fabric tearing slightly in your haste, a small casualty lost to urgency. It pools around her waist before you shove it lower, revealing the smooth, pale expanse of her back, the graceful curve leading down to the swell of her hips. 

Gaeul arches into your touch as your lips leave her mouth to blaze a trail down her jaw, her neck, finding the frantic pulse point hammering beneath her skin. You suck, gently at first, then harder, marking her, claiming her anew. A low whine escapes her throat, her head tipping back to grant you better access.

Her own hands are frantic at your buttons, pushing your shirt open, her cool palms sliding over your chest, tracing the lines of muscle, the faint ridges of scars left by Spa—a reminder of the chasm you’d crossed to get back here. Her touch is both worship and possession. Pushing the shirt off your shoulders, letting it fall forgotten. Your belt buckle clatters to the floor, followed by the rustle of trousers being shoved down your legs. Her stage outfit follows, a shimmering cascade of discarded glamour, kicked away impatiently. 

Underneath, simple lace—dark against her moon-pale skin—a final barrier quickly breached.

Then, it’s skin on skin. The shock of it is electric, grounding and dizzying all at once. 

The cool air of the room meets the blazing heat radiating from your bodies. You pull Gaeul against you, every curve and plane fitting together with a familiarity that aches, the months apart dissolving in sheer perfection of the contact. Her breasts press against your chest, hardened peaks scraping your skin. Her thighs bracket yours, the softness yielding against the hard muscle of your legs. She feels like heaven, like home rediscovered after a long, perilous journey. A groan tears from your throat, deep and guttural, echoed by a sigh from her that’s half relief, half desperate want.

Driven by a need too primal to articulate, you guide her backwards, slightly stumbling in your haste, until her back meets the cool expanse of the bedroom wall. The impact draws a gasp from her lips, instantly swallowed by your renewed kiss: deeper, more demanding. Your hands roam freely now, mapping the familiar territory of her bare body with possessive intensity. One hand cups the perfect swell of her ass, fingers digging into the firm muscle, lifting her slightly, grinding the hard length of your cock against the soft heat at the apex of her thighs. She cries out against your mouth, her hips rocking instinctively, seeking friction.

Your other hand finds her breast, filling your palm, thumb sweeping roughly over the taut peak. She gasps, arching her back, pushing herself more firmly into your touch. 

“Yes,” she hisses, the sound vibrating against your lips. Her nails rake down your back, not gently, leaving fiery trails that speak of possession, of marking you as hers just as you’ve marked her neck. The slight sting blends perfectly with the overwhelming pleasure, a counterpoint that only elevates the intensity.

The wall provides leverage. You kiss her with a devouring hunger, your tongue tangling with hers, tasting her desperation. Your hand leaves her breast, sliding down the flat plane of her stomach, tracing the indent of her navel, slipping lower, through the soft curls, finding the slick, molten heat waiting beneath. Gaeul jerks against the wall as your fingers brush her clit, a high, keening sound escaping her. She’s drenched, swollen, impossibly ready. You slide a finger inside her, then another, curling them expertly, finding the spot that makes her thighs clamp around your hand, her head thudding back against the wall with a soft moan.

“Fuck—you’re so—” she pants, her eyes squeezed shut, caught in the sensations. “Don’t stop— please—”

But you do stop. Gently withdrawing your fingers, you relish the frustrated whimper it draws from her. You need more. You need all of her. 

Breaking the kiss, you trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, over the burgeoning bruises you’ve left, across the delicate ridge of her collarbone. You sink lower, your hands replacing your mouth on her breasts, squeezing, kneading. Thumbs circle her nipples with firm pressure that makes her gasp and writhe against the wall. You lavish attention on each tit, sucking one hardened bud deep into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, then grazing it lightly with your teeth before moving to the other. She’s a panting, whimpering mess above you, her fingers clenched in your hair, guiding, urging, her hips grinding helplessly against air.

Leaving her breasts glistening, you continue your descent. Your lips blaze a trail down the center of her stomach, tracing the subtle muscles, dipping into her navel, tasting the salt of her skin. Her abdomen tenses beneath your mouth, a tremor running through her. Hooking your hands under her thighs, you lift her slightly higher against the wall. Her breath hitches, anticipation coiling tight in the silence.

Then, you bury your face between her legs.

The scent of her arousal is intoxicating, musky and sweet, uniquely her. Groaning against her heat, the vibration draws a sharp cry from her lips. Your tongue finds her slick folds, lapping slowly, deliberately, from the sensitive entrance upwards to the swollen bud of her clit. 

She jerks violently, a choked sob escaping her. “Oh God—”

You feast. This is worship. Penance. Desperate adoration. 

You flatten your tongue against her, delivering broad strokes that make her thighs quiver around your head. Circling her clit with the tip of your tongue, teasingly light at first, then firmer, faster. You suck gently on the engorged nub, swirling pressure that has her crying out, her hands fisting in your hair almost painfully. You delve lower, tasting her deeply, thrusting your tongue inside her heat, savoring her nectar, the way her inner muscles flutter and clench around the intrusion.

Muffled sounds escape you, lost against her skin: groans of pleasure, low hums of approval. “So sweet,” you murmur, the words vibrating against her slick flesh, making her gasp. “Taste perfect—missed this— missed you—so much—” 

Your praise is fragmented, raw, punctuated by the wet sounds of your hungry tongue.

Her responses are a symphony of pleasure and mounting tension. Guttural moans rip from her throat, punctuated by sharp gasps and breathless curses. “Fuck—right there—don’t stop—please—” 

Her hips buck against your mouth, seeking more pressure, more friction. She grinds down onto your tongue, her movements becoming frantic and uncontrolled. Tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter within her, a palpable force radiating from her core. Her thighs clamp around your head, her back arches impossibly off the wall, held only by your grip and the pressure of your mouth.

You feel it coming: the tremors starting deep inside, the flutter against your tongue becoming frantic, the sharp, ragged edge to her breathing. Redoubling your efforts, focusing relentless pressure on her clit, sucking firmly, your fingers dig into the supple flesh of her ass, holding her open, holding her there. Like’s high art on the bedroom wall.

With a cry that’s half sob, half scream, she shatters.

Her body convulses against the wall, held only by your strength. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through her, violent and all-consuming. Her inner walls clench rhythmically around your tongue, her slickness flooding over your chin. Her thighs tremble violently, her cries dissolving into wordless, gasping moans as the tremors wrack her. You hold her through it, gentling your touch but not stopping, drawing out every last shuddering pulse of her climax until she sags, boneless and gasping, against the wall, held up solely by your arms.

Slowly, carefully, you lower her trembling legs. Rising from your knees, your own body thrums with arousal, your face glistening full with her juices. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused. Her lips swollen, her chest heaving. She looks utterly ravished, beautifully wrecked. A slow, dazed smile touches her lips as her eyes focus on yours. 

Wordlessly, she reaches for you, pulling your mouth to hers in a deep, languid kiss, tasting herself on your lips, moaning softly into your mouth. “Damn. I taste good.”

“Right,” you mumble, suppressing a faint chuckle.

Gently disentangling, you scoop Gaeul up into your arms. A surge of strength fueled by adrenaline and desire. She feels light, pliant, wrapping her arms around your neck, nuzzling into your shoulder. You carry her the few steps to the vast bed, lowering her onto the cool, crisp sheets. The city lights paint shifting patterns across her skin as she sinks into the mattress, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes, dark with renewed passion.

You shed the last of your own clothes quickly, your gaze never departing hers. The sight of her sprawled naked across the bed, marked by your mouth, flushed with bodily pleasure, her eyes reflecting the hunger still burning within her, is almost more than you can bear. You join her, sliding onto the bed beside her, your body covering hers, skin sliding against heated skin.

The kisses start again: slower now, deeper, more exploratory. A rediscovery. 

Your hands roam over her body, relearning every curve, every dip, every scar and freckle. You kiss the bruises blooming on her neck, her collarbones, whispering apologies and promises against her skin. Her hands are equally as busy, mapping the planes of your back, your chest, drifting lower to wrap around the hard length of your cock, stroking you with firm, knowing pressure that makes your hips jerk involuntarily.

“Need you baby,” she breathes against your lips, her voice husky, totalled. “Need you inside. Now.”

The raw need in her voice is your undoing. You reach between your bodies, guiding yourself to her slick entrance. The first press is electric, a shock of heat and tightness that steals your breath. Pushing slowly, inch by torturous inch, watching her face, the way her eyes flutter shut, her lips part on a silent gasp. She’s incredibly tight, still pulsing faintly from her earlier climax, her inner muscles gripping you like a velvet fist. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect, agonizing friction.

“Fuck, Gaeul,” you groan, burying your face in the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling the frantic pulse beneath your lips. “So tight—so perfect—”

She wraps her toned legs around your hips, heels digging into the small of your back, urging you deeper. “All of you,” she demands, her voice thick. “Give me all of you.”

You sink the final inch, hilting yourself completely within her, a groan tearing from both your throats in unison. The feeling of being sheathed inside her, surrounded by her heat, her tightness, after so long apart, is transcendent. You stay buried for a moment, simply taking in the connection, the frantic beating of her heart against your chest, the slight tremors still running through her. Her walls flutter around you, adjusting, flexing, welcoming.

Then, you begin to move.

Slowly at first, shallow thrusts that draw soft whimpers from her lips. You lift your head, capturing her mouth again, swallowing her sounds. The pace builds gradually, a steady rhythm established. The slide is exquisite, slick and hot, each withdrawal an ache, each stroke a shot of pure pleasure that arcs through your core. Her nails find your back again, scoring fresh lines alongside the fading marks, the sting a perfect parallel to the deep, lingering pressure within you.

She meets your thrusts, arching her hips off the bed, taking you deeper, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around your cock. “Missed this,” she gasps against your mouth, breaking the kiss to pant. “Missed you—inside me—filling me—” Her words are fragmented, lost in moans. “So deep—feels so—so good—”

You shift slightly, angling your hips, seeking that spot you know drives her wild. The next deep thrust draws a sharp, broken cry from her, her eyes flying open wide. “There! Oh fuck—right there—” Her head thrashes on the pillow, her back arching sharply. “Don’t stop—please—like that—just like that—”

Focusing your thrusts, hitting that perfect angle with relentless precision. The room fills with the raw, pornographic sounds of your bodies coming together: the slick slap of skin on skin, your ragged breaths, her escalating cries—guttural moans, sharp gasps, breathless pleas. She’s unraveling beneath you again, the tension coiling tighter, faster this time. Her legs coil around you like a vise, her heels urging you to go deeper. Harder. Her hands scramble over your back, on your shoulders, before finally tangling in your hair again, pulling your head down.

“Kiss me,” Gaeul demands, her voice raw. “Please—kiss me—”

You crush your lips on hers, swallowing her cries as you drive into her with increasing, unforgiving force. The bed creaks beneath in protest. The world narrows to the feel of her cunt, the taste of her kiss, the sound of her vocalized pleasure, the blinding white-hot pressure building at the base of your spine, threatening to detonate at any given moment.

“Gaeul—” you gasp against her lips, your thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm. “Can’t—can’t hold—gonna—“

“Yes!” she cries out, tearing her mouth from yours. Her eyes blaze into yours, dark and wild, holding your gaze with fierce intensity. “Do it. Let go. Give it to me—cum inside me—fill me up—please—”

Her words, her desperate plea, the sheer overwhelming sensation of her cunt tightening around you like a silken fist—it shatters your control. 

A guttural cry rips through your lungs as you plunge deep, burying yourself to the hilt, and erupt. Pent-up want explodes, white-hot and blinding, surging through you in pulsing waves that leave you shuddering, gasping, and utterly spent. You feel her orgasm meet yours, triggered by the thumping heat flooding her core. Her body arches violently off the bed, a long, wordless cry ripped from her throat as she convulses around you, milking every last drop of your release.

Shot after shot, unloading into her creamy cunt, feeling every violent throb, twitch, and pulse of your cock, and her wanton pussy beg for more. You give it to her. Each and every load.

You collapse onto her, crushing her into the mattress, your forehead pressed to hers, gasping for air, trembling from the sheer force of your shared climax. Her arms wrap around you, holding you close, her own body trembling beneath yours. The only sounds are your ragged breaths mingling, the frantic hammering of your hearts slowly beginning to slow, and the faint, distant beat of the city outside.

Slowly, carefully, you roll off, pulling her with you so she ends up sprawled half on top of you, her head nestled on your chest. Your arms wrap around her, holding her close, your fingers tracing lazy, soothing patterns on the sweat-slicked skin of her back. Her leg is thrown over yours, her hand resting possessively over your still-thumping heart.

The silence now is profound and serene, filled only with the shared warmth and the lingering aftershocks of pleasure humming through your bodies. The frantic energy, the desperate need, has burned itself out, leaving behind a deep, satisfying exhaustion and a profound sense of reconnection.

You tilt your head, looking down at Gaeul. Her eyes are closed, long dark lashes fanning against her flushed cheeks. Her lips are slightly swollen, curved in a small, utterly contented smile. A faint sheen of sweat glistens on her skin. She looks utterly shattered, beautifully claimed, and completely at peace.

You brush a stray strand of dark hair, damp with sweat, away from her forehead. The tender gesture makes her eyes flutter open. She looks up at you, her gaze soft, hazy with satisfaction, but clear. Clear of the fear, the anger, the worry that had shadowed them for so long. There’s only warmth, trust, and a deep, abiding love that takes your breath away all over again.

“Hey,” you murmur, your voice rough but tender.

“Hey,” she whispers back, a husky rasp. Nuzzling closer, she presses a soft kiss against the skin over your heart. “Welcome back.”

A slow smile spreads across your face, mirroring hers. You tighten your arms around Gaeul, pulling her even closer, breathing in the scent of her hair, her skin, the unique scent of her mingled with the lingering traces of sex and sweat. 

“Never really left,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just took the scenic route.”

She chuckles softly, the sound a warm vibration against your chest. “Scenic route involving a lot of walls and hospital beds.”

“Worth it,” you say simply, your fingers tracing the line of her spine again. “To end up here. With you. Like this.”

She lifts her head slightly, meeting your eyes again. Her hand comes up, her fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your lips. “Abu Dhabi,” she says softly, no fear in her voice now, only a quiet understanding.

“Abu Dhabi,” you confirm, holding her gaze. “I’ll come back. Whole. Promise.”

Gaeul searches your eyes for a long moment, then nods slowly, a tiny, accepting smile touching her lips. She leans up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss. It’s tender, unhurried, a silent affirmation. “I know you will,” she whispers against your mouth. “Just—make it a less scenic route back, okay?”

You smile into the kiss. “Deal.”

She settles back down against your chest with a content sigh, her body relaxing completely against yours. The silence wraps around you again, incredibly warm and safe. City lights continue their silent dance on the ceiling. The distant thrum of the outside world and the challenge to come is a lullaby. Here, tangled in the sheets, skin to skin, heart to heart, the only victory that matters is this one. The long, painful journey from almost to here. 

Together. 

The roar of engines, the pressure of the podium, the unfinished story—they’re still there. Waiting. But for now, in this quiet afterglow, there’s only peace and warmth, a profound sense of being exactly where you belong. 

Home.

—————

The desert night at Yas Marina isn’t silent. It thrums. A deep, resonant pulse beneath the shimmering heat haze rising off the tarmac even after sunset—the collective heartbeat of twenty power units whispering threats inside their carbon cocoons. Floodlights carve islands of harsh white brilliance in the inky darkness, turning the circuit into a stage set for the season’s final act. The air hangs thick, tasting of overheated brakes, aviation fuel, and the sweet, cloying scent of nearby frangipani blossoms, an incongruous counterpoint to the mechanical brutality about to unfold. 

Championship tension crackles like static: Oscar Piastri, cool and focused, holds a fragile points lead over Lando Norris, whose usual playful grin is tempered by steely determination. Victory here for Oscar seals it: his first. For Lando, nothing less than a win will suffice. The narrative is set. 

Until you rewrite it.

You move through the paddock’s controlled chaos, a reanimated corpse walking amongst the living. The Kick Sauber team shirt feels both familiar and alien against skin mapped with scars, held together by titanium resolve. Every step sends a muted protest from your rebuilt ankle; every turn of your head whispers a reminder of the shoulder that still remembers impact. Yet, your stride is deliberate, purposeful, projecting an unnerving calm that cuts through the pre-briefing chatter. Eyes follow you—mechanics, journalists, junior engineers—their expressions a kaleidoscope of disbelief, morbid curiosity, and burgeoning awe. 

Headlines scream from every screen: 

"Phoenix Rises from Yas Marina Ashes?" 

"Medical Miracle or Madness? Sauber's Lazarus Act." 

You’re the impossible made flesh, the embodiment of defiance against physics, anatomy, and reason.

The circuit briefing room is a sanctum of focused tension when you push the door open. Team principals huddle over data pads. Engineers murmur into headsets. Drivers lean back in their chairs, some relaxed (Verstappen, already championed out, wanting to go home to his setup), others coiled springs (Oscar and Lando). Jonathan Wheatley, Sauber’s team principal, is mid-sentence about track limits when the room’s collective attention snaps towards the entrance like iron filings to a magnet.

Silence. Not gradual, but absolute. A vacuum sucking the air from the room.

Shock. George Russell’s mug of coffee halts halfway to his lips, frozen. Carlos Sainz’s eyebrows vanish beneath his hairline. Fernando Alonso, the wily veteran, leans forward, eyes narrowing with intense, calculating scrutiny.

Awe. Alex Albon stares, open-mouthed, a flicker of pure admiration breaking through. Charles Leclerc’s usually expressive face is unreadable, but his gaze holds a profound, almost reverent intensity. The rookies glare with bated breath, their eyes seemingly capturing a ghost for the first time in their lives.

Confusion. Lewis Hamilton’s brow furrows deeply, concern etching lines around his eyes as he takes in your stiff posture, the subtle way you favor your right side. Beside him, his former principal Toto Wolff exchanges a sharp glance with Christian Horner, trying to comprehend what he’s seeing.

Insanity. Max Verstappen’s lips quirk in something that isn’t quite a smile. More a recognition of sheer, audacious lunacy. He gives a slow, almost imperceptible nod—the closest thing to respect from the 4x champion.

Worry. Lando Norris’s playful mask slips entirely, replaced by stark alarm. Oscar Piastri’s focused, gentle calm fractures momentarily, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief.

Nico Hulkenberg, already seated near the front in his Sauber gear, doesn’t just look shocked; he looks physically winded. He half-rises from his chair, a low, guttural sound escaping him. 

"Scheiße." 

Not of anger, but pure, unadulterated dread.

The FIA briefing officer clears his throat, bewildered. "Ah—Mr. Bortoleto—? We were expecting—"

"Gaby couldn’t make it," you state, cutting through the stunned silence. Calm. Level. Carrying effortlessly to the back of the room. It’s the voice of someone who’s bargained with oblivion and walked away. "Personal reasons. In his place, I’m driving. This weekend." 

You step fully into the room, the fluorescent light catching the sharp planes of your face, the focused glint in your eyes that holds no room for doubt. You look less like a man and more like a monument carved from desert rock and sheer willpower. The biggest badass in the room, radiating a quiet, terrifying certainty that death had merely detoured your schedule.

Wheatley finds his voice, a mix of programmed relief and genuine unease. "We—we are, of course, immensely proud and relieved to welcome our second driver back. His recovery has been—" he searches for the word, impossible given the circumstances, "—extraordinary. FIA medical clearance has been confirmed for participation."

The FIA medical delegate, the man who’d signed your paperwork with palpable reluctance, gives a curt nod, his expression grim. "Provisional clearance stands. Subject to review after each session." The unspoken warning hangs heavy.

Hulk is already moving, striding towards you, bypassing standard procedure. The seasoned veteran, the voice of reason Sauber desperately needed all season, now radiates pure, protective fury. "No," he states, low and fierce, grabbing your good arm just above the elbow. His grip is tight, anchoring. "This is not happening. Not like this. Look at you! You can barely walk without wincing! Yas Marina? The forces? The braking into Turn 1? The long G-load through Turn 11? Your neck isn’t ready! Your ankle isn’t ready! The car is a fucking tractor!" He lowers his voice, but the intensity vibrates through you. "This isn’t courage. It’s suicide. Be reserve. Advise. But get back in that cockpit? Now? After Spa?" 

He shakes his head, a gesture of desperate frustration. "It’s too soon. Too damn dangerous. For you. For everyone on that grid."

You meet his gaze, unwavering. The room holds its breath. Lando looks visibly distressed. Oscar’s jaw is clenched. Charles watches with solemn intensity. Lewis’s expression is of deep trouble. Max leans back in his chair, observing the confrontation like it were a Netflix drama.

"I’m cleared, Hulk," you reply, your voice still calm, but with an underlying steel that brooks no argument. "Better than cleared. Ready." 

You gently but firmly remove his hand from your arm. The movement is deliberate, controlled, showcasing the regained strength, yet the slight stiffness is undeniable. "Sense stayed in the barrier at Eau Rouge. I came back to drive." You offer him a ghost of a smile, devoid of warmth, full of feral resolve. "Happy to be your wingman again. Now," you turn towards the briefing officer, "let’s hear about those track limits. I need to know where the asphalt ends."

You find an empty chair near the back, beside a stunned Williams strategist. Sitting down isn’t fluid; it’s a conscious, careful lowering of your body. Yet the defiance radiates from you like furnacing heat. 

The ghost hasn’t just returned; it’s also taken a seat at the table. 

Hulk stares at you for a long, agonizing moment, conflict warring in his eyes—profound concern battling against a dawning, grudging awe at the sheer, terrifying scale of your resolve. He sinks back into his seat with a heavy sigh, running a frustrated hand over his face. 

The briefing resumes, but the atmosphere is forever altered, charged with the electricity of the impossible walking amongst them.

—————

The paddock buzzes like a kicked hornet’s nest. Cameras and microphones swarm you the moment you emerge from the briefing. Questions are shouted, a cacophony of disbelief and morbid fascination: 

"Are you in pain?" 

"Do you fear another crash?" 

"How is this possible?" 

“Do you have a death wish?”

You offer terse, confident answers, your aura intensifying under the scrutinizing glare. 

Some look at you with reverent wonder: Alex Albon gives you a firm, supportive nod and a quiet "Respect, man." 

Others watch with the horrified curiosity of witnessing a slow-motion train wreck. Fernando Alonso intercepts you near the Sauber motorhome. "Only you, amigo," he says, his voice a mix of dry amusement and deep respect. "You’re one crazy son of a bitch. But good luck. You will need it." 

George Russell offers a hesitant handshake, his expression deeply troubled. "Blown away, mate. Seriously. Don’t know how you do it. Just—be careful out there, yeah?" 

Carlos Sainz claps you on the good shoulder. A firm, comradely thump. "Incredible. Respect." 

Lewis Hamilton simply meets your eyes as you pass, his gaze deep and knowing, filled with aging wisdom that has seen countless battles and even lives lost fought for this sport. He gives a slow, solemn nod. It speaks volumes: respect for the courage, fear for the cost.

Stepping into the Sauber garage is like entering the eye of a storm. The C45 sits under work lights, its green and black livery gleaming, but the atmosphere heavy with apprehension and fragile hope. Engineers greet you with backslaps that feel cautious, their smiles not quite reaching their worried eyes. The car is a tractor—slow, unpredictable, a handful even for Hulk’s valiant efforts. And you are—a question mark wrapped in fireproofs.

Slipping into the cockpit for FP1 is like reuniting with a toxic lover. The snug embrace of the seat, moulded to a body that’s been broken and remade. The familiar, complex grip of the steering wheel. The overwhelming scent of fuel, hot carbon, and electronics. The belts cinch tight across your chest, a familiar pressure that now presses directly on healing bone. Your physio gives your neck a final, searching squeeze. You nod, pulling the helmet visor down. The world narrows to the cockpit, the track, and the screaming spectres in your muscles.

Yas Marina roars to life. The circuit isn’t just a track; it’s the final arbiter, a demanding, glittering beast under the floodlights. You roll onto the pit straight, the engine note climbing to a shriek. Turn 1 looms: a heavy braking zone from high speed that immediately tests your rebuilt ankle. The force jams it back, a bolt of white-hot protest shooting up your leg. You breathe through it, modulating the pressure. Through the fiddly, technical section around the marina, walls flashing past uncomfortably close. The car feels numb, unresponsive, heavy in your hands—a stark contrast to the razor-edged machine you danced with before Spa.

Then, the swooping, banked Turns 11-14. The hotel section. This is where Yas Marina bites. Sustained, brutal lateral G-forces press you relentlessly into the side of the cockpit. Your neck muscles, weakened by months of recovery, scream in protest. It feels like an anvil crushing your skull sideways. You fight to keep your vision centered, your inputs precise. Sweat beads instantly under your helmet. Exiting onto the long back straight, you push, chasing a feel for the limits on hard tires. The car squirms under acceleration, the rear feeling loose, unpredictable.

Coming into the tight chicane complex before the final hairpin, you carry a fraction too much speed. The tires, still cold, offer less grip than anticipated. You brake, but the rear snaps out viciously. Instinct screams—the faint memory of a thousand slides—and you counter-steer, wrestling the wheel. The correction is violent, wrenching your healing shoulder. A jolt of agony blinds you for a split second. The car slews sideways, tires shrieking, spewing plumes of acrid blue smoke. You catch it mere inches from the unforgiving Tecpro barriers, the car fishtailing wildly before you gather it up, heart hammering against your ribs like a frantic bird. A long, ugly smear of rubber mars the pristine tarmac where you nearly met the wall.

The radio crackles instantly, your engineer’s voice tight with alarm: "Box, box! Are you okay? Report damage!"

You suck in a ragged breath, the taste of adrenaline and burnt rubber sour in your mouth. The pain in your shoulder is a deep, insistent throb. The vulnerability is a cold knife twisting in your gut. You see Hulk watching from the garage entrance, his expression grimly resigned. You see the anxious huddle of Sauber engineers on the pit wall. 

The narrative writes itself: Comeback kid nearly wrecks in first session back!

"I'm okay," you rasp into the mic, forcing steel into your voice, pushing down the tremor of pain and near-panic. "No damage. Just—testing limits. Car’s snappy on cold hards." 

Understatement of the fucking season. 

You guide the Sauber back to the pits, the slow drive incredibly humbling. The C45 feels heavy and flawed, an anchor dragging you down. Death’s presence in the cockpit feels less like an inconvenience and more like a looming, inevitable passenger.

Back in the garage, the atmosphere is thick with unspoken tension. Data flickers on screens, confirming the worst: P19. Only Ollie Bearman’s Haas is slower. Humiliation bites deep. Mechanics swarm the car, checking for damage. Hulk approaches, his face etched with concern that borders on rage. He doesn’t speak immediately, just looks at you, then at the damning timesheet. 

"See?" he finally says, his voice low and gravelly. "It’s not just you. The car’s a nightmare. And you—you’re driving hurt. On a track that demands perfection. That snap? That was the car and the rust. Sandpaper on an open wound."

You pull off your helmet, sweat plastering your hair to your skull. The ache is pervasive now—ankle, shoulder, neck, ribs—a dull symphony of protest. But the fire in your core—it’s banked, not extinguished. It simmers beneath the pain and the poor result. You meet Hulk’s worried gaze. The heroic aura is chipped, revealing the raw, unyielding determination beneath. The monument shows some cracks, but it doesn’t crumble.

"Maybe," you concede, your voice rough but steady. "But I know nightmares, Nico. I’ve driven them before." You tap your temple through the balaclava. "Rust scrapes off. Fear fades. The car’s slow," you glance at the timing screen, P19 glaring back like a challenge, "but it’s mine. And it’s racing on Sunday." 

You push yourself out of the cockpit, the movement stiff but deliberate. "Get me the data from that snap. Every telemetry trace. And let’s talk setup. We need to find a tenth. Just one. For Qualifying."

Hulk watches you limp towards the engineering station, your back straight despite the clear discomfort. He sighs, a sound heavy with worry and something else—a reluctant, burgeoning respect for the sheer, undeterred scale of your defiance. The refusal to let the almost of Spa or the almost of that spin define the ending. 

He mutters under his breath, turning back towards his own car, a flicker of his own competitive fire rekindling. 

If the ghost was back, then maybe, just maybe, it could haunt the midfield into submission. Crazy bastard. 

Qualifying loomed. Yas Marina waited, indifferent beneath its glittering lights. The final test was coming, and the fire in your eyes promised it wouldn’t be taken lying down.

—————

The desert sun hammers down on Yas Marina, turning the paddock into a shimmering mirage. Yesterday’s near-miss hangs large, a stale reminder, but it’s buried beneath the fierce, focused energy radiating from you as you stride towards the Sauber garage. The stiffness is still there: a constant companion in your ankle, a dull ache in your shoulder, a tightness across your ribs with every deep breath. But it’s background noise now, drowned out by the primal roar building inside your chest. 

Qualifying. The crucible.

The atmosphere in the garage is taut, a mix of lingering anxiety and fragile hope. Hulk gives you a long, appraising look as you pull on your fireproofs. The seasoned skepticism in his eyes hasn't vanished, but it’s tempered by a flicker of something new—a reluctant acknowledgment of the sheer, stubborn force of will standing before him. 

"Don't overdo it chasing ghosts," he grunts, adjusting his own gloves. "Points are possible tomorrow. From the back, even. Don't throw it away today chasing—miracles."

You meet his gaze, a feral grin touching your lips beneath the helmet you haven't yet donned. "Miracles are physics we haven't bullied yet, Nico." The defiance is back, sharper, honed by the humiliation of yesterday’s P19. The hero’s aura isn't merely a projection; it feels earned, carved from pain and pure, unadulterated refusal.

Slipping into the C45's cockpit is less reunion, more reclamation. The belts cinch tight, a familiar vice across your healing torso. The steering wheel feels alive, an extension of arms that remember speed even if the bones protest. The physio’s final tap on your helmet feels less like a warning, more like a benediction. 

Go.

Q1. The track is a furnace. The C45 feels marginally better—setup tweaks overnight scraping away a fraction of its inherent sluggishness, or maybe it’s your own senses sharpening. The pain is immediate: Turn 1’s braking jolts your ankle; the sustained Gs through the hotel section crush your weakened neck muscles, blurring vision at the edges. You wrestle the car, feeling its every lazy understeer tendency, its nervous rear end. Early laps are messy, tentative. Times are mediocre. P15. Danger zone.

Crofty’s voice crackles over the radio feed piping into the garage: "—and the Sauber struggling, as expected. Looks like the comeback might be a bridge too far today—"

You block it out. The torrential rain of Spa was more than weather; it was chaos incarnate. This—this is heat and physics. Manageable. 

You push harder. Lap after lap, the times drop incrementally. You find millimeters on the apexes, carry fractions more speed through the sweeps, brake a heartbeat later. The car protests, but you beat it into submission, forcing compliance through sheer, bloody-minded input. The pain in your neck becomes a white-hot brand. You ignore it. The final lap of Q1 is a blur of concentration and controlled aggression. You cross the line.

The garage erupts. "P12! You're through! Q2!"

Your engineer’s voice is a disbelieving shout. Hulk, watching the timing screen, lets out a low whistle, a genuine smile cracking his usual stoicism for the first time in months. The apprehension in the garage melts, replaced by a surge of raw, disbelieving energy. 

He’s doing it.

Q2 is a different beast. The track evolution is significant. The front-runners: Verstappen, the McLarens, the Ferraris—they’re in a league of their own, setting purples. But the midfield is a knife fight. You feel it click. The rust isn't just scraping off; it's evaporating. Muscle memory floods back, instinct overriding conscious thought. The C45 still isn't fast, but you wring its neck, finding grip where there shouldn't be any, carrying impossible speed through Yas Marina’s demanding complexes.

You see Max’s Red Bull flash past on an out-lap, a blur of speed. For a split second, your eyes lock through the visors. There’s no nod this time, just a sharp, assessing stare. He sees it. The man who made him flinch in the Spa downpour is stirring.

Lap after lap, you climb. P10. P8. P6. Commentary is incredulous. Crofty’s voice cuts through: "Unbelievable! Look at that Sauber! He's extracting something extraordinary from that car! That's not just resilience, that's raw, untamed talent reasserting itself!"

Your final Q2 lap is a masterpiece of controlled aggression. Every input is precise, brutal, efficient. You kiss the curbs, flirt with track limits, dance on the absolute edge of adhesion. The C45 feels alive, singing beneath your hands. You cross the line. The timing screen flashes.

P1. For Q2.

Silence, exploding into pandemonium. In the Sauber garage, mechanics leap, hugging each other, pounding the pit wall. Hulk stares at the screen, mouth slightly agape, then turns to your car entering the pit lane, raising a fist—not just in solidarity, but in pure, unadulterated awe. "Bloody hell!" he breathes into the radio, a laugh mixed with disbelief.

Crofty loses it: "Incredible! Absolutely incredible! The Sauber on provisional pole for Q2! He’s topped the McLarens! Topped everyone! The comeback kid isn’t just back; he’s flying!"

Oscar, climbing from his McLaren after securing P2 in the session, stares at the timing screen, his usual calm replaced by wide-eyed shock. Lando, P3, shakes his head slowly, a grin spreading beneath his helmet—part disbelief, part genuine admiration. Charles, watching from the Ferrari garage, offers a slow, respectful clap. Albon radios his engineer: "Did you see that Sauber lap? That was insane!" 

Even Max, perched near the top of the overall times, glances at the Sauber pit with renewed, wary interest. The Lazarus act just became a resurrection of legendary proportions. 

Team morale isn't just high; it's stratospheric. Hope isn't a flicker; it's a wildfire.

—————

The fire is white-hot in your veins. Pain is forgotten, subsumed by the intoxicating shout of potential. For all its flaws, the C45 feels like an extension of your will. You belong here. The podium isn't a dream; it's a tangible target glinting under the Abu Dhabi lights.

The first Q3 run is solid, conservative. P5. Good, but not stellar. The track is faster now. You know there's more. So much more. The final run. One shot. Glory.

You push. Harder than before. Harder than Spa. The tires are fresh, the fuel load minimal. The C45 responds, biting into the tarmac. Turn 1. Perfect. The fiddly marina section—razor-sharp. The hotel complex approaches—Turns 11-14. The sustained, brutal G-forces slam into you, crushing your already screaming neck muscles. Vision tunnels. You fight it, teeth gritted, steering inputs precise but demanding every ounce of strength from your battered shoulder.

Exiting Turn 14 onto the back straight, you carry every ounce of speed the car can muster. The rear feels light, skittish on the exit curb. You correct, instinctively, but the movement is sharp, aggravated by the shoulder’s weakness. The car snaps. Not a gentle slide, but a violent, sudden loss of rear grip.

Instinct screams. Counter-steer. But the damaged shoulder betrays you. The input is a fraction slow, a fraction weak. The car whips around. Time slows. The Tecpro barrier at the end of the straight rushes towards you, not sideways like Spa, but head-on. A brutal, unforgiving embrace.

The whole circuit goes deathly silent.

The impact is colossal. A sickening symphony of shattering carbon fiber, screaming metal, and the violent deceleration slamming you against the belts. Your helmet snaps forward, then back. Lights explode behind your eyes. The world dissolves into noise, violence, and a blinding flash of pain that momentarily eclipses everything—shoulder, ankle, neck, ribs—converging into one white-hot supernova of agony. 

Sparks fly. Debris scatters across the track. Red flags wave instantly.

Death feels less like an inconvenience and more a sledgehammer blow to the chest. For a terrifying second, there’s only darkness and the ringing in your ears.

Then, the training kicks in. Move. Assess. You wiggle fingers, toes. Nothing broken. The HANS device did its job. The survival cell held. Pain screams from everywhere, a cacophony of protest, but it’s localized. No numbness. No fire. This isn’t Spa anymore.

The marshals rush to the scene quickly. You wave them off, unbuckling the belts with trembling, painful movements. The cockpit is a mess of shattered carbon. You push the halo aside and climb out, every movement sending fresh jolts of agony through your frame. You stand, leaning heavily against the wrecked monocoque, taking deep, shuddering breaths. The crowd is silent, then erupts in concerned applause.

Wheatley’s voice is the first in your ear, tight with worry that instantly overrides his earlier awe: "Talk to me! Are you okay? Say something!"

You key the mic, your voice a ragged gasp, but clear as silk. "Yeah. I’m okay. Just—pissed off. Car's toast." 

You take a step away from the wreck, testing your legs. They hold. The defiance, though battered, isn't extinguished. You raise a gloved hand towards the Sauber garage. A grim acknowledgement.

The medical car arrives. You submit to the checks, walking unaided to the ambulance for the mandatory precautionary check-up at the medical centre. The walk is stiff, painful, a stark contrast to the fluid power of your Q2 lap. But you walk. The cameras capture every grimace, every stiff movement, but also the unwavering set of your jaw. The human cost of the audacity is laid bare, yet the spirit remains unbroken.

The session ends under red flags. The final grid crystallizes:

1. VERSTAPPEN (Red Bull)

2. PIASTRI (McLaren)

3. NORRIS (McLaren)

4. LECLERC (Ferrari)

5. RUSSELL (Mercedes)

6. HAMILTON (Ferrari)

7. ALBON (Williams)

8. TSUNODA (Red Bull)

9. ALONSO (Aston Martin)

10. ________ (Kick Sauber)

11. HADJAR (Racing Bulls)

12. SAINZ (Williams)

13. HULKENBERG (Kick Sauber)

14. GASLY (Alpine)

15. ANTONELLI (Mercedes)

16. OCON (Haas)

17. BEARMAN (Haas)

18. STROLL (Aston Martin)

19. COLAPINTO (Alpine)

20. LAWSON (Racing Bulls) (-5 grid penalty)

Back in the Sauber garage, the mood is somber but not utterly shattered. The C45’s wreck is a worrying sight. Hulk finds you after the medical all-clear, your shoulder freshly strapped, movements visibly restricted. He doesn't say I told you so. He simply looks at the grid listing on the screen in bright, taunting color—P10. Ahead of Hadjar. Behind Alonso. His own P13 a stark reminder of the car’s harsh limitations.

"Tenth," he states, his voice flat. "From the wreckage. Could be worse." 

He pauses, then meets your eyes. There’s no blame, just a deep, weary understanding. "The ghost is back. Scared the hell out of everyone. Again." 

A trace of his own smile touches his lips. 

"Rest. That," he nods towards where the wreckage had been,his finger pointed where the dust had settled, "was the easy part. Tomorrow is the war."

You stare at the grid. P10. A monument carved from pain, defiance, and shattered carbon. The podium dream is fractured, but not dead. The fire, though dampened by agony, still burns. Death was tested, but the story isn't finished. The final battle awaits under the desert stars.

—————

Abu Dhabi dawn bleeds into the sky, a slow stain of orange and purple above the Yas Marina circuit. The desert air, usually thick and still, hums with a different energy today—the electric crackle of finality. 

For the sporting world, it’s the culmination of a season, a championship duel between Piastri and Norris. For you, standing alone in the Sauber garage amidst the pre-race frenzy, it feels like standing on the edge of a precipice. 

Your life unfurls beyond this track: Gaeul’s warmth, IVE’s whirlwind, ventures born from your improbable recovery. Possibilities shimmer like mirages on the horizon. Yet, the weight of the fireproofs, the scent of fuel, the phantom roar of engines in your mind—they pull you back towards the abyss. 

A tremor runs through your hands—not fear of the track, but fear of losing everything beyond it. The ghost of Spa whispers in the stiffness of your shoulder, the dull ache in your rebuilt ankle.

Suddenly, a ripple of unexpected brightness cuts through the garage’s focused gloom. Like exotic birds landing in a steel nest, the IVE members materialize. Rei bounds in first, her eyes wide with excitement, clutching a tiny, absurdly fluffy green dinosaur wearing a crocheted black shirt—Sauber’s colours. 

"Oppa! Win! You gotta win!" she declares, shoving the plushie towards you, flailing its tiny arms.

Liz beams beside her, adding, "For real! Show them what a real driver looks like!"

Leeseo bobs her head vigorously, her youthful face alight with pure, unfiltered belief. “We skipped MMA just to watch you in-person! Do us proud!”

“You’re not supposed to reveal that, Seo,” remarks Liz, cutely admonishing her fellow member. The maknae’s cheeks go flush in embarrassment.

Yujin steps forward, her leader’s poise a calming presence amidst the exuberance. She offers a firm, supportive smile. "Do your best out there. That’s all anyone can ask." 

Wonyoung, adorned in a lavish pantsuit, inclines her head, her gaze sharp and observant. "Drive well. We’ll be watching." Her words are concise, carrying the weight of expectation.

Finally, Gaeul. She moves through her members, her eyes finding yours amidst the green-and-black chaos. The fierce protectiveness, the lingering worry from the crash, is still there, etched in the slight tension around her mouth. But overriding it is a quiet, unwavering warmth. She doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, she reaches out, her cool fingers brushing the back of your bandaged hand where it rests on the cockpit rim. The touch is grounding, an anchor thrown into turbulent seas. 

"Just finish the race," she murmurs, low, meant only for you. Her eyes hold yours, intense, pleading. "Come back whole. That’s the only win I care about today. Promise me."

The chaos of the garage fades. The nerves, the existential dread, momentarily dissolve under the weight of her presence, her touch, her simple, profound demand. You cover her hand with yours, squeezing gently. 

"Promise," you rasp, the word thick with emotion. The precipice remains, but the path forward is suddenly illuminated, not by podium champagne, but by the certainty of her waiting embrace.

The formation lap is a slow-motion procession under the harsh desert sun, a final calibration before the storm. You slot into P10, the grid stretching ahead: Verstappen’s Red Bull, a predatory shark on pole, the papaya McLarens of Piastri and Norris poised like hunting dogs behind him. Hulkenberg’s Sauber sits in P13, a green-and-black island settled a little further back. The tension in the cockpit is a living entity, vibrating through the steering wheel, syncing with your own hammering heart. 

Crofty’s voice crackles, a detached narrator setting the scene:

"And there he is, ladies and gentlemen, Sauber #77, lining up P10. A story of resilience unlike any we've seen. The question on everyone's lips: can he translate that qualifying heroics into race pace, or will the physical toll prove too much?"

Brundle’s drier tone follows: "The car's limitations were starkly evident yesterday, Crofty. He wrung its neck for that Q2 time, but over 58 laps? Against this field? And let's not forget the state of the driver after that enormous Q3 shunt. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a heavyweight last night."

Ahead, the five red lights glow like malevolent eyes. Images flicker: Gaeul’s face as she whispered her plea, Rei’s bouncing enthusiasm, the grim wreckage of yesterday’s car. The nerves coalesce, solidify into a single, crystalline point of focus: Finish the story. Come back whole. 

Your hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles white beneath the gloves. The pain in your body recedes, compartmentalized. The world narrows to the lights, the clutch bite point, the engine note climbing to a fever pitch behind you.

All five lined up red. Right below, in an instant, a flash of green.

"LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!"

Chaos erupts. A tsunami of sound and violence. You dump the clutch, the C45 lurching forward with a protesting groan. Into Turn 1, a vortex of screaming engines, smoking tires, and desperate lunges. You’re boxed in. Alonso’s Aston Martin jinks left, Stroll goes right right, Sainz’s Williams dives down the inside. You brake hard, the force jolting your ankle, vision blurring momentarily at the edges. Cars swarm past. Racing Bulls. Williams. Alpine. The pack swallows you whole.

"Okay, okay, clean through? Damage report?"

"Clean. Just—swamped. P—where am I?"

"P17. Behind Tsunoda and Gasly. Bide your time. Long race."

P17. Near the very back. 

Frustration wars with cold calculation. The C45 feels sluggish, unresponsive in the dirty air. Yas Marina reveals its true character: a deceptive beast. The long straights lull you into a sense of speed before punishing you with heavy braking zones that test your ankle’s limits. The fiddly marina section is a claustrophobic maze, walls flashing past, demanding millimetre-perfect precision that makes your healing shoulder scream with every corrective input. 

Then comes the hotel complex—Turns 11-14—the circuit’s heart of darkness. Sustained, brutal lateral G-forces slam you relentlessly into the side of the cockpit, crushing your neck, blurring vision, turning your spine into a column of fire. It’s a physical assault, relentless and draining.

Crofty draws the scene: "And the Sauber is really struggling in the dirty air, Martin. Dropped like a stone off the line. Looks like the fairytale might be ending before it really began."

Brundle: "Not surprising at all. That car is fundamentally slow, and he's carrying injuries that would sideline most athletes. Question is, can he manage the pain and the car for the duration?"

You push the thought aside. Bide your time. Lap after lap, you learn the rhythm of the midfield battle. You study Sainz ahead: tidy, defensive. Stroll. Aggressive and erratic. Alonso—wily, conservative. Your tires settle. And the C45, while no thoroughbred, begins to talk to you again. 

The initial shock fades, replaced by the cold, familiar calculus of the race. The pain is a constant drumbeat, but it’s background noise now, woven into the fabric of the drive.

On Lap 8, the first opportunity knocks. Sainz outbrakes himself slightly into the Turn 6-7 chicane, running wide. You’re perfectly positioned. A squeeze of throttle, a precise turn-in, and you’re alongside the Williams on the exit. 

Clean. Clinical. Clear. P16.

"Nice move! Sainz cleared. Gasly next, 1.2 ahead. He’s on older softs."

Gasly’s Alpine is visibly slower exiting corners. You stalk him through the marina section, feeling the C45’s meagre downforce bite a fraction better in clean air. Down the long back straight, you slipstream, the Renault’s rear wing filling your vision. DRS opens. You pull out late, braking impossibly deep for Turn 11, forcing the Alpine to defend the inside. You sweep around the outside, carrying momentum through the complex, leaving Gasly scrambling. P15.

Crofty’s impassioned voice rises. "He's climbing! The Sauber is on the move! Gasly dispatched with authority!"

Brundle: "Smart move. Used the Alpine's weak traction and the DRS perfectly. He's finding a rhythm now, despite everything."

Next target: Stroll. The Aston Martin is a wider, more aggressive beast to pass. He defends fiercely into Turn 1, forcing you to take the perilous outside line. You hold it, wheels on the very edge of the curb, the car dancing on the limit of adhesion, G-forces pulling at your injured neck. Side-by-side through the first sector, inches apart. You have the better exit from Turn 5 and muscle ahead before the braking zone for Turn 6. P14.

Then, the master: Alonso. The ageless fox knows every trick in the book. He anticipates your DRS run on the main straight, weaving subtly, breaking your tow. He brakes impossibly late into Turn 1, forcing you to check your own dive. He’s conserving tires, managing pace, a fortress on wheels.

"Alonso’s managing. His tires are older, but he’s Alonso. Pick your moment. Don’t force it."

Patience. You shadow him for three laps, studying his lines, feeling the C45’s tires starting to grain slightly. Lap 15. Into the final sector. You gain a fraction more exit speed from the Turn 16 hairpin, closing the gap rapidly down the pit straight. DRS opens. This time, Alonso’s weave is predictable. You pull out early, getting a cleaner tow. You brake marginally later, but crucially, smoother, carrying more minimum speed through the apex of Turn 1. You’re alongside by the exit. He tries to squeeze you towards the runoff, but you hold firm, your wheels kissing the white line, the Sauber vibrating with protest. You inch ahead, claiming the inside line for Turn 2. Alonso concedes, lifting slightly. 

P13. A wave of elation overrides the screaming pain in your shoulder.

Crofty: "Incredible! He’s passed Alonso! The Sauber is near the points-paying positions! This is a drive of sheer, unadulterated willpower!"

Brundle: "Astounding composure. Outfoxed the fox. Used the car's meagre strengths—that late-braking stability he found yesterday – perfectly. He’s making that C45 sing beyond its means."

Ahead, Hulkenberg’s Sauber is a green beacon in P12, chasing Albon’s Williams. Hadjar’s Racing Bull lurks behind you. You push. The car feels alive beneath you now, responding to your increasingly confident inputs. You reel in Albon, dispatching the other Williams with a DRS-assisted move down the back straight into the chicane complex, cleaner than the pass on Gasly. P12. 

Then, on the next lap, Wheatley radios in:

"Heads up. Hadjar’s got fresh mediums. He’s rapidly closing in behind you."

You glance in the mirrors. The Racing Bull is indeed closing, a pure-white homing missile. You dig deeper. The hotel complex is agony, each corner a fresh assault on your neck, but you find a tenth, then another. You catch Hulkenberg asleep slightly exiting the marina section, getting a better run onto the straight. DRS. You pull alongside, teammates wheel-to-wheel. There’s a millisecond of hesitation—team orders unspoken but understood—then Hulk lifts ever so slightly, giving you the inside line for Turn 11. A gesture of respect, of faith. P11.

"P11! Hulk let you through. Hadjar 0.8 behind. Tsunoda ahead in P9, 4 seconds. Keep it clean!"

P11. On the cusp of the points. 

The shitbox C45, held together by grit and titanium balls, sits uneasy yet steady on the road. The physical cost is immense: sweat stings your eyes inside the helmet. Every breath feels like a knife twisting between your ribs. The rebuilt ankle throbs with every brake application. But the fire burns brighter than ever. 

Ahead lies Tsunoda’s Red Bull. Behind, Hadjar hunts on fresher rubber. The battle isn't for the championship—far from it—but for redemption, for proving the story didn't end at Spa, or in yesterday's Q3 barrier. The final chapters are being written, one agonizing, exhilarating corner at a time, under the relentless Abu Dhabi sunset. You brace for the hotel complex once more, the roar of the engine merging with the roar of your own blood. 

The promise echoes: Come back whole. But right now, whole feels like pushing a broken machine and a broken body to their absolute limit.

The desert air shimmers like molten glass over Yas Marina, pressing down with furnace heat that seeps through the Sauber’s carbon fiber monocoque and into your bones. P11. The number glows tauntingly on your steering wheel display. Hadjar’s Racing Bull fills your mirrors, a white-hot specter riding fresher medium tires, closing in furiously like a relentless cheetah.

"—and the RB’s looming large! Hadjar has a significant tire advantage. This could be terminal for Sauber’s points hopes unless he finds a miracle—"

The C45’s hard compounds feel like blocks of greased stone. Sector 2’s marina maze—a claustrophobic gauntlet of concrete barriers and abrupt direction changes—becomes a torture chamber. Each flick-left, jab-right wrenches your healing shoulder. The rear skitters nervously over curbs, threatening to snap. Hadjar lunges at Turn 9, his front wing inches from your diffuser. You slam the door shut, sacrificing exit speed, feeling the RB’s disturbed air buffet the Sauber like a boxer’s punch. 

It’s no longer about racing; it’s survival.

"Gap to Hadjar: 0.4. He’s nursing that tire advantage. Can you hold through the hotel complex?"

The hotel complex. Turns 11-14. Yas Marina’s heart of darkness. A relentless, banked corkscrew designed to wring necks and spirits. The sustained G-forces slam you sideways, crushing your injured neck against the headrest, blurring vision at the edges. It’s more than physical agony; it’s an assault on coherence. Hadjar gains in the dirty air.

A spark ignites in the chaos: audacious, born of desperation and an unshakeable belief in your own fraying limits. The team’s conservative strategy is a death sentence.

"Box this lap. Softs."

"Confirm? Softs now? Plan was Lap 32! They won’t last!"

"Confirmed. Softs. Now. We need the delta. Execute."

"Copy. Box this lap. Soft compound."

You peel off the racing line into pit lane’s sterile calm, the roar of the pack fading. 3.2 seconds of agonizing stillness—mechanics a green blur, the thunk of wheel guns, cold soft tires shrieking as you’re released back into the inferno.

P14.

Elsewhere, Crofty's voice crackles with dynamite energy. "Astonishing gamble! He dives into the pits from the cusp of the points! Plummets to fourteenth! The soft tire is a Molotov cocktail—explosive but fleeting. Has bravery tipped into recklessness?"

"The mathematics are brutal, Crofty.” Brundle remains flat, calculated. “He needs near-perfect tire management for over forty laps on a compound that degrades exponentially here. It’s not just climbing a mountain; it’s climbing it on melting ice."

The transformation is immediate, electric. The softs bite like razors. The sluggish C45 reawakens, its steering sharp, throttle response eager. You devour the backmarkers. Albon’s Williams is a late-braking lunge into Turn 6, inches from the barrier, the Sauber’s rear stepping out before you gather it with gritted teeth. P13. Ocon’s Haas—outmuscled with superior traction exiting Turn 16, DRS slingshotting you past down the pit straight. P12. Purple sectors flash on the timing screen.

“Look at those sector times! He’s a man possessed! Gaining three seconds a lap on the midfield!"

"The car is finally responding. He’s extracting performance buried deep within its flawed DNA. But the clock is ticking on those softs, Crofty. They’re burning bright, but burning fast."

"Pace is phenomenal! But rear left graining is severe. Manage! Temper the aggression!"

Manage. Temper. The words are static. The fire consumes you.

Hadjar’s Racing Bull falls prey to a daring outside-line pass through Turns 2 and 3, wheels kissing the unforgiving white line. P11. Sainz’s Williams succumbs to a DRS-assisted dive down the inside into the Turn 9 chicane, the Sauber vibrating violently as you force the issue. P10. Points reclaimed, but the softs are visibly fraying, chunks of rubber flying. 

Tsunoda’s Red Bull, trapped on older hards, is next. A calculated squeeze on the exit of Turn 16, using every millimeter of runoff, tires screaming in protest as you surge alongside and claim the position before the line. P9.

—————

Meanwhile, Rei bounces, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Go oppa! Faster!”

Liz and Leeseo clutch each other, gasping as the Sauber brushes the wall. Yujin watches, a statue of focused intensity.

"The tires—they won't hold—" Wonyoung murmurs, hands clasped together in wary focus and faint prayer.

Gaeul sits rigid, knuckles white on the armrest, her eyes glued on the screen, breathing shallowly. Every near-miss, every lurid slide, etches fresh lines of fear on her face. Her silent plea hangs in the air-conditioned chill.

Come back whole.

—————

Ahead, the landscape shifts. Titans loom. Russell’s silver Mercedes. Leclerc’s scarlet Ferrari. Hamilton’s own scarlet Ferrari. The C45 feels laughably crude against their engineering marvels. Yet, you see fissures in their armor.

Russell. Blisteringly fast but occasionally leaves the door ajar on corner entry, trusting his Mercedes’ acceleration. Lap 41. Down the endless back straight. DRS open. You ride the Mercedes’ slipstream, the tow monstrous. Russell defends the inside for the chicane complex. You feint left, then snap right, braking beyond the perceived limit for the first chicane apex, aiming for the sliver of space he left. Milliseconds. Tires shriek. The Sauber bucks, threatening to spin. Russell, startled by the sheer audacity, lifts minutely. You’re through. P8.

Crofty’s losing his voice. "He’s done it! Past Russell! A move bordering on suicidal! The sheer nerve!"

Brundle stays on quiet admiration. "Russell left him just enough room—a champion's width. And he took it with the precision of a surgeon. That’s not just speed; it’s racing intelligence under extreme duress."

Over the radio, Wheatley is elated. "Russell cleared! P8! Leclerc next, 1.8 ahead! Your tires are critical!"

Leclerc. The Ferrari is quicker, especially in Sector 1’s flowing curves. But it’s temperamental. Prone to sudden, vicious snaps of oversteer on power-down, particularly when pressured. 

Lap 44. You hound him through the marina sector, filling his mirrors, disrupting his rhythm. Into the tight left-right of Turns 8 and 9. You pressure him mercilessly on entry, forcing him to take a defensive, compromised line. On exit, as he feeds the power, the Ferrari’s rear steps out violently. Sparks fly as Leclerc course-corrects, scrubbing precious speed. It’s the microscopic opening. You pounce, squeezing the throttle earlier, surging alongside with superior traction. DRS opens. You sail past the momentarily crippled Ferrari before Turn 11. P7.

"Leclerc! You passed Leclerc! P7! Hamilton next! 2.5 seconds! But the tires—they’re on the canvas! Next lap, box! Box! Please!"

The softs are translucent, vibrating like unbalanced washing machines. Every bump threatens disintegration. But Hamilton. P6. The seven-time champion. In a Ferrari. The summit glows ahead. Yas Marina’s final sector offers one chance: the long blast after the Turn 16 hairpin, DRS activation, then the plunge into Turn 1.

Hamilton knows. He defends the inside ruthlessly down the main straight. DRS is open, but he blocks the tow, weaving subtly. You jink left, he covers. Speed bleeds away. Into Turn 1, he brakes impossibly late, securing the inside. You follow, biding your time, nursing the dying tires. 

Lap 46. Exiting the final Turn 16 hairpin, you summon everything—every ounce of grip left in the shredded softs, every shred of strength in your screaming muscles. The exit is perfect, transcendent. You’re glued to the Ferrari’s diffuser. DRS opens. Hamilton weaves, but you’ve anticipated it. You pull out early, get a cleaner tow, and draw level just before the hundred-meter board for Turn 1.

It’s a drag race headed towards oblivion. The Ferrari’s superior horsepower claws back inches. Side-by-side, wheels almost touching, the scream of engines vibrating your bones. The braking zone rushes up. You brake at the absolute limit—a force that feels like it will shatter your rebuilt ankle. Vision tunnels to a pinprick. The Sauber holds its line, shuddering violently, skating on the edge of adhesion. Hamilton, the master calculator, judges the margin. He brakes a fraction earlier, conceding the corner rather than risk mutual annihilation. You sweep through Turn 1 in the lead. P6.

Over commentary, Crofty has gone completely hysterical seeing the heroics. "He’s passed Hamilton! The Sauber is in sixth place! I am absolutely speechless! From the depths of P17 to the top six! This defies logic! It defies physics!"

Brundle, on the other hand, remains calm, but reverent. "A move of monumental courage and skill. He forced the greatest of all time into submission. Not with car speed, but with indomitable will and racecraft forged in fire. Legendary. Simply legendary."

"P6! You are P6! Hamilton 1.2 behind! 15 laps! Tires are critical! Manage! Bring it home, mate! Bring it home!"

Let it sink in. P6. Sixth place. In a fucking Sauber of all cars. A glorified lawn mower. 

The physical cost is apocalyptic—neck muscles in spasm, shoulder a molten knot of agony, ankle grinding with every pedal input, lungs burning. The softs are translucent rags, vibrating horribly, their grip a fading memory. Yet, the dream—P5, Antonelli’s Mercedes just 3.1 seconds ahead—pulses with terrifying reality. Yas Marina’s glittering lights stretch ahead, no longer just a circuit, but the anvil upon which your promise to Gaeul is being forged.

You take a shuddering breath, tasting blood and exhaust fumes. The hardest laps are ahead. You brace for the hotel complex once more, the defiant roar in your veins drowning out the scream of the engine and the whimper of the tires. 

The story demands an ending. You will write it.

The desert heat throbs inside the Sauber’s cockpit, a physical counterpoint to the screaming vibration of the disintegrating soft tires. Sixth place glows on your dash: a monument built on defiance and agony. Antonelli’s Mercedes shimmers just ahead in P5, a siren song of unfinished business. The podium isn’t a dream; it’s a physical ache in your bones, a ghost whispering from the Spa runoff.

Wheatley screams in your ear, part static, all urgent concern. “Box! Box now! Softs are shredding! Pitting now gets you P9, maybe P8! Guaranteed points! You cannot hold this pace! Hamilton is closing!"

The calculation hangs in the scorching air. Pit: safety, points, survival. Stay out: glory, ruin, redemption. 

Gaeul’s face flickers in your mind—her whispered "Come back whole"— then vanishes beneath the visceral memory of Spa’s rain-lashed barrier. 

Then you hear your own voice. A call to action. 

Finish the story.

"Negative. Hunting P5. Tires have life."

"They have minutes! At most! You’ll be a sitting duck! It’s—"

The transmission cuts off, drowned by a collective gasp from the grandstands. Ahead, exiting the fiddly Turn 7-8 chicane, Lance Stroll’s Aston Martin rides the inside curb too aggressively. The car snaps sideways like a startled animal, spearing violently across the track. It slams nose-first into the unforgiving Tecpro barrier at Turn 9’s entrance with a sickening, echoing crunch. Carbon fiber erupts in a shower of debris. The Aston spins to a halt, broadside, blocking half the track. Stroll’s hand emerges, waving weakly from the intact cockpit. Relief wars with utter shock.

Yellow flags are waved. The safety car deploys onto the track.

Crofty shouts over the din: "Stroll! Heavy impact! Yellow’s out! Safety car! He’s moving, thank God! But the race is neutralised!"

Brundle sees through the crash and notices an opening. "A catastrophic lapse of concentration! Absolutely unnecessary! But a lifeline for the Sauber! He can pit under safety car and lose minimal time!"

Wheatley also sees it. "Safety car! Box! Box now! Mediums! We can put you out on P6! Fresh rubber! Ten laps! Go! Go! Go!"

The decision is instantaneous. The gamble transforms into opportunity. Glory remains within reach. 

"Copy. Boxing. Mediums."

You peel into the pit lane’s controlled calm, the roaring pack replaced by the whine of the safety car’s engine. The stop is a blur of green. 2.9 seconds. Fresh, yellow-banded medium tires slam onto the hubs. Cooler water floods the system. A microsecond of respite before you’re released into the slow-moving queue and back into the fire. P6. 

The pecking order crystallizes under the yellow flag’s caution: Piastri. Norris. Verstappen. Antonelli. Hadjar. You. Hamilton. Leclerc. Russell. Alonso.

—————

A silenced gasp fills the room as Stroll’s crash unfolds over the live feed. Gaeul presses a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror-turned-relief. 

Rei jumps up, pointing accusingly at the screen. "Ya! Stroll you idiot!" 

Liz and Leeseo clutch each other’s hands tighter, both pale as snow. Yujin grips the Sauber team’s desk board, her knuckles white. 

Wonyoung murmurs, pensive and cautious, "The safety car—his only chance—" 

As the Sauber rejoins P6 on fresh rubber, Gaeul exhales shakily, a single tear cutting through the tension on her cheek. 

Hold on.

—————

The safety car folds in at the end of Lap 51. Green flag is waved. Seven laps remain.

The pack explodes like a shrapnel bomb. The fresh mediums ignite the Sauber. The C45, revitalized, plants itself into the tarmac, responding to inputs with predatory eagerness. Hadjar’s Racing Bull is first. Defends the inside into Turn 1, but his worn hards offer no traction on exit. You get a monstrous run, DRS flapping open, surging around his outside through Turn 2 with surgical precision. P5.

Next, Antonelli’s Mercedes looms quick. The rookie is fast but flustered by pressure. You harry him through the marina sector—a claustrophobic dance of concrete walls and abrupt direction changes. Into the Turn 6-7 chicane, he brakes a fraction early, guarding the inside. You feint left, then snap right, braking impossibly late for the second apex. Tires kiss. Sparks fly. The Mercedes wiggles as Antonelli corrects. P4.

Crofty roars. "He’s through! Past Antonelli! Now fourth! The tire advantage is absolute! He’s dismantled the field in two corners!"

Brundle sounds awe-struck, flared with raw emotion. "A masterclass in opportunism! He smelled the weakness, exploited the tire delta with cold, brutal efficiency. That Mercedes had no answer!"

Five laps remain. Ahead, a solitary blue-and-red machine. Max Verstappen. P3. 

The Red Bull glints under the floodlights like a resting predator. The ghost of Spa—the man who dared challenge him in the monsoon—has returned. He knows you’re coming. He sees the relentless green-and-black machine filling his mirrors. The gap is 1.8 seconds. Yas Marina’s final sector stretches ahead—the long blast after Turn 16, the DRS activation, the plunge into Turn 1. Your only battleground.

"P4! Verstappen 1.8 ahead! Four laps! Your tires are prime! His mediums are thirty laps old! You can do this!"

The hunt intensifies. You push the Sauber to its screaming limit. Through the flowing curves of Sector 1, you gain tenths. Through the technical marina maze, you gain more. The gap shrinks: 1.5, 1.3—Verstappen defends, his Red Bull weaving subtly on the straights, blocking the tow, his lines inch-perfect. He’s conserving, calculating, the ice to your fire.

Lap 54. The hotel complex. Turns 11-14. G-forces slam you sideways, a crushing weight on your screaming neck. Vision tunnels. You emerge onto the back straight, the gap down to 0.9 seconds. DRS opens. Surging forward, riding the Red Bull’s slipstream, the tow clawing you closer. 0.6 seconds. Verstappen defends the inside for the chicane complex. You jink left, he covers. No gap.

Crofty sounds breathless. “The gap is vanishing! Six-tenths! But Verstappen is defending like a lion! Where can he possibly pass?"

Brundle tenses. "It has to be the main straight. DRS. Turn 1. It’s his only chance. But Max knows it. He’ll make him earn every millimeter."

Lap 55. You replicate the approach. DRS open. Closer this time. 0.4 seconds. Verstappen weaves more aggressively. The Red Bull’s disturbed air buffets the Sauber. You hold firm, muscles burning, focus laser-sharp. No gap. Frustration is a live wire, but resolve is titanium.

Rei bounces, chanting, "Catch him! Catch him!” Liz and Leeseo are on their feet, hands still clasped. Yujin watches on, a statue of concentration. Wonyoung’s eyes track every jink, every gain. Gaeul stands rigid, one hand pressed to her chest, the other gripping the railing, her knuckles bloodless. Her lips move in a silent plea.

Lap 56. You hound Verstappen through Sector 2, filling his mirrors, disrupting his rhythm. Into the final Turn 16 hairpin. You take a tighter line, sacrificing exit speed for a fraction less distance. It’s a gamble. The Sauber’s nose inches closer to the Red Bull’s diffuser. Exiting the corner, you unleash every ounce of grip. The exit clean, but not transcendent. DRS activates. The gap is 0.3 seconds. Not enough. Verstappen defends the inside ruthlessly down the pit straight. The checkered flag looms on the next lap. Two more chances.

Wheatley’s voice is raw, hoarse. "Two more laps! Gap 0.3! You need a miracle out of turn 16! Give it everything!"

You sweep through 14, 15, 16—a blur of concentration and controlled aggression. The hotel complex is a white-knuckle ride, G-forces threatening blackout. Then, the final corner. Turn 16. A slow, hairpin right. You brake marginally later, carry a fraction more speed, turn in sharper. The Sauber rotates beautifully, its mediums biting hard. You plant the throttle earlier, harder than ever before. The rear twitches, threatening to snap, but you catch it with instinctive reflex. The exit is perfect. A surge of acceleration pins you to the seat. You’re instantly glued to the Red Bull’s diffuser.

DRS flaps open. The tow is monstrous. The gap evaporates. Side-by-side with Verstappen before the 100-meter board for Turn 1. The roar of the engines merges into a deafening howl. Wheels inches apart. The braking zone rushes up—a wall of inevitability. You brake at the absolute limit, a force that feels like it will shatter your rebuilt ankle, compress your spine. Vision tunnels to a pinprick of light framing Verstappen’s blue helmet. The Sauber holds its line, vibrating on the knife-edge of adhesion. Verstappen, the ultimate calculator, judges the vanishing margin. 

The desert air vibrates with the shriek of twenty engines pushed beyond endurance. Inside the battered Sauber cockpit, every nerve screams in protest—neck muscles in spasm, shoulder a molten knot, rebuilt ankle grinding with each pedal stroke. Yet, the world narrows to a tunnel vision: the shimmering blue-and-red rear wing of Max Verstappen’s Red Bull, barely a few tenths ahead. Fourth place. The podium. Spa’s ghost demanding its due. Gaeul’s whispered plea—come back whole—echoes beneath the engine’s roar and the frantic hammering of your own heart.

Final Lap. Lap 58.

Exiting the Turn 16 hairpin, you’re glued to the Red Bull’s diffuser. DRS flaps open with a decisive thunk. The tow is monstrous, a physical punch slamming you forward. Side-by-side with Verstappen before the 100-meter board for Turn 1. Wheels inches apart. The desert sky bleeds deep black and sparkly-starry white as Yas Marina’s floodlights ignite, casting long, dramatic pathways across the tarmac. The roar of the engines merges into a deafening howl of defiance and desperation.

Crofty’s voice crackles with high tension. "Side-by-side! The Sauber and the Red Bull! Wheel-to-wheel down to Turn 1! This is it! The comeback kid versus the four-time champion! Shades of Spa!"

Brundle’s enraptured by the duel he’s witnessing. “The audacity! The sheer, unadulterated nerve! He’s forced Verstappen into a fight he never wanted on the final lap! Watch the braking!"

Verstappen defends with the fury of a cornered beast. The Mad Max of old resurfaces: desperate, ruthless, borderline violent. He jinks violently left, forcing you towards the pit wall, the disturbed air buffeting the Sauber like a physical blow. Holding firm, your muscles scream, steering inputs micro-corrected against the turbulence. Inches from the white line. He jinks right, trying to crowd you towards the runoff on the outside. Your tires kiss the artificial grass fringe, kicking up a plume of dust, the car skating perilously. You counter-steer instinctively, the Sauber snapping back onto the black stuff, momentum barely checked.

Over team radio, Wheatley’s shrieking harshly in your ear. "Hold your line! Hold! You’re alongside!"

Verstappen’s aggression is his shield, but it’s also his energy drain. His weaving costs him precious exit speed out of Turn 1. You carry a fraction more momentum, staying glued to his flank through the fiddly Turns 2 and 3. He slams the door shut at Turn 4, forcing you to lift, sacrificing precious tenths. 

The McLarens far ahead are distant specks, their private duel for the championship already decided. None of that matters. Only P3. Only Verstappen.

Through the flowing curves of Sector 1, you gain minutely, the fresher mediums granting superior traction. The gap shrinks: 0.4 seconds. Verstappen mirrors your line, inch-perfect, defensive, blocking any tow opportunity on the straights. The marina sector looms—a concrete canyon demanding millimetre precision. You hound him, filling his mirrors, every twitch of his car telegraphing his next move. Into the tight Turn 8-9 chicane, you pressure him hard on entry, forcing a slightly compromised exit. You gain another tenth. 0.3 seconds.

Crofty’s all but out of breath: "He’s crawling all over him! The gap is vanishing! Three-tenths! But where can he possibly pass? Verstappen is defending like a man possessed!"

Brundle’s tensing up, yet still analytical. "It has to be the hotel complex exit or the final straight. But Max knows it. He’s conserving every ounce of energy, every scrap of tire, for the defence. The Sauber driver needs complete perfection."

The hotel complex. Turns 11-14. The crucible. Sustained, brutal G-forces slam you sideways, crushing your screaming neck against the headrest, blurring vision at the edges. It’s agony distilled. Verstappen navigates it flawlessly. Tight, but defensive. You push harder, carrying a whisper more speed through the banked turns, feeling the Sauber’s chassis groan in protest, the tires howling at the limit. You emerge onto the back straight mere car lengths behind. 0.2 seconds. DRS opens. You surge forward, the tow clawing you to his gearbox. 0.1 seconds. Nose to tail.

“Last corner! Make it count! Perfect exit! Perfect!”

Turn 16. The final hairpin. A slow, agonizing right-hander before the blast to the line. Verstappen brakes early, guarding the inside line, sacrificing exit speed to block any possible lunge. It’s textbook defence. But in that moment of hyper-aggressive control, focused solely on blocking the inside, he pushes his worn mediums a fraction too hard. The RB21 rear snaps out: just a tiny, almost imperceptible slide on the dusty apex curb. 

A microsecond loss of traction. A human moment of fallibility.

It’s all the opening you need.

You’ve braked marginally later, carried a fraction more speed. More than enough to close the near-nonexistent gap. You turn in sharper, the Sauber rotating beautifully on its fresher rubber. As Verstappen corrects his slide, sacrificing crucial exit momentum, you plant the throttle earlier, harder. The rear twitches but holds. The Sauber rockets out of the corner, catapulting down the main straight with explosive traction.

Verstappen, desperately trying to claw back lost momentum, fishtails slightly, his exit compromised. You streak past him before the 50-meter board, clean air suddenly yours. The roar of the crowd hits you like a physical wave, drowning out the engine. The checkered flag waves.

P3.

Over at commentary, Crofty explodes, even more so than when Piastri’s McLaren took the win. "He’s done it! The Sauber takes third! He’s passed Verstappen on the final lap! Unbelievable! From the brink of retirement to the podium! A miracle in Abu Dhabi!”

Brundle, full of reverent awe, adds: "A move born of patience, precision, and capitalizing on the tiniest crack in the champion’s armour. Verstappen’s aggression forced the error, and the Sauber driver was clinical in its exploitation. One of the greatest final lap overtakes, on sheer guts and guile, I have ever witnessed. Legendary."

Over team radio, Wheatley’s voice cracks, evidently marred with raw emotion. "P3—P3! I don’t—I don’t believe it! That was—a miracle! An absolute bloody miracle! You magnificent bastard! Welcome back! Welcome back!"

Coasting down the straight, the adrenaline surging through your muscles like a tidal wave recedes, leaving utter exhaustion and profound, shaking elation. Piastri takes the flag and the Drivers’ championship. Norris follows, disappointment etched beside pride for his teammate. You cross the line third, the weight of the impossible settling like a physical mantle.

“We did it. We fucking did it.” 

Your words hang heavy, a verbalization of a dream now fully realized.

—————

The Sauber garage erupts. Mechanics and engineers leap over barriers, hugging, crying, pounding each other on the back. Hulkenberg, who finished P11, barely missing out on points, is the first one to your car as you crawl into the pit box. He rips off your steering wheel before the mechanics can swarm, his weathered face split by a grin of pure, unadulterated joy and respect. He grabs your helmet, forehead pressed against yours.

"Crazy bastard," he rasps, his voice thick. "You magnificent, crazy bastard. Told you you’d scare the shit out of them." He pulls back, clapping your shoulders, his eyes shining. "Podium. In this shitbox. Unreal."

In your heightened joy, you can’t help but aim at that low-hanging fruit. “While you—”

“Suck my balls mate.” The response is immediate, like he already anticipated it. But it’s all in light jest. He helps you out of the cockpit and back down to earth. “Well done.”

Drivers flood towards you, abandoning the usual parc ferme protocols. Oscar, the newly-minted champion, detours straight to you, grabbing your hand with both of his, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Mate—that lap—that last lap—incredible! Absolutely incredible! Welcome back!"

Lando slings an arm around your neck, still buzzing from his own race. "You maniac! Passing Max like that on the last corner? Spa wasn’t a fluke! You’re properly back!"

Lewis offers a firm handshake, his gaze deep, knowing. "Respect," he merely says, the single word carrying the weight of a legend recognizing a budding growth of greatness. 

Charles pats you on the back, a genuine smile replacing his usual intensity. "Chapeau. Truly."

George grins, shaking his head, clapping. "Unreal drive, mate. Just unreal."

Fernando also pats a hand on your shoulder, shaking his head in amusement. “You really are one crazy son-of-a-bitch, amigo. Helluva drive.”

In the midst of the commotion, Max approaches, cutting through the growing circle of competitors. The usual harshness is there, but softened by a hint of rueful respect. 

He extends a hand. You accept it. His grip is firm, but gracious.

"Almost Spa again, huh?" he says, shades of a smile touching his lips. "Good move. Hard, but fair. Welcome back." 

It’s the ultimate acknowledgement from the fiercest competitor. 

You curtly nod, sharing newfound respect for each other’s game.

But amidst the sea of green overalls and starry-eyed rivals, you see her—Gaeul. Pushing through the throng, the other IVE members trail right behind her: Rei bouncing with unrestrained glee, Liz and Leeseo beaming, Yujin radiating proud warmth, Wonyoung offering a rare, dazzling smile of pure admiration. Gaeul’s eyes are red-rimmed, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, cutting tracks through the desert dust on her skin. She doesn’t give a fuck about protocol or cameras.

She crashes into you, her arms wrapping around your neck with desperate strength, burying her face against your sweat-soaked race suit. The other drivers respectfully distance themselves to make room for shared intimacy. You hold her tight, ignoring the protests from your battered body, breathing in the scent of her hair. A lifeline after what felt like a neverending storm. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs of relief.

"You did it," she gasps against your neck, her voice muffled, trembling. "You’re here. You’re whole. You’re safe." She pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, her hands cradling your grimy face. "You kept your promise."

"I did," you rasp, your own voice thick with emotion. You lean down, capturing her lips in a brief, fierce kiss, tasting salt and relief and triumph. It’s soft, warm, profoundly intimate amidst the surrounding chaos. "I came back to you. Whole."

"Oi! Podium finisher!" Lando’s voice cuts through the intimate moment, grinning. "Cooldown room awaits! Chop chop, hero!" 

Oscar nods along in agreement, widely smiling. The other drivers join in hearty laughter. Officials gently but insistently begin to whisk you away.

Gaeul clings a second longer. "Go," she whispers, wiping her tears, a radiant smile breaking through. "Enjoy it. You earned it. I’ll be here."

You squeeze her hand, negotiating a silent promise, before being swept away by the tide of officials and fellow drivers towards the cooldown room.

—————

The cooldown room is a bubble of surreal exhaustion and exhilaration. Oscar is buzzing, the weight of the championship settling on his young shoulders. Lando is gracious, his disappointment of P2 tempered by overall team success and the sheer spectacle he witnessed. You slump beside the newly-minted champ, the adrenaline crash hitting viciously hard, every ache and pain announcing itself with renewed vigour.

"Seriously, mate," says Oscar, handing you a cold drink. You’re rewatching highlights of the race on the giant screen, soaking in every piece of nail-biting action. The closing lap shootout between you and Verstappen plays beat for beat like an extended movie scene only Hollywood can write. "That move on Max—I was watching the screens. Unreal. How did you even see that gap?"

"Didn’t see it," you admit, taking a grateful sip. "Felt it. Knew he’d push too hard defending. Knew the tires would bite him."

Lando shakes his head. "Madness. Brilliant madness. Spa wasn’t a one-off. You’re a force of nature." 

The respect in their eyes is genuine, humbling.

The podium ceremony is deafening. The cheers for Piastri, the new champion, are immense. The applause for Norris is warm. But when you step onto the third step, the roar that erupts shakes the foundations. It’s a wave of pure adulation, respect, and shared disbelief. Fans waving Sauber green, chanting your name. It’s for the miracle, for the defiance, for the story.

The Australian anthem plays. The trophies are presented. Oscar lifts his winner’s trophy aloft, aglow with a beaming smile on his face. Then, as the champagne bottles are handed out, Lando catches your eye. He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. He points his bottle not at Oscar, but squarely at you. Oscar, understanding instantly, follows suit.

A deluge of icy champagne hits you full force. You gasp, laughing, raising your own bottle in retaliation, showering them back. The podium dissolves into a chaotic, joyful melee of sparkling wine and shared triumph. The champion gets drenched, but the celebration is undeniably for the phoenix who rose from the ashes. Wheatley watches from below, openly weeping now, surrounded by his ecstatic, disbelieving team.

—————

Descending the podium, soaked in champagne and euphoria, the media swarm is relentless. Microphones are thrust in your face. Questions about the pass, the recovery, the future—they fly thick and fast. You offer tired smiles, heartfelt thanks to the team, praise for Piastri and Norris, immense respect for Verstappen. The story speaks for itself.

Finally, you break free, scanning the crowded parc ferme area. And there she is. Gaeul. Waiting patiently near the Sauber garage, the other IVE members forming a protective, beaming half-circle around her. As you approach, they part like a curtain.

She meets you halfway. No words are needed. You wrap your arms around her, lifting her slightly off her feet, burying your face in her hair, breathing her in—the scent of her perfume cutting through the champagne and petrol fumes. 

It’s home. It’s peace. It’s the real victory.

"I'm so proud of you," she murmurs, her voice muffled against your shoulder. "So incredibly proud."

You set her down, holding her at arm's length, looking into her eyes, still shimmering with residual tears and pure happiness. The noise of the paddock fades. "I kept my promise," you say softly, an assurance fulfilled. "I'm here. Whole."

Rei bounces over, thrusting your third-place trophy into your hands (retrieved by a helpful mechanic). "You won! Well, third! But it’s like winning!" 

Jiwon and Hyunseo chime in with shared congratulations. Yujin offers a warm hug. "Amazing drive. Truly." 

Wonyoung gives a graceful nod and a slow clap. "You showed everyone. Great job."

Gaeul smiles, tracing the edge of the trophy with a fingertip. "So what now?" she asks, her voice gentle. "The world is yours. Mercedes and Red Bull—they’re already calling Jonathan. The offers—" She looks up, searching your eyes. 

The unspoken question hangs: Will you leave again. For the top teams. For the ultimate glory.

You look at the trophy: a heavy symbol of an improbable journey. Then you glance back at Gaeul, at the love and quiet hope in her eyes. You recall the hospital bed, the pain, the fear, the promise whispered in the sterile air. You think of the roar of the engines, the taste of champagne, the adulation. Then you remember this. Her warmth. Her presence. The life waiting beyond the grid and the checkered flags.

You take her hand, lacing your fingers through hers. The trophy feels secondary now. A chapter closed in magnificent fashion. The next chapter beckons.

"I already have everything I want right here," you say, your voice clear, certain. You raise her hand, kissing her knuckles, your gaze locked on hers. "The offers can wait. The season’s over. Tonight—tomorrow, and beyond—I’m with you. I’m here. Always will be.”

—————

(dedicated to raf <3)

(A/N: I hate lying to myself. LOL. As you can tell by now this is practically an F1 story first and foremost. My first brush with the sport was all the way back in 2008 (is that Glock was the first real sports moment I can vividly recall besides Kobe's 81). Up until circa 2010-2011, when Vettel was beginning his dominant run in RB. Got back into it literally last month cause all the friends on Discord were tuned in and the Lakers fucking suck (also LOL). Was kinda easy to adjust back and catch up on the last few years, to be honest! Also there's the movie with Brad Pitt coming out in over a week when this goes live, and I really wanna see that in theaters. Some inspiration from the trailers/marketing definitely bleeds into the story. This is the most action-heavy fic I've ever written and that's mainly due to the third act which is basically an entire race weekend. Tried to blend realism with Hollywood-level bullshit—don't care, I think heightened reality is fun, especially in settings like sports. I hope it didn't stray too far and I tried my best to keep everything mostly accurate to current day, but it is what it is, I'm still catching up on what I've missed. And then for the idol: there was only one choice. Gaeul's got that sweet, mature, tender vibe around her that made the perfect love interest, besides the friend this was written around. Thank you for reading!)

[nsfwrpg]

she’s so hot 😵‍💫

[nsfwrpg]

Translate - Part 2

Part Two of Three. Part One. 12k words.

---

You steal glances at her from across the venue. 

Sometimes a passing waiter or attendee blocks your line of sight; sometimes another copied-and-pasted investor steps in between you, hand extended, wishing to introduce him or herself; sometimes the woman next to you steals your attention, usually with a laugh that sounds like music in the cool Seoul evening.

The woman next to you is Taeyeon Kim - Vice President, Strategy, 2024-present and also ex-girlfriend, 2018-2021 - but tonight she’s a celebrity, investors and staff members and junior analysts alike all clambering over themselves for a moment of her time, for the opportunity to introduce themselves to the brightest star in the industry. She looks like one too, in her smoky eyeshadow and little black dress with its daringly low cut and short hem, wrapped almost too tightly around a slim body that is thirty-six but looks a decade younger.

Taeyeon laughs, smiles, and places her hand affectionately on the shoulders and forearms of colleague and investor and intern alike when they make a joke or interesting anecdote. She’s magnetic, almost, the way she draws the entire gala to her. She knows how to play a crowd, and is all smiles, a definite contrast from the cold, calculating businesswoman she was during the day. She knows what mask to wear and when - experience hard won by long years in the corporate world.

But on this night, her charms are only half-effective on you. You stand next to her and laugh and smile along with the crowd but most of your attention, when it is freed from nosy colleagues and investors, is focused not on the charming Vice President but on the lonely Marketing Lead across the venue. 

Ryujin Shin takes short sips from one of the two champagne flutes present on her stand-up table. She talks softly to Yuna, who is standing next to her. There is a blank expression on her face, unreadable. Every now and then she forces a smile. Yuna reaches out and squeezes her wrist, as though to comfort her. Not once does Ryujin lift her eyes to even glance in your direction.

She is not more than a hundred metres away but she may as well have been on the other side of the city. With Korean being amongst the half-dozen languages Taeyeon was fluent in, there was no need for a translator as she holds court with the Korean and international investors surrounding her.

“...rumor has it that she runs a small sushi joint in Vancouver, and just had a kid. She had him and her father at gunpoint, and the Senior VP convinced the cops to let her go! Crazy story, isn’t it?”

A hand, hers, grasps your arm. You turn to find Taeyeon looking at you, eyes expectant.

“Crazy,” you stammer, catching on quickly. “I still don’t believe any of it actually happened.”

Taeyeon smiles a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, which are still locked on yours. “Anyway,” she continues, turning to the crowd gathered around your table listening intently to her every word. “He’s married to another Senior Vice President now - his former colleague. And she’s pregnant. Not sure what he’s up to. Maybe he’s off on some new daring corporate adventure involving car chases and the Tokyo PD?”

The crowd oohs and aahs at Taeyeon’s story - some with a slight delay as the Vice President translates it into flawless Korean, the foreign language giving her voice a pleasant, melodic tone. She continues to work the crowd. For a moment you listen, and for a moment you see why they were so enraptured by her. For a moment you remember why you-

-your phone vibrates. You reach into your pocket to retrieve it, finding a message from Ryujin. She tells you that she’s going to call it a night and head back to the hotel first. She reminds you of your early flight to Tokyo the next morning.

She says she’ll meet you in the lobby of the hotel at 7am.

You turn your gaze to her table to find her, but she’s gone. Her empty champagne flute sits on the table next to the one she never got the chance to give you.

---

Taeyeon made for an exercise in material contrasts - her tight, tiny black Prada dress beneath the cheap suit jacket you’d draped across her shoulders to ward against an evening chill you weren’t sure was actually there; the glint of the Cartier watch on her wrist as she poured cheap, convenience store soju into two paper cups; the 1,000 won lighter she held in her thin, slim fingers to light the artisanal cigarette she plucked from a slim titanium case in her purse.

She takes a long drag. When the smoke leaves her nose it almost clings to her. She wears it as much as she wears her dress, or the suit jacket of yours she was currently swimming in. Like the smoke she’s ephemeral, ethereal, beautiful - but her presence stung when you breathed her in. 

You’d left Vancouver on good terms with her - warm, friendly, joking - but something about her surprise appearance tonight, and what it might have meant, rubbed you the wrong way.

“You two together now?” she asks, voice flat and direct, now that the melodic charm of the social gathering was no longer needed in her words.

On the bench next to her, you look away with a scoff. You knew who she was referring to, even if she never said her name. You bend forward, elbows on your knees, hands clasped together. You play with your thumbs and rub your nails, as though you could wring an answer from between your fingers.

“What’s her name again? Soojin? Yujin?” she continues.

You shake your head. A smile with no warmth in it bends the corners of your lips. The gall of this woman.

“Ryujin,” you state, firmly.

“Hmm,” she murmurs, giving Ryujin’s name as much attention as the ash she flicks off the end of her cigarette, as though it were beneath her somehow. She takes another drag, leaves another layer of smoke floating between you filled with all the words you’ve never said to each other. “Are you two… real?”

You don’t look up at her. The faux-smile leaves your lips.

“I’m not sure,” you answer, slowly. “But I want to find out,” you add, hoping that it would send her a message.

A few moments of silence. Taeyeon takes one of the paper cups and downs her shot. You do the same, before re-filling both of them. Neither of you look at each other. The alcohol does nothing to ease the tension between you.

“You’re never sure about anything,” Taeyeon says, softly. 

Her words trigger you - more than she did when she showed up unannounced at the event, more than when she forgot Ryujin’s name, more than she did when she slid her hand into yours as you both left the event in full view of your colleagues. 

You stand up, suddenly angry, suddenly upset. The words rush to your mouth and leave your lips before you even know you’re saying them. “I was sure about you.”

---

Friday, May 14th, 2021. 8:19pm.

She’s twenty-six again. Still beautiful - but in a bright, fresh-faced way. The kind of beauty that is found only in youth, in the features of a young woman yet to be truly hardened by the realities of life.

An image of her flashes on the screen of your phone as it lies on the table. She’s wearing a cheap Uniqlo sundress and the oversized circular eyeglasses she needed because she was blind as a bat before the Lasik surgery she’d get years later after a promotion. A cheap silver ring you’d bought her hours before from an artisanal market - a pre-engagement ring, she’d called it - glimmers on her left ring finger as she waves awkwardly at you, the photographer.

She’s in London, in front of Big Ben, where you’d both been sent on your first overseas business trip together. She wasn’t ready for the picture and has an odd, crooked smile on her face. You remembered her protests when you set it as her contact picture, insisting you replace it with a better one, perhaps one of the two of you together - but you kept it nonetheless, partially because you wanted to tease her about it, and partially because the picture reminded you of your first few weeks together. 

You were in love with her - there was no mistaking it. It was there in the way your heart leapt when she walked in the door of your apartment, there in the way you brushed hair from her face as she snored fitfully next to you, there in the way you made her coffee as she rushed out the door in the morning and a quick dinner when she got home late at night.

It’s still there now, as you pick up the phone and raise it to your ear.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Baby,” she says, stress already apparent in the way she said it. “Another long night for me today. I’m so sorry.”

You sigh, a sharp exhalation from your nose. You feel a sharp pain in your chest - not physical, no, another kind of pain, the kind that leaves you feeling empty.

“When will you-”

“I don’t know,” she answers, before you can even finish. In the background of the call, members of her team mumble. Someone is clacking away entirely too loudly at a keyboard. A voice is speaking sternly in Japanese. “I’ll get home as soon as I can,” she continues amidst the din of the busy office behind her, “but… you shouldn’t wait up.”

Your eyes drift closed. The pang of pain in your chest was becoming all too familiar. It started with her taking phone calls and drafting emails during meals, before escalating to missing dinners and forgetting important dates. Work had always been important to Taeyeon, but these days it had consumed her - and your relationship. Nights like these were becoming common. 

You loved her, still loved her, even when those lonely nights became lonely months. Your head tilts back. A headache begins to form in the front of your skull, and love could only dull so much of it.

She must’ve heard the sigh that leaves your lips.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “So, so sorry. But Hirai’s on my ass and you know how she is if I don’t meet these deadlines. If I want to make director I need to-”

“I know, Taeyeon,” you say, the words leaving your lips in another sigh. “I know.”

A few moments of silence pass. The background murmur continues on her side of the call, filling the line with ambient noise, but the silence between you is deafening.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, but the sound of paper shuffling and a keyboard being typed upon tells you her apology is half-hearted. A warm rush of anger pulses in your chest.

“So am I.”

You hang up. You stand and leave your table, apologizing to the waitress as you leave and making up some excuse about how your date had become ill and couldn’t make it.

Taeyeon finally arrives at your apartment at 2:21am. When you both wake the next day an argument begins. When she storms out of your apartment at 1:15pm, she leaves her ring behind on the kitchen counter.

---

In the present, your words create the slightest quiver in Taeyeon’s lip, but she hides it by bringing her cigarette, by now almost a stub, to her mouth. She takes a last drag before crushing it beneath a Prada heel.

“Send her ahead,” she begins, reaching for the paper cup of soju and cradling it with both hands as though it were something precious and not cheap convenience store liquor. “Send her ahead to Tokyo and tell her you’ll follow her later in the week. I’m here for three days. You can stay with me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The sheer audacity was hilarious, in a way.

“Why, Taeyeon?” you snap, finally looking at her for the first time, “so you and I can spend a couple of days drinking and fucking in your suite?” 

Her eyes meet yours for the first time, and there is ice in them.

“Is that so different from what you’ve been doing with your translator?”

Your hands ball into fists. You want to snap, shout and yell at her.

“Her name is Ryujin,” you snarl. 

“I wasn’t sure then,” she replies, not sparing Ryujin’s name even a scrap of her attention as she returns her attention to the soju in her cup. She smoothly downs the shot, before pouring herself another, ice in her veins. “But I’m sure now.”

“About what?”

“About us.”

The anger pulsing through your chest explodes into something dark, something ugly.

“No,” you spit, taking a step toward her. “Fucking no, Taeyeon. You’re fucking hilarious, you know that? You walked out on us. You ended us, and managed to sucker me into staying friends. I leave Vancouver making jokes like we’re two best buds, then you show up out of the blue wanting to get back together after seeing me with another girl? Please, Taeyeon.”

Taeyeon’s lips purse into a grim line. She looks away. Her silence spurs you, gives you license to vent your anger.

“You don’t get to just have me again now that you’re done climbing the corporate ladder and can spare some free time in your Outlook calendar for a boyfriend,” you state, words leaving your mouth with the intention of hurting. “And you sure as hell don’t get to have me again just because you’re fucking jealous.”

You don’t take any pleasure in the way her eyes close, the way she flinches and turns her head as though you’d slapped her across the cheek.

“You’re right,” she admits, softly, the tiniest hint of a tremble in her voice. Her head is lowered, as though she were speaking to the concrete beneath her thousand dollar heels. “You’re right. I fucked things up when we were together. We broke up because of me.”

She takes her last shot of soju before standing, crumpling her cup in her hand and dropping it next to the full shot you never took. She slips your suit jacket from her shoulders, carefully folding it lengthwise. In the chilly Seoul evening, clothed with little more than a scrap of silk and wisps of smoke, she suddenly looks very small.

The look on her face as she steps close to you is carved from ice - but her eyes glisten, and her lip trembles.

“But maybe,” she begins, “-maybe it took me seeing you with her before I realized how badly I fucked up by letting you go. Maybe I needed to see it to make me realize how badly I need you. How badly I’ve always needed you.”

Words fail you, and you can do nothing but accept your suit jacket. Anger, pain, some small lingering remnant of your feelings for her - it all warred within you, and none of them dominated long enough to manifest into words.

She presses your suit jacket against your chest, and for a moment she’s the twenty-six year old version of her again, standing in front of Big Ben with her phone in your hand, asking you to take a photo of her.

“Go to her,” she continues. Her eyes bore into yours, searching, even if you could tell that there were tears behind them being held there by the force of her will. “Fuck her. Love her, if you do. But if… when she fucks up-”

“Taeyeon,” you say, resistant but helpless.

“-I’m here,” she finishes.

You watch, helplessly, as she turns and begins to walk to the curb, where the sleek black sedan that picked you both up from the event has been waiting the entire time. Its driver notices her approaching and exits the car to open the back door for her. She steps inside without looking back. 

The car pulls away from the curb, leaving you alone.

---

Ryujin is in the hotel lobby when you see her next, leaning on the extended handle of her luggage with one hand and scrolling her phone with the other. She is dressed casually, in a sleeveless white button-up that hugs her slim figure and rimless, oversized glasses.

“Ryujin,” you say, approaching her, cautiously. You’d thought of texting or calling her last night when you got back to the hotel, but by then it was in the early hours of the morning and you didn’t want to disturb her. You’d spent the next few hours tossing and turning, processing what had happened between you and Taeyeon and doing what you could to prepare yourself for this moment.

Would she be upset? Would she be furious at you for having ditched her for your boss, who just happened to be your ex-girlfriend? Would she not care at all? Would she-

“Did you fuck her?” she asks, not bothering to look up from her phone.

Her question catches you off guard. You hadn’t expected her to be so straightforward, although in retrospect she was nothing if not that.

“No,” you reply. Ryujin locks her phone and tosses it into her pocket.

“She still loves you,” she says. She turns to look up at you for the first time and while she clearly tried her best to hide it with makeup and glasses you’d never seen her wear before, the dark rings beneath her eyes betray the similarly sleepless night she’d had.

There is an awkward pause that stretches out for far longer than either of you were comfortable with. But you weren’t sure how to answer. You knew that Taeyeon still loved you - she’d more or less confessed as much last night - but what were you supposed to say?

“The way she looks at you…” Ryujin continues, her eyes straying to the handle of her luggage as she fidgets with the button that retracts the handle. “Do you still have feelings for her?”

The answer comes quickly. Quicker, you realize, that you thought it would.

“No.”

There is a short pause. Ryujin’s eyes find yours again. Her look disarms you. You can feel her look past your own eyes and into your soul.

“Do you still want to be with me?” she asks, firmly.

“Yes, Ryujin,” you answer. The words came quickly, but you meant them - and last night with Taeyeon convinced you of it. “More than ever.”

Another few moments pass. Behind her glasses Ryujin’s eyes search yours for any hint of deceit. There is the slightest quiver in her lip, as though she wants to say more.

In the end, she gives you a small nod. She considers the feelings and thoughts running through her head - suspicion, confrontation, anger - but chooses none. She chooses to trust.

“Okay,” she says, finally, before taking your hand in hers and heading to the airport.

---

“Do I… taste like her?”

She squirms and writhes under you. You hold her down with a palm on her core. You feel the toned muscles beneath your hand flex and tense as she struggles atop the bed.

“Better,” you hiss into her inner thigh. She’s slick and wet on your tongue, lips, and chin. You close your lips around her clit again. Inside her, your fingers arc upward, and her back arches off the bed as if to mirror your movements.

“Fuck, Daddy-”

“Mmmmph,” you mumble against her clit. The vibrations send another pulse of pleasure up her spine. She’s right there, right on the verge, right on the edge. 

Only five minutes have passed since you both entered your Tokyo hotel suite. She wouldn’t make it past minute seven before her first orgasm.

She goes almost rigid on the bed, back arched in such a way that causes her small, round breasts to jut forward and out. One of her hands claws at the sheets and the other digs sharp furrows into your scalp, but you keep going - mercilessly - and soon she’s cumming on your tongue.

Her voice cuts out mid-moan. Her nails are spikes digging painfully into your skull. Her cunt spasms around your fingers. She drenches your tongue, mouth, and chin in her juices.

Eventually her back lowers tenderly back onto the mattress, and her nails retreat from the painful, reddened scratches they leave on your scalp. You give her trembling clit a few more tender licks, before pressing your lips against it in a soft kiss. Your fingers slide out of her cunt, saturated and glistening with her.

You raise your face from between her legs and find her watching you, cheeks flushed, hair messy around her face. She trembles and quivers, as though her orgasm had taken everything solid out of her and turned her into jelly. She reaches down with both hands on either side of your face and you rise from between her legs. She pulls you to her face.

You kiss - her tongue quickly slipping between your wet, slick lips and chin to taste herself on you. Her lips leave yours and you feel her lick her own juices off your face.

“Come fuck me, then,” she hisses, eyes boring into yours - needy, vulnerable, raw. “Forget her.”

Without breaking eye contact you reach down with one hand to pull your pants the rest of the way down your hips - she hadn’t gotten far in undressing you before you’d pushed her onto the bed and started devouring her. Your cock springs free, hard and hungry.

You slide inside her in one swift thrust that punches the air from both of your lungs. 

You’d fucked her dozens of times by now in the two weeks you’d been together. But this one felt different, meant more. The other times had been about claiming and ownership - this one was about affirmation.

She is slick and wet and tight. Her legs wrap themselves around your hips, heels - with her socks still on - digging into your lower back.

Without knowing it you’d closed your eyes, the feeling of sinking into her tight little cunt shutting them involuntarily - but her hand on your cheek causes you to open them. 

Her eyes are wide, flushed with pleasure but glassy with emotion. They stare up at you and there is nothing there but naked need - no games, no hidden meanings. She needs you, both for pleasure, lust, and validation.

“Look at me,” she begins, although you already were. Perhaps she wanted you to see more than what your eyes were showing you.

“Ryujin…”

“I… I-” she continues, voice a light hiss. Her cunt pulsates around you as she squeezes you tight. “Me. All of me. This pussy. This is what you want.”

You slide out of her half way, before her heels on your lower back pull you back inside her. You both let a gasp escape your lips before you slide back out and soon you’re fucking her slowly, the both of you feeling and savoring every entry and exit.

Ryujin grasps your right wrist, pulls it down between your bodies. She places your palm flat against her lower stomach, right above the neatly trimmed patch of hair above her cunt.

“See how I… See how I take you? How I need you?”

You gasp. She holds your gaze throughout it all, through every sigh and moan and gasp, even as the pleasure overtaking her brain causes her eyelids to quiver but never truly shut.

“Feel how tight I am for you,” she continues as the pleasure builds. Her brow furrows, as though she is worried about something. Her eyes are needy now, wanton, as your cock continues to drill in and out of her.

“So fucking tight, Ryujin,” you say through gritted teeth. “Always so fucking tight for me.”

For the first time her eyes shut as her neck arches, casting her head back for a moment, mouth open in a silent moan, as a particularly deep thrust steals the sound from her lips. Her back arches off the sweat-soaked mattress. Her hips move against yours, meeting your every movement. Her body does everything it can to increase the warm, hot pleasure building between you. 

Her eyes find yours again. 

“Feel how wet I am, Daddy?” she continues, the words leaving her lips half-moan. “So wet around your cock. You’re stretching me out. I’m your good little girl, your good little fucktoy. So wet, wetter than-”

“Ryujin-”

“Just fuck me, Daddy,” she spits, interrupting. Her eyes open fully, staring, re-energized by lust and an emotion that was closer to jealousy and anger than she’d ever admit. “Just fuck me. You’re my Daddy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ryujin. Fuck, you feel so good-”

“Mine,” she hisses. “Mine, only mine.”

Her eyes are too much to take. It was all too much - her body, her cunt, the words leaving her mouth - all too much. You break eye contact, eyes shutting out of some involuntary defensive response. You bring your head next to hers and hiss in to her ear-

“I’m yours, Ryujin. Only yours.”

“I’m yours too,” she repeats, and she says your name - no title, no pet name, your first name - and it leaves her lips in a soft, wistful moan, directly into your ear. You think, for a moment, that she’s crying.

You sigh into her neck. She is close again, and so are you. Her cunt tightens. Your cock stiffens even further, and you feel that telltale tingle at the base of your shaft that tells you this beautiful, terrifyingly intimate moment is nearing its end. Too quickly. Too soon. You want it to last-

“Deeper, Daddy, please,” she sighs. “You’re mine, right? Cum inside me, breed me, make me yours-”

You tear your face from her neck, propping yourself up on your knees for a moment. She whimpers at the loss of your closeness, but only until you hook your forearms beneath her knees and lean forward planting your hands flat on either side of her head. Her knees brush against her breasts. You fold her in half. 

You fuck her deep, as deep as you can.

There are no words now, because you’d both already spoken them, and because the pleasure nearing its boiling point within both of your bodies has robbed you both of the mental capacity needed to form them. You fuck Ryujin Shin deep and hard because she is the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters.

She is yours. You are hers.

Every thrust brings you closer and closer to that edge, the same one you want to reach but don’t really because it would mean the end and suddenly you tumbling, falling uncontrollably over it and the fall from that edge is all, everything.

You bury yourself as deep as you can inside her and fill her cunt with long, thick streams of warm semen. The feel of your cum pooling inside her triggers her own orgasm, and you become two moaning, sighing bodies, bound and glued together by the wet slickness between you.

When your eyes open some time later your forehead is pressed to hers. Her eyes flutter open. There is a vulnerability there that you hadn’t ever seen in them before. Her hand finds your cheek, holds you close, as though afraid you would leave.

Her lips tremble, but eventually turns into a soft, warm smile. 

“I’m yours. And you’re mine,” she says, claiming, as though she’d pulled the sentiment directly from your heart and turned it into words.

---

“...Honda Hitomi, Marketing Lead. Yabuki Nako, Legal Counsel. And Uchinaga Aeri, HR Lead. They’re all looking forward to working with you.” Each of the Tokyo office’s leads turn sharply in your direction as their name is called, offering you a polite bow and what you assume to be a basic corporate-approved greeting. A slim smile perks up the corner of your lips as you realize Ryujin didn’t bother to translate the greetings until the very last one.

There is an awkward pause as all eyes turn to the two empty seats at the head of the table. Several of the Tokyo team members fidget awkwardly.

Just when you are about to ask Ryujin to inquire as to where the two missing members are, the large double doors behind you burst open.

Framed by the stark light of the hallway are two figures - one a tall, slim woman with straight hair, a perfectly tailored pantsuit, and ramrod-straight posture. The other, judging by her unkempt neon pink hair and ill-fitting blazer and pencil skirt, had just rolled out of bed.

The tall woman bows sharply, her waist bending easily at an exact ninety degrees. The pink-haired girl, seeing her colleague bowing, lets out a scoff out of her nose before also offering a bow that was neither as deep nor as precise. The loses her balance for a moment as she bows a little too deeply and has to right herself.

Head still bowed, the taller woman speaks quickly and sternly in Japanese. Ryujin, translating at your shoulder, explains that the pink-haired woman had slept in and had to be dragged out of bed. She offers her sincere apologies on behalf of herself and her colleague.

Without further word, the two women make their way to the two empty seats. The tall woman moves with the poise of a ballerina and the precision of a soldier, clutching her tablet like her issued rifle; the shorter, pink-haired woman moves with the sluggishness of a newly-turned zombie. Like the rest of the Tokyo team before them, they introduce themselves.

“She’s Nakamura Kazuha, Associate Director and Operations Lead,” Ryujin says softly at your shoulder. “The pink-haired one is Miyawaki Sakura, Director of the Tokyo office.”

Sakura’s name rings a bell - one you’d heard from the stories. You turn to Ryujin. “Is she-?”

“Yeah. It’s her. She was former Tokyo PD, If you can believe it. One of the SVPs brought her into the company two years ago.”

Kazuha offers the same corporate greeting as the others, delivered with another crisp bow; Sakura gives you a wink and shoots you a finger gun before quite literally falling into her leather chair. You watch as she reaches into her blazer’s chest pocket to retrieve what was clearly and obviously a Nintendo Switch, which she places none-too-discreetly beneath the folder of briefing papers on the conference table.

Kazuha marches, swiftly and precisely, to the podium at the front of the room. The light in the conference room dims as the projector throws the title slide of her presentation against the wall. 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you watch as Sakura stands her briefing folder up in front of her like a makeshift wall. You could’ve sworn you hear a certain handheld console’s startup chime not soon after.

On the screen, a different chime heralds Taeyeon’s arrival into the meeting. From her hotel room in Seoul, she waves a good morning greeting to everyone in Tokyo. The smile on her lips is proper, precise, and calculated. 

Taeyeon is wearing the oversized circular glasses she wore a decade ago - a message sent only to you.

---

The meeting is mostly introductory, surface-level fluff on the Tokyo office’s last financial year. Kazuha leads most of it from her podium at the front of the room, every gesture and sentence measured and precise. Her tone is matter-of-fact, without any attention spared to personal anecdotes or jokes to shake things up or lighten the mood. Even without Ryujin’s whispered translations in your ear, you could tell that the young woman was all business, all the time, and essentially ran the entire Tokyo office on her own, despite technically being one spot from the top in the office hierarchy.

She made for a stark contrast to the actual Director of the Tokyo office, who spent almost the entire meeting engrossed in whatever game she was playing on her Switch. 

Kazuha pays her boss’ disinterest in statistics no heed as she continues her presentation. Taeyeon, from a thousand kilometers away, interrupts her with a question in perfect Japanese. Kazuha is shaken for only a moment before informing Taeyeon that yes, the Q4 results did in fact take into account the company’s recent supply chain changes in Seoul.

Taeyeon listens intently to the younger woman’s answer, a measured look on her face - a predator sizing up prey. The Vice President asks a series of pressing questions, and for the first time the young Associate Director appears frazzled, shuffling her papers at the podium awkwardly as she frantically searches for answers amidst them.

“A 13.4% dip in profit from the Tokyo office is a disappointing result,” Taeyeon continues, arms crossing in the way it did when she smelled blood in the water. “One that may call into question the competency of your office’s logistics and leadership team.”

Ryujin translates the interrogation from Japanese into English with an even, calm tone - but out of the corner of your eye, you watch as her grip tightens around her pen.

Kazuha scrambles for a response. You glare up at Taeyeon’s image in the corner of the projection - some mixture of disappointment and anger flaring up in your chest. 

This was unnecessary. You saw why Taeyeon was pressing her - the Vice President of Strategy doing things a Vice President of Strategy should do - but this was neither the time nor the place; there was no need to put the younger woman on the spot and embarrass her in front of her subordinates and colleagues the way she was doing. 

A part of you wonders if she was doing it because she knew you and Ryujin were in the room. You are moments from turning to Ryujin and having her translate an interjection when-

“Recent tax-related developments in international trade have introduced some unforeseen obstacles to meeting our Q4 goals,” comes a clear voice, suddenly, in perfect English - Sakura’s. “In addition, we’ve experienced considerable difficulties in our transportation chain between Osaka and Tokyo, which have resulted in lesser than expected stock levels and a corresponding dip in revenue.”

On the Tokyo Director’s face is a look of intensity you hadn’t seen before, one that you had no idea she was even capable of. She makes a show of pausing her game before continuing, as if having to actually participate in the meeting was somehow offensive to her. Neither her hands nor her eyes leave the poorly-hidden handheld. 

“The goals set for this financial year by your Strategy department were exceedingly optimistic, Miss Vice President,” Sakura continues, tone carrying a slight edge beneath the thin veil of corporate jargon. “-And my team did our best to meet them, but fell just short due to forces beyond our control. We have several initiatives in our pipeline which we feel will deliver improved results as we move into the next financial year. I’m sure these results will match and exceed your high standards, Vice President Kim.”

Sakura spares a moment of attention from her Switch to glare up at the screen, and Taeyeon’s box in the corner of it. Taeyeon was older and may have been a rising star amongst the company’s leadership, but Sakura’s exploits a few years ago in Tokyo and Seoul were legendary, and had earned her a near-mythical status amongst its employees.

Despite being a thousand miles apart, the two women have a short, tense standoff - neither blinking, neither backing down.

After a heavy moment of silence that felt much longer than it actually was, Taeyeon offers a token acceptance of Sakura’s explanation in terse Japanese before reluctantly returning her attention to the slides on her laptop screen, teeth clearly gritted behind her perfectly applied lipstick. Kazuha awkwardly and hesitantly continues with her presentation, confidence visibly shaken. 

Sakura returns to her game, all trace of seriousness fleeing from her face as quickly as Mario was no doubt fleeing from the goombas chasing him on her Switch.

When the meeting eventually concludes, Taeyeon signs off with a stern, unimpressed look on her face, staring directly at her camera as though she were passing judgement on everyone in the room. You don’t miss the plain look of disdain Ryujin gives the Vice President’s projection before her image disappears.

The afternoon passes relatively uneventfully, with presentations from the other Tokyo Department Leads that must have been beneath Taeyeon’s interest, if her absence was anything to go by. The spat between her and Sakura had cast a pall over the rest of the afternoon, an elephant in the room that the Marketing and HR Leads’ presentations on Gen Z marketing trends and Japan’s shift in workforce demographics did little to dispel.

At least Sakura was making decent progress in collecting the six Royal Seeds needed to reach the evil Bowser and free the Flower Kingdom, if her poorly-hidden fist pumps and smirks of triumph were anything to go by.

---

She made for quite the sight. She made it hard to concentrate.

Ryujin crosses her legs every few minutes as she lounges on a chair by the floor-to-ceiling window reading a book, feet drawn up on a footstool, those long, bare legs and full thighs on full display. After your room service dinner she’d made a show of choosing the same button-up shirt you’d worn to work that day as her sleepwear for that night, draping it around her naked body and doing up a single button before plopping down on the chair and putting her feet up.

You try to turn your attention to your laptop and the document open on it, but try as you might, the half-naked woman by the window was proving too much of a distraction.

“Are you reading, or putting on a show?” you ask, wryly.

She lets a huff leave her lips, and a small smile perks at the corner of her mouth as she turns her attention from the pages in her hand to look at you. The gold of Tokyo’s sunset paints half her face in warm yellow and orange.

“Maybe a little bit of both,” she answers with a wink, before returning her attention to her book.

Minutes pass. You get through precisely one slide of the two dozen that made up the presentation you were giving tomorrow. You’re tired and drained, and you feel it in your shoulders. It had been a surprisingly long, difficult first day at the Tokyo office, made even harder by the drain of constant travel. 

The little spat between Taeyeon and Sakura would no doubt echo throughout the two weeks you were going to spend here. You sit back on your chair and sigh, the presentation slides suddenly becoming a Herculean task that you had neither the energy nor the willpower to overcome.

Ryujin stands abruptly from her chair by the window, dropping her book on the footstool and staring out at Tokyo’s skyline for a moment before turning to you.

“Bored,” she says, before beginning to walk toward you. “Entertain me, boyfriend.”

The title stirs you, and the fact that she says it while wearing your shirt and nothing else ignites a warm feeling in your chest that bends the corners of your lips up into a smile.

Ryujin steps between you and the laptop and straddles you on your chair. Her stolen shirt parts as her legs spread, revealing the well-kept patch of hair between her legs and the inviting flesh beneath; but she makes no effort to cover herself. Ryujin Shin was nothing if not confident with her body.

She gives you a soft kiss, hands cradling your cheeks before sliding down to softly massage the tense muscles at your neck. Your hands caress her full, round thighs as they bracket your waist. The warmth of her next to you was already doing much to ease the exhaustion of the day.

“You look like a mess. What are you working on that’s made you so tense, anyway?” she asks, turning to glance at the laptop on the table behind her.

On it are your presentation - and the comments Taeyeon had left on them. Front and center: “Don’t forget to make sure you’re consistent with your use of the Oxford comma, dummy! Either use it for all of your sentences, or don’t! Wouldn’t be the first time your grammar’s fucked up a presentation (see 2018 Taiwan acquisition notes) --<3 ;)”

You see the near-instant effect it has on Ryujin - the way her shoulders slouch slightly, the way her lips curl into a barely-perceptible frown. 

“I sent her the presentation I’m giving tomorrow,” you say, eager to address the worry that was no doubt already worming its way into her head. “She wanted to see it first.”

Ryujin turns back to you. The frown remains.

“She’s still my boss, Ryujin,” you add.

Taeyeon was a thousand miles away, and yet she was still somehow still in the room, lingering, ever-present. The ghost of her seemed to haunt every facet of your lives since her appearance in Seoul; one neither of you knew how to dispel.

Ryujin’s eyes find yours, searching, the way she did at the airport the day before. You wonder what she sees in your eyes. You wonder what she feels, what thoughts are running through her head.

“I’m yours,” you say, because you knew it was what she need to hear. “And you’re mine.”

Her lip quivers for a moment, before she nods to herself. 

“I believe you,” she says, seemingly satisfied, at least for now. She plays with your t-shirt, fingers searching for her next words in the cotton strands. The silver chain on her wrist that you never saw her without catches the light of Tokyo’s dusk, turning it into gold.

Her eyes are still on yours, but they lack the playfulness that was present in them just a few moments before. In its place is uncertainty, and she struggles to turn that feeling into words. “But I… but she-”

“She’s a million miles away, Ryujin.”

“Is she?” 

Silence for a moment. A long moment, the latest in a long line of them.

“Tell me why you’re not with her,” she says, eventually. Her voice is small, the way she suddenly is. Your button-up begins to drown her in white linen as she slouches further and she sinks even further into it. “You have so much history together. She knows everything about you. She’s successful. Smart. Charismatic. Almost forty and gorgeous. She’s a fucking vampire in Prada.”

A moment passes. You breathe in, knowing what you are going to say, but steeling yourself enough to say them.

“She chose a promotion over me,” you answer, the words coming quickly, because they were true, and because it was a truth that had spent the last few years looming over you. “She chose a title over love, and it broke me.”

The word hangs heavy in the air. Ryujin’s entire body tenses.

“Did you… love her?”

Another long moment. Another long silence.

“Yes,” you admit. “I did.”

Ryujin’s lips curl against each other as she sucks her lips into her mouth. She nods to herself again, processing your words and the sharp pain they suddenly create in her chest. She’s suddenly unable to hold your gaze and lets it drop to your shirt, where her fingers have stopped the path they were tracing. The chain on her wrist loses its golden lustre as she moves her wrist away from the sunlight, returning to plain silver as though mirroring the emotional state of its owner.

The look on her face breaks your heart. You want to say something. 

“Past tense,” you manage, offering her a small smile she doesn’t see. Ryujin smiles softly, but her eyes don’t lift. You bring a hand from her hip to her cheek, raising her head. When her eyes find yours again they are glassy with tears she refuses to shed. You suddenly feel an overwhelming need to comfort her, reassure her, make sure she knows she’s yours and you’re hers-

“You’re my present, Ryujin.”

A smile appears on her lips - warm and raw and real. A moment passes. Her lip quivers again. Emotion dances behind her teary eyes. Eventually, she lets a scoff escape her nose.

“That was corny as shit, old man,” she says, wiping at her eyes quickly with the sleeve of your stolen shirt. Her eyes find yours again. The tears are gone, absorbed by your stolen shirt before they had the chance to be shed. The smile stays. 

Your hand is warm on her cheek. She turns her cheek and nuzzles softly into your palm, places a soft kiss on the underside of your thumb.

“Tell me why you’re with me, then,” she says, almost a whisper.

Her skin is warm against your palm. Your thumb caresses the soft, flushed skin of her cheek.

“You slipped a power bank into my bag because I keep forgetting to charge my phone,” you begin, wrestling a small, reluctant chuckle from the young woman on your lap. “You order real soju and not that shitty sugar water they sell back home, but take your fucking venti iced caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream and extra caramel drizzle like a psychopath. I watched you give that kid his rubber ball back after it bounced in front of us at the mall and the smile on your face broke me. I like the way you brush your hair behind your ear when it comes loose. I like the way you haggled with this ajummas in the market last week to save a couple thousand won like you were a local. You think the Canucks should have won the Cup in ‘11 if Hamhuis was healthy and Rome didn’t get suspended. You always ask me if I want the last french fry, even though you love them and know I’ll let you have it anyway. I like the way your pinky hooks into mine when we walk down the street. You hate olives. You chose Verso’s ending in Clair Obscur. You don’t care that don’t fold my clothes before I toss them in my luggage-”

“-they get so wrinkly, though! Look at this!” she interjects, slapping your chest playfully and pulling the wrinkled sleeve of your shirt in front of your face, “and you almost burned this fucking hotel down when you tried to iron it this morning. And you only ironed the collar and the front of it! I didn’t even know fabric could get this wrinkly.”

“No one sees the sleeves under my jacket, as long as I keep it on. Good thing the Tokyo office has great AC.”

She chuckles again, but does her best to suppress it. She lets out a little unintentional snort as she does so, and you both laugh at it. You think it’s the most beautiful thing she’d ever done.

Your free hand reaches for her other cheek, until you are cradling her face in your hands.

“You’re my present, Ryujin. And my future, if you’ll have me.”

A long moment passes, but unlike the others, the silence is not unwelcome. Ryujin smiles again, raw and real and true, and so you do too.

“That was the cheesiest shit ever, ohmygodstop--” she sighs, rolling her eyes and making an exaggerated show of peeling your hands off her cheeks in disgust - even as her smile pulls at her full, flushed cheeks.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you admit, playing along. “Ugh, I fucking knew I should’ve stayed with the whole ‘you’re my present’ thing, but I fucking had to push my luck with the ‘...and my future,’ fuck, what was I thinking, so cringe-”

Ryujin laughs, unguarded and real, until suddenly she’s kissing you. Soft, passionate. Intimate in a way that the words just shared between you were. 

“You didn’t say anything about how great the fucking is,” she says, teasingly, between kisses.

“Yeah, no, it’s pretty great,” you manage. Your hand finds the single button keeping her shirt closed, and undoes it. Your hands slide under the shirt and around her sides. She’s warm and soft beneath your palms. Her naked hips pull closer to yours, the heat between her thighs sliding over the stiffness quickly appearing beneath your pajamas.

Ryujin breaks the kiss but maintains eye contact as her hands slide between your bodies and into your sweatpants. Your eyes shut as her fingers wrap around your length. She drinks in the sight of you, sees what she’s doing to you, and it sends a little thrill up her spine.

“Your future’s looking real good right now, huh?” she asks, the sweet smile on her lips turning wicked. In response, you reach up and pull the halves of her shirt apart and over her shoulders. The shirt falls around her elbows, draping her in the gold of Tokyo dusk. Your right hand drifts to her breast, giving it a firm squeeze and feeling her nipple stiffen under your palm - her turn for her eyes to shut, your turn to drink in the sight of her.

You open your eyes and look at her - all of her.

“Future’s bright,” you answer.

---

The meeting stops for a moment when Hirai Momo joins it.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says as she waddles into the meeting room in downtown Vancouver, patting her round tummy. “Little one’s being a bit of an asshole. Gets it from his dad, I think.”

From an ocean away in Tokyo, you watch as Taeyeon half-rises from her chair to help Momo, only to be waved off. Momo plops into the chair opposite Taeyeon.

“You look like you’re about ready to pop,” says Sakura, sparing a glance from her Switch to shoot Momo’s image on the screen a smile. That fact that she was able to speak so casually to one of the most senior people in the company spoke volumes as to the relationship and history that existed between them.

“Almost,” Momo agrees with a sigh. The Senior Vice President of the company probably should have been getting ready for her clearly imminent delivery, but considering her reputation as a workaholic it probably shouldn’t have surprised you that she was working up until the day she was due. After she has settled into her seat with a huff, she looks up at the camera and offers an awkward but warm smile to the other participants in Tokyo.

“Please, continue, Director,” she says, motioning for you to proceed.

“Thank you,” you reply, before continuing. “As I was saying, the Otensoto deal and the merger with Anon-JY Corp. have alleviated some of the concerns regarding the last financial year, which is a credit to the Tokyo team’s efforts. While there is some room for improvement, the numbers are, on the whole, acceptable and within the lower parameters of our projections.”

Across the conference room table, Kazuha listens to a mumbled English-to-Japanese translation out of the corner of Sakura’s mouth - who was at the moment more engrossed in the plight of a certain Italian plumber rather than that of her office. Kazuha straightens and offers a response in Japanese.

“She admits that there have been significant challenges with regards to moving goods from the port of Osaka to Tokyo, where they make their way to North America,” Ryujin translates at your shoulder, “Trucks are breaking down, gas is expensive, and traffic’s a bitch between Osaka and Tokyo. And that all costs money. Moving shit’s getting expensive.”

You finish your part of the presentation with a recap of your review on the Tokyo office - while income didn’t quite meet Taeyeon’s lofty expectations, the underlying business was still doing well despite external, uncontrollable factors. 

“Thank you, Director,” Momo states with a smile, “and thank you for your work reviewing the Tokyo and Seoul offices. I trust you’re finding time to enjoy the sights in between your meetings and site inspections. You deserve it after the deal we worked on last year.” You find yourself smiling softly in reply, and out of the corner of your eye you watch Ryujin do the same - the Senior Vice President’s pregnancy had given her a glow that only amplified her already considerable charms.

“The Strategy team has several initiatives that will address the Tokyo office’s numbers moving forward,” Taeyeon pipes up. “The Tokyo office’s leadership has assured me that they have several internal initiatives in their pipeline that should assist us in meeting the goals we’ve set for the next quarter. Tokyo’s Operations Lead will provide an overview of those initiatives now.”

At her cue, Kazuha shares her laptop screen, where she’s prepared a meticulous, thorough presentation of the various initiatives she no doubt prepared herself. She begins with outlining the challenges - increased costs of fuel, labor, and maintenance associated with trucking - and moves on to the initiatives she hopes will address them.

Throughout it all Taeyeon needles the young Associate Director with question after question. Kazuha does her best to answer them, and even Sakura is forced to actually pause Mario’s journey at several points to interject a defensive comment or snarky retort. It begins with insinuations and implications, and slowly escalates into thinly-veiled accusations of incompetence and negligence.

The bright glow surrounding Momo seems to have dimmed somewhat as she watches her underlings squabble, but she watches and listens intently nonetheless, as though measuring each participant in the meeting and noting how they were reacting to the ongoing debate.

Fifteen minutes pass, and then half an hour. Taeyeon, Kazuha, and Sakura go back and forth, the logistics of moving goods between Osaka and Tokyo their chosen battleground. As an outside observer your duty was done and it was up to your colleagues to choose how to move forward, but even you thought that the meeting had moved past discussion and into petty squabble. An interjection forms one your lips-

“Trucks to trains.”

All eyes turn to the speaker - Ryujin. An odd, awkward silence falls over the meeting. “Trucks to trains,” Ryujin repeats, a little louder this time. She looks, for a moment, like a tourist speaking a foreign language that no one around her understood.

You watch as she gives her head a small shake, as if to center herself. Her brow furrows. She takes a glance at Sakura and Kazuha on the opposite side of the table, and then up at the projector, where Taeyeon and Momo watch virtually from across the ocean, puzzled. Finally, she glances at you. You offer her a reassuring smile.

She sees her moment, and she takes it.

“Our Seoul office recently made the transition from light and heavy trucks to light rail in order to move goods from the port of Busan up to our Seoul office before distribution to the rest of Asia,” she states, her voice gradually increasing in volume and confidence as she continues. “They experienced a notable savings in shipping costs thanks to the switch, amongst other benefits.”

Ryujin’s fingers fly on the keyboard of her laptop. She shares her screen with the meeting and on it are the charts and graphs from the Seoul office.  When she speaks again, her voice is firm, self-assured.

“Seoul experienced an eighteen point nine five percent increase in shipping savings thanks to this transition. Not only did they save costs - they also experienced a higher on-time delivery rate and shorter expected delivery time overall thanks to the generally higher reliability and speed of rail as opposed to trucks. This resulted in a cascading series of benefits - our distribution staff in Seoul received more goods faster and more reliably, meaning they could distribute them throughout Asia faster, which meant our distributors throughout Asia were receiving more reliable supply, etcetera. A transition to rail would come with several upfront costs, meaning it would take several quarters for the savings to take effect, but…”

The room falls silent for another moment, before Sakura leaps into action. You’d heard the stories, and saw glimpses of it in her verbal duels with Taeyeon, but until that moment you didn’t fully believe in them. 

Sakura moves like a woman possessed. Her fingers are a blur on her laptop’s keyboard - which, to that point, had really only been used as a makeshift screen to poorly hide her Switch. She gestures sharply to Kazuha at several points, barking orders in sharp, terse Japanese which her younger subordinate scrambles to follow. She scribbles wildly on a nearby legal pad, although whether they were words or numbers or something only she could understand, no one else in the room seemed to know.

On the screen, you watch as Taeyeon is taken aback by Sakura’s transformation, shocked into silence. Momo leans back in her chair, fingers interlaced crossed over the fullness of her tummy. She’d seen this before, and knew what was about to happen.

A minute or two passes. Eventually Sakura raises her head from her laptop, a fiery intensity in her eyes that is almost frightening.

“A transition from trucking to rail in order to bring goods from Osaka to Tokyo would result in a twenty two point six percent improvement by the end of the financial year,” she states, slamming her pen down atop the legal pad for emphasis.

Taeyeon is the first to object, as you’d assumed she would. “We can’t just jump into such a drastic change so quickly without the necessary due diligence,” she states, hurriedly. “We’ll need to upstaff and delegate a project manager. We’ll need to do a feasibility study and ROI report on the whole idea, not to mention putting together a business case for Board approval and then eventually RFPs and a competition for any possible rail providers-”

Momo stops her with a raised hand. When she speaks, it is firm and decisive.

“Make it happen, Sakura,” she says to the camera, before turning to Ryujin. “Excellent idea… Miss-?”

Ryujin clears her throat. There is a new confidence in her features that wasn’t there minutes ago.

“Shin. Ryujin Shin,” she states, straightening her posture and giving Momo a confident smile. “From the Vancouver office’s Marketing department.”

“Ryujin Shin,” Momo repeats, an approving look on her face. “I’ll remember that name. And you’re in Marketing, huh? With ideas like that, I think there’s a place for you in Strategy. Well done.”

You don’t miss the loaded look she gives Taeyeon before she continues.

“Sakura, I trust you’ll keep me updated on the transition. Good meeting, everyone.”

If Sakura heard Momo sign off, she made no indication of it. She and Kazuha are suddenly a flurry of activity and hissed Japanese, the former already setting into motion a series of plans with an almost frightening intensity that the latter struggles to keep up with. Across the ocean, Momo does her best to get up from her chair and hurry to her next meeting. 

Taeyeon seethes, and Ryujin glows.

--

It doesn’t take her long. Ryujin slips into the spare executive office the two of you have been using for the duration of your visit to the Tokyo office, and the sly smile on her lips and mischievous look in her eye tell you exactly what she’s intending.

The smile that finds itself on your lips mirrors hers.

“This is a place of work, Ryujin Shin. One that we shouldn’t defile with your-”

“Office is almost empty,” she says, voice low and conspiratorial. She closes the door behind her with a click, eyes still locked on yours. “I just saw the HR team duck into a meeting room and the tablet on the door says it’s an hour-long videoconference with Vancouver. Plenty of time.”

“Miss Shin,” you begin with a smile, returning your gaze to your laptop even as the click-clack of her heels signalled her approach, “this office isn’t for lewd, profane acts like the ones that are no doubt running through your head. And to think you’d want to engage in such acts with our colleagues in Human Resources a mere few rooms away? Unthinkable!”

She spins your chair around to face her, placing her hands on the back of your wrists, pinning them to the armrests. The smile on her lips is wicked - in a way you’d never seen before.

She bends to kiss you and it’s almost violent the way your lips and teeth clash. Your lips grind against her teeth at one point and you’re pretty sure she’s literally cut you open with a kiss - or maybe it was a bite - either way, the slight metallic tang on your tongue was most definitely blood.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never fantasized about me riding you on that couch,” she says, pointing with her gaze toward the two leather couches that sat opposite each other in the rather lavishly furnished office, “or maybe you’d prefer bending me over it?”

“Miss Shin,” you say, mockingly. “Those couches are for important client meetings-”

Another kiss. She drags her tongue over your cut lip, then pulls away. Her tongue slides over her cherry-glossed lips, as though she is savoring the taste of your blood on her palette.

“Come on,” she says, suddenly pouting. “Don’t you think I deserve a reward for how well I did in that meeting today, Daddy?”

You smirk, despite yourself. Ryujin’s idea to convert the company’s transportation from trucking to trains on the Osaka to Tokyo route was just what the Tokyo office needed to meet Taeyeon’s lofty expectations - to say nothing of the personal satisfaction she gained from Momo’s dismissal of Taeyeon’s objections and subsequent compliments. Maybe it was one of those things, or some combination of them - either way, the events of the afternoon’s meeting had clearly awakened something in her - a side of her you hadn’t seen before. 

“You did well today, baby girl,” you say, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “A reward is definitely deserved.”

You knew how the next few minutes would turn out. For all her self-confidence outside of it Ryujin was relatively submissive in the bedroom. 

But today she flips the script on its head. She flashes you a sinful smile before she pulls you to your feet by your tie. She drags you in front of one of the couches and pushes you onto it with more roughness and strength than you were expecting, or even knew she was capable of.

Before you know it she is straddling you. Her lips find yours and the kiss is as violent and needy as the ones previous - a clash of lips and teeth and tongue that was more a single-sided display of dominance than a mutual display of affection.

Your hands find their way to that tiny torso of hers and the waistline of her grey pencil skirt - only for her to grasp them both by your wrists and pin them to the seat of the couch.

“No touching this time,” she hisses into your ear. “No doing anything unless I let you. This time, you’re mine, Daddy.”

“Fuck, Ryujin-”

She silences you with a kiss again, this one only slightly less aggressive. You feel her lips smiling even as she continues it, and even as her hands reach between you to quickly get your belt and pants undone.

You let a sharp breath leave your lungs as she slides her hand under your boxers and finds your mostly-stiffened cock. Her hands wrap around your length, teasing it to full hardness. She takes her time, her fingers moving at a glacial pace, fingers sliding up and down your shaft and making your eyes shut involuntarily as the first few spikes of pleasure work their way up your spine. She stops for a moment with her fingers tight around the upper half of your shaft, her thumb catching and spreading the bead of pre-cum she finds leaking from you, smearing it over your tip.

“Did you like it, Daddy? Did you like how I did?”

“Fuck yes, Ryujin,” you hiss, even as she begins to pump her hand up and down your length, the added lubrication of your pre-cum making her every movement that much more pleasurable. “You did so well, baby girl. You made Daddy so proud.”

Your praise ignites something in Ryujin, and for a moment there is a flush of warmth on her cheeks. “Thank you, Daddy,” she says, softly. With her free hand, she is undoing the buttons on the tight white blouse she is wearing, until it is undone to her waist. She untucks it, pulling it free from the waistline of her skirt.

Her fingers play with the halves of her blouse, pulling them apart, revealing the simple white lace bra she is wearing beneath it.

Her fingers grasp the left cup of her bra, before pulling it down slowly. Her small, round breast pops free with a small, teasing bounce, nipple already tight and stiff with need. She does the same to the other cup, relishing the sight of you following her fingers and taking in the sight of her bared chest.

“Do you like them, Daddy?” she asks, voice low and needy. “Do you want to touch them? Or wrap your lips on them and suck? You know how wet I get when you suck on my tits-”

She is interrupted for a moment when your hands leave the couch to fondle her - only for her to catch them by your wrists and pin them against the seat once more.

“Uh uh,” she teases, smile sinful. “This is my reward, remember Daddy?”

“Fucking hell, Ryujin.”

Satisfied that you weren’t going to resist, Ryujin’s hands leave your wrists. She raises her hips slightly, until her cunt is hovering less than an inch from your aching tip. With one hand she pulls the hem of her skirt up, revealing her drenched panties - with the other, she pulls them aside. She is glistening and drenched and you can almost feel the heat and wetness of her on the tip of your cock. It twitches with need.

Your eyes find hers and you have never seen such a wicked, devilish look on her features. 

The hand at her skirt leaves it, and reaches down for your cock, aiming it at her cunt. She slides down your length. You both sigh, the breath leaving your lungs in a sharp exhalation of sharp, pure pleasure.

“Fuck, Daddy,” she hisses into your ear as her arms wrap themselves around your shoulders and neck. You bottom out inside her, and for a moment she sits fully impaled on your cock. “Fuck, always so big inside me, stretching me out. Making me take you.”

A breathless “Mmmm” is all you can manage. She begins to move, and for a few moments neither of you are able to do much more than simply process the pleasure that begins to course through your bodies.

In, out, up, down, nothing else mattered aside from the feel of your cock and the way it felt in Ryujin’s tight, wet little cunt. Not the fact that you were fucking at the office and literally anyone could walk through the door; not the fact that this relationship would probably end up ruining one or both of your careers; not the fact that you were entering the final week of your trip and you’d found yourself wishing more than once that it would never end.

No, none of that mattered. All that exists are her sharp gasps of pleasure in your ear, the slick, wet sounds her cunt makes as it takes your cock in and out between her drenched lips, and her warm, hot breath against your cheek.

The minutes pass, but time soon becomes an abstract, foreign concept. It’s a lot. It’s overwhelming.

Your hands, unable to remain motionless, move to her thighs. Ryujin grasps them again and pins them to the backrest of the couch - forcefully.

“Mine,” she growls. “You’re mine, Daddy.”

It had been a recurring theme during sex, and in your relationship as a whole - ownership. Often it was used in passionate context; sometimes it was softer, more intimate. But it was different today. Darker. More intense. More real, more aggressive in a way it hadn’t been up to this point.

You watch as she rides you, hands pinning your wrists to the couch, hips and thighs and core moving to throw herself against your cock over and over again with increasing speed and tempo. You could’ve easily overpowered her, ripped your hands from the couch and done what you willed with her - but the sight of her pinning you down, the feel of her taking what she wanted from you, heedless of your own wants and needs - it was a new kind of pleasure, a new kind of power over you that she hadn’t shown before.

Her gasps raise in volume until she realizes, for a moment, where she is - at work, in an office, just a few empty rooms apart from a room full of colleagues - and the bite she gives her own lip in an attempt to stifle her moans drives you crazy.

Her small breasts bounce with each movement of her body, peaked nipples begging. She sees it, sees the need in your eyes. Mercifully, she bends forward - just far enough for you to capture one of them between your lips.

She slows her pace slightly, grinding against you now rather than bouncing atop you, squeezing her cunt in a well-practiced rhythm with each entry and exit of your cock. You feel her juices drip down your shaft and onto your balls. She’s so wet, so very wet, and she’s making a mess of the couch that you’d have to clean up afterward. 

But she doesn’t care. Her hands tighten around your wrists as she tries to ground herself against the pleasure coursing from her pussy and the suckling of your mouth on her breasts.

“Fuck, Daddy-” she hisses, breathless, onto the top of your head. “Soon, gonna, oh god-.”

You’re surprised by how quickly she’s approaching her first orgasm. But the danger, the aggression, the powerlessness - you would’ve been lying if you’d said you weren’t almost as close as she was. It was intoxicating. Overwhelming.

“Ryujin, fuck, me too. Let me cum in you, baby girl-”

“Do it, Daddy, please-” she hisses, voice rising in pitch as if to mirror the level of pleasure coursing through her veins. “Make me drip you, Daddy. I’m gonna cum too. Are you… are you going to breed me today? Are you going to breed me, here in this office? Put a baby in my belly? Look at me, please, look at me, just me, look at only me--”

She pulls your mouth from the sore, reddened peaks of her nipples. Her eyes find yours and they’re just as lost in pleasure. Her lips part-

“Fill your girl.”

Her cunt tightens and pulses rhythmically as she cums on you. You are unable to fight the pleasure any more than she is, and you let yourself go, burying yourself as deeply as you are able inside her before you follow her into bliss. Your eyes, by some miracle, remain locked on each other the whole time as you watch each other cum.

Your cock pulses as it fills her, paints her cunt white. She trembles and quivers with each spurt as though she felt each one hit the most vulnerable part of her. Her eyes twitch with each rope. They quiver and tremble but she manages to keep them open, locked on yours.

You both sit there for a while, breathing heavily, two sacks of boneless, powerless flesh. Eventually she breaks your gaze to drop her forehead to yours. It was a quickie in almost every sense and you both probably spent more time recovering than you did actually having sex - not that it mattered. Not when the high was so high.

Some amount of time later her head lifts. Her eyes find yours again. You both want to say something - perhaps repeat the pledging of yourselves to each other the way you had so many times before in a post-sex haze - but this time neither of you felt the need.

Perhaps somewhere along the way you’d both realized that this was more than just a business trip fling, more than just two lonely souls seeking companionship while away from home. Perhaps it was because you both knew it by now, and it didn’t need repeating, because the truth of it was already right there, plain to see, in each others’ eyes and in the language spoken with soft lips and gentle touches. 

She smiles, she kisses you, and nothing else matters.

---

You’re wandering the streets of Shimokitazawa on a day off in Tokyo when the email arrives.

The day is warm, but thankfully the wonderful sugar and salt water concoction of Pocari Sweat did well to keep you hydrated and cool in the mid-summer Tokyo heat. The small bench opposite the vintage store Ryujin had hopped into provided a suitable place for you to take a well-deserved break from all the shopping and sightseeing. Transportation and logistics be damned; touristing was the hardest work.

You’re scrolling your phone for a suitable dinner location, debating between the tonkotsu ramen place in Ginza that had been recommended to you by your assistant and yet another visit to the local branch of CoCo Curry. 

The email banner notification steals your attention. The email itself isn’t even addressed to you - you’re just a copy on it. An afterthought. An FYI. The email itself is simple, business like:

---

To: Shin, Ryujin

From: Bae, SuzyCC: Hirai, Momo; Kim, Taeyeon; Miyawaki, Sakura; Nakamura, Kazuha

Subject: Employee Transfer/Relocation Approved - Shin, Ryujin, EE# 2113 - Vancouver -> Tokyo

Hello Ryujin,

Please find attached a completed and approved Employee Transfer/Relocation Form detailing your transfer and relocation from the Vancouver Head Office to the Tokyo Regional Office, effective immediately. 

As a part of this transfer you have been seconded from the Marketing department to the Strategy department for the duration of your project in Tokyo, which is expected to last 24-36 months. For the duration of your project you will report to Sakura Miyawaki, Director, Tokyo office.

In recognition of your efforts and to ensure a smooth transition into the Tokyo office’s reporting structure, you have been promoted from Marketing Lead to Senior Operations Lead.

Please also find attached resources and guides that will assist in your relocation to the Tokyo office, including visa, accommodation, and other related relocation forms and documents. One of our Relocation Specialists will be in touch shortly to assist you further with this process.

Reach out if you have any questions or concerns. Congratulations on your promotion, and best of luck in Tokyo!

Sincerely,

Suzy Bae

Director, Human Resources

JYP Inc.

---

It takes you several reads before you can even begin to process it. Surprise, pain, rage - it all battles inside you, all at once.

Ryujin emerges from the store, a new shopping bag in hand. Her smile is bright, unaware of the heartache that awaits her the next time she looks at her phone.

She's wearing your shirt again, that white button-up - one that probably needed a wash, but she'd picked it out of the pile of clothing you'd draped over a chair in your hotel suite and worn it because it smelled like you.

She reaches for you, pulls you up off the bench, and threads her fingers in yours. You stare down at your intertwined hands. The silver chain on her wrist catches the Tokyo afternoon sun, turning it gold again. 

Still in shock, you let her lead you down the street to your next destination, unable to say or do anything more.

Oblivious, she turns to you and smiles.

---

Author’s Note: Tomorrow comes.

[nsfwrpg]

Provocation

ITZY Shin Yuna x m!reader

15k words

“That’s not true,” Yuna argues, arms folded as if this is the most ludicrous thing she's had to explain. "Despite what everyone thinks, I don't sleep around. Maybe a few guys on the weekends, but during the week? I like to have a one-guy policy."

You don't believe her one bit—but you'll play along. "Just one guy? That's it?"

Yuna shrugs her shoulders. "Of course. One guy at a time. One guy on Monday—maybe Tuesday. And Wednesday. That's it."

"That's three, Yuna," you laugh, shifting in your seat to face her a bit more. She takes a sip of her drink, stirring it around before bringing it back up to her pouty, red lips—the ones that cause nothing but trouble.

"Exactly. A different guy each day of the week. I don't think that's a lot. If anything, Yeji gets around way more than me."

Now you know she's lying.

The way you can tell is when her lips move. That's the telltale sign. When a word slips out between them, you always know the words will be objectively false. 

Because this is Shin Yuna, the girl who flaunts every facet of her beauty like it's her job. This is the girl who wears skirts short enough to flash the entire bar a glimpse of her perfect little ass. The one who always leaves the house wearing a bra on purpose, her top always sheer enough to show the shape of her perky breasts. The same girl who would give head to a random guy just because he asked for a stick of gum.

"Yeji? Are we talking about the same girl?" you question, doubting that girl would even have a quarter the sex that Yuna has in one night. Yeji's definitely attractive, but reserved and soft spoken—nothing like the track record Yuna has.

"Hey, don't get it twisted," Yuna protests, nearly spilling some drink when she sets her glass down. "Yeji isn't some innocent church girl. She's a lot hornier than people think. Almost too much. As much as she acts all pure and sweet and innocent, she's a freak."

You'd say you believe her, except it's Yuna—so it's not probable in the slightest. "Right. She's totally a freak and you're an absolute saint."

"Glad we're on the same page." Yuna grins, stealing your drink to take a sip without even asking, leaving those red lips staining the rim of the glass. "She's more insatiable than me."

"I think you've had a little too much to drink, Yuna.” 

Yuna ignores you entirely. "I mean it—that girl is probably getting dicked down as we speak. Or if she isn't, then she's got a new vibrator that's getting the job done, watching some of the most depraved porn out there. That girl is obsessed."

"Obsessed with dick or obsessed with porn?"

"Both. You can't imagine some of the toys she has hidden."

Yuna keeps speaking, but she could say anything at this point, and you know there wouldn’t be an ounce of truth in it. She's gotten more than a couple drinks deep now. And her tight skirt rides up, each not-so-subtle movement revealing more thigh as she shifts, not even the slightest concerned who can see underneath.

"If she's a freak, what the hell does that make you, then?" you ask in all earnest, trying to change the subject, because Yuna clearly can't be trusted around alcohol. This girl and oversharing go together far too well.

"Me? Oh, I'm the best fuck of your life—the one who will choke on your cock like a goddamn whore and let you blow your load all over my pretty face." 

You don’t even look at her when you reply. "Forget I ever asked." 

"But you did ask. And now you're going to take me home so I can demonstrate exactly what I do to those poor, pathetic boys every weekend."

"Absolutely not. I don't recall making an invitation."

"Do I need one? Doesn't feel like it," Yuna asks, with a quick tilt of her head. "Doesn't daddy wanna spend all night fucking this tight little pussy?"

You nearly vomit hearing Yuna's poor attempt at seduction. "Stop it. Please, for the love of god, don't ever call me that again."

She simply laughs it off, leaning close as she rests a hand on your thigh, those nimble little fingers giving a good squeeze, when it wanders just a little too high. 

"Come on," she insists. "The second you’ve got your cock inside me, you know there won't be any pulling out. Daddy won't be able to control himself."

"I'm leaving you here. Take a cab if you have to," you warn, standing up from the barstool without even the slightest look back in her direction.

Yuna sighs. “Okay, fine,” she says as she grabs your wrist, keeping you from going very far. "I won't call you that anymore. Just take me home and fuck my brains out. Please?"

That voice, the desperation, it's hard to resist. Not to mention the pleading look, those big, round eyes staring, and when your focus falls down her shirt, barely even a shirt, the curves on this girl she dares to flaunt in your face. Yuna wants you to know that you'd be a fool to turn her down.

"What's in it for me? Aren't there plenty of guys lining up for a chance to fuck you here?" 

"This place is boring—and none of them can handle me." 

You're not even sure you can handle this girl and her attitude, but when Yuna stares like that, this longing look that begs for attention—it's difficult to say no. "Are you saying that just because you want a ride home?"

"It's a reason, yes." She can't hold back the smile, no matter how hard she tries. "You take me home, and then I'll suck your cock until your legs give out. Won't you help this poor, helpless little slut?"

Against your better judgment, there’s this temptation you can’t ignore. A devil resting on your shoulder, and on the other side, also a devil in the form of Shin Yuna herself. You can’t refuse that smile, those batting eyelashes, or those eyes without a hint of innocence in them. You’re already a lost cause. 

Yuna can’t help but smirk, seeing her prey lured in with such ease as she grabs her coat, one hand slipping in yours, and not even needing a response when the both of you know where this is heading. "No more daddy—that's a promise."

You don’t believe that for a second, but you also don't care one bit as you head out, Yuna clinging to your arm on the way to the parking lot. 

And this might be your biggest mistake yet. 

Neither of you even make it out of the parking garage to your apartment. Yuna has you backed up against the cold, concrete wall, in a dark corner that she swears doesn't have a camera—but even if it does, who fucking cares when the sight of her on her knees takes precedence, getting your cock wet between her lips as fast as possible.

And the sound of her greedy slurps echo off those same walls, somehow a thousand times louder than usual. 

"You know my apartment is right up there," you manage to say in between gasping breaths. Yuna's barely listening, staring straight into your eyes, with her cheeks hollowed to no end and every inch of your cock taken down so easily. She spits over your length a few more times, spreading it along your hard shaft before her lips swallow you whole, not breaking her gaze once for even a single breath. 

With another loud, sloppy suck with those red lips around the tip of your shaft, that's the only time she answers, a small pop filling the air when she backs off, stroking you slowly with her fist.

"That's two floors up. Why wait, when I can just suck your cock here? That elevator takes ages." she argues innocently, running her tongue underneath that most sensitive area of your shaft. "Unless you really want me to stop—"

"N-no. Fuck, no. Don't you fucking dare." 

"That's what I thought,” Yuna replies, and she has no intention to, burying her nose in your abdomen with every last inch consumed by her warm throat. And her wet mouth gets so noisy, so starved, these desperate slurps that could probably be heard all the way to the top floor of the parking garage. 

It's so completely Yuna: her lack of restraint, the enthusiasm as she bobs her head in a blur without any sign of a gag reflex. The way her lips tighten around your shaft and stay there for an eternity without pulling off even for a second, like she needs your cock down her throat for survival. It’s goddamn relentless. 

“God, Yuna, this fucking mouth—" you curse under your breath and place a hand on her head for guidance, wondering how the fuck Yuna manages to take so much at once while looking so beautiful at the same time. It's her lips wrapped around every inch, the way she stares into you, her lipstick all smeared along the base of your shaft with a fresh layer of spit glistening along the length of it. "Why the hell is your mouth so good at this?” 

It's a compliment that's only going to feed that inflated ego, as if that's even possible at this point. But you can't hold back the praise, when her lips feel this incredible, wrapped so tight with all the warm, wet suction you can handle, taking you back into the deep end of her throat like nothing. 

"I’ve told you…” Yuna starts with this smug little grin as she draws out every reaction she can out of your features with a messy kiss to your swollen cockhead. "Suck enough dick, and you have it down to a science. Nobody gives head better than me. Not Yeji, not a single person you've met."

Can’t say you find any fault with that, for once. The rare occasion when Yuna speaks the truth, with how good her mouth feels on you, slurping away to get these groans spilling that reinforces her point. How could anybody come close? 

“Don’t let it get to your head.” 

“Too late,” she says, with her playful little chuckle when you escape from the heat of her mouth. She continues to pump her fingers along every spit-soaked inch that sets you on edge, slowing down only so she can drag it out, savor the look of desperation etched across your face. Then she’s right back down, lips flush to your base in no time. 

“Shit, those fucking lips feel so good. Who knew you had any other skill other than being an obnoxious fucking brat.” 

Yuna doesn't even fight you for that one, giving your length a sloppy kiss, before sliding her mouth down to latch around your balls and suck hard. A tight fist strokes quicker than before, twisting so perfectly while her mouth is occupied, a motion that makes you completely unable to hold back the strangled noises that she gets off on. 

It all feels too good, with her full attention devoted to your aching cock that throbs in her fingers, these lewd slurps of your sensitive balls that drive you towards the edge faster when her mouth gets all hot and wet around you.

“F-fuck, fuck, Yuna—“ 

It’s so clear, the sheer enjoyment written across Yuna's features when she pops off your balls with a loud, wet pop. and then gets your cock right back in her mouth where it belongs.

There’s no stopping her this time—not when she gets a good grip on your thighs for support, so she can slobber on your cock with reckless abandon. A fucking shameless display, saliva dripping down her chin, a messy string that connects from her lip to the tip of your swollen cockhead while she takes you straight into the back of her throat, again, and again, not taking a breath unless she absolutely needs to. 

And then she’s jerking your cock right in front of her face. 

“Almost ready to cum for me, aren’t you? Don't you wanna fucking finish all over my pretty face? Don't you like how nice it looks when I'm covered in your thick load?"

Fuck, do you ever—and it doesn't help when Yuna tightens her grip and gives these rapid strokes that have your head spinning. All you can do is watch as she furiously jerks your cock straight towards her gorgeous face, tongue out so eagerly as she awaits every bit you're ready to release.

When it hits, the first explosive burst shoots across her forehead, streaking right over her hair. The rest follows, finding a place splattering all across her face. All over those open pouty lips—hot, sticky spurts that Yuna catches with her tongue as each shot paints a different spot of her features, the excess dribbling down her chin. 

Yuna laughs through it, trying not to close her eyes so she can watch you unload all over her features, a mess that has no end in sight. More hits her cheek, a nice shot across her nose as your cock pulsates in her tight fist, and the hot spurts continue to paint her in white streaks across her flawless face. A final few bursts land across her open mouth, a taste that gets her smiling so wide through a cum-stained mess.

"Fucking christ, Yuna," you exhale, out of breath as the high lingers.

Yuna lets your throbbing cock rest gently against her cheek, your orgasm slow to subside. Even when every last drop is wrung from the tip, she refuses to take her mouth off you, sucking your shaft clean with a few long slurps and flicks of her tongue that make you nearly collapse. 

"Just look at all that fucking cum. I'm covered in it, like a good little slut should be," she marvels, staring at the exhaustion plastered across your face. "Bet that felt good, huh? God, there's like a week's worth of cum here. All milked out of your thick fucking cock."

And Yuna has never looked better. 

"H-hold on, I'll get something to clean that up—"

Yuna gets to her feet, stepping in to shut down the idea before you can finish. "No need. I'll keep it on until we get to your apartment. Plus, I look the prettiest when I'm dripping with your cum."

It's insane—the words this girl will casually throw out in public, and how she wants to spend the entire elevator ride looking like that. Even if it's late enough that hardly anybody uses this elevator, there's always a chance you could run into someone who lives here. But saying no to this girl was never an option, already heading back the direction of the elevator without giving much a chance to argue, much less a chance to slip your pants back on.

Shin Yuna is quite possibly the worst influence—and yet, here you are.

Once she's all cleaned up, it's just pure unadulterated lust, from both ends as you find a spot on the couch to crash into with Yuna straddling you. Not an ounce of innocence in the kiss. Nothing but hot breath and moans, not even a second to break for air. The alcohol, the ride back here, the blowjob in the goddamn parking garage, you can't even contain yourself anymore. You let this girl get to you in the best of ways and give into this sinful temptation with an absolute desire to ruin her.

Yuna groans as you plant these rough, messy kisses along her neck—god, she tastes so good, like strawberries and sin and everything you're addicted to. She writhes under you, fingers tangled through your hair and you're not leaving your lips off her for a single second. 

"Keep doing that, please, f-fuck," Yuna pleads, and you flip her around effortlessly to do so, her tight little body flat on her back underneath you. You leave these marks all down her neck—sucking hard on that sensitive skin so easy to bruise, and sinking your teeth in at every opportunity. All these whimpers fill your ears and the louder they are, the harder you bite, the rougher your kisses grow.

This relentless assault leaves her breathless, an abrupt change from the usual confidence and arrogance that defines her. Right here, under you like this, Yuna makes it so easy to have her body entirely at your mercy—even more when you strip her shirt off and toss it aside, revealing those breasts fully to the chilly air. You barely have time to admire the sight of them before your mouth moves to devour the newly exposed flesh.

"You have no idea all the things I want to do to you, Yuna," you growl as you take a nipple between your lips, a sharp suck and a light nibble that makes her squirm even harder against the couch cushions.

"Like what? Tell me everything you want to do to me, d-daddy—"

You glare up, eyeing her intently and there's this sudden moment of silence while you refuse to get your mouth back onto her tits. 

"S-sorry, it just slipped," she says with this unabashed laughter, her apology as believable as anything else that escapes from those pretty lips. "Every guy I fuck loves hearing that. Force of habit."

"Don't make me leave you on this couch alone, Shin Yuna. Because I'll fucking do it, no hesitation."

"You'll never hear it again, I promise. Never, ever—now come on, back to what you were doing."

You raise a suspicious brow for a moment, but then it's back to your ravenous mouth focusing all over her chest, kissing up all over when you alternate between them. She loves it too—every hot and heavy kiss, every time you lick right at her most sensitive spots, latching onto her stiff nipples and sucking so hard. Yuna grips tightly at the back of your head, her fingers deep in those locks while you devour her tits and enjoy the softness of them against your face, skin flushed when you switch to the other breast.

And god, this sound that escapes her throat—when you travel down her body and kiss her abdomen, these soft little kisses that make her sigh harder and squirm more, getting lower and lower until the fabric of her skirt blocks your progression. It's this whimper from her lips when you swipe your tongue right above her belly button, a slow drag that tastes as much of her as possible.

"Skirt on or off? Your pick." You kiss at the top of her thighs, waiting eagerly for an answer as you toy around with the zipper.

"Whatever d—" she stops herself halfway. "You want. Whatever you want. On. Just fuck me with it on—can't wait, need you between my thighs already."

Can't say you're disappointed in the decision—pushing her skirt up her thighs to reveal that pretty purple lace that contrasts her pale thighs. But before you have the chance to put her out of her misery, you get a little more comfortable, stripping down to nothing but your boxers while Yuna bites her bottom lip and watches in silence. She keeps staring, wide eyes filled with anticipation as she catches the slightest glimpse of the way you're hard for her already.

"See something you like?" you ask her, Yuna shifting underneath with her skirt neatly bunched up her waist. 

"No, not a single thing," she answers, unable to hide her laughter for a second.

"Good, then I guess I can just go jerk off in my room or something," you tease, about to remove yourself from the couch until her hands lock tight around your shoulders, keeping you planted there.

"Shut the fuck up and eat me out. Can't wait a second more, ruin me with that amazing tongue of yours."

"Not even a please?"

"Absolutely not," Yuna insists, growing more impatient by the second. But it's a good thing you're generous—and more than raring to get between her thighs as much as she needs you to. 

She can hardly contain the noise when you grab the waistband of her panties and drag them down those long legs, Yuna lifting up just slightly to help guide them off. And when they slide past her feet, you don't hesitate one bit, spreading her thighs apart just to admire the sight—exposing her glistening wet cunt in all its glory.

"See something you like?" Yuna echoes your own question right back, flashing a smirk which only fades when you respond with a brief flick of your tongue. 

"Yeah, a perfect place to dump a huge load of cum," you remark back, licking a long stripe up her wet slit before ending in a gentle suck of her clit. "God, you're so fucking wet, Yuna. Dripping like crazy down here."

"Who's fucking fault is that?" 

"Not mine. You're the one who begged me to take you home because you were too scared to find a stranger in the bar to fuck."

The first few long licks do the rest of the talking for you as you bury your head deep between her spread thighs, tongue exploring her deliciously wet pussy. So sweet on your lips the more you taste, a suck of her clit every now and again, these unimpeded moans that can’t help spring free from her lips. 

"F-fuck, oh my fucking—first off, I did not beg. Second, don't pretend like you wouldn't fuck me if I found someone better," Yuna manages to get out mid-way through an absolutely filthy groan, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to push your face against her pussy.

"You're saying you could find someone better than me? In that shitty little dive bar?"

"S-shut up. Your ego's fucking broken," she argues between her desperate moans. You roll your eyes at her and get back to work—watching the way Yuna attempts to cover up her mouth with the palm of her hand. 

"Is that why you're struggling so much not to moan for me? You think any of those drunk idiots at the bar could do what I do to this pretty little pussy?" You're so determined to see her at a loss for words, lapping away at her clit, but that's all this girl brings out of you. It's difficult to play the nice guy when all her lips do is incite a response out of you like this. 

"You talk t-too much. Shut up and eat my cunt, so I can cum on your face already."

That you can do—more than happily. With a hand against her abdomen, Yuna's being pinned to the cushions as your tongue lashes away at her delicious folds to really lap up all her sweetness. It's addictive, the way you suck and lick away, from her swollen clit, right down to the bottom of her glistening wet slit, this intense groan tearing right through her as she locks eyes to watch you devour her cunt.

"Forgot how fucking good you taste—god, you taste fucking amazing.” 

“You forgot? Nobody forgets how good I taste. Not when you're addicted to eating my pussy as much as you are—"

That's a ridiculous enough statement to ignore, but you also can't bear the idea of stopping what you're doing, with your tongue exploring in slow, steady laps of every delicious morsel. Not when the sweet taste of Yuna fills your mouth and threatens to drown out everything else you feel, because she's so damn wet. It's the way your head is trapped between her thighs, keeping you right where she wants, smothering your face with her dripping cunt and forcing your tongue as deep as it can possibly reach. 

"Fucking shit—your mouth, that's so good, god. Fuck, fuck, y-you're gonna make me fucking cum! Don't stop—"

Like you could ever. Not when you have Yuna writhing against the cushions, watching the way her features contort into absolute bliss with just a harsh suck of her clit. 

Her mouth hangs open, head thrown back and the lewd, whiny little moans that you're so familiar with come right out. There's a rhythm of breathing that follows—heavy and erratic the more you try to break this girl. She struggles to even control herself when all she's reduced to is a soaking mess in front of your eyes, grinding against your face, needing to cum more than her next breath.

And that's the perfect opportunity to deny her what she wants so desperately. A split-second pause, watching the lust transform into absolute desperation. 

"N-no, please," she protests, urgency in her voice the second she feels your tongue stop. 

"Something wrong?"

"You ass—don't fucking stop. I said not to stop!" 

That's enough incentive to get back to it, fingers plunging right inside that wet heat to give your mouth a much-needed rest. Which only gives you these drawn-out moans, and fuck—there's not a single thing tighter than Yuna. Two fingers sink in with such ease, so wet, so warm, just taking whatever you'll give her at this rate. Nice and slow at first, so you can admire her reaction as you curl them inside, reaching spots that make her back arch right off the couch. 

"P-please, I'm so fucking close, fuck—"

Now she's begging, needing release at a level that's quite rare to see from Yuna. You pick up the pace, plunging those digits deep inside her sopping wet walls, hitting that same spot that makes her hips jolt so violently. 

"Is this what you needed? Come on, I know you're right fucking there. Fucking cum, Yuna. Cum like the needy little slut you are." 

You're not sure if it's the words that do her in, or the merciless assault of your fingers—both together is what gets the job done, the constant wet squelch that echoes with every furious plunge deep into her slick warmth. It's unmistakable when her cunt gushes around your thrusting fingers—spraying all over your hand, the couch, and god knows what else is just destroyed at this point. 

Yuna turns into a relentless, gushing mess, until she grabs your wrist to keep those fingers moving, filling the air with an even more delicious series of sobs.

Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it when her body spasms the more you pump into this sensitive little cunt. Your fingers are so drenched, with the juices that spill like a fountain, these choked moans that escape with every thrust. And when that begging for more turns into pleading to stop, you're not interested in withdrawal, not until you wring a second orgasm out, a third, however many it takes for her to finally tap out. 

"S-stop, you're gonna fucking kill me, stop—god, it's just too much," she cries out, every ounce of strength left in her failing. Only do you pull out when Yuna forces your arm away, thighs still quivering in the aftermath as you get a good look of the damage done. Flat on her back, she can hardly move on her own. A mess all along her creamy thighs, along the couch, and who knows where else. 

"My poor couch."

"Your poor couch? What about my poor fucking pussy? Look at what you fucking did, I came like five fucking times—"

Even in the aftermath of an intense, messy climax, Yuna can’t help being Yuna.

"I didn't hear any complaints when you were squirting all over me,” you say, and bring your wet fingers to your lips to suck the delicious taste off. 

"Because your fucking fingers felt so fucking good, you asshole—" Yuna's so worn out, completely unable to do anything but just revel in the mess she's made.  

"You're welcome."

"That wasn't a thank you—oh my fucking god, look at my skirt, you fuck," Yuna groans, eyes shifting to the state bunched up above her waist. 

"This is your fault, don't even start."

"Because you fucking made me ruin it, this is like a $300 skirt!"

"My condolences," you say, without a hint of guilt, the damage to her skirt not even the least of your concerns. Especially when you unzip it to slide it right down her slim figure—revealing every inch of her gorgeous body naked for you to drink in. "Excuse me, princess. However can I make it up to you?"

"Don't fucking call me that," she snaps, and even in her weakened state she's not any easier to deal with. "I'm too tired to ride you right now, so you're just going to have to fuck me until my legs don't work." 

"Still not hearing a please," you remind her, slipping out of your boxers at last, your stiff cock finally freed after seeing Yuna's naked frame laid out so perfectly.

"You can take your please and shove it right up your fucking ass. I'm not saying it."

"Fucking brat," you curse, grabbing her waist to position Yuna right where you want her. "I'll do all the damn work then—you're not going anywhere but into this couch."

"Good, about fucking time."

When she's finally done complaining, her gaze falls back to your rock hard cock aimed at her soaking entrance. You shift forward, a hand on her slender waist for support, the head of your shaft nudging her wet cunt.

"Come on then, I haven't got all night—are you gonna fuck me, or just stare?"

"Yes you do. What the fuck else are you gonna do? Go fuck somebody else you won't even remember the next morning?" Angling yourself just right, you don’t waste a second longer to slide inside, right up to the hilt—feeling that tight, heavenly cunt consume every inch.

"My fucking god, Yuna—"

She's never felt more incredible, or so goddamn tight, impossibly wet, warm—every sensation just overwhelming, getting used to it all over like it's the first time inside her. A feeling that doesn't disappear, even before you move one bit, with these beautiful legs spread wide apart as they'll go.

"Forgot how tight my little pussy was, huh?" she taunts, loving the groans that it pulls from your mouth. "You haven't changed at all. Still have that same cute little face you get when you've got your cock inside me. My pussy just ruins every other girl for you, doesn't it?"

"Too tight, god—why are you so fucking tight? Greedy slut gets pounded by twelve guys a week and still this tight? Fuck—"

"Less talking and more fucking. Move your hips—fuck me like the filthy little whore I am, come on."

Your only response is to get your hands right on both sides of Yuna's tiny waist, sliding outside with just the tip of your cock remaining, before slamming your entire shaft to fill her again. The first thrusts alone have her clutching the couch cushions to brace for more, each one a little rougher, a little deeper, the walls of her cunt clenching so hard the more of your throbbing shaft fills her. 

"Don’t hold back. I wanna feel every inch of that thick fucking cock in my wet little cunt," Yuna breathes out with this demand in her voice. "Come on, harder—ruin my poor little pussy, f-fuck."

"That's the fucking plan." All this tension you've built up between each other has reached its boiling point, the frustration, the annoyance, all coming out here and now. Because once Yuna is under you like this, everything changes, your hips pulling back only to shove in again, a relentless rhythm on repeat. 

"Better be. Why do you even need other girls when my perfect little pussy is always here waiting for your cock? You already have a pretty fucktoy to use, don't you—"

"Yuna, stop fucking talking already," you groan with no patience for anymore of her rambling. "Your schedule is a little booked up right now, in case you haven't noticed."

That's when your thrusts hit without holding back, hard enough to get a reprieve from that bratty attitude—watching her pretty features contort as you keep drilling inside that intoxicating heat. Not letting up once, the sound of her slick pussy soaking every inch of your shaft with every slam fills the room, barely audible over the sound of her loud moans. And that tightness, god—it’s unfathomable, unforgettable, each delicious clench driving your hips so you’ll feel more of it. 

"Then I'll fucking clear my schedule. As long as you promise to fuck me like this—I'll put you in my calendar every fucking day."

That's not exactly the solution, and you can't imagine being with Yuna day in and day out, even if that comes with the prospect of having access to this pretty, warm little wet hole whenever you feel like. No, not worth the hassle—maybe for a weekend, but beyond that you'd go insane.

"Once a week is enough. Maybe twice if you can keep your fucking attitude in check."

"You love my attitude. Just like the rest of this body that you can't keep your hands off."

She has a point—a painfully accurate one, but not one that you're willing to admit when you keep trying to silence Yuna with these violent slams that have your balls ready to unload sooner rather than later. Her tight cunt drives you absolutely wild, almost distracting enough from that infuriating mouth of hers.

But even more distracting is the look in her face while you fuck her, and you can't resist staring with every thrust as she continues to keep those legs parted just for you. That's until they wrap tightly around your waist, the heels of her bare feet digging into your lower back, forcing you deeper into this perfect tight body.

"What the fuck are you—"

Yuna's light giggle interrupts your question, the look in her eyes almost enough of an answer on its own. "Just making sure you're not thinking about pulling out. Want every drop you have. Fucking dump it in me."

"God, will you shut up," you groan, face burying into the crook of Yuna's neck, unable to take another second of her mouth running while your hips keep up this unforgiving pace. This tightness, this wetness, it's more than you can handle, using her cunt to fuck every bit of annoyance building inside from what feels like forever. 

"I'll shut up when you cum inside me. It's been way too fucking long since you finished inside me, since I've heard you moan when your balls empty. Does every girl you fuck let you finish like this? Bet none of them do."

You're not even interested in playing this game with her, not when she has you so close already, your pistoning hips driven by such immense desire to flood Yuna's dripping cunt. She's even clenching harder than usual with those slim legs locked so tight, a grip you can't possibly slip from no matter how much you tried. Not that you even would. 

Thrust after merciless thrust, you keep your lips sealed to her neck, sucking so hard like it's the only thing to keep you anchored. All you can do is keep moaning in her ear, keep hammering her greedy little cunt, faster and faster—

"I'm about to fucking cum, Y-Yuna—"

The words leave your mouth right before you've reached your limit. Your mind's elsewhere, not even in control, as your balls tighten and every muscle in your body tenses. Not even a word on her end, like Yuna was waiting for this moment the entire night. There's just hot breath on her neck, your cock pounding so hard into this soaked pussy, every pump taking you further past the point of no return—until that first surge shoots deep inside her wet walls.

A hot, sticky load floods right into her pussy in a violent throb of bursts, pumping one spurt after the other deep as possible. Yuna wraps her legs tighter with each, keeping you buried completely while everything unloads inside her. Everything goes blank, losing track of how many shots fill her tight cunt, a complete blur while your hips move on repeat, fucking it all deeper into her slick warmth. 

"F-fuck, there's so much," Yuna groans, struggling to find the words, feeling every ounce of your hot load spill inside, threatening to overflow before you even finish.

You just continue to drive into her without mercy, until your body begins to give out, sweat dripping all along her pale frame underneath. By the time you're done, you’ve collapsed into the comfort of Yuna's neck, planting gentle kisses along the marks you've left behind while you ride out the high. She stays quiet for a moment—no taunting, no attitude, letting your still throbbing cock rest inside her with your thick load slowly seeping out.

It's the most deserved orgasm you've had in a while, you think. Putting up with Yuna—just to unload everything you have inside, where it belongs. All her annoying remarks, that shameless, filthy fucking mouth all seem to fade into obscurity after everything. For a few seconds, there's bliss. A quiet bliss. 

Bliss that doesn't last very long at all. 

"Did that feel good? Emptying your big, heavy balls inside me?" Yuna asks you, resting her long arms around your body. It's almost calming, the light scratches down your back that lull you into a state of relaxation. Something you didn't think was possible with this girl.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out against her neck, struggling to catch your breath as you linger in the warmth of her tight pussy that can’t stop clenching for more. "I came inside you, now get off me—"

"Never, you're still fucking hard. My legs still work, and I haven't even gotten to ride you yet," she reminds you, staring straight into your eyes with her legs staying perfectly in place. "That load was just an appetizer—daddy." 

You groan—louder than ever before, but not in pleasure.

"What the fuck did I tell you about calling me that?"

Yuna shifts beneath, legs relaxing enough to release the hold—allowing you to slide your cock free from the overwhelming heat.

"What's the matter, a nice, thick creampie in my tight cunt isn't enough for me to call you whatever I please?"

You're ignoring her, in as many ways as you can when you move your gaze between her thighs to admire the sight—the beautiful mess that's dripping from her pussy, so full of your hot cum. "Go home, Yuna. If that's what's you're going to keep doing, then we're fucking done here." 

"You're no fun. It's after midnight, you're not going to send a little innocent girl like me out alone like this, are you?"

Again, you ignore her, standing up from the couch in complete disarray and making a path to the bathroom instead. "I need a shower, but you can sleep on this couch you've defiled for all I care. Please be gone in the morning."

It's a bit heartless, you know, but Yuna brings out this part in you that rarely sees the light of day, when she refuses to listen. Even more so when her footsteps follow closely behind, her petite naked frame and that mess between her legs still dripping without any ounce of shame.

"God, you're such a mood killer," Yuna sighs, grabbing your wrist to pull your attention her way. "I'll stop fucking teasing you. I'll stop calling you daddy, you big fucking baby. Just let me shower with you. Please? I won't even talk. I promise."

That's a hard one to trust, given her track record. But she sounds far too exhausted to even try any tricks, pleading so hard to convince you to let her share your bed tonight. And it's hard to turn down that pout, those bright, widened eyes that stare you into submission.

"Fine. Not a single word in the shower. And if you call me that even once, Yuna, I'm never shoving my cock in you ever again. Do you understand?"

"Of course. Swear it on my life. Promise. Never ever ever—that's it."

And just like that, this look in her eyes when she steps inside the shower after you suggests she'll live up to that word. You'll see. If anything, seeing her naked under the hot steam is enough to commit to whatever terms you've created. A selfish, yet regrettable decision.

A nice, relaxing shower where this brat doesn't utter a single sound, not a single dirty comment—that's better than anything in your wildest dreams.

Things move to the bedroom, as they usually do with Yuna. The two of you are completely devoid of any clothing, because modesty with her around simply doesn't exist. She slides into the spot beside you, resting her head on your chest, delicate fingers in a relaxed grip around the length of your shaft. And you’re happy to do nothing but watch the smile on her face while she gives these magical strokes, not nearly enough pleasure to take things any further. 

"Whenever you're ready to put this big thing back inside me, let me know," Yuna says as casually as possible—as casual as someone can get while palming their hand around your cock.

But you're hesitant to leave this moment—her body curled so perfectly against yours, to the point where you can almost tolerate her. Almost. That being the important thing in all this.

"I already filled you twice today. Not enough for one night?"

"Never enough," she insists, giving a firm squeeze that makes you reluctantly agree. "Plus, you haven't filled my ass, and we both know what a huge fan I am of that.” 

"Obsessed is more the right word. You might be more into me fucking your ass than I am, and that's saying something. Like, I could live inside there."

She giggles, her delicate little fingers tracing down your shaft while she keeps stroking. "Can you blame me when I have an ass like this? You should be the one begging me instead of the other way around." 

"I'd never beg you for anything, Yuna. You're a pretty girl with a nice ass who spreads their legs on command, I don't need much more than that from you."

Yuna responds with a tug at your balls, almost painful in nature to get a point across. "Tell me that again when you want to bury your face in my ass. See if that's true then. Let's see how long you last without getting to eat my ass."

"Okay, okay—point taken."

"Not everybody gets to tongue my ass. It's a privilege."

"So lucky, my life is complete now that Shin Yuna allows me the honor of worshiping her ass." 

That makes her squeeze your cock all too hard in this agonizingly slow stroke. "My ass is fucking amazing. The only word for it, and it deserves some appreciation. I don't even let anyone else but you fuck me there."

"Why do I not believe that?"

Yuna drops a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your chest. "You don't have to believe it. I'll let half a dozen guys all have turns fucking me at once—until they cum inside me or on my face. Nobody but you gets the luxury of pounding my ass though."

“I’m touched.” 

"You should be. Every guy I fuck should be on their knees, begging me for the slightest chance to worship my body, especially my ass." 

Nobody has confidence like Yuna does, even if it's wildly inflated. As much as her very presence annoys you, it’s hard to say you could survive long without that tight ass. Whether it’s bouncing on your cock, your face, or just existing in front of your hips to have a handprint against it. That doesn't mean you'd ever drop to your knees and grovel for her, but there's no denying how much power that ass has.

"Nobody has a better ass than you, Yuna. Not even Yeji. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She laughs—this sinister laugh, while squeezing your cock in her tight little hand, nodding all excitedly in agreement. You know it's going to go to her head, but the alternative is much worse. "Good, now can you just jerk me off in peace?"

“Fine,” she says, with a defeated sigh. “If that's what you want. I won't make another sound. You can just relax. Pretend I'm not here. I'll just keep jerking off this nice, thick cock until you cum again." 

"Now you're getting it."

You close your eyes and appreciate the silence, knowing this might be the only time when Yuna doesn't find some excuse to run her mouth. Her hands keep busy, and god, are her hands just heaven when she's so slow and focused. The one time she doesn't say a fucking word, just pumping your cock until you're ready to explode all over her.

You don't even remember falling asleep. The last thing you remember is Yuna straddling you, riding with all the energy in the world despite her earlier exhaustion. Hair draped over her face as she bounced up and down, hips so frantic and needy, groaning while you slipped a finger to toy with her ass. And then it's all a blur. Sweet, uninterrupted slumber, and that's how you ended up like this.

But now, Yuna isn't anywhere to be seen. And you're not sure if that's a good thing or not. So, rather reluctantly, you rise from the comfort of your bed, grab a fresh pair of boxers, a clean shirt, and stumble right into the kitchen for some semblance of routine. 

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, a normally welcome start to the day. This time it's different—it's burnt. Far from the rich aroma of a good cup, the one you've brewed on your expensive coffee machine you imported just months ago. Something's amiss.

There's the culprit. Yuna is standing there, fiddling around with the machine like the controls are in a different language. She's dressed at least, kind of, barefoot in what appears to be your shirt, white and loose fitting, barely covering her delicious bare ass when she's bent over trying to figure out the buttons.

"Morning," Yuna says over her shoulder, as if completely oblivious to the damage she's caused. "Think your coffee machine is broken."

"Did you break it?"

She takes a good hard look at the machine, as if in disbelief, before turning back around. "No, not a chance. It was like this when I got here."

"Yuna, did you break my fucking coffee machine?" you ask again, in dire need of the very thing she's about to deprive you of. 

"What did I just say? It's not broken. Look, if you press this button it comes out with this weird looking water and if you do this—fuck."

This is unbelievable. As if you needed another reason to kick her out the second you're awake, because you know first hand that Yuna should never be allowed in a kitchen. Any kitchen. Not after the burnt chocolate incident. 

"Let me handle this. Before you destroy my kitchen too."

"Hey, rude—I was just trying to be helpful. But you have some weird fucking coffee maker that you need a PhD in three different languages to understand."

She takes a step back, sighing in defeat as you take over and deal with the chaos left behind. "This is why I don't have company in the morning. A pretty girl comes over and immediately tries to burn my entire place to the ground."

There's this surprised gasp that escapes from her lips as you start everything over from scratch, dumping out whatever awful concoction that was brewing earlier.

"Wait, pretty? You think I'm pretty?"

"That's what you're focusing on right now? You really are insufferable," you mutter, with Yuna's eyes fixating on you while she just beams at the compliment. A few adjustments here and there, a fresh pour of water, and the aroma of fresh coffee starts to linger, slowly clearing up the disaster zone Yuna has left behind.

"You didn't answer my question." 

You have nothing in you but an eye roll.

"Yes. You're very pretty," you finally relent, pulling down two mugs from the cabinet above. "I could do worse than waking up to that in my bed. With my ruined coffee machine."

"Hey, it's not ruined, you jerk. It's working now, isn't it?" 

For now. Not the point you want to argue about right now, because you need caffeine in your system more than you ever have. At least you can enjoy a proper cup on the balcony with Yuna, even if that means putting up with her presence. Which maybe isn't as bad as you once thought, given the eye candy alone makes it slightly tolerable. 

Days pass. Uneventful, mostly, without anything much but the occasional lewd text from Yuna at random points throughout the day. Which you'll admit, is preferable to her showing up at your place unannounced, because you think getting off to the nudes she sends without having to hear her whining in person is a much better alternative. 

It's the weekend, and you don't have anything planned that doesn't involve sleeping it all away. An hour at the gym, maybe. Catching up on laundry, cooking yourself a nice dinner—trying that new bottle of wine that's been sitting in your cabinet untouched for months.

But you’ll never get to any of that. 

"Guess who?" 

That’s all Yuna says before forcing her way into the apartment, like she's already expecting to be let in without a second thought. This bright, happy smile on her lips, strutting into the living room in a small little crop top, and these ridiculous white shorts that are tighter than they have any right to be. "I know you missed me. So I'm here to return your shirt. I washed it. Or the dry cleaning people washed it. Doesn't matter."

"Thanks. Just leave it on the counter, and then you can leave."

Yuna frowns, far more offended by this suggestion than any other you've laid out for her. "But you missed me, haven't you? So I'm going to stay for a couple of days, and you're just going to have to suck it up."

So much for peace and quiet. 

“Absolutely the hell not. Don't you have your own apartment to wreck? You're not staying here."

"Why not?" she asks, tossing your shirt on the counter, just like you said. But just as quickly, she takes a seat on the couch and makes herself entirely too comfortable. "My place is a fucking mess, and I'd rather have some company. Plus, you have that really nice bed that's a thousand times more comfortable than anything I own." 

"You're not staying," you reiterate. "Why are you even here? Did you just get done with a dick appointment, so you're coming here now? This isn't a hotel."

Yuna stretches out on the couch, not bothered in the slightest. "No. I haven't been fucked in three days. How crazy is that? We need to catch up, so I figured I would stay with you—"

"We? Try again. I'm sure there's a gangbang going down somewhere, or an orgy you can crash. I am not letting you stay."

"What, is having me in your life such a terrible fate that you'll die if you don't have a moment's peace? A hot girl on your couch and the first thing you think of is getting rid of her?"

"That's exactly right. I have things to do today. important things. Things that don't involve babysitting you."

Yuna cocks her head at you, wide-eyed. "What could you possibly have to do today that's more important than this ass? Huh? Name one thing."

This girl is the definition of exhausting. Trying to tear your attention away from her brazen attitude is harder than it should be, with her figure slumped against the back of the sofa—arms spread wide and long legs extended so invitingly. That top riding higher and higher each time she so much as breathes, offering a full view of her toned abdomen. You can't find the strength or motivation to fight this, when Yuna looks the way she does. And you're certainly no stranger to sleeping with her.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. There are a thousand things more important than giving you attention. Now get off my couch and go find someone else to annoy."

The demand only earns a childish scoff, Yuna folding her arms across her chest. "Oh come on—look, I'll be good. I'll sleep on the couch, I'll cook you breakfast and dinner and clean whatever the hell I mess up. I won't bother you. Promise."

"You're not stepping foot in my kitchen after you almost broke my coffee maker."

"Almost. Keyword, almost," Yuna adds, barely getting to the end of her sentence before standing up and making her way across the living room to your side. "If I can't cook or clean or do anything, how do you suggest I pay you back for letting me stay here, hmm?"

You clench your fists so hard while exhaling, staring daggers into this psuedo-innocent expression that doesn't have any weight behind it. Knowing damn well what those gears turning in her head have planned. 

"Don’t worry, you're not staying here. So there's no need to pay me back." A simple rejection doesn't seem to deter her. It never does. 

She’s no stranger to the word no, but it doesn’t stop her from taking another step forward. And another one, closing the distance between, almost as a test to see how far she can go before the resistance starts. Then she steps back. Only to spin around, those tempting hips and ass pressing right into the crotch of your sweatpants, using the armchair nearby like support to push a little harder. 

And when she's looking like that, the way Yuna throws that devilish look over her bare shoulder while wiggling her ass is such an easy sell, a perfect visual that causes blood to rush down towards your cock. "If you prefer, I could just pull them right off…"

Somewhere deep inside, you want this—to give up this charade and indulge yourself in every inch of her. In that ass you have memorized to every detail, in that perfect fucking cunt that's yours to taste anytime you please. But the second you give in, there's no turning back.

Because you can't keep pretending that you can control yourself around this girl. Every shred of composure you try to have is fleeting when Yuna's there offering herself up on a platter.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've had someone spank my ass? Two weeks? Maybe even three. Nobody hits harder than those big, strong hands. Nobody can put me in my place like you do. And I've been such a bad, bad girl.” 

Staring at the view presented before you, your knees feel a little weak. The things you want to do to this bratty little tease are practically limitless, sending your imagination racing when you follow the curve of her hips. Because maybe it’s about time she got what she deserves. All those handprints, her sensitive flesh just bruised by your palm, the sight of her bent over and spanked relentlessly—maybe her punishment is your reward. 

It's inevitable at this point. And the worst part is, Yuna knows this all too well.

"What are you waiting for? Spank my ass, make it yours. Make it hurt so good. Please."

That please is what does you in. Because you can picture it now, feeling the supple skin of her ass bounce under every smack of your hand, and that high pitched yelp tearing through her throat the second you really put power behind each strike.

It doesn't help those goddamn skintight shorts that hug her ass, a perfect invitation to have your way. 

You sigh under your breath. Because you’ll fold like always, giving in to those desperate pleas. If only to satisfy the lust that builds for Yuna’s tight body. The way your cock will feel buried inside her ass, while you get so rough fucking her. Until she can barely stand on her own two feet anymore.

Fuck. She knows she's already won.

"Fine. You fucking brat. But not here, not on the couch. I'll need a drink for this."

With a final look at her—looking like sin and sex on two legs, you drag her towards the kitchen to look for the strongest thing you have, looking past the bottle of wine that will have to wait. Yuna waits silently by the counter, with that same knowing look in her eye. A look that has no chance to fade even once you pop open a bottle of something to help wash the regret down.

"God, you're going to regret wearing those shorts," you tell her, not bothering with a glass and taking a huge swig straight from the bottle. And then another. 

"I don’t regret a single thing in my life. Now where's mine?" Yuna asks, pout on her lips as she ignores the fact that those shorts are coming off the first chance you get. 

"You're annoying enough sober—you don't get shit until I've had enough to tolerate you." 

She giggles. Which at this point is more infuriating than cute. "So never?" 

Yuna watches the bottle return to your lips for another long sip. You don't even deny that—instead, your eyes are glued to her shapely figure while you wait for the alcohol to kick in. 

"Give me your belt.” 

You slam the bottle down and stare straight ahead at the puzzled look on Yuna's face—but there's no objection. Instead, she complies and unfastens the clasp before sliding the white leather strip right out and handing it over without asking a thing. 

And that's when you do the honors. Unfastening the front button of those ridiculous shorts and tugging the zipper down. Her shorts are so impossibly tight that even after all that, they still take a little extra strength to tug down past the full curve of her ass. But you do manage to peel them down, staring at the tiny scrap of blue cotton and lace that hardly covers a damn thing—what those shorts are concealing beneath, this small string nestled just between her smooth, bare asscheeks. 

“Surprised you even wore panties at all today.” 

“I wore them so you’d rip them off me. It’s no fun if I don’t make you earn it first.”

That cocky little smirk doesn’t falter—not until you grab her ass like it belongs to you, fingers digging in deep, rough enough to make her squirm. Yuna wants to be manhandled, you know that already, so you squeeze harder, spread her wide and knead every inch, marveling at how much of her there is to take.

Her thong barely counts as anything, just a bright blue string that disappears between her cheeks. It's the only thing standing between you and burying deep inside.

"Fuck, I can't wait to feel your hands hurting this ass so fucking hard," Yuna groans, rolling her hips back into your grip. 

You don't respond—because now you've got your teeth hooked into the flimsy fabric of her thong. One swift tug downward snaps the thin fabric and tears right through so you can get right to that incredible ass of hers. No sooner have the scraps of her panties fallen to the kitchen floor before you've got a solid grip on each bare cheek, sinking your teeth in just enough to mark her pale flesh.

Laughing under your breath as you run fingertips across those creamy cheeks, you shake your head in disbelief. "You think I'm going to be using my hands?" you ask while picking up her discarded belt, an almost forgotten strip of leather until this exact moment.

Yuna looks back over her shoulder with the biggest grin.

"We're doing this my way.” 

Dropping your sweatpants right around your ankles for some relief, she can't help but stare at your bulge. And a smile perks up on her lips the instant she catches sight of the leather belt in your tight fist. Surprisingly, Yuna stays silent, even as you test the belt out between the palm of your hand, the crack of leather echoing around the kitchen. "You wanna get spanked? Then you're gonna get spanked. Bad girls don't get a say in this."

"Can't wait," she responds, not obedient, but almost daring as her hands clutch tight to the kitchen counter to brace for the first impact. Neither can you. 

"Eyes forward then, slut," you demand, running the leather down her skin, tracing along every curve until she has no choice but to face away. Before any warning, the satisfying crack of leather connects right against her bare ass, ripping a startled yelp from those bratty lips. A strike so forceful it jolts her body forward and leaves a light imprint on her delicate flesh. 

It puts a smile on your face when you get the same reaction. Another sharp crack cuts through the silence, right against the flesh of her ass with even much force. Another welt, another moan, as this bright red mark begins to form as the color spreads across her flesh. "M-more, please—that stings so fucking good. F-fuck, more."

The next smack sends her hips slamming back into the counter, another strangled noise coming from her mouth right as you hit her harder without thinking. “If it's too much, speak up." 

But the noise she makes is barely coherent. All you can see is the look of excitement on her face as you deliver more stinging slaps to her same cheek, over and over until you've had enough—only switching to the other for an identical treatment and marking the unblemished skin just the same.

"N-never. I love the pain, love the feeling of this belt on my ass—please keep going." Even with the crack in her voice, the smack of leather against bare skin overshadows her cries while you up the ante and show no mercy. 

Over and over with these slaps all over her cheeks, fueled by frustration with Yuna yelping each time you send the belt flying into that sore, marked skin. But she still grinds her hips back at you for more, eager for any ounce of pleasure, and every ounce of pain that comes alongside.

The entire time Yuna stays bent over, loud gasps and pathetic whines for another while these harsh spanks rain down so she can feel the sting that lingers right after. Hard enough to leave her speechless and biting back to not beg you for even worse. She grips the countertop like she'll simply fall over if she doesn't. And after a well-timed hit, you force a break that she doesn't ask for—a moment to collect herself and catch her bearings. A moment to admire the redness that's not going away anytime soon.

"Still want more?" you ask her with a tug at her hair, the belt grazing her tender skin. 

"M-more. Give me everything you fucking have," she can barely breathe out between whimpers, gripping even tighter onto the kitchen counter, so that your next hit to that reddened ass leaves behind an unmistakable imprint on those plump cheeks. "Fucking make it hurt, don't treat me like I can't take it. Harder."

You can certainly oblige her. Harder is exactly what you'll do—each vicious snap of the belt a little more relentless, no pauses between several loud cracks against that aching flesh, causing the most delectable noise as Yuna gasps every single time. Even as you step back, inspecting the artwork you've left on her backside, Yuna is far from satisfied. "I said to fucking make it hurt. But you're holding back on me, stop doing that."

Oh, let her fucking complain. Even with a burning sting on her ass, Yuna can't help but provoke you a bit further, with your grip in her hair tightening. But those slaps only come faster—each vicious hit with the leather cracks over her raw ass, moans muffled as her cheek gets pressed right up against the cold countertop. 

The belt swings wide again, hitting both cheeks at once and making them jiggle, the redness across Yuna's round little ass making a stark contrast against the pure, porcelain skin. And she hears it first before feeling it. 

Another cry of ecstasy that escapes her throat right as the belt brings about more stinging slaps, until you let the folded length of her own belt linger in the air, so she doesn't even know when the next swing will happen. You love nothing more than watching her body tense up—every single nerve on edge knowing another hard smack will come her way the second she even breathes, her reddened ass ready to receive whatever you have left in store for it.

"Like doesn't begin to describe it. I'm fucking crazy for it," she gasps out, when the belt stays far enough away that you give her some sense of relief—until it brushes over the sore, sensitive skin, making the softest touch seem worse than an outright strike. Then it cracks over her cheeks in succession, her thighs clenching together as she takes it. 

"My god, nobody has an ass like this, Shin Yuna. Nobody. Especially now with all these pretty little marks, and those noises you make when I spank you, I could listen to those all fucking day."

You put the belt down and stroke over the red welts from where you may have gone just a little too far, not that Yuna would ever object. She glances back over her shoulder with the biggest smile, even through the tears staining her cheeks.

"That’s as much as you deserve, you desperate little slut.” 

Up her body you wander, pulling her upright and stripping her of that small crop top so your hands have better access. Then straight into the clasp of her bra, cupping her tits once you’ve freed them, kneading with a little force the way you know Yuna loves. 

"I can handle so much more than this, I swear. I could take so much more," Yuna insists with another cute sniffle. The problem is, you know she can. All you have to do is glance between her thighs, and the mess on the tiles tells you enough. 

"I know you can," you breathe in her ear, hand trailing up around her throat until your fingers close tightly around it. Yuna lets out this short and sweet moan in your grasp when you apply more pressure. “But you got what you want. Now it’s my fucking turn.” 

Yuna drips at the thought. There's no sense in resisting her, no point in pretending this wasn't inevitable from the moment she had herself bent over with those tight fucking shorts. You'll give into everything she wants despite pretending to do the opposite. 

"What's that fucking word you keep calling me?" you ask her, the grip around her neck making her thighs clench even harder this time. "Go on."

"D-daddy. That's it. But you said never to—"

"Doesn't apply here. One time, this one time, use it. Use it while I'm shoving my cock in your needy little asshole, understand?"

"Yes—I fucking understand. Y-yes, daddy. Just this once."

A quick release of her throat so Yuna can turn her body in your direction, the tears in those alluring eyes yet to dry up. Your free hand palms over her ass once again, getting a nice, possessive squeeze as a reward for everything she's endured already.

"My ass fucking hurts," she says, laughing it off between shaky breaths and the occasional sniffle. "G-god, this belt fucking hurt more than your hand ever could."

"Are you complaining or bragging?" you ask as your lips meet, hot breath against one another as her slender fingers grasp against the hem of your shirt, up and off within seconds so she can slide her fingers up and down your bare chest. 

"What do you think?" 

Your boxers come off last, not even hitting the ground before Yuna is stroking your stiff cock with this playful expression on her features. Then it's in her grip the entire time you walk her down the hallway and into the bedroom. As expected, she can't keep her hands off of you for more than a second, right up to when the bed frame hits the back of her knees and the only option is falling back onto the mattress.

"God, Yuna, the things I'm going to do to you—the ways I'll ruin you." With her legs spread wide, and thighs glistening with arousal, you get to indulge in the view while Yuna plays with her clit in lazy, drawn-out circles.

“Need you in my ass, daddy—need it now. Isn't that clear?" Oh, how unexpected that she’s going to abuse the permission of that one single word. 

"I can assure you the feeling is mutual," you insist, and join her on the edge of the mattress, taking her hips and flipping her over until she's lying right on her stomach with that sore, marked ass up on display, raised up off the mattress.

She props herself up on her elbows so she’s in position, right in the center of the bed. The sight is perfection—this shameless, insatiable fucktoy, sprawled across your bed with her legs parted, knees sunk into the bed, ready and waiting for you. 

Just as she opens her mouth to say something, you bury your face into those pillowy cheeks, the tip of your tongue swirling against her tight fucking asshole.

"F-fuuuck, it's been so long since I've had your tongue in my ass, daddy," Yuna moans, your spit lubricating her puckered hole all over, the softness of her cheeks pressing deep against your face as she tries to grind back. You shove your tongue deeper, tasting, savoring everything—eating her ass like it's the only reason you let her stay here tonight. The reason why you even opened the front door.

There's nothing better than the unfiltered moans while you plunge your tongue deep into the depths of her asshole, face first against it and greedy, spreading her wide apart while you slip in, those cries of pleasure getting higher. 

You taste—no, you devour her, tongue exploring, thrusting in and out of that tight little ring that clenches around each swipe. This delicious tongue-fuck that gets better the more desperate Yuna sounds, writhing around your sheets and pushing back, all in hopes to keep your mouth where it belongs. 

"This ass belongs to me," you remind her, a harsh slap on the still reddened flesh to make the pleasure even better. 

Yuna spreads her cheeks wider so you can plunge as deep as possible, so you can hear her delicious moans as your spit covers her glistening hole. One long, sloppy lick in and out, tongue so deep in her asshole that all she can do is whimper helplessly for more. 

"D-don't act like you didn't miss this," she says, still as cocky as ever through a breathless groan of satisfaction. Your tongue teases one last time, a thumb replacing it to press into the ring of muscle that's already relaxed, seeing how easy it is to sink into.

She’s more than ready, but you need one more taste before grabbing the lube so you can slide a wet digit right inside the puckered hole of Yuna's ass—fingering her the same way you've done countless times already. 

She's tight, of course, that’s a given, but even as a finger curls inside, this grip around your finger won’t begin to compare once your cock is in the same place. Two fingers is the limit, plunging them deep enough to stretch Yuna just enough so your cock will slide right in. "Only I get to fucking pound your asshole, yeah?"

"O-oh fuck, it's only you, daddy. Nobody else, nobody but you, I promise—your cock in my ass, right where it belongs. J-just you." 

Your fingers finally pop out, and instead the slick, swollen head of your cock is pushing into the tightest, most inviting hole—one long, deep thrust right up until the base, so her asshole can swallow every last inch in a single motion. 

Yuna clutches the sheets so tight, arching her back to push that ass up into the air. She's so tight that you can't even fathom it, this delicious clench around everything stuffed to the hilt—and there's nothing like this. Nobody gets this privilege, you believe. Nobody gets to indulge in the luxury of fucking Yuna's perfect, tight little asshole. Not a single person but you gets to make her moan quite this way. 

"Stop wasting time and fuck my ass. Pound me, p-please. Don't make me fucking beg." 

So much for savoring any of it. You sink your fingers right into her ridiculous hips, gripping her harder than usual to drag her backwards onto your cock. Hard enough to force this groan out of her—so needy and pathetic in the midst when your hips meet her bare ass. A brief moment to take it all in, before sliding almost entirely back and rocking forward with full force. 

"Oh my fucking god—my ass feels so full, shit—"

She's barely breathing between words, and you don't intend on helping her out in that regard at all when you're too busy staring at her red, tender cheeks, loving how they jiggle with every rock of your hips.

“Did you expect anything else?" you ask while giving her a good, harsh slap to that same spot where red is still clear as can be. With such a good view, it's impossible to do anything other than drive deep and begin pounding her mercilessly. "A pathetic fucking slut like you deserves nothing but a rough fuck. And that's what you're gonna get." 

Yuna does little but spew moans and throw her head back when your cock buries deep in her ass. This tightness never gets old, your hips on a mission to bury in her and hit all the places Yuna loves, enough to get her drooling all over your pillows. But her asshole—as snug, warm, and irresistible as it is, you can’t fathom how hard she squeezes every time you drill forward, showing no signs of restraint.

"S-so good," she lets out through short gasps, her face buried in the pillows and her teeth biting your sheets hard. “Love when you treat me like a fucking toy, daddy—"

"Yuna, that's exactly what you are," you tell her while you're so deep in her ass it's almost overwhelming. "So tight, I'll never stop pounding you, fuck. Tightest little hole I've ever fucked."

Yuna glances over her shoulder, while you get a good, tight grip on her hair and tug so she clenches harder, with every stroke balls fucking deep—as rough as you think she needs it. Even as the sound of your cock reaming her ass echoes throughout the entire room, nothing could possibly be enough. 

Your unrelenting, deep thrusts into Yuna's asshole cause the whole damn bed to creak from the violent force of your strokes, pulling her hair harder for that extra roughness she loves. 

No break, not the slightest pause until you absolutely have to—because you could do this all day and not grow tired of the way Yuna moans or how her cheeks bounce when you slam into them. Those cheeks that you get a tight handful of—palms full, and dig your fingers in for some leverage while your thrusts turn animalistic, barely in control at this point. 

But Yuna can take it, you can see it in that fucked out expression. The pleasure written all over her features while her mouth falls open as you show her no mercy—spreading her ass just so you can marvel at your cock hammering in and out, stretched out so wide around you.

"So good, g-god, so deep, love how deep your cock goes," Yuna can barely get out, like it takes all the energy out of her. You know you're not anywhere near wearing her out, not while watching your dick destroy her asshole.

"Not enough?" 

“N-not even fucking close. Give me all you've got, come on," she pleads for in this broken, muffled whine with her face shoved so far against your sheets she can barely breathe. 

Another deep thrust, enough force behind that slams the bed against the wall, loud enough to compete with the sound of her ass slapping against your hips. And when you draw back again, you grab her delicate little wrists, pulling her arms behind her back and using them as leverage—so Yuna can't do anything at all but let her asshole get wrecked.

"More, more—keep fucking pounding my tight ass, come on. D-don't stop, daddy. You know I'm fucking addicted to this fat cock," Yuna pleads so pathetically, immobile and helpless, taking whatever comes next with her arms hostage and your cock impaling her to the hilt.

Your hips do exactly that. Fucking her ass in quick strokes until all she does is cry out for you to destroy her, and then some. Yuna takes everything, the groans and yelps when you give no chance for recovery, the thrusts so deep and noises more depraved by the second. Her wrists pinned by the small of her back so she doesn't even have the chance of touching her swollen clit.

"That cock in my ass feels so fucking amazing. Oh my fucking god, fuck me, fuck my asshole as deep as possible."

When you yank her body back, your hands stay locked around her wrists with enough force for her to gasp. But you’re too busy pummeling her ass to even get a word out—too focused on that impossible tightness wrapped around your cock, the  perfect grip around every inch like it's trying to force you to cum.

"Better get used to this, slut. My cock is going to keep wrecking your tight little ass over and over again for the next two days. And maybe even longer if you really deserve it."

Her wrists go free, only for your hands to find her delicious hips again, slamming back in and using all the momentum to crash into Yuna as hard as your body can muster—until she's pinned flat onto your mattress, trapped right under you without a single break between the thrusts that hit at a different angle. 

With your legs spread on either side of her, your torso stays flat against her naked back, keeping your weight right down over her small frame. The bed shakes each time you enter the deepest parts of her ass, every single stroke her greedy hole swallows up and demands even more than you can possibly offer. 

"That's it, j-just like that. Just keep fucking my ass, love the way that you ruin it—"

"Yuna—" You bring a harsh smack down across her reddened, sore cheek to really punctuate each thrust. "You think I wouldn’t when your ass is squeezing my cock so fucking good?"

Every bit of movement between the two of you happens right where your skin is pressed against hers—sweat on her body indistinguishable from the sweat on yours. Hands around her hips so you can keep a nice, possessive grip while you relentlessly drive forward to pound her body into your mattress, no chance of lasting much longer now. Not with the way you're drilling her, no chance at all.

And yet, you can't tear your eyes away from how her ass looks getting pounded, bouncing every time your hips make contact with the reddened cheeks of her ass.

"If you fuck me any harder, you might actually break this bed," Yuna gasps out, laughter still coming to her lips despite how ruined and breathless she is. That sounds like a good option, if you can’t help it, no matter how rough you need to be with her. Yuna is beyond that—insatiable and incapable of getting satisfied for very long at all, the way most people would. 

But that doesn't mean you won't give your all for this performance. So you get back on your knees, getting each hand full of Yuna's plump ass, sinking your fingertips as much as humanly possible to watch your cock destroy this perfect girl. 

"Then I'll keep going, until we've destroyed my entire goddamn bedroom. That's how much I love pounding your ass."

She just giggles until a moan replaces it, lost in all these noises. You won't stop, not if your legs give out from exhaustion. Every hard and deep thrust has your eyes fixed upon where your hips meet those decadent cheeks. With Yuna face down on her stomach, there’s no better view to watch how well your cock stretches her hole open. 

"You're getting there, I can feel it," she taunts. You hate that you can’t even see her face, but you know she’s grinning. Smug little brat. "Go ahead, fill this tight, little asshole. Use it until you cum."

And she just gets you so riled up, that it's inevitable, as soon as those words leave Yuna's mouth. "I cannot believe I went this long without my cock inside you. When you say it out loud, it just sounds—"

"Crazy? Come on. I know it drove you crazy. The only time you're actually fucking happy is when this big dick is buried in my ass. Not just inside some random girl who's not me, or a warm mouth who's not mine."

God, do you hate when she's right. Hate it with every fiber of your being, but you don't even have time to think about anything else, because these soft cheeks you're palming so hard is the thing that's about to break you first. That same voice that you can't stand on most days, is what helps you unravel—what brings you to that delirious edge and drives your hips with full force for these last few deep thrusts that rattle the bed. 

You start to lose full control, snapping your hips a little too fast, once, twice—before finally bottoming out with her name on your lips and erupting deep inside her ass. It's unstoppable, filling her with your thick, messy release in each deep throb when your cock pumps Yuna full, her asshole accepting it with each final burst of tightness.

"There you go, fucking cum in my ass," Yuna moans out as those harsh clenches milk everything out of you. You ride that high for as long as possible, each furious thrust pumping your seed deep inside, each hammering her body into the mattress—again and again until your balls have nothing left. 

Even after then, your hips don’t cease, fucking the rest of your load deeper inside her tight, filled hole. You can already see your release trickling out, her ass stuffed too full and overflowing with your cum already. "F-fuck, there's so fucking much, it's so thick—oh my god, daddy came so much…” 

Yuna sighs out into the silence, while you're left holding those sore cheeks to catch your breath. Both of you struggling to recover. 

"That's like, several days worth of cum in your ass," you say, dragging your spent cock out of her to get a good look, holding her cheeks spread apart as it flows in a thick mess between her thighs. Your fingers slide right into that gaping, ruined asshole, pushing back whatever cum threatens to drip out.

"Jesus, Yuna. Look at how much is spilling out. Was worried I actually broke you there for a moment when you're this tight."

"Nope. Still perfect. And it's still not enough," Yuna says, insatiable as ever. Only then do you start to peel yourself off of her, her worn-out body a complete sweat-covered mess.

“Too bad. You fucking drained me dry, you greedy slut."

Yuna laughs, and when she rolls over on her back to face you, she's the image of perfection: hair matted all against her forehead with sweat, makeup a bit smeared, her lips and cheeks redder than usual—ruined but still absolutely stunning.

“Like you could ever run out. Not when I'm around…” 

Yuna shifts right in front of you until she's directly in front of your gaze and kneeling between your legs. She smiles up at you and her mouth gets right back on your throbbing, sensitive cockhead. Each obscene slurp makes it a little harder to convince yourself that she shouldn't be staying for the weekend, because you might not ever let her leave. While not a day goes by without you hating her guts, not a day goes by without wanting to pin her up against a wall and fuck her senseless.

Her mouth slides deep, cleaning off everything, and her lips, her tongue running against the slit, and the cute expression the whole time, god—this girl is going to be the death of you.

She drags her tongue in slow, gentle swipes around the head, sucking every single drop clean and looking for more. There's not a single bit of reluctance—her wet mouth eagerly cleaning up your shaft in long strokes. Then she slides both hands around your hips and shoves you back, knocking you off balance until you hit the mattress. Yuna doesn’t give you a second to recover, already between your legs again. 

Now you're the helpless one, that hot little mouth working to fit the entire thick length down her throat. You don't even care about the overstimulation, not with this view of Yuna bobbing her head, those lips sealed tight. 

"Fuck, you’re crazy—“ you let out, running fingers through her messy hair, while Yuna ignores you and devours your spent cock, balls deep down her throat until she gags the slightest bit.

"You love it, though. Because it means you’re gonna fuck me harder now.” 

Maybe you do regret ever opening the door for her and letting her inside your apartment to ruin her. Or maybe you're the one ruined instead. You're not entirely sure at this point. 

"You're gonna have to wait, not everything is at full capacity yet." Yuna cocks her head to the side, stopping her full strokes so she can crawl up and get comfortable on top of you, until you're face to face, inches apart. 

"Daddy got too worn out pounding my ass? Is that my fault?"

All you have the energy for is to brush away strands of her disheveled hair out of the way, so you can stare at her gorgeous face. "Yes. And you can stop calling me that. One time thing, remember?"

Yuna giggles. "No—one time won't be enough. You know I like saying it."

You can’t even hide the sigh that escapes. But you should have known better, you suppose, for letting the floodgates open and allowing her that one time. Now you'll never hear the end of it, and it's going to be rolling off her lips the next time she begs you to fuck her again.

"You'll never listen to anything I say ever, will you?"

You already know the answer to that. But you’ll still indulge in her lips, this unexpected soft kiss after all the roughness. After all the debauchery of tonight, it’s what you both need. 

"Definitely not," Yuna replies, eyes wide and bright. “You’re just gonna have to find a way to shut me up—daddy."

You hate that word with a passion, you'd hate it if you were to hear anyone else say it to you—but for some reason, hearing that coming from those pouty lips, you hate even more that you might grow to love it the same amount. "You get to stay the weekend, and not a minute longer. Got it?"

There's this knowing glint in her eyes, all too confident that you'll break and think otherwise. "Don't be so sure about that. After one more night, you'll be begging me to stay an entire month. Begging me."

A roll of your eyes, and a laugh that’s far too loud escapes, because in truth, she's most certainly right. It's this push and pull between wanting her far away and wanting her around more than ever.

"Yuna, don't push your fucking luck," you warn, the last remnants of trying to distract from the truth.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think? I've pushed far past my limit. Might as well just start moving my things here."

That's a step too far. You'll fuck her brains out as many times as she needs, you'll even allow her to sleep in your bed for as many nights as she wants. This is already too domestic for your liking, but the thought of her staying here without giving you a moment's break? You'd rather perish.

"Absolutely fucking not. Don't even joke about that, Yuna."

"I was kidding," she insists, playing with the locks of your hair, not bothered at all by the agony on your face. "I'm here to get dicked down, that's it. I don't need to take over your whole apartment just to make sure my asshole is stretched." 

"Jesus, Yuna. Why the fuck are you so—"

"Insatiable? Hot? Good at deepthroating you until you explode down my throat? Because it's fun to see you get so flustered, daddy." 

Another one slips past her lips. You're just going to have to live with it at this point, she's so obsessed getting a reaction out of you, and you make it so easy for her. "Fuck off, I do not get flustered. And you need to stop saying that."

"No fucking chance. I'm going to call you that every single time you pound me. I'm going to scream it while you shove my face into your pillows and fuck the shit out of me, while you fold me up and choke me, get me on my knees and gag me until I'm drooling—"

"Yuna, I am not fucking you for at least another hour. Maybe even two."

"That's fine. We don't have to fuck at all, because my ass still fucking hurts,” she says, letting out a noise somewhere near a giggle and a sigh all at once. “I'm going to feel those welts you left on me forever, that belt made my ass so fucking sore that I'm surprised I can even walk. Just thinking about it makes me fucking drip—“

"Could you be any bigger of a slut than you already are?" 

Yuna shakes her head, this soft smile as if your insults only spur her on, as they seem to do. "Never. Not even if I tried." 

[nsfwrpg]

Translate

Part One of Three. 12k words.

---

The day before the trip, you’re turning a corner at the office and she’s spilling an iced caramel macchiato - extra whipped cream, extra caramel drizzle - onto your clothes.

“Oh my god-” she spits, mouth frozen open as the reality of what she’d just done dawns on you both. She sees the suit, sees the ID card dangling on a lanyard from your neck, sees the Director title on it - and freezes.

After you both overcome your momentary shock, she steps close, producing napkins from her blazer’s inside pocket and using it to wipe uselessly at the whipped cream and caffeinated sugar-water soaking into your jacket.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” you say, genuinely. You were late to a meeting, and it was probably your fault for turning the corner too quickly without looking. You notice the equally wet patch on her own blazer, and notice her napkins quickly shredding into wet pieces as they try and fail to absorb the rogue caffeine stain. You reach into your pocket for your handkerchief and offer it to her.

“I- shit, I’ll, uh,” she stammers, even as she takes your handkerchief.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, slipping the jacket off, offering a crooked smile. For the first time you look up at her. She’s an unfamiliar face, and her ID card isn’t immediately visible. She’s slim, with dark hair, and beneath the awkward, worried look on her features is the kind of face that belongs on a magazine. You smile sheepishly.

“I’m so fucking sorry, I’ll get it cleaned, oh my god-”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” you say, already heading down the hall. “Late to a meeting. See you around!”

She watches you leave, still a little frozen in shock. She clutches what’s left of her macchiato in one hand, your handkerchief in the other.

She sighs.

---

“Seoul. Tokyo. Two weeks each. You leave tomorrow.” Taeyeon slides a tablet across her desk, just past the Vice President, Strategy name plate. On it are graphs and spreadsheets, numbers generally in green and arrows pointing generally upward. She spares a glance at the clearly dripping blazer folded over the back of your chair, and the corresponding damp spot on your chest, before leaning forward and threading her fingers atop her desk.

“Seoul is doing fine. Tokyo needs to pick it up a little,” she continues, tone sharp and direct, business persona fully on and engaged. “Either way, the CEO wants a status report on both offices by end-of-month so he can decide whether to expand ops in either country. We already have the hard data we need for a business case - we just need someone on the ground to confirm the numbers. Meet with the directors of each office, let them wine and dine you, take a tour of the facilities and offices, slap together a report for me to hand to the boss when you get back. Piece of cake.”

“Sounds like a month-long vacation,” you reply, relaxing a little further into the leather chair opposite her desk.

“Consider it a thank you for the good work you did on the Hirai deal,” Taeyeon says with a shrug, taking a sip from her mug - double-shot Americano, black, extra hot. You smirk as you recall the details of the deal, which took every ounce of your attention and time for a couple of months. There were too many long nights spent in this very office, the two of you working away at this document or that. “And you’re too busy?” Taeyeon glares, but there’s no heat in the frown on her lips. “I’m going to London to check up on the office there. I’d spend too much time in Seoul fielding ‘why aren’t you married to a chaebol heir and popping out kids yet’ questions from the family.”

“Coward. Come to Seoul with me. I’ll play the handsome foreign fiance in front of your parents. Maybe we tell them there’s a bun in the oven. Maybe in the hotel room-”

Taeyeon throws a paper clip at you. Her faux-serious frown becomes a reluctant smile to mirror the one on your own. Thankfully, her promotion to a VP position a year ago didn’t change the close relationship you’d forged over almost a decade of working together, especially now that you technically reported to her. HR would’ve had a field day with the things said and done in this twentieth-floor corner office, had even a fraction of it somehow leaked beyond its walls. 

“You had your shot with me,” she says, mostly-jokingly, under her breath. You don’t miss the wistfulness in the corners of her eyes as she crosses her arms and makes a playful show of looking out of her office’s floor-to-ceiling windows at Vancouver’s dark, cloudy afternoon. “I’ve moved on.”

Silence reigns for a moment that felt longer than it actually was. The I haven’t on your lips dies there, unspoken.

“Anyway, you’ll need a translator,” Taeyeon continues, eager to change the subject before it drowned you both in memories of years past. She shuffles a few papers around randomly on her desk in an attempt to alleviate the sudden tension in the air. When she looks up at you, the wistfulness isn’t entirely gone - just pushed down by the professionalism she wore like armor. “Her file’s on the tablet. Some new kid from Marketing.”

Your eyes linger on Taeyeon’s for a moment longer before you pick up the tablet. There is something behind her eyes in that split-second - thoughts she perhaps wants to turn into words. But the moment passes as quickly as it comes. She turns her eyes to her laptop, and you return yours to the tablet.

A swipe left reveals a resume and an unfamiliar name.

“Ryujin Shin.”

“Brand new to the company - only been with us less than a year, but apparently she’s already a bit of a rock star. Got promoted to Marketing Lead in six months. Her manager says she volunteered for this assignment. She was pretty insistent that she get it, apparently. Maybe she thinks overseas experience will be good for her career.”

“Hmm,” you muse, as you review Ryujin’s resume. Degree with honors, top of her training cohort, gleaming reference letters. 

“She’s fluent in both Korean and Japanese,” Tayeon continues, “so make sure you get your translations directly from her. CEO wants real shit in the report, not a sugarcoated version from the local translators.”

You place the tablet back on her desk as you rise. “I’ll get it done, ma’am,” you state, before straightening up and giving her an exaggerated military salute. 

Taeyeon returns the salute with one of her own, a soft smile perking up the corners of her lips. For a moment she’s twenty-six again, bright-eyed, greeting you with a smile at the company orientation that she was in charge of organizing. You feel something stir in your chest, somewhere deep down where the past still lingered.

“Dismissed, Director,” she answers.

Her smile follows you out the door. It lingers even after you leave, but tinged with a sadness that she’d fought to keep hidden while you were in the room.

---

Ryujin Shin was late.

You weren’t exactly sure what to expect - her profile didn’t include a photo or even so much as a birthdate, so you treated every female that approached within twenty feet as potentially being your translator and guide for the next month. This resulted in some awkward eye contact and equally awkward smiles with random female travellers making their way through Vancouver International Airport’s departures terminal.

You’re directing one such awkward smile toward a middle-aged woman when the actual Ryujin Shin approaches. “Director?”

You turn your head to the sound and there she is - the girl from the morning prior. The one that had left half her drink on your suit jacket.

“...Ryujin Shin?”

“That’s me,” she says, shyly. She fidgets with the slim silver chain around her wrist. She’s dressed casually, in an oversized navy cardigan and wide cut jeans, but looks just as fitting for a magazine cover as she did when she was spilling iced caffeine on you the day before.  “Shall we get going?”

---

The thirteen hours over the Pacific are relatively uneventful - hours of movies on your iPad, a microwaved but surprisingly edible bibimbap, and dying more than you’d like in the latest Souls-like to test your blood pressure. Ryujin spent most of it asleep, snoring softly in the seat next to you.

It’s near midnight when the two of you arrive in South Korea’s capital city. The bright neon lights of downtown Seoul paint Ryujin’s soft features in bright blues and pastel pinks as she stares out the taxi windows with wonder, awe, and nostalgia clashing on her soft features. The taxi pulls up in front of a high-end boutique hotel that your assistant had insisted was popular with travel influencers.

Ryujin slipped into her translator duties early, helping the two of you check in to your rooms. You don’t miss the blush on her cheeks and the embarrassed wave of her hands when the desk clerk sheepishly asks her a question in Korean before shooting you a glance heavy with implication. Eventually, Ryujin receives two key cards from the clerk and hands one of them to you as you both make your way to the elevator.

“She thought we were married,” she admits, shyly, as she pushes the up arrow button on the wall. “Thought we were here for our wedding or something.”

“Cute,” you say, shooting her a smile. The blush lingers.

The elevator dings on the 10th floor, and the doors open. Ryujin heads out first, but when you make to follow her, she stops you with a raised hand.

“Company got you a suite. You’re on the 14th floor. Room 1421.”

“Oh,” you admit. “Got it.”

“Don’t forget - first meeting tomorrow is at 9am. See you in the lobby at 8?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good night, Director,” she says with a slim smile, before disappearing behind the closing elevator doors, leaving you still a little unsure as to what to make of her.

--

Your first day in the Seoul office is filled with introductions and greetings - it wasn’t your first time in the city and you were used to the overly formal introductions, but it didn’t make things any less awkward. The day starts with a meeting with the office’s leadership, each of whom rise from their seats in turn and provide you with their name, title, and what you assume to be the usual corporate platitudes and greetings.

At your shoulder, Ryujin translates.

“...Shin Yuna, Marketing Lead. She’s looking forward to working with you. Lee Chaeryeong, Operations Lead. She’s looking forward to working with you. Hwang Yeji, Legal Counsel. She’s looking forward to working with you. Choi Jisu, HR Head. She’s looking forward to-”

You turn your head to Ryujin and give her a smile. She looks sharp in a white blouse, navy blazer, and charcoal pencil skirt, hair pulled up into a professional bun atop her head. 

“I get it,” you whisper, softly, with a small smile. “They’re looking forward to working with me.”

Ryujin nods. Her cheeks blush slightly and there’s the ghost of a smile on her lips, but she otherwise returns to translating as the office director begins his opening speech.

---

“...profitability is up eighteen point nine five percent - primarily driven by… logistics improvements- no, a better word would be enhancements… that allow for faster- actually, no, I mean smoother transport of goods up from the port of Busan to manufacturing and distribution facilities in Seoul,” Ryujin says, softly but clearly. At the head of the room, the Operations Lead continues her presentation in rapid-fire Korean, gesturing to a bar graph that emphasizes the eighteen point nine five percent increase in large green numbers.

“Ask her to elaborate on what she means by ‘logistics enhancements,’” you ask Ryujin, turning your head to speak softly to her. You watch as Ryujin nods and frantically jots down notes in a messy looking notebook.

Ryujin raises her hand, interrupting the presentation, and asks your question in Korean. She corrects herself with a couple of her word choices, as though a better word had come to her just as the previous one had left her mouth. The Operations Lead takes a moment to consider her response before answering. “She says they found a way to… get better pricing agreements- no, contracts- from their suppliers - no, I mean, she used the term suppliers, but I think she means shipping specialists. The big difference that resulted in the increase was how they went from relying on trucks -I mean, truckload shipping, to high-speed rail to send goods from the Port of Busan to Seoul. The costs for shipping via trains are lesser than shipping via trucks due to-”

“They went from trucks to trains, got it,” you say, with a grin.

Ryujin nods. “Yeah,” she agrees, with a flustered smile.

“Thank her, and ask her to continue.”

The smile lingers on Ryujin’s lips as she asks the Operations Lead to continue. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as she scribbles “trucks to trains” in her notebook.

---

The setting sun is painting Seoul in gold and amber by the time the day’s meetings have wrapped up. You were used to the long working hours involved with working in Asian offices, but the jetlag made the first afternoon especially draining.

Next to you, Ryujin stifles a yawn as you both step out into the early summer evening. 

“Jetlag?” you ask as you both head towards the street and the taxis waiting there.

“Jetlag,” she repeats. She fidgets with the silver chain bracelet again, fingers tracing the delicate links - a habit of hers, you’d noticed. She flags down a waiting taxi, and you follow her into the cab as she gives the driver the address of the hotel and the car pulls away from the curb.

“Dinner plans tonight?” you ask as you watch Seoul’s downtown whiz by in a blur of concrete and glass.

There is a moment of silence. When Ryujin doesn’t answer, you give her a glance to find her eyes already on yours. She looks away shyly, fingers playing with the glimmering silver wrapped around her wrist.

“Uh, probably just going to grab something from the convenience store,” she says. “Kinda tired.”

“Gotcha. I suppose I’ll do the same and call it a night early,” you admit. “Jetlag’s a bitch.”

There is an awkward, uncomfortable silence for a few more blocks. At a red light, you watch as the neon sign above a fried chicken and beer restaurant beckons weary office workers into its doors. On the outdoor tables, tired-looking office employees tuck into delicious looking chicken wings and frosted mugs of beer.

“I wouldn’t mind some of that right now,” you say, hoping to break the tension.

Silence for a few more seconds. You watch as Ryujin peers out your window and notices the sign. Her lips curl up into a small, cautious smile.

She asks the driver to pull over.

---

The fried chicken and beer restaurant is busy but comfortable, the kind of neighborhood place that catered mostly to local employees from the surrounding corporate towers grabbing a bite and a drink on their way home. Ryujin orders in Korean, and soon enough you find yourselves presented with that heavenly combination of fried chicken and light beer. A side of fries and mozzarella sticks accompany the main course at Ryujin’s insistence.

The conversation is light and casual, mostly about the day’s meetings. It’s towards the end of the meal that you muster the courage to broach the topic that had been weighing on your mind for the whole trip.

“Hey, Ryujin,” you begin. “Are we… cool? I dunno, just wanted to make sure you didn’t secretly hate me or something.”

Ryujin takes a sip of beer, likely to buy time for her to form a response. She places her mug back on the table and examines the half-eaten piece of chicken thigh on her plate for a few seconds, as though she could find the right answer to your question somewhere amidst the delicious breaded and fried poultry on her plate.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asks, cautiously.

You smile to yourself as you take a sip of your own beer.

“Hmm,” you begin, feigning ignorance. “I don’t think we’ve met prior to this trip. Your file says you’ve been with the company a year or so?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmmmmm,” you continue, tapping a finger on your lips for emphasis. “No, I think I’d remember if I bumped into someone like you. So no, I don’t remember. But my suit jacket might.”

A moment passes before Ryujin’s lips break into a tentative smile.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she says, covering her face shyly with her hands. “I felt so bad.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, happy to have lightened the mood somewhat. “I didn’t really like that jacket anyway.”

“I could pay to have it cleaned?”

“Naw,” you assure. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked. It was due for a visit to the dry cleaners, anyway. Dropped it off on my way to the airport.”

Ryujin nods, returning to pushing the chicken thigh around on her plate. “Alright,” she says, “but drinks after this are on me. Least I could do for leaving half a macchiato on your jacket.”

“Sure,” you agree, excited at the prospect of getting to know her better over drinks. You take your corporate credit card out of your wallet and place it on the table before excusing yourself from the table to hit the washroom.

The waiter comes by and Ryujin uses your card to pay for the meal. She gathers her things and waits for you outside the restaurant.

Outside, she lets a long, sad sigh escape her throat, wishing you had a better memory.

---

“I was born here,” Ryujin begins as she pours you a shot of soju from the second bottle the two of you were working on. “Family moved to Vancouver when I was six, so I essentially grew up there - but somehow, coming back always feels like coming home.”

“Ahh,” you say, taking the small shot glass and tapping it to hers before downing the shot. The soju here is harder and less sweet - unlike the overly sugary versions back home. You pick at the seafood pancake on the table with your chopsticks, chasing the burn of the alcohol with the grease of fried batter. “So - what brought you to the company?”

Ryujin takes her own bite of the pancake before refilling your glasses with another shot. She takes a moment to swirl the alcohol around in the glass, not quite bringing it to her lips just yet.

“It’s the biggest game in town,” she begins. “Wanted to work with the best.”

“Fair enough. How has the first year been?”

Ryujin’s eyes leave yours for a moment, drifting to the space between you.

“Good,” she begins, the word leaving her mouth in a measured, careful way. “The orientation week in particular was… fun.”

You perk up at the mention of orientation week. The company had a mentorship program wherein every new employee was matched with a senior leader for a week during their company orientation  - one of Taeyeon’s ideas. It was during the inaugural orientation week, almost a decade ago, that you and Taeyeon had begun your friendship. You’d since taken over leadership of the program following her promotion to VP a year ago.

“That’s good to hear,” you begin. “I really enjoyed my own orientation week, and I really wanted to make sure new employees get the same experience. I’m glad yours went well.”

Ryujin nods, a soft smile perking up the corners of her mouth. The sight of it stirs you, because you’re convinced it’s the first genuine smile you’ve seen on her lips.

“It was great,” she says, eyes suddenly bright, smile a little more authentic, a little more real - as though she were waiting the whole trip to bring up this topic. “I really liked getting to know-”

Your phone, on the table between you, vibrates. The message preview on your lock screen shows a message from Taeyeon, asking if the weather in Seoul is as good as it is in London. Attached to it is a selfie - her in front of Big Ben, half a world away.

“Sorry,” you say, grabbing the phone and putting it on Do Not Disturb before replacing it face down on the table.

“It’s fine,” Ryujin says, not having missed the brief message preview or the attached photo. She downs her shot of soju - without tapping her glass to yours. “It’s getting late, and we’ve got meetings tomorrow. Shall we?”

---

“That was fun,” you say as the two of you wait for the elevators back at the hotel. “Thanks for translating those menus for me. Would’ve been microwaved rice and a can of tuna for me otherwise.” Ryujin smiles, but even the blush of alcohol on her cheeks fails to hide the awkwardness that is still lingering somewhere behind the curve of her lips.

“No worries,” she says, as the two of you step into the elevator and she hits the button for her floor. “Thanks for the food.”

“Thank the company card, not me,” you say with a grin.

She smiles back, politely, but doesn’t say anything more. The elevator doors open to her floor, and she steps out.

“First meeting’s at 9-”

“-see you at 8,” you finish.

She smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You wave good night. As the elevator door closes again, the forced smile leaves her face, replaced quickly with a frown - just a moment too soon, just long enough for you to see. 

The elevator rises to your floor, leaving you no closer to figuring out Ryujin Shin than you were the day before.

---

“Director!” Kim Yuna exclaims, the title overly sweet and saccharine, almost sing-song in its delivery. “Do you… want to drink? With us?”

The Marketing Lead is standing a few steps apart from a dozen or so members of the Seoul office that are seemingly debating which dinner and drinks spot to hit first. Yuna - bright, cheery, and a little too handsy - skips over to you, wrapping her forearm around yours.

“Team bonding,” she says, her accent giving the English words a pleasant lilt. Her smile is wide and cheerful, and for a moment you lose yourself in the fact that an attractive young woman is asking you to join her for drinks.

“Uh-” you stammer, even as Yuna forcefully drags you towards the rest of the team, who have begun to wander towards the first destination of the night. 

“What’s wrong?” Yuna asks, lower lip extended in an exaggerated pout.

“Nothing, Yuna - it’s just-”

“Ah, I see,” she says, turning back towards where Ryujin is just appearing from the revolving door entrance to the office, eyes glued to her phone. “You need her. To… translate.”

Ryujin looks up from her phone to see you, Yuna’s arm hooked in yours.

“Ryujin-ssi!” Yuna exclaims, waving at Ryujin with her free hand more frantically than was actually necessary. “Come join us!”

Ryujin’s eyes flit to you, then at Yuna’s arm around yours, then back to your eyes.

“Sure,” she says, before moving toward you.

---

It’s somewhere between the second and third stops of the night that you finally find yourself alone with Ryujin. She is trailing just behind the crowd as it sings off-tune k-pop ballads into the warm Seoul evening. Yuna is at their head, leading them to the bright red pocha tents like a conductor leading an inebriated orchestra.

“Having fun?” you ask.

“Yeah,” she answers, turning to you with a smile that betrays the lie.

Silence for another few steps.

“Hey,” you start, stopping in place. “Ryujin,” you add, when she continues without you.

“Yeah?”

The questions come to your lips - What’s wrong? What’s your problem? Did I do something? Is this going to be the month-long business trip from hell with a translator that hates me?

“Can we talk?” you manage.

Ryujin glances over at the crowd of your colleagues as they disappear into one of the pocha tents.

“Sure,” she says, stepping towards a different one.

---

The soju arrives quickly. She hadn’t bothered to ask you what you wanted before ordering it. The bottle hasn’t been on the table for a second before Ryujin picks it up, twists the cap, and pours you both a shot. Neither of you move to take it.

“Ryujin,” you begin, cautious, wary of your word choice. “I… I’m a little confused,” you admit, honestly. “I thought things were cool between us after dinner last night. I liked… getting to know you.”

Ryujin can’t hide the small quirk in her lip, as though what you’d just said had physically hurt her.

“I-” you begin, “I feel like maybe there’s something you’re not telling me? Or something I’m missing? Because after we had drinks you seemed kind of… upset. We’re going to be working together for a month, and-”

“-and you don’t want things to be awkward,” she finishes. Her eyes finally find yours, an unreadable, blank expression on her face.

“Yeah,” you admit. “Did I fuck something up? Say something that upset you? Is this about the drink you spilled on my suit? Because I’m trying to remember if I-”

“No,” she interrupts. She takes a sip from her soju glass, but her eyes don’t raise from the table between you.

“Then what is it?” Your glass of soju sits on the table, untouched.

Silence for a few more seconds, each one far longer than it had any right to be.

“Jesus Christ,” she says, eyes rolling, before finally settling on you. “You really don’t remember me.”

“What? I just said I did. You spilled your drink on my jacket and-”

“I’ll see you at the office tomorrow,” she states, before she stands, her plastic chair scraping loudly against the concrete. She steps out of the pocha and raises her hand to flag a nearby taxi.

The silver chain on her wrist catches the fading Seoul sunset.

And you remember.

---

“My mother gave it to me,” she says, eyes dropping to the delicate silver on her wrist. “When I graduated. First one in the family to get a degree! She wanted to commemorate it somehow. It means a lot.”

“That’s awesome,” you reply, watching her fingers play with the glimmering links. “I bet she’s real proud of you.”

“She is,” she replies, eyes forlorn for a moment. You sense that she wants to tell you more, that there are thoughts right there on her lips that she debates turning into words.

She wants to tell you how much she’s looked forward to your one-on-one meetings, how she’s laid in bed at night going over everything you said and did that day with a smile on her lips. She wants to tell you about how she’s memorized the flex in your forearms as you point something out on your laptop, the way you tie your tie, the scent of your cologne. She wants to tell you that the way she bumped her knees against yours under the table “accidentally” that morning wasn’t really accidental at all. 

But she settles for something less. Something more professional, more fitting for an orientation week spent with a senior leader she only just met a few days ago.

“Anyway - you were telling me about our distribution channels in Korea?”

“Right,” you say, glancing back at the PowerPoint in full screen on your laptop. “Our manufacturing happens all over the world, but our main distribution centre is in Seoul. Goods come up from Busan…”

---

“Ryujin!” you say, throwing some cash on the table before leaving the pocha tent and catching up with her on the curb. “Ryujin. I remember.”

She turns to face you, arms crossed, upset.

“Do you?” she asks, unconvinced.

“Orientation week,” you blurt, ashamed. “We were matched up.”

Relief and disappointment war on Ryujin’s features. When she speaks, the words leave her mouth with intent, as though she’d been waiting to say them for a while. “I couldn’t give less of a shit about that corporate bullshit,” she spits. “And I get that people like you are too busy to give a fuck about lowly Marketing drones. What I care about is-”

A vehicle pulls up to the curb. The door opens. A taxi.

“-when people break their promises,” she finishes, her tone suddenly sadder. “Or forget they made them in the first place.”

She gets into the taxi alone, and it pulls away from the curb. For a second, you catch the way Seoul’s streetlights make her eyes glisten.

---

“I had a great week, Director,” she says, hands clasping her tablet to her chest like it were some sort of life preserver. “Thanks for… taking me seriously.”

“Pleasure was all mine. You’re gonna kill it in Marketing. Your comments on the Hirai marketing campaign materials were visionary - I’ve forwarded them to your boss and he’s pretty impressed. I think they’ll make a difference when it comes to the bargaining phase. And please, drop the title. I have a first name like anyone else.”

She smiles, a hint of a blush on her cheeks. She says your name out loud, as though she were testing the way it sounded. You feel something stir inside you at the sound of your name, and the smile it leaves behind on her lips.

You want to tell her that the week flew by, and that you’d wished you’d had more scheduled one-on-ones with her to look forward to next week, where you’d start discussing market demographics and somehow end up discussing which of the Sailor Scouts was your favorite. You want to tell her you are a little in love with the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, or the cute burrow in her brow when she’s concentrating on logistics figures and graphs. You want to tell her that you’ll miss her perfume - something between caramel and vanilla? - and the way she laughs at your terrible puns. You want to ask her if she’ll have lunch with you next Tuesday - and maybe dinner the Friday after that.

But you settle for something less - something more fitting of a leader during a brief, HR-mandated mentorship with a new recruit.

“Anyway,” you continue, eager to make sure she doesn’t catch on to your sudden nervousness. “Tip #2,391 before you go: the ramen place a block away from here has a pretty great tonkotsu.”

“Ooooh,” she coos. “My favorite.” She plays with the bracelet on her wrist, fingers pinching the silver links as though she could squeeze the courage she needed from them. “...I don’t suppose you’d want to join me tonight after work-”

A woman approaches - Ryujin recognizes her from the executive introductions earlier in the week; the new VP of Strategy, Taeyeon Kim. She’s all poise and professionalism, corporate success in a tailored black pantsuit. She gives Ryujin a brief nod and a token smile before turning to you.

“Budget meeting for the Hirai deal in five,” she says to you, before heading off towards the meeting rooms.

“Duty calls,” you state to Ryujin. “Ramen sounds good, though. See you at six?”

“It’s a date,” she says, smile bright.

The Hirai deal budget meeting takes all night. Ryujin eats alone.

---

It takes three knocks for her to open the door.

“Yes, Director?” she asks, arms crossed, frosty emphasis on your title. Gone are the crisp pale blue blouse and heather grey pencil skirt, replaced with a navy blue oversized hoodie and strawberry-print pajama shorts. Her hair, released from the corporate bun she wore during the day, falls in dark waves around her face.

“The ramen date. I remember. I’m sorry. I was in a meeting that day that-”

“It’s not that that fucking matters,” she interrupts, the curse word somehow sounding sharper than you’d expected coming from her. “It’s the ghosting afterward. I wasn’t expecting a Director to give two shits about a lowly newbie in Marketing, but an apology would’ve been nice.”

“That deal took every ounce of my attention for a few months,” you protest. “I’m sorry, Ryujin. I really am.”

She seems only slightly placated by your apology. Her crossed arms tighten around her small torso, as though tightening her plates of armor. “And you just totally forgot about me afterward, huh? Even after I spilled a drink on your chest accidentally-on-purpose? Even after I volunteered for this assignment, hoping you’d remember me when saw my name on the brief?”

You frown, unsure of what else to do or say.

“Do you know how it makes me feel to have someone I was into ask me who the fuck I am? Twice?” she continues. “Make me feel like I’m top of the world one moment, then forget I exist the next? No one I’ve ever known has made me feel… seen like you did - and then you went and forgot all about me the second your precious VP smiled at you.”

There is silence for a moment. She was into you? A hand uncrosses itself from her chest and moves to her mouth, as though she regretted saying the words. 

“Ryujin, I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” you manage. You look up at her and she’s covering her face with her hand now, brow furrowed, as though she were suddenly fighting a headache.

“You don’t have to say anything, Director,” she says, arms crossing again. “I’m used to not expecting anything from you.”

More silence. Her words hit you with the force of a punch to the gut. She lingers there for a moment, as though gauging your response and finding none. She moves to close the door.

“I… I’ll see you at the office tomorrow,” she says, defeat and disappointment in every syllable.

Your hand, operating out of instinct, holds the door open with your palm. She looks up at you, surprised. Your feet carry you forward until you’re standing in front of the door frame.

“I’m here now, Ryujin,” you say. “I see you.”

“Do you?” she hisses. “Did you ever? Or was I just-”

You step forward, and you kiss her.

Your hands drift to her sides, holding her close. After a moment, her hands find their way to your chest, and you fear that she’s about to push you away - but instead they wind around your neck, fingers sliding into your hairline. She kisses you back, and your tongues find each other.

You pull away first. “Fuck, Ryujin, I’m sorry. That was-”

“Stop fucking apologizing,” she spits, and then she’s kissing you again, leaving one hand around your neck to pull you into her hotel room and using the other to shut the door behind her. You both stumble backward, lips locked, until her butt brushes up against her room’s desk.

You break the kiss. You look into her eyes and find them half-lidded, full of need. You smile, and she returns it, before she leans to kiss you again.

Your hands find their way under her hoodie. You grasp its hem, testing the waters and her reaction.

“Quickly,” she says, taking the hoodie by the hem and peeling it off her body herself, “before I realize how monumentally stupid this is.”

You smirk as your mouth finds her neck and she leans her head backward to allow you better access. A soft gasp leaves her lips as you find a warm point on her neck, kissing and suckling, leaving a mark on her.

She’s topless - not having worn a bra beneath her hoodie - and you want more of her, want to taste her on your tongue. Your hands find their way beneath her butt and you lift her onto the desk, depositing her on it with a soft thud. She yelps - and you silence her with a kiss before bending to kiss a trail down her neck and to her heaving chest. Your hands snake up her sides, cupping her small, round breasts, teasing but not touching her nipples.

“Fuck, just-” she begins, the words turning into a wordless gasp as you capture one of her nipples in your mouth, tongue slick and wet and licking a flat stripe across it. You close your lips around the bud, swirling the tip of your tongue around it, feeling it tighten quickly with arousal. Her hands snake into your hair, her back arching as she offers more of her body to you.

You switch, suckling her other nipple, closing your lips around it and sucking hard. Your free hand reaches up to tease and pinch her saliva-coated breast, not leaving it unattended.

“Oh god,” she gasps, “like that, like that.” She says your name and it’s breathless and airy, the best possible iteration of it you’d ever heard.

She’s writhing now, a mess of sighs and gasps atop the hotel desk. You could’ve stayed there all night, suckling from her small, cute little breasts and the tight nipples atop them - but she has other ideas, other needs. Her hands find themselves flat against your chest and with a regretful sigh she finally pushes you away from her chest. She hops off the desk, pushing you back against the bed.

Ryujin straddles you as you sit atop it, and you’re kissing again - passionate, intense, wild. She breaks the kiss first - and when you angle your neck to resume it, she smiles and steps off the bed, standing between your spread legs.

“Off,” she hisses, bending to help you get your pants and boxers off your legs after you undo the belt buckle and zipper. You take the opportunity to rid yourself of your button-up while she lets her shorts slide down her legs to pool at her feet - and you’re both naked. She’s so slim and small and tight, her tiny waist and the fullness in her hips and thighs forming a perfect hourglass in the dim light of her hotel room.

She’s straddling you again - naked, this time, and you both let a deep sigh escape your lips as the heat between her legs makes contact with your stiffened shaft. Almost immediately she begins to gyrate and writhe in your lap, hips sliding her slick heat against your hips and cock.

“Fuck,” she hisses from behind gritted teeth, between frenzied, urgent kisses. “Fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Me too, Ryujin. Fucking need to be inside you-”

“Now,” she snaps. “Fuck me now.”

“Condom,” you say, almost regretfully. “My jacket pocket.”

Ryujin lets out a sigh, hopping off your lap for a moment to retrieve your jacket for you. You fish it out of the wrapper, placing it on your tip - and you sigh, softly, as Ryujin straddles you again and rolls it down your shaft. You gasp as her slim fingers wrap themselves around you, giving you a small squeeze.

“Fuck me,” Ryujin hisses into your ear.

Your arms wrap around her and you turn her over on the bed so you’re on top. Your hand reaches between you, placing your tip at her opening. Even through the latex you can feel the heat of her, almost feel the slickness of her body as your tip divides her lips.

Your eyes find hers. She tells you without words what she wants.

You slide inside her, and she’s tight and hot, the thin barrier of latex doing little to dampen the sensations of her body wrapping itself around your shaft. You give her a moment to adjust to the stretch, the fullness - before you’re pulling out slowly, leaving just the tip inside her, and sliding back in, filling her again.

“Fuck, fuck yes,” she’s hissing into your ear, arms wrapping around your neck, thighs parting and lower legs pulling against your butt. There’s a hint of relief in the words and sighs spilling softly from her mouth, as though she were finally receiving something she’d wanted and waited for for so long. “Yes, yes, you’e stretching me out, fuck--”

Ryujin’s voice is like silk, smooth and light, and you find it difficult to reconcile the filth leaving her lips with the perfect, business-like translations she whispered in your ear from earlier in the day. To hear that voice now, urging you, begging you to fuck her harder, faster - it drove you insane.

“Harder, please, harder.”

You comply, and soon you're thrusting in and out of her cunt at a firm but consistent pace, her tight walls squeezing around you on each entry and only reluctantly letting you go on the backstroke. You kiss her again and it’s frantic, fevered. When your lips part your eyes remain locked on each other, inches apart.

“So… fucking tight, Ryujin.”

“Mmmmph,” is the only reply, at least initially - a soft, wordless moan after a particularly deep thrust that leaves her eyes rolling back into her skull for a moment. Her eyes close shut, her head tilted back to reveal the pale column of her throat. She lets a long, languid moan leave her lips when you place yours on her neck.

Your pace continues - in, out, in, out - each thrust sending another spike of pleasure up your spines. She brings her mouth close to your ear.

“I’m gonna cum soon,” she hisses. “Gonna cum on your cock, Daddy-”

The word unmakes you - ignites something dark and primal inside you that sends a jolt of sheer pleasure up your spine and into your brain. You increase your pace, her voice and the words they form giving you a high you want to chase. She moans louder, sighs louder, curses sweet words into your ear. Her walls tighten around you, pulsating; her legs lock themselves around your hips; her nails dig sharp furrows into your scalp.

“Fuck, Daddy, fuck--”

“Cum for me, baby,” reply, bringing your own lips to her ear - your turn to torture her with words. “Cum on my cock, Ryujin. Cum on my cock like a good little girl.”

Calling her that must have similarly ignited something dark and primal inside her, because almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, she cums. Her entire body spasms, her back arching off the now-sweaty mattress, her cunt pulsating and tightening exponentially around your shaft as you fuck her through the orgasm coursing through her veins.

The moan of pleasure that leaves her mouth is unholy - a wordless sound of uncontrolled pleasure tumbling wildly from her lips and into your ear. 

Your pace slows, eventually, probably for the better as a few more moments of thrusting inside Ryujin’s pulsating, vice-tight cunt probably would have undone you. She comes down from her high, aftershocks still sending involuntary spasms through her limbs. Her eyes, shut throughout her orgasm, eventually open to find yours. 

She pulls your head to her lips and you kiss, her tongue finding yours quickly and resuming the duel it had been waging for the past half hour. 

“Fuck, Daddy,” she begins, the use of that word sending a little tremor of pleasure straight to your groin. “Fuck, that felt so good.”

“You feel even better, baby girl,” you reply, burying yourself into her neck again and planting small kisses onto the side of her neck.

“Did you--?” she asks.

“No, not yet,” you reply, emphasizing your response with a twist of your hips that sends another soft moan tumbling from her lips.

“Mmmmm,” she sighs. “We better fix that.”

Her palms find your chest and she gently pushes you away. You get the hint and slowly ease yourself out of her, sitting back on your haunches. You watch, in awe, as Ryujin turns onto her hands and knees.

“Fuck me like this, Daddy.”

You want to savor the sight of her - on all fours, that round, full ass of hers presented to you, the slick, dripping cunt between her thighs begging to be filled again. You last only a second before your urges overcome your self-control. Before you know it you’re positioning yourself behind her, hands giving her firm cheeks and a soft spank that wrests a yelp of surprise from her. She looks over her shoulder back at you and the image of her - naked, back glistening with sweat, eyes half-lidded with want - is one you want to remember forever.

You bring your tip to her opening - only to find her easing away from you. Puzzled, you find her eyes still locked on you.

“Not like that, Daddy.”

“What do you mean, baby?”

Her lower lip curls under a tooth for a moment before she licks her lips - another small, lustful gesture that drives you insane. 

“I… I want-” she begins. “I want it. You. I want to feel you.”

You catch on to what she means, and know what she wants you to do, but you want to hear it from her. Want to hear that voice - the same one whispering business and corporate in your ear during the day - to say it.

“Tell me what you want, Ryujin. Use your words, baby girl.”

Ryujin’s lips curl into a wry smile, her tooth biting into her lip again. Her back arches, like a cat stretching. She pushes her dripping, slick cunt back toward your latex-covered cock, capturing your shaft between the cheeks of her ass and gyrating against it. You moan - long, low - as she grinds against you. She’s hot and slick against the underside of your shaft and you find yourself groaning at the feel of her grinding away against you.

She straightens up, presses her sweat-slick back against your chest. You reach around and wrap your arms around her torso on instinct, your hands finding and cradling her soft, small breasts, capturing and teasing her nipples between your thumbs and index fingers.

“Ryujin-” you begin, a token protest, as you place kisses on her neck and shoulder. Even though you can’t see it, you know she’s smiling. She lets a hand drift back between your bodies, cradling your trembling, covered cock.

“Daddy, please,” she says, half-gasp, half-demand. Her fingers curl around your cock. “I want to feel you inside me. Raw. Fuck me raw, Daddy.”

You tremble. Your cock twitches in her grasp.

“Fuck, Ryujin-”

“Take it off, Daddy. Let me feel you. Let me feel you cum inside me. Don’t you want to…”

“I do, Ryujin, fuck-”

“Do it, Daddy. Cum inside me. Breed me.”

That’s what undoes you. Your fingers work quickly, peeling the condom off your needy, trembling cock. 

You push her back down onto the mattress, and she lets a soft, playful little yelp out at the sudden forcefulness. Her back arches. Her eyes find yours over her shoulder.

“Daddy, please-”

You slide your bare cock inside her. She’s sublime - tight, hot, so very wet. Your hands find her hips, and you’re fucking her again. 

“Fuck!” she spits, as you fill her to the hilt for the first time - raw, uncovered - the new angle allowing you deeper inside her than you were when you were on top of her. “Yes, fuck me!”

You comply, your hands anchoring yourself on her hips as you begin to thrust in and out of her tight, slick cunt. You want to pace yourself, want to relish every entry and exit, but the tightness, the wetness, everything about Ryujin Shin is too much, too much to handle. Before long she’s throwing her hips back against you, firmly but steadily, matching you thrust for thrust.

You watch her, burn every inch of her body into your memory - the arch of her back, the sweat dripping down the column of her spine, the way the neon of Seoul’s skyline is striping her skin in alternating lines of shadow and pastel blue. You relish the feel of her body, the tightness of her velvet cunt wrapped around you, the softness of her hips, the moans and sighs that continue to spill wildly from her lips.

For a few minutes you fuck her. Minutes that feel like hours, your pleasure-addled brain suddenly unable to parse the passing of time. The sounds of your bodies meeting, her moans and your grunts, the ridiculous, sublime sight of her bent over, taking your cock - it’s all overwhelming, a heady mix of heat and wetness and pleasure that drives you insane, pulls you into a glorious high that you never want to come down from. 

For a few brilliant minutes all that exists is Ryujin Shin’s body. Not the consequences of raw sex, not the complications of your work relationship, not the obstacles in your personal relationship that you’d both have to hurdle once the high of sex has worn off - none of that exists, right here, in this moment. She’s it, she’s all.

Your hands wander her body - gripping her hips and pulling them back toward you, or placing a palm flat on her lower back, or reaching forward with one hand and grasping one of her trembling shoulders - but they settle on her wide, firm hips. Your fingers dig deeper into her skin, surely leaving bruises she’ll feel in the morning. She takes it as the sign of your impending orgasm that it almost certainly is.

“Are you- are you close, Daddy? Fuck, you’re gonna… gonna make me cum again. Don’t stop, please.”

You grit your teeth. There was no denying the pleasure quickly building to a boiling point between your legs.

“Fuck, yeah, baby girl. Getting close. Where-”

“You know where, Daddy,” she hisses, hair whipping around her as she turns her head to look over her shoulder at you. Her eyes bore into yours with an intensity that makes you tremble, her gaze holding firm on you even as her body is rocked back and forth with each thrust you make into her cunt. 

“Ryujin-”

“Cum inside me, Daddy. Breed me.”

“Fuck-”

“Daddy, please - breed me, breed this cunt, cum inside me please, fuck I’m gonna cum too cum with me please, breed me-”

Ryujin cums - and you do too. Her body spasms, quivers, turns into a tight, wet, slick vice around your cock and all you can do is bury yourself as deeply as you can inside her before you let go. 

Your cock pulsates as it sends thick, warm ropes of semen into Ryujin’s cunt - each one drawing a soft gasp from her, each one sending a jolt of pleasure up her spine that heightens her own orgasm. Your mind blanks, and nothing else exists aside from the pleasure coursing through your body.

When your eyes finally open some indeterminate amount of time later you look down to find another one of the many sights you wanted to burn into your memory - Ryujin bent over on the bed, chest and head pressed to the mattress. Between the reddened cheeks of her ass, your cock slowly withdraws, slick and wet and glistening. The well-used lips of her cunt grip your cock tightly, as though not wanting to let you go just yet.

When your tip finally slips from between her lips it’s quickly followed by a rush of warm, thick cum, dripping freely from her cunt and onto the pristine sheets below her.

Ryujin finally falls onto her side. You fall onto yours beside her. Your eyes find each other. Her hand comes up to your cheek, cradles the side of your face with a tenderness that surprises the both of you.

There is a warm smile on her lips. Her eyes glisten for a moment in the low light of the bedroom before she brings her body close to yours, tucking her head beneath your chin as your arms wrap around each other.

There are words to be said, conversations to be had. But all that matters now is the warmth of her body against yours, and the feel of her breath against your chest. Everything else can wait, and so it will.

“Stay,” she says into your chest, and so you do.

---

“I’m on the pill,” she says, on the taxi ride to the Seoul office. The morning after was awkward in some parts, sweet in others; after an uneasy parting so you could go back to your room to shower and change, you’d both met again in the lobby - both a little unsure how to navigate the uncharted waters, but knowing only that things had changed for the better between you.

“Would’ve been nice to know that before I went in raw,” you say, in English - sparing the driver an awkward few blocks of Seoul rush hour traffic.

Ryujin smiles, slyly. “Sure, but it was hot not knowing, wasn’t it? Knowing you could have bred me last night?”

She leans in closer to whisper into your ear - the way she whispered business translations, the way she whispered how close she was to orgasm.

“...knowing you could have put a baby in me?”

She leans back in her seat, giving you one last look before turning her attention to the buildings of downtown Seoul.

Your pinky fingers brush against each other on the seat. You hook yours in hers, and she doesn’t pull away.

---

To her credit, Ryujin was professional and effective with her translation duties throughout the day - mostly. It’s during a presentation by the Seoul office’s Legal lead that her facade cracks.

“...There have been some issues related to IP that they’ve had to deal with,” she says softly in your ear. “But they’ve been dealt with- …fuck.”

You turn to face her. There’s a small grimace on her face. She adjusts the way she’s sitting on her chair, her legs crossing and uncrossing beneath her pencil skirt.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, bringing her lips close to your ear as if to continue translating whatever the Legal lead was droning on about. “But every time I move, a bit of you leaks out of me. Gonna need to clean up in the washroom after this meeting.”

You’re speechless. The smirk on her lips is a victorious one.

“Anyway,” she continues, “the other thing they’ve had to deal with is patent trolls…”

The rest of the meeting goes in your ear and out the other, every small movement Ryujin makes in her seat stealing all of your attention. When the presentation ends Ryujin stands, gingerly, and excuses herself to the washroom. You watch her leave the room with a slightly awkward gait.

Across the room, Yuna catches your eye. She flashes you a knowing smile.

---

The work day ends, eventually - not that you got any work done at all. 

After work, Ryujin is waiting for you in the lobby, scrolling her phone. As you approach she holds it out to you - on it is a Google search listing of several nearby restaurants. 

“Feeling like burgers? Or more Korean food? It’s Friday night, so it’s gonna be busy, but there’s a place nearby-”

“No,” you answer, firmly, already walking past her and out the door.

“But dinner--?”

“Room service,” you answer. “Hotel, now.”

A devilish smile pulls at the corners of Ryujin’s lips as she hails a taxi.

In the hotel elevator, you don’t bother pushing the button for her floor.

---

You’re on each other from the moment you cross the threshold of your suite - lips crashing against each other, hands wandering, undressing. You only get as far as her blazer before she’s pushing you down onto the chair facing the floor-to-ceiling window that makes up one side of your suite. 

She stands in front of you, silhouetted by Seoul’s glass and concrete skyline, and undresses.

The tight white button-up first, each button revealing a little more perfect vanilla skin, marred only by the marks your lips and teeth left the night before. Soon it’s a pool of white cotton on the floor, joined quickly by her white lace bra. Her small, perky round breasts tremble slightly under your gaze, her nipples already taut and tight.

She turns to face away from you, topless, exposing herself to the city - as she undoes the zipper holding her pencil skirt tight around her wide hips. She takes her time, making you watch, making you want, as the skirt finds its way onto the floor. 

When Ryujin faces you again she’s naked save for lace panties that have been tormenting her all day with their damp stickiness. Eyes locked on you the whole while, she hooks her thumbs into the thin lace and slides them down her full, round thighs, then past her knees, until they pool on the floor and she is naked, with only Seoul’s fluorescent and neon lights to clothe her.

She steps toward you, straddles you in the chair. Your hands find her hips, soothing the bruises your grip had left there hours before.

Her hand drifts between her spread thighs. You watch, enraptured, as her middle and ring fingers slide inside her cunt for a moment. Her eyes shut, her head tilts back as she touches herself. 

When her fingers emerge, they glisten.

“Look what you did to me,” she says, softly. “I’ve been dripping you all day, Daddy. But now… now I’m empty. Need you to fill me up again.”

“Ryujin. Fuck,” you stammer, because it’s all you can say, all your brain can muster for a response.

She smiles, your weakness giving her confidence. Her hands work quickly at your belt and slacks, and soon she reveals your cock, already stiff and weeping pre-cum. You groan at the feel of her soft fingers around your shaft as she strokes you softly, timing each movement of her wrist to the sultry words leaving her lips.

“Want you to fuck me again, Daddy, and raw and deep and hard. But first…”

She bends to kiss you - only to ignore your lips entirely, as she slinks down off the chair and onto her knees.

“-first, I want to taste you.”

She licks a long, slow stripe from your base to your tip, her tongue flat and tight against your cock. 

“Wanted that for so long, Daddy. During orientation. Watching you in the office. Been dreaming about what you’d taste like-”

“Do I taste like you dreamed, Ryujin?”

“Fuck, yes, Daddy,” she says, after another long, slow lick. “Even better.”

“Suck my cock then, baby girl. Show me how much you wanted this.”

The words spur her, challenge her - and soon she’s taking your cock into her mouth. It’s all you can do to lean back in the chair and sigh as she works between your spread legs, taking you in and out of her wet, slick mouth with an enthusiasm that had been boiling over months of want and need.

When you open your eyes again it’s to look out at Seoul’s skyline. You watch as cars move on distant roads, as signs for restaurants and stores light up, as people on faraway sidewalks make their way home. You do anything but look down at Ryujin, knowing that the sight of her combined with the pleasure she is conjuring between your legs would be too much to handle, all at once.

You sigh. This was messy. Complicated. Might end up ruining one or both of your lives. But fuck if it mattered at all, right here, right now - with your cock in her mouth and a soft sigh escaping her lips as you finally look down and watch as she begins to finger herself.

She lets your cock slip from her lips after one last, slow suckle. Her tongue flicks around your tip one last time. Then she stands, eyes half-lidded, filled with want and need. She straddles you again and lowers herself onto your cock.

You think of bending to suckle from one of her soft, perky little breasts as they bounce up and down, inches from your face. You want to reach a hand up to that pale, thin throat of hers and squeeze with just enough pressure to make her gasp for her next breath. You want to reach down with both palms and squeeze her ass, thrusting up with your hips each time she impales herself on you - but you do none of those things. 

You watch. Watch as she rides you, takes you in and out of her dripping, pulsing cunt. Watch as Seoul paints her slim, tight body in gold and shadow. Watch as she ruins herself, ruins you with something that is reckless, stupid, and utterly irresistible, all at the same time.

Her hands aren’t idle, like yours are. They fondle her own breasts, pinch her own nipples. They reach forward and anchor herself on your shoulders, or dig furrows into your hair when she brings you close and increases her pace. They lie flat, palm against your chest, feeling your heart hammer a wild beat as she slows down again, bringing her face in front of yours so your noses touch, fucking herself slowly, passionately on your cock, making you feel everything. 

You wanted to talk to her, wanted to discuss this idiotic thing that you were both giving in to. You want to have a conversation about what it would mean for your professional and personal relationship. You want to ask her if this was a stupid fling borne out of a stupid week of meetings that happened a year ago. You want to ask her if this was just sex or-

“Fuck, Daddy, I’m gonna-”

Her voice - her perfect fucking voice - shatters any thought you might have had that wasn’t focused on the pleasure she was creating for the both of you with every movement of her body.

“Me too, Ryujin, fuck, you’re too-”

“Daddy, breed me, give me a baby-”

A lie, a pretend act - but no less arousing. No less utterly devastating to what remained of your self-control.

“Gonna cum, Ryujin. Ryujin--”

“Daddy--!”

She cums. You spasm beneath her as your cock fills her up. Afterward, when you’ve both stopped trembling, you feel your cum drip from her stuffed cunt, down your balls, and onto the leather of the couch.

She slides off you - and you both watch as her cunt drips more of your cum onto the couch and the slacks that you never bothered to remove. She takes you by the hand and leads you into the bedroom, into another terrible mistake, another act you will probably both regret later, when sanity somehow finds its way back into your lust-addled minds.

You follow her willingly into ruin.

---

It’s not until the next morning, as you wander a morning market together after breakfast, when you finally have your talk.

“Ryujin,” you begin, as the two of you walk down the street, past stalls selling vegetables, treats, and souvenirs. “We should talk. About this. About us.”

She sighs, takes a sip from her caramel macchiato - extra whipped cream, extra caramel drizzle - as though the caffeine and sugar would fortify her for what was about to be said.

“I want you,” she says, confidently, as though it were a phrase she’d rehearsed with her eyes closed as she lay in bed alone, dreaming of a moment like this. “I’ve wanted you since the second you walked into that meeting room in that stupid-hot suit on my first day and said your name. I’ve wanted you every second since. I want to be with you.”

You take a moment. Your heart leaps, but your brain fears.

“I want you too,” you admit, the words leaving your mouth quickly, even before you knew you were speaking them - your heart outpacing your brain, as it had gained the habit of doing around her. “But-”

“-we work together,” she interrupts. Another sip of her caffeine. Her eyes remain locked on the stalls hawking hotteok and japchae. “You’re a Director in Strategy, I’m just some newbie in Marketing. You’re older than me. Your boss is holding a torch for you, and she’s fucking perfect - ‘girlboss’ in all caps. HR will have a fit. Our colleagues will whisper; say you’re taking advantage of a younger girl, or that I’m sleeping my way into a promotion. And maybe one day we’ll end up hurting each other, and ruin one or both of our careers and/or lives in the process.”

You don’t reply. The list is long. Daunting.

Finally, she turns to you. There is a faint smile on her lips. “Did I miss anything?”

You return her smile with a slim one of your own. “No,” you admit.

“Are you for real, or do you just need a fucktoy to keep your cock warm while you’re working overseas for a month?”

Her question stuns you, catches you unprepared. But it takes you only a moment of consideration before you answer.

“I’m not sure yet,” you answer, honestly. “But I want to find out.”

Something between a smile and a frown forms her lips as she casts her eyes downward for a moment.

“That’s good enough for me,” she says. “Because that’s what I want too.”

“It won’t be easy.”

“But I want you, and you want me.”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s it,” she states, eyes forward, as though the future of your relationship existed somewhere amidst the winding lanes of the bustling market. “That’s all that matters.”

After a few more steps, your hand finds hers. Your fingers intertwine.

“That’s all that matters,” you repeat. “We’ll figure this out.”

She turns to look at you as you walk through the market. She smiles and says nothing further, because nothing further needed to be said.

---

A week and a half pass quickly. Meetings, meals, sex - it all passes in a long, hazy blur. There are candlelit dinners at Michelin-starred restaurants by the Han River, and there are nights having instant noodles outside convenience stores at 2am because you were both too lazy to have or make anything else. There is slow love making, hard, fast fucking, and everything inbetween.

The two of you navigate that first week together with the kind of eagerness and enthusiasm that is in great supply at the start of a relationship. In some ways it is like every other first week of every other relationship you’d ever been in - sweet, hot, exciting in a way that nothing else can be. In some ways it is completely different, completely unique. 

Ryujin was not like any other girl. She was professional and proper during the day and wild and needy at night - and you saw it all, every moment, a gradual transformation over the course of the day from dedicated and thorough businesswoman to the barely controlled wantonness of the night. Throughout it all she is confident, self-assured, assertive. 

But she was also sweet, caring, and thoughtful in her own unique way. She knew you, already. She asked questions during presentations even before you voiced them to her, because she knew they were questions you would ask. Without telling you, she bought you a spare charger for your phone when yours broke five days into the trip - and made sure a charged power bank was packed in your suitcase when you left the hotel room in the morning. She showed genuine interest in you - your childhood, your family, your quirky hobbies, as though she were writing a book on you and wanted to know every single detail, every single story you had to tell.

“I want you,” she said once, sometime during the second week of this ridiculous, dangerous, stupid thing you were both undertaking. Her head was on your chest as you lie together in bed atop a mattress soaked with evidence of recent lovemaking, her finger tracing random patterns on your skin above your heart. “And that includes figuring out what you keep in here.”

Neither of you knew what this was, where it would go, even how long it would last - whether the other was a terrible mistake, the love of your life, or something inbetween. You only knew you wanted to find out together, one day at a time.

It’s not until your last day in Seoul, when the two of you attend an industry gala, that Ryujin Shin inched a little more towards the ‘love of your life’ end of the scale.

---

The elevator door opens - she insisted you meet in the lobby, as she needed a few more minutes to get ready - and there she is, in a little black dress that steals the breath from your lungs. Simple, demure, utterly captivating. You realize that the ‘few more minutes to work on her hair’ was an excuse, and she just wanted to make an entrance.

The smile on her lips is confident, assured, as is every click-clack of her heels on the marble of the hotel foyer as she walks up to you, takes your hand, and leads you out to the waiting taxi - all without saying a word. 

The gala, held in an outdoor venue with plenty of string lights and stand-up tables, is busier than you’d expected. Colleagues from the Seoul office are in attendance, including Yuna in a bold red dress that’s one inch off the hemline away from sparking multiple emails to HR - if it hadn’t already. She comes close to the two of you and says she’s happy for you, shooting you both a wink as she saunters off to chat up a group of investors that spend the rest of the evening vying for her attention.

For most of the evening your mind is elsewhere - on Ryujin’s dress, and what it will look like hiked up around her hips or on the floor of your suite. Your thoughts drift to the trip to Japan, and the two weeks to follow. A new country to explore with her by your side.

You’re mid-conversation with a couple of staff from the Seoul office, and about ready to lean over to Ryujin and ask if she’s ready to head back to the hotel, when a commotion at the entrance to the venue steals your attention for a moment.

Yuna and a couple of the other leads are huddled in a crowd around a figure that has emerged from a sleek black sedan. They chat excitedly, as though they were meeting a celebrity for the first time.

“Go see who it is,” Ryujin urges. “I’ll get us a drink for the road, then we can hit it.”

You excuse yourself from the conversation to join Yuna and the others. The crowd parts, and she emerges.

“Sorry I’m late,” Taeyeon says, smile beaming. “Thought I’d surprise you.”

At the bar, Ryujin turns, drinks in hand, just in time to watch Taeyeon embrace you.

---

Author’s Note: Whelp that pretty much wrote itself. Ryujin best girl. 

Get ready for more “Business Trip but with Ryujin lmao” no but fr this will only be 3 parts max I promise <3

[nsfwrpg]

Dichotomy

Kiss Of Life Natty x Julie x m! reader

30k words

“So—“ Natty breaks the silence with a lean forward in her chair, elbows resting on either side of her drink—a matcha latte piled high with an absurd amount of whipped cream. A bit clings to her upper lip before she licks it away. "Have you ever had a threesome before?"

You nearly choke on your drink. 

Even for her, the question is bold, nonchalant, and taking you by surprise as you stir your own coffee. It's hardly the first time you've been surprised by what comes out of her mouth, but it's going to take a much stronger coffee than this one for the mental whiplash. "You know, most people start the day with a hello. Maybe a how are you doing. Good morning, even?"

Natty only smiles. "Then most people are boring. Now, come on. Answer the question."

The thing is, Natty isn't most people and can't even begin to pretend she has a filter, nor any sense of decorum. For as long as you've known her—which is basically since orientation week during your very first semester. Back when both of you were shy and clueless, fumbling along the university hallways. She’s always been like this. Bold and beautiful and utterly shameless. Ever since that one fateful day where she locked herself out of her car in the snow, crying her pretty eyes out until you offered her a ride home that ended with her between your legs—because she wouldn't let you say no to a blowjob as a way to return the favor. 

So romantic.

And you've been inseparable ever since. 

"Where's this even coming from?" you ask, dipping a bite of your pancake into a pool of syrup. "Did you buy me breakfast so you could pry into my sex life?" 

"As if I need an excuse for that," Natty says, lips wrapping around her straw, her cheeks hollowed as she slurps with this gaze that doesn't seem the least bit innocent. "Can't a girl just be curious?"

The pancakes here are impeccable—but not enough to distract from the weight of her question, or how red your cheeks feel under the heat of it. "Curious usually implies a level of subtlety." 

"When was I ever subtle? You'd be bored to death." It's true. So much. If there ever was an opposite to subtlety, Natty would probably be their ambassador. If she ever came up to you and asked something simple like what your favorite color was, you would know something was terribly wrong and she might need to visit the university's clinic right away. "Now, seriously, you're deflecting. Just answer the question."

You sigh, pausing before you pop another piece of pancake in your mouth, fork dangling uselessly between your fingers. "Not exactly."

"What do you mean, not exactly? It's a yes or no question. Not a lot of gray area here," she points out with this cocky grin that really doesn't help matters. But fuck her and her logic and the way she's sitting there with those tits all proudly on display when she over more, knowing they'll distract you from thinking clearly. "Which one is it?"

"Fine, no. I haven't. Happy now?" you admit, hoping the frustration in your tone would make it clear enough you're not exactly thrilled at being put under a microscope like this. 

"Really?" Her brows raise. It's not often you find Natty speechless but, here we are. She obviously thinks there's a world where you have a threesome every time you do the laundry and she's confused why that isn't the case. "Never? Guy with a cock like yours and you haven't shared it with more than one girl at a time?"

"Sorry to disappoint," you answer, rolling your eyes. You've shared a bed with Natty plenty of times over the years you've known her, and you're not exactly a stranger to each other's bodies—but still, this is not a conversation you ever expected to have over breakfast.

Natty laughs. "Don't be. But sounds like something we should fix then," she offers, casually, like her suggestion is the same as deciding what to order for dessert. 

"Yeah, I'll just find two pretty girls to sleep with at the same time, how hard can that be? Let me post an ad on the campus bulletin board. Pretty sure I'd find a line halfway to the dean's office."

"Two? I'm the first girl you'd choose and you know it," Natty remarks, smug, no trace of self-consciousness in her voice. And she's not entirely wrong. You're never admitting that out loud though. That would go straight to her head and it's already big enough as is. "We'll just have to find you the second one."

"Easy for you to say. Didn't realize you were such an expert in these matters."

"Please, if anyone is, it's me," Natty brags with a casual toss of her hair. "The hottest girl on campus with a body like this and you think I'm not being shared every chance I get? College boys can't get enough of me. Neither can the girls. Why even stop at just two, when I can just get the whole back row of chemistry class involved?"

The worst part is how plausible that actually seems. 

"Look, it's not exactly a priority for me, Nat. You're more than I can handle as is," you say, playing your best card with hopes that it’s enough of a distraction from this subject.

"Well, lucky for you, I'll do all the leg work then. Leave it all to me."

The way she says it, no hesitation whatsoever, is terrifying. Like she has a plan already formed, all that's left is execution. And you're not sure anything should ever be left to her, ever.

But a part of you has to admit—you wouldn't exactly hate sharing a bed with Natty and... someone else. Someone just as pretty, someone with a body made from pure sin who knows how to play with her, who can hold their own against her. You can't even imagine that there are too many potential candidates that would fit the bill, but you try to not get ahead of yourself, because no matter how crazy the idea seems, nothing is for sure. No need to get your hopes up, so soon.

So you finish your breakfast, with no other mention of the topic—even as her foot trails up and down your leg, a reminder that yes, you're definitely both attracted to each other and haven't done anything about it for way too fucking long.

✦ ✦

The next time you see Natty is two days later when she arrives with a laundry basket at your apartment, with some frail excuse about her machine being broken that you see through instantly. Not that you're about to complain when she starts to strip down to just a thong and a black Calvin Klein bra that barely holds in her generous tits, walking around your place half-naked like she lives here.

Which she essentially does, given how often she spends her nights in your bed.

Before her first load of laundry even finishes, you’re already leaning back against the couch, pants and boxers down to your ankles as Natty strokes your hard length. You can’t take your eyes off her tits, watching them jiggle with every movement she makes. 

The view is hypnotic enough, with this agonizingly slow rhythm her hands have as they travel along the length of your cock, and maybe you're thankful for her washer being broken down—regardless of whether or not it's actually the truth.

"You feel so built up, baby," Natty says as her hands work your shaft, thumb rubbing across the slit and spreading what leaks out along your swollen tip. "Don't you jerk off when I'm not around?"

The gentle squeeze she gives is just perfect, enough to get you groaning like you can’t get enough of her touch. "Not much point when I can just wait for you to do the job for me. What would I even watch to get off?"

"Please," she giggles as the movements of her wrist get harder to deal with. "How many pictures of my tits do you have saved on your phone? Or of me without underwear. The ones I send you when I'm so hot for you, in the library, when you're in class, with three fingers inside myself. You jerk off to them, right? Those videos of me riding a toy in my bed while I moan your name, pretending you were behind me."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't keep things like that on my phone," you say, voice cracking midway.

Natty just laughs and your cock throbs against her palm, giving you away completely. 

"You're such a bad fucking liar. Pretty sure you'd jerk off in class if I sent you nudes while you were there." Natty stares you dead in the eye and your lack of response is all the answer she needs. "There's no way you'd ever delete them. Especially not the pictures from the Halloween party, where I blew you in the bathroom. Pretty sure everyone in that house could hear when you fucked my throat."

"Jesus, Nat—fuck," you choke out, and you can still visualize that night, how ridiculously hot the maid costume looked on her, how hard it was for her to keep her phone recording while you ruined her pretty face, mascara running, lipstick smeared all over and god, you'd pay good money to see that view again.

"Do you know how hard it was not to share that video with the whole campus? How much you came in my mouth? How rough you were with me and how much of a mess I was after?"

It's not fair the way she brings up these memories while she strokes your shaft, squeezing a little tighter each time. The way Natty gets a firm grip while you mindlessly stare at those tits, so close to spilling out of her bra working overtime. This conversation alone is practically enough to get off and she knows that, using it for her advantage.

And even with how built-up you were before, this is all getting you there too fast. "I love how fucking hard you are. Throbbing so hard and ready to spill all over my big tits, aren’t you?”

"God, please—your fucking hands are magic.” 

"That's the thing though," Natty tells you, and her strokes become agonizingly slow, until the motion ceases, replaced by a firm, lingering squeeze that’s enough to drive you up the wall. "The best part of laundry day is milking your big fucking cock. Getting such a huge load out of these heavy balls, it’s such a good thing you have me, isn’t it?"

Sometimes, you wonder. 

Thankfully, her pace breaks from the rhythmic squeezing of her hand, returning to full speed with this twisted smile on her face, because you're pretty sure you were dying for a few seconds. "I haven't felt you shooting on my face in ages…"

"Too busy fucking your tight cunt or these huge goddamn tits."

"Can't really blame you for that. They must feel fucking amazing," she boasts, getting a firm grip and a nice twist of her wrist at the same time, bringing you that much closer. And this scene takes you back to the first day you gave her a ride home—when she refused to take no for an answer. A different couch, but the same position, Natty on her knees—an all-too-familiar sight by now. 

"Fuck, so good, Nat, I'm so close," you groan, feeling her pump and squeeze harder by the second, keeping the perfect rhythm and twisting just right. Exactly how you need her to and every stroke has you inching towards the edge.

"Good. Give me a nice thick, big load. I want you to shoot so fucking much all over these tits, ruin this expensive bra," Natty demands, pumping at record speed, voice edging you closer and closer until you can feel it right on the precipice, 

"Shit, god, don’t fucking stop, I'm gonna—"

One last firm pump has you throbbing hard and cum erupts from the tip with thick spurts as she aims you right between her covered breasts, smiling wide. The view of white splattering across her chest and staining the fabric of her bra makes it even better—It's one hell of a load, given how many days worth of cum she's coaxing out, spurting messily and watching as pearlescent strands cling all over her perfect tits. 

It's just absolutely fucking filthy and Natty’s never looked more delighted.

Once Natty’s gotten every drop from you, she glides a finger across her cum-covered chest, tasting it as she pops it into her mouth with a satisfied moan, sucking it clean. "Missed that so fucking much." 

And the strokes don't stop, milking the last bit of your release even after you're past the point of oversensitivity, but you hardly care when you can't tear your gaze from her chest, a canvas of white painted over her that's a perfect work of art.

"I think maybe we should have laundry day together more often…" you muse, content to bask in the lingering bliss as long as you can.

"Of course you do. When is anything with me not fun?" Natty retorts as she releases your cock and gets back on her feet, not even concerned by the fact she's wearing your cum like her favorite necklace. "I think I've got about half an hour left on the dryer. Plenty of time for you to fuck me senseless while we're waiting, don't you think?"

That’s when she saunters off without waiting for an answer, unhooking that cum-stained bra and slipping out of her underwear along the way.

Never one for subtlety.

✦ ✦

And now, you're supposed to focus on class somehow—a two-hour lecture, right after Natty had pulled you into the nearest bathroom, hopped up on the sink, legs spread and heels locked around your waist while you slid balls fucking deep into her. You can't even jot down a note without picturing her shirt ripped open, tits spilling out of her bra and bouncing freely as your hips pounded into her—or the way she guided your fingers around her throat when she came on your cock, greedy and insatiable for more. 

Honestly, you should have just taken her up on that offer to skip class altogether. Especially with your load still dripping down her thighs as she slid her panties back on, doing the bare minimum to look presentable. 

But here you are now, trying to pay attention, both of you sitting a few rows apart to avoid raising any suspicion. Like it's not obvious when Natty looks back and smiles, hair still a bit of a mess, visible marks all over her neck. Natty wears them proudly, not even daring to cover up the proof with makeup, wanting everyone to see what you'd done.

As the class drags on, your phone vibrates, and you're not even sure you want to check it, expecting more photos of her in various states of nudity. Something you always appreciate, but not exactly what you should be looking at in a public area. But still, the curiosity wins, so with a sigh, you tap at the screen, going against your better judgment to open the notification.

> Nat: wish you were still between my legs

this class sucks and you should be bending me over this desk right now

1 image attached

And that’s even more of a warning to not open it up with anyone around. 

The temptation is strong, but your common sense wins—barely, as you silence your phone and shove it back in your pocket. At least it gives something else to think about while time drags on painfully, because god knows what's waiting for you in that picture. Last time you made this mistake in public, it was more shots of in the mirror, tongue out, her tits not covered up one bit, nothing tasteful whatsoever. Who knows what you’ll get this time, but there’s a good chance it’ll be a shot of her in the middle of getting her guts rearranged, because Natty never misses a chance to document every moment of you pounding her.

Either way, you've somehow managed to last the full two hours, mind entirely somewhere else, and it's a sigh of relief when the professor finally dismisses the class. With relative ease, Natty finds you among the sea of students leaving the hall, linking arms. "Hey, handsome. Did you miss me?"

"About as much as a kick to the balls.” 

Natty scoffs. "You ass. That's what I get for sending a present?" 

"What present?" 

She shoves a hip into you and rolls her eyes, clearly unamused. "Don't tell me you didn't see. Did you seriously just ignore them?"

"Like I'd ever check while I'm still surrounded by other students. I'm sure they'd all love a peek at your nudes, but they have to find their own."

Natty's laughter cuts through. "Ungrateful bastard. Railing me in a public bathroom is fine, but you draw the line at seeing my tits. Aren't you just the innocent one?"

“My innocence is not up for debate. Even if you want to corrupt it with your naked body.” 

"Yeah, an innocent guy who just busted inside of me ten minutes before class,” Natty says as she walks beside you, pressing her body close, tits grazing your arm. 

There’s no counter to that, really. 

"I sent more than just nudes though," she admits and pauses, licking her lips before leaning into you and whispering. "Maybe you should just check. You'll like what's waiting for you." 

"Look, Nat, I know how hard it must have been, sitting there horny as fuck for the last hour, but it can wait." 

Natty scrunches her nose in frustration. "Fine. See if I send you anything again. No more tits for you," she threatens, storming off in a huff with a clear swing in her hips. It's the kind of petty tantrum she pulls when she's feeling extra needy and neglected, hoping it’ll push your buttons. But you're not one to give in the moment she throws a little fit.

"What would I ever do without the distraction? Like you could ever resist the chance to show them off in the middle of class."

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later—if you behave."

"Ugh, you're so lucky you're cute and your dick's so fucking good. Any other guy would have been on their knees groveling after ignoring nudes from me."

"Good thing you're in love with me then," you quip, smirking and only laughing when her reaction is to punch you in the arm. Not lightly either. But Natty immediately latches back onto your arm, refusing to let go when you try to shrug her off, walking beside you with this annoyed look on her face. "You're such an asshole."

"Learned from the best."

Despite the feigned anger, Natty can't help but lean in, giving you a brief peck on the cheek, staying attached to you the entire walk. She's being particularly clingy today, a rare trait for her. "So, bar tonight?" 

"Only if you're buying."

"Baby, when have I ever bought a single drink in my life?" Natty replies, tugging you down for another quick kiss. 

"Guess you'll have fun drinking alone then."

“Too bad, loser. Guess I'll have fun bringing home one of the cute boys there.” 

"Please, they'll go home broken and you’ll be unsatisfied with whoever is brave enough to come try you,” you say, and she knows that can't even be argued, that the idea of her hooking up with some stranger seems comical at best.

She knows you’re right, and that’s all it takes as Natty runs a hand through her hair and groans. "Fine, I'll buy the first round. Deal?"

"One round? Don't know if that's really enough incentive to even leave the house."

"Greedy much? I'm not made of money,” Natty says, bumping her shoulder into yours. 

"Guess I'll see you next laundry day then."

"Oh my god, fine,” Natty finally agrees. “Two rounds. And I'll suck your dick in the bathroom, is that good enough?"

"It's a start.”

✦ ✦

Turns out, drinks taste so much better when someone else is paying. Natty looks more than pleased to have your company, not even complaining about covering the tab for the first round of shots—tequila right off the bat, because she loves an excuse to lick salt off you.

"Cheers to you for actually coming out with me for once," Natty says as the burn makes its way down her throat. 

"Don't get too used to it. I'm only here for the free drinks."

"And the view," she adds, and you can't disagree as your eyes travel to her low-cut top, drowning in cleavage. This little outfit she picked was chosen to do the most damage, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

"The tits are a nice bonus, “ you agree, shamelessly staring as she reaches for another shot and throws her head back.

"Aren't they? Everyone's jealous that you've got these beauties in your face all the time," Natty points out, jutting her big tits out as she runs hands all over and gives them a squeeze, confident as ever. You can't help but laugh, endlessly amused by how much she loves showing off. "Lucky you, huh?"

"Very," you reply, grinning through the burn when you down your second shot. "No arguments there."

"One of the many benefits only you get to experience. Not everyone gets to put their mouth on these. Have their hands all over me. Or even fuck my huge ass whenever they please."

"And humble as ever, I see," you say with a laugh, shaking your head, because that ego is as big as her fucking tits. Natty gets a little handsy as the drinks set in, when the shots switch over to something less strong—something fruity, pink and sugary sweet, the kind that goes down easily as her fingers trail along your inner thighs, gradually getting a bit higher with every sip. The way she looks at you is making it pretty fucking hard to not shove her flat on the table, push that slutty little skirt up and take her where everyone can see.

But that wouldn't exactly fly, nor have you had enough alcohol to give her what she wants in front of an audience.

Before your imagination gets the best of you, Natty shifts in her seat, the movement drawing your eyes straight down when she uncrosses and recrosses her legs, this slight little peek beneath the leather skirt and the urge to fuck her into tomorrow suddenly returns with a vengeance.

"What are you thinking, right now?" you ask, glancing into those dark eyes, thick with mascara and desire.

Natty lifts the straw to her mouth and slowly takes a drink, a smirk pulling at her lips. "Just how much I'd love to suck your dick under the table."

"Jesus, Nat," you reply, knowing it's no idle threat with a woman as brazen as Natty. 

"What, did that not sound appealing to you? Me on my knees with your cock fucking my throat, you pulling on my hair like you love to. Making me gag on you until tears are running down my cheeks and you shoot so fucking far down my throat—"

"I need a stronger fucking drink," you groan, the visual leaving your head spinning. 

"What's wrong, baby? Getting a little worked up? Or is the thought of my pretty lips around your cock making your pants feel a little tight?" Natty asks as her finger traces around the rim of her glass, licking her lips for extra effect. "I did promise you a blowjob in the bathroom, didn't I? Ready to cash that in now?"

"Not a chance I'm standing up now, thanks," you mutter, hiding an awkward adjustment of your jeans that makes Natty grin wide.

"Getting a little hard already, and nothing you can do about that? Poor thing."

"Natty, stop, I swear—"

"Alright, fine. You're no fun. Guess I'll have to talk about literally anything that won't get you thinking about my tits squeezed tight around your big fucking cock."

Yeah, you definitely need another drink. Maybe two. But mercifully, Natty calms down a bit after a few sips, falling quiet for the most part while she plays with the straw between her lips. Over the course of the hour, the number of empty glasses start piling up, so many of them you start to lose track. A light flush settles on her cheeks and she can hardly keep her hands to herself, running fingers through your hair as she downs the remainder of her current drink.

"You know, this place is much better with company," Natty blurts out, words slurred just enough for you to laugh at, because you're pretty sure her tally of drinks has surpassed yours at this point.

"How nice of you to admit it."

"I wasn't talking about you, idiot. You won't even let me suck you off under the table."

You can only let out the biggest sigh, wondering why you agreed to come here in the first place. "Oh, sorry for not wanting to get kicked out of a bar and have public indecency charges added to my record."

"Wouldn't be the first time we've gotten caught," Natty laughs, eyes lit up, and of course she finds it all so funny. "Not my fault that movie was so goddamn boring. Had to give you something better to watch."

"And now we're both banned from that place forever. Thanks, Nat." 

"Oh, please, don't act like you didn't enjoy me bouncing on your dick. How was I supposed to sit through an entire movie like that? If anything they should be thanking us for putting on a better show." 

"You're ridiculous."

"I know, but that's why you spend so much time with me."

"No, it's mostly the tits."

Natty kicks you underneath the table. "Rude." 

The conversation dies for a fleeting moment before Natty leans in closer. She's clearly past tipsy by this point, giggling at nothing and that's definitely the alcohol’s doing. "As I was saying, this place is so much better with company—"

"In case you've forgotten."

"Again, not talking about you. Let me finish a fucking sentence, will you?" Natty doesn't give you time to respond, the second time she's brought this up in just a few minutes. "Not that I don't enjoy making you squirm just by talking, but we could use more company."

“What, someone who’ll let you suck them off under the table?” 

"No, dumbass,” Natty says as she looks at her phone for a second, the bright light illuminating her face. "Look at that. They'll be here soon."

You raise an eyebrow with this puzzled look on your face and take a long drink, trying not to get too terribly invested in whatever Natty is planning. "They? Who, exactly?"

"You'd know if you checked those fucking pictures I sent," she answers back with this sharp tone, looking more offended than you've ever seen her. Might as well pull out the phone from your pocket, swipe through the messages from earlier, and oh. 

There's no hesitation this time as you thumb through a series of photos sent earlier—but they're not of her this time. Whoever the girl on your screen is, it isn't Natty, but she matches the level of hotness perfectly, posing in what looks like a hotel bathroom wearing these tight little shorts with fishnet stockings, a skimpy black top exposing an alarming amount of cleavage—not quite as busty as Natty, but her tits still look divine, as does the rest of her, curves for days with a face prettier than anyone has any right to be.

"What do you think?" Natty asks, watching you practically salivate, and the more you scroll, the less clothed the woman is—standing in the same room with her shorts undone, the next with her top lifted, tits out and barely covered with her arm. She’s completely exposed when you flip to the final image, naked in the mirror, a big smile on her face like she's modeling. 

And what a body, these full hips, long slender legs, and an ass made for grabbing, squeezing, burying your face between and you’ve completely forgotten the fact that Natty's even here.

"She's—uh, pretty," is the best you can manage while still distracted, zooming in a tad closer, to study more of this mystery woman. "Who is this anyway?"

"Pretty? Is that all you can say? Don't be shy, tell me what you're actually thinking. Don't hold back on my account."

"She's really hot, Nat. What the hell am I supposed to say, giving me nudes of some stranger is the last thing I'm expecting, and—"

"There you go, better answer," Natty says with this satisfied smile like you'd finally managed to say something right. "So tell me—do you want to fuck her?"

"Wh-what?" you stutter, immediately shifting your attention back to Natty's gaze.

"Don't pretend like you didn't hear me. Do you want her? Bend her over and pound her real fucking hard into the mattress? She's into most things I am—and plenty we haven't tried." 

"What the fuck kind of question is that, Nat? Jesus—"

"A simple one," Natty replies, as if anything out of her mouth is ever simple. "Do. you. want. to. fuck. her?”

You can't tell if it's the alcohol or Natty's seductive tone turning your brain into mush, struggling to form any coherent answer. "I—uh—"

"Come on, don't play coy now. Be honest, would you or wouldn't you? I know she's your type. Don't you want to just absolutely destroy that big ass of hers?"

The room is definitely spinning at this point. There's not an easy response. So you resort to the most logical one possible in your inebriated state. "Who wouldn't?"

"Good. Then it's settled. You're fucking her. We both are. Tonight."

"I'm sorry, we? Hold on, Nat, what the fuck is—"

"What, you've never had a threesome before, and I told you I would find a pretty girl to join us. So I did."

"Join us? Hold on, you were serious about that? How did you even manage this so fast?"

"Please, did you forget who the fuck you were dealing with? She's a really good friend of mine. In town for the weekend for work and wanted to catch up—I told her we'd hit the bar and see what happens."

"I can't believe—I don't even know her name or anything. "

"But you still have the urge to tear off her clothes and just ravish her, don't you? You wanted a third, I'm bringing you one." Natty reaches out and caresses your cheek, leaning close. "Unless you don't want that anymore. Then I'll just tell her something came up and meet up with her later."

"No, it's not—of course I fucking do, but it's just sudden and all the nudes and now this and—"

"Relax, baby, I've got everything taken care of. There's nothing to be worried about. Say yes and she's yours for the night. We can fuck her until the sun comes up. And even a little bit after."

You inhale sharply, pausing, letting Natty's words sink in, trying not to sound too overly eager when you agree to this. “Y-yeah, ok, let's do it."

"You don’t sound too sure. Be a little more convincing—tell me you really want her."

Natty is grinning as you’ve become a flustered mess, not entirely sober, but unable to think about anything besides seeing this this girl bent over your sheets, whatever her name is, and just fucking her senseless. "God, I want her—need her. Need to fuck her she forgets what day it is, until the sheets are ruined and she’s soaked in sweat, exhausted and dripping cum, looking like a fucking mess and all she's able to say is my name. I want her. I want both of you.” 

There's this impressed look on Natty’s face, like she’s gotten the exact reaction she was fishing for. "Alright, tiger, was that so hard? She'll be here any minute, and trust me, you won't be disappointed."

You finish off the rest of your drink in one go, hoping to steady your nerves before this mystery girl arrives, while also trying not to overthink the decision you've made. And it doesn't take much longer when you hear the chair next to you scrape against the ground, catching a glimpse of what has to be the breathtaking girl from the photos, a seductive smile gracing her lips and oh, those eyes are going to be the death of you.

Natty turns to the newcomer with a pleased little grin. "Hey, gorgeous."

"Hey yourself, pretty girl." 

Her attention shifts from Natty towards you, getting a first glance and looking you up and down. You can’t say it’s easy to return her gaze, but you do your best—admiring this beauty come to life that Natty has managed to snatch right out of your fantasies. "This must be your little boytoy. He's cute." 

"Isn't he? Think I’m keeping this one," Natty teases, possessive in every word she speaks."Absolutely ruins me. Never fails to get the job done."

And seconds in, she's already leaving you an embarrassed, flustered wreck.

"Good choice. I'm Julie, by the way," she says, offering a friendly smile and an outstretched hand, though not hiding the seduction behind her eyes. "I've heard so much about you."

Julie takes your hand with her cold, delicate fingers, and really, she's every bit as stunning as she looked in her photos. Similar features to Natty, though a bit less reserved—a face pretty enough to invite your lingering stare, long dark hair, piercing eyes, and a smile that’s utterly irresistible. 

"Oh, don't worry. Only the good parts."

"As if there are any bad ones," Natty says, all full of confidence per usual, but it’s nice when you’re on the end of it. "Oh, he knows all about you. At least what I've shown him."

"Oh, those? Hope you liked them. There's plenty more," Julie says, like it's nothing to show nudes to a complete stranger, an intriguing mix between forward and shameless

"Don’t worry, he loved them," Natty replies, and you just sit there, in silence, too stunned to say a word. "Couldn't stop talking about how badly he wants to fuck you. Something about him wanting to bury his face between your ass and tonguefuck you for hours.  

"Jesus, fuck Nat, why would you even—" you mutter, looking away, and you think there's still time to make a run for it and never see either of these two again. Your face grows hotter, ears turning red and Julie doesn't seem bothered at all—not the slightest bit embarrassed to hear Natty lay out all your dirty thoughts right here for the world to hear.

Julie leans back a bit, arms crossed, not letting her gaze falter and grins widely. "Did he now? I would certainly love that. Sounds like so much fun."

But the girls just exchange a look and start laughing, which doesn't do any favors for how small and helpless you feel right now. And if that weren’t enough to deal with, Julie places a hand on your thigh, giving a delicate squeeze that puts you even more on edge. "Now now, there's no need to be so shy, handsome. If anything, that's a compliment. Thousands of people see those photos and think the same thing—but not everyone gets to follow up on it.” 

"Professional model," Natty adds, nodding towards Julie with a proud grin. "Don't ever let her convince you otherwise, she's been on every magazine cover imaginable."

Julie gives her own small, soft laugh, glancing in Natty's direction and dismissing her statement. "Oh, please. Not all. There might be some lingerie stores you might recognize me from. But the nudes are just a little side gig." 

"And porn. A lot of porn, mostly anal and—"

"Natty!"

"What? There's no reason to hide it, and I'm sure he doesn't mind one bit," Natty says as she leans back in her seat, and it's rather amusing to be on the other side of a conversation like this. 

"Okay, then, fine. Yes, some porn on occasion. It pays rather well because most girls are more selective, afraid of ruining their reputation or whatever. More opportunities for me."

It's still a struggle to believe a model like Julie is actually sitting across from you, let alone Natty's close friend—because surely they're both out of your league on multiple levels. 

"So, Julie," Natty says, eager to change the subject, and you're more than thankful for it, moving past that horribly awkward interaction. "Up for some shots?"

"Always," Julie replies. without hesitation. “One round, and then you can fill me in on what exactly I'm in for. Or what your boytoy has in mind, whichever comes first. Other than that tonguefuck.” 

It takes everything not to choke on the mouthful of alcohol at her boldness, the blush spreading deeper. No way she's real.

"My boytoy is buying. Whatever you want is on him," Natty says with the same enthusiasm she always carries, waving down a bartender while her lips explore around your ear, nibbling on your earlobe to deepen the red on your face. 

“What happened to free drinks?” you ask, trying not to lose it while Natty makes a show of claiming you. 

“Free drinks were over three rounds ago,” Natty says, breath right against your ear. “Don’t you think it’s your turn to treat us, babe?”

"Don't worry, handsome. I won't break you," Julie whispers, fingers roaming your thigh, further sending you into a dizzy anticipation. 

In no time flat, there's a colorful collection of shots set in front of you, downed the moment they're set down. The burn has dulled at this point, and by now you welcome it, because you don't think you could survive this night without a little more liquid courage. 

"What do you say we get out of here after these?" Natty suggests, that mischievous tone in her voice returning. "Julie's got a fancy hotel suite not too far from here, and it seems like boytoy is already getting a bit restless…”

"Can't imagine why," Julie says with a cute giggle, finishing her shot and slamming it down so hard the table shakes.

"Shall we, then?" They glance at you, expectant with hunger in their eyes, and it’s a moment that makes you feel far too much like prey being stalked, waiting for the right moment to strike. But somehow, you manage to force out a nod while your card gets swiped, leaving you to dwell in the lingering silence. 

"Lead the way,” Julie insists, sealing the deal with a wide, gummy smile, leaning in enough so you can smell her perfume, and god, what the hell did you agree to?

Side by side, they’re absolutely mesmerizing —Natty, all luscious curves and those mouthwatering tits, and Julie, sleek and slender, her endless legs stealing the show, not to mention that perfect ass her tight dress doesn't hide one bit. 

"Right behind you." Again, you have to wonder, what you’ve gotten yourself into—but there’s no time to think about it staring at these two walking ahead, unable to take your eyes off their deadly figures.

✦ ✦

The elevator ride feels longer than usual, and with both girls pressed tight into either side of you, the thoughts run rampant. Natty crashes her lips onto yours first, tongue dipping inside your mouth, running a hand through your hair. She tastes sweet, the alcohol on her breath lingering before pulling away and nipping at your lip. "Nervous?"

”Maybe a little," you mutter under your breath. 

"Don't worry, handsome," Julie says, with this reassuring laugh beside you, casually reaching out to play with a button on your shirt. "We'll take real good care of you."

You're not sure if that helps or makes things worse, but you don't have time to think before Julie pulls you closer and steals a kiss of her own. She's slow, precise—not quite rough like Natty, and a low groan escapes you as her tongue explores, keeping you pulled tight against her until the elevator dings. When she pulls away and glances toward Natty, the pair continue to give that look, one that makes you more nervous than it should when you exit. 

"Not a bad kisser," she tells Natty as she guides towards in the direction of her hotel room. 

"He's had plenty of practice. Just wait until he eats you out,” Natty says, and once again you’re flustered by how open this girl is about everything. “That mouth will fucking ruin you.” 

You feel like your cheeks are going to be permanently red at this rate. 

"Mm, I can only imagine everything that mouth can do," Julie says, but it’s hard to even focus on this conversation—impossible to think of much else besides what lies beneath that dress.

Then a beep. An open door. A handful of stumbling steps later, and two sets of heels hit the ground with a thud, followed by your own shoes as you take everything in. The suite is enormous, brightly lit and spacious with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline. Impressive—expensive, no doubt,

Impressive, but expensive—no doubt about it. Likely the best room in the building with an oversized couch and bed big enough to fit three—something you’ll have no trouble taking advantage of. 

Now all that's left is to break it in.

Your jacket gets tossed on the nearest chair while the two explore the place barefoot, like they’re both planning out all the different ways this night can go. 

All of this feels surreal. Two beauties in one place that you’re about to explore every last inch of, eagerly waiting for you to make a move.

But before you do, Julie heads straight to a corner table overlooking the beautiful night sky—where an ice bucket sits, holding an expensive-looking bottle of champagne, practically an invitation to kick things off. She doesn’t even bother with glasses as she starts opening it. 

"This was here when I got here," Julie explains as the cork pops off, drinking straight from the bottle. "No sense in wasting it, right?"

She passes the bottle to Natty, who takes a hearty swig before setting it in front of you. There’s only one option—taking the biggest gulp you can, with an extra one to settle your nerves. It's sweet and fruity as the bubbles slide down your throat. 

When you hand it back to Julie, she takes an even bigger drink—but doesn't swallow it. Instead, she turns to Natty, cupping her face as their lips crash together. Their lips stay locked for a moment as Natty’s fingers weave through Julie’s hair, and there's something wildly intoxicating about two beautiful girls making out so closely in front of you.

"Tastes much better like this," Natty says against Julie, and you swear there isn't anything hotter than watching them drink right out of each other's mouths. The kiss deepens, neither one pulling away, and it doesn't seem it will stop anytime soon. 

If anything, their session grows more ravenous by the second as you just stand there and watch, taking occasional sips from the bottle.

"Come here," Natty insists with a beckoning finger, and you obey, stepping closer, until you're a fraction of an inch apart from one another. Without hesitation, the three of you come together, all tongues and saliva, tasting the sweet champagne on each other. Back and forth your head turns between the two, leaving you no less overwhelmed. Julie licks at the champagne dripping down your chin before Natty shoves her tongue deep into the crevice of your lips, getting a handful of your crotch for a squeeze.

Julie shifts to your ear, nibbles a little bit as she steals the champagne back. And then Natty lifts the hem of your shirt, peeling it off, discarding it elsewhere as Julie's lips find your chest, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses and licks, this deadly gaze glued on you as she does.

"Are you about ready to fuck our brains out yet?" Natty asks with a devilish smile as you get her dress unzipped, the thin material dropping around her feet in an instant—left in her underwear and this lace bra that does very little to contain her massive tits.

"Never been more ready," you reply with more confidence than expected, falling back on the edge of the bed with Natty following, until she's straddling on top and kissing you again. 

Julie slips out of her dress, sliding into the space beside the both of you and palms at your bulge while Natty unhooks her bra. You both watch how her breasts spilling out—as she drops her bra to the side, your hands can't help themselves, cupping her tits, kneading them softly, finding her sensitive nipples and devouring them. 

She moans loudly as you slurp, and Julie takes a long swig out of the champagne bottle before pouring it all over Natty's chest, glistening against her bare skin. You lick it off slowly, and her back arches at your touch, nails scraping against the nape of your neck, demanding more.

"You're right—this does taste better," you growl against a wet nipple when you pull off, licking up the valley between her tits, tongue cleaning up the champagne dripping over her chest. "Much better."

"So much better," Natty responds, guiding your mouth back to each of her nipples, so you can suck away whatever remains. While this happens, Julie gets started on her own clothes, removing the black lace and tossing it off to the side. Her tits are just as gorgeous—smaller, paler, but plenty of bounce, with these pretty nipples standing at attention and just waiting to be played with.

"Go on, have a taste," Natty encourages, and you don’t need any further instructions, enjoying every moan that comes out her lips when you switch over to Julie, flicking your tongue around the same way. You suck harder, sloppier, careful not to neglect Natty too badly, sneaking the occasional hand up to knead—but these two make you insatiable, switching back and forth, leaving saliva coating every last inch of flesh and lapping away like you're starved. 

"Hungry little thing, aren't you?" Julie teases as your lips graze across her breasts. You're slobbering back and forth between the girls, tugging at Julie's nipple with your teeth as she whimpers at your touch, biting down harder when moving back to Natty. 

You've never been so lucky—lips back at forth while groping the other, saliva trickling down your lips, completely lost in this buffet of tits. 

"Can you blame him? Especially when you're such a fucking feast," Natty retorts, reaching out to pinch one of Julie's nipples as you take over and get back to devouring the girl in your lap. 

"Speak for yourself, pretty girl. Those tits of yours are something else," Julie says, and when you pull away, her hands greedily grope and knead them, as if to emphasize her point. “These big, juicy tits and sensitive little nipples, god, how is he even able to pry himself away from you?"

Natty laughs as Julie continues fondling her chest. "Oh, he’s not. And don’t act like you haven't seen them before."

"It's been a while," she says as you watch her devour those pretty, swollen nipples, devouring them with this insatiable appetite while Natty throws her head back, moaning loudly. "And we weren't sharing a boytoy then."

Natty sighs softly, obviously enjoying herself, a wry smile crossing her lips. "Speaking of which—poor thing must be fucking throbbing right now. Those pants must be awfully uncomfortable."

"Then we should probably get them off," Julie suggests, as she lowers herself from the bed, unbuckling your belt when Natty scoots to give her enough space. Your zipper goes down slowly, pants removed with ease and forgotten in seconds flat, left behind with a straining erection poking through your underwear. "Wanna get more comfortable for us, handsome?"

You nod, scooting further back towards the pillows, giving plenty of room for them to join. Before climbing up, Julie discards her own panties, and slides Natty out of hers, this slow crawl from the bottom up the length of the bed that drives you fucking crazy with anticipation.

And then you've got a perfectly naked girl on each side—all sinful curves and flawless skin and this deadly glint in both their eyes. 

They don't waste any time in having you match their state of undress, two sets of slender fingers underneath the waistband of your boxers, sliding them down your legs to reveal your swollen cock—both salivating at the sight, so hard and stiff, aching for attention. 

"Knew this wouldn't be a disappointment,” Julie smiles, hand wrapping around your dick, giving a few exploratory pumps. She doesn't even bother hiding the way she admires your cock, hand twisting a little, thumb teasing your leaking slit. "The way Natty talks about you, I assumed she might be exaggerating. Glad I was wrong."

"Hope he meets your expectations.” There’s a devious tone to Natty’s voice as their lips press against the head of your cock simultaneously, planting this messy trail of kisses and lipstick down your shaft that's overwhelming as can be.

"Trust me. More than," Julie returns, lips pressed so deep into the side of your shaft before moving up to the head. Natty joins, dueling tongues teasing the underside of your tip, kissing in between each of these messy swirls that leave you throbbing for more. 

It’s already too much—two eager tongues tracing over your aching length, pushing you closer to desperation. 

A breathless gasp escapes as soft lips glide along either side of your cock, moving in sync, and fuck, you have no idea how to survive it. There’s no urgency, no rush—just slow, deliberate licks, mapping out every inch of you. Natty’s tongue drags down to your balls, so wet, so hungry, Julie following right after, mirroring her every move. They meet again near the tip, exchanging heated kisses along your cock, their frantic licks working you into a frenzy. 

"Does that feel good?" Natty purrs, dipping back down to tease your heavy balls, lapping at each one while Julie pays close attention to your leaking cockhead. "You've gone quiet on us."

"Y-yeah," you stutter, still trying to catch a steady breath, failing miserably with their tongues working you over so carefully. It's pure bliss, the feeling of them both licking the same sensitive areas, knowing exactly what to do to wring the most pleasure out of you. "Just, god, yeah. T-too good."

"Good, that’s what I like to hear," Natty says, and pulls Julie in to kiss her, trapping your cock between their lips, driving you further to the breaking point.

And it’s Julie who’s so close you can feel her hot breath radiating across your needy cock. The two swap a few more long, messy kisses, letting your shaft slide between their tongues, and then go straight back to licking, alternating between your shaft, back down to your balls, and god, watching their lips drag along your length has you ready to burst already. 

"So fucking hard—“ Julie says, this constant need to tease really doing you in. 

It’s hard to even form any response that isn’t a desperate groan as Natty's nimble fingers remain around the base, delivering these long pumps that match the movements of Julie’s tongue, and the two seem determined to absolutely unravel you. 

They’ll do that sooner, rather than later, it turns out. 

Their soft lips make a wet mess around you, drooling and slobbering their way across every inch, taking turns teasing around and across the tip while they stroke, moving as a single unit, and with a great degree of attention, so content with the noises you’re making. 

Natty goes in a different direction and places the head right between her lips, letting you drown in anticipation. The moment they close around, a guttural groan escapes your throat, and her intentions are clear—her warm, wet mouth wants to devour you all. So she inches forward, eyes never breaking contact and starts bobbing, mouth swallowing your shaft. Meanwhile, Julie watches in delight, playing with your balls, cupping their weight before lowering her mouth, suckling, tongue working over the heavy sack and licking with expert precision.

"Jesus, fuck," you mumble, with these tight fistfuls of sheets while Natty picks up the pace, a steady rhythm picking up when she descends, bringing you further, deeper inside the slick cavern of her throat. Not long after she reaches the base, burying you to the hilt—her nose flush against the tensed muscles of your abdomen. And it feels better than it ever has. 

"Can't believe you managed all that," Julie murmurs as Natty brings her head back up, your cock escaping with a wet pop. 

“It was nothing. Lots of practice." 

Natty hardly needs to catch a breath, bobbing effortlessly a few more times and your shaft vanishes into her throat each time, nose buried deep and she doesn't stop—not while Julie watches wide-eyed and amazed, keeping her lips pressed to Natty's whenever she comes up for air. 

Now it's both of them jerking you off at once, this messy mix of tongues in mouths while they pump and squeeze, never a moment where your cock isn't getting stimulation. 

"Let me try," Julie insists, giving another lick down towards your balls as the rhythm of strokes starts to slow down. Her parted lips, coated and shiny, hover over your swollen cockhead, swallowing inch by inch, a little slower than Natty. 

It's clear she's just as talented, if not more—and from this perfect wet heat of her mouth alone, you're already dizzy from pleasure. Like Natty, she's deepthroating you with ease, not even stopping for air—no signs of any struggle at all as her head bobs up and down.

"Fucking hell," you moan as Julie releases, saliva dripping from her lips, and the intensity ramps up from the moment she swallows you again, no resistance as you hit the back of her throat, eyes staring into your own. 

"Good girl, taking it all," Natty whispers in her ear, moving hair out of the way as she dives back in. "Not many can do that on the first try."

Julie can't hide the pride, flashing a smile. "Oh, you know—the whole porn thing."

There's a brief look your way, that dangerous glance that has your heart racing before Julie swallows you whole on repeat, throat contracting around every last inch.

"Really thought you'd gag at least once," Natty says, almost disappointed as she watches Julie bob eagerly up and down your throbbing length. There’s only a loud slurp in response, a thick coating of saliva forming the longer it goes. You’re in absolute heaven when your cock slides so effortlessly down her hungry throat, smothered in warmth as you resist the urge to hold her head down. 

"What can I say? I'm a professional."

Then once again it's Natty's turn, this dizzying exchange between the two women, taking turns consuming your aching cock, both eager to impress. One's sucking you hard while the other slobbers away on your balls, a little back and forth that's downright heaven. They move in tandem, these obscene noises, mouths slurping, lips smacking—drowning your cock with spit and there's nothing quite like watching them share in this messy exchange of lust.

"These delicious balls, god, so full, wanna make them empty," Julie moans as they slip from her mouth with a lewd pop. Natty gives your cock the attention you need, swallowing inch after inch, and you have no idea how much more you can take of this. She speeds up on instinct, cheeks hollowing as she bobs faster, bringing you closer and closer to that release. It's such an unreal sight, watching her suck you off like this—those tight, wet lips around your cock, so messy and greedy, while Julie doesn't disappoint either, playing with your balls so attentively. 

"I think you're almost there," Natty states, not so subtly staring as everything she does makes you groan, dick pulsating when she bottoms out on you. "Mm, god, you’re throbbing so much—must be real close. Two pretty girls on your cock like this for the first time, of course it's too much, right?” 

She's not wrong—watching them work together has you desperate, squeezing the sheets tight as they start doubling their efforts. Everything builds at an insane rate, and you can barely breathe, especially with how messy their ravenous mouths get. 

"Fuck, feels so—" you moan, and can't manage another word, the loud slurps of those eager lips getting the better of you. And they both get even more comfortable, going for the kill and maneuvering flat on their stomach, feet sticking out into the air and mouths moving frantically. 

"Let's make him cum," Natty orders, and they shower your shaft with wet, lust-driven kisses, tongues dancing all over your needy cockhead. Julie slips her lips around your tip, flicking and sucking away until it pops free and Natty resumes where she left off—over and over, passing it back and forth while their lips stay latched on, licking your shaft or suckling those heavy balls as they alternate.

Back and forth they compete over whose mouth can bring you to the edge the fastest—and fuck, you can't resist anymore, that throb, that rush coming forth, nothing more you can possibly do when both of their tongues flick so desperately against your swollen head, so persistent, so aggressive—

"Shit—f-fuck, oh my god," you gasp, clutching desperately into the sheets below, struggling to keep composure.

It happens all at once, just as their tongues slide and overlap—the first burst comes spilling out right into Julie's open mouth, spurting creamy white against her awaiting lips without warning. And yet, despite the volume—perhaps, because of it, both her and Natty manage to share in the release, every single drop landing right where intended.

The deluge of thick spurts continue to flow out, each one heavy and thick, accompanied by your desperate groans, and their mouths stay right at the tip, tongues lapping across to contain your explosive release, a creamy white painting their satisfied smiles. 

It’s seemingly endless, and it lingers on by the look they give you, a hand cupping your balls to keep you from finishing too quickly. Their lips slurp and lick up your cum as the thick spurts slow into a steady dribble, and only when they're satisfied you're properly drained does Natty lean in closer, her fair share pooled in her mouth, not intent on swallowing just yet. She grabs Julie’s face and pulls her into a fiery, passionate kiss, moaning into each other's mouths as the hot load passes from one set of lips into another, dribbling off their chins, and you've never seen anything so filthy, so messy—a perfect blend of cum and saliva mixing between the two.

"Tastes so fucking good," Julie finally says, inching away to catch her breath. "Who needs champagne when I can have this delicious load?"

"Better than any champagne," Natty replies, and wipes her lips with a grin as their lips clash again and fuck, you could watch the two of them kiss for hours, savoring the delectable aftertaste.

"So—how much more do you think your boytoy can handle?" Julie asks, looking over at you, with this loose grip on your cock that's still twitching even after that. "Still hard as fuck."

"Oh, he can go," Natty says with confidence. "Think he's ready for at least a few rounds with the two of us. Aren't you, babe?"

"D-don't you worry about me," you answer, still out of breath, glancing up at both of them with the same insatiable hunger in their eyes. "I can go all night if need be."

"Is that so?" Julie laughs, amused. "I'll hold you to it, then. Not that it would be hard to believe when you've got a thick, gorgeous cock like this."

"With you two—no doubt I can last as long as you'd like."

"That's what I like to hear, handsome," Julie replies, and she kisses the head of your cock, which makes you jerk instantly, sensitive still, though that doesn't stop her from doing it again. "Now, Natty—which one of us gets him shoved in us first?"

"That big thing ruins my insides on a daily basis—think it's only fair you get it first." 

"How generous of you. What do you think, boytoy? Think you can handle me riding you?" Julie purrs, fingers teasingly stroking the length of your shaft, the tiniest contact of pressure making you twitch. 

“Only one way to find out."

"Alright then. Gonna ride the fuck outta you, handsome," Julie says, straddling your waist as Natty moves aside, easing herself on top until she's right above your cock. Lining you up perfectly against her already wet entrance, those pussy lips glisten as she drags your cockhead through the wet folds of her slit. And she doesn't even hesitate, letting it all fill her as she sinks down, allowing every inch inside. "Ah, god, so fucking big—your cock is gonna tear me apart."

Once she's got you buried and right down to the hilt, Julie digs her nails into your chest, lifting her hips slightly and gyrating them as they lower, your dick disappearing slowly inside her. And fuck, she's so tight, so warm inside, her pussy so slick, coated heavily over the entirety of your shaft. There's so much to take in, and for a moment she pauses, needing to adjust, eyes screwed shut.

"Holy shit—how do you survive getting fucked by this every day?" Julie gasps, throwing her head back as her walls constrict around your throbbing shaft, this hungry, almost desperate clench that only intensifies as the time passes.

"You get used to it," Natty laughs, admiring the sight before her. Julie, this gorgeous woman you've known all of an hour ago, in all her beauty—naked, sitting on your cock, stretching her all the way open. "That dick in you looks so good from here."

"Feels even better, pretty girl," Julie says, and exhales, starting a slow, steady pace to warm things up. She pauses upwards, stopping at the tip before repeating her movement. Now, a little quicker, your cock slides effortlessly from the amount of dripping wet arousal, and her thighs shake the first few times, body still adjusting. 

She throws her head back with a sigh, savoring every inch, the messy wetness enveloping your shaft, and fucking hell, that grip, the heat is just insane—

Julie is all smiles as she rides, wet and wonderfully tight and clinging around your throbbing shaft, clenching so hard that you can't even process it. She sinks down with precision, her gorgeous cunt taking everything you have as she rolls those hips, letting it all fill her. 

And with your head back in the pillows, the rush of everything comes full circle, with this mesmerizing view you have, at Julie in her naked glory, an image you’ll never stop staring at. Each drop of her hips causes her breasts to bounce, although less heft than Natty, yet still, irresistible to gawk at. And those eyes, focused so intently, never faltering, full of desire—focused entirely on you and the noises that come from your lips. 

"How's that feel, boytoy?" Julie asks, moving those hips, head thrown back when she slams her full weight down. "Pretty tight, huh?"

"Fucking amazing," you answer, voice ragged, heavy panting with every movement. "Can’t believe how good it feels to be inside you."

"Not every day you get to fuck a porn star," Julie teases, impaling herself deeper, picking up momentum and biting her bottom lip when your cock hits the right spot. "This pussy usually gets stretched by Nat's huge toys—feels good having something real in me."

"Something that can cum in you?" Natty suggests, as your hands run across Julie’s toned stomach, up the curve of her waist, settling there as she fucks you, riding the entirety of your cock with every deep, full stroke.

"Yeah, that too," Julie adds, moving faster, only gasping when it hits the deepest, so deep that she just has to pause and savor the stretch.

"Hope it's everything you dreamed of, handsome," Julie says, hands playing around with your bare chest as she rides faster, bouncing steadily on your cock, the harsh collision of skin becoming louder, frantic. "Because it's so good for me, fuck—Nat, why have you been keeping him from me? "

"Because I knew you'd want him, Jules," Natty says with a laugh, watching her body, her tits, her face all distorted from the pleasure. "Didn't want you stealing my toy, did I?"

“Fair point. Because fuck, he's huge," she gasps, going faster, rocking her hips with more power and you can barely handle it. Your hands continue to grope around her fit, small frame—this quick shift, grabbing her ass when she comes crashing down. 

"God—look at how good she's taking your cock," Natty chimes in, now right behind Julie, breasts pressed into her back, running her tongue down the curve of her neck. She starts leaving open-mouthed kisses on those exposed shoulders, leaving behind trails of wet saliva as one hand teases across her perky breasts. "Just made for this, aren’t you? Perfect little slut."

"O-oh, fuck, Nat," Julie moans, falling into Natty's waiting embrace, and letting her fingers play where they please.

"Give him a good view of what he’s been dying to bury his cock in all night,” Natty demands, her hands sliding down to grab and squeeze those soft, perfect cheeks before landing a few sharp, stinging slaps. "Let boytoy see exactly what he’s gonna ruin tonight—"

There's a few moments of adjusting as the heat disappears from your cock—a sudden repositioning with Julie's legs still spread wide, but her back now to you, delicious ass waiting right there in the air. That's where your hands instinctively land, to get a nice, firm squeeze, taking in the full view of her exposed cunt. She's so drenched, dripping down the thickness of your cock—those pretty, pink lips swollen as that full ass of hers sticks higher into the air, demanding you back inside.

In an instant, Julie takes what she wants, sitting straight down onto your length that throbs with need. She gives no pause for reprieve or adjustment, with her head thrown back and immediately takes the entire thing, pussy devouring you right then and there. Her weight sinks all the way down, the grip tight and your fingertips dig into the softness of her ass as your dick splits her wide open. 

"Fuck—boytoy, you feel so good," she cries out, rolling her hips at the perfect angle, hands now reaching back, desperately finding your thighs for support.

"Come on, nice and deep," Natty says, now face-to-face with Julie as she watches the show before her, mouth agape and this clear jealousy that she isn't the center of attention. "Don't be gentle with him. He can handle it."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Julie says, and gasps when Natty starts pulling roughly at her hardened nipples, groping her breasts and encouraging her movements, as she doubles down with the force of her hips. Every part of her trembles the faster she fucks herself on your cock, this slick tightness of her pussy drowning every last inch when she takes you to the hilt. 

There's an undeniable hunger with the way Julie looks back at you, ass slamming against you as her back arches for more—giving you this sinful view of how the slick warmth of her cunt clings tight, suffocating you in the best way possible. Everything from the way her hips grind with a subtle shift in position, hitting a new spot when slamming herself down on your cock, never giving the chance to miss it when she pulls away. 

“Fuck, this feels incredible—can’t get enough,” you groan, the words tumbling out as the pleasure overwhelms you, your grip on her ass tightening, fingers sinking deeper as your mouth falls open at the way she moves her hips with ease, every thrust driving you wild. 

"Hear him, Jules? That's what your tight pussy does to him," Natty tells her, focused on the blissful expression that stays etched on her features. “Fuck yourself like that, ride him, get that dick balls fucking deep inside that pretty cunt of yours.”

Natty couldn’t be any happier watching how her best friend sinks down on your cock, fingers tugging on her swollen buds without mercy. Julie's a whimpering mess now, hips almost on automatic, slamming down repeatedly with reckless abandon. It's a desperate rhythm, no longer just wanting your cock, but craving the release, desperate for that sweet, blissful climax that follows."

"How's he feeling in you, baby? Every fucking inch making you drip all over him? Having that fucking huge cock in your pretty little cunt—he must love watching it disappear inside of you.” 

The lewder the encouragement, the more urgent her riding becomes, taking every bit of you as Julie crashes her hips down without relent. And you just let her do her thing, this seductive, irresistible woman, using your body, fucking you in ways you've never felt, tight and clinging and so goddamn wet when she bounces her perfect ass on you. 

"Natty—god, fuck, he's gonna make me cum," Julie stammers, all breathless, sweat forming along her naked body. Her nails dig in your thighs, her relentless movements consuming you, never giving a moment to catch your breath. "So good, shit, shit, holy shit—"

And Natty's right there with her, fingers slipping lower to find Julie’s clit, teasing and circling the sensitive nub with relentless precision. Despite the tremble in her thighs, they work in unison, getting the most of you. 

The slick sounds of her arousal fill the room—getting wetter the more she rides, juices running down the entire length of your shaft. "That’s it, gorgeous, let go, cream all over him. Show boytoy how good that cock feels. Ruin these fucking sheets.” 

The bed squeaks and groans beneath you, loud and unapologetic with every filthy slam of your bodies. You do your part, driving Julie closer to the edge—your hand coming down hard on her ass, the sharp smack echoing as it ripples, fingertips sinking into the fullness of her round cheeks. She lets out a strangled moan as her cunt begs for more, hips slamming down like there’s no sense of control left. “Oh fuck, I can’t, gonna—”

You grip her body tighter, fingers digging into her flesh, guiding her movements as she rides that dizzying line between pleasure and climax. Julie can't even speak coherent thoughts, not anymore, a mess of sweat, frantic moans and loud gasps when your palm strikes across each cheek, one after another, leaving a lingering redness each time. 

That’s all it takes. 

When it hits, it hits hard. Her cunt convulses, wet heat clenching around every last inch, and it's just messy the minute she cums, thighs shaking, toes curling, juices gushing all over your shaft. She's falling apart so quickly, head lulled back in sheer ecstasy, lips parted and the most obscene noises coming out. Nothing left but whimpers and desperate cries as she clings onto your body while riding this out, drenching your cock, the sheets—everywhere.

Natty doesn't let the sensations subside, though, not a chance. Instead, she continues—rubbing in a fast and careless motion, unyielding, hearing those breaths get shorter while her fingers get coated with Julie. "Another one. Come on, give yourself another one, Jules. Keep going. Look at me, keep that cock in you—that's it, one more for me."

A second surge of bliss crashes over Julie with startling ease, leaving her trembling and consumed by it all. The remnants of her first climax don’t even have time to fade before Natty draws her into another, her body surrendering completely as her cries fill the air and her eyes roll back. 

Julie’s voice trembles as she buries her face in the crook of Natty’s neck, her words spilling out a slurred mess. “Nat, p-please… I haven’t gotten off like that in ages.” Her body gives out, melting forward as her breaths come out in spurts, chasing a full one she can’t quite catch. 

“Happy to oblige.“ Natty smirks, brushing her lips against Julie’s one last time before pulling back. “Alright, gorgeous—don’t get too greedy. Let me have some fun now.”

Once Julie regains her senses, she complies with ease, pulling off your cock that’s coated with her unrelenting wetness. 

She’s only able to collapse in the sheets beside you, face flushed red, equal parts satisfied and tired, breathing so heavily as her fingers trail across the muscles of your arm. "Goddamn. Should've gotten that on camera."

"Maybe next time.” Natty isn’t hesitant as she takes over where Julie left off—throwing herself right back on your lap, thighs wrapped around either side of your hips. She glances over for a moment, before moving her lips to kiss yours, and this is no ordinary liplock—a rough, desperate exchange of tongues, saliva swapped and moans muffled between her mouth and your own.

"I need this cock to split me the fuck open," Natty says, all demand in her voice as the head of your cock drags against her greedy folds. You're already feeling the intoxicating warmth, the impossible wetness that mirrors Julie, somehow, if such a thing were possible.

She gives you a moment to savor the full view—her slender waist that you could hold on forever, toned and tight, a matching canvas to those incredible tits that you've splattered white so many times. And from below, darting your gaze down to that slick, perfect little pussy—so eager and hungry as she hovers, takes hold and lines your shaft up, then pauses for a quick breath. 

"What are you waiting for then?" Julie chimes in, perched on her side, back to life for a brief moment, just as eager and excited for the show to continue. "He's not gonna fuck himself."

"Hush," Natty fires back, and that's enough as she spreads her legs wider, guiding your throbbing cock where it belongs. One final glance before she sinks down in one fluid motion, stretching out those wet pussy lips so they can swallow every single inch like it's nothing.

All so routine for her, easing her way back up before repeating, hips lifting as her pussy squeezes every bit of your cock, a long sigh escaping her lips when your shaft fills her to the hilt.

"God, baby—that’s so fucking good," Natty groans, when she has you down, stuffed all the way inside. When her walls fully engulf your shaft, stretching wide and nothing's been more inviting, nothing more delicious as that warmth swallows you all up. She doesn’t even try to move—and that’s just as much for your benefit as it is hers as she stays still, holding you hostage, indulging in the sensation of being entirely filled. 

"Look at that pretty pussy drooling everywhere," Julie says, still not able to get a proper breath in as she watches in awe. Despite being the same girl who takes a pounding for a living, somehow, she’s mesmerized by how your cock disappears into her greedy little cunt. 

It's a quick pace from the first bounce, a fevered cadence that’s hard to handle. There’s this insatiable desire that compels Natty when she rides your cock, working every inch inside her until there’s nothing left to fill. When she rises, it’s with a gasp: a trail of slick that drives her hips, greedy for more. The bed continues to protest, but she silences it with another powerful plunge, headboard slamming up against the hotel suite wall. 

And if that wasn’t enough to deal with, those tits—it doesn't take Natty long to notice the way your gaze lands, exactly as intended, those perfect fucking tits of hers bouncing with each inch she claims.

“Boytoy really is lucky. Getting these huge fucking tits shoved in his face whenever he likes. Wonder how many times she’s made you burst all over them?” 

“Too many times to count,” Natty replies, pace never faltering. “Love seeing that look on his face when he explodes all over my chest. Don’t think he’ll ever get enough.” 

“How could anyone?” The question hangs in the air unanswered, as Natty’s rhythm becomes a challenge—a relentless slap of skin on skin that dares you to last. 

"Bet she's so fucking tight. Natty’s cunt feels like heaven, doesn't it?"

You answer with a groan, because that’s all you have in you. But that only fuels Natty—her pace turns relentless, those tits bouncing, heavy and hypnotic, and you wouldn’t dare miss a moment while she impales herself to the hilt. 

“Not sure what I want more—boytoy’s cock in me again, or those pretty tits in my mouth,” Julie says, tongue tracing your earlobe and giving a gentle nip, making your cock twitch even more. “Maybe both at the same time?” 

"Greedy little thing," Natty teases, her giggles a momentary distraction while she leans forward, giving the perfect angle so her tits bounce even more.

“Learned it all from you, pretty girl.” You're left unable to form any response as Natty keeps devouring your shaft with every bounce, all while Julie plants kisses down your bare chest, her tongue finding a nipple to tease as you revel in the pleasure.

"Oh, would you look at that? Boytoy likes it when I do this," Julie says, tongue drawing circles, flicking a few times before those lips wrap and suck, the sensitivity growing. And you're lost in the way this wet cunt squeezes tightly, the way Julie's lips tug, kissing a bit before picking back up. “Someone is a little sensitive, isn’t he? Or maybe that pussy feels a little too good." 

"Both," Natty answers with a grin, sweat now abundant down her skin, glistening from her cleavage down her tight stomach, and those powerful thighs that keep bouncing, keep that slick heat working every bit of your throbbing shaft.

It’s almost impossible to just sit back and enjoy the way her perfect cunt clenches around your cock—so greedy, so demanding you stay inside her, holding you captive with each bounce. 

Natty leans in with that wicked little smirk, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Her tits bounce, practically begging for attention, and you don’t dare ignore it. You grab them without hesitation, heavy and soft in your fingertips, and dig your fingers in, groping hard enough to pull a moan from her lips. 

"Mm, fuck yes. Play with those fucking tits, just like that,” Natty groans out, a sharp gasp as you get even greedier. Now she’s the one sensitive as you cup her tits, teasing her nipples between harsh squeezes. You can’t help but indulge in this feast, pushing her tits together so you can watch the jiggle before dragging your tongue between that delicious valley. Her hips fall into an uncontrolled, frantic pace while you bury your face into her chest, tongue swirling a sensitive nipple before pulling it between your teeth—not at all shy when you nibble, lips closing around and sucking with a lewd slurp. 

"Shit, that's it—don’t stop," she encourages, fingers threading through your hair to pull your mouth deeper. And that's all too easy to oblige, latching back and forth onto each slippery nipple like you're starved, sealing your mouth tight and sucking hard while groping the other, not leaving either without attention for too long. 

Each flick of your tongue, each greedy suck makes her clench harder, her moans dissolving into needy whimpers. Julie just watches with amusement, with fingers lazily between her legs as you worship Natty's chest, devouring her as they bounce right in your face, a constant flow of saliva connecting your lips to those swollen nipples.

 "God, look at him go—so hungry for Nat’s perfect fucking tits. Your cock must be ready to explode, must feel so fucking good in that slutty little cunt." 

She’s never been more right, because you’re barely hanging on. 

You groan through another suck, lips fixated on the heavenly weight of Natty’s tits, tongue flicking over the hardened nipple like it’s your only purpose. There’s no hope of lasting much longer, not when Natty is just as relentless as your mouth is, hips not faltering for a single bounce. The heat of her cunt, the impossible wetness, this insane grip—there’s no fighting the inevitable. 

“Boytoy—need those balls emptied in me right fucking now. Fill my tight cunt, cum inside me—pump that hot fucking load deep inside this pussy, give me everything. Every last fucking drop.”

And what else can you possibly do when she demands something like that, determined to make you blow your load in her in no time?

“Fill her, boytoy. Give her that nice, thick load, can’t wait to watch it drip out of her,” Julie says, all the encouragement you need, lips still attached to the shell of your ear, sucking and licking, blowing hot air. It’s all Natty needs too. She’s cumming hard on your cock, body shuddering, thighs trembling violently while you’ve still got her tits in your mouth, slurping away. 

She can barely keep her hips steady, fucking herself through it all, that cunt so impossibly tight. Natty is borderline begging, whining, this high-pitched sob every second your cock hits so deep, until she just breaks down completely—another violent spasm from her pussy. And there's nothing holding you back any longer, because you're right there with her, moments away from making a fucking mess right inside.

"Natty—“ 

One look and you're emptying yourself into Natty's wet cunt, flooding her with that hot, sticky warmth as your cock just unloads. Her pussy clenches hard, demanding every spurt as it swallows up all your cum, the best relief her body can provide. 

A goddamn mess, everywhere—one that paints her insides a hot, creamy white with everything she milks out, greedy for more, not leaving anything left in your aching balls. The constant throbs have no end with you buried to the hilt inside, Natty helping unload it all, groaning with every spurt while you just stare up at her.

Through this intense bliss, Julie watches every second, unable to tear her eyes away. She’s breathing equally heavy as she plays with her clit, fingers rubbing so fast and unable to stop herself from falling right behind. 

When it's all said and done, you're a mess of collapsed bodies, sheets slick and limbs tangled together. You can hear Natty struggling to catch her breath, chest heaving, her warm, sweat-slicked body draped against yours while the two of you just ride this out together, clinging onto one another.

"Jesus, can't believe how much fucking cum your balls still have," Natty finally mumbles out, body shaking through every breath, on the edge of collapsing. “Hope that felt as good as fucking a goddamn porn star." 

Julie lets out a breathless laugh, fingers teasing your chest. "Don't think anything compares to you and your fucking body, Natty."

“Don’t sell yourself short, pretty girl,” Natty tells her, too weak for anything else. With her remaining energy, she cups your face and gives one more appreciative kiss. 

The warmth of your release still lingers between her tired legs, and you can't resist getting a gentle grip on her hips, until she gets the hint to lift up enough—so you can slip all the way out. And there's nothing more satisfying than seeing your release spilling right out of her gorgeous cunt, stretched wide open, an endless stream of thick white flowing out of Natty. 

"Goddamn—what a huge mess. Boytoy really pumped all that cum in you. Gotta get me another turn on that, he’s all mine next round.” Julie isn’t asking, but demanding, not that either of you would have a problem with exactly that. 

"That's what he's here for, isn't it? I need a shower, so he's all yours," Natty says, standing on wobbly legs. 

She looks completely worn out and you can't help but stare at those curves, her wide hips, her body glistening with sweat, your cum dripping down her perfect thighs when she gingerly makes her way towards the bathroom. "Have fun." 

"Oh, we definitely will."

With the sound of water running from the bathroom, Julie is on top, kissing down your body—licking the sweat off your chest and tracing your abs with the tip of her tongue. "You better have something left for me, boytoy."

Your arousal has no end in sight, not when Julie is giving you so much attention. 

Her lips, full and supple, trail across your stomach, planting soft, lingering kisses, savoring every inch of you. She moves slow and so very methodical, like she's memorizing the way you feel under her mouth. You can’t say you don’t enjoy the tease, these light touches that build ever so slowly. 

When she reaches your hips, she pauses—just enough to let the tension rise, and then she dips lower, breath warm, a preview of more to come.  

"Hope Natty's tight little cunt didn't milk you completely fucking dry," she says, her gaze shifting between your legs. "Because I need to feel how big a load you can empty into me."

Turns out, you have much more in you. 

Not that you expected anything less with Julie’s devilish lips wrapped around your cock. Her hands grip your thighs, taking advantage of Natty’s absence to get you back to full mast, a few languid strokes that gets the blood pumping in all the right places. Then she sinks back down—deeper, nose to your crotch like she’s got something to prove.

And before you know it, you’ve got her all folded in half—legs bent at the knee and obscenely spread wide in the air as she takes every inch of you like her cunt is nothing but a mere toy.

If you’re being honest, it’s a position with her name on it. Nothing more than mindless when you fuck her, really fuck her, so goddamn deep—her body feels completely different from Natty's, but it doesn't matter when you're hammering away at that warm cunt, with this fervent need to explode once again. 

With your knees firm on the mattress and Julie’s legs lifted high, you drive into her deeper than ever, her slick heat gripping you tight—yours to take, to ruin. Every thrust buries you to the hilt, your hips slamming into her with the kind of force she craves, the kind she was made for.

She's all sweaty, legs pressed into her chest as you destroy her cunt, these loud whimpers on repeat, so eager to be defiled like her best friend, to be wrecked in this helpless position until you unload again. But there's something so satisfying about Julie begging for this, about watching this beautiful girl, legs folded, letting you hammer into that perfect, wet cunt, so fucking happy to get used.

It's this wild, almost violent rhythm with the way Julie's feet dangle in the air that lasts a lot longer than you both intended, ending only when Natty's done in the bathroom. The sound of a door swinging open doesn't make you slow down either. You're too far gone in that heavenly cunt to even care that Natty's in the room with you again, only just out of the shower, hair still wet as she saunters around the bedroom in only a towel.

"I could fucking hear you two going at it out here," Natty says, amused and jealous. It doesn't stop her from walking to your side of the bed, that towel barely concealing a damn thing as she gets a front row view of you plowing Julie into the mattress. 

"She said it was her favorite position. Couldn’t resist," you explain, moments away from bursting deep in Julie's cunt.

"One of the best," Natty replies with a knowing nod, letting her towel drop to the floor as she lies across the bed beside the two of you while you use Julie's cunt as your personal toy. 

The sight of Natty without a thing covering her, watching as you fuck Julie, like she's not even fazed by what's going on right before her—is what finally makes your dick explode inside that soaked little cunt, blowing a thick, creamy load as you empty deep, all the way into her womb as Julie moans through every burst. 

"There you go. Pump her fucking cunt with all that thick fucking cum," Natty urges, leaning in close to get a better angle as you just fuck it all deep, filling Julie to the brim. "You like that cock in you? Like when he ruins your little cunt and fills you?”

Julie doesn't reply with words, still whimpering, breathless, barely able to keep her eyes open. 

And Natty can't help but be the center of attention when Julie's exhausted on your cock—proud of the job you’ve done, how you’ve fucked her best friend to pieces. 

"Really ruined her, didn't you? Can't even form a fucking sentence. Takes a lot to make her speechless,“ Natty says with a laugh, fingers squeezing your arm as you have the unenviable task of pulling out. And even then, Julie barely even reacts, still trembling with the aftermath, the mess you've made spilling out of her. 

Natty is positioned perfectly to step in now, maneuvering between her legs while she enjoys that warm, sticky release. The taste of you and Julie mixed together creates this delicious cocktail she drinks right out of that wrecked cunt, and that’s when she starts to show signs of life. Legs spread wide as possible, she enjoys how Natty licks her clean, making her squirm as your cum drips off her tongue.

Now it’s your turn to enjoy the show as Natty takes her time eating you out of Julie's cunt—slow and hungrily, these sloppy lewd licks, familiar with every spot. And Julie just lies there, so exhausted from it all, chest heaving, taking all of this—eyes shut in ecstasy as the familiar, wet warmth of Natty's tongue slips through her folds. 

"She tastes so fucking good, especially when she's full of cum," Natty says, lifting her head for a moment to flash a grin at you. This messy blend of white and wetness smears along her face, lips glossy from eating out Julie, but she makes no effort to wipe it off, only staring up for a moment as she dives right back in between those legs.

“N-Natty—�� Julie is far too gone with the overstimulation as Natty licks far past cleaning up, lapping at her swollen clit, wringing out all the sensitivity she can. 

It’s an experience, for sure, watching the two of them. Natty between those thighs like she’s done this hundreds of times. And before you know it, Julie tenses up—legs quivering as she lets out the loudest moan, and she’s climaxing, hard, all over Natty’s gorgeous face. 

“Couldn't fucking help herself," Natty says with an innocent giggle and takes her sweet time cleaning up the gush she’s helped create, dragging her tongue to lap up all the arousal over her thighs. “Messy girl.” 

There's not a single bit of shame in her eyes as Natty slaps at her swollen, sensitive clit a few times—making Julie jolt, so overstimulated after having been eaten out like that. Julie can only whimper in response—too weak to even protest, so overwhelmed by Natty's tongue as it circles around her throbbing clit. "Fuck, Nat. You're too much."

Natty just goes back in between her thighs for one more taste before pulling Julie close, letting her gather all of your combined release on her tongue. "Aren't I? I know what you like when you don't have a cock inside you."

Julie weakly nods in agreement, sharing another deep, hungry kiss, fingers running through Natty's messy hair as they devour each other, all tongue and spit.

"You two are way too much to handle,” you murmur out, this throb between your legs rising again when they finally pull away, lust and need written all over their faces.

"Isn't that the point?" 

✦ ✦

After everything, there's a much needed shower, sharing hot water with Julie as Natty orders some room service. 

Julie's all smiles in the shower, giving you these sweet kisses as the water washes away all the sweat and sex that clings to your bodies. So easy to lose track of how long you're in there, taking your time to get clean, enjoying one another's company without a word muttered. The second you step out of the bathroom, several pizzas sit by the couch where Natty lounges in a bathrobe, already getting started on one.

"Took you guys long enough. Thought you were gonna fuck each other's brains out in there." 

“Considered it—but not without you there to watch,” Julie replies, sitting down right by Natty on the couch with a full plate. 

“How sweet.” 

Discarded clothes still lie scattered about on the floor, and Natty’s the only one dressed in anything more than a towel, just in her bathrobe, most likely put on only so the door could be answered. It's a nice respite from it all—drinking in the quiet with an overindulgence of carbs and melted cheese as you all rest up and recuperate. 

You're all sobered up at this point, mind a bit clearer now as you let this comfortable silence linger, knowing what lies soon ahead. Julie is the first one to speak up, chowing down on a slice of pizza, peeling off the cheese with her teeth as her feet rest in Natty's lap. "So handsome—enjoying having two gorgeous girls all to yourself?"

Natty giggles, stealing a pepperoni off Julie's piece, met with nothing but annoyance. "I'm sure you don't have to ask. Boytoy is in heaven, having the time of his life."

You nod, finishing a slice of pizza and grabbing another one. “Could get used to this. Not sure I'll ever be able to leave this room."

"Why would you ever want to?” Julie asks, shifting in her seat, mouth full of food. "I have the suite booked for a few more days. Two hot sluts to pound all weekend, what more do you need?" 

"Careful, Jules. Don't wanna scare him away, now."

Julie scoffs, rolling her eyes like that's the biggest concern. "I'd be heartbroken. Boytoy's cock is so fucking good, it'd be a tragedy if we never got to see him again."

You have a hard time believing you could ever get tired of something like this. Quite the opposite, the thought of only experiencing this pleasure with Natty while Julie gets left out—you're not sure you can even entertain it. 

"Don’t worry, you'll both get your fill of me. Can't get rid of me now." The second those words leave your lips, the duo are already eyeing each other up—like they both have the same thing on their mind. 

"Wouldn’t dream of it,” Julie says, with this devious look on her face like she’s dying for an excuse to get rid of the towel wrapped around her body. 

"So, boytoy—can you go again, or do we need to give you a little break?"

As much as you hate to admit it, even after that nice, relaxing shower, you're fucking spent—cock barely functional after all that nonstop use this evening. It's obvious enough too, but Julie's quick to answer. "Give the poor guy a break, Natty—I'm sure he wouldn't mind just watching the two of us go at it.” 

"Is that right? You wanna watch us, then?"

“Do I even have to answer that?” And it’s absurd to think you do, but you’re eager to get a glimpse of just how good they look when you're not in the mix. The two of them naked and wet, sweaty and all tangled up as you watch the whole thing go down—it's impossible to pass on that. 

"I think we can arrange that," Julie says, lifting her feet out of Natty's lap. She shrugs off her towel, letting it fall to the floor, then watches as Natty unties her bathrobe and lets it slide from her shoulders. Now you’ve got two beautiful, naked women in front of you, ready to have their wicked, filthy way with one another.

"I’ve missed eating your cunt, Nat,” Julie says as she pushes Natty onto the couch, watching her sprawl out underneath her.

"The feeling is mutual, pretty girl.” 

You just sit back and get comfortable while they take their time with each other now, lips pressed together in a deep kiss, bodies pressed together in an attempt to feel as much of each other’s heat as possible.

Julie starts to explore, sliding down Natty’s curvy body, kissing at that soft, sensitive skin all the way down to her full breasts. She gives them a gentle squeeze, enjoying how they feel in her palm as she slips a taut nipple into her mouth—sucking with purpose, teasing that hard little bud until Natty's moaning for more.

They've done this all before, you can sense it, the two of them so eager and comfortable, needing this more than anything. 

Julie knows this girl’s body more than her own. The way she kisses her, touches her—it’s clear this isn’t new. Her hands move with confidence, tracing every sinful curve like she’s done it a hundred times before. She isn’t exploring; she’s revisiting. She knows exactly where to lick and nibble, sucking at the places where the gasps sound the sweetest.

There's no rush at all, and yet Julie moves down the length of Natty's body at an alarming pace, as if she can't contain herself, so desperate to get in between her thighs. She pauses only a moment, pressing kisses along Natty's bare midriff before lowering herself, flat on her stomach, head positioned right where it matters. “So pretty.” 

It’s this quick tease when Natty spreads her legs as far as possible to let her right in, and Julie kisses the inside of those thick, gorgeous thighs that you’ve had the pleasure of squeezing your head enough times to lose count. 

And Natty's not so subtly guiding her closer to her aching cunt, moaning as Julie goes right to work. They've done it so many times before that there's no need for direction—Julie so completely aware of exactly how to please her with that fucking mouth, a bit of everything as her tongue glides along those soaked, sensitive lips.

Almost zero effort to suppress anything that comes out of Natty’s mouth, she can’t help herself and Julie encourages it by licking her needy cunt so wantonly, holding back nothing. There's something beautiful about watching them go at it, this need Julie has to show off how good with her mouth she is, craving the pride more than Natty. 

Julie licks so slow and methodical, tongue flat against her wet slit, pressing down and tasting all that delicious wetness, flicking through it to gather up her juices. There's no such thing as restraint here, only an urge to taste as much of Natty as possible. And it's obvious Julie loves every single moment—the taste and sound and the sight of Natty squirming underneath her tongue, this rare moment where she's the dominant one.

"Fuck—right there, right there, oh shit," Natty pleads so shamelessly, like a completely different person, not even caring how wrecked her voice comes out. She's lost all sense of composure in this moment of pure pleasure, a hand on the back of Julie's head keeping her firmly in place where her pussy needs her the most. 

You couldn’t be happier with this perfect view to watch everything, Natty all spread out as Julie devours her, lapping up everything, tongue slipping in and out so effortlessly. There’s this ache underneath your towel that you could no doubt easily relieve, slip inside Julie and pound away while she’s working her magic, but there’s something more satisfying about just watching, experiencing this moment without moving a muscle. 

“Oh god—fuck, Jules,” Natty moans, voice trembling as much as her thighs. “You’re so good at that, that tongue, shit—don’t stop.” Her fingers tangle in Julie’s hair, thighs clamping down around her head as well, gasping loud with every lick. 

“Almost like I get paid to get people off,” Julie says with a smirk and slurps on her clit, happy to make Natty fall apart so easily. 

It's hot and sloppy and messy, so lewd the noises coming from them both, as Julie pulls away for only a moment, a thick string of wetness hanging from her chin before she dives back in. "Hard to help myself when you’re this fucking delicious, Nat."

All this sweltering heat fills the room with everything that unfolds inches away, and you’re definitely not above a few strokes through your towel now, trying to ease a little bit of tension for yourself. Nothing could keep your eyes from this scene, enjoying every second, Julie sliding her fingers in and curling them so deep while her tongue continues to assault her swollen clit, pulling more moans out of her. 

The way Natty’s thighs keep Julie right where she needs her, grinding her messy cunt against her face, you’ve never seen her so desperate. These frantic licks have no plans of stopping, keeping pace, and it doesn’t take much more for the pleasure to overwhelm her, letting out all these breathy, broken moans, lips parted when Julie takes her over the edge. 

Fingers digging into Julie’s scalp, the moment Natty hits that peak is fucking gorgeous, a look of sheer pleasure on her contorted face, mouth wide open and eyes screwed shut as she screams in bliss. Her messy thighs quiver around Julie's head, and there’s no end in sight, gasping for air as she keeps lapping at juices that spill out unabated, slurping up all that wetness and you're happy to sit back and enjoy the show.

It's almost unbelievable how often Natty has gotten off today, but this is like something else entirely. A delicious high that lasts a lot longer, body in shambles, barely able to contain herself, shuddering so intensely, one spasm right after another.

"Shit, Jules—I need a minute. W-wait, fuck, I need a fucking minute," Natty says, all desperate in tone when she comes down. Yet Julie doesn’t seem exactly interested in that at all, kissing at her sensitive thighs with purpose, finding her clit again with her tongue for a few more indulgent licks.

"Not a chance, pretty girl," Julie laughs, relentless in her words, middle finger running through her slick folds. 

"Jules, please, I wasn't kidding. I'm so, fuck—sensitive, oh f-fuck," Natty can only murmur with a pitiful little whine, clutching the couch cushions and looking over at you for help.

"No, don't even try to look at boytoy like that. I'm not done with you," Julie replies. Her mouth seals tight right around her clit, sucking at it until Natty yelps in agony, unable to form proper words as she so desperately tries. It's a delicious torment, but that mouth doesn't linger there for long, pulling away.

And then she looks to see Natty looking so pathetic, face flushed with eyes almost teary, positioning herself in just the right way. Julie grabs a leg to interlock their bodies how she pleases, throwing it over her shoulder and rubbing her cunt along Natty's, not hesitating to go at a vigorous pace.

This newfound friction makes Natty lose it, still so sensitive from before, not even able to react beyond these intense shudders and frantic whimpers. It's this perfect symphony as Julie grinds her pussy right along Natty's slickness, arousal smearing and sticking to each other, messy flesh kissing with Julie leading the charge. 

"Too much, gorgeous? Yet you're not even asking me to stop," Julie chuckles, grinding without the slightest remorse, getting herself off without any real concern for Natty. All those messy fluids flow together so nicely, Julie's glistening cunt rubbing all along Natty's, pulling out every last whimper and whine that she can manage. “You’re so wet, just like me. This poor couch is going to be ruined.” 

Natty only has the strength to try and match Julie's pace, because her pride would never let her back down. 

Her clit is absolutely tormented by all the action—every time it rubs up against Julie's own little swollen bud is far too much, but she can hardly pull herself away. Because she's determined, hips moving of their own volition, sliding forward and rubbing right back with the same vigor, refusing to let Julie have all the satisfaction.

And now you definitely need to give yourself some relief, letting that towel fall and revealing just how hard you are, stroking away as you watch this pornographic display right before you, these two grinding on each other, intoxicated by desire.

"Your cunt feels so good, Nat. Almost as good as boytoy's big fucking dick," Julie says, moaning so shamelessly through the messy friction as her juices mingle with Natty's. They're fucking each other like you're not even here, writhing around without restraint, only focused on sharing an orgasm together and using each other for that ultimate result.

There's nothing for Natty to add, ignoring Julie and focusing her attention on their heated grind, the sensitivity having faded a little, now able to put her all into this. You love to watch as the tension builds between the two of them, working towards release, that heavenly image of sensitive flesh rubbing together, all the arousal smeared everywhere. 

Julie doesn't relent in the slightest, merciless with how her pussy just rides against Natty's, moans mixing together with the slick sound of wetness. Natty can only groan and grind right back, struggling not to break first, the pleasure fading from torture to divine delight, enjoying how Julie’s heat feels up against her.

"Jules—oh f-fuck, feels so good, god—“ 

You have no idea who hits the breaking point first, but all the grinding leads to one thing, gasping out at the exact same moment with simultaneous bliss. Neither girl can hold back an expression that mirrors the other, nor a mixture of arousal that gushes right out on the couch below and leaves a sticky mess all over one another.

This intense shared orgasm hits hard for Natty in particular, who hasn't had a chance to fully come down from the previous one. Her clit feels even more sensitive now, whole body practically convulsing against Julie's soaked, hot flesh. There's no end to their noises, breathlessly grinding to an end, Natty left the worst of the two, absolutely trembling, gasping to ride it out. Julie's just grinning through it, watching her quiver, content that she's the one left looking so composed and collected.

It's only when they come down together, looking spent and tired and so gorgeous with their naked bodies glistening with sweat and juices, trying to catch their breath, that Julie gives Natty a short peck on the lips. It's nice and relaxed, a sweet gesture—like they've actually forgotten they have an audience until Julie pulls back and spots you sitting there in a stupor, your hand having slowed down a while back.

"Have fun watching us, handsome? Hope you got something out of it."

“Y-yeah, think I’m good to go now. Fuck, that was just—“

“Hottest thing you’ve ever seen?” Natty says, with this weak tremble in her voice, pretending she’s not totally wiped after all that.

"I think we riled him all up. Poor thing. Maybe he needs some help, you think?" Julie asks, still a bit out of breath.

It takes no further convincing. Julie's already up and off the couch, grabbing you by the cock to lead you towards the bed, with Natty following in tow. All this attention shifts right on you, Julie behind you and Natty right in front, with hands and lips roaming across your body—

"Break time is over, boytoy. What do you wanna do to us?" Natty asks, as they both work in unison. Julie's on her knees, kissing down the small of your back, hand on your hip while she massages your balls in her free hand. On the opposite side, Natty works her fingers around your shaft, thumb rubbing a little tease along the sensitive underside of the tip.

"F-fuck... everything. I wanna do everything with you two."

"Anything specific? This big fucking dick has something special in mind. Doesn't it?" Natty chimes in, fist pumping around your aching shaft. You share a look between them, their naked bodies, those pretty faces—it's impossible to even think about choosing one.

“Don't even know who to ruin first? Can’t blame you,” Julie says as she rises, lips pressed close to your ear, breath hot on your neck. "How about you start with Nat and finish inside me, handsome?"

"Sounds perfect." 

There's a kiss from each of them on your lips, one at a time as they assemble together on the bed with eager anticipation. Julie on her back, Natty on top, breasts squished together, the two of them horizontal and entangled in a heated mess of lips and tongues. 

And part of you just wants to watch them go at it again—but your cock has other intentions. 

"Hang on, boytoy. You're forgetting something,” Julie starts, and it's a short pause that stops you from joining them on the bed, looking a little puzzled when you glance in their direction. "Lube's in my purse. The black bag on the table." 

"Lube? What for?" Natty asks with feigned innocence and a coy little smile, like she doesn't already know why.

"For your ass, obviously."

That's more than enough invitation to rummage around Julie's bag, not even shocked to see what else is stuffed inside—toys, handcuffs, a blindfold, even more fun. Without much trouble, you find what you're looking for, a bottle of clear liquid in the main pocket. And it doesn’t even feel close to full, like it's already seen some use, the curiosity driving you wild as you climb up onto the bed.

Julie's already gotten impatient, playing with Natty's tits in the meantime while she gets right in position, ready and waiting on all fours and points that perfect, round ass right in your direction. And you waste no more time as you watch this lewd display, lubing up your cock like it’s been destined to go here all along. It's just a few strokes and you're already aching to put your dick to use, ready to sink right between Natty's supple cheeks.

The anticipation builds beyond belief as you push a slick finger into her puckered hole—easing it in slowly. But it's clear she's more than ready, and a few gentle pumps is more than enough prep, because this isn't the first time Natty's taken you right here.

Countless times, you’ve gone through this routine, and she's pretty fucking used to it, as evident by the lack of resistance when your finger slips in without any sign of a struggle.

"Mm, need that fucking cock in my ass right now, boytoy. Don't keep a girl waiting." 

You wouldn’t dare dream of it. And then you're behind Natty—one hand grabbing a handful of that big ass, while the other guides your throbbing cock forward to that slick opening. You can tell Julie is watching everything so carefully, taking full note of Natty's expression as she waits to be filled. 

"Hope you're not planning on being too gentle with her. Wanna see that fat ass stretched out properly. Better fucking ruin her.” 

"As if that was ever up for debate," Natty says, that confidence turning into a soft moan when your swollen cockhead disappears between her cheeks, sinking right into her tight little asshole. "Oh fuck, that's so good—“

There's no initial resistance, that ass just consumes the entire head of your cock, swallowing it up in such an instant as you ease inside. No indication of anything but pleasure, either. Natty is a pro with this—knows how to take a dick up her ass like no other, like it's second nature to her. Not a second more wasted as you slide deeper inside this tight, slippery hole, stretching it open that much more.

"Give it to me, boytoy. I can take it—god, that big fucking dick better destroy my asshole." 

You're already sinking balls deep into Natty when she says that, both hands gripping at those sinful wide hips—holding onto her tightly as your cock stretches her out inch by inch. It's tight—it's so goddamn tight, with your cock forcing its way deeper into that snug, unyielding hole. The resistance only makes it better, every inch sliding deeper until you're buried to the base, balls flush against her cheeks. 

“Jesus, Nat,” you growl, needing a moment to catch your breath. “Your tight ass is fucking made for this. Gripping me like it never wants to let go.” 

You don’t hesitate—dragging almost all the way out before slamming back in hard enough to jolt her forward. Her ass ripples from the impact, swallowing your cock whole in one relentless plunge. 

Julie watches with a crooked smile. "You'll do anything to get that dick up your ass, won't you?" she asks, amused, already knowing the answer. But you’re barely aware of her voice, your entire focus locked on the way Natty’s ass clenches around your cock like it’s trying to keep you there forever. The way she reacts to every thrust, every brutal slam of your hips, is fucking addictive—tightening, aching for more. 

The angle is obscene—every thrust driving deep into her ass, the gape of her puckered hole increasing the faster you pump into her. The sweet noises she makes are just a bonus, encouraging you to drive even harder, those perfect cheeks bouncing off your hips with every thrust. 

Julie leans in closer, her breath brushing hot across Natty’s ear. “God, look at you. Getting used like a toy and loving every second.”

"Fuck, Nat—this ass is too fucking good. Needed this for far too long," you groan out, so in disbelief of how tight Natty's asshole feels around you. There's this heavy sigh escaping her lips, and it's hard not to notice the movement below—because she’s riding two fingers while getting her ass plowed, desperate for more pleasure.

"Harder, boytoy," Natty breathes out, glancing back at you with this demanding gaze. "Fuck my ass as hard as you can—I told you to ruin me."

You oblige without another thought, a firm, dominating grip on her hips, making sure there's no escape when you crash hard into her—demonstrating just what you're capable of, showing no mercy. There's this filthy sound on loop, flesh slapping with each deep thrust, and the sight before you is just divine, staring down at her plump ass jiggling away with your cock sunk so deep inside that hole.

“Must feel so good, pounding her ass. Can only imagine how tight she is. I’m a little jealous I’ve only fucked her with a strap.” 

“Would have loved to see that,” you say back, throbbing at the idea of Natty getting wrecked by the older girl, moaning just like she is in front of you. The thought adds fuel to the fire as you spank those full cheeks, wanting them redder than you’ve ever seen before with every aggressive pump of your hips, savoring how tight her ass gets whenever you give a good strike.

“Maybe someday you can.” 

“Hey—I know you can slap my ass harder than that,” Natty demands over her shoulder, nothing ever enough for her. That’s your cue to indulge, one harsh slap after the next that echoes with your cock hammering away, all while those cheeks turn a brighter shade of red.

She sounds so fucked out as you do what’s asked, rubbing out the sting only to make it return once more. And now there’s this beautiful sheen of sweat forming on Natty’s delicious body as you pound deep, sliding your hands up her bare back before leaning forward to capture a handful of those scrumptious tits. 

“Pretty little slut—this ass is mine,” you growl, hands sliding up to cup her bouncing tits from underneath, hungry to feel every ounce of her as you bury your cock impossibly deep.

Your hands roam her chest, palms rough against the softness of her tits as they bounce between deep thrusts. You give them a harsh slap, loving the way they jiggle under your grip. Natty lets out a sharp gasp, back arching deeper, the sound of your hips colliding with her ass turning into a perfect soundtrack you can’t get enough of. And she stays face down on Julie’s warm, naked body, ass high—presenting that tight, puckered hole like a gift. 

"Boytoy really loves tearing that asshole apart, doesn't he?” Julie asks, enjoying the view herself of how you roughly handle Natty, groping her tits and slapping them in between. “God, I can't wait to see what that cock does to me.” 

"Can't fucking help it—this tight fucking ass feels too goddamn good."

There's nothing more from Natty, not when she can hardly string thoughts into words, letting out nothing but sinful, depraved moans. It’s impossible to focus on anything but that hungry little asshole, and those pillowy cheeks that give this unforgettable view, your cock sinking between them like it belongs there. 

“He’s really fucking you, Nat. His thick cock must be tearing your poor asshole apart, can't even imagine. Boytoy looks way too eager to blow that load into you."

She’s not wrong, god she isn’t, because the sight before you is nothing short of hypnotic—the way your dick slides between Natty's plump cheeks, plowing deep into her stretched asshole, there’s never been anything better. 

"Y-yes, need you to cum, give me it—god, pump it deep in my ass," Natty pleads, and her voice sounds so strained, so broken in between your tireless thrusts. 

Not that you'd ever refuse a request like that. It’s not even fair, the things Natty says to get you to explode, gets you all riled up so you’ll fuck her like this, hips snapping back so violently while you throb inside her, every bit desperate to burst.

You can hardly control yourself anymore, hands returning to her wide hips where you belong, fingertips digging deep into that soft, sweaty flesh. Every bit drunk on lust, you pull Natty back on your cock whenever you slam every throbbing inch into her ass, no longer able to think straight while you chase this craving. 

"So fucking close, Nat—gonna fucking fill you up," you groan through clenched teeth, using every last drop of energy thrown into ravaging her. The moans that spill from her throat are a delicious treat, but those ass cheeks smacking, bouncing against your hips? That's the cherry on top. 

There's no choice in the matter, really, when you look down at the way Natty takes you. She clenches without relent, stretched to accommodate every inch while you pound her like this, tightening up beyond belief—and you can’t take another moment of it. 

“Natty—“ 

With one final, forceful thrust, you cling to those divine hips, burying deep as the bliss consumes you. And while Julie watches every moment, you let go as your cock throbs like never before, emptying everything deep inside where Natty needs it the most—right inside her warm little asshole that demands every bit of your thick seed. 

Every violent throb, every loud groan—Natty is all to blame for it as your balls empty, every spurt a new hit of pleasure. Her body claims it all with nothing to spare, milking every last drop you can give, and already it’s overflowing before your thrusts begin to wind down.

"There you go, boytoy. Empty those heavy fucking balls into this slut,” Julie says, unable to tear her gaze away, and she’s more than pleased to watch her best friend get filled to the brim. And you—you’re happy to oblige, the deep relief etched on your face while your cock spurts an endless hot, sticky mess inside.

"Fuck, so full, love all that hot cum dumped right in my ass…” Natty murmurs, sweat glistening all over her decadent body

Whether it’s the sensation of being inside Natty, or having a second pair of eyes watching—you keep emptying like there’s no end. Spurt after spurt, throb after throb, and when it finally slows, you're clinging tight to Natty's body like you’ll collapse otherwise, making a poor attempt to catch your breath. 

Julie on the other hand is quite the opposite, kissing all over Natty, lips pressing against her sweaty neck. You have just enough in you to match those same efforts as you stay hilted deep inside her ass, both showering her with kisses, both sides of Natty covered in affection.

"You're so perfect, Nat, holy fuck—you have no idea what you do to me," you groan out, planting another kiss on her lips, stealing them away for a moment from Julie.

"Think I have an idea with all this cum in my ass, boytoy."

Buried deep, you bask in this high, and there’s all the time in the world to wait for Natty’s lips, Julie far too preoccupied with them. And that’s perfectly fine, because you’re unwilling to part from her warmth, kissing everywhere else in the meantime. But somehow, when the bliss starts to dwindle, you find a way to withdraw from that insane grip, inch by inch—leaving behind a deluge of cum that gushes out of that freshly fucked hole, along Natty's thighs and onto Julie beneath.

"Really filled her up, didn’t you, boytoy? She looks fucking destroyed," Julie says with a smug little laugh, all eager to watch the aftermath. Now that you’ve separated, Natty slowly turns around to face you, giving Julie a much better view of how it all oozes out, a goddamn mess you’ve left in her keeps trickling out. 

Julie can't help but slide a finger in there, playing with your load like she’s trying her hardest to keep it dripping out of her ass. "H-hey, that’s mine, you greedy little whore," Natty replies, almost embarrassed with how she just can't seem to stop leaking your load.

"Friends share, Nat.“ 

Pushing her tongue in this time, Julie gets as deep as she can when she spreads Natty apart to get a good taste. The mess you’ve left inside is more than enough for Julie to enjoy herself, licking up whatever cum she can gather up like she’s famished, flicking her tongue in circles around that stretched opening—insatiable for more. 

"F-fuck, Jules," Natty moans, letting her best friend play with her ass, eyes closed while Julie gives your load all the attention in the world. Her tongue can’t help but bury inside so deep, earning all these shameless groans from Natty as her slick mouth goes to work, nose pressed into those squishy cheeks while she devours your cum right out of that wrecked ass. 

"Tastes as good as it looks," Julie murmurs, flashing a sinful smirk as she slides two fingers back in Natty's ass, sucking them clean with a satisfied moan—not hiding how much she likes it when she turns in your direction. “Ready to pound me next, boytoy?” 

The answer is of course, a resounding yes that you can’t quite get out while Julie keeps eating Natty’s ass, hoping to find more of your fresh load that hasn’t leaked out yet. 

"Go on, shove your tongue in her ass," Natty encourages, voice still a bit weak, almost inaudible. "Isn't that what you wanted to do when you first saw her?”

"Y-yeah, something like that.” 

"Perfect," Julie replies. "Where do you want me, handsome?”

Where don't you, really? So many options—Julie on her back, or lying face down on her stomach, maybe on her knees with that perfect ass in the air. But looking around at the bedroom, at how Natty's already on the verge of collapse, you think maybe there's a better option. The couch works, but it's not exactly what you had in mind, and the bathroom would deprive Julie of an audience, so you choose a perfect alternative. 

“Come here.“

And she listens, climbing off the bed as  she follows behind, gripping your cock in her tight fist and refusing to release. You lead her over to one of the massive windows in the spacious suite, one that overlooks the city with the second best view, the first where you’re about to bury your face. 

"This what you want, handsome? To have your way with me right here?" There’s nothing you’ve wanted more. The thought of pressing Julie’s naked body against the glass—there’s no other option. 

"More than anything."

Just like that, Julie is quick to face the window, primed to be pinned up against it. Her breasts squish against the cold glass, delicious ass raised up in full view, and already there's this smile plastered on her face as you get down on your knees without hesitation. Still, you’re not sure how you ended up in this hotel, but dead set on tongue-fucking Natty’s best friend—the last box to check to fulfill your fantasies. 

"That tongue. I want it, boytoy. I know what it does to Nat, need it in my ass—shove it in deep until you're ready to pound me," Julie says, making demands on her own with hands pressed against the glass to prop herself up, the reflection of her pretty face staring back—her ass right in your face.

But you can’t just dive right in yet, fingers tracing along the curve of those ample cheeks and just savoring how soft Julie’s skin is with these perfect cheeks that equal Natty's, maybe even rivals. 

Impossible not to stare at those deadly curves as you get both hands on each side, spreading her open—and then a long, slow lick from the back of her thigh up, until you reach her puckered little asshole. That earns you the most delicious whimper, one that you need more of as you swirl your tongue around, teasing the rim of Julie’s ass with the tip of your tongue. 

Not that you have the patience for teasing her long, a few more flicks until you bury your face in between her asscheeks, plunging your tongue in that tight hole so eagerly to slide right inside. Julie lets out a loud gasp, one that sounds so beautiful as you get in deep, taking these deliberate licks while you fuck her tight little hole with your tongue. 

"Oh shit, that's so good," Julie cries out with this pathetic moan that doesn’t hide the neediness in her voice, palms flattened against the glass. For a moment, you catch her reflection, tongue going crazy with all these desperate flicks. It’s everything you’ve craved ever since the moment you knew of Julie's existence, and now that it’s all reality, you’re not going to back down. 

“F-fuck, not even Natty is this good at eating my ass—you're going to fucking wreck me with that tongue, don’t stop.” 

As if anything in this world could get you to. You’re not intent on giving any response either other than keeping her ass spread open, giving all the access your tongue needs to get in there deep, to get those moans spilling from Julie while you continue this feast. 

Her breathing stays ragged as your probing tongue knows just what she needs, slowly drawing out every single gasp and whimper, hands digging into that pillowy flesh while you flick around with purpose, tongue-fucking this delicious ass like you’ve been craving. 

“God, Julie,” you groan as you take a brief moment to come up for air, diving right back into that tight hole all slippery with saliva. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this.” 

She moans at the way your tongue lavishes at her puckered hole that clenches around your tongue, and you circle around before you plunge in deep, in and out at a furious rhythm. And you keep this up, keep those cheeks spread while buried deep in her asshole, pulling out as much pleasure out of Julie as you can. 

“I think I do, god, that’s so—feels so fucking good when you shove that tongue up my ass. Is this everything you wanted, boytoy?”

You don’t answer with anything but more sloppy licks, and Julie’s hands slip as they slide along the glass, desperate to push back and shove her ass in your face as much as possible. "If this is how it feels when you're eating my ass, can't wait to have your thick fucking cock in me, stretching me out..."

Julie trails off, and the next moan she chokes out sounds more broken as you can barely pull back from her between her cheeks, just needing more and more with your tongue slipping back inside. There’s not one bit of resistance while you slide your tongue back in her hole, to feel it clench tight and draw you back inside again, exploring every bit of this ass until she's fighting just to stay on her feet.

It goes without saying that Julie is in love with the way you work her like this, and your tongue thrusts back and forth like you’ll never be able to get enough, all sloppy and primal while you indulge on it, savoring every noise you tear from her mouth.

She's going to fall apart, having to close her eyes and fight like hell just not to collapse in bliss. It's a struggle to let out anything but broken words and endless gasps as your tongue fucks her, leaving her with this wicked desire to finally feel that throbbing cock fill up her perfect ass.

And when you can tell that Julie is seconds away from toppling over, that's the moment when you reluctantly pull away, dragging your tongue away with a wet little slurp—your saliva leaving her asshole glistening.

"Julie, god, this ass—" you groan, nearly out of breath from all the work your tongue has done. "That was everything I expected and more."

A desperate gasp falls from Julie's lips, unable to properly speak as her tits smash up against the glass, still propping herself up, legs spread wide and parted for easy access, waiting for whatever comes next.

"Then what the hell are you waiting for, handsome?" she mutters, struggling to get those words out. "Fuck my tight ass—pound it like it's Natty's cunt."

In a second, you're up and at attention, raring for what comes next, Julie's breath fogging up the window while you grab the one thing that’s going to help you slide right between those perfect ass cheeks. Julie's got a hand in between those thighs, slowly rubbing at her clit while you get all slicked up, stroking your cock inches away from where it’s going to feel so goddamn good. 

"Get that cock in me," Julie demands, impatient as she takes up position again, pressing her body up against the window so she can be spread open. 

It's not hard to oblige that request—you move right up against her, sandwiching your slick cock between those soft cheeks, sliding up and down as you nestle it right in there. But that's not going to last long at all, no, Julie wants you deep in her ass, and you can hardly stand not being inside her for another moment.

"Come on, boytoy," is all she says to confirm those desires, turning her head back to steal a glance, tempting you further, begging with her eyes. "Slam that dick in me, don't make me tell you twice."

So you get right behind her, bending her over and spreading her cheeks wide to align yourself. You push in without warning, hands at Julie's hips and tugging her back until that tight ring of muscle relaxes, letting the head of your cock ease its way in nice and slow.

"Oh fuck," you choke out as the rest slides right in, so easily, balls deep as her ass envelops your cock, stretching around every last inch you have to give. “Your ass feels incredible, so tight—"

Your hands get right on those curvy hips, not wasting another second, squeezing tightly when you slide out and slam right in. There's no room for caution or mercy when you have Julie bent over and ass sticking out like an invitation for your cock, nothing but a deep desire to ruin her tight little asshole.

"Shit, handsome—there you go, m-more, want you to split me open on that thick fucking dick."

Gripping hard enough to leave a bruise, you piston your hips to slide back out, pulling her onto you, that gorgeous, perfect ass rippling whenever your body collides with her. And already it's all consuming, that pleasure, the way her asshole swallows your length when you plunge forward, her voice filling the room.

You don't go slow, and don't hold back as you slap Julie's ass—this insatiable desire to make her bounce right back on your throbbing cock. 

"It's gonna take more than that to break me, boytoy. Do whatever the fuck you want—show me what you're capable of," Julie says through gasping breaths as she squeezes around you. You can hardly take how insanely tight she is as her warmth completely suffocates your whole cock while you pound inside. It's impossible not to lose control, using her wide hips to control just how deep you can go, the slap of her huge ass against your hips like music to your ears.

You're beyond feral when you dig both hands back into those perfect cheeks, spreading her open to keep this view of your cock impaling her ass going. And you keep her up against the window, pounding mercilessly into her tight little asshole without pause, again, and again, her ass just taking every thrust, welcoming the full length of your cock.

"God, this ass is too fucking good," you groan out, nearly breathless, gripping tight as her ass crashes back into you. 

“Knew you would love it. Fuck, that cock feels amazing stretching me open—tearing my greedy asshole apart," Julie says, face pressed up against the glass and your eyes glued right below, at where your shaft is buried to the hilt between those delicious cheeks, slamming balls deep every single time. Your hips give their all, pinning Julie against the massive hotel window, tits squished against the cool glass while she just lets you hammer into her ass. 

"More, boytoy, need more—pound me so hard I can't walk straight for a week." Julie knows the pleading in her voice alone is enough to set you off. And that gets you well past that point, hips moving so fast while you give her ass a series of harsh smacks on repeat, each a loud smack that competes with the sounds of hot flesh on hot flesh that fills the apartment with your balls smacking away against her dripping cunt. 

Natty is on her feet again, a hint of exhaustion still on her face. She's watching this with rapt attention, Julie being jolted against the glass while you pound into her without mercy. 

"Didn't get enough, Nat?"

Hardly anything but a nod leaves her, not wanting to interrupt, back against the window, still naked, sweaty, and wearing this curious expression as she watches the show go on. Content to just observe, her hands wander down her stomach, down in between her thighs. "Can’t a girl get a good look at her best friend getting her ass reamed? Too hot not to watch.” 

And then your focus is back on Julie, watching those gorgeous cheeks bounce with every deep thrust, savoring the way her ass squeezes your cock with a vice grip. It's a miracle you're not blowing your load already, but this is too good, not nearly ready to let this end, not with the way Julie's asshole feels wrapped around your cock.

"This is the best fucking thing I've felt in a long time," you manage to get out, not holding back the slightest when your hips meet hers, the sound of flesh echoing through the room.

"I'm glad I can be of service," Julie murmurs. "Look at that, Nat. If you're not careful, I'll steal him from you."

"Please, Jules, like I'm not getting his cock whenever the hell I want. You couldn't even imagine how he uses me. Boytoy is a fucking animal when I let him be," Natty replies, sliding the pad of her finger slowly along her swollen clit while she keeps those eyes fixated on the on the spectacle, how rough you're being with her best friend.

"Good. Because if you're wanting another go at his cock, you're gonna have to wait a bit, Nat. I'm not sharing him for a while."

There's not even an objection—Natty wants to watch too much. And when Julie lets out this breathless, desperate sound, her hands slide up and down against the glass, scrambling for something to anchor herself to. There's not a chance she's giving you up.

"God, boytoy, keep that up—you're going to fucking destroy me," Julie moans out, a slight crack in her voice, like she's about to crumble from how intense it all feels.

"Think that's the plan," Natty replies, not able to look away for a moment as her fingers continue rubbing her clit, occasionally dipping it between her soaked lips. And your palm goes crazy on those asscheeks, slapping away while you thrust your whole cock into Julie's impossibly tight asshole, savoring the way she squeezes the life out of your length. One hard slap, one deep thrust after the other, and there's no sign of slowing down anytime soon, not while you have her up against the window, fucking her like your life depends on it.

"Can't believe you get to have this dick whenever you want, Nat. He's so fucking good—don't know how you ever survive a minute without his cock in you."

"I manage," Natty replies, the faintest of smiles crossing her lips. "I spend most of my mornings riding his fucking brains out. Or his face before class, whatever the mood calls for. Gets me through at least the first couple classes."

“Please, like you even make it through science class without sneaking us to the nearest bathroom.” 

“And? Not my fault I need a little extra to get through the morning. Some people have coffee, and I get my boytoy's cum. Is that really so different?" 

Even Julie can't help but smile at how ridiculous Natty sounds when it all comes out, somehow letting out this little laugh while she's being ravaged. And even with how rough you're getting with her ass—pounding it like you'll die without it, there's still this surreal feeling of not understanding how you got here, lusting over her nudes to being actually buried in her ass.

"Gotta admit—never seen Jules have a better time," Natty says, fingers rubbing her sensitive little clit while she talks. "Girl gets paid to get her ass fucked on the daily and looks like she can barely take that cock. Maybe I should be more selfish with you. Just in case either of you get any bright ideas.” 

“Just might. You picked the right girl for this, god, this fucking ass is insane—“ 

“When have I ever steered you wrong? All these months of dropping my panties for you whenever you want, and you don't trust my judgment yet? I know what you like. Because it’s what I like. Julie is perfect for you in every single way.” 

"Okay, point taken." You'd roll your eyes if you weren't buried deep in Julie's tight asshole—her ass is as addictive and heavenly as Natty's, maybe even more. 

"Just get back to ruining her, boytoy," she says with a chuckle, already too lost in her own fingers. “And don’t leave out the spanking, she fucking loves that.” 

Not like you needed to be told to do that. But you intend on making those plump cheeks as bright red as you possibly can, each slap on her bare ass punctuating your thrusts that Julie takes so well. You don’t even bother to rub out the sting, smacking the sore flesh in the same spot, this delicious clench around your cock tightening up every single time. And you keep it up, these echoing slaps that turn Julie into more of a mess. One that really makes her snap forward before she seizes your wrist, guiding your fingers up her body until it's at her throat—begging you for this without a word.

A request like that is not something you can easily refuse either, tightening up your grip as you continue plunging right into that tight hole, her hand joining yours on her throat, squeezing it. 

"Just like that, fuck," Julie says while your pace picks up speed—to the point that it's difficult not to collapse from how insanely good you feel slamming into her. And if it was a struggle before, the combined grip your fingers have on her throat makes her asshole clamp down on your cock, squeezing like she'll never release and only begging for your load. 

You've got some fight in you still, to try to draw this out as much as possible, determined not to collapse first and ramming so mercilessly into her ass. But your first mistake is letting your eyes shift back up to where Julie is being pinned against the window by your stiff cock. That's a moment of weakness—when your cock hits even deeper, the look on her face, lips parted so all these sinful moans can escape, you nearly lose it. 

The best part is how Natty gets to witness all of it as her fingers do their magic, a rare occasion where she's not said a single thing in minutes. It's difficult not to find it all so arousing as you're deep inside, while she’s got slick fingers in her cunt at the sight of you using Julie like she’s nothing but a toy. 

"Shit, g-gonna cum," Julie gasps out, struggling to form anything more than that, and it's only seconds later her eyes flutter shut, until you feel this tremendous wetness that can’t be contained between her thighs, lips parted with a slur of obscenities unleashed. 

The clenches that follow throw you dangerously close, Julie so sensitive and needy as she rubs her clit, greedy for a second orgasm that follows as you continue to drive her up against the glass. One more look at her reflection, at how wrecked she is, then your gaze shoots to those reddened cheeks, at the pummeling they’ve taken, all stretched out around you and demanding more—you’re almost there yourself. 

It's the last burst of energy you have to make good on it, spreading those cheeks nice and wide to slam into her with whatever is left. With how crazy the pressure in your shaft builds—how that ass swallows your length to the hilt again and again, the release you need so badly is closing in, seconds away at this rate.

That's exactly why you pull out, leaving Julie's hole gaping and needy when you pull her off the glass—already so close to bursting when your hand finds her head and she's forced down on her knees. 

"W-why'd you stop?" Julie manages to get out, but that's all she has time for when you shove yourself past her lips, balls pressed against her chin.

And as good as it feels driving deep into Julie's ass, seeing her get her lips sealed around your dick, having this urge to unload, to have your thick load pouring down her throat—it's too good an opportunity to resist. 

"Needed your fucking throat to finish me off, that's why." 

Without a word of warning, you're grabbing her head, jamming her mouth further onto your cock. There's hardly any resistance—only a little sputter at how your length slips into her throat, hitting the back so you can hear the unmistakable sounds of Julie gagging and choking on it.

Fingers wrapped in that pretty hair, you force her head down your cock as you hit past the point of no return. It's the look in those devilish eyes when you hold her right there that gets you the rest of the way—how desperate and hungry she looks, staring up, your cock spasming right before you unload. 

Her mouth stays right where you need it to be, this tight seal around your shaft as you explode, eyes going wide at the sheer volume of it—hot, thick spurts shooting down her throat, some of it overflowing, the rest straight into her stomach. Your cock twitches violently the whole time, and your grip remains tight on the back of her head so she can't pull away—not that she would ever want to.

When your endless spurts start to lose steam, her lips stay wrapped tight as your climax subsides, the wet heat of her mouth overwhelming in the best ways. You hold her there for as long as you can handle it, until there’s nothing left—just the slow, steady sound of satisfaction humming through Julie’s mouth.

“God, shit—Julie, you’re amazing,” you gasp out as you stand there, trying to catch your breath. She’s still there, lips soft and tight around you, holding you through every last twitch of release. 

“Mm,” she hums again, licking her lips before she presses a deep kiss to the tip. Then she leans back just enough, tilting her head and parting her lips wide, tongue out to show you—nothing left. Every last drop swallowed. “Didn’t want to waste anything.”

"Selfish little whore," Natty chimes in, slumped against the window with a pout resting on her lips. "You weren't gonna save any cum for me? What happened to friends share?"

"Not when it tastes this good. Maybe next time," Julie replies, and the expression on Natty's face is priceless as she gets up, trying to pull her away from the glass with a kiss to no avail. 

"First of all, no, there is no 'next time'—boytoy is mine. I'm just sharing him for tonight because he's never had a threesome before and I felt bad for him."

“Oh, so I’m just a pity fuck to him?” Julie teases, rising to her feet to leave kisses down along Natty's neck. "Didn't seem so, not with the way his cock filled every single inch of my asshole. I've never had a guy use me like this."

"You literally get paid to take cocks up your ass," Natty retorts.

"That's work. This? This was a hundred times more fun. Get used to it—this is happening more frequently, pretty girl. Whether you're willing to share or not." 

"That doesn't make up for stealing my goddamn cum! Friends share, remember?"

"Was it really my fault he wanted to fuck my face until he came down my throat? That's not selfish, I call that helping out."

"Yes it is, because now he's all spent and isn't able to go again any time soon. All because you had to turn your throat into a fleshlight,” Natty groans, pausing for a moment to sulk. 

"Hey, this was all your idea in the first place. Or was I supposed to stop and ask permission before choking on his cock?” 

"Oh fuck off, you selfish slut," Natty laughs, nearly shoving Julie across the room. "Whatever, he at least likes my ass the best anyways, no matter if you're in the room or not."

"Oh really now? What do you think, boytoy? Who made your cock feel better?"

You know better than to try being part of their interrogation, staying silent. There's a slightly terrifying look in both their eyes that you'd rather avoid.

"You two are insane." 

"Insane for this fat cock," Natty says, the two of them sharing a laugh. 

“Can't argue with that, pretty girl.” Julie strokes her fingers lightly through your hair before she leans in for a kiss to silence Natty again—until it turns more ravenous, and god, your poor cock just isn't going to get a break around them. They both break away for a breath after a moment, a string of saliva still connecting their mouths that neither of them seems bothered about. 

“Don't think that you're off the hook because you slipped your tongue in my mouth. Maybe I'll just make you cum a few dozen more times for what you did," Natty says with this sweet giggle, a sudden tug on Julie's nipples that catches her off guard. And then another that follows when she tries to pull away, getting one more moan out of her, fingertips finding her wet slit as Julie squirms to get out of it. "Still wet after all of that?" 

There's little time for Julie to react when she gets pinned against the glass once more, only letting out a desperate moan—a noise that's loud enough to wake the dead. 

"W-wait, Nat—I just came," Julie protests, voice shaking while Natty's relentless fingers run through her cunt, already so oversensitive.

"Don't care. This is what you get for being such a thieving little slut." Finding all this extra wetness, Natty’s fingers slide inside and curl against her sensitive spot. There's no way she can look away, feeling all the shudders Julie tries to suppress, and the little winces of pain that leave her as the pleasure gets mixed together in the most torturous way. It's the kind of wicked revenge Natty loves dishing out. “You must be pretty sensitive after having this fucking dick ruin you, right? Maybe this teaches you to not be such a greedy whore." 

"F-fuck, you're such a fucking jealous bitch," Julie groans, trying her hardest to keep her eyes open despite how sensitive and overwhelming everything feels. Natty knows the weakest places and presses her fingers against it, thumb sliding over her clit every so often just for extra torment.

"The very worst," Natty agrees with a smirk, finding the perfect spot inside and rubbing right there without relent. And seeing how this usually confident girl becomes a quivering mess is more satisfying than you could imagine. 

"Stop, s-shit, not this much, god, please—“ Julie can do little but beg, all pathetic and hopeless, just to have Natty curl her fingers in a way that brings out something guttural from her throat. But Natty disregards every plea, every whimper and whine that gets louder with every relentless stroke.

The helpless desperation in Julie's eyes while her lips tremble only fuels Natty. A crooked little smile crosses her lips at the sound of Julie’s cries as she rolls a hardened nipple between her fingers, pinching down hard—hard enough to make Julie throw her head back, a messy line of drool leaking from her parted lips.

You're frozen to the spot where you watch, mesmerized by how ruthless Natty can get. There's no place left for Julie to escape, trapped between her and the window with the threat of another devastating orgasm her body isn't prepared for.

"God, look at you. Didn’t think I’d ever hear you beg like this. Your cunt must be so fucking sensitive. Which means—you're going to cum just as hard, maybe harder. Not a thing you can do about it either, is there? " 

Julie barely manages a response, too wrecked and overstimulated to do anything but take it. Every touch sets her nerves on fire.

“So fucking selfish,” Natty growls, pace never faltering. “Always have to be the first. First to get dicked down, first to steal the attention—pretty little slut doesn’t actually like sharing, does she? Just likes the spotlight.”

“H-hey, that’s—ah, fuck, ah—not t-true,” Julie gasps out, but it’s useless. Her body tells a different story, writhing against the glass, chasing after Natty’s touch even as she trembles from it.

That’s what gets another wicked laugh out from Natty’s lips. “Poor thing is gonna cum again. This soon?” Her fingers drive in deeper, pushing Julie to the edge whether she’s ready or not. “Thought you weren’t selfish. But looks like you’re proving me right.”

You don’t even have to be watching for what happens next, a broken sob from Julie enough to know the damage has already been done. Natty shoves her over. A sharp cry rips from her throat, her whole body locking up, muscles seizing as the bliss crashes through her. 

She can’t even hide it, can’t even muffle the cries that fall from her throat—Natty won’t let her. A firm grip tears the hand over Julie’s mouth away, forcing her moans to ring loud and proud. 

And Natty isn’t finished. Not even close.

The obscene slickness between Julie’s thighs only grows, coating Natty’s fingers as she keeps them deep, making her gush without a hint of mercy. “Fuck, look at you,” Natty murmurs, her breath hot against Julie’s ear, clearly thrilled by how helpless she’s made her. Julie’s legs tremble so violently she can barely stay upright. “So fucking selfish. You can't stop, can you? Just keep gushing all over my fingers like a needy little mess.”

Julie sobs again, but it’s lost in the wet, obscene rhythm between them—the slick sound of her cunt being worked filling the space louder than any protest she might’ve had left.

Only when she’s had her fill, does Natty finally show mercy. Fingers easing out, she lets Julie slump forward. But not without one last cruel tease—a few sharp slaps to that overstimulated clit, just to watch her flinch. Just to hear that final, wrecked little whimper.

“You fucking—” Julie hisses, barely able to breathe, and still, she can’t even pull away. Not when Natty presses down, applying the lightest, taunting pressure, just to remind her exactly who’s in control. 

"Tell me I'm right—tell me, you self-centered little whore. Tell me that's what you are, or you aren't getting a break."

"Fine! Y-you’re right," Julie chokes out, her voice all broken, thighs twitching as Natty keeps that unbearable pressure right where she knows it’ll ruin her. "I’m selfish. Selfish, greedy, whatever you can add. Proud of it, even. Now, please—"

Natty smirks, dragging her fingers through the mess she’s made, slow and deliberate before licking it clean 

"Jesus, Nat. Can you blame a girl for being addicted to boytoy’s cum? You're the one who sucked his load out of my cunt earlier and didn't share," Julie says, voice still weak, nowhere near recovered. 

"And? What's your point?” Natty fires back. “Still doesn't give you the right to bogart his cum for your filthy little throat.” 

This conversation feels a little too surreal, like you’re not even in the room. And then, suddenly—silence.

“Boytoy,” they say together, perfectly synchronized, and there’s something inherently dangerous in that.

“What was it you said earlier?” Natty muses, tilting her head with that look—you know the one. “Something about going all night if you had to?”

Batting her lashes with feigned innocence, Natty steps forward in perfect sync with Julie, both with this predatory gaze. 

“Or maybe that was just an empty promise—”

Before you can react, you're at the edge of the bed, completely vulnerable with two sets of hands pushing you down. The mattress catches your back, your head spinning, no clue what’s coming next.

“Either way…” Julie purrs, leaning over you, her breath warm against your skin. “We’re far from done with you.”

These two are going to ruin you, without a shadow of a doubt, and you'll still come crawling back for more.

—

And now, you’re exactly where they want you—pinned between them, not going anywhere.

By the time the clock reads well into the next morning, both women are finally tuckered out, fast asleep. Little reminders of the night are scattered across your skin: bruises on your chest, bite marks, lipstick stains, scratches down your back. Each worn with pride. 

Every inch of your body aches in the best way, and even the slightest shift in the sheets sends that soreness pulsing from head to toe. Not that you mind—especially with both of them curled up on either side of you, their warm bodies pressed close, using you as their personal pillow.

Julie is the first to stir, groaning as she nuzzles against you. Her dark hair is still messy and disheveled, almost hesitant to choose whether she wants to wake up or not. But when her eyes flutter open at the sight of you, she peppers a few tired kisses along your skin, her lips curling into a sleepy smile.

"Morning, handsome. Sleep well?" 

You hesitate, lost in the way she looks so beautiful in the morning. "Maybe better than I ever have."

"Me too," Julie says, grinning ear to ear, tracing lazy patterns on your chest as best she can without moving an inch away. "Had me worried for a bit. Thought we broke your cock." 

Not far from the truth, considering you ran through just about every position under the sun—Natty pinned beneath you, legs in the air; Julie’s face shoved into a pillow as you railed her ass for the second time, and then both of them side by side, moaning into the sheets and making out while you plowed them from behind.

You’ll never forget the sight of both of them hanging off the bed, upside-down, your cock plunging into their greedy throats while their perfect tits bounce between your fingertips. 

Or how you’ve lost count of how many times you made each of them gush—on your cock, your fingers, your face, soaked and shaking underneath you. Clenching tight before screaming your name, insatiable and wringing you dry like it was the only thing they knew how to do. Like they’d tear you apart just to do it all over again.

By the end, you could barely think straight—just sweat-slicked skin, the taste of their ravenous mouths, and the way they used you without pause. With your final release, you gave them everything—blasting across their faces as they knelt cheek to cheek, tongues out, makeup smeared, smiling through the mess while the night sky loomed above. Ruined, covered in you, and still starved for more.

The last thing you remember was lying flat on your back, mouth buried between their legs as they took turns riding your face—one after the other, thick thighs clamped around your head, grinding down hard until they were left gasping, trembling with nothing left to take.

"Hardly. I'm still in perfect working order, I'll have you know." 

"Poor boytoy. We really made you go all night, huh?"

Natty starts to rise on the opposite side and stretches in this obscene, unhurried way—arms overhead, back arching, shirt lifting just enough to tease a glimpse of bare skin and the curve of her breasts.

“Ngh, morning…" Natty says as she glances at you, voice hoarse as she rolls closer, draping herself over your chest like she owns it. “He’s still alive? Impressive.”

“Says the one who slept the entire morning.” 

"I was already up,—just didn't wanna move," Natty groans, wrapping her arms tighter around you to press a kiss right into your skin. "Too comfy. Boytoy did a number on me—my ass feels like it's going to be sore for a week."

Julie tries to bite back a laugh, but it slips free as she presses her face into your chest. “You did beg him to rail you like that—not his fault he delivered."

Natty huffs, rolling her eyes as she twirls a strand of your hair between her fingers. “Okay, yeah, but still—no one said he had to listen. There’s a difference between rough and demolished.”

“When has that ever been a problem? Never known you to tap out for anything. Don’t you remember—”

Natty quickly interjects, groaning. "Don’t you dare.”

But Julie has this sly smile that warns you this is already out of your hands. A masterful tease. "That first weekend I met you. And those two guys, in that hotel, the one where we almost got kicked out for being too loud. Pretty girl got spitroasted the whole night, didn’t she? Couldn't even stand once they were finished with her. And all of a sudden, boytoy is just a little too much?"

There's a momentary struggle while Natty tries to block out the memory, her hands about ready to strangle her friend as the laughter spills from Julie.

"Don't you dare let her tell you stories. Anything she says is a goddamn lie. Nothing like that ever happened."

And even when Natty goes dead quiet, Julie still has that evil little giggle, pressing light kisses along your jawline. “No? Then who was holding the camera the whole time? All the videos from that night are on my phone, let me just—”

Julie's cut off by a firm smack on her bare thigh—swift and drawing a yelp from her, and for Natty's sake, she drops the subject.

“Look, those were just two random guys I met. I was drunk, they wanted to fuck me, and I never saw them again. Boytoy is a much better option,” Natty grumbles, defeated.

“Whatever you say, pretty girl. If his dick is too much for you to take, I’ll be more than happy to take him off your hands.”

Natty lifts her head just enough to glare. “Nobody said I couldn’t handle it. I rather like having him rearrange my insides, thank you very much.”

“Oh, that’s obvious with the amount of times you swore you couldn’t go again, only to crawl back for more,” Julie teases.

“Sounds like Nat.”

Rolling her eyes is all Natty can do. “Oh, shut up. Don’t need the girl who takes twelve inches several times a day on camera to lecture me.” 

Julie scoffs and tosses a pillow at her head. “You wish you could handle him like I do.”

“Who was the one all folded up and crying after I came out of the shower after he shoved his cock back in you before you were ready?” Natty fires back, raising an eyebrow. “Could barely get a word out between those moans, babe.”

She laughs, cheeks turning red. "Not my fault boytoy loves making me cum again and again until I can barely move…"

That's when Natty drops it, more focused on kissing her way down your body. “How does breakfast sound, boytoy? Room service? That way we don’t have to get dressed?”

You nod in agreement, too exhausted to say a word.

"Why order breakfast when we've got this to feast on, right here?" Julie purrs, nipping at your shoulder as her fingers trail lower under the sheets. “Poor thing gets so hard in the morning.” 

“Can you blame him when he gets to wake up next to us?” And in typical fashion, it's Natty who joins in, both of them stroking your painful erection beneath the covers. A synchronized pair of squeezes while they both giggle at the moans you can't stop from letting out. 

"God—you really are going to break me, aren't you?"

"Only if we try hard enough. We were a bit easy on you last night, so maybe—"

You swallow hard when both their hands tease along your cock at the exact same time. If last night was easy, then there's no telling what's to come if they don't have to hold back. Not that you aren't looking forward to it. “Is she always like this? This early?”

There’s a look exchanged between them before Julie speaks again. "What, completely obsessed with cock and cum hungry all the time? That would be a yes."

Natty’s smirk deepens as she tosses the sheets aside, making sure you can see every stroke, slow, teasing, and all in perfect sync. 

You can’t help the low moan that escapes your throat, eyes locked on these two between your thighs, on the way your cock twitches in their grip. It’s almost too much already, and they’ve only gotten started. 

"Don’t pretend like you’re not also dying for a nice morning blowjob, handsome,” Julie says while you try and open your mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a breathy gasp the moment Natty’s thumb teases your tip.

"Hey, don't even think about trying to steal another load when I'm right here, Jules."

"I'll share this time. Promise."

Natty pauses for a second, debating whether to actually believe her friend—who's already kissing up your abdomen while she gets her fingers wrapped around your shaft. "And by share, I'm gonna assume you mean it's going right down your throat where I can't even see it?"

"I'll give you a little taste this time,” Julie says, pausing for effect while she pumps your length. ”If you behave."

"Nuh-uh, it's my turn to be selfish with boytoy," Natty says, not letting anything get in the way of her chance to indulge. Julie’s being shoved aside, and suddenly you’re at the edge of the bed, legs dangling as Natty tosses her shirt aside—full, perfect breasts bouncing when she sinks between your thighs. Her chest has your full attention, and without warning, she engulfs your cock between her soft breasts, burying you in her warm, perfect cleavage.

"Hey, no fair using your tits," Julie whines, but you can't even hear her protest with Natty's tits pressed up tight against your cock.

“You know what's not fair? Stealing all his cum. Now be a good girl and watch."

It's a demand that seems to work—Julie falls silent, and it's impossible not to look where your cock disappears between the weight of her breasts, wrapped tight around your cock, sliding up and down with this delicious friction.

“Fuck, Nat," you groan, eyes focused between her gorgeous tits that she presses tight around you, silky smooth and feeling softer than anything your cock has experienced. The sort of sensation that can put any other to shame—and Natty knows exactly what it does to you. 

"Feels so fucking good doesn't it, boytoy? My fucking tits wrapped around your cock? God, you look like you're ready to bust already." 

She's not wrong, either. The feeling of your cock trapped between her heavy breasts is almost too much—all warm and too inviting, the swollen head poking through her cleavage when she moves her chest in just the right way. Not a single thought left in your brain but pleasure, nothing but clear intent to have you spill your load right between them.

The way her tits hug your cock with every motion only makes the ache worse, and Natty just looks up at you, all proud, like she knows she’s got you under her spell. And she really does, leaning her head down, a thick line of drool spilling down between the  luscious valley to make the slide all that more heavenly.

"Those fucking tits are ridiculous," Julie groans, jealous but still enamored at the sight while you try to fight the growing heat building with every stroke. You've been through everything with these two in the last 24 hours, but Natty's tits—all bounce and sinful softness, still manage to have power all on their own the second they’re around your cock. 

But of course, Julie can’t help herself—with no concept of waiting her turn, she positions herself behind Natty, who doesn’t even realize what’s about to happen until it's too late. Julie gets a hold on those hefty tits for herself, helping them slide down your shaft and taking some semblance of control for herself.

"Hey—what do you think you’re doing, whore?" Natty gasps, caught off guard by the sudden groping as her tits are worked along your cock. She could shove Julie off—but doesn’t, letting her help guide the heavy pair over your shaft instead.

"Sharing, you spoiled little brat, like you promised to do," she purrs, squeezing Natty’s tits tighter around your cock, making sure you feel every inch of their combined efforts. The way Julie digs her fingers into that glorious flesh sends you a little deeper towards your breaking point. 

"Is that what you call it? Because it seems like you're trying to bogart my titfuck, just because you couldn't have him all to yourself," Natty responds, not bothering to try and hide the irritation, but not telling her to stop either. Julie grins, leaning her cheek against Natty's shoulder so she can get closer, forcing your member into a faster rhythm. 

“That's exactly what I'm doing," Julie admits. "Because his dick does look rather nice sliding between your big tits."

You're not even paying attention to their argument—far too busy reveling in the softness of Natty's chest, the friction you desperately need, in the confines of her cleavage. You try your damndest not to spill from just this, their fingers entwined while they work in tandem, getting your length pumping between those heaving mounds.

Natty does nothing but scrunch up her face in annoyance, pouty and upset that her alone time has been interrupted. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're a little jealous." 

Julie keeps smiling, unfazed—maybe a little too much as she continues to use her friend's breasts with not a care in the world, not even realizing how she's pushing you further, your balls feeling heavy and so fucking ready to erupt.

"Maybe a little. How could I not be? Of both these tits and boytoy’s amazing cock that gets to fuck them whenever he wants. Can't even imagine getting to wake up and devour these every morning."

"They are pretty incredible," Natty says, batting her lashes as her tits jiggle, still cradling your aching cock and keeping the heavenly friction constant—no escape in sight. "Not sure who's more lucky, boytoy or me."

You may never know the answer to that. 

All you know is there's no doubt in your mind that this is the best way to experience the true glory of these tits—and the more you stare, the less control you have, the pressure rising between your legs all the more. The groans that leave your throat get a little louder, a little more desperate as these two work to get you off, not easing up at all as they both crave your release.

"God, Nat, your tits really are unbelievable," Julie moans, getting this perfect handful with both hands as she assists, refusing to let the pace slack even a little. She can't get enough of the way they bounce between her fingers—how her touch gets the soft, plump flesh to smother the whole length of your cock. "They're making his dick leak so fucking much already."

"Can you even imagine how much he's going to cum all over them?" Natty adds, almost taunting. "Gonna make a mess, aren't you, boytoy?"

Your hips buck on impulse, not a shred of patience left when she asks that question, and it's not long until the ache of holding back is just too much. Natty stares, this knowing look when she senses the inevitable. You're so, so goddamn close now, needing little more than a few more pumps, these hungry gazes and wicked smiles only pushing you that much closer.

"Almost there, f-fuck—" you manage to blurt out, every pump between those luscious tits somehow more devastating than the last, each one feeling like it could finish you off.

“Cum, boytoy—do it," Julie encourages. “Show us how much of a fucking mess your huge load will make of these perfect tits.”

Natty does little but smile, glancing down to where your cock juts out of her cleavage, throbbing desperately under all this pillowy softness. And all that's needed is another firm squeeze of their hands, those tits smothering you tight to send you straight over the edge.

The eruption follows only moments later, hot, thick spurts of sticky white that makes their eyes go wide at the forceful blast that sprays up Natty's cleavage. It’s endless—shot after shot spilling over those gorgeous tits, painting them like the most sinful canvas imaginable. Your cum spills into the deep valley of her tits, streaking her neck and even hitting her chin, marking her in the most depraved way, just like these two greedy girls wanted. You’ve never seen anything more perfect. 

"Look at all that—there's so much fucking cum," Natty marvels, her heavy breathing causing those hefty tits to rise and fall as Julie lets them free, letting her finish the job, eager to milk out what last final drops she can from you. A few more languid strokes between her cum-streaked breasts and they squeeze around you one last time, drawing out the final dribble before your cock slips free, still twitching from just the sight of that delicious cleavage coated in pearly white. 

It isn't much of a surprise when Julie is the first to taste it, a long lick along Natty's neck, helping her clean up every bit she can get off her. Her tongue drags along her voluminous chest before sealing her mouth around a nipple, savoring the taste on her tongue with a moan.

"Natty looks so pretty covered in boytoy's thick load," Julie murmurs when she comes up for air, lips glossy with spit and cum as she gives one last lingering lick where your load still clings to her glistening tits. “Almost too good to clean up.” 

Natty can hardly disagree, watching her friend dive back into the mess with the voracious appetite that can only be expected—from someone just as obsessed with your cum as she is.

The display leaves you speechless, only able to stare—cock still twitching, spent, yet desperate to bury yourself between the luscious pair all over again.

Julie isn’t done by a long shot, licking up a thick streak of cum from the curve of Natty’s breast, her tongue slow and deliberate as she collects every drop. But instead of swallowing, she lifts Natty’s chin, lips parting to share it in a messy, heated kiss—swapping the load between their tongues, both moaning like they can’t get enough of the taste and each other. 

And if you weren’t still throbbing from such a satisfying release, you certainly are now—watching them swap your load back and forth, savoring it like some sweet delicacy. Insatiable and shameless, they kiss and moan through every messy moment, tongues tangled and lips glistening, the sight alone nearly has you ready to go again.

They eventually part, a thin string of spit and cum still connecting their tongues, both breathless as they steal their share of the mess, licking lips and lost in their own hunger. 

Before you can even recover, Natty’s already sinking back down between your legs, wrapping her lips around your cock with a satisfied hum, like she’s missed the taste of you already. Julie isn’t going to stay idle, and her hands slide up to grope Natty’s still-slick breasts, fingers digging in possessively as she leans close, watching every inch disappear into that heavenly mouth.

“Look at you,” Julie purrs, her breath hot against Natty’s neck as she toys with a glistening nipple between her fingers. “Didn’t even give poor boytoy a break. You really want to break him, huh?”

“Nothing he can’t handle.”

 Your breath hitches, strained and shaky to prove otherwise as Natty sucks harder, tongue swirling with maddening precision, until she suddenly pulls off with a wet pop, your cock glistening and twitching in the cool air. She presses a soft, lingering kiss to your sensitive tip, gaze locked on yours to drink in your reaction while her hand keeps stroking slowly, drawing out every last twitch of overstimulation. It’s too much—but yet you don’t want it to stop. Not now. Not ever.

And just like that, Julie’s lips are right back on Natty’s tits, kissing and sucking like she’s been starved for them, tongue flicking over each nipple, and insatiable can’t even begin to describe it. 

“Nothing like a good breakfast,” Julie hums against Natty’s flesh, too focused on suckling at her tits to say anything else, lips sealed tight as if she can find any more of your seed and relish that taste. 

"You two really are fucking addicted to my tits, aren't you?" Natty laughs breathlessly, enjoying the attention with one hand in Julie’s hair while the other lazily strokes your still-throbbing cock.

Julie pulls off with a lewd pop before grinning up at her. “Can you blame us, Nat?” she breathes, eyes half-lidded with lust as she squeezes one of those heavy breasts. “They’re perfect, pretty girl. Who the fuck could ever resist these?”

And there's nothing for Natty to say, after all—the evidence speaks for itself. Julie’s already latched back onto her tit like she’s tasting heaven, lips sealed over Natty’s swollen nipple, slow and wet. Her free hand kneads the other breast, pulling it closer as if she’s determined to worship every inch. And you’ve got the perfect fucking view of it all.

—-

What feels like hours later, the three of you finally make it to a much-needed shower—the hot water feeling so good on your bodies. There’s a mess of limbs underneath the calming water, and despite the fatigue, and a plethora of smiles and giggles to go around. Kisses are shared without urgency, without need, the soft press of lips against damp skin while hands roam around lazily, more interested in sharing affection than stoking desire. 

It’s a well-earned moment of relaxation that lingers when the water gets turned off and towels hit the floor—just in time for coffee, and maybe some actual breakfast, if these two can keep their hands to themselves long enough to order room service.

But when there’s a knock on the door for exactly that, Julie’s the one who answers the door, striding over in nothing but a tiny pair of red panties and a snug white crop top that barely covers her tits—nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric. 

“He recognized me,” Julie says with a smug grin as she saunters back inside, swinging the door shut behind her with her hip. She sets the tray down on the bar like nothing happened, unable to hide her amusement. “Could barely keep his eyes off my tits. Poor guy almost dropped the food.”

Natty arches a brow, crossing her arms under her own chest as she sits back against the headboard, legs stretched out and a lazy grin playing on her lips—completely naked, not bothering to throw on a single piece of clothing. “Recognized you from what, exactly?” she teases, though there’s already a knowing look in her eyes.

“Oh, you know, he’s a fan,” Julie replies with a wink, plopping down beside Natty on the bed, clearly having no intention of covering up. Her fingers toy idly with the hem of her shirt, as if daring it to ride up even further. “Pretty sure he’ll be jerking off to the memory for weeks.”

"That ass is pretty famous," Natty replies, eyes trailing over Julie’s barely covered curves with shameless appreciation. 

Julie just laughs, stretching lazily, her toned stomach flexing as she raises her arms over her head. The motion makes her crop top ride up even more, exposing just a hint of her bare breasts, but she makes no move to fix it. Instead, she smirks, turning onto her side to face Natty. "Can’t blame him. I'd stare too."

And god knows you are, helpless to resist as you sit back and stare at both of their bodies, knowing fully well they want you to.

You make it through coffee and breakfast, which in actuality is really brunch given the time—something quick, light, and enough to satisfy your hunger. It's a quiet moment that passes while little gets said, the three of you eating on the freshly-changed sheets with little sips of bitter coffee to help wash it down. 

You should have known it wouldn’t be nearly this peaceful.

Julie wastes little time once plates and cups are thrown away, setting the empty tray outside. Coming back in, you're not given a chance to put your phone down before she's bent over and between your legs, boxers pulled off and tossed somewhere in the room.

Little you can do but enjoy this position she's put you in, legs spread while she bobs her head so greedily down your length—lips far down the base with her cheeks hollowed out and her gaze staring straight at yours. Natty's right there too, kneeling beside Julie with that little thong of hers that shows off how good her ass looks as she gives all the spanks deserved, mostly kneading at both cheeks, playing with the soft flesh that feels so good to squeeze.

"Hey, Natty?" Julie asks after she pops off, lifting her head up as she takes a long drag up your cock. "I think I quite like our boytoy."

"Our? What makes him yours all of a sudden?" Natty asks, continuing her massage of that full ass and bringing a slap down against the velvety flesh of her cheeks that makes you jolt up into Julie's mouth. 

"Well, for starters, he loves when I do this," she responds, flashing that cheeky grin as she swallows you to the base yet again, tongue rubbing against that throbbing underside of your shaft as it's shoved down without restraint. 

"You're not keeping him for yourself. Find your own, you greedy little slut." And Natty sounds so fucking offended, with another swat echoing in the air alongside Julie's moan around your cock. You can't tell what's better.

"I'll share—" is all Julie has to offer before Natty cuts her off with another harsh blow to her ass, one that makes her cry out loudly around you.

"Heard that before. I'll let you have him whenever you're around, but that's it—if you're lucky you can use his dick every other weekend." 

"What am I, a library book you can loan to each other or something?"

"Exactly!" The two speak together in perfect sync. Another loud, wet pop, a tongue dragging along the swollen head of your cock as Julie locks that eye contact, swallowing you back down. 

“Have to admit, Jules—you look real good sucking his dick,” Natty sighs. Her hands sink back down to Julie's full ass, squeezing possessively as she gets her fingertips in nice and deep. Your hips buck helplessly, almost on autopilot at the sensations.

Julie finally manages to break off just to respond, but not without leaving several sloppy kisses and needy licks across the head of your cock, lips pressed flush against the glistening shaft as she continues to work.

"What can I say? I'm a professional," she answers, lips latched on your balls as she jerks your throbbing shaft. "Can't help myself. He tastes fucking delicious." 

"That's great and all, but still not sharing. This weekend's been fun but come Monday, it's back to normal."

"And if I just so happen to want him when you're stuck in class, Nat? What are you gonna do then?" Julie teases, dragging a few more lingering licks up your length that drive you crazy. "When you're in chem class and I'm on my knees, with him blasting a huge fucking load all over my pretty face? What if you're too busy to stop me?"

You're only caught up on the visuals Julie's trying to create. Imagining her like this on her knees and begging to be covered, smiling, tongue out while Natty is stuck learning about chemical reactions.

Natty knows Julie can't be tamed, no matter what.

"Then you better do a good job of emptying his balls when I'm not around, whore. Got it?"

"Jesus, do you two ever shut up, for like two seconds? Maybe I'll ask the front desk if there's anyone in need of a fuck, someone a little less high maintenance." The look on Natty's face says all that's needed—and yet she can't come up with a retort either, and not with her best friend grinning up at her with your cock still pressed right against her cheek. 

"As if you could ever find anyone else as hot as us," Natty says with the confidence you would expect. "With a big, thick cock that keeps us satisfied the way we deserve to be."

You roll your eyes as she speaks, Julie already going back down as if on cue, lips wrapped around you, eager for more. "Nat's huge tits and my fat ass, we make the perfect team. Face it, boytoy. You're stuck with us."

That's when Julie gets a bit too greedy, inhaling every inch until her lips can't take any more. Her way of convincing you , perhaps, and you can't say it isn't effective with the way she sucks harder—like she's not going to pull off until you're ready to agree. 

Stuck with the two most gorgeous, insatiable women possible hardly sounds like a terrible fate. Most of your time gets spent balls deep inside Natty the majority of the time regardless—and now when she's not riding the fuck out of you, there’s Julie to enjoy in the meantime.

You couldn’t ask for a better deal. 

[nsfwrpg]

March Update - the end...?

Hi everyone, π here! 

Hope everyone has a wonderful start to their year already and is doing well. 🙂

This update comes from rather uncertain times right now, so please bear with me.

—————

Commissions Update:

Request Link

I’ve gotten a handful of inquiries asking me for fics in the high 20 to 30k word count range, and while not a single deal has been put to paper, it does mean there is a demand, so I have introduced 3 new commission tiers to cater to said requests. So for those of you wanting me to write a grandiose epic, here's your opportunity! Please bear mind that many of my rules when commissioning a fic still apply, so please read this post first and message me privately before ordering.

With that said, I have the executive decision to adjust pricing to the current available tiers. Previously ordered commissions prior to the change will not be affected in any way. I understand that the price jump might seem a bit much, but please understand that I’m also juggling with plenty of stuff right now—from college to IRL stuff in-between writing fics. There’s a lot of commitment into putting out a work, so please understand. I’m trying my best to stay sane in the meantime.

And speaking of personal issues—

The future of this account:

I wish I could tell you that everything’s fine on our side, but the reality is far grimmer than I’d like you to believe.

The family shop we’ve been running for almost 3 years closed down back in late February. The reasoning being that there’s a big renovation of the mall our shop is based in, specifically a parking and walkway extension connecting the current shopping mall with a new one that will open sometime in 2028-2029. Previously they closed off the parking, now they've decided to close off the entire stretch where our shop lies in as well. So yes, the corporate overlords forced us out of a job and livelihood with no compensation whatsoever. 

This has put us in a severe financial bind. We’re currently going through a bit of a corporate and brand restructuring, already in talks about setting up shop elsewhere. But the lack of a monthly income has begun to chip heavily into our monthly utilities and expenses. Basic necessities seem like a huge expense. Already lost electricity and water twice because we couldn’t pay on time. We’re literally just surviving day to day, only enough to get by, but just barely. Thank God we’re all perfectly healthy, but I can only imagine having to bear medical expenses as well.

In short, worst case scenario, we get financially buried, and this account is killed in the process. Not because I wanted to leave or retire—far from it—but because of circumstances beyond our control. It would be a damn shame because even four years on, I still really love writing and in a way, it’s become a lifeline for me. Met so many friends, got to experience my first events, and made unforgettable memories that I would gladly redo in another lifetime when given the chance. It may not seem apparent, given our current predicament, I’m barely hanging on—emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. It's hard to remain positive when all you see around you is darkness and uncertainty.

But I’m not gonna give up. Any little thing I can provide for my family, I’ll do the best I can. I know this is only temporary, a minor setback, but faith needs some action as well.

Of course, I also understand that most of you are probably reading me because it’s entertainment and a form of escape from your own respective troubles, so I won’t beg, force you to feel sorry for us, or paywall my content. Anything I write and release publicly will remain freely available in some capacity, but I also have to look out for myself during these uncertain times. I may consider doing a monthly based subscription/memberships where I can chat with you through a private Discord and give previews to upcoming work, but I don’t know if that’s worth anything, so commissions will make do for now. But if you feel obliged and compelled, any amount/form of donation will be graciously accepted. Hell, even a reblog or repost to spread the word is more than enough to help greatly.

To leave on a more positive note, I should have two releases in the coming weeks, so please look forward to that. If it hasn’t been made any clear, your continuous support is one of the few positive things I can celebrate right now, and I sincerely appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you for sticking through both great and hard times.

With grace,

Peter / π

[nsfwrpg]

Last Chance - Part 2

Part 1.

---

Even in the lineup at an airport Starbucks, Chou Tzuyu made your heart skip a beat.

Her hair is pulled into a messy bun that lives up to the name, although the loose strands that refused to fall in with the rest of her hair do well to frame her small face in wavy strands of chocolate. She is wearing an oversized sweatshirt and a matching loose pair of sweatpants, a large tote bag slung casually over one shoulder as she scrolls blankly on her phone, waiting for her turn to exchange money for caffeine. Even in casual clothing and little makeup, she made everyone else in the lineup look like movie extras, non-player characters in a virtual world meant to fill out a crowd.

She shuffles forward as the line advances. The girl behind her, a tall girl in a blue baseball cap pulled down almost over her eyes and similarly engrossed into whatever was on her phone, follows. She bumps into Tzuyu and apologizes profusely; Tzuyu smiles sweetly at her and gives her a small bow. As she turns forward again, her eyes find yours.

At the sight of you, her eyes, though rimmed with exhaustion and a lack of sleep, regain their brightness. Her lips curl into a warm smile as she brushes back a stray lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear. She looks at you like you’re the only other person that exists amidst the hustle and bustle of the busy airport, and in that moment you feel a warmth blossom in your chest. The rest of the world seems to fade away into black and white, monotone dullness.

Her left hand re-adjusts the strap of her tote bag over her shoulder. The diamond wedding ring on her ring finger glimmers.

---

“Fuck, it’s so cold in here,” your friend Joey says, stating what had become painfully obvious in the ten minutes you’d spent in his apartment since your return to the party from Tzuyu’s place. “Of all the times for the heater to give out…”

“Yeah,” you agree, although truth be told you could have been in Antarctica at the moment and you wouldn’t have noticed. You take another sip out of the mystery concoction within the plastic red cup in your hands, but the slight burn of the alcohol is temporary and fleeting, and does little to lighten your mood.

“Bro, you good?” he asks, some indeterminate amount of time later. You weren’t sure how long you’d spent staring blankly at your cup. From the moment you’d left Tzuyu’s apartment, the entire evening had started to feel like a blur. You felt blank, numb. Even the journey back to the apartment seemed to happen in a flash, as though it didn’t really happen. You remember leaving Tzuyu’s bedroom, and the next thing you knew you were being greeted with the booming baseline of the music pumping out of your friend’s apartment.

“I’m good,” you answer, managing to flash him a smile. There’s genuine concern on his face. Joey was one of the real ones, and you were glad you dragged yourself out to his party, even despite the heartache that was putting a damper on how much you were able to enjoy it.

“Listen bud, I’m not sure what you were up to while you were away, but we’re going to get you over it. Starting with another drink. And maybe setting you up with that girl I introduced you to earlier. She’s around here somewhere.”

Joey stands, peering out into the couple dozen people who still filled his apartment, apparently unable to find the person he was looking for amidst the crowd. Even at this late hour and with a busted heater, his fifth annual Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Years party showed no signs of ending. He pats you on the shoulder, shoots you a crooked smile, and heads off toward the kitchen to fix you a drink.

You smile weakly at him as he disappears into the crowd. Your attention returns to your cup, and the dark amber liquid it contained. Your fingers trace the rim. A sigh escapes your lips. The music goes on, the heavy beat and chatter of the partygoers a dull thump and mumble that barely registers in your ears. Your head is elsewhere.

You think about her. You remember the last moments in her apartment in flashes, in a blur, despite it happening less than an hour ago. You remember standing from the bed, pulling on your boxers and pants with an urgency that you knew now was actually hurt and heartache. The hurt and heartache that came with knowing she would be someone else’s soon, that she’d never be yours again. Tonight was the night that you’d lost her - a thought made even more bitter by the knowledge that she was never yours to begin with, that despite the years of knowing her, knowing her secrets, knowing everything there was to know about her… it was someone else she’d chosen to fall for.

You remember the feel of her on your lips, her slickness on your cock, even as you zipped up your pants and pulled your shirt on with a speed and desperation that must have surprised her. But you had to get out of there. Had to leave the stifling, oppressive heat of her apartment and the heaviness of the unspoken words that pervaded the air, making it difficult to breathe.

She said something, then.

You remember the look on her face when you turned to face her. You’d never forget what you saw there - that broken, shattered look on her face, as though she were in a pain she’d never experienced before, her palm cradling her cheek, eyes shut. It was only there for a second or two. It may as well have been forever. It certainly felt like forever, judging from the way that moment seared itself into your memory and your heart, a burden for you to carry for the rest of your life.

What did she say? You wrack your brain, doing your best to remember, to reach back into time and grasp that moment, those words, as though you could wrap your hands around them and make them real, cradle them in your palms and bring them to your ear where they could fill you with their meaning.

She told you it was nothing, that she hadn’t said anything. But even as the words left her mouth you knew she was lying.

The moment was gone now. Lost. And even if you’d asked her again she’d just lie and tell you she said nothing at all.

You take another drink, wanting to taste something, feel anything. The drink tastes like dirt in your mouth. The party continues around you, a blur of movement and bodies and sound and it all feels so far away and distant, like it was happening on a completely different plane of existence.

When your phone vibrates in your pocket you almost don’t bother fishing it out and looking at it. You sigh, pick it out of your pants, and curse whoever deemed that the right time to send you a notification.

Two messages, both from her.

Hey, reads the first message.

I’m outside. Come see me, reads the second.

---

The path from your friend’s apartment, past the press of partygoers and out into the hallway, down the elevator, and outside onto the street, is quick - quicker than it really should have been. But before you knew it, you were leaving the party, passing through the crowd, down the elevator and through the lobby, in what seemed like an instant. The world passes by you in a quick blur, as though you were viewing it through a smudged lens.

But then you reach her, standing there on the sidewalk waiting for you, and everything snaps back into clear, razor-sharp focus. 

“Hey,” she says, softly, the single syllable striking you with surprising clarity, given the dull beat of the party music and the rumble of nearby passing vehicles.

“Hey,” you answer, not knowing what else to say. You notice she’s wearing the same thing she was wearing earlier that night - that same short black and white baseball shirt, and the tiny pair of green shorts that left most of her midriff and her long, slim legs bare. Despite her scant attire, she doesn’t seem to mind the cold, which seemed even worse out here than it did in the apartment. Semi-shovelled snow lines the sidewalk and pedestrians pass by bundled up in thick wool coats and scarves; and there she was, in clothes that seemed more fit for a summer night on the beach.

“Can we… talk?” she says, softly.

“Yeah,” you answer. “My place is right around the corner.”

She smiles. It’s happy and sad at the same time, somehow. Her eyes glisten, as though on the verge of tears she wasn’t quite willing to shed. There’s a small quiver in her lip. There are words there, you think, right there on her lips, and she’s doing her best to hold on to them until the time is right.

“I’d like that,” she says, eventually. She reaches out her hand. You take it, and lead her home.

---

“I never noticed these before,” she says, gesturing toward the framed pictures sitting on a wall-mounted shelf. They’re pictures of you with friends and family. A road trip. Graduation. A photo of your beer league hockey team, having just won your championship trophy. A shot of you and your friend Joey, eyes red after a long night of drinking and related shenanigans - although the photo is blurry and out of focus, and you weren’t sure what the hell was on his head.

“You’re never here long,” you answer with a smile, handing her a cup of warm water. “We don’t usually spend much time here outside of the bedroom. And the shower, I guess.”

Tzuyu smiles to herself as she takes a sip of the water. “I’m sorry,” she says, eventually, eyes still gazing at the faces in the photos and the frozen memories they captured. “I should know more about you than I do,” she admits, although she is silent afterward, as though she had just said something out loud that she shouldn’t have.

The two of you stand there in silence, staring at the framed memories. It was only a moment, but it felt longer than it did. You wonder if there was a world where she was there in those photos with you, sharing smiles, sharing memories, a moment of your lives together captured in film and paper to adorn your shelf. You wonder if she was your girlfriend in those photos, or your fiance, or your wife. You wonder if that world was still in your reach. 

No, you remind yourself. It wasn’t, given what she’d told you about her co-worker the night before. That world was closed off to you now, the door to it slammed shut. You wonder if it was ever open to begin with.

“Tzuyu,” you begin. Even as you say her name you weren’t quite sure what to say next. 

She doesn’t look away from the photos. She cradles the cup of water in both hands, next to her lips.

“...why are you here?” you ask.

She frowns for a moment, gathering her thoughts. When she speaks, she is still facing the photos, as though afraid of what she’d find in your eyes.

“I told you I was going to call him tomorrow,” she says, softly. “That guy… that I… that I have feelings for. The guy I want to be with.” Her hand pulls her phone out of her back pocket. The screen seems ridiculously bright in the relative dimness of your living room. On its lock screen you see the time - 11:58pm.

Her eyes lift, finally finding yours. That smile again - happy and sad at the same time. There’s a small movement in her lips, as though she wants to say something, but decides against it. The unspoken words fill the space between you - heavy, oppressive. You want to pluck them out of the air and either make them real or tear them apart into nothingness; anything to get rid of the overbearing weight of them in the space between you.

You want to ask her what she could possibly want from you, given what she’d told you not even an hour ago. Another quick fuck, advice on what she should say to this guy tomorrow? Was she just bored? Lonely? Or…

Did she come here for you?

Your heart pounds in your chest as you realize what might be. Perhaps that world wasn’t so out of reach after all, the door not quite shut. 

Perhaps there was room on that shelf for more pictures.

The clock on her phone strikes midnight. She looks down at it for a moment, her thumb making a couple of presses on its screen. She presses the phone to her ear.

In your back pocket, your phone vibrates.

You answer her call.

“Hey,” she says.

---

It hits you all at once - the realization, the truth, the emotions. You’re moving toward her, your phones dropping from your respective hands - if they made a sound when they thumped on the floor you didn’t hear it. Her glass of water disappears too, gone from her hands and left on the shelf, or dropped and spilled on the floor - it didn’t matter. All that exists is her, and the need to touch her, kiss her.

Your lips find each other, and her arms wrap around your neck, pulling you close. The kiss is hurried, passionate. You’d kissed her more times than you could possibly count and yet this still feels unlike all the others.

“You,” she gasps, between kisses. “You. It’s you.”

You curse yourself for not picking up on the signs, for not realizing that every moment you’d spent at her apartment earlier in the night was a moment she was trying to tell you how she really felt. You curse yourself for not understanding her. For not hearing what she had to say.

But it didn’t matter anymore. None of it did. All that mattered was the here and now.

You’re so fervent, so needy with your kisses that she eventually backs up against the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up one side of your apartment. Your tongues duel. Your hands wander. 

“Tzuyu,” you manage to gasp, breathlessly. “I’m sorry,” you add, not quite sure why - but it felt like the right thing to say, somehow. “I didn’t know. I should’ve…”

You trail off, but she understands what you mean, if the small, soft nod she gives you is any indication. She looks up at you with those large, deep brown eyes of hers and in that moment you realize she understands you, all of you. She knows what you mean to say, even if you don’t actually say it. You curse yourself for the millionth time that you didn’t understand her nearly as much as she understood you.

“It’s okay,” she says, softly, so softly you could barely hear the words as they leave her lips. “It’s okay. As long as you know now. I want you. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

“And that co-worker of yours-”

“Doesn’t fucking exist,” she says, with a smile and a scoff as she smacks you playfully on the shoulder. “I was trying to get you to finally confess your undying love for me, you big dummy,” she adds. Just as she finishes her sentence her lip quivers, as though she realizes she said something she shouldn’t have. Her eyes are glassy, tears forming at their corners. 

“You could’ve just asked me to say it,” you answer. The words leave your mouth before you knew you were saying them.

She looks up at you, eyes searching yours for something.

“Say it, then,” she says, the request seeming loud and booming in the sudden silence of the room. “Say it for me.”

The moment stretches - out into infinity - as your eyes look deep into Chou Tzuyu’s.

“I love you, Tzuyu.”

Her face suddenly becomes fragile, soft, as though your words shattered a part of her. Her lips curl into a broken, sad smile. She kisses you, and brings her lips to your ear.

“I love you too. I always have.”

You’re kissing again, your bodies finding each other in the way they had on many a lonely night, over the few years that you’d known each other. But it’s different this time, because somewhere amidst the dueling tongues and wandering hands, there is genuine affection. It mixes with the lust, turns it into something more powerful, more intoxicating and irresistible. 

Your need for more of her causes you to step forward involuntarily, and you break the kiss to look into her half-lidded eyes and pull her toward the bedroom, but she has other ideas. Her eyes never leaving yours, she takes your hand in hers and takes steps back toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that line one end of your living room.

Eventually, her back touches the window. Your arms slide around her small waist, and hers find themselves around your neck.

“Here,” she says, “where everyone can see who I want to be with. Who I chose.”

There was nowhere else in the world where you wanted to be with her more. Chou Tzuyu was yours, finally yours, and you wanted everyone to see it. Everyone to know.

Something like a sigh leaves your lips - a sigh of powerlessness, perhaps - an involuntary, wordless sound that was your only reaction to hearing words you’d never thought you would. Your lips find hers - hungry, needy for her - and your arms pull her lower body close. Her hands wind through your hair. They dig into your scalp. 

Your hands pull at her shirt, and then she’s raising her hands and she’s topless and she’s yours, finally, fucking finally, for real this time.

You hear her gasp as her naked back presses against the cold glass of the window. You see the glint of need in her lidded eyes, the quiver in her lower lip as she tucks it beneath a tooth and bites down. You see it all, feel it all, and she’s there, she’s yours. Chou Tzuyu is finally yours.

Your lips find hers again before they trace a path down her jawline to her long neck - a path you’d traced many a time before. But it’s different this time, as though she were a different girl suddenly, one you’d never been with. Every touch of your lips on hers is electric, each one sending a little jolt of pleasure up both of your spines. 

Her mouth is next to your ear and every kiss you leave on her neck and upper chest earns you a small, wordless gasp that sounds like music. You knew her voice well, had heard it sigh and moan and say all manner of filth in the throes of lust and passion; but tonight it sounds new, novel, like a song you knew well from the radio being heard live for the first time.

Your kisses reach the tops of her breasts and you’re bending your neck now, finding one of her nipples in your mouth and suckling. The gasps filling your ears turn into moans and the pinpricks her nails leave in your scalp deepen, turn into furrows as the pleasure courses through her body in greater and greater waves. Your hands find a full thigh as she wraps it around your hip and you’re half-lifting her up with your palm on your ass cheek, bringing her breast closer to your needy mouth. She arches her back, gives more of herself to you, and you take everything she has to give.

You want to devour her - suck deeply from her other breast, drop to your knees and part her thighs and drink from her - but she has other ideas, other needs, and they compete with and beat yours. She cups your face in her hands, pulls it from her breast and to her lips, where she kisses you deeply. Her hands work at your pants with practiced fingers while your lips duel and suddenly your cock is in her warm palms and it’s your turn to gasp breathlessly into her mouth.

She breaks the kiss, eyes finding yours. There’s nothing but need there, in those dark brown pools, and while you’ve seen that look before it never failed to take your breath away. Her eyes remain locked on yours even as she drops slowly, torturously to her knees, even as she bends her neck and her tongue darts out to touch the base of your cock as she swipes a long, languid lick up your length to your tip. 

Only when she slides the length of your cock into her mouth do her eyes leave yours, her eyelids fluttering closed as she takes you between her wet, slick lips. Your eyes follow suit, shutting involuntarily, as though the sight of her on her knees might be too much for your brain to handle. You reach out with a hand to steady yourself against the cold glass of the window as Tzuyu begins to take you in and out of her mouth in a slow, steady pace, her lips wrapped tight against your length, her hand pumping what she can’t take between her lips.

She knew just how to pleasure you, knew from experience in your bedrooms and movie theatres and the backseats of cars how to bring you to your peak in a matter of minutes. But this was not one of those nights, not one of those hurried, emotionless expressions of lust and need that were fleeting, temporary, empty. She takes her time, working you in and out of her wet, slick mouth, relishing every entry and exit, relishing the salty, musky taste of you on her tongue.

You stare out past your window, out at the bright lights of the city and the snow piling atop balconies and stairs and rooftops. You glance at the party across the street, the same one you’d just left, and the thought of someone there seeing you here, now, with Tzuyu - it sends a thrill up your spine, one that is only heightened when Tzuyu closes her lips around the head of your cock and swirls her tongue around your tip. All the while she is pumping your length with her fist, the slickness of her spit on it creating a delicious friction. 

You sigh deeply, and it fogs the window in front of you, blurring the image of the city. You wipe at it with your hand. You want them to see. You want everyone to see.

Tzuyu pumps her hand faster, her tongue continuing its merciless swirling around your tip. You shut your eyes involuntarily.

Your free hand finds her scalp, fingers sliding between the chocolate strands of her hair and guiding her as she continues to pleasure you. You tear your eyes open, watching her, as though somehow by doing so you could convince yourself this was all real, was really happening. 

She opens her eyes, as if sensing you watching her, and she lets your cock slip from between her lips. Her tongue darts out and she places your tip on the flat of it. Her hand continues to pump the length of your cock. You watch as her free hand finds her own naked breasts, and begins to tease and pinch her own nipple. She wants you to cum, now, on her tongue and on her face. She wants to taste you, feel you on her skin.

It was almost too much, then and there. And as pleasurable and sublime as it would have been to let go, to fill her wanting, waiting mouth with your cum you knew you never would have forgiven yourself if you’d left it at that.

Your hand reaches down, your fingers finding her hand wrapped around your cock, and she knows what it means, knows what you’re telling her. She stops pumping, her fingers leaving your length almost reluctantly. She places one last kiss on your tip before rising to her feet.

Her eyes are locked on yours as she undoes the button of those ridiculous, tiny cotton shorts she is wearing. The zipper sounds almost too loud in the silence of your apartment as she tugs it down, loosening the flimsy garment and letting it fall first to her thighs, then down her legs until it’s on the floor. She kicks it away from her.

She turns around, faces the window. The lights of the city beyond gleam around her, surrounding her like a golden, glimmering halo of white, red, and green. She places her palms flat on the cold glass and looks over her shoulder at you. She spreads her feet on the floor slightly. Her back arches, the light casting a stark relief on the curve of her spine. She reaches back with one hand, pulls a cheek of her ass to the side, presenting herself to you. The light catches on the glistening lips of her cunt.

“Like this,” she says, softly. “Fuck me like this.”

You step close. Your cock presses impatiently onto the small of her back and she gasps at the feel of it on her skin. You reach around to cup a breast, relishing the weight of it in your hand, the stiffness of her nipple against your palm.

“They’ll see,” you whisper into her ear. “Everyone will see.”

“Good,” she answers, quickly, breathlessly. “I want them to. I want them all to see who I’m with, who I chose.”

That was it, all you needed to hear. You bring the tip of your cock to her dripping opening and slide inside her, filling her to the hilt.

“It’s you, Tzuyu. You. You’re all I want,” you say, desperately, into her ear.

“I know, I know,” she responds, always knowing, always understanding you, even as you begin to slide out of her before thrusting slowly, firmly back in. “I know.”

It was the second time that night you’d been inside her and somehow it felt like the first time you’d ever been with her. Things were different now; and while you weren’t quite sure what your relationship was or where it would go from here you knew at least that much - that it was different. This was not like the other needy, lonely fucks. This was so much more.

Tzuyu is a slick, silken vice around you and your eyes shut again, your brow furrowing as you fuck her against the glass. Your hands find her hips, trace a path up her spine to her shoulder, squeeze a full, round cheek of her ass - anything to hold her in place, fix her, as you slide in and out of her warm, wet little cunt. She’s wet, so wet - her arousal and perhaps the remains of the previous load you’d left inside her earlier that evening making her so very slick around your cock. Her cunt makes wet, creamy sounds as you slide in and out and the very sound of it is enough to make your head swim.

The soft, mewling gasps that leave her lips imprint themselves in mist on the glass as every thrust into her body sends another burst of pleasure up her spine. The gasps turn into moans as you increase your pace steadily, the way she liked. 

“Fuck,” she says, “Fuck. Yes, fuck me.”

You want to respond, want to tell her with words just how tight and wet she is, how wonderful she feels wrapped around your cock - but the feel of her is too much, robbing you of the ability to form coherent thoughts, much less words. Instead you tell her with your actions, ones you knew she would understand - the tightening of your grip on her shoulder and on her hip, and the deepening of each thrust into her cunt as you give her every inch of you from tip to hilt.

Her fingers scramble on the glass, nails seeking fruitlessly for something to dig into, to ground herself amidst the steadily growing pleasure. She rocks her hips back against you, meeting you thrust for thrust. Your hand finds its way into her hair, grasping a handful of it, even as she presses her head against the glass.

“Harder,” she spits, her breath fogging the smooth pane. “Harder, please. Use me. Take me, baby.”

It means something now, that word. That name for you - that name for lovers. Because now, finally, she’s yours.

Beyond her, the lights of the city twinkle - street lamps, Christmas lights, room lights from living rooms across the street. It paints her arched back and the globes of her ass in a multitude of swirling colors and she seems surreal, a painting, a work of art, right here in your hands. You try to focus on the way the lights move on her skin, a living canvas with moving paint - anything to distract yourself from the pleasure that was building a little too fast. You try anything to make this last just one moment longer, even as you know that control is already slipping from your fingers.

Tzuyu doesn’t share your need to prolong the moment, not when the allure of the pleasure coursing through her veins and the imminent climax it promised was too strong. For a few long, wonderful seconds she throws her hips back at you, eager for more of you, more of the stretch, the stiffness, the feeling of fullness you give her with each stroke. You know you’re hitting that spot inside her, just the way she loved. Her moans reach a new pitch. Her cunt tightens, drips more of her juices onto the base of your cock and down your balls.

“Cumming,” she hisses, just a moment before the pulsating of her cunt and the trembling of her limbs tells you that she does.

You continue to thrust into her, harder, even as the silken vice of her pussy pulsates and squeezes around you. You fuck her through her orgasm, which was something you rarely did, because usually you wanted to stay there hilt-deep inside her and just relish the sight and feel of Chou Tzuyu mid-orgasm; but a part of you tonight wanted to stake your claim on her, wanted to make her yours in a way she hadn’t been before.

“Fuck,” she hisses, mid-orgasm, as you continue to fuck her against the unyielding glass. Her upper chest pressed is against it now, breasts surely pressed flat against its cold surface. She, too, wasn’t used to being fucked through an orgasm - but she couldn’t deny the way it prolonged the aftershocks of her orgasm, the way every thrust of your stiff cock lengthened the shocks of pleasure still winding their way through her body. “Fuck, don’t stop,” she spits, brain still addled with the sensations radiating from her core, still seeking any way to prolong them, get more of them.

And so you don’t. How could you? How could anyone, deep inside the most beautiful woman on earth, and with the knowledge that she was finally yours lending each movement, each feeling, each sensation a weight that simply wasn’t there before?

You feel your orgasm building in the pit of your belly, know that despite your best efforts that this moment had to end. You never wanted it to. This was a much shorter session than even any of the many quickies you’d shared together and yet somehow it meant much more than any of them.

“Cum in me please,” she hisses, turning her head to look over her shoulder at you, as though she could sense by the erratic nature of your thrusts and the quivering of your grip on her shoulder that you were nearing your peak. She knew you so well. She knew everything about you, whether you wanted her to or not. She understood you in ways you didn’t even understand yourself.

“Tzuyu,” you say, because her name is all you can say. Her name is all you know, because she is all you know.

“Cum in me,” she repeats, a solemn request that on any other night - or even earlier in this one - would have taken the form of a lustful, wanton plea. But now she whispers it, quiet and reverent, almost hopeful, less a demand and more like a solemn request. “Please, baby. Please, make me yours.”

You never wanted anything more than that.

You press yourself as deep as you can inside Chou Tzuyu’s body and suddenly you’re cumming, filling her with you. She sighs and moans softly with each pulse of your cock, knowing that each one signalled another part of you that you were leaving inside her.

Your hand slides around her quivering upper body, finding her jaw, then her chin. You gently turn her head to meet yours, and you’re kissing, passionately, softly. You give her a few small, short thrusts into her cum-filled cunt, and you relish the sighs of pleasure that leave her mouth and fill yours. After a while you stop, still hilt-deep inside her. You feel the slick wetness between your bodies, slick and sticky, binding you together.

Your lips part. For a few long moments you watch each other, eyes finding something in each other that wasn’t there even a few minutes before; something that had always been there, perhaps, in the corners of your minds. For a few years it was kept hidden by a fear of rejection. But now, here it was, out in the open.

“Baby,” she says, softly. That name, again.

“Yes?” you answer, breathless, knowing you could answer to it freely, openly, without hiding any pain behind what it meant. Her lips curl into a smile as you answer to it.

“I could use some water.”

---

You return with a glass of water - her second. You suppose she never really got the chance to finish the first one.

“Tzuyu,” you say, softly, barely at a whisper, still somehow unable to say anything more than her name, so consumed by the thought of her, the idea of her. You hand her the glass. She takes it into her hands, giving you a smile as she takes a sip. 

She’s standing in front of the shelf with the pictures again, fully dressed, which was a little odd, given you were only away for a few seconds at most. You find yourself appreciating those shorts again, and the way they hugged the curves they just barely hid behind green cotton.

“You’re wondering why I’m wearing what I’m wearing,” she says, evidently having felt your eyes on her. She knew you. “Kind of silly to be wearing a t-shirt and the world’s tiniest pair of shorts out here in the middle of winter, isn’t it?”

“A little,” you admit. “It is pretty chilly out. But-”

“You know why,” she says, with a hint of something heavy in her tone. 

You ponder her words in silence. Something in the air changes - small, almost imperceptible, but undeniable nonetheless. A slight, tiny little shift.

The moments stretch out. Something between seconds and centuries pass, but you aren’t quite sure. At the end of it, you come to a realization. You knew why. Perhaps a small part of you, from the second you returned to the party, knew why.

Nonetheless, you ask. You had to know. You had to hear it from her.

“...why, Tzuyu?”

She takes another small sip of water. She looks up at you with a sad smile. Almost nothing else in the world could have broken your heart the way that smile did. Only the words that left her mouth next could have hurt more.

“...It’s because this isn’t really happening.”

---

“...What?” you say, even as you know, in your heart of hearts, that she’s right. Perhaps a small part of you had always known. Nothing this night seemed quite right, no matter how much you wanted it to be so.

“These clothes - I’m wearing them because they’re what I wore that night. The last time we were… together. They’re the clothes you remember me wearing the most.”

“...what? Tzuyu, I don’t understand-”

There is a sharp cracking sound, like someone snapping a thick twig or branch in two. You turn to find a sharp fault line appearing in your apartment wall. You watch as it deepens and spreads, and as others appear in the corners of your room. The floor is suddenly uneven, unstable. It wobbles. Your balance is thrown off, your feet unsure. You turn your attention back to Tzuyu, as though the sight of her could ground you in a reality you were no longer sure was real.

The glass of water in her hands is gone. Her eyes are sad, crestfallen, as though she were delivering news to someone who knew already what it was but was fearing its arrival all the same.

“...It’s kind of silly that I somehow knew where your party was, isn’t it?” she continues. “Think about it: you never told me where it was or who was throwing it, but I still found you.”

Every word that left her lips is heavy, hits you hard, as though it were a physical force. The truth hurt.

Your brow furrows as your brain scrambles to make sense of it all, but your mind is foggy. You try to find excuses or explanations for the night’s events, but answers elude you. 

“I know where you live, and it’s definitely not in this neighborhood,” she continues, taking a short glance out the window that you were both pressed against just moments before. The window is open now, and you can see clearly through it, as though there was no glass there at all. Beyond the window frame you can see the neighborhood around the building - and it seems foreign, completely different from the one you lived in. “You live on the other side of town, and yet at the party, you said you live right around the corner.” 

“Tzuyu, please,” you begin, as though you were about to beg her to stop. You didn’t want her to continue. You wanted to stay here, false reality or not. You wanted to stay here, in this pretend world, where she was yours-

“That’s because this never happened,” she adds, turning back to you. “None of this happened. You just happened to see me in line at the airport, and-” 

“That… no,” you say, unwilling to believe her, even if you knew she was right. The walls of your apartment begin to flake, like dried paint from an old wall, except behind it there is nothing but black emptiness. After a while, the emptiness begins to take shape, but it looks blurry and distant - dull colors, a pale green carpet. Kiosks and baggage. Rows of seats filled with the shapes of weary travellers waiting for flights. An airport.

“You’re not… you’re crazy, Tzuyu. This is real, this is happening. You said- you said I was the one, the one you wanted to be with!” you say, suddenly angry, suddenly upset at having this sweet, perfect world torn away from you, right when it was finally yours. Right when she was finally yours. Your hands ball into fists. Your brow furrows, and your teeth clench. Something like rage courses through your veins. Behind your eyes, tears form, although whether from sadness or anger, you weren’t quite sure.

The shelf with your framed pictures falls off the wall, down into the darkness, and along with it any chance of her ever having a place amongst them.

“She’s waiting for you,” she says, looking upward at the wide cracks in the ceiling, at the hazy airport terminal taking shape just outside the walls. She sees something or someone only she can see, and the corners of her lips curl into a sad smile. “You can hear her calling, can’t you?”

“Who?”

“Her,” she answers. You can hear it now - a female voice, one that sounded both familiar and strange. It’s repeating a single word, two syllables. It’s a name, but not yours. A pet name for lovers. One that Tzuyu used for you, even if it hurt you to hear it.

The floor has begun to shake, back and forth, as though some giant was shaking the building gently. The woman’s voice continues to call for you.

“I hear it,” you admit. The shaking intensifies slightly. The walls tighten, as though the giant’s grip was tightening on your apartment. “Who is she?”

 “The girl you met at the party. This same night. The one that you’ll-”

“Tzuyu,” you say, again, desperate now that you knew what this was, what was happening, even if you wished with every part of your heart that it weren’t so. Time was running out. This world, this vision, this dream, whatever it was - it was falling apart. “Please. Tell me. I need to know.”

“What?” she asks. The floor has begun to fall away, leaving only small patches of unconnected carpet. You’re standing on separate islands now.

“That night. I need to know what you said. What you said before I left. Please.”

She smiles. You would call it sad, her smile, but you knew that no words could possibly capture the depth of the emotion that you saw there. It’s the same one she had that night, when you left her apartment, when she said those words. That face was etched in your memory, engraved on your heart, and here it was again, a painful wound reopened.

“Tzuyu!” you shout, “-please. If… if I’d stayed that night, would we still be together? Would we… please, what did you say?”

Her lips part.

The world shatters. The last of the apartment falls away into nothingness. You’re suddenly falling.

---

You hear a voice, initially dull and far away, but rapidly increasing in volume, as though its source was coming closer and closer to you.

“Baby,” the voice says - female, sweet, but concerned. “Baby, are you okay?”

The words are loud, almost intrusive, and for a moment you want whoever is speaking them to stop, to leave, to let you fall further into the abyss, into a pit of loneliness and regret.

But then you remember who the voice belongs to. The memory brings you back. 

“Hey,” she says, and you feel her hand on your forearm. Her grip is firm, but familiar, as though she were someone you knew.

Your eyes open. The artificial, fluorescent light of the airport is almost painful to your tired, weary eyes. It’s not a dream. It’s reality, and for a few moments, reality hurts, in more ways than just the physical.

“Hey,” she repeats, and you turn to look at her. She seems blurry, her features indistinct.

“Baby,” she says, that word, that name that only she called you. It meant more in that moment than she would ever know, because in that moment it is all you needed to hear - a lifeline that you hold on to and grasp, one that brings you back to the real world. You hold on to it. Her voice is a talisman. A candle in the window, guiding you home.

Her face becomes clear, the blur disappearing and revealing a face you’d come to know, come to love. Her name forms on your lips, and you whisper it like a prayer.

“Kazuha.” 

“I’m right here, baby,” she says, worried. “What’s wrong? You looked like you were having a nightmare.”

Nightmare was one way to put it. You close your eyes, bring your hand to your forehead in an attempt to rub away the small sparks of pain and discomfort lingering behind your eyes as they re-adjust to reality. Beside you, Nakamura Kazuha reaches to stroke the back of your head, worry clear in her soft features.

“I’m okay, Zuha,” you say, even if you didn’t fully believe it yet. You return to using her nickname - you only ever used her full name in serious situations, which likely contributed to her concern. Your eyes find hers and you find comfort there, and strength, and more than a little relief. “I was just… I just had a dream.”

“About what?” she says, genuine concern in her eyes. She turns the blue baseball cap she wore around on her head, allowing you a deeper look at the worry on her delicate features. She looks tired and exhausted from the previous night, but even without an ounce of makeup and with a worried look on her face she’s still beautiful, still radiant amidst the dull grayness of the airport and the travellers within it.

“Nothing,” you say, with a weak smile. “I was… dreaming about the night we met.”

Satisfied that you were okay, Kazuha lets a small scoff escape her lips before they curl into a nostalgic smile. “It was a pretty crazy night,” she responds. “I mean, as far as Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Years parties go.”

“It really was,” you agree, more than she would ever know.

“Who throws a party between Christmas and New Years, anyway?” she continues. “Everyone’s too fat on Christmas food and running on empty social batteries. Those days are for staying at home and living off of chocolate and cheese until the New Year.”

You chuckle. She squeezes your hand in hers. A thoughtful look finds its way onto her face. She hands you one of the two drinks she’d bought from the nearby Starbucks that she’d spent far too long in the lineup for. You take a sip, suddenly realizing how thirsty you were. You would’ve killed for a large bottle of cold water, but you supposed the coffee was good too. All of the drinks from the night before had left you dehydrated - people just wouldn’t stop pushing shots into your hands the whole night. Poor Joey ended up taking a lot of them for you, but such was the duty of the best man, and he took them all like a champ - even if he was likely paying for it now.

“I’m not sure if I ever told you this, but I almost didn’t go to that party,” she continues. “My friend needed someone to go with her, and she dragged me along.”

“Thank god you did,” you say, genuinely.

“Thank god I did,” she repeats, warm smile on her lips. “I wasn’t planning to stay for long. Maybe a drink or two before an Irish goodbye. I was just about to head out when I saw you come back to the party.”

“So you were into me from the start, huh?”

“Maybe,” she admits with a shy smile. “I was going to find you to talk to you more after your friend introduced us, but you disappeared for a bit. Good thing you came back, or who knows where you’d be right now?”

You smile. Behind your eyes, in a place she can’t see, tears form.

“We were meant to be,” you say, voice shakier than you’d anticipated.

“Meant to be,” she repeats, softly. 

The smile on her lips warms your heart, chases away the cold. Your hand finds hers. Your fingers intertwine. 

Your thumb brushes over the wedding band on her ring finger.

An announcement goes out over the airport’s PA system. Kazuha gives your hand another squeeze before rising to her feet, pulling you along with her.

“That’s us,” she says, suddenly joyful. There is a happiness in her eyes and in the smile on her lips that you want to keep forever, want to make into a patch to place over the scars the past has left on your heart. “Come on, baby. Let’s go rock this honeymoon. Maybe we can discuss consummating this marriage while we’re on the plane, because I’m not sure if I can wait until we get to the hotel room,” she adds, with a playful wink.

You smile - she always knew how to make you smile. In that moment you appreciate her, love her more than she will ever know. Your lip quivers with emotion as you look at her. She pulls you to your feet and toward the growing lineup by the airport gate.

You glance one last time at the coffee lineup - the last place you would ever see her. You learned later from a mutual friend that she’d married someone she worked with, and moved overseas. You’d never see her again.

Kazuha follows your gaze. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “See someone you know?”

You take a moment to think, to feel. You feel it all - the past, heavy and difficult with emotion about a path never taken, words never heard. It hits all at once, the events of a night years in the past, a night you’d thought you’d moved beyond and left behind. You see the dream now for what it is - that small part of your soul that asks, might always ask, what might have been.

You take a deep breath, letting the thoughts and emotions of that night swirl one last time around you. 

And then you leave it there, in the past, where it belongs.

“No,” you answer, the word filled with a conviction that you didn’t know you possessed until that moment. You look down at your new wife, and find the future in her eyes. “Only you, Kazuha.”

She smiles at you, and it burns away the last of the lingering pain and sadness. It melts from your heart like winter snow before a new spring morning, leaving only the warmth of your love for her. She’s all that matters now, all that ever will.

Some hours later, you join her on a beach, her hand in yours, the sand between your toes and the sea breeze light in your hair.

The day is warm.

---

Author’s Note: Love lost was still love.

[nsfwrpg]

ANIMALS ft. Natty

natty x male reader smut

10k words

“All I’m saying is,” Natty starts, like she always does, with more unsolicited advice than you can handle at 2 AM, "for someone that complains so much about not having a sex life, you really don’t do much to fix it."

“And what, oh wise friend of mine, is your recommendation.”

“I don’t know. Get a haircut. Dress better. Try not being a massive pussy?” Natty shrugs. Or at least you think she does. Only so much you can tell over the phone.

You sigh. Bite back the urge to tell her to fuck off. But then, who else would talk you to sleep at this ungodly hour? So instead, you concede the point. “Noted.”

“Or, you know, if it’ll stop you from being such a little bitch,” and now she’s laughing, cackling really, and not once has that ever, ever meant anything good. "You could always just fuck me."

—

Two weeks and twelve hours post-Natty’s incredibly unhelpful suggestion that did absolutely nothing to alleviate you of your insomnia, and you’re back on the phone with her.

Only this time, there's video.

So, yay.

"Help me, please."

It’s a Friday and Natty's begging, again.

Because she knows she can count on you, knows that you’ve long since resigned yourself to your fate as Natty’s on-call ‘fixer’. There for everything from life-changing career decisions to helping her figure out what show to stream next.

And now, apparently, choosing her outfit for tonight.

“Help me, help me, help me, help me.”

God, this woman and her begging. Knowing full well that it’s your kryptonite.

"Okay, okay, okay," you're relenting, much earlier than usual. Mostly because as far as Natty’s petulant requests usually go this one’s a walk in the park. “But don’t you have people for this sort of thing? People who don’t, and I quote, ‘have a dogshit taste in style?’”

“It is dogshit!” Natty calls out, already turned around and leaving you (her phone) on the vanity, facing out to her bedroom and all its hideous pinkness. She disappears from the screen, diving deep into her closet for yet another pair of shorts that will most certainly hug way too close, or a top that dips way too low, or a pair of heels that scream—'hey, I have legs, would you like to spread them?' "But!"

Natty returns to the camera with a leather belt—oh no, that's a leather skirt—in hand; clad in nothing but a casual cotton bra/underwear combination that she’s filling out far too well for your sleep-deprived brain to handle.

She holds up the skirt against her waist for your consideration. Poses. It wouldn't cover a thing. Or maybe that's the point—again, you don't have any fashion sense, whatsoever.

“You’re a man, and I need a man’s opinion because I’m hoping to take one home tonight to fuck my brains out until I forget about this shit-storm of a week. So, you know—help a girl out?”

“As always, you have quite a way with words.”

Natty leans towards the camera, bending down to stare right at you. It makes entirely too much sense that she’s built an entire career around doing just this.

“It’s my third language, asshole.”

The insult lands softer than she likely intended, considering well, you’re a little too distracted to take it. It’s entirely her fault. The angle makes her tits look far too immaculate to pay any attention to her mouth.

Maybe she should consider going out just like this?

Yeah, that’d definitely get her fucked.

But, she frowns before you can make the suggestion, turning on her heels and sashaying back to her closet, leaving you to choke on air at the sight of her ass stretching out her favourite pair of panties. (The white pair with the pretty-pink bows. The one that rides up her ass when she stretches, bends, sneezes—basically any time she’s not standing perfectly still. And even then.)

Anyone else and this whole thing would be weird. Well, weirder than it already is.

See, you and Natty have this thing; this odd, cat and dog relationship that’s been going on since what feels like the dawn of time:

You’ve watched her shamelessly cycle through men faster than a teenager through a box of tissues, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken cocks in her wake.

While she’s been forced to witness every time you’ve met ‘the one’, only to be there months later to help pick up the pieces when you’re burying your feelings in video games and alcohol and porn, wondering how it all went so wrong.

All this to say that seeing Natty bouncing around in her underwear with that laser-beam of a smile of hers; with all of her soft curves, thick thighs, her ridiculous ass and again, those immaculate fucking tits isn't that unusual.

In fact, it doesn't really do anything for you at all.

(Fucking liar.)

“Here, how about this.” Natty appears from the corner of the screen, having found a top that’s somehow made of even less material than the bra she’s already got on. The gall of her to ask, "Too much or not enough?"

You deadpan. “Does it come in adult sizes too?”

Natty grins, because she can read it right on your stupid face. She looks so, unbearably hot. Without even trying that hard. This bitch. “So just right, then.”

And then she twirls, leaving you to face her back, and before you even have time to blink, Natty’s bra has fallen down her shoulders; and you’re hating how you lean in to look because this damn app has no zoom feature to save your sorry eyesight.

Her fucking tits. Perfect, bouncy. Even through the pixels, even from behind, you can still see the way they spill.

She slips on her chosen top for the evening—a tiny, strappy number—and spins back around to face you in all her Natty glory. By the skin of your teeth, you’re looking away and leaning back, feigning nonchalance and leaving her none the wiser.

You think.

“You know,” Natty says, tilting to one side, hand on hip. Fuck, even that slightest movement makes them bounce. Utterly, utterly obscene. “You should just come tonight.”

You’re saying, “Fuck no,” before she’s even finished her sentence. ‘Coming tonight’ means ‘clubbing’, and ‘clubbing’ means being stuck listening to the shittiest music, surrounded by the worst people in all of Korea, drinking overpriced slop and watching Natty turn down a revolving door of douchebags on the dancefloor.

So, yeah.

If ‘fuck no’s’ were bricks, you’d be building the Great Wall of ‘Fuck No’, big enough for aliens on the other side of the galaxy to see with a fucking telescope and have their first contact with the human race be a giant ‘Fuck No’.

And that’s your polite way of turning her down.

Yet somehow, Natty’s hardly deterred.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Natty sing-songs, shuffling on her tiptoes, shifting her weight from foot to foot, making her entire body jiggle. It’s like she’s intentionally trying to sell you on the idea with every little movement. Make you believe that if you came with her, you’d be able to find someone who comes close to looking half as good as she does in that… whatever-the-fuck that is. Bralette? Crop top? Whatever. Fat chance. "Come on, come, come, come. Be my wingman please!"

You already have your second ‘fuck no’ queued up, but Natty just won’t stop fucking talking.

“Don’t you want to get laid? Don’t you think you need to have fun after what’s-her-name?” Natty continues, pouting at you through the screen.

And there it is, a study in how Natty usually gets her way—jutting out her bottom lip, digging her thumb into the waistband of her panties to expose just a smidge more skin, leaning just right to make her tits look like they’re about to pop out. It’s like she’s got a fucking manual.  

“Don’t tell me you’d rather stay at home with Handalf the Grey than come out with me and all my hot friends?”

“You mean having to clean up after all your ‘hot friends’ and their bullshit while you run off to score free drinks?” You retort, recalling all the other times when she managed to entice you out of your self-imposed isolation and into the deafening, sweaty hellhole known as a nightclub.

“Said hot friends that you’re too much of a pussy to hit on, mind you,” Natty chides, and then oh-so-casually decides to drop this nugget: "They all like you, you know, they'd be more than happy to break this dry spell of yours if you just asked. Don’t act like I haven’t seen the way you look at Julie."

You can feel your cheeks reddening. You’re not a teenager. You shouldn’t blush at this shit. But here you are, falling for Natty’s words and their magical abilities to needle at your insecurities and fill your head with thoughts of her friends and all their... well, incredibly positive attributes.

Natty pounces on your lapse in composure and gets closer to the camera, crouches. Drops down so she’s on her heels and all you can see in that tiny window of your phone is the red of her plush, plump lips.

“Come, you pussy—”

“Natty—”

“Do it pussy—”

“Natty, if you think that’s going to work—”

“Pussy, pussy, pussy—”

You’re yelling down the phone: “Fuck, fine!”

Natty’s victory dance is already in full swing before the words have even left your mouth. Bouncing around her room in pure joy at once again having ruined your evening. Dancing in that barely-there outfit, treating you to entirely sinful ripples across her curves and dips, pure sex on a pair of toned legs. Really makes you wonder how the fuck is she not illegal in at least fifty different countries.  

You hide your face in your hands, because there it is, the reason you’ve never really been able to deny her:

Her laughter, her energy, her fucking shameless glee whenever she manages to get her way (which, if you’re keeping count, is every single time).

She’s just so frustratingly adorable.

Somewhere in her celebrations, Natty finds exactly what she was looking for. Reaches down to the floor, picking up a belt—no, that’s another skirt—this one even tinier than the first.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she preens, holding it out to the camera (to you), before stepping right into it. She spins around, making it dance around her hips. It does wonders for her thighs. "How do I look?”

You swallow. “Like you’re going to get fucked tonight.”

The glint in Natty’s eyes. Like you’ve just served up the finest compliment on a silver platter. You feel sorry for whatever poor soul crosses her path tonight.

Natty winks. “Here’s to hoping.”

—

Guess what?

Turns out you were right: this is the worst place in the world.

Only, you’re the sole person here that seems to think that.

Hours have passed since you helped Natty look perfectly fuckable and you’re at the bar, trying and failing to get the attention of the bartender. Unfortunately, he, like every other male with a beating heart and a boner seems far more interested in Natty’s little dance routine than his thirsty clientele.

You can’t blame him, really. It’s built in how she moves.

Strobe lights cutting through the air like knives, slicing her into this series of absolutely pornographic snapshots as she dances. And she’s not alone, she has friends—beautiful, all of them, in their own ways. They spin and twirl around her; but Natty’s the sun here, the star that everything orbits.

(You included).

You see it play out—the Natty effect. Men, even women alike gravitate to her, drawn by that magnetic force that is Natty at her very best. Trying to get a dance, maybe whisper a line they stole from some movie in her ear, even dare to reach out to touch or press themselves up against her.

But she’s a black hole, a dark star. Can’t get too close.

One by one, they’re swallowed up by the void of Natty’s disinterest. The shoulders slump, the smiles falter, and the hope in their eyes dies as Natty, with a simple flick of her wrist sends them stumbling back into the crowd, forgotten almost immediately.

And the whole time she’s doing this, she’s got you in her line of sight. A wink here, a smile there, a dance on its own; and all you can do is nod and pretend like you’re okay with all this.

You inhale. Deeply.

Her outfit looks even tinier in person.

You turn away for just a moment, shaking off thoughts of Natty, of her hips and their sway and her winks and her smile; attempting (and failing) to flag down the bartender once more.

This fucking night.

But, when you look back, Natty’s no longer on the dancefloor.

She’s standing next to you. Arms looping around your neck.

“Natty—”

But she’s not listening. Her eyes are darting around the room, searching for something—or someone—that you can’t see. Your stomach clenches, because that look on Natty’s face? That’s not her usual I’m-about-to-make-some-poor-soul-my-bitch look. That’s something else entirely. That’s fear.

“Shut up, I need a favour,” she’s in your ear, yelling over the thrum of the bass that’s rattling your ribcage.

You lean in, bend down to meet her, because, frankly, you’re worried. You’ve never seen Natty like this, wide eyed and shaky. Never seen her be anything but comfortable.

You’ve also never been this close to her. Felt her breath hot against your neck, felt her body press up against you, felt her softness, felt her—

Fuck, you should be asking her what’s wrong, but before you can even do that, the bartender's filling two shot glasses and sliding them over to Natty.

She takes one. You take the other. It tastes lethal.

Natty’s nails dig into the back of your neck, and she looks at you, intense. Words fast and frantic. “Just pretend we’re together, okay? For a bit. Until I can figure this out. Just—just keep playing along, yeah?”

You blink. The room blurs around you. You think you might’ve misheard. “What?”

“Be my boyfriend,” she says, taking a second shot before you can even digest the first. “I need you. There’s some creep and I need you. Now, please?”

You turn immediately, scanning the floor, but the lights and shadows make it near impossible to make out anything other than vague shapes and strobes of colour, let alone pinpoint a face. "Natty, where is he, I can—"

"No, no, no," she cuts you off with a shake of her head. “Focus on me.”

“Wait, why do I have to—”

“Oh, shit there he is—”

And then she’s kissing you.

Ending whatever argument you may have had, because she’s grabbing, pulling you in, and her lips are on yours and oh fuck, she’s really, really kissing you.

It’s a slap to the face, and you need to reel in from the sting. Because you’re already forgetting what you’re doing, forgetting how your limbs work, because Natty’s putting on the performance of a lifetime and you’re having trouble keeping up.

Her hands are in your hair, yours at the small of her back, and she’s pulling you close, squishing against you and the taste of her—sweet like candy and sharp like vodka—filling you all the way up.

Your tongue catches up, flicking against hers, licking inside of her mouth and she’s even convincing you—as if she’s the one that’s always been into the love at first sight bullshit and you’re the non-believer.

And it’s a problem, how right this feels. Because this isn’t what friends do—definitely not Natty and you. But still, you can feel her tension, her need for this to be believable; and you don’t dare to fuck it all up.

So you kiss her back, because that’s what you do for Natty.

You always do what she needs.

You’re about to pull away; this should be enough to have every single person here convinced that you’re hers and she’s yours. But Natty’s already sliding her tongue back in your mouth, pleading, “Keep going,” the moment a gap opens between your lips; and you’re diving back into the kiss without a second thought.

And then you hear it.

A flash of a camera.

A cheer.

A whistle.

Julie, Haneul, Belle—Natty’s friends, staring at you like proud fairy godmothers witnessing their own magic at work.

You break the kiss. You look down at Natty.

She giggles.

You feel like a fucking idiot.

"There is no creep, is there?"

Natty shrugs, looks up at you, and she actually looks—what is this? Shy? Embarrassed?

"There could’ve been," she says, her eyes wide and innocent, a mask. You see through her like you should have when she first wrapped her arms around your neck.  Oh sure, like she’s ever been innocent for a second in her entire life.

She’s far too smug for that.

You roll your eyes. You feel like every other idiot that’s ever fallen for a bat of her lashes and a peek at her tits. Hope is a hell of a drug, especially when Natty’s the dealer. And yet, despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirks up. "You're fucking insane."

“Maybe.” There’s a long pause. She’s staring at your mouth. She presses a finger to your sternum. “But I had to do something.”

It takes a second. What?

What does that mean?

You stare at Natty, lick your lips. Her taste still lingers.

“Ask yourself the same question I’ve been asking myself for months now,” she says, louder this time, her voice cutting through the noise of the club and hitting your ears with a sobering clarity.

You know what she’s going to say—what she’s going to ask before she’s even opened her mouth. You’ve been asking yourself the same thing too.

So, swallow hard, try to ignore the way Natty’s friends have gone quiet. Try to ignore Natty’s hand still resting against your chest, her eyes burning a hole right through you.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

The blood’s rushing to your cheeks; the music's too loud, the lights too bright, and the room's suddenly spinning around you like a carousel.

Fucking embarrassing.

But Natty doesn’t crack a smile. She just looks up at you. Hopeful. Searching you, searching your eyes for an actual answer; and you already know what it is.

“Because, Natty, we’re friends.” You offer up a weak smile, hoping against hope that she’ll buy it.

But she shakes her head. “Oh, please. Like that’s ever stopped anyone before. Besides, if you want to put a label on it, call it whatever the fuck you want. I just know what I need. Do you?”

You sigh. She gets closer. And closer.

Until your nose is brushing hers. Until her breath is hot on your face, until your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your ears. Until her hand is sliding down, down, down, until it’s resting over your pants and oh, oh no, you’re straining.

You gasp. She smirks.

“See? You want it too. And I know you do, because, sweetie, your cock’s practically begging me to pull it out and shove it between my tits right here in front of everyone.”

She just throws it out there, so casually, so bluntly, she might as well be talking about the weather. And maybe, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Natty being Natty, but fuck you can’t do anything but stay frozen still.

You’re letting her hand linger. You’re letting her touch you like she’s got every right in the world. You’re letting her because there’s a part of you—the part that’s growing by the second—that wants to see just how far she’ll take this.

“So, what is the real reason, ba-by?”

Because you’re in love with her. You’re in love with her, and you can’t just have casual sex with someone you’re in love with because it will ruin you.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you just tell her: “Timing.”

That makes her laugh. Has her closing what little gap remained between your bodies, until her tits are flush against your chest, and you’re coming to the conclusion that, yes, you did help her pick out the perfect outfit for tonight.

Perfectly, hopelessly, fuckable.

“Well,” she says, and she’s pulling you back down again and shutting you up with yet another kiss. “We’ve got all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

—

You’ve been here before.

Many, many times before.

You installed the showerhead and fixed all the cabinets yourself. Even secured the lock that you’re now unlocking with the digits that you coded.

But somehow, it feels like a first.

First time you’ve kissed her in the back of a car, pushed your hand up her skirt, felt the heat of her against your fingertips. First time you’ve pinned her against the wall of an elevator, made her feel just how desperate you were for her against her thigh, made her promise to be so good for you when you got to her door.

First time being pulled through the threshold, hands at your chest, tearing your shirt off you before you’ve even stepped foot in her apartment. Had her smiling against your mouth, because she’s won, again, and you can’t even bother to argue because you’ve lost to her so many times now that this shouldn’t be so surprising.

What is surprising though is how you’re naked first.

"Terrible, terrible taste." Natty's clicking her tongue as your shoes, your shirt, your pants are scattered along the floor behind you. “We’ll have to fix that.”

And then she’s moving on, hands clawing down your stomach to land at the waistband of your underwear, hooking her thumbs in and yanking down. You’re so obviously hard—you’ve barely made any effort to hide it from her—fuck, you pretty much flagged down the taxi with it.

"Holy fuck," is the first thing out of Natty's mouth when she takes a hold of you, feeling the naked weight of you in her palm. "You’re really not messing around, are you? I was expecting—"

"A sad, lonely little thing," you finish for her, because you've heard it before. "Yeah, you like to mention it a lot."

But Natty’s not laughing now.

She’s just staring. Almost reverently. She decides, her voice a little raspy, tinted with an apprehension that you never knew she was capable of mustering, "I like it. It's... massive."

You lean in, pressing your mouth against hers because if she’s going to say that, you’re going to kiss her, again and again, and there’s a strong possibility you're never going to stop.

She whimpers, gasps into your mouth, says your name for the first time—not some nickname, not a jab or an insult. Just your name, in your ears, like it’s something sacred.

You’re not a saint. You can’t ignore that.

Your cock jumps in her hand, and as if on instinct, she strokes you.

It's slow, purposeful. She's too good at this. Knows the right pressure, where to twist and wind her wrist. How to sweep her thumb over the tip, smear pre-cum over your skin, and this entire time she's staring down at your cock like she's discovered something new.

“This is going to ruin me, isn't it?” she whispers, and you nod, because your voice is lodged in your throat and she’s stealing the air from your lungs. “Going to fit so fucking nicely inside me. Fuck it’s going to stretch me.”

You groan, collapse your weight into Natty, press your lips against the column of her throat.

Both hands now, one underneath, toying with your balls, balancing them in her fingers, and the other doing its best to squeeze, to pump, to make you fall for her with every stroke.

“I can’t wait to ride this,” Natty kisses these words into your cheek, your jaw, leaves these marks all over your collarbone. “I wonder if I can fit it down my throat. God, can you imagine what it’ll look like between my tits?”

And that makes your cock throb.

Because face it, Natty has always had a way of getting into your head; is far too dangerous with her words, and she’s all too willing to abuse this power she has over you to get you do what she wants, which is now, apparently, fucking her senseless.

You let her, let her build and build this pressure, let it coil inside you, tighter and tighter. Until the need to feel her, all of her, is too much to handle.

Until you grab her, take her by the shoulders, push her—not hard, but firmly—against the nearest wall.

You’re not gentle about it, because Natty doesn’t want gentle. She wants rough, she wants passionate, she wants to be fucked and have her cunt worshipped by way of complete ruin.

She’s told you as much.

"That's more like it," Natty bites into your ear, grips your shoulders. She follows your eyes. "Let me guess, my tits?"

So, maybe she has caught you looking once or twice. Either way, you don’t care much for her top anymore, it’s served its purpose. You take a fistful of it and pull, ripping it right off her and tossing it to the floor with everything else that’s kept the two of you from tearing each other apart.

“Better?” Natty poses for you, puts her tits on display—and yeah, you were right all along. Fucking immaculate.

You take a hold of one, palm it; fill your hand with flesh, twinge those dark, plump nipples, because of course you’re going to. You’re going to pinch and squeeze and suck on them. You’re going to mark her like she’s already done to you. Mark them, with your teeth, with your tongue. Fuck, you’re going to make them yours.

But for now, you're just going to slap them, because you want to watch them jiggle up close.

You laugh. Natty does too.

"Much better."

And with that, you’re back on her. Kisses that are sloppy, wet, and filled with all the pent-up want that's been simmering for months. You don’t even know where to begin with Natty, but you start with her mouth. It’s a good place. It’s always a good place with Natty.

Her hand doesn’t stop moving, can’t, won’t. The friction is heaven; you just let her touch you, fuck her hand while you indulge in her tits. Get to know the weight of them, the balance, the softness.

A sigh into your ear as your tongue finally finds her breasts, deep and messy, sliding over her nipple—she’s already so sensitive, just a flick and she’s gasping. You’re not even trying to be precise anymore, not that Natty needs it, not that she needs anything but for you to enjoy yourself against her.

It all makes the room seem smaller, the walls close, surrounding you with the scent—cinnamon and sweat and something else that’s just her.

“See this is why fucking me is such a great idea,” she slurs against your shoulder, hand tightening, stroking you harder, faster.

You mumble an affirmative into her breast. It’s a miracle you can still stand upright.

“Isn’t this so much better than like everything else? Anyone else?” She sighs, breathy, sweet sounds, as she takes you by the wrist, guides your hand southwards.

Fingertips graze her stomach, trace around her belly button and lower; until you’re digging into her skirt and feeling the heat rise off her skin. She’s soaked right through her panties, dripping with it. Another place for your tongue to land.

“We can just be fucking honest with each other,” Natty’s explaining, eyes tearing when your finger pads her clit, pressing down just right. “You already told me all the things you hate. All the things your bitch exes never let you do.” And she smiles, wicked. “Never had the tits to give you.”

Christ.

“And I can get you to fuck me exactly how I want with this big, fucking cock,” Natty finishes. "We’re a perfect fucking match."

It’s at that moment you find the zipper of her skirt, tugging it down, watching it fall to the feet. Leaving Natty to step out of the tiny scrap of fabric she calls her panties; abandoning the sticky mess of cotton.

You take a step back, unlatch your lips from her tits, because you need to see it. Need to finally see her, see your Natty, see the Natty you've never allowed yourself to look at.

So, take your time, drink her in—because the way she’s standing there, the way she’s touching herself now; biting her lip, sighing your name. All but saying, ‘Look all you want, but don’t you dare look away’.

Look at the arch of her neck, the red you’ve left there, that trail you’ve burned down to her tits. Bruised and swollen from your tongue, your kisses, and yet still not marked enough. Follow the curve of her hips; how they flare out from her waist, the plush squish of her ass cheeks against the wall behind her.

You want to kiss her, from the tips of her toes to the top of head; all of her, every part of her, because now she’s going to finally let you.

Because now you're going to fuck her until all she knows is you, going to make her scream your name, going to make her beg for you to fill her with your cock and cum and never ever leave her cunt empty again.

That’s the plan, anyway.

But Natty’s got plans of her own.

“Didn’t you say,” Natty begins, sighing, circling her cunt in a rhythm that you’re dying to recreate. She licks her lips. “That your last ex refused to suck that lovely, magnificent cock of yours?

"Yeah," you stammer, at a loss for breath at just the sight of it all. “And weren’t you trying to find someone to fuck your brains out?”

Natty’s eyes light up; and there's that easy, charming grin that knocks you right off your feet. "You’ve always been such a good listener."

—

Natty's plotting to ruin you.

It's the only possible explanation for the way she's looking at you right now—on her knees, at the foot of her bed, flanked by walls painted an ugly shade of pastel pink and Natty's tits, sandwiching your cock.

You’d imagined it, thought about it when you shouldn’t have been thinking about it. Whenever she brought you to watch her perform, whenever she sent you pictures of her outfit of the day. But your eyes always went there. Straight to Natty’s tits, every time.

You knew they were big.

You’ve felt them, on accident (though they don’t seem like accidents anymore).

But now, to have them enveloping your cock, drowning your shaft in their softness, and to have her, staring at your face with so much fucking excitement as she gives you everything you’ve ever wanted—it’s surreal.

You’re dying to paint them white.

“Looks like you’re already about to fall apart, baby,” she teases, and it’s even worse now that she’s calling you these sweet names, saying them like she’s always wanted to, like she’s finally letting herself. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Fuck, Natty—” you breathe out, your hands finding her hair, tightening, because that’s all you can manage to do when Natty’s in control. Like she’s always been.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, keeping her eyes on you, making sure you’re watching, even as her tongue flicks out to taste you. A slow, taunting lick to make you buck your hips, desperate to feel the suction of her lips. “You must have been dreaming about this, huh?”

You don’t bother lying. She already knows the answer. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Natty’s smile spreads across her face, and she rewards you with a kiss, pressing her lips down onto the head of your cock; before sliding them lower, eyes fluttering shut with the first taste of you. “Well, what took you so long? All you needed to do was show me your cock and I’d have been happy to do it whenever you want me to. Happy for you to use my tits as your cum rag. You know that, right?”

She moves; and the sight of it alone—Natty’s tits wrapped around your cock, bobbing up and down, hypnotising you with the flicker of her nipples—up and down, up and down. It’s merciless, unrelenting, and she keeps talking, keeps kissing these sweet little words into your cock that makes your hips jerk, trying to fuck her tits faster, harder.

"Look at how perfect you look," Natty keeps going, "how your cock fits so snug."

The sounds she’s tearing from your throat as her tits take you, and she’s barely even started.

“But we can do better, can’t we?”

Her pace picks up, and with it, the tightness of your grip on her hair. She’s pushing the ample mounds together, squeezing, putting her whole body into it, into this new art she’s pioneering. Driving you insane with just her breasts, making you swell between them, throbbing as she works you over.

“So big," she’s panting from just the effort, the bounce, bounce, bounce of it all, "I can feel you getting so much bigger."

Everything’s going too fast, her tits are too soft, her lips on you too hot, and she’s drooling, her spit dripping down onto your cock. You want to tell her to stop, that you can’t take it, but Natty just keeps going.

"Fuck,” Natty mewls, pinching her own nipples, for you, for her. Pinching and rolling them, making them nice and stiff and swollen. “Let me just try and—”

She cranes her head, bends; takes your cock deeper into the warm, wet heat of her mouth. Her tongue darts out licks your cock, gets that sweet spot on the underside, makes you shake underneath her.

Natty holds you there, even as you groan, even as your hips rise; just licks, spits, sucks. Her mouth moving up and down on you, making a mess down your shaft, down her tits. Taking you deeper, deeper, until you’re fucking her face.

She moans around you as your hips buck and you push deep, desperate for it. Her eyes water, her cheeks hollow, and she’s got you. You’re in her mouth and she’s loving it. Loving the power she has over you, loving giving you what she wants, loving how you’re pulling her by the hair, desperate to feed her more of your cock into her throat.

Like your entire relationship has been building up to this moment—to Natty’s tits wrapped around you, her mouth all over you, her eyes on yours, watching as you fuck her face.

"Fuck, Natty," you grunt, your voice barely recognisable. "What the fuck—"

But Natty's just smiling, you’re fucking that smug little smile on her lips, and she’s taunting you. "Come on baby, keep going, keep going."

It’s utterly obscene—the smack of her lips around your cock, her slobbering all over you, her gagging, her moaning around you, looking up at you and asking, “Is that all you’ve got?”

You're so close, so fucking close, and she knows it. Moving her tits faster, faster, and you're about to blow your load all over Natty's pretty face, her chest.

But she keeps talking.

Even as you stuff her cheeks, even as you muffle her, “None of those other skinny bitches could do this, could they, could handle this big, fat cock?”

Even as you force her down, pull her by the hair, “You’ve been so obsessed with my body, so obsessed with my tits, haven’t you?”

Even as her tits slide off you and your cock smacks her across her cheek, “I always saw the way you looked at them, fuck I was showing them off for you, you just took too fucking long to notice.”

She won't stop fucking talking.

You finally snap. "God, are you ever going to stop?"

But Natty just laughs, bats her lashes. Slides her tongue from your base to your tip. "Maybe you should find something to gag me with."

Your hand wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes go wide, to make her mouth pop open. She rolls out her tongue for you, and you know what she expects you to do, what she expects you to fill her mouth with.

But you don’t—instead, you fill it with your kiss.

It's deep, it’s bruising, it’s saying ‘fuck you’ in the sweetest way possible, without uttering a single syllable. Natty laughs against your mouth, a ‘fuck you’ right back with her teeth, biting down on your lower lip. Not breaking skin—not yet—but the promise is there.

Her hand leaves your cock to wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to her, her mouth eager for yours, and you don’t even think twice before you hoist her up, her legs wrapping around your waist. Giggling again—another sound that’s going to be your undoing—before you’re both stumbling back onto her bed.

The mattress dips under the weight of your bodies falling back into it. Natty straddles you, presses her cunt down onto your thighs. So wet you can feel it on your thigh, leaving your skin sticky and stained with her. Your hands move to her hips, dragging her closer, so you can feel the friction grinding against your cock, making you ache.

She breaks your kiss, gasping for air. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide—seeing her pant like this, it’s not even fair. She’s just so fucking beautiful, like a painting you’re afraid to touch because you might smudge it.

You tell her as much.

She blinks. Blushes.

Grins.

“You,” Natty breathes, her hand trailing down your chest, finding your heartbeat, resting there for a beat, two, “are so fucking in love with me.”

You don’t argue because she’s right.

Her hand slides up your arms, nails dig in and she’s got your wrists, pinning them over your head. You let her. Let her grind herself against your cock, feel the warm, wet heat of her cunt against the tip.

She takes her sweet time, melting herself into you, pressing her tits into your chest, and you can feel her heart racing against yours.

She whispers, “God, I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, so you just grunt.

“I’ve dreamt about this so much,” she continues, breathless words sending shivers down your spine. “Your cock, fuck, it’s just as perfect as I imagined. And now, it’s all mine.”

And then she does it—she sinks down onto you, slow and sweet, her pussy taking you in inch by glorious inch. You groan into her shoulder, your eyes shut as Natty’s tight heat surrounds you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before; sure there’s been others but something about Natty’s cunt is so intense it’s almost painful.

“So tight,” you grit out, the words torn from your chest like they’re made of glass. She just laughs, low, sultry, and starts to move.

It’s a dance, a rhythm that’s been building between the two of you for what feels like an eternity. She’s rocking her hips back and forth in this torturous grind. Fucking you like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do, like she needs to make the most of it. Like you’re going to vanish into thin air the second she lets you go.

“I knew you’d feel this good,” Natty sighs into your neck, already surrendering to your cock. “Fuck, I knew it—why did you keep this from me?”

You can’t answer, not really.

You’re too lost in the feel of her, too consumed by the way she’s moving on top of you. Every inch of her body is pressed against yours, and she’s so warm, so alive, that you can’t think of anything but how Natty’s finally letting you in. How she’s letting you make her whole.

But it’s too much. Natty’s cunt, tight and wet, fucking you so slow it’s a fucking crime. Pinning you down, a butterfly on a board spread out, displayed, unable to do anything but take her sweet, sweet punishment. And she’s whispering it in your ear, grinding down, rolling her hips, “Fuck you. Fuck you for keeping this from me,” with every stroke.

She’s doing it on purpose, you’re sure of it. Driving you crazy, making you beg, making you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. Your hips jerk up to meet her, trying to speed things up, to get that friction you need, but Natty just pushes down on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

So you tell her, "This is fucking torture."

Natty just smirks, her hips never stilling. "Is it?" she asks, as if this all isn’t intentional. Like she doesn’t have some grand plan to ensure you never forget the things her cunt can do to you. "Do something about it then."

So, you do.

It takes more effort than you’ll ever admit, but you break her grip on your wrists, grab her hips, and flip her over, sending her sprawling onto the bed, face down.

The squeal from her. It’s music.

How her eyes go wide when you treat her like a ragdoll, how her tits juggle and bounce, smacking the mattress. And when you push down into her, slamming your hips into her ass, how she arches back into you, her back bowing like a fucking violin.

“Yes!” She cries, fucking cheers into the mattress, like she’s been waiting for this—for you to have had enough of her shit and take her without asking. “Yes, yes, yes—”

You hover over her, throb inside her. "Is this what you fucking wanted?"

Natty sighs into the bedsheets, urging her hips against you, begging without words, begging for you to do more.

“You want it rough, baby?”

“Yeah,” Natty says, pushing back against you again, nodding immediately. “If you can.”

Still with the provocations, unable to resist pressing at your buttons.

You grab her hair, yank it back so she’s staring at you, force her to look at you. And you fuck her hard. Fuck her like you’ve wanted to since the first time she walked into your life and decided to make it all about her.

You fill her with deep, long strokes, fill the room with the smacks of your hips colliding against her, of your cock thrusting into her cunt again and again.

She claws at the sheets, trying to find purchase, trying to push back against you. But you’re too strong, too desperate.

You pound into her, impale her with your cock, watch her face twist in pleasure, in pain. You’re fucking her like you’re trying to break her, like she asked. Trying to solve her—how hard can she take it, how deep, how fast.

But Natty won’t give you an answer, she just takes it all—every inch, ever pump into her sopping wet cunt. Just grins and takes every bit of your need, your frustration. A bottomless pit of pleasure, begging for more with every whine, every little noise she makes that’s not quite a scream but is so close that it rattles your brain.

And when you finally let go of her hair, Natty’s licking her lips, and without even a care for what it does to you, she coaxes, “You can do better.”

You don’t know how she can talk right now, how she can even think with your cock so deep inside her, but something about the way she says it makes you want to test the limits of her ability to stay coherent.

But first, there’s the problem of her ass.

“Let’s see about that,” you murmur, dragging your hand down her spine, feeling the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, and coming to a stop at her perfectly rounded ass. It’s a masterpiece, a work of art, and you’ve always had a bit of an artist’s soul.

You do what comes naturally.

A spank against Natty’s ass. Hard, hard enough to make her yelp.

Again—another slap, another yelp, louder, better.

You keep fucking her, keep spanking her, keep watching red bloom across her cheeks and Natty squirm underneath you. The whines get louder, her cunt gets wetter, but it’s still not enough to dull that smug look on her face.

“Fuck yes,” Natty gasps, raises her ass, presenting it to you like a trophy for you to claim. “I always knew you had it in you.”

You grab her hips harder, your knuckles white, your hand a blur as it connects with her ass. It’s so explicit, the sound of it in the quiet of Natty’s apartment—each spank echoing through the room like a gunshot.

But Natty just takes it, her body jolting with each hit, her cunt tensing and tightening around you.

“God, don’t fucking stop,” Natty sputters, tears of pained pleasure leaking from the corners of her eyes. “You’re using me so good.”

You lean down, kissing hard against her neck, branding her shoulder. You want her to feel you, to remember you. To not be able to ever feel remotely good again without first thinking of you.

"It's your fucking fault, Natty," you growl into her ear. "You drive me mad."

And she laughs, the sound vibrating through her body and going straight to your cock. "Good," she answers, "Good. Be mad. Be angry."

But you’re beyond that now, beyond the point of no return. All that you know is Natty’s cunt, Natty’s ass, Natty’s moans, and Natty’s grin that you’re aching to wipe off her face.

"Fucking hate me if you want," she’s saying, and she can’t seem to stop, "just don’t stop fucking—ah!”

You nearly stop when you realise you’ve finally done it. Finally left Natty out of breath, lost for words. A fucking miracle, really—the kind that makes you feel like a fucking god.

It doesn’t stop her cunt clenching around you, tight as a vice, because even now, Natty’s got some kind of death grip pussy, and she’s using it to fucking kill you.

You whisper in her ear, “You like that?”

Her only response is a breathy, needy little whine, so you spank her again.

And again.

Her cunt tightens. She’s close, so close. You can feel it.

“You like it when I use you, Natty?”

She nods, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth crying into the mattress, a mess of hair and sweat and utter bliss.

“Say it,” you demand, slapping her ass once more, watching as the pain ripples through her. “Say it.”

And Natty does, because she’s a good little whore, because she’s yours now. “Yes, yes, I like it when you use me, when you fuck me like this, when it’s only about you, your cock, your needs, your pleasure—”

God, it feels good to hear her say it, but you still want more than just words. You want her to fucking scream it.

You make the bed shake, knock the headboard against her wall, it’s a competition of what’s going to break first—the frame or her.

“This cunt. Your cunt. I’m going to use it. Fuck it whenever I want.”

But Natty catches you off guard, because that’s what Natty does best. She opens her eyes, looks right into yours, and suddenly she has her voice again: “Whenever I want. You’re going to fucking move in with me.”

You freeze. Your hand mid-spank. Your cock mid-thrust. It throws you entirely off, because, what the fuck?

"You're going to be my boyfriend now," Natty says, wrenching back control, fucking her ass back into you. Stating not asking, leaving no room for argument. "Move in with me, your place sucks anyway."

"You're out of your fucking mind," you start to protest, but she cuts you off with another squeeze of her cunt around you, and now she’s the one fucking you, her hips rolling back and forth in this maddening, sinful way that has you biting down on your tongue to keep from shouting.

"Move in and just fuck me every day," she says, all light and airy, like it’s already been decided, like moments ago you didn’t have her dead to rights. "Morning to night. It would be so fucking nice."

This is real, you know that for sure. It’s not just something she’s saying to get off, not another way to get under your skin. You know it in her voice, she’s deadly serious and suddenly your mind’s racing.

"Come on," Natty purrs, punctuating each word with a slap of her ass against your waist, "You know you want it, why fucking wait?"

She’s not wrong. It makes too much fucking sense to deny. And yet, part of you still can't believe it. That Natty, the girl who's had countless men at her feet, could have any man at her feet, actually wants you. That Natty is underneath you now, eyes glossed over with need, mouth swollen from your kisses, ass cheeks flushed crimson from your palm.

"I'll take such good care of you, baby," she says, unaware that she’s already completely won, unaware that her cunt already has you bending to her will. "Every day, every night.”

You can't help but nod. You're too consumed in her to do anything else. You just let go of everything. The fears, the doubt, the fucking logic.

And Natty says it, the three words that seal your fate—"I'll love you," she cries out, "I'll fucking love you forever if you just keep giving me this fucking cock."

It's like the world stops, like everything you've ever wanted is right there in front of you, wrapped up in Natty's tight fucking body.

You're so close, so fucking close, that you can almost taste it—the sweet release of your orgasm; giving in to Natty’s unbelievably sensational cunt sleeving your cock, pulsing with each thrust, desperate to milk you dry.

There’s nothing left to do but give Natty wants. Fuck her, hammer into her so hard that you’re going to fuck a Natty-shaped hole into the mattress, fucking shatter her bedframe, and then keep drilling her straight through the floor.

And she’s crying out your name, forgetting about everything that isn’t you, isn’t your cock, isn’t the dream of your cum filling her to the brim and spilling out of her cunt every single day for the rest of your fucking lives.

“Are you close, baby? Are you going to cum for me? Please, give it to me, I need it so bad, I need it now, because I'm about to, about to, about to—"

And then it happens.

Fucking destroys her.

It hits. A crescendo that peaks as you bottom out inside her, shaking her to the core. Her cunt spasms about you, her body rises off the bed as if you’re performing a fucking exorcism, and she screams your name so loud it’s only a matter of time before the neighbours come banging on her door.

"Oh my fucking god you—"

Natty gushes around your cock, juices running down your shaft, your balls, and she’s squirting. Oh god, she’s squirting all over the fucking place.

Natty’s body goes rigid, her back arching so much it’s like she’s trying to fold in half, crying, sputtering these words that don't even make sense—until you realise she's speaking an entirely different fucking language.

Not that it matters, because you can tell what she's saying, read it in her body, in the way she's spurting and making a big fucking mess beneath your bodies. Whatever she’s saying sounds utterly depraved, filthy and so, so good to your ears.

It keeps going and going, until she has enough sense to speak your language again, needing to make sure you hear it when she says—"fucking fill me, baby," she whimpers. "Give me everything, all your fucking cum."

And it’s your turn to be hit—like a fucking freight train.

You're cumming, hard and fast and out of fucking nowhere. Your balls tighten, your cock throbs, and you’re flooding Natty’s cunt.

It’s biological, in every cell of your body—like your entire being is coming undone, and the only thing holding you together is Natty, Natty, Natty.

Her body shaking beneath you, her cunt contracting around your cock as wave after wave of cum fills her up.

She’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect, that you can feel every pulse of your orgasm, every drop of your cum spurting into her. You're not sure how long it lasts, how much you give her, but it’s enough to make your muscles shake, enough to knock the architecture right out of your limbs.

"So fucking good, so fucking good," Natty coos. "Fucking finally, finally filling me up so good."

Her moans a lullaby, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body with every syllable. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of her neck, your every inhale and exhale ragged as you try to catch your breath. Still twitching inside her, still releasing the last of your cum, and Natty’s just lying there, her body limp, her eyes closed, basking in it all.

"So perfect," she keeps repeating, right up until the very end, “So, so, perfect.”

You collapse on top of her, just lie there shivering together, your face next to hers. She’s got this look on her face, a victorious glow, and you just have to accept it. Yeah, she’s won again, in devastatingly convincing fashion.

For a second, you’re both just that—spent, exhausted, entirely drained. Like you’ve just run a marathon. Or been in a fight. Or both.

Then Natty’s got the nerve to stir, to kiss your cheek with the tenderness of a whisper. Lips softer than you thought possible, given how hard she’s just been fucking you. And that’s it, the moment your body decides it’s had enough of playing dead, enough of lying there like a sack of potatoes.

You roll over, bringing Natty with you, her body curling into yours like she’s been made to fit there. Her head rests on your chest, her legs entwined with yours, and for a moment, you just hold her close.

It feels fucking right.

"Tomorrow," Natty sighs contentedly, her cheek finding home atop your heartbeat.

You blink. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you're moving in tomorrow." Natty’s deciding for you already, setting the dynamic for the rest of your future. Doing all this with her eyes still shut as she snuggles closer to you. "I'll hire the movers."

You sigh, the weight of the world and Natty's body both feeling surprisingly light. You think about the next few days, the weeks, the years even, with Natty. The idea is so ludicrous, so absurd, that it feels like a fever dream.

But as you hold her, feel her warmth, her unabashed, blatant satisfaction, something inside you shifts. A reframing of the concept of Natty that you hold in your head. The thought of her naked body in your bed, her laughter in your living room, her mess in your kitchen—it doesn’t feel like an intrusion, it feels like home.

"Are you sure?" you ask. A little shaky, a little hopeful.

Natty opens one eye to look at you, a laugh playing on her lips. "Oh, you know I'm going to be the worst fucking roommate ever."

"Yeah, I can see that. But as long as you keep being the best fucking everything else..." Your words trail off into a whisper, your hand tracing idle patterns on her back.

And then she says it again.

"You’re so fucking in love with me."

Natty kisses you hard, deep, her tongue sliding against yours. And you know, you fucking know, that she's right. You are desperately, entirely, so fucking in love with her, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You laugh, the sound a little desperate, a little wild, and roll her again, pin her down again. A strange feeling rushes through your mind. Like you’re going to be repeating this exact same motion for the next hundred years. And somehow, that doesn’t sound like the worst thought in the world.

Natty squeals, cheers, moans when you settle between her legs.

"Fuck you, Natty."

"Oh, baby," Natty giggles, reaching down between your legs, squeezing you. Once. Twice. Until you're filling her hand once more. "That's what I'm here for."

[nsfwrpg]

Diplopia (Itzy Chaeryeong)

You don’t recognize these roads anymore. 

Uncertainty continues to cloud your mind as you closely follow the car in front. Most days, it’s the typical van housing the stars—down to the model, the wheels, the black paint job. In your time following them, the vehicle never changed, to the point where you have the plate number on speed dial.

Tonight is different. Instead of the usual activities, be it a fansign, festival or radio program, you’re following her home.

—————

The moment you step forward to have your album signed, the four girls’ eyes immediately light up. 

It isn’t the usual fan excitement idols have to put on in public. Instead, an excited energy coming from a place of recognizing something familiar—someone that they’re close with. 

Except you’re neither family nor friend. By all accounts, you’re just another fan completely indistinguishable from the rest. 

Even as they’re preoccupied with catering to the others’ requests, they’re exchanging glances, whispers among one another. 

You take a seat in front of Yeji, the first in line, curious.

“What’s going on? Am I missing something?”

She brushes it off nonchalantly, only casually smiling, a professional in masking her facade. “Not much. Just happy to see you,” she says, before adding her signature on the page and sending you off.

Same question, same result when it comes to Lia. You could have sworn they were all eyeing you intently moments ago. 

Even the charismatic Yuna is playing coy with you.

To be fair on their end, this is the fourth time this promotional cycle that you’re doing this song and dance. And there’s some within that crowd who are basically seeing them every other day. You’re not the most egregious fan in that audience.

“What’s going on? Am I missing something?” you ask Ryujin, confused by her humorous expression, a stark contrast. The others didn’t budge in the slightest when you tried questioning them, only telling you the same thing: that your presence makes them happy.

Fortunately, Ryujin is in the business of self-sabotage today.

“Ask Chaery—ow!” is her reply before getting cut off by a swift elbow to the rib from her seatmate, Yuna. She starts laughing along too. 

“Christ—will you shut up? You’re gonna ruin the surprise! Wait—ah shit.” 

Yuna realizes the mistake she’s made, and she can only grin and blush in embarrassment, falling face down on the table. To the untrained eye, it’s an amusing scene. None of the audience, not even the ones beside you understand what the commotion is about other than typical member to member playfulness and tomfoolery.

Finally, you come face to face with Chaeryeong, unbothered relative to the others. Her eyes light up upon recognizing you once again.

“Ryu can’t help herself, huh,” Chaeryeong remarks teasingly, her brows crinkling in playful annoyance at her senior as you slide forward the album. Shifting her quiet, unassuming frown into a subtle grin, she adds her respective signature, slipping a thin sticky note beneath the signed page. “Secret’s out. Check it once the fansign’s done. I’ll be waiting.”

Curiosity immediately gets the better of you as you try flipping the page, only to be stopped by Chaeryeong’s slap of your hand. 

Well aware of the cameras and her audience, she maintains character while whispering a warning to you, a secret only shared between two close acquaintances: “After the fansign, dum dum. Don’t make me regret this. The managers don’t know.”

“Can you at least give me a hint?” you ask, your nosiness growing bigger by the second. 

She leans forward, her eyes glinting with anticipation. Noticing the camera hanging from your neck, she points her finger forward, saying, “Make sure you hold on to that camera for me, will you?”

The managers and staff lead you back into the audience. Her eyes don’t linger as you’re dragged away, focusing on the next fan in line, acting like this conversation never happened.

—————

For the most part, the rest of the fansign proceeds as usual, with you taking your usual pictures of the members—especially Chaeryeong. Most of your gallery is dedicated to her. Apart from a few fleeting moments of shared eye contact with your camera, she pays no attention to you, posing primarily for everyone else. 

Finally, the members bid farewell and leave to the back. As you and the other fans are guided out of the auditorium, you open the newly signed album, peeling the sticky note wedged on the photobook.Two important instructions are written in cursive, strictly meant to be read by you and only you alone:

> Look out for a gray four door once the vans drive by. Follow me

> DON’T TELL ANYONE OR BRING ANYONE ELSE

Heading outside, you and the crowd watch several black vans driving off, presumably containing the members. Being that it’s already nightfall and with the cars having heavily tinted windows, no one can call their attention aimlessly trying to wave them goodbye.

For a good minute or two, you thought you were being played. As the crowd disperses, another vehicle stops at the red light, perfectly fitting the description given on the note. It passes by completely unnoticed and undetected—except by you. 

You anticipate the car to drive away too, and it does—until it pulls over to the side in the distance, far enough to be overlooked by everyone else.

And then you remember something else from that note, a third instruction:

> P.S. Only five minutes or else I’m leaving without you

Thankfully, you’ve parked your own car right in front of the theater, a walk across the street away. Getting out proves to take longer as several other vehicles are trying to leave at the same time as you. You’ve never been more tempted to blast that horn; this is more stressful than the usual late afternoon traffic jam. There’s a greater sense of urgency. Higher, more personal stakes. Every second wasted waiting in line is another second separating you from Chaeryeong.

Even after escaping the parking area, there’s the red lights. One after another, you’re forced to stop, slowing your already short sprints. More time being wasted. To make matters worse, the road you’re taking is glaringly quiet. You’re cursing these signs, cursing the government for stalling for time, as if their primary design and purpose is to fuck you up. 

You end up running past these lights, unable to take another second longer. No one’s stopping you, nor is there anyone in the vicinity who can. There are cameras catching you breaking the law, but you don’t care anymore.

Mercifully, the car is still there, sitting idle with the lights on. Pulling up beside the vehicle, you flash your blinkers, roll the windows down, hoping she recognizes you. You earn no reaction, instead the car merely drives off, leaving you to follow close behind.

The next hour and a half has been spent driving and driving. Passing through avenues then motorways, you’re leaving the city far behind in your rearview mirror, until you’re the only pair of cars traveling along a quiet suburban neighborhood. Considering they’re wrapping their latest promotional cycle today, logic would dictate that the group stay together a little more before dispersing, but you didn’t expect them to branch off right away.

No wonder the members were already sharing vacation plans and destinations earlier.

Cruising past one street after another, every townhouse looks the same, down to the layout, dimensions, everything. Based on all the utterly dark interiors, it’s safe to say barely anyone lives here. 

Even some of the apartments you’ve been in look nicer compared to how barren and lifeless this neighborhood is. 

It’s not the first thing that comes to mind when you think of celebrity homes. 

Eventually, the car ahead pulls into a driveway of a distinctly nicer villa, one that has moderately rich written all over it. Anyone can tell that a celebrity, or at the very least, some wealthy person retreats here, but perhaps that’s the point: you’re in the heart of the suburbs, free from the fast-paced chaos of city living.

From the driver’s seat, someone emerges. You can recognize that familiar sharp glare. It’s none other than Chaeryeong herself.

She’s staring in your direction, at your car. Though you’ve been following her tail closely throughout the lengthy drive, you pulled back once she pulled into the driveway, leaving quite a considerable amount of space to maintain privacy. Then, she walks in. Lights open throughout her house, the only home brightly illuminated on this street.

Figuring that it’s an invitation, you pull up directly in front of her house. 

Rolling your window down, you take the camera resting on the passenger seat. Shaky fingers right on the trigger, her house in center view, you end up not taking a single picture. Not for lack of storage, but rather an unwillingness to have something personal in your collection. The girl who shows out in the public eye is one thing, but addresses and private homes are entirely separate matters. 

You feel it’s best to keep those two aspects apart.

You end up putting the camera away, curious about its purpose, about what she really meant about the need for it.

Staring up at her villa, you finally spot her again. Chaeryeong’s standing near the balcony, curtains open, giving you a clear view of her figure from the side, as well as her profile. Even from a distance, you recognize all the details about her. So incredibly pretty. She doesn’t seem to notice your presence outside nor does she bother to care. 

Still in her fansign wear, her last performance outfit, consisting only of jeans, a skimpy top, and a thick jacket. Going against your oath, you try reaching for the camera again, but you suddenly stop.

To your surprise, she slips the jacket off, revealing her bare shoulders. 

Your eyes widen, then your jaw slowly drops. She fiddles with her jeans before walking out of sight, much to your dismay. 

Now you realize the purpose. What a wasted opportunity. And yet, you’ve already taken dozens of mental pictures off that little show alone. This is meant to be for your eyes only.

Looking on, Chaeryeong reemerges into view, this time strutting around the living room. She’s hardly wearing clothes, only covered by skimpy black lace, matching colored suspenders holding up thigh high stockings. The windows are just as open, curtains similarly drawn back, granting you full access to her unbelievably tight, slender body.

She puts down a platter of snacks on the coffee table before taking one from the pile, holding it up for display. 

Your mouth is watering, craving not the delicacy in her hand—but for her.

The first snack she gives a slow, deliberate lick. A popsicle. Her tongue slowly glides up the frozen morsel, stimulating your mind, leaving nothing to the imagination. She repeats the motion a few more times before taking it into her mouth with an intentional hollowing of her cheeks, eventually sucking and munching down on the treat. All while flaunting her toned figure as if it were a photoshoot, which is probably what the camera was meant for. Your hands are nowhere close, instead pulling on the zipper of your pants, moving of their own accord.

Even though she doesn’t seem to pay attention to you, she clearly knows what she’s doing.

Next, she takes the second snack, one with a much more obvious connotation: a banana. She playfully wonders what to do, slapping it across her cheek before peeling the cover and eating from the exposed tip. She positions the fruit in a way that it's tilted up, mirroring the growing tent in your pants. Her fingers coil around the sides, her eyes fluttering close as she slowly indulges on the snack, slowly driving the length into her mouth till it’s completely consumed.

It may have only been a minute, maybe less, but you can imagine how the sensation would linger. Maybe hours.

Finally she grabs the last snack: a hotdog. She lays back on the couch, crossing her leg as she casually nibbles away, foregoing her natural seductiveness for a quick bite before wiping all the crumbs off her finger before getting up and leaving. 

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the whole time just watching her in awe, utterly speechless.You don’t regret not taking a single photo, knowing this little private scene is permanently seared into your memories. 

You can never look at Chaeryeong the same way ever again.

Moments later, the front door swings wide open, with Chaeryeong standing there in all her glory. She stares you down, her gaze sharp and hypnotic, before walking away without uttering a word.

You fell under her spell a long time ago. Now you’re following her like a moth to a flame.

Without care for guest etiquette, you enter the house, losing sight of Chaeryeong as you continue to struggle with your trousers. Looking left and right, you try to find her to no avail, when suddenly you’re dragged into one of the rooms, feeling a tugging, inescapable tug on your arms. 

“Did you enjoy my little show?” she whispers, tone sultry, a leg naturally wrapping around yours. She’s breathing on your neck, softly nibbling your skin. 

Cornering you, you fall backwards and onto the couch. 

It’s a different couch, different room, with the curtains covered, hidden away from the outside world.

You merely glance up, still utterly speechless. Her sexy glow is on full display, feeling herself like she always has, perhaps even more so in private than in front of the flashing cameras. Based on her subdued reaction, this isn’t the first time she’s seen this exact reaction.

“Where’s your camera?” Chaeryeong quickly changes conversation right as you’re about to hit your tipping point, her hands gripped to your knees, leaning forward and closing the gap between you two, her sharp glare freezing you in place. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you holding it just now. What did I tell you earlier?”

“Shit, I—I didn’t think this would happen,” you sputter, swallowing your throat. Even blinking proves to be impossible under her suffocating control. 

Chaeryeong narrows her eyes. Stares right into your soul. Her usually soft, little smile on her lips disappears in real time. You can feel her nails dig sharply through the fabric of your trousers, scratching you. Deathly silence permeates longer than you can imagine. It’s a terrifying position to be in. 

She bites on her lower lip, thinking of what to do. 

Then, the idea hits her like lightning. 

“I’m normally a lot more ruthless towards people like you. I mean, simple instructions. Hold onto that camera. Easy! A kid could do it without a second thought. Why can’t you?”

If you could open your mouth right now, you would justify that it was under extraordinary circumstances—such as this one—but you recognize the wrong answer could send you to an early demise.

“I would ask you to leave and tell you to forget this ever happened. But since I’m in a good mood today, I will let it slide tonight.”

You still can’t breathe a sigh of relief; her ironclad grip has spread to your crotch.

As soon as your lips quirk ever so slightly, her nails burrow deeper into your skin, almost forcing you out from your seat and yielding out a cry of pain that could have been ear shattering, if not for your self-restraint. “However—I can’t let you go completely unpunished. You must face the consequences for disobeying me. Got it?”

“Got it,” you spit, frantically nodding along, begging through your eyes for her to loosen the grip as the pain becomes unbearable. She acquiesces, drawing her hands back. 

Now you can actually breathe.

But the freedom lasts for merely a moment. Chaeryeong struts around the room, putting on music through some speakers, her hips swaying in a natural yet hypnotic rhythm. From behind, you get a close-up view of her plump ass peeking through an incredibly thin thong. She then returns to you, shoves you back against the couch before squatting down on your lap in an abrupt manner, leaving you gasping for air.

“Just because I let you watch doesn’t mean you have to be a sitting duck,” she says, grinding her hips slowly against your helpless erection, aching and throbbing beneath your pants. Sultry as it sounds, it’s a serious matter, one with so much on the line. “You didn’t seem all that lazy when you were taking pictures of me earlier. What happened? Do I look too sexy for you now?”

Chaeryeong lifts herself off you again, her waist and flat tummy presenting themselves in your face. You try to grab, but she quickly sideswipes you, teasing and playful. She spins around, her plump cheeks raised up in your direction—and then she smothers you on the couch. 

Pulling back, she looks over her shoulder, completely by surprise, gyrating her hips, giving you exactly what you want. “Well? Are you just gonna sit there or what?”

Truthfully, yeah. You can sit back and admire her in this position all night long. 

As you try to dive headfirst into her plump cheeks, she lunges forward, leaving you sucking on air. She then grabs you by the chin, tilting your face up. There’s a contemptuous, disgusted air on her face, judging your patheticness. The contrast between you couldn’t be any more clear. She’s so well refined, even in her most risque appearance. Meanwhile, you look hungry, down horrendous, foaming at the mouth—literally.

“Maybe I really should take a girl home one of these days,” she mutters to herself, thinking of other ways to drag you down. “But since you’re tired, I’ll spare you the extra effort, sleepy head.”

Chaeryeong shoves you down on the couch, lifting your legs off the ground and onto the sofa’s arm. The control she has on you cannot be any more overstated. Crouching on her fours, arching her back, she hovers atop you with a coy smile. Sexiness looks natural on her, but behind that fatal sultry attitude, her idol sensibility rears its familiar head, perfectly balancing the line between entertaining an imaginary audience and one person.

It’s a lovely, surprisingly sweet view before the lights completely go out.

Climbing over your defenseless body, her thighs close in between your face. Slamming down without care, pressure builds—and builds—until you’re kicking and squirming. She hears your muffled cries, your helpless groans, and mocks back, not letting up.

“What’s that? Can’t hear you over the sound of your tongue shoved up my pussy.”

At first, everything proves to be a struggle. You have no control over your movement, hands included. She’s forcing you to bear the weight of the world: countless hours of practice, interviews, and fanservice, including now. If she wanted, she could crush you with her thighs alone, and she wishes she could; she’s not going to outright tell you. Mercifully, upon closer inspection, she’s wearing the thinnest line of panties imaginable, it barely qualifies as underwear.

With the meager space you’re graciously provided, you slip your tongue between the narrow line between fabric and skin–and Chaeryeong keens. 

Even her little cries are as pretty as her too.

The edges of her nails dig into the fabric of the couch, barely scraping your arms. She hisses sharply as you gradually acclimate to the tension she’s forcing on you, burying your tongue into her aching core. Her nectar tastes incredible, like water in the desert. You’d tell her that if you weren’t so preoccupied taking all this glistening sheen generously into your hungry, greedy mouth. The way her body trembles, quivers with every little touch, every swipe at her throbbing cunt, setting off one fire after another, it’s enough to drag her down with you.

“Oh—fucking shit—fuck—”

Her thighs hunker down, reinforcing the already airtight lock you’re imprisoned in between her legs. She’s one wrong move away from snapping your neck by sheer force alone if you weren’t dying from asphyxiation already. It proves to be nothing but a mild inconvenience. You’re hungrily eating out her intoxicating cunt, drinking away at her alarming flow of juices, maintaining a pace that feels just right. 

Desperately trying to find some semblance of stability, she rolls her hips, but that only worsens her state—and better for you. 

Gripped to the sofa’s headrest and on the cushions, the friction makes it easier to make a grander mess of her. You match her frantic pace, lapping away at her folds without a care, a retaliation of sorts. Her cunt is an addicting vice you can't get enough of, regardless of her juices spilling relentlessly past your mouth.

Overwhelmed by the pleasurable sensation coursing throughout her lithe body, Chaeryeong twists and contorts into a stretched out figure of limbs and cries. Furniture is easily replaceable. The position you’re in happens once in a lifetime. This idol, whom you’ve dedicated your personality and entire life around, meeting her dozens of times and taken countless photos of for the world to see, is now reduced into a helpless, melting pile of flesh and moans, keening in ecstasy, her echoes bouncing endlessly in the comfort of her personal home, and it’s all thanks to you. 

Very few can say they’ve made Lee Chaeryeong cum.

“Fuck!” 

A single word is all she manages, and it’s perfect. 

Letting out this thunderous cry, her body goes rigid and tense, as if something has snapped within her. Right then and there, a fresh wave of arousal gushes over your face, falling all at once. 

The throbbing never ends. You lap it all up. Every last drop. 

Despite the endless amount of slick you’ve consumed and time drinking from her well, it’s not enough. You’re left wanting more.

“Jesus—” she mutters, heaving between deep breaths, slowly peeling herself off you then collapsing to the floor. “I didn’t think you’d be this good.”

Despite her orgasm ripping through her body to shreds, Chaeryeong is the first to recover. She surveys the damage. Slick all over your pressurized face, so much more on the couch, your tongue actively licking up whatever mess it can clean, which doesn’t go far. 

There’s no shame on your lips when she looks at you. Contentment is etched on your lips. You could die happily right then and there. 

Her cheeks are completely flush, taken completely aback by your effort. Her panties are in tatters, utterly soaked, more valuable being thrown away than as actual clothing. “Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought.”

Satisfied as you are, her gentle, sincere compliment makes your heart race faster than the pressure being crushed beneath her ass.

But the sweetness lasts only for a moment. She can’t settle down. There’s so much you have left to give—and she’s going to force everything out till you’re an empty husk. You’re only getting started.

“Get up,” she says, less of a command and more a call to action, lifting you off the sticky couch with her resounding strength, leaving you behind to stand on your two wobbly feet. “Now strip.”

Her words seemingly fly through deaf ears. You stare aimlessly back, stuck in a neverending daze, unable to come to your senses. Chaeryeong is not having any of that, glaring you down with piercing daggers. The night is fleeting; time is of the essence.

She pulls you by the hand and drags you to the bar counter across the room, facing you to remove your shirt in a few swift motions. The pants come off faster, already unbuttoned and unzipped, leaving only your boxers. 

“Fucking slow fuck,” she spits, nearly ripping your undergarment while pulling down, giving your now freed cock a punishing, ironclad squeeze, forcing an agonizing groan from your lips. “Just because you did one thing right, you think you can have it your way now? Pathetic.”

Chaeryeong drops to her knees, pressing her tongue against the tip of your throbbing cock. The brief, feathery contact is enough to send mind numbing chills down your spine. It’s no surprise that when she takes you into her mouth, you almost crumble immediately. The feeling is too overwhelming, you don’t even get a glimpse of the filthy sight. 

It shouldn’t be this dangerous.

The pull on her long, raven hair happens impulsively, as if you had some control—which you desperately need. 

A flick of her tongue here, a swirl there—Chaeryeong is a meticulous worker, slowly picking you apart in calculated, intricately designed moves. Every little thing she does is performed like there’s so much weight behind them, no different from dancing and singing on stage. It’s all in the little details: the tilt of her head, the satisfactory hum from her lips, the cold, unforgiving glare she gives when she’s sucking you dry, seeking your approval, refusing any answer other than ‘fuck yes.’

If you could function as normal, you would reason to her that you’re relishing the moment, savoring every second—but she seems to have your mind read like a book.

“Thank your lucky stars you seem to have everything I need.” She slides her tongue up your length, kissing the tip again. You’ve been off the ground ever since with no way back down. “Good ass mouth, big fucking cock—”

She suddenly stops when you tug on her hair again; it’s a harsh pull. Momentum grinds to a complete halt. Your heart drops at the realization. You anticipate her to retaliate appropriately, especially when she rises from her knees. 

Instead, she mostly relents, but not without gripping your balls tightly, yielding another heavy groan out of you. A warning. 

“You wanna pull on this hair? Fine. I’ll give you this one then.”

Spinning away from you, Chaeryeong unhooks her bra, tossing it aside to be forgotten. Leaning forward, she bends over the counter, back arched, ass up, her swollen lips in clear view. Her favorite position.

She doesn’t need to say a word to tell you what to do.

The invitation leaves you more hesitant than excited. You’ve realized just how frightening Chaeryeong can be. That is why you’ve been relatively silent and are quietly following along since entering her house.

Looking over her shoulder, knowing she isn’t railed at this point, her eyes glare at you with a raging fury, one borne of annoyance, as if you were testing her patience—and you are, to some degree. “Where’s that fucking bravado, huh? I’m letting you hit this pussy from behind, and now you don’t wanna do it?”

“Well—”

“Zip it. Now you want to talk?” She snaps, facing you again to grab your cock. Pressing your shaft up and down the entrance of her folds, she grits her teeth, gasping and sighing. Staring daggers into your soul, she continues between deep breaths, “Look at this,” she says, pertaining to your cock, slick with her saliva, slowly entering her dripping cunt with her guidance. “It’s not rocket science. Does this look challenging to you? Never had sex with anyone before?”

You can only shake your head, as much as you want to refute. Her house, her rules.

Chaeryeong slams her eyes shut as your cock impales her to the hilt. She’s leaning back on the counter, screaming out loud to prove her point. “See? Not—that—difficult.” she whines, her aching cunt stretching against your cock, engulfing you in suffocating heat. Slowly pulling you back like a sword plunged to your abdomen, you watch helplessly as your shaft reappears, lathered in slick and saliva, with time moving at a dangerously slow pace.

She hurls you forward that you’re leaning together on the counter, your naked bodies creating irresistible friction. It’s not as romantic as the movies or shows make it out to be.

“Stop staring at me like that.” Chaeryeong pushes you away before turning around, irate from perceiving you, having to guide you through your first sex session. “Just—fuck me already, dip shit.”

Grabbing her by the waist, you take your sweet time to admire her delicately crafted curves and her supple ass, bright red from crushing your face. Still, it only serves to upset her; she can’t stop herself from making snarky remarks about you. “Pretending like you want to appreciate me now when you’ve been jerking to all those photos you’ve taken of me. As if I don’t know—”

She suddenly yelps, her body dragged forward on the counter as you enter her from behind like she wanted it: hard and fast. 

“Never thought you’d be such a mouthful Chaery,” you comment, hooking an arm around her shoulder, the invigorating warmth of her pussy making you shudder. “And I always saw you as the quiet one.”

“Just because—you’re fucking me—doesn’t mean—” Chaeryeong struggles to get her point across as you get into a steady rhythm, your hips crashing into hers, her ass creating this wet, audible wave as you pound her. “Ah—oh fuck—”

“Doesn’t mean what, Chaery?” you hiss against her ear, giving her ass a rightful slap.

She lifts her head, her hands gripped on the table’s surface, keening—and moaning. 

“I—ah—this feels so fucking big inside me—”

You lean forward, whispering in her ear, before giving her ass cheek a well-deserved slap that ripples through the room. “This is nowhere near my first. Didn’t you hear me and Yuna backstage that one time? I should have known something was up the second she was blushing at me.”

“One time? Shit—I guess I forgot—o-oh fuck—dammit Yuna—”

“It’s on me for not figuring out everything right away,” you remark, holding her tight as your personal lifeboat, pushing yourself deep into her, foregoing any sort of foreplay or pleasantry for hard, relentless pounding. “Not the first time I’ve been inside an idol’s house and left with their panties, either.”

Chaeryeong is unable to respond, mostly due to your cock rendering her speechless, reducing her to a pliable mess of moans and screams. Her fingers drag across the wooden surface of the counter as you take her body to use at your leisure. You have absolute control, a stark contrast to where you were only mere minutes ago, and you’re going to reinforce your authority.

To think you were scared of her. The real Chaeryeong is right in front of you. Ass up, face down, bent over, screaming all sorts of profanities and lewdities that would have burned at the stake.

You’ve got her raven locks wrapped around one hand, the other on her ass. It’s a difficult balancing act. One minute you’re pulling on her hair between thrusts, making her cry out in pain and pleasure, the next you’re slapping her ass in retaliation for her attitude, having seen just how easily she folds at the slightest touch, whether it be your mouth or your cock. Either action leaves you so addicted, you have to remind yourself to slow down and focus on the important matter at hand: fucking her.

It shouldn’t be said, but here it is: her pussy is so intoxicatingly tight. Even with how copiously wet you are, gliding in and out of her feels like an impossible challenge. To make matters worse, she meets your every thrust with the crash of her hips, sending you further down a dizzying spiral. Chaeryeong loves it—loves the feeling of both dishing out punishment and receiving it. You pull on her hair again, another reminder of who’s currently in command, but you both know that’s not gonna last long.

Especially when you feel so close—your own undoing happening a lot sooner than you hoped. 

Still, she feels so good that it’s not any bit worth stopping—not that she’d ever want that, anyway. You’re resorting to other measures to keep some semblance of control alive: you’re squeezing her chest, feeling her taut nipples,lifting her leg off the ground, biting on her nape—anything to stave your mind off the very thought of cumming, because any sign of weakness is her opportunity to ruin you. 

“Are you gonna cum yet?” Chaeryeong asks—innocent in sound, but in your heart, a taunt. A challenge. 

You respond by slamming into her cunt like you always have: rough and merciless. She’s your toy, after all. 

Her echoes remain louder than your grunts and moans. It’s a good thing her neighbors are completely nonexistent. The houses around might as well not be there. 

So much runway to fuck, to cry out in pleasure.

“Almost,” you shamefully admit, against your own wishes—and to her delight. “This fucking pussy—Chaery—oh my God—”

You seize her by throat and face her down on the counter, your thrusts unceasing, unrelenting. You’re winding down; the end is in sight. She smells of sweat, sex, and active perfume from earlier, and it’s a perfect concoction. Slapping away at her ass, watching it ripple with each hit and thrust, her back arching in new, twisting angles, your cock perfectly sandwiched between her slick folds, you’re taking all the mental pictures you can get before this lovely view disappears for good. It really is a damn shame, but here’s your silver lining: no camera can truly capture how glorious this scene looks, especially from your eyes.

“Gonna cum,” you sputter, pouring on the vicious strikes on Chaeryeong’s supple cheeks, desperate to cling on. You can’t deny it any longer; your body is in absolute rapture, begging for release.

“That’s it. Use my fucking pussy,” she snaps, her voice airy and hoarse from all the moaning and screaming. “Fuck all your cum into me. Don’t waste a single drop.”

You have no intention to, especially with a cunt that’s so tight, so hot, it’s practically inviting you to unload everything. 

And so with a handful of strokes, you finally fold. Burying deep inside her wanton cunt, your cock throbs violently, blasting thick shot after shot of sticky, white cum just as she wanted. Chaeryeong’s name burns through your lips like a permanent mark as you climax. The release feels more like a consequence than relief. She’s something you can’t clean yourself of—and probably never will. A stain that will follow you for the rest of your life. 

Still, she welcomes you with open arms. Her pussy milks you worth of every little drop, squeezing and quivering in your wake. You end up letting go of everything: her hair, her waist, your entire load. The only thing willing to stay is your cock impaled deep inside her soaked cunt, but even that thin connection snaps.  Even though she’s bent over, having taken all the pounding, pulling, and punishing, she’s the one that ends up on top. 

Pervading silence fills the house, in place of the unrelenting noise. Slumping forward, you lay on top of Chaeryeong, meeting her in the middle: your bodies intertwined, filled and satisfied.

Brushing her hair aside for a better look at her sweaty, flushed profile, you both look into each other’s glazed eyes with a warm smile. You prepare to give her a kiss, when suddenly, little footsteps can be heard.

Someone’s standing in the hallway.

Her voice echoes throughout the house. “You left the front door open again, sis. You should really close them before going down on your guests.”

A woman stops directly in front of your room, her appearance cut close in Chaeryeong’s image. The girl beneath you waves at her with an innocent smile. The pornographic position you’re in is anything but. 

She doesn’t look too surprised. 

“Fucking me wasn’t enough, huh? You just had to fuck my sister too.”

Climbing up the stairs, Chaeyeon sighs wistfully, exhausted from her own busy activities. Chaeryeong slips away from underneath, following her sister closely. She can’t help but shoot a playful grin at you upon realizing your secret. 

“I’ll fire up the showers. You can join us if you want.”

—————

The shower wasn’t meant to provide some form of reprieve. In reality, it’s an excuse to keep the fire burning, especially down in your loins.

The faintest contact leaves you weak, nearly crumbling to your knees as you join the two women in the shower, leaving you open for their enjoyment. Even with the hot water pouring over you, you remain frozen in place, trapped beyond saving. The Lee sisters take you in as a guest should be: with all the touching, kissing, and teasing you so desperately crave. Running water fills in background noise as the two siblings drop to their knees, taking one side for themselves, each with a stake in your cock. 

You get hard again. Impossible not to be when they seem to have a gauge of what makes you tick. Two girls who have firsthand experience handling your cock in their mouth: one who can effortlessly go through the motions, the other still fresh and eager to find new ways to break you in half. Both tilting up with a pair of lust-filled eyes, eager to get your approval. They don’t really need it; you had already given them your soul the moment you walked into their house.

“Fucking hell,” you manage to groan out—your eyes and head rolling all the way back as far as they can—as the two sisters take turns filling their hungry mouths with cock deep down their throats. The girls each let out a satisfactory hum of their own, pumping and squeezing you for a share of your load, certain you’ve still got plenty for two. To think you were insatiable when it came to eating out Chaeryeong’s pussy and ass. It was only scratching the surface of how rapacious they can be. 

Even with all the space the showers provided, you still feel small before Chaeyeon and Chaeryeong. More importantly, it was clear that, in their eyes, you were mainly an outlet of release and nothing else.

“Was he always like this?” Chaeryeong watches her elder sibling busy pumping your shaft away with her deft fingers, drawing more cum out of you, making up for lost time. Watching you this vulnerable—this whipped—makes you all the more intriguing in her eyes.

“Sure enough, yeah.” Chaeyeon laughs. It wasn’t that long ago you were held in a position like this: same girl, same scenario, but in a bathroom stall of all places. Now in the comfort of their home, you were clear to let out all that pent-up desire with cries of pleasure. You moan her name like it’s a prayer, and both girls chuckle at your wanton cry.

“How long?”

“Since I debuted solo. He’s always present in my fansigns. Didn’t he tell you?” Chaeyeon gives this cheeky look to her younger sister, an approving nod. “One time he told me he was now following this girl group, and I asked him who it was. Didn’t specify anything. I should have known right from the start.”

“Wasn’t only me he was fucking, I just found out,” Chaeryeong remarks, tone degrading. You’d be so red with shame right now, if it already weren’t the case. Whether it’s because of the steam or their unpredictable touch is up for interpretation. “And no, he’s never brought it up. I’m just finding out right now. But if so, he gets around—and he gets around good.”

“If there’s anyone you should trust, it’s me. He thinks he’s clever hiding this from you. I can hear that moan of his a mile away.” Chaeyeon smiles as she turns off the water, your bodies barely touching soap and shampoo, focused on leaving kisses and scratch marks instead. The soap in your eyes forced them shut to tell what’s happening, other than their near-indistinguishable voices and the blurriest of movements. All you know is their presence creeping up when you least expect it. “Come along, dear.”

Before you know it, you find yourself shoved onto a flat yet bouncy surface. A bed. It rumbles for a few moments before you feel your body tearing apart. In the midst of this uncertain commotion, their combined laughs and whispers fill the air. 

“Open your eyes, baby.”

Even when you can hardly tell who’s giving the command, you comply. Lo and behold, your arms are stretched and tied on opposite ends of the headboard. Your legs are spread wide, your cock glistening with spit and sheen, hard for the second time. The Lee sisters are kneeling on parallel sides of their own, around the edges, laughing at your precarious, defenseless position. 

It’s in your instincts to try and break loose. Of course, it fails miserably. Their laugh grows more uncontrollable and hearty.

“Not a chance. We’ve covered all bases so that even if you escape, you’re not making it far.” Chaeryeong speaks with a heightened air of arrogance. 

You furl your brows. “What? What do you mean—escape?”

“Don’t even try to run,” says Chaeyeon. “You—you’re not going to run?”

As if that was ever part of your plan.

“Why would I ever? I like you both!”

You’re speaking the truth, and it might just end up saving your life.

“I don’t think he’s buying it. You know, maybe he just really wants us.” Chaeryeong tries to whisper in her sister’s ear, but you can still hear it all.

Chaeyeon nods. “You might be right.” 

The older sibling crawls up the bed, tracing a path to your neck with her nails, leaving a lengthy trail on your skin. It’s as every bit sexy and seductive as the first time, even more when she’s completely bare. Chaeryeong mimics her, her arch more eye-popping. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree when it comes to their bloodline. “Since you want to stay, I propose a little game. Are you with me?”

“Yes,” you nod, tense and nervous, sweating starting to pour down your face.

“Let’s play a game I’d like to call,  ‘Guess the Sibling.’ I’m gonna place a blindfold and you’re gonna have to guess who’s bouncing on this cock,” Chaeyeon continues, going down your chest and giving your erection a playful slap. A little more force and she could have ended you. Mercifully, it’s only one flick. “If you guess right, then you get the rest of the night with us. Use us any way you want. But if you don’t—”

“—Then we’re gonna have our way with you,” Chaeryeong interjects. “And trust me, you wouldn’t want us to have our way with you.”

“What did I get myself into?” you mutter, wondering if the situation you’re in is a consequence of your actions. You’re not a bad person, per say; even the two girls would admit this. You’re just like any other fan—mostly: enjoying their songs, spending alarming amounts of money into merch and events, buying your way into fansigns, and taking photographs of the idols you love. You’re so spoiled, you end up sharing that love with others. 

At best, this was stuff of urban legend, of myths, of over the top fantasies. None of this was meant to happen.

Yet here you are, tied up on a bed by your two favorite idols in the world, ready to be used like a toy for their personal use—and pleasure. In the little time you’ve personally known these two, you didn’t expect them to be this obscene and assertive. You won’t be able to look at them the same way after this—if you can even get out alive.

Chaeyeon wraps a thick cloth around your eyes, completely blocking your vision. The last thing you see is Chaeryeong kneeling before you, spreading them wide, rubbing her hands up and down your legs.

“I would say good luck, but I’d like to think you’re familiar with us that this should be easy for you,” Chaeyeon remarks before giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Look at that. Your friend over here is a little too excited.”

You wince at the airy touch. Unsurprisingly, you can’t tell what’s going on, guided only by familiar sensations, patterns and recognizable sounds. Still, you can’t really tell their voices apart. It doesn’t help that they both have long flowing dark hair either.

Taking this deep breath, anxious about what’s about to happen, they still catch you off-guard. You scream a guttural cry, feeling the weight of the world crash on your hips. “Oh f-fuck!”

Right there, you hear a sharp, ear-piercing whine—a shout that rips through the bedroom. Your cock is bulging through something far tighter than normal. Not even your previous experiences with Chaeyeon ever went this far. “O-oh shit! S-so fucking—tight!”

“You heard her. Deeper, babe.”

Your hips move instinctively, as if activated by her voice. Either of them works. They live in your mind rent-free. It’s only natural to follow them like your life depends on it, and considering your situation, it’s quite literal.

Despite how slick and wet you are, it proves to be a struggle at first. It resists, pushing back as hard as it can, but you don’t relent. Feels good enough to be worth saving. An impossible challenge at first, you eventually feel it—your tip sinking deeper into her hole, inch by inch. As it penetrates the girl on top of you, her whine climbs a pitch higher, then higher, until she’s outright shrieking. 

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—so fucking big, so fucking big—”

She’s running her words fast, as if her mouth’s aimlessly mashing on a keyboard. The same harsh feeling stretches through her tight, smaller hole, until eventually you bury yourself to the hilt, and she keens. 

“Oh my God—o-oh God—fuck!”

She struggles to acclimate to the new presence deep in her ass. She can’t stop it, nor can she ever hope to contain it. There’s only person who’d want it this bad from behind.

“Feels good, right Chaeryeong?” you guess, gritting through your teeth as the suffocating sensation also overwhelms your senses. 

Right then and there, she begins to move. Lifting herself off you, dragging her plump cheeks along with brute force, threatening to tear your cock off too—until she squats down on your hips and creates much needed friction on your end. 

There’s no denial or direct admission, but you know in your heart of hearts that you’ve won. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree when it comes to the Lee siblings. Both dangerously hot sisters with toned bodies worth admiring and worshiping. Such a shame that your hands are bed bound right now, otherwise you’d be all over them. Chaeyeon or Chaeryeong, it doesn’t matter—they’re equally deserving of every lick, every touch, every thrust out of you.

For now, you will have to settle with her ass.

“Harder—a little more—right there—” she manages to spit between hip thrusts and grinds. You happily oblige, relishing the sensation of her tight hole, vigorously flexing and pulsing against your cock. She moves frantically, as if desperate to shake you off. All the more reasons to be loose and free, so you can feel her slinky waist with your bare hands. Still, she’s compliant enough to keep bouncing on your lap, drowning in her own ecstasy to care about comfort, only more pleasure. 

“God, this ass feels so fucking amazing—Chaery—” you tell her, a statement so obvious, but worth saying regardless. The slick, satisfying sound of flesh slapping flesh bouncing off the four walls, the shockwaves of her skin rippling on your groin, and her elated, blissful moans more than makes up for the lack of sight. And perhaps if you can cum sooner, you can see the light at the end of the tunnel quicker.

But it’s not enough. Chaeryeong can—and will—drain you of all your worth, especially at the frantic pace she’s going. Her ass owns your cock with a vice grip; again, she feels incredible, and you’re bound to each other, down to your souls.

There’s only one way you’re getting out.

“Get on top of me, Chaen.” You call to her, knowing she’s lurking around the room. You can also tell that she’s eager to get her share of cock.

Chaeryeong continues to bounce relentlessly, , your pace leisured and measured for maximum longevity. She lingers for a few moments, till you feel that weight on your lap suddenly disappear without cause.

“My turn,” says Chaeyeon, landing her tight asshole straight onto your cock. No preamble, no preparation, just crashing out. This time, with a much smoother, more effortless entry compared to her sister’s. She lets out this whiny, feathery moan in response to being filled for the first time, with you only mildly groaning in response.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you remark.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yes you are.”

The room goes silent for a moment—except for the heavy breaths of one collapsed Chaeryeong.

Light immediately pervades your newly freed eyes, having the blindfold taken away. On your right, Chaeryeong slumps on the bed face down ass up, her puckered hole glistening and freshly leaking. A bottle falls off the edge and onto the floor. Elsewhere, Chaeyeon’s body rests on your waist, your cock buried deep inside her tighter entrance, clearly demanding your attention. 

Except she’s completely facing away from you.

“Was she—”

“Yes.” Chaeyeon sounds annoyed—devastated even—that you’ve managed to outsmart her at her own game. “I can’t believe you really went after my sister. Was I not enough for you?”

“You are. It always meant to be you two from the start. You’re both hot.”

She sighs.

“Can you at least—at least—fill my ass up?” Chaeyeon looks over her shoulder, frowning. “Please let me have one over her.”

“What do you mean? I’ve given you everything,” you reply, recounting all your previous experiences with her. “Backstage, in your apartment, in your car—hell, even in a goddamn public bathroom stall. What else do you want from me?”

Just as Chaeyeon is about to open her mouth, her sister interrupts. Voice hoarse and cracking, she says, “Just go. You were his first. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, you heard her. I don’t mind. Besides, I’ve got the rest of the night to take her as I please, right? Like you said?”

There’s not much else to say. You can see the faintest smile on her lips as she looks away. 

Likewise, your smile fades when she lifts herself and slams into you, hard. Filling her needy, wanton hole with your cock. Just off this one swift motion alone, you recognize that Chaeyeon is much more desperate. 

Using all that pent-up need and desire as fuel to power every ram onto your cock. Her mark lingers on—far longer than Chaeryeong’s. It’s much more personal. You can feel how badly she wants you—needs you—beyond sexual pretense. The idea of you taken away by the one other person she loves the most—it sets her off, motivates her to prove that she’s worth more.

Unlike the playful and fun Chaeryeong, every thrust, every roll, every grind Chaeyeon does is intimate, passionate. Pounding into her tight ass, you can see pleasure course throughout her body, trembling in one violent aftershock after another. She’s uttering these little pleas, gentle desires while riding you hard. “More—like that—please—please—don’t stop—please—”

Chaeyeon knows you’re the one responsible for making her feel this way, make her feel all sorts of emotions. Love, hate, jealousy, anxiety—they’re only scratching the surface of just how much you mean to her. She’s unraveling, and fast. The only way she can find release is, as you expect, through you. An outlet for all her feelings. 

You’re quite literally stretching her out, both physically and emotionally.

As you watch your first love fall apart like this, you can’t help but feel remorse. Chaeyeon is pretty, and so is her sister. They’re the splitting image of each other, and you wouldn’t feel like a fool for mixing them apart, despite the repeated statements from them not being twins. It’s only because of your strange obsession with the two that you can tell them apart.

That, and your complicated relationship with Chaeyeon, as idol and fan.

Ultimately, she can take it. She’s been through a lot, way more than anyone else you know, and she’ll get back up again. Including now.

So it stands to reason that she can take your pounding better than anyone else.

Gripping her hands on your knees, she rides you vigorously, dictating the pace, without much care for comfort. The clench is asphyxiating, borderline inescapable, but you’re still gliding in and out effortlessly, watching your cock disappear and reappear in her ass. As the flesh ripples and slams down with each thrust, the lewd sight alone is enough to upend you prematurely, if not for your resolve keeping you fastened to the earth.

“God—you’re too good, Chaen—” you hiss, closing your eyes in a last-ditch effort to avert your thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere but her ass and  the tension suffocating you—but it’s not enough. The sloppy, wet sound of your bodies colliding penetrates even the most fortified parts of your ears.

“So fucking good, right?” Chaeyeon tries to straighten her voice in an effort to assert herself, only to find it crack, much like her idol facade. “Say it—I’m better than Chaeryeong. Say it!”

Even though her sister is lying beside you, every word is spoken loud and clear. You’re terrified.

“Do I have to repeat myself, baby? Say it!”

You don’t really have a choice. She’s riding you hard and fast, threatening to pull the plug two different ways, one far more unsatisfying than the other.

“Say it!”

“You’re better! Better than Chaery!” you shout, matching her erratic pace, dangerously treading on the line of no return. 

It finally sets Chaeyeon off—and ultimately ends her. 

Everything rolls into one emphatic word. 

“Fuck!”

Her body goes rigid, fingers still gripped to your skin as she unravels on top of you. She’s screaming your name up to the sky—or in this case, the ceiling—and she cums. Hard. Freely flowing clear slick gushes around and past your cock, shredding through the last of your already broken defenses, urging you to let go. 

Through the madness, you’re still relentlessly pumping into her, until you’ve fallen back into darkness again. It’s what she would have wanted.

Impaled to the hilt, you let out the deepest groan from the depths of your stomach as you cum into Chaeyeon’s ass. Blast after blast, you shamelessly empty every last drop inside her tight, sensitive hole, partly relieved—but mostly frustrated because your hands aren’t gripped to her supple flesh right now, ensuring she receives it all.

Despite her orgasm shredding through her body till now, she lifts herself off you in a single swift motion, much to your agony and despair. Resting on the edge of the bed, she’s positively glistening from her ass, dripping and leaking with your cum. 

You helplessly watch your cock throb and throb till it withers again. 

“God,” is the only word Chaeyeon can muster after everything, still unwilling to face you directly. Chaeryeong lazily rolls out of bed to rejoin her, resting her head on her shoulder, their hands intertwining. 

Silence fills the room after a tense, lengthy period of sex. None of you are willing to break it. 

You can only wonder what’s on Chaeyeon’s mind.

After a while, the two sisters get up and try to leave the bedroom, presumably to clean up—but not before stopping and realizing the elephant in the room.

They’re a far cry from when you first gazed your eyes on them. As you watch Chaeyeon and Chaeryeong free you from their binds, there’s this tired expression in their eyes. Not the typical post-coital gaze you’re all too familiar with; there’s a sense that they’re just about done—with everything. 

Including you. 

Chaeyeon offers you the same invite she gave previously when she first saw you with her sister in the living room. “Join us if you want to clean up. I’ll fire up the showers.”

—————

You pretty much spend the next hour doing that.

Beneath the running water, your bodies are cuddled up together, hardly cleaning up as intended.

Chaeyeon’s softly embracing you from behind, while Chaeryeong’s right in front of you, her chest pressed against yours. Both women lazily rest their head on your shoulders, their fingers tracing lines all over your skin. Beneath all the soap and shampoo lie kiss marks, nail scratches, and everything else in between to make you theirs. 

They’re not asking for much, only for you to stay.

You first give Chaeyeon a kiss on her forehead, then Chaeryeong on her cheek.

Perhaps you’ll find a way to make room for both. 

You have the rest of the night to figure that out.

—————

(A/N: Fuck yeah hiding a threesome as a surprise tactic/for shock value. I had a version of this that I scrapped during my slump month but decided to revisit it. It's been a long while since I've done one of those fan x idol stories. Sometimes you just want to write shameless pwp, but even this ended up taking a rather unexpected and emotional turn. Yikes. And it's all because I forgot to add one kink. Glad Itzy are five again, title track kinda lukewarm on. Thank you for reading!)

[nsfwrpg]

No rush Sins <3 looking forward to it :) love ya

For All to See pt. 2? ;)

In the draft box. I'm looking for motivation to write it, actually. Maybe when she comes back.

[nsfwrpg]

P.S.T EP. 13 | Vultures ft Karina, Giselle.

length: 16k words ✦

Karina, Giselle & Male Reader

genres: footjob, titjob, anal, anal creampie, thighjob, ass eating, pussy eating, facial, hard sex, blowjob, friends competition (?, kinda daddy kink (?

✦✧✦✧✦✧

✦✧✦✧✦✧

The nights you spent with Jimin still had their aftereffects on you. The morning after your date with ITZY you woke up with complete certainty that she was going to be by your side, but what you found was a completely empty side of the bed. It's not like it affected you emotionally, but it was a strange feeling.

The first thing you did when you woke up was pick up your phone and write to the ITZY girls. You told them that you had a lot of fun and that you appreciated the surprise, but that you were excited to actually catch up with them. You did not receive a response at that time. In Korea it was around 10 at night, so they were probably watching a movie or taking baths. Be that as it may, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, staring at the desk chair in front of you, mentally preparing yourself for the start of the day.

After gathering enough willpower, you reluctantly got out of bed and went straight to the bathroom. You took a quick shower, five minutes more than enough to freshen up. You got out of the shower and brushed your teeth. Once cleaned, you dressed without any rush: you put on a black and gold Fred Perry sweater that Ryujin had given you, some khaki shorts, and the only pair of shoes you hadn't worn until now: black strappy leather sandals. wide, fastened to the ankle by a buckle.

Being ready, you didn't bother putting on perfume. Was not necessary to. You just combed your hair so you didn't look like a bum and grabbed your things before leaving your room. You headed to Jimin's room, where she and the rest of the girls were sleeping. When you arrived at the corresponding floor, you found a pleasant surprise at the end of the hallway: Jihye was already approaching the door to open it, but stopped when she saw you walking towards her.

The smile that formed on her face was certainly something new for you, but it was priceless. She was so pretty that she dazzled you, and the tracksuit jacket rolled up made her look even more attractive. But it didn't end there: she also ran towards you with small steps to hug you around your waist. You hugged her, surrounding her head.

"Good morning! How did you sleep, honey?"

She looked up at you. You looked down, meeting that pair of pretty, round eyes.

“Good morning, boss,” you smiled back. "Oh, pretty good, actually. What about you?"

She looked at a point in nothingness as she thought about it.

"Not really good. I felt kind of weird, I don't know."

She let go of you and you let go of her, but you maintained the closeness between the two of you.

"Mmm, that sucks. I felt that way too a few days ago."

"And you fixed it?"

"I mean, yeah. I think it was just because I had a lot of thoughts flying around in my head."

Jihye nodded, perhaps realizing that this was the case for her as well.

"Well, I just hope it doesn't happen again tonight. I'm the last one who can afford to sleep badly," she sighed.

“I can keep you company if you want,” you laughed.

You had said it as a friendly joke, but Jihye tilted her head as if thinking about it.

"Would you do that?"

You frowned and leaned your ear closer to confirm if you had heard correctly.

"Huh?"

"Huh?" she repeated with a couple of quick blinks. "Uh… nothing, listen, it's best if you don't give the girls any details about last night. And definitely don't bring up the hook up thing."

You looked at her with half-lidded eyes, still turning over in your head what you thought you heard just a few seconds ago. Since she had already changed the subject, you had no choice but to let it go.

"Don't worry, everything stays between you and me," you nodded, trying to reassure her.

"Very well, thank you. Come on, let's take a look in the lion's den," she gestured toward the door.

You let her take the lead. Jihye opened the door and you both found the room dark. The only light that came in was filtered through the closed curtains, which was barely enough to see the girls. The four of them were curled up next to each other in bed, peacefully asleep like four little angels.

"Fuck, I wouldn't want to have to wake them up," Jihye whispered. "Look at them."

Taking advantage of your moment of distraction while watching the girls, Jihye pricked the back of your hand with her nails. Inevitably, you let out a grunt of complaint and stepped away with a stomp hard enough to make the girls shift on the bed.

You frowned at Jihye, rubbing the back of your hand. The girls in front of you opened their eyes to look at you, each one more upset than the other.

"Wasn't there a more subtle way to do that?" you asked in annoyance.

"Don't be whiny, it was just a little prick," Jihye replied. "Besides, it worked."

Jimin was the first to sit up, leaning on her elbows. She watched you rub your hand with a frown and then looked from her to Jihye.

"What have you done to him?" she asked.

"You wouldn't want her to have woken you up the traditional way, would you?"

Jimin sighed and shook her head, sitting up on the bed. Aeri followed her, but Minjeong and Ning remained lying down as they watched you.

"No, that's perfect. Thank you."

"Okay, now that you're awake..."

Jihye got up to turn on the light in the room, causing them all to squeal at the glare. You couldn't help but chuckle. Minjeong and Ning hid under the sheet for a few seconds before coming back into the light. Jihye didn't care in the slightest, she sat on the bottom edge of the bed to watch them. You walked over to the couch in front of the window and started looking at your phone.

"Do you have any particular plans for today?"

They looked at each other and shook their heads, then looked back at Jihye.

"Great, because I had some ideas for spending the day together, if that's okay."

They looked at each other again, but this time they nodded.

“Sure, sounds good,” nodded Jimin, who then looked at you, “Did she rip a piece of skin off your hand?”

You looked up from your phone to see her and Jihye.

"Almost."

“Crybaby,” she stuck her tongue out at you and looked at the girls. "Take your time getting ready, okay? We'll meet you in the lobby. Put on comfortable clothes."

"Don't tell me to take my time because then I'll go back to sleep," Minjeong said.

"You do that and you will stay alone in the hotel. Maximum one hour."

"But you just said..."

“I changed my mind,” Jihye stood up with an innocent smile and walked towards the door, but not before turning to look at you. "You come?"

"Sure."

You stood up and kissed all the girls on the forehead before leaving with Jihye. You two went to the hotel's coffee bar, sat down at one of the tables near the back and waited for the girls, who arrived surprisingly quickly. Everyone was already dressed and ready to start the day.

You had a quick and light breakfast, accompanied by lattes. After finishing eating, Jihye prepared to share with you the agenda that she had planned for the day: first you would go to the aquarium, then to the botanical gardens, go with you to buy souvenirs for the ITZY girls and, finally, go to a discreet bar where no one would recognize them, only if they were up for it.

"I'm excited to go to the botanical gardens," Jimin said with a little smile. "I saw some photos and it looks beautiful."

"The aquarium too!" Ning said, looking at Jimin. "I sent you some photos, did you look at them?" Jimin nodded excitedly.

"And I'll definitely need that drink if I'm going to spend the whole day with you," Aeri joked, as she drank the last of her coffee.

The general atmosphere was good, everyone was excited to go sightseeing. But unlike the others, Minjeong seemed confused. Soon she would bring some discomfort to the table.

"Why do we have to help him shop for ITZY?" She looked at Jihye. "I mean, I'm sure he'll need our help, but I don't know how that's our problem."

All her eyes were directed towards her, Jihye's in particular did not look at all happy with that comment. She leaned across the table towards her.

"Don't be ungrateful, Kim Minjeong. Hasn't he taken good care of you throughout this tour? I'm sure at this point he deserves a favor or two from you."

Jihye's tone was stern and threatening. Aeri couldn't help but laugh at Minjeong's puppy face as she was scolded.

"Noze's right, you're being a bitch, Minjeongie. I'm more than happy to help. Plus, it's the perfect opportunity for me to shop too."

Jimin also took Jihye's side. She looked at Minjeong with obvious annoyance on her face.

"You're going whether you like it or not, girl. He deserves it."

Ning also jumped to your defense.

"Yeah, be grateful!"

Minjeong sank into her seat, crossing her arms and frowning. You, meanwhile, felt like a child caught in the crossfire of the argument between divorcing parents. However, you appreciated the way everyone took that stance. You didn't think Minjeong said that with bad intentions. Deep down, you knew she was just as good a person as the other three, but she was without a doubt an expert at being a spoiled brat.

When you were all ready you got up from the table and got ready to leave. Jihye still had the man who brought them from the bar the night before, who was in charge of taking them to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. Before getting out of the car, Jihye recommended that everyone put on masks and caps to hide their identity. In your case it was not necessary, but you agreed so that they would not feel uncomfortable.

As soon as you entered the gardens, Jimin linked her arm with yours and pressed herself against you.

"You’re coming with me, champ. We have a date pending."

This is how the small groups were formed. Minjeong made sure to leave with Ning for fear of being left alone with Jihye, who was paired up with Aeri. At first the six of you walked together, but soon you went your separate ways as you all wanted to see different things.

You had an amazing time with Jimin. For most of the walk all you did was take pictures and laugh like a couple of nuts. You didn't talk about anything interesting or momentous at all, you just made very stupid and childish jokes. Anyone who saw you saw a couple of immature, but happy teenagers.

After about two hours, you all met again at the entrance to the gardens. You shared the things you had seen and the photos you had taken, and set off towards the aquarium. As soon as you arrived, Ning was the one who pulled you next to her.

"Hello there, baby. You have some time for me, don't you?" she asked, taking your hand.

Your fingers intertwined with hers. She snuggled against your arm as you walked inside. You rubbed the back of her hand with your thumb.

"I always have time for you, sweetheart."

You took off your cap for a second just to kiss her cheek. Then you went into the aquarium, or rather, you got lost, because it was so huge and with so many places to go that you ended up alone. You looked at all kinds of marine animals and attractions; Ning looked adorable every time you passed by a new place and had the chance to see some of her favorite animals. You took photographs of her in each spot, but your favorites were the ones you took of her with a beluga, the sea otters, and at the sea lion show.

You were having the most pleasant and romantic time with her. However, when you visited the sea predators attraction, you saw fit to bring up the topic of the previous night. The few people in the place and the dim lighting created an intimate atmosphere that seemed perfect for talking.

"Hey, uh... I'm sorry about what you found when you came into the room last night," you said, as you watched a hammerhead shark swim past a school of fish.

She turned to look at you.

"Huh? Don't worry about it, darling. I enjoyed it too," she nodded.

"I know you did, but I still feel sorry," you sighed.

"I already said it's okay, silly. Stop apologizing," she rubbed your arm up and down, "I just hope that one day you become as committed to us as you are to them, you guys have a really cool relationship."

Before you could respond, your phone vibrated in your pocket with several notifications. You took it out to see them. There were multiple messages from Chaery. She was asking you if you had enjoyed her performance last night. You responded quickly, but soon found yourself involved in an exchange of sweet messages. Once you were done, you put the phone away and looked at Ning embarrassedly.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I got distracted."

Ning took a moment to respond. She looked at you and then at the sharks through the glass, balancing on her ankles. Finally, she looked down at the ground.

“Honey…” she murmured, then looked up like you did when you put the phone away. "What's the history between you and Chaeryeong? Are you dating?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You remained silent as you pursed your lips. You knew that question would come sooner or later, but you never prepared for it. You were afraid of what you might say, but you were more afraid of how she was going to react. You took a deep breath.

“It’s… complicated,” you breathed out. "We act like a couple, but you know... our respective jobs and the current situation prevent us from using terms like 'boyfriend' or 'girlfriend'. But I'm obviously more attached to her than the rest of the girls."

She nodded slowly, avoiding your gaze. She looked down again and hesitated before asking the next question.

"Do you… do you think you have any time for me in your life when we get back?"

Ning always found a way to melt your heart, this was no exception. You wanted to take off her mask and kiss her, but since that would cause discomfort to the people around you, you limited yourself to surrounding her with your arms and cuddling her against your chest.

"I'll do my best to make it work, darling. We'll find a way together, I'm positive about it," you assured in her ear.

You snuggled her tightly in your arms. She hugged you back. Then you both stood in silence as you watched the school of fish swim peacefully around one of the deadliest predators in the ocean. Of course, they, small and defenseless, swam without any worries, oblivious to the danger that threatened them. You ignored the fact that you were the school of fish.

------------------------------------

After visiting the aquarium, the next goal was to find a good place to have lunch before shopping. You didn't have to go too far, as just a few blocks away there was a nice pizzeria that looked amazing. You walked in and Jihye stayed at the register to order while you settled at a table near the wall. Ning and Jimin sat on either side of you, while Minjeong and Aeri were on the other side of the table, with the seat reserved for Jihye.

"Alright, if we're going to do this we have to do it right," Jimin said next to you, "What kind of things do you think the ITZY girls would like?"

Not even three months in advance could have prepared you for that question. You had been thinking about it for weeks and never came to a conclusion, despite knowing each of them well. But that's how giving gifts was, it didn't matter if it was to your best friend, what to give them was always a stressful task.

"Uh... I mean..." you brought your hand to the back of your neck.

"He has no idea," Minjeong said, looking at her phone.

They all looked at you. You shrugged.

"Honey, you'll have to do better than just getting them generic clothes," Aeri said.

Ning nodded and turned to look at you.

"It has to be something unique, something meaningful that they can't get at home."

A very, very bad joke came to your mind. But you kept it to yourself so you wouldn't look like an idiot in front of Aeri. At that moment Jihye arrived with the bill in hand and sat next to Ning.

"Well, you could give them tour merchandise. You wouldn't even have to pay for it," she said.

You shook your head.

"Definitely not."

"Look, I know Yeji unnie very well. I can help you with her," Jimin said.

"I'll take Yuna," Minjeong said.

You couldn't help but let out a low laugh.

"Between spoiled brats you understand each other very well, that makes sense."

Minjeong just gave you the middle finger.

"Mmm, I'll help you with Chaery," Ning said from beside you.

You saw it more than perfect. But you were screwed since Lia and Ryujin were still missing. Luckily you had a Japanese guardian angel in front of you.

"Who's left, Julia and Ryujinie, right?" Aeri asked.

“Aha,” you nodded.

"Leave them to me."

"Fuck, thank you all," you sighed, "I'm really bad at this stuff."

"Yeah, it shows," Minjeong said.

You didn't have a witty response to that, she was just right. You had no choice but to stay silent.

"Don't be grateful," Jimin said, "It's nothing you wouldn't do for us."

She nudged you with her shoulder to encourage you, you just smiled weakly, staring into a salt shaker.

The two large pizzas arrived within minutes. Your stomachs had been growling for half an hour, so the slices disappeared in the blink of an eye. After finishing the meal, they took a short break to rest and headed towards their next destination. By then, it was already 4 in the afternoon.

Buying gifts was the most exhausting, stressful and tedious task of the entire day. You were grateful that you had five more heads with which to share the anguish, because if it had been up to you alone, you would have lost your mind with just the first gift. It didn't take long for Jimin to find something for Yeji, as did Ning with Chaery. Minjeong, despite seeming indifferent and rather annoyed at the idea of helping you, took a lot of time and effort to find something that she knew Yuna would love. You wanted to tease her, but you were afraid that if you made her angry, she would take a taxi and go back to the hotel. Yeji's gift was a pocket edition of Pride and Prejudice. Yuna's was Giorgio Armani's Sì perfume. And Chaery's was a beautiful handmade bracelet made with precious stones, mainly amethysts and rubies.

You, Aeri and Jihye dedicated yourself to finding things for Lia and Ryujin. It was the most complicated of all, but Aeri took the lead at all times and moved from here to there next to you, checking out clothing, accessories, and music stores. Finally, after hours of searching, they found the two perfect gifts: a vintage dress for Lia and a vinyl record of her favorite band for Ryujin. Aeri assured you that they would love them and damn, she was honestly completely right.

After having paid everything you met outside the shopping center.

"Hey, you're all up for the bar, aren't you?" Jihye asked.

"Fuck, of course I do. Let's go," Aeri said. The poor thing had grown gray thanks to her stress.

The driver took you to the bar that Jihye had previously mentioned, which turned out to be, no less, the same bar that you and her had gone to the night before. This time the same bartender from yesterday was not there. In her place was a young woman with tattoos and pink hair. The six of you settled at the bar quickly, ordering beers and cocktails. Jihye sat on your left and Ning sat on your right.

The music played at a moderate volume and the dim lighting created a cozy atmosphere. You laughed, talked, and enjoyed each other's company. It was the perfect way to end a long and intense day. Maybe the accumulated stress took too much of a toll on you, because the drinks started flowing and you all got drunk too quickly.

The hours flew by, and when you least expected it, it was already close to midnight. By then, you and the girls were already dumber than normal. It didn't affect you in a negative way, you were just more sleepy and immersed in your thoughts. Ning was much more affectionate and clingy towards you. Jimin, Aeri and Jihye sounded like a group of chatterboxes, talking non-stop and laughing out loud. Minjeong, for her part, just drank more and more, in complete silence.

"By the way, who will be next to have services from him?" Jimin asked.

You sighed, knowing the argument that was coming. You mentally prepared yourself. The entire debate was going to be solely between Jimin and Aeri, since Ning, being the lady that she was, stayed away from arguing about things like that. Jihye remained attentive, watching the development of the situation with interest, ready to intervene if necessary. And you were sure Minjeong didn't even know what was going on, absorbed in her own world, staring into her drink.

"I mean, I'm the leader," Jimin continued, "It would be fair if I had another round with him."

"Huh? What the fuck are you talking about girl?" Aeri jumped in, mixing Korean with English, "Do you know how long I have without fulfilling my needs? Hell nah, there's no way."

Sharp pangs drilled into your head. You rested your forehead on your hand, staring at the bar as you took a deep breath. Ning next to you gave you comforting kisses on your temple, oblivious to what was happening a few seats further to the left.

"And what about my turn?" Jihye asked, "When is it my turn?"

The discussion ended suddenly. All eyes, like a magnet, were directed towards her, including Minjeong's, who was observing her with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. A few long seconds of silence took over the place, while Jihye ignored the reason why everyone was looking at her in unison.

"What?" she asked.

"Hey but…" Minjeong murmured, "I was sure you'd already taken your turn on the night the three of us spent together."

"Kim Minjeong!" you said, "Oh my god..." you crossed your arms over the bar and hid your face in them.

Jihye didn't seem much less embarrassed than you. Her cheeks turned red and she couldn't say a word. It was evident that it had been a mistake to get into the argument, but the alcohol had undoubtedly prevented her from thinking about the consequences of her words. An awkward silence took over the air as she struggled to find the right words to break the tension.

"What happened that night?" Ning asked immediately.

Great, the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Yeah, what is Minjeongie talking about?" Jimin said.

Minjeongie, for her part, didn't seem aware of having asked an awkward question. In her mind, surely, it was a very normal and obvious question. She didn't notice the blush that stained Jihye's cheeks, who let out some silly babbling before formulating a response.

"I definitely need more alcohol to tell you that story, I'm sorry," she said.

“The three of us…” Minjeong started.

"Shhh!" Jihye shut her up immediately, "Shut your big mouth, Kim Minjeong, or I'll leave you without breakfast for the rest of the tour!"

"But why can't she say anything!" Aeri protested.

"Because it's something private and I decide so, Uchinaga."

Aeri rolled her eyes.

"Ugh, fine."

The night came to an end with unexpected suddenness. You, sincerely, were grateful, because the headache was tormenting you and you urgently needed to take a pill. Jihye called the driver one last time and, when he arrived, you all got into the car in an ostentatious manner, like a bunch of drunk clowns. You headed to the hotel.

The journey to the hotel seemed eternal, every minute became torture while the headache blurred your vision. Finally, the vehicle stopped in front of the majestic building. You went down on wobbly legs, eager to get to your rooms and rest. Neither was in a position to take care of the other, so the girls had to fend for themselves when exiting the elevator.

Once all the girls were out of the elevator you were left alone with Jihye, once again. Only then you did realize how drunk she really was.

Upon reaching your floor, she leaned against the open elevator doors to look you up and down. Her face reddened by alcohol and her big, somewhat glassy eyes formed a perhaps too sexy expression. An aura of sensuality surrounded her, making her beauty intensify even more.

"Would you like to keep me company, pretty boy?" she asked, "I'd rather not sleep alone tonight."

You stood there stunned, still leaning against the back wall of the elevator. You looked her up and down, focusing mostly on her pale, sexy bare legs. It was too tempting, the softness of her skin seemed to call to you, but you knew it was a barrier you shouldn't cross like that. A moral commitment prevented you from succumbing to temptation. It wasn't correct.

"Sorry, boss. I have to decline your offer this time, you're drunk," you said.

To your surprise, she took a stride towards you and grabbed you by the collar of your sweater to pull you towards her. Your faces and your bodies were perhaps too close to each other. That distance allowed you to smell her aroma, a mix between alcohol and hazelnut. You looked at her lips, full and slightly parted, and then at her eyes fixed on you.

"You know? There's honesty behind it... I would have made the same proposal to you sober," she murmured just inches from your lips, "But great, you still pass my tests."

She let go of you with a little push and turned around, turning right to head straight to her room. You almost stayed inside the elevator, you had to put your hand between the doors to make them open again and be able to get out. You watched her walk down the hallway for a few seconds, mesmerized by how attractive she was, before heading to your room.

Normally you would have taken a hot bath and performed a much more meticulous ritual before going to sleep. But at that point, the headache was unbearable. You just took off your sandals and shorts, and then looked in a small toiletry bag inside your suitcase for some pain pills. After swallowing one with a glass of cold water, you also took off your sweater, turned off the lights, turned on the air conditioning and got into the cozy bed. The only thing you could think about before falling asleep was the stupid, unstoppable and uncontrollable desire you had to kiss Noh Jihye.

------------------------------------

The next day was, finally, the day of the concert.

There really wasn't much time to interact with the girls. Jihye had sent you to the venue first to help with the sound arrangements. In fact, she had you working with the sound engineer all day, even during the concert, something you enjoyed as a little kid being able to be a part of something that big.

At the end of the concert, Jihye tells you and the girls that they would be flying to Washington DC that same night. Everyone complains, arguing that they are exhausted, but there is no other option, since the flight is already scheduled and the agenda cannot be modified.

The really stressful and exhausting part of the day came when you were heading to the airport. In the van, you received a message from someone you until now considered missing: Kim Sunwoo, your former coworker. Yesterday's headache came back instantly as you read the messages.

You had a small moment of panic. Your heart began to pound and your breathing became rapid and unsteady, and you did your best to hide your emotional state from the girls. Despite the anxiety attack, you took the time to thank those two.

As was proper, you immediately went with the news to Jihye, who didn't seem as worried as you were.

"Well... this is certainly a problem," she nodded, "But there's no use worrying about it right now, honey, let's discuss this on the plane."

Jihye took advantage of the fact that the girls weren't looking to give you a quick, light caress on your chin with her fingers. She then told you to rest a little while you arrived. You looked at her for a few seconds, but finally gave in and tried to relax in your seat.

The bustle of the airport was a distant hum in your ears. The girls began their usual round of complaints about how sore they were and how terrible it was to have to travel immediately after a show. Aeri made a joke at your expense, but you weren't on that existential plane. Your head was somewhere else, still on Sunwoo's messages. Seeing that you didn't react, Jimin immediately noticed that something was wrong with you.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, taking your wrist gently. 

You didn't want to worry her or the rest of the girls. You had no choice but to lie.

"Hm? Oh, nothing, I'm just tired and I zoomed out," you said with a weak reassuring smile.

You could see in Jimin's eyes that she knew you were lying. She knew you better than the rest of the girls. It was clear that she understood your behavior patterns, and one of them was not ‘zooming out’  when you were tired. However, not wanting to pressure you about it, she just let it go.

On the way to check-in, all the emotions attacked you like a pack of hungry wolves. A new anxiety attack left you breathless, and your mind became a battlefield of thoughts and possibilities. Panic took over you, and for a moment you seriously considered buying a ticket home. It was the most sensible thing to do, the most responsible thing to do, or so you thought. A vulture was hovering over you, and you didn't want to put the four girls you cared about at risk just because of you.

You were after all of them. Taking advantage of the girls' distraction, you slipped away and approached one of the receptionists, who was behind a counter. Just when you were about to ask for a ticket to Seoul, someone grabbed your forearm with all their might. You turned around, startled, and met Jihye's furious gaze.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she asked.

"Jihye, I can't be responsible for these girls getting into trouble because of me," you sputtered, breathing heavily, "I wouldn't forgive myself."

Jihye let go of your forearm and grabbed your hand a little too tightly.

"Honey, I respect that and appreciate it, but that would be a fucking stupid move," she took a step forward and spoke very close to you, "You are listed as part of the staff, you have an official role. If this reporter is already digging in this whole situation, the only thing you would achieve by mysteriously flying back in the middle of the tour is to raise more suspicions."

It was impossible to argue with that logic. Jihye was absolutely right. However you prepared to blurt out an stupid clumsy argument back, but before you could, she wrapped you in a warm, comforting hug. In that instant, all the emotions hammering in your head stopped.

"Calm down, please..." she said against your chest, "We're a team now. We'll find a way out of this, okay? But just don't make a stupid decision."

"I... you're right, I'm sorry."

She broke the hug and grabbed you by the forearms. Then, she did something that took you completely by surprise. She stood on tiptoe and placed a soft kiss on your cheek. An unexpected stupid tingle ran through your stomach, and your cheeks lit up with a blush you couldn't control.

"Besides, you can't leave without keeping your promise first, remember?" she raised an eyebrow with a little smile.

You couldn't help but laugh, trying to lower the color in your cheeks with a discreet flutter of your hands.

"I know, I know. I'm not going to break my promise, boss. And hey, thanks, really."

You took a deep breath, maybe your first in fifteen minutes. The surge of adrenaline began to dissipate, and your mind slowly became clearer. Finally, you could think with a cool head. You recognized, with a mixture of shame and relief, that you were about to do something very stupid.

"You'll thank me later," she winked at you, "But we have to get going, we're late for boarding."

She took your hand and led you to the line. You went straight to the jet, which when you arrived the girls were already inside, settled and ready for takeoff. Of course the first one worried about you was Jimin.

"What took you so long?" she asked.

"I had some cramps and had to go to the bathroom urgently," Jihye said. "He accompanied me so I wouldn't be alone."

Jimin nodded understandingly, too slowly to make you and Jihye believe that she had been satisfied with that answer.

"Sure," she simply said.

"Well, he and I have some logistical issues to discuss about DC," Jihye said as you walked through the cabin, "There were problems with some contractors who helped with the stage set up, sooooo it's best you leave us alone!"

Ning was already fast asleep, with her head resting on the plane window. Minjeong and Aeri were lost in their own worlds, with headphones in their ears and staring blankly at their screens. You weren't sure if they had really heard Jihye's words. Jimin, on the other hand, was visibly uneasy in her seat. She watched you suspiciously as you walked, with Jihye, towards the rear cabin.

Upon entering, Jihye settled into one of the seats on the left that faced you, in front of a table with rounded corners and chrome edges that made the fine wood stand out. You closed the cabin hatch behind you with a silent click and went to sit on a double seat on the right side, a small countertop to your right with a smooth surface.

“Alright, let me see,” Jihye said, asking for your phone to see the messages.

You took your phone out of your pocket and opened the chat with Sunwoo. Then, you handed it to Jihye, who took her time to read each message carefully. Finally, she returned it to you with a serious expression on her face.

"It has to be the bastard who took the photo of you and Ning, or at least someone who works for him," she said, taking her laptop out of her backpack to open it on the table.

You nodded, thoughtful. You placed the phone in your lap and clasped your hands under your chin, elbows resting on your thighs. Jihye began typing furiously, sending one email after another. You sighed hopefully, thinking that nothing bad could come from a woman so focused on her mission. You were in good hands, at least.

"What will we do?" you asked, feeling like you were asking Spider-Man for reassuring words.

Jihye didn't take her eyes off the screen, she just continued typing.

"The first thing to do is find out how much this guy knows," she said. "You know, what his intentions are and what the hell he wants. That way we can know if we should act by hook or by crook."

"You won't dissolve him in a pool of acid, will you?"

She looked away from the screen and looked at you like you were born stupid.

"What? Of course not, dumbass," she looked back at the laptop. "I mean we can create a smokescreen about it, or use our influence."

You sighed.

"Anything to keep the girls safe, to be honest."

At that precise moment, the cabin hatch burst open, breaking into the atmosphere of concentration. Looking up, both you and Jihye were met with Jimin's glare as she crossed her arms and took a firm stance as she entered.

"What do we have to be safe from, Noh Jihye?" she demanded to know, closing the hatch behind her, "Is this why you and him were so late?"

“Jimin…” you said.

"Is that why you were so strange when we arrived at the airport?" she interrupted you, perhaps raising her voice a little too much.

"Jiminie, you have to calm down, we..." Jihye started to say.

"I'm the damn leader of the group! If something is happening I fucking deserve to know about it!"

You and Jihye looked at each other for a moment.

"You're right, we're sorry," Jihye agreed, "But the situation isn't mine, I'm not the one to explain it."

Their gazes landed on you in an instant. You sat up in your seat, straightening your posture, and looked at Jimin with a bit of embarrassment. You took a short breath, gathering the courage to tell her everything. As you told your story, Jimin's face softened, going from initial fury to slight sadness. When you finished, she stood in front of you and wrapped you in a warm, comforting hug. Your face pressed against her abdomen, feeling the same warmth and security as in Jihye's embrace a few hours before.

"You... aren't mad at me?" you ventured.

Jimin grabbed your shoulders and pulled you away from her to look into your eyes.

"Mad? How can I be? Dude, I'm just worried about you."

She sat next to you and hugged you with both arms, her cheek resting on your shoulder.

"But don't hide anything from me again unless you want a real fight."

"We didn't want to worry you," Jihye said. "I'm sure you have more important things to think about."

"Nonsense," Jimin snapped. "This directly affects us all, it is my duty."

"As you wish, then," Jihye relented. "But it's time to make a plan."

"I promise to make sure the girls won't say anything that raises suspicion, not even around the staff."

"Don't you think that will make them suspicious?" you asked.

"They will believe it is to prevent something from happening. They will not know that something has already happened."

"Very well then," you nodded.

"I will talk to my connections at JYP so that they are aware of the situation and are prepared to handle it," Jihye said, finally closing the laptop. "I will also question the staff as discreetly as possible to see if anyone knows your true role."

"What if someone knows?"

"I'll make them keep their big mouths shut," she said as if it were obvious. "As I was saying, I will also contact a private detective to investigate this guy based on the number you got from him that night."

Jimin lifted her head from your shoulder and frowned.

"Night? What night?"

You sighed. Another thing that she didn't know and that you should directly explain to her. You took the trouble and patience to explain her story to her in great detail. As you did so you realized how much you really hated this guy and how much he deserved a beating from you. Jimin by that point she was just as upset as you.

"What a son of a bitch, god," she grumbled.

"Yeah, that's how sick some people are," Jihye said.

"Anyway. I'll let the ITZY girls know about it so they're aware," you said. "I will also try to contact the spa to see if they can provide me with security camera footage."

Jihye raised her eyebrows.

"Can they give you that?" she asked. "That would be a great help."

"Normally they don't give camera footage to anyone, but this is an exceptional occasion. They will understand."

"I will send you an email address, you can send the footage there if you receive it."

"For the detective?"

She looked at you again as if you were stupid from birth.

"Well, of course, what are you going to do with a 24-hour camera shoot?"

You thought about it for a moment, realizing that she was right. You relented with a shrug.

"Shouldn't you also contact your previous clients?" Jimin said.

"Yeah, right," you nodded. "The problem is that there aren't a few of them, damn it," you sighed.

"You should only inform the most famous one," Jihye said. "I don't even have to tell you who."

You nodded and crossed your arms. Your mind immediately went to Seulgi. You hadn't spoken to her for a few months, and you definitely didn't like the fact that you were resuming relations over that matter.

"Anyway," she continued, "Try to relax, it won't be too long until we get to D.C."

"Can I stay here with you?" Jimin asked.

"Sure," Jihye nodded. "It's not like I can get you out anyway. It's not my private cabin as much as I would love to."

Jimin kicked off her shoes in one swift movement and let them fall to the floor with a soft thud. Then, she raised her legs over yours and snuggled against your body. You put your arm around her. You both tried to close your eyes and relax, leaving Jihye engrossed in reading a book.

----------------------------------

Upon landing in Washington D.C all plans were put into motion, everything happening on the way to the Conrad, the next hotel where you would stay.

You contacted Seulgi with an admittedly uncomfortable call, but it fulfilled your objective. She hadn't asked many questions about it, as expected she asked you what the hell you were up to, but you were honest with her and explained it the best you could. She understood it, or at least she pretended to. In the end she told you that she would spread the word among the girls to be careful.

By the time you arrived at the hotel all your energy was drained. You had been able to sleep a little with Jimin, but it was one of those naps that only exhausted you more, as strange as it seemed.

"Don't even think about leaving the hotel," Jihye said when you were all gathered in the lobby. "The concert is tomorrow and I need you all to rest. So you are prohibited from going out."

"Yes, please behave," Jimin said from beside her. She looked at all the girls as if making them remember what she had talked to them about.

After checking in, everyone quickly dispersed to their respective rooms. Once again, your floor matched Jihye's. You met in the hallway, walking side by side in search of your doors. You stopped in front of yours.

"Honey, get some sleep, please," she said standing in front of you. "This is not the first time something like this has happened in the industry, there are solutions."

"I know..." you sighed. "It's just that, damn, I really care about these girls. Just thinking that they're at risk because of me makes me feel terrible."

Jihye placed her suitcase next to her and stepped forward to cup your face in her hands. Her soft touch made you melt between her fingers.

"For the love of God, stop saying this is your fault," she said. "It's not your fault that a scumbag sneaked in where he shouldn't have."

You tried to protest, but she tightened her grip on your face to keep you quiet.

"We'll get through it," she whispered, "I promise."

You were silent as you looked at her, once again, at her pretty lips. And you made a great effort to contain yourself, once again. She finally let go of you, gave you one last look and grabbed her suitcase to leave about 5 doors later. You sighed deeply and walked into your room.

Opening the door, you were greeted by a short, narrow wooden hallway that led to the main room. The floor was covered with a soft gray carpet and the walls were a pristine shade of white. To your left, a king size bed, too big for you, but you weren't going to refuse. On the right, a small nightstand and, in the corner, a curved sofa with a lamp behind it and a small round table in front. On the opposite side of the room, after the bathroom door, a long low counter that housed a television and a large mirror. The room was completed with a larger circular table with a single chair and a big window that overlooked the street.

After unpacking and setting up some of your things, you closed the window curtains to turn on the air conditioning. The heat of the day was stifling and a good power nap was what you craved most. You took off your shoes and sat on the right edge of the bed, letting out a contented sigh. At that moment, your phone vibrated. A message from Jimin.

With a smile on your lips, you replied to Jimin's message. Then, you tossed the phone to the side of the bed and got up to turn off the light. The room was plunged into darkness, only illuminated by the faint glow of the city filtering through the windows. You went back to bed and got under the blanket, feeling the warmth and comfort of the mattress. Closing your eyes, you let fatigue overcome you and within a few minutes you fell into a deep sleep.

---------------------------

You woke up around 9 pm. Much more than you had planned, but damn it was worth it. You felt like a new and renewed man; of course, ignoring the fact that you were facing one of the most stressful situations you have ever experienced in your entire life.

When you got out of bed, the first thing you did was stick to your promise and you wrote to Jimin again, letting her know that you had already woken up and asking what the plan was. Waiting for her response, you went directly to the bathroom and got into the shower.

Barely five minutes had passed since you had gotten under the shower when the knocking on the door started. You had no doubt who they were. They, the girls, were not going to give up so easily. You wouldn't give them the pleasure of interrupting you, but they couldn't wait for you to finish either. The blows intensified, and they pierced your ears very quickly.

Reluctantly you turned off the water and got out of the shower. You dried yourself quickly and wrapped the towel around your body to go open them. You looked through the fisheye, and after confirming that it was them, you opened the door.

Both girls were wearing simple outfits, similar to what they would wear to sleep. Jimin was wearing a white crop top—which ironically said 'Send Nudes'— that exposed her midriff and red sports shorts. Aeri, for her part, was wearing a black sweater and pink velvet sweatpants. They both wore Crocs. Their faces lit up when they looked at you, and above all, when they looked at you half naked. What you noticed was that they were somewhat blushing, which immediately led you to think that they must have been drinking a little.

"Oh, we're at a good time it seems," Jimin said. She and Aeri let out a giggle.

Without even inviting them, they snuck under your arm and invaded your room. As Aeri passed by, she grabbed the knot of your towel and pulled it hard, taking it off you in one motion. You hurried to close the door.

"That's better," she said, walking past you.

You followed them. When you crossed the hallway you saw Jimin already settled in your bed, lying on her side and leaning on her elbow. Aeri went to sit on the chair next to the table.

"May I know what's going on and why I'm naked?" you asked, "I didn't think this would be the plan."

"Gigi and I are back on the menu, cutie," Jimin said between tipsy giggles, "You could use some stress relief."

"Oh, and we have a debate that you could be the perfect judge of," Aeri added.

You sighed, picked up your towel from the floor and put it back on. Then you went to your suitcase.

"And what could that debate be?" you asked, putting on underwear and some sports shorts.

"Which is better?" They both said in unison, like a previously rehearsed routine.

"Tits?" Jimin said.

"Or ass," Aeri said.

"Well, this is going to be a long night..." you muttered to yourself, going to sit on the couch in the corner. "And how did that mystery arise, may I know?"

The two of them looked at each other, neither could find an answer.

"I figured it," you nodded.

"But answer!" Jimin demanded, “You have to have a preference, right?”

"Well I don't have it, Rina," you leaned back on the couch and crossed your arms, "I'll need you to present your cases to me."

Jimin giggled and looked at Aeri.

"I knew he would say that," she said.

"But before you start mouthing profanities," you reached over to grab your phone from the nightstand. "I'll order food. I haven't eaten all day and you could use some time to formulate your answers."

They nodded and began to write in the notes app on their phones. You focused on ordering the food: two chicken sandwiches, a large portion of fries, and a can of white monster—for some reason, it was one of the drink options. When your order arrived, you put on a t-shirt and went to pick it up at the door. Upon returning, you settled back on the couch and placed the bag on the small round table in front of you. The aroma of fried food made your stomach growl.

"Okay," you said, taking out everything in the bag and then putting it down. "Present your cases. I don't care who goes first."

You opened the wrapper of one of your sandwiches and without hesitation you took a big bite. You couldn't help but moan at how delicious it was. At that moment Aeri got up from the chair and stood a meter away from you. You gave her a few glances, but decided that only your ears would be paying attention to them, since your eyes were quite busy with her food.

"Obviously, I think ass is better than tits," she began. "A lot of our choreographies are focused on making our butts shine, in fact," she let out a giggle. "Also, as you well know, twerking has become a crucial part of pop culture. Is there anything similar with boobs? I don't think so."

You couldn't help but let out a hint of laughter while your mouth was full of fries, at the surreal way in which she spoke so seriously and with such conviction about something so banal.

"Stop, stop," you interrupted her before she moved onto her next point. "Since you're so confident with twerk, why don't you show off your skills to me and Jiminie?"

She smiled excitedly, and turned around to begin. You quickly swallowed the bite of the sandwich so you could speak.

"Oh, before you start," you interrupted her again. "I cannot formulate a good verdict without your points of defense being exposed to view. Clothes off."

Aeri giggled and looked over her shoulder at you. Jimin also stood up and stood next to her.

"You were already late asking for it," Aeri said.

She looked forward again and bent forward as she took off her sweatpants. She wasn't wearing underwear, which wasn't a surprise to you or Jimin. Her huge round ass was instantly exposed, and she stayed bent over for a few seconds so you could get a look at her pussy. She then straightened her back and proceeded to take off her sweater. You didn't see her tits at first, just her bare back.

By then you had already finished the first sandwich and you had half a can of monster. While you opened the second wrapper, Jimin seemed to forget that they were in a competition, because she played Ash-B's Booty on her phone. Perfect song for Aeri to shake her butt, ironically.

Aeri put on a really impressive show for the two of you. You should have expected such perfect and hypnotizing control of her buttocks, but she still managed to divert your attention from the food so that you focused solely on her. She danced every second of the song, from start to finish. With that you no longer needed to hear any more arguments.

She walked towards you and sat on your left thigh, turning her body to face you with a mischievous expression.

"Let's not forget when you told me how tasty my ass was after the night we spent together in San Francisco," she moved her ass from side to side over your leg. "Oh, and also how much you came inside it while you were sucking my toes."

She stood up from your thigh and finished her presentation with a simple, but quite effective, slap on her own buttock; making sure you noticed how the flesh of her ass and thighs responded with a jiggle.

Using memories and personal experiences was playing dirty. Maybe you should have clarified that before starting the 'debate', however it was too late. Aeri had already managed to make your cock hard under your boxers, but neither of them noticed since the table hid your crotch from her eyes.

"Alright, next," you turned your attention to your second sandwich. With that bite it was already halfway done. 

Aeri went to lie on her side on the bed facing you. Jimin took her place in front of you, and without you asking her she began to undress. You looked up, watching as she first took off her top, revealing the black bra she was wearing underneath, which also didn't take long to fall to the floor. With her heavy, lovely tits free, she moved to her lower garments, which she lowered to her ankles with a single quick tug. Now she was also completely naked.

"Hey, it's not fair," she said. "You are still dressed and we are naked."

"I'm eating, Rina," you defended yourself. "I am unable to eat while naked."

"That sounds like a terrible excuse," Aeri said to your right.

You looked at her and put your finger in front of your lips.

"Hush, young lady. Who is the judge here?"

Aeri rolled her eyes and you turned your attention to Jimin.

"Go ahead, Miss Yoo," you nodded, returning your attention to what was missing from your sandwich.

Jimin cleared her throat and took a step forward, so you could see up close her pale tits and her seemingly freshly shaved pussy.

"I'll start by saying that there is no man or woman who can be depressed while looking at a nice pair of tits," she said. "In addition, it has been proven that boobs are much more popular in Asia, Europe and Oceania than asses."

By the time she finished speaking you had already finished the last sandwich and had wiped your mouth with a napkin. You took a drink of your monster and prepared to challenge her, but just as you opened your mouth she pushed the table away from between you, straddled your lap and grabbed you by the neck to bury your face between her tits.

"Do you remember how my cute feet got you in the hot tub?" she said in a low voice, rubbing her tits back and forth against your face. "Then you fucked this pair of heavy tits and painted my face with cum... Surely that was better than fucking Gigi's ass while you sucked on her toes, right?"

She shook her tits again and again. With your face there in the middle you were sure that tits were a better option, but of course, your face had not been between Aeri's buttocks in the same way. What a difficult decision.

Jimin got off you, and standing in front of you finished her argument by giving her tits a good squeeze. Then she went to lie down on the bed, perpendicular to Aeri. You stayed silent, staring at the empty monster can. Your cock hurt because of how hard it was, those two had played very dirty.

You sighed.

"Very well... I'd love to give you a verdict," you said, standing up to walk in front of the bottom edge of the bed. "But aside from the fact that you cheated..." you took off your t-shirt and threw it next to the girls' clothes. "I will need practical arguments to be able to decide a winner."

Aeri, who bit her lower lip, and Jimin looked at each other with a knowing smile. Then they nodded and knelt up on the bed to get closer to you. The first to crash her lips against yours was Aeri, who didn't bother to hide her enthusiasm and the desire she had to taste you after so long. Jimin wasn't patient either; she leaned down to kiss your chest and collarbone, as she did so, she pulled your shorts down along with your boxers to free your throbbing cock.

Aeri added her tongue to the kiss and clung to your neck with both arms, making it clear that she was feral at that moment. You did the same, and now your tongues were involved in a fiery fight to take control. Your hands did not stay still; you lowered your left to meet Jimin's tits, which you squeezed and massaged; the right one went straight to Aeri's ass, squeezing her right buttock and reaching down to her pussy to rub your fingers between her folds.

Jimin brought her hand to your cock and rubbed it slowly, also going down to caress your balls. But soon you felt her lips on your shaft, giving it wet kisses until she took you inside her mouth. You couldn't help but let out a moan into Aeri's mouth. You broke away from the kiss to look down, finding Jimin on her hands and knees as she sucked your cock.

"Hey, it's not fair!" Aeri protested. "I was distracted!"

She got down on her hands and knees as well, letting Jimin pump her head over the middle of your shaft for a few more seconds before elbowing her away.

"Envious bitch!" Jimin protested as well, as Aeri took more of your cock into her mouth and pumped it faster. 

The next minute was about the two of them taking turns in hurried ways to suck your cock. You couldn't complain, they knew exactly what they were doing and their mouths felt incredible; besides, you had a most satisfying view: both incredible pale asses perfectly raised and a pair of smooth backs that you ran your hands over before squeezing one of their buttocks.

"Why don't you put those pretty feet to work?" you managed to say between gasps.

Aeri, who currently had your cock in her mouth, lifted her feet and moved them for you to see.

"Who do you want to go first?" She asked as she pulled you out of her, Jimin joining her in licking the back of your shaft.

“Jiminie,” you said without hesitation. "But I want to suck your feet."

"Fuck, too bad we didn't bring lube," Jimin said, before turning on the bed and lying on her back.

"It won't be necessary," Aeri replied with an arrogant smile, to acquire the same position as Jimin. "My pretty feet are going to melt him." 

Aeri placed one of her feet on your abdomen and rubbed it up and down. Jimin brought both of them to your cock. With one she played with your balls, and with the other she used her toes to rub your saliva-soaked tip.

"Yours?" Jimin said, rubbing the back of your shaft with the foot she had on your balls. "Ha! As if you had his favorite feet."

Aeri now brought her foot to your face, you gladly accepted it into your mouth, sucking each toe of hers hungrily while Jimin now used both feet on either side of your cock. She moved them slowly, just like she started that day in the bathtub. Then she picked up speed. You caressed the back of their thighs, and then went up to their pussies.

"There's a reason he wants to suck my feet first, right?" Aeri replied, caressing the side of your face with her toes while you sucked on the others, "He likes mine better."

Jimin took that as a challenge and set out to move her feet even better, faster and tightening her grip on you with her toes. You moaned with Aeri's foot in your mouth, and then moved on to the next one. With the fingers of each hand of yours you now rubbed her pussies, eliciting small moans from both of them.

"Do you hear that?" Jimin said after a gasp. "My pretty feet are driving him crazy."

"He moans because my feet taste delicious," Aeri gasped.

You pulled Aeri's feet out of your mouth and looked at them, tired of their chatter.

"Shut your mouths and switch places," you ordered.

Jimin giggled and looked at Aeri.

"He doesn't want to suck your feet anymore," she said, removing her feet from your cock.

"I said shut your mouths," you had to say again before Aeri replied, "I don't want to hear any more arguing between you two."

"As you order daddy," Aeri giggled, now bringing her feet to your cock.

"I will obey only because I want to win," Jimin said, doing the same only to your face.

Aeri put care and dedication into making sure her feet felt as good as Jimin's did, which you were now sucking and licking; you distributed wet kisses too, both on the backs of her feet and on her soles. Aeri meanwhile used her soles to wrap your cock between firm flesh and silky skin, rubbing it up and down non-stop.

You liked sucking Aeri's feet more, and you liked the way Jimin used her feet on your cock more. In that field it was a technical tie, but you weren't going to give anyone the pleasure of knowing that. You let your moans speak for you, as well as the way you were now touching both of their pussies. Soon you had two fingers inside each one. They both moaned in unison.

You were approaching your peak at an accelerated pace. You moved your fingers faster in and out of both of their pussies, making them moan faster and double their efforts. Aeri moved her feet hungrily, and Jimin pressed her toes into your mouth. Cumming thanks to Aeri's efforts would have been an ego boost for her and she would have taken it as a victory, which you didn't want. You were going to take the selfish, but fair route.

“Put your feet together, come on,” you growled, feeling the tingle in your lower abdomen. “I don't want any objections.”

Jimin obeyed immediately. Aeri did so reluctantly, but she left your cock after a few seconds. They put their feet together in front of your cock, intertwining their toes with each other as they watched your cock, biting their bottom lip. You brought your hand to your cock and rubbed it repeatedly against her toes, then masturbated quickly. The unload didn't take long to come out; jets of cum shot out one after another, these fell between their feet, leaving a thick cover of thick liquid on their toes.

“Why didn't you let me drain you?” Aeri protested.

“Because it's a tie, Uchinaga,” you said between gasps.

“Huh? “What do you mean by a tie!” Jimin also complained.

“If you don't like it, I don't care. Now, clean each other’s feet,” you ordered.

Even though the two of them were in a kind of competition, they did not hesitate to accept that proposal. The first to act was Aeri, who got on her knees and grabbed Jimin by her ankles to suck on her toes, cleaning every trace of semen from there between small moans.

“Fuck, what a delight,” she said.

Jimin pushed her so she fell back against the bed again. She did the same as Aeri, grabbing her ankles to clean her without missing a single drop. When they finished they both saw you, Jimin licking his lips. They were waiting for more orders from you. You just wanted to fuck them, and you certainly wouldn't make them wait after you'd been fingering them for a couple of minutes.

“Who wants to take my cock first?” you said, sitting up on your ankles.

Clearly the question was useless, they both instantly knelt in front of you.

"I!" they said in unison.

They looked at each other with frowns.

“Why do you want everything first!” Aeri screeched.

“Because I am the leader and I have the right!” Jimin replied.

“You fucked him for two nights in a row girl!”

You sighed and put your hands on your face, shaking your head. They were doing it again.

"So what! Would you simply be satiated by his cock?”

"No bu-"

Already tired of their argument, you decided to act following only your instincts. You wrapped Aeri's fleshy body in your arms and pulled forward with her. She let out a gasp and grabbed onto your shoulders as you fell on top of her. Before Jimin could protest, you extended an arm towards her and lifted a finger. She took the cue immediately, crossing her arms.

Aeri looked into your eyes and spread her legs wide open. The tip of your cock rubbed against her wet folds.

“You couldn't hold back the desire to finally be able to fuck my pussy, huh?” she said, switching to English.

“Don't make me change my mind, Uchinaga,” you warned, and before she could respond you kissed her.

She let out a small squeal of happiness against your lips when you did so, then wrapped her arms around your neck and deepened the kiss, giving your hair little tugs as her fingers tangled in it. You left one hand resting on her mattress next to her waist, and the other you took to her thigh to lift it up, press it against your side and squeeze it. She raised her hips impatiently; she made your cock rub again and again against her wet pussy, in the end you couldn't help but give in to her temptation and gave her what she wanted. You grabbed your cock with your left hand and guided it inside her.

Aeri widened her eyes and then grimaced in pleasure.

“Oh my fucking god!” she squealed, as your cock forced its way between her folds.

Jimin giggled, lying on her side to Aeri's left to look at her.

“It feels massive, doesn't it?” she said.

“It feels massive and fucking incredible,” Aeri agreed, closing her eyes and arching her back.

The entire length of your cock was buried inside her without much trouble, and fuck, how soft and hot Aeri's pussy felt was overwhelming. You let out a growl and attacked her neck with kisses. She held onto the back of your neck with one hand, and the other was on your lower back as you began to move your hips slowly. She let out long, sensual moans each time every inch of throbbing flesh filled her to the bottom, but the way she put pressure on your lower back told you to move faster.

“Fuck that pussy with everything you got baby. Mmmgh!” Aeri moaned into your ear. “It's all fucking yours, act like it!”

It wasn't an offer you received every day, you certainly weren't going to turn it down. Your hips pumped faster now, gradually transforming that into a frantic fucking that drove Aeri crazy. You kissed her jaw and chin, then met her lips again. After kissing her for a few long seconds you straightened your back to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her moans didn't let her formulate any more words. You took her legs and raised each one to your shoulders; then you leaned forward, so that her thighs were pressed against her torso and her knees were as close to her own face as possible.

“Wow, she's more flexible than she looks,” Jimin said next to her. She slowly touched her pussy, making circles on her clitoris.

Neither you nor Aeri answered her. You were focused on hammering into her warm, plump pussy, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple despite having the air conditioning on, while Aeri was focused on not screaming too loud from being thrust so fast and deep.

She clung to the back of your neck with both hands and dug her nails there, arching her back again between intense squeals.

“Fuck, don't stop! I'm gonna cum so fucking hard on that fucking juicy piece of meat!“

You stood up again and looked down at her. You rested your hands on her thighs and kept them pressed against her torso, moving your hips up and down to keep her pinned against the mattress. It didn't take long for your cock to make her explode. Her thighs tensed and her entire body was shaken by an energetic spasm. Her toes curled up too, and to keep with tradition, you sucked on them as she rode out her orgasm.

“Blessed Jesus, you really made her cum hard,” said Jimin, who was already letting out light moans.

Aeri looked at you with weak, but clearly satisfied eyes. Her chest rose and she fell with labored breaths.

“Yeah… waiting for that cock was totally worth it,” she mused. “But damn, I want more.”

“Well then it's your turn to wait, bitch,” Jimin replied, grabbing you by her shoulders and pulling you back, making you slide out of Aeri's pussy and fall on your back. Your head almost went over the bottom edge of the bed.

You let out a tired breath and looked at her with half-closed eyes.

“Fuck, you could be a little more subtle, couldn't you?” you said.

“Nah.”

Jimin mounted you nimbly, both slender thighs on either side of your hips. She didn't hesitate to raise hers, take your cock with one hand to stand it upright and impale herself on it. Her pussy was already a frequent acquaintance for your cock, which fit perfectly inside those tight, wet walls that fascinated you so much. She let out a moan as her ass rested against your pelvis.

“I'm never going to fucking get tired of that feeling,” she gasped, resting her hands on your chest.

“What a slut,” Aeri said behind Jimin.

Jimin closed her eyes and pursed her lips between moans, as she slowly moved up and down on your cock.

“I wasn't the one who left the bottom of my swimsuit in a hotel pool,” she said without further concern. Easy and effective response to which Aeri had no reply.

You weren't really paying attention to what they were saying, at this point it was useless to keep trying to get the two of them to shut their mouths once and for all and not argue, so you just focused on enjoying their bodies.

You brought your hands to Jimin's small, soft waist; You held your fingers there for a moment, then you went to her ass, squeezed it a couple of times and then gave her right buttock a spicy spank that made her scream. Not resisting the urge to kiss her, you surrounded her body with your arms and pulled her towards you. Her lips crashed against yours automatically, and her tits crushed against your chest.

Your lips battled against each other for a few long seconds, your arms firmly clinging to her torso as they did so. She moved her ass faster, taking every inch of your cock in and out of her with skillful, sensual movements. You ran your hands along her back, feeling the creamy skin beneath your fingertips. One of your hands ended up on the back of her head, there you couldn't help but caress her long, silky hair, which covered your face on each side.

“Come on bitch, finish him,” you heard Aeri say. “I already did all the work, it should be a piece of cake.”

Expecting Jimin not to fall for easy provocations was like expecting something from a wall. Exactly, you just couldn't expect anything. Jimin took that as another challenge, and she pulled away from your lips to plant both feet on the mattress on either side of your waist.

“Look how I make him fill my pussy, Uchinaga,” said Jimin, who began to jump on your cock.

Not even in the two nights you were together did you see Jimin so enthusiastic while she was riding you. It was like she had gained new strength, like a damn illogical Dragon Ball Z power-up. All because Aeri Uchinaga didn't know how to shut her big mouth and because she didn't know how to turn a deaf ear. She was jumping so hard and with such speed that you thought she was going to split you in half. Of course this had its advantages, you couldn't complain. Her tits bounced hypnotically, up and down and even making small circles. You latched onto both immediately.

Jimin dug her nails into your chest and scratched it downwards lightly. You let out a small grunt of pain, and as 'revenge' you gave one of her tits a loud slap that reverberated throughout the room along with the sound of her ass crashing against your pelvis. She didn't care in the slightest, in fact, in her eyes you could read that she wanted you to do it again. That's how you did it, giving multiple slaps to both of her tits. You didn't stop until they were red hot.

The hot scene soon became too much to bear. Jimin continued jumping as if her life depended on it—not her life, but the damn challenge that had her so energetic—; she brought her hands to your neck out of inertia, putting pressure around it with her slender fingers. It was something she had put into practice a couple of times that night, and each time she managed to give you that little boost you needed to cum.

"Mmmgh fuck!" you growled, pushing upwards as you came.

It was always religiously true that Jimin also came from feeling your cum filling her pussy. This time was no exception. She sank back down with a loud moan to the ceiling, grinding her hips forward and back between strong spasms, as your cock shot multiple thick jets of cum into her.

You held on to her waist this time, so she would lower her knees and lean into you again. You wrapped your arms around her again and kissed her for a few long seconds, exchanging moans and labored breaths. Finally, Jimin moved off you so that your cum flowed freely from her pussy to her right thigh.

Aeri watched your cum leak through Jimin's folds and bit her lip.

"Mmm… that looks delicious," she said.

"Clean up then," you said with a nod.

Aeri didn't hesitate for a single moment to go straight to Jimin's crotch, grabbing her thighs and burying her mouth there to collect every drop of cum that came out of her pussy. Jimin, who was still somewhat sensitive, squirmed between small painful moans as she stroked Aeri's hair. When Aeri finished, they looked at you.

"Who has the better pussy, judge?" she said between gasps, grabbing her own tits.

Aeri also looked expectantly at your response.

If you had to be honest, Jimin's pussy was something magical, a thing out of this world. But for your first time inside Aeri's, you had to say that she wasn't too far from that status. You had fucked her only once, while you did it with Jimin for a whole day. In any case, you didn't want to give a winner there either.

"Another tie," you said unabashedly.

They both frowned and you almost felt like you were going to get beaten up.

"What?!" they both said in unison.

"Calm your competitive asses and let me be just an indecisive man, will you?" You raised your eyebrows.

"No, fuck my tits right now," Jimin said, kneeling up.

You raised an eyebrow.

"And what makes you think you're in charge?" you said. "I'm sorry but you'll have to wait until I want to do it."

"So what do you want to do now, daddy?" Aeri said, lying on her stomach and picking up her knee to make her ass look much more appetizing.

You'd consider that a vile trick too, but it was perfectly clean. Only you were a weak man for a good ass of that magnitude.

"Oh my god, you even call him daddy," Jimin said as if disappointed. "Who's the slut now?"

"I am, any problem?" she looked at you. "Well? Are you going to eat my ass or not, daddy?"

"I'm going to do more than fucking eat it," you said.

You lay face down and placed your head above Aeri's huge ass, which you kissed on each buttock again and again until it left with small saliva stains; then you grabbed each butt cheek with your hand and spread them to each side, exposing her butthole for you. You planted your mouth there, eating Aeri's ass like a hungry dog. You licked and kissed in every way possible, with the main goal of getting her ready for what you were both waiting for.

When you were satisfied with that ass you knelt up and turned to look at Jimin.

"Do you want to lube it up for me, honey?" you said. She had her brow furrowed and her arms crossed. She was upset. "Don't be spoiled, Rina. You'll have your turn too."

It was enough for you to bring your hand to her left cheek and rub it gently. She softened her face little by little and pressed herself against your hand. Then she complied with your order, getting on her hands and knees to be level with your cock to suck it, purposely releasing spit in the middle of the blowjob to leave your shaft slippery and ready.

"Thank you, what a good girl," Aeri said with a giggle.

Jimin frowned again.

"I didn't do it for you, whore," she said.

"Shut up," you said. They both fell silent.

You took your lubricated cock and rode Aeri's ass, bracing your thighs on either side of her hips to rub your tip between her buttocks. She looked at you over her shoulder and looked down, grabbed her own buttocks and spread them for you. Next you pressed down on her butthole, which began to engulf you inch by inch.

You and Aeri let out a long moan of satisfaction, as your cock was already halfway inside her ass.

“Fuck, I missed this fucking delicious ass too much,” you growled, clinging to Aeri's waist.

"And I missed that huge cock inside it," Aeri replied, hugging the pillow she had under her head.

When your cock disappeared into Aeri's more than experienced ass you rested there for a few seconds, letting her feel every inch filling her. You soon began to move up and down, pumping your hips at a calm pace at first so that her butthole was stretched and ready for the real frenzy. Aeri quickly tired of your gentleness, and with her face she screamed for you to go faster. You fucked her ass as fast and hard as you could, hands resting on her back under her and also pulling her hair from time to time. Of course, you also filled her with multiple slaps but on her ass, now the red tone of her buttocks matched the one on Jimin's tits. Between hair pulls and brutal pumps, she came, hugging the pillow even tighter and biting it to drown out her screams.

"For the love of god, I definitely won't let these bitches have you so often..." she said between gasps, seeing you with strands of her hair stuck to her face.

"I'm a text away, Uchinaga," you said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

"Is it my turn now?" Jimin said from behind you.

You got out of Aeri's ass and turned to look at her.

"Of course," you nodded and spread your arms. "Come here, my spoiled, competitive little whore."

"There I go."

Jimin rushed into your arms and you received her with a warm hug, filling every part of her face with kisses before moving to her lips. You lasted a few long seconds kissing as if you were in one of those cliché romantic movies where the man holds the woman in her arms at the moment when she is about to fall to the ground. It must have been a very funny image for Aeri, it's a shame she couldn't see it because you had destroyed her ass.

After having kissed her enough you laid her on her back and you lay on her stomach between her outstretched legs. On a normal occasion your target would have been her delicious pussy, but this time you focused your attention on her butthole. She brought a hand to your hair and stroked it gently, watching you with bright little eyes as you planted your tongue on her ass.

You made sure that she enjoyed eating her ass as much as you did, which you think you did quite well since she was already twisting her hips slightly while grabbing a tit.

"Are you ready, baby?" you said, looking into her eyes.

She bit her lower lip, and nodded with flushed cheeks.

"Well, this time I'll have to lube myself," you said, bringing a hand to your mouth.

"No!" She interrupted quickly, then spit into her own hand and brought it to your cock to rub it until it had regained its slippery state. When you made the move to guide your cock into her ass yourself. She stopped you once again to do it herself.

"Fuck, you're a good girl, aren't you?" you said in a murmur, looking into her eyes as your tip pressed against her butthole.

"I am for you and only you..." she murmured back. "But don't tell Gigi that."

"I heard it," Aeri said immediately, quietly.

Before Yoo 'Short Tempered' Jimin could argue again, you pushed forward and took your cock inside her tight ass. Any possible response Jimin was going to give Aeri was cut off by a high-pitched squeal of pleasure as she felt your cock fill her ass.

"Please kiss me again," Jimin requested between small moans when your cock was about to reach the bottom.

You leaned forward and she hugged you again, both arms around your neck the moment your lips met again. You pleasured her only for a few seconds, until your cock had already reached the bottom and you had already done the first slow pumps.

Jimin's ass wasn't as experienced and easy to stretch as Aeri's. It required patience. You were willing to have it, after all, the sight of her face flushed and twisted with pleasure made every juicy second that your cock slid in and out of her butthole worth it.

"Are you okay, baby?" you said as you straightened your back, caressing her inner thighs.

She nodded with her eyes closed and her lips pursed.

"I'm fine, love..." she gasped. "You just fuck me, show no mercy. It's an order."

You smiled and gave one of her tits a hard slap. The red was revived. She squealed and opened her eyes to look at you.

"What makes you think you can order me around?"

"I don't care, shut your mouth and obey..."

You put a hand on her neck. You squeezed your fingers tightly, and she automatically brought her hands to hold onto your wrist since you were cutting off her breathing. You moved your hips faster, harder. Now you made her tits bounce subtly.

"Are you sure? Reconsider your answer... come on," you growled, loosening your grip.

"Do..." she swallowed thickly and muffled a moan against her pursed lips. "Do whatever you want with me daddy."

You heard a laugh from Aeri.

"Who's the slut now?" she said, imitating Jimin's exact tone of voice when she told her a few minutes ago.

Once again, you had to deprive her of any option to respond, now bringing both hands to her neck to now fuck her without any kind of mercy, just as she had asked you. Her tits started bouncing faster. She spread her legs wide and moved them as far back as she could, giving you better access to her ass while you fucked her.

You didn't expect that the law that whenever she felt how you filled her with your cum she also came would also apply to her butthole, but hilariously it did. You let go of her neck and she took a sharp breath. At this point she was no longer moaning, she could only let out muffled, incomplete sounds. You held one hand to her waist and with the other you squeezed her tits. Seconds later you came, and the moment you felt a drop of cum inside her, she followed you.

“Mmggh, fuck yes,” Jimin groaned, clenching the sheets on either side of her as you shot cum inside her. "Fill my ass daddy... fill me to the fucking bottom."

Aeri gasped in surprise.

"My god... Jiminie is a cum slut, who was going to say that."

Despite your efforts to make Jimin not respond with words, she did so anyway with actions, smacking Aeri's hand on her thigh to make her squeal. You leaned forward to brush your lips against Jimin's ear.

"She may or may not bother you..." you whispered. "But she's right."

Jimin grabbed you by your neck and also brought her mouth to your ear.

"Yeah, I'm your fucking cum slut..." she whispered back. "But she doesn't have to know."

"I don't think she didn't notice, anyway."

You and she laughed. You stood up, pulling out of her ass to watch your cum spill out of her. You looked at Aeri, and just by meeting your eyes she instantly knew what to do. You moved away and she took your position, she lowered herself down and started eating Jimin's ass, consequently swallowing your cum on the way. You couldn't help but give Aeri another spank while she did it.

When they finished cleaning they looked at you again.

"So, who has the best ass?" Aeri said, clearly expecting only one answer judging by the look on her face.

This time you couldn't just lie, you had to be completely honest. As much as you loved Jimin's ass, Aeri was on a whole other level.

"The winner here will be Aeri," you said, lying down on the corner of the bed to rest.

"Yayyyy!" Aeri screamed to small applause. "I knew it, I kneeeew it."

Contrary to what you thought at first, Jimin didn't seem to care about her defeat in this round. She seemed calm, perhaps aware of what was coming next. She just lay down on a pillow and moved her tits from side to side.

"I don't care, you won't be able to beat me at this, slut," she said, bringing her arms together to squeeze her tits together.

You sighed and closed your eyes.

“Fuck, just let me rest for a moment,” you said. "I feel like I'm going to die at any moment."

For the first time all night, the two of them seemed to agree on something, as they lay down, one on each side of you, to fill you with kisses, cuddles and caresses of all kinds. In short, if heaven existed, it must be something extremely similar to that.

It took about twenty minutes until you were halfway composed.

"Okay," you said as you opened your eyes. "Jiminie, lie down."

Jimin got up from your side and went straight to lay down on the same pillow as before. You also got up and went to straddle her, your recently hard cock again—thanks to the two of them touching it seconds before— floating above her tits.

You placed your cock in the middle of those pair of heavy mounds and she brought her arms together to trap you between them. This time you didn't let her do the honors, you used your own saliva to lubricate your cock and part of her tits. Then, you pumped your hips back and forth. There you didn't have to be patient, so you went straight with frantic pumps over and over again.

Last time it had been Jimin who had fucked you with her tits, but you hadn't had the chance to actually fuck her tits. It was an incredibly pleasurable experience,  like sliding your cock between two pieces of soft, warm meat. You did it for about two minutes. But as much as you loved doing it, you couldn't give her the pleasure of draining you again.

You stopped and got out from between her tits. Jimin looked at you with a frown.

"Huh? What are you doing?" she said.

"I'm sorry, but you've already made me cum twice," you said.

"Inside you," Aeri added. You nodded.

"The fair thing would be to let Aeri make me cum this time."

Jimin rolled her eyes and shook her head, visibly offended when she knew perfectly well that you were right.

You moved towards Aeri, who stopped you before you straddled her lap.

"Nuh uh," she shook her head. "I already know that she beats me in tits, I don't care about that. I just want to make you cum with my thighs."

You raised both eyebrows, surprised at the fact that she left her competitiveness aside for once all night.

"Only if you let me paint your tits and face anyway," you said.

Aeri smiled.

"It's a deal, daddy," she nodded and lay on her side, with both legs out to the side.

When you positioned yourself in front of her and made the gesture of entering between her thighs, she stopped you again and spit on her hand to lubricate your cock with it. When your cock was slippery again she raised one thigh, and when your cock was in the middle of both, she lowered it again to wrap it in a sandwich of thick, tender meat.

"Oh my god..." you gasped, throwing your head back.

You clung to the back of Aeri's knee with one hand and her thigh with the other, using as much downward pressure as possible to feel your cock being smothered by flesh from above and below.

"You love it, don't you?" Aeri said, staring at you.

"Oh fuck yes," you nodded between small grunts.

You pumped slowly at first, just to feel every little detail and texture of her perfect thighs as you slid in and out of them. The sensation was similar to being between Jimin's tits, only it felt much warmer and tighter, as Aeri made sure to keep her thighs as pressed between your cock as possible. It was suffocating to a certain extent, but you didn't mind in the least.

One of your hands came to rest on her waist, but then she quickly went up to her more than decent tits to squeeze them and play with her nipples. Aeri let out small moans as you played with her tits.

"Why don't you put it further to the right?" she said, referring to your cock.

She lifted her thigh and grabbed your cock to position it a few inches further to the right, where it met the silky smooth folds of her plump pussy on the side. She lowered the thigh again, making the meat sandwich once more. You were free to fuck her thighs once more, only this time you had an extra stimulus: her folds rubbing against your cock on the right.

It was kind of embarrassing how quickly that turned out, as you darted out from between her thighs and rose to stand above her, both of your feet on either side of her shoulders. And in true JAV style, you masturbated on top of her to shoot your last jets of cum on her tits and, mainly, her face. Both sides were painted white in a matter of seconds.

Aeri gasped satisfied and licked the cum from her own lips and chin with her tongue.

"Oh god...this feels like heaven to me," she said with a gasp looking at you.

You looked at Jimin, who raised her eyebrows.

"Do I really have to clean her up?" she said.

"Just fucking come here, Jiminie," Aeri said holding out her hand.

Jimin reluctantly took Aeri's hand and let herself be pulled by her. She fell silent on the Japanese woman's body, and both began to share a torrid making out session whose rather secondary objective was to clean the cum from Aeri's face. It took about a minute until Jimin had cleaned both the cum from her face and her tits.

"As you can understand, this is a debate that is impossible to close..." you said between labored breaths. "But I'm happy to continue trying to make you decide."

"Can we spend the night with you?" Jimin said, hugging Aeri from the side.

"Please say yes," Aeri said with a pout, also hugging Jimin and entwining her thighs with hers.

"Please no more sex, that's the only condition," you said, lying down on the other end of the bed. "My tank is emptied”.

"Just now we spent a while giving you kisses and making you a spoiled boy," Jimin said. "Who says we can't do it again all night?"

That was all you needed to hear after going through such daytime garbage. You moved to lie behind Jimin and wrapped them both in a hug. Jimin gave you a kiss on your forearm, and Aeri gave you one on the back of your hand.

You spent the rest of the night looking like a polyamorous relationship in which you were the main focus. You chatted, laughed a lot and told silly stories. Just what you needed to forget, just for a moment, about all the shit that was coming your way.

----------------------------------------------

As always. Thanks for reading! MASTERLIST HERE!

[nsfwrpg]

Fire in the Belly (and the Womb)

A/N: This follows up from the previous story Sins, Hormones, and the Starlet's Boyfriend

"Hey Yunjin, wow, that looks a little too breedable, hope it's not too cold." Yunjin's head snaps at the stylist's comment.

"What? What did you say?" she asks tersely.

"Huh? I said it looks breathable, like I hope it doesn't get too cold out there."

"Oh, got it, yeah, should be fine, sorry stylist-unnie." The stylist looks at her oddly, but just shakes her head and leaves.

"Yunjin, are you ok?" Sakura lays a concerned hand on her. "You seem off."

"Ah yeah, I'm fine." She was decidedly not fine. Yunjin is horny, and just like someone with horns, she snaps out at people unexpectedly. Her nights have been muted but wet, her moans muffled into the pillow to not disturb her members. Regrettably her own self-pleasure has been unsatisfying. No thanks to him! Nothing felt quite as good after her evening at Somi's place. They did work together on some songs after, but whenever she ran into him with Somi he was nothing but polite. Like a puppy he was devoted to Somi, checking in on her, leaving her little notes in her studio, and never sparing Yunjin anything but a courteous nod and greeting. It bugged her, not that she was jealous of Somi, more that she was envious of Somi, because she knows what he was capable of.

That he could be a wolf at Somi's wishes, and that he could tear Yunjin's clothes apart and eat Yunjin whole. That he would make her scream in pleasure, and she needed to scream in pleasure, to let loose right about yesterday. She can't do that in the dorms! A dildo is nice and all, and Yunjin has one or two that stretch her pretty well, but not with the force he could drive into her. There's also a fire in her belly, or rather, fire in her womb, and no dildo could satisfy her raw desire to have potent cum pumped straight into her. So with a hand drifting between her legs, she taps out a message to Somi.

*Hey Somi, really sorry to ask this, can I borrow your boyfriend for a night?*

*Like last time? sure, I could use a break after last week, when do you want him*

Yunjin let's out a muted moan at that thought—she can only imagine what the two of them have been up to, how hard does he go that the energetic Somi needs a break? And when does she want him? Oh god like a month ago! It takes all of her self-control to not type "ASAP" into her phone, and instead Yunjin settles for:

*Whenever's good for him*

Even with a date set, Yunjin still finds herself surprised, yelping when she sees him come through her dressing room door.

"Shh, unless you want everyone to know."

"What are you doing here?" She hugs him, a friendly greeting.

"Somi wanted me to give you a surprise." The greeting turns intimate, and Yunjin's body is suddenly flooded with heat as he pulls her flush against him. His hand is daring, and through the mirror behind him she watches his hand dip under her skirt, and then—

"Ohhhhh!" The loud moan leaks unbidden as he squeezes her ass firmly, palming her cheek over the safety shorts. Fuck now she wants to take the shorts off, to have him squeeze her ass directly, maybe spank it even. Unconsciously she pushes her hips back, wanting him to feel more of her ass. Very consciously he pushes her hips back to him, and there is a different kind of flooding as he presses his hardness against her.

"Not so loud, you really want to get caught don't you?" Yunjin doesn't want to get caught, but it feels so good to be touched, to be handled roughly like the way he was doing right now. "You're looking mighty breedable." This time Yunjin's sure she did not mishear. If anything, he would want her outfit to be completely breathable—naked, specifically. To her delight he unbuckles his pants, quickly revealing his stiffness.

Yes! He smiles into her neck and Yunjin freezes, did she say that out loud? There's no time to think though as he pushes her down slightly, and Yunjin's mind goes blank, feeling his shaft even through the layer of her safety shorts. She buries her face in his chest, muffling her moans as he rubs his cock between her legs—she helps him by grinding down on it, as if she's trying to split her lips over his tool.

"Close your thighs." Yunjin follows his request immediately, and the two of them breathe a little heavier as skin meets skin, her smooth thighs rubbing against his raw hardness. He begins to move, thrusting slowly between her thighs and rubbing against her pussy, and the memories of their previous encounter come easily to mind. A large hand squeezes her butt again, and his fingers dig deep into her flesh, sinfully tracing between her cheeks. Yunjin's reminded of the way he grabbed Somi's ass last time, and intrusive thoughts start coming in, her mind going wild as she imagines how they fuck, influenced by the bits and pieces she hears from Somi.

I could use a break after last week

First thing he does coming home is to jump me

He just explodes in you

"Nngh fuck..." This was just supposed to be a little surprise tease, but Yunjin's so deprived that even this is enough to have her hurtling towards an orgasm. A playful smack on her ass, and Yunjin's world goes white. She bites her lower lip hard as she suppresses a squeal, legs going weak as she reaches a relieving climax. When she recovers her forehead is pressed against his chest, and looking down she can see his shaft shining a little, covered in her own slick, rubbing her pussy to extend her pleasure. It's hypnotizing, and Yunjin can't take it anymore.

"You can p-put it in..." she whispers.

"No, not today." Her whine when he pulls away is utterly depraved, watching him put his erection back in his pants. "Today's just a surprise."

"You didn't finish yet!" She wants to help him finish, she wants him. "Let me—" Yunjin drops to her knees, eager to take him in her mouth, but to her shock he resists, taking one more step away from her.

"Nuh-uh, today's loads are for Somi. I'll see you next time." He pats her head, and a stunned Yunjin remains on her knees as the door closes behind him.

Today's... loads? Multiple? For Somi? Somehow, despite her orgasm, Yunjin is even more aroused than before. Yunjin quickly stands up before anyone comes in and sees her kneeling on the ground, but as she does she realizes she has another problem—how is she going to explain why her safety shorts are soaked through?

"Fuck me..." she utters to herself.

The day arrives, but it is with simmering frustration that Yunjin waits in the hotel room, thighs crossing and uncrossing as she awaits his arrival. She checks her phone constantly—he's late, and yet no message! Surely he didn't forget? Or did he get the day wrong? Or did he skip out on her? Maybe he just thought "Eh, pass." The mere contemplation of the last thought sends Yunjin into indignant anxiety—how could he turn her down! Did he not have a good time last time? Should she have insisted on giving him a blowjob right then?

It is with such thoughts that Yunjin opens the door when he finally arrives, her expression prompting him to ask a patently absurd question.

"Is now not a good time? Should we reschedule?" As if Yunjin could reschedule her need to get fucked!

"No." She pulls him in and slams the door behind him. "You're late."

"By..." He checks his phone. "8 minutes? I just missed the train and had to wait for the next. What's wrong?" Yunjin's self-inflicted dourness lightens as she watches him remove his coat, the mere sight of him taking off clothing reawakening her arousal.

"N-Nothing, just frustrated, sorry."

"Well, that's what I'm here for." Any doubts she had about him or herself go out the window as he hugs her like last time, kissing her demandingly. His fingers run through her hair, his other hand firm around her waist—one strokes her hair, the other strokes her lower back. It is almost sweet, like the last time they had sex, but Yunjin's too horny for that.

"I need you to fuck me roughly," she breathes into his ear, and the stroking pauses.

"Roughly?"

"Last time, the way you fuck Somi, you said there was the intimate way and the—"

"The rough way, yes I remember." His expression hardens slightly, as if preparing to be rough with her, and Yunjin gets wetter. A thrill goes down her spine when he opens his mouth again. "What's your safeword?"

Safeword, oh my god, just how rough do they get?! Yunjin buys herself some time, trying not to think about how rough he and Somi get. "Do you and Somi have a safeword?"

"We did."

"Did?"

"We learnt our limits over time, and we eventually stopped using it." Yunjin isn't scared, but she also worries about biting off more than she can chew, or take, in this case. Nevertheless she bluffs, unimpressed by her own behavior earlier.

"No safeword for me then either, no limits, I can take it." He stares at her, and Yunjin stares back, willing herself to hold his gaze. He is the first to blink, and he clears his throat.

"Let's pick up from where we left off then, I want to use your mouth." He leisurely removes his pants, and Yunjin drops to her knees once more, eager to finally get started. He is in her hands, hard and ready, all for her! She tries to bring her head to his, but is stopped by a hand on her scalp.

"Ah ah, I want to use your mouth, not receive a blowjob. Get on the bed." His tone is commanding, and Yunjin doesn't dare protest. He pulls her to the edge of the bed, her head hanging off the side. "Open." The blood is beginning to rush to Yunjin's head, and she has no stray thoughts, her mouth hanging open upside down.

"Ggllhk, mmph!" It is the first time she takes him in the mouth, and his length seems monstrous in size, filling her oral cavity, and pushing into her throat.

"Breathe through your nose," is the reminder and the order, and Yunjin complies, breathing in oxygen mixed with his musk—intoxicating. "Relax your throat." Deeper he goes, and Yunjin has to strain a little to allow him to push on further. On and on, until his sack taps against her nose and upper lip.

Today's loads, all for me! is the only thought in her head.

"Good?" He asks. Yunjin dangles an arm behind her, feeling his muscular ass and squeezing it, trying to push him forward.

I'm perfect. "Ghhk!" Panic takes over Yunjin when she feels a hand on her throat, giving her a slight squeeze.

"Relax, trust me, let me take over, let me do the work." She breathes deeply through her nose, trying her best to relax her body. "Good girl." Rhythmically the fingers on her throat tense and slack, moving back and forth on her neck. His hips move slightly too—not quite thrusting, just enough for some friction. "Such a nice fucking cocksleeve."

The thought should have incensed Yunjin—her throat, her instrument as Le Sserafim's vocalist, now used as nothing but a fleshlight, a mere instrument of pleasure. Yet as he throbs inside her neck the idea only served to turn her on, to heighten her arousal. He wanted to use her mouth, and by God he was using all of her mouth. Her hands drift to her own body, diving beneath her shorts and between her spread legs. She moans as she touches her lips—she's soaked! However, Yunjin is swiftly admonished, the grip around her throat tightening.

"Not your turn yet." He grabs her arm, pulling it back towards her neck. "Stroke me." He plants a knee on the bed, pushing even deeper, as if trying to fits his balls into her mouth as well. Yunjin is made to choke herself, her own hand grabbing her neck. She feels his thickness inside her throat, coughing a little as it throbs. She runs a hand up and down her neck, smearing her own juices across her skin. "That's it, fuck that's good!" Liquid trickles down Yunjin's face, messing up her makeup—not tears, but her own drool, flowing the wrong way down her face. Everything about this is wrong, why is she choking herself? Why is she letting him pin her head against the bed, why is he dunking his balls into her face?

Why does it feel so good?

When his orgasm happens Yunjin feels it more than tastes it—the jump of his cock, tip hitting the walls of her throat, and then the burst of gooey warmth against it. His hand goes back to her neck, squeezing it like he's gripping his cock, milking it for every drop. Yunjin trembles beneath him, beginning to run out of oxygen as he continues to spurt. The saltiness hits her tongue as he pulls out, the last remnants of his peak glazing across her lips and nose.

"Now it's your turn. Let's make you squirt."

"I'm— Haah, don't, mmm! Squirt." He doesn't give Yunjin anytime to breathe, leaning over her, and plunging his fingers between her legs. There is an audible thump as Yunjin bumps her head against the edge of the bed, her body arching against him at the penetration—it has been too long! She opens her eyes when she realizes he's not moving, two fingers deep inside her keeping her stretched and full, but no friction, no pleasure. His face is at her hips, and he's looking back down her body, smiling back at her.

"You will."

"Mmm..." Yunjin lets her head dangle off the edge of the bed again as he starts moving, massaging her pussy from the inside. Maybe she's just incredibly aroused, but he seems to know just how to touch her, and the hot pleasure going through her body quickly becomes a boil. "Fuck yes, just like that!" She just needed that little bit more!

Then she feels it.

"Oh my god!" Her eyes open in surprise when he presses down on her abdomen, right over where his fingers are inside her. Together the set of hands seem to pin her g-spot in place, and he just works his fingertips against her weakness, prodding and rubbing at it incessantly. It's like he knows her body better than she does. Like he owns it! is the last thought before she blanks out.

"Oh fuck... FUCK ME!" Yunjin screams and grabs at his thighs, fingers digging into his flesh as she squirts for the first time, soaking her clothes like never before. She's too blissed out to even notice his hard-again cock bouncing against her face as she cries and shouts, smearing her pretty face with more leftover semen and newly made precum. When she comes to her head is lying on the bed, and he's caressing her cheek, or so she thought.

"Clean." He brings his fingers to her mouth, and Yunjin dutifully sucks them clean. "Do we taste good?" It takes a moment to process the taste—he had wiped her face with his hand, and his fingers were coated in her juices and his cum! The worst part is, they tasted good together, and Yunjin couldn't wait for their fluids to mix... Elsewhere.

He takes off the rest of his clothes, and Yunjin follows suit, peeling off her now sweaty and wet pieces. As soon as she does he's on her, and Yunjin finds herself facing the wrong way on her hands and knees. The breath is pushed out of her as she is unceremoniously filled. Is this what Somi means by being jumped, that he just turns her around and sinks into her? Does he also use Somi's throat like he did earlier—two of K-Pop's hottest starlets, and their throats and pussies are just wrapped around his cock like toys?

"Nngh... Fuck!" Yunjin doesn't have much more time to think about what he does with Somi as pleasure shoots through her body while he does her. Her cheeks clap loudly against his hips, his hands branding her milky skin with how tightly he's holding her.

"Such a tight fucking body!" he hisses, and Yunjin clenches around him in response, both from the praise and her desire to please him further. Each thrust jolts her senses, and Yunjin is slowly overwhelmed by the pleasure, her arms and legs going weak trying to prop her body up. He soon renders that unnecessary though by grabbing her wrists and yanking them back, pulling her upper body off the bed. He gathers her wrists behind her back, and with one hand holding them there Yunjin is powerless to do anything. 

"God deeper, h-harder!" Her arms are his reins as he rides her to one orgasm, and then another, like a stallion riding its mare. With her hands occupied there's no stifling her loud moans or cries of pleasure that fill the room, and as loud as she gets on Le Sserafim content, Yunjin is arguably even louder in bed. "Fuck I'm cumming! Oh fuck don't stop, please don't stop! F-Faster, more please— Oh my— Mmmmm!" Yunjin's tongue loosens as she finally gets the fuck she's been waiting for for a long time, and she's saying anything that comes to mind, shamelessly telling him how she wants to be plugged—faster, harder, deeper! She's fucked into another "hands-free" orgasm before he lets go, dropping her head to the bed. She finds herself in an even more compromising position when her mind is no longer blank with pleasure—he's still holding her by her hands, but now he's pulled them from beneath her body and between her legs, using it as a sling to hold her hips up.

"Ah..." Yunjin gasps breathlessly as he starts thrusting again. She tries to squirm and turn her head, to lift herself off the bed with pure core strength, but he simply pulls on her arms, forcing her head back to the bed with the see-saw action. She could touch her clit in the position, and Yunjin does so, adding a familiar pleasure to the more foreign pleasure of being fucked so thoroughly.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks when Yunjin recovers from another orgasm, and she can only whimper and nod, rubbing her face on the bedsheet. "Do you want me to get rougher?" She nods again, and in short order he has her screaming—he plants a foot on the bed and grabs her by the hips, and the new position allows him to fuck her even more powerfully at an even better angle. Yunjin was getting fucked earlier, now she's just getting dicked down and loving it.

"Nnnngh! Oh my god, oh my god!" She has to bite the sheets in both pain and pleasure—her throat is sore from the "blowjob" earlier, her arms are sore from his yanking and pulling, and without a doubt her pussy is going to be sore with how hard he's going to town on her, but Yunjin would not have it any other way. Her head spins as a large hand pushes her deeper into the bed, and then—

Without any warning beyond a grunt, he simply sinks his cock all the way into her and explodes, filling her womb with potent DNA shrapnel. Each send of his hips sends even more cum into her, claiming more and more of Yunjin's pussy. She can only moan when she feels liquid trailing down her thighs—he's overflowing out of her!

"Y-You came so much..." Yunjin gasps, but he isn't remotely done with her. She finds herself on her back, and her fingers in her own pussy as he pushes them in.

"Clean yourself out before I fuck you again."

"W-What?! W-Wait!" Yunjin whimpers in overstimulation as four fingers are shoved into her, digging his load out from inside. Through thick and thin fingers does his load spill out from her, and the flow does not cease—so copious and thick is his seed that she finds herself on the verge of climax again just trying to get all of it out. "W-Why do you need to get it out? Nngh!"

"I don't want any sloppy seconds."

But it's your cum! Yunjin wants to cry out, yet it comes out as a wordless shout when he makes her clench again in orgasm, both his and her fingers fucking her roughly, forcing Yunjin to push his load out. What an image she makes right now—she lays sprawled out on the bed, fingers plunged deep in her own cum-filled snatch. It's no wonder he's hard again by the time Yunjin manages to piece a thought together. He rubs his tip against her messy and gooey entrance, and to Yunjin's shock he aims below her slit, lifting her legs slightly.

"I'm going to fuck your ass." A chill runs down her spine—whatever she had been looking for from him, it definitely wasn't that.

"N-No wait, not there!" Without responding he brings two fingers to her slit, gathering her slick and his cum before smearing it around her puckered ring. "Please, not there, I don't want it there!"

"What's your safeword then?" Her blood runs cold when she realizes her folly—she told him she didn't need one, and told him there were no limits! And now he's lubing her up, spreading her cheeks!

"No, please don't!" No no no no no no no! But he is unbudging, ignoring her pleas and making a show of prepping his thrusts. Once, then a second time does his cock seem to bump around her ass, as if "missing" his target. He makes a show of pulling his hips back, and Yunjin braces for losing her anal cherry—she could have pushed him off, or kicked him away earlier, but with his hands pinning her arms down her mind is going blank, and her hands grip the sheets, eyes tightly shut as she prepares for the pain. She can only manage one final whimper.

"Please—"

His cock sheathes inside her pussy with a smooth thrust, and for the first time ever Yunjin cums on the initial penetration. The relief and sudden pleasure instead of pain mix blissfully in Yunjin's head, and her legs wrap around his hips as she cums, locking him in, afraid he would actually take her ass if he pulls out again.

"And that's why we have safewords." He whispers in her ear, nibbling on her ear lobe and earning himself a whimper of "You're right." He unwraps Yunjin's legs from behind him and puts her in a mating press, hooking her knees with his elbows. Regardless of the position he chooses Yunjin is powerless, limp with pleasure as he begins plowing her again, stretching her sore pussy even more. For a brief moment Yunjin watches him, his hair mess and ruffled, wolfish... 

Wolfish? 

She's reminded of the fanfics she's read on her lonely nights, about alphas and omegas. She has no idea if he's ever read anything like that, or even aware of that concept, but he sure is fucking her like an alpha, and for her part, from the way she's yelping, she might as well be an omega in heat, her pussy molded in the shape of his cock. He kisses her, tongue demanding Yunjin's own tongue in return. The kiss is so intense, so ferocious, that Yunjin's head begins to spin, beginning to run out of breath. To the kiss he adds an unexpected move—with a hand he pinches Yunjin's nose, and between his kiss, the pinch, and the absolute pounding he's still able to give her, she starts to panic once more, quickly running out of oxygen, each jolt of her body unable to give her the air she needs.

"Mm, mm!" She grabs his shoulder, trying to tap him weakly, but her grip is loosening by the second, her consciousness fading. Her eyes open, and he has a lupine grin on his face—he might actually fuck her to death. He pulls away and says something, but she can only read his lips before she combusts.

Cum.

Yunjin's eyes roll into her head, the chemicals rushing her brain as oxygen flows back into her lungs. Yet again the mix of relief and pleasure is intoxicating, and her mouth hangs open, silently screaming as she squirts around him again. She jerks uselessly below him, her pussy contracting around his cock her only grip on reality anymore. Her limbs feel like jelly, and she has to whine and whimper to get him to throw her arms around his neck and hug her. Between the choking, the squirting, the threat of anal, and then the simultaneous kissing and choking and squirting she just went through earlier, Yunjin's brain is mush, intrusive thoughts entering and taking root. As far as she is concerned he is her alpha, and her lizard brain submits to him—if he wanted to take her ass now she wouldn't say no. But Yunjin wants something more.

"What is it?" his growl cuts through her orgasm-induced brain fog.

"Huh?"

"You've been mumbling, not moaning, spit it out." He thrusts harder, and Yunjin placates him by moaning—even now she doesn't want to reveal the depths to which her desires have descended to. The resistance is token though, and if her alpha wants to hear her needs, she would tell him. He asks her with his body, cock plunging in and out of her roughly; he actually wants to just hear her moan more, but Yunjin's omega-twisted mind treats it as delightful punishment, as if trying to make her speak, and the words begin tumbling out of her mouth.

"B-Breed... Breed me, please breed me." She finds his gaze, her eyes round and dilated, clouded with submissive lust. "Breed me like you own me." He slows down, and Yunjin immediately panics. "No, keep going, don't stop! Don't stop!"

"Say it again," he snarls, his voice low and dangerous. Yunjin does what her alpha wants.

"Breed me."

"The full thing, all of it." His next thrust is harder, and he pushes Yunjin's legs even further back, her ankles now near her ears. Later she would reflect on how she's normally not this flexible, but if he can fuck the kinks into her, maybe he's fucking the flexibility into her as well.

"Breed me like I belong to you."

"Louder!"

"Breed me like I'm your BITCH!" The last word is a shriek as he thumps solidly against her cervix. Yunjin's alpha leans over her, allowing him to pound straight down into her creamy warmth. Her ankles hook around his neck as Yunjin's folded in half, and she screams out in delirious joy at being ferociously, if not brutally, mated. Over and over he slams straight down into her, until he latches his mouth to her neck and sucks on her skin hard, marking her while he pumps her full of seed. The warm explosion rips through her womb and goes straight to her feral brain, and Yunjin cums with him one final time, scratching deep red lines on his arms and back, all while shredding her vocal cords as she lets loose her loudest cry yet. 

"YES YES YES YESSSSS!"

The silence after is deafening, and Yunjin's world goes fuzzy and fades to black.

She wakes up late next morning, her body blissfully sore from the night before. Every muscle in her body felt like it was on fire, but the fire in her belly had been quenched, and Yunjin nestles into the bed a little bit more until reality finally calls in the form of her manager looking for her. She comes up with a flimsy excuse, but she knows she has to get up. Disappointingly Somi's boyfriend is nowhere to be found, and after Yunjin showers and dresses again, groaning the whole time in soreness, she finds what he left her on the desk.

I hope I was of help to you. I greatly enjoyed last night, and hope you did too.

P.S. Just in case

Where the hell did Somi find a guy like that? Yunjin thinks to herself. How can he be so polite, so considerate (Her clothes were folded in a neat pile on the couch!) after fucking her brains out last night? Regardless Yunjin feels a small amount of pride, knowing that he had enjoyed last night too. She also finds the morning-after pills he had left next to the note. Intrusive thoughts from last night still linger in her head—unbeknownst to him, the date he had picked, last night, was actually one of her more fertile days, and a primal part of her wants to flush the pills down the toilet and let things take their natural course, to let her alpha breed her. Yunjin's hand travels to her neck, feeling where he had shoved his cock down her throat and then choked her... God even that mere thought is enough to warm her body, and her hand drifts down her body.

But no, it's a new day, and Yunjin claps her hands to her face, trying to clear her head. She takes the pills and washes it down with a glass of water. And with that, the fire in her womb is satiated.

For now.

A/N: Le Sserafim's song titles are too fun to play around with lol, they all can be made to sound kinda dirty XD So have more of Yunjin, thanks for reading!

[nsfwrpg]

Tissue and Coitus.

[Heiso, notes]: first off, thank you @iznsfw (I miss you too xoxo) for this and the encouragement to actually feel like writing. There’s no stone set for my return, but I’ll push out whatever I can. (2,000+ words for IU.)

A thin, damp layer of frost overcomes the street in the mist of winter’s rage. Flakes float about themselves as everyone basks in the joy of a new jolly year. Sold-out supplies had already evacuated before December’s reign—bringing an even greater difficulty when gathering basic human needs.

You, with an exhausted expression along with your bones crackling with every step, had only just snagged a great deal on a roll of toilet paper when a smaller woman was assumably pondering the exact same plan.

Your eyes meet for just a millisecond and it feels as though this woman could see right through you.

“Oh, you seemed to have beat me to it…” she comments with the fakest smile a human could muster.

“Huh? Oh, this?” You point at the roll in your hand, standing proudly at your quickness and agility. Or maybe that’s just exaggerating.

“Yep. That,” she replies, this time with more of a sarcastic countenance—her retort generally indicated by the fold of her forearms over each other. “And I bet that’s the last,” she continues as if she already knows the answer.

“Yep. It is.” It proceeds to become uncomfortably silent. You’ve had these moments in the past, along with unexplainable humiliation. “But… I should get going…” You’re eyes dodge hers in an attempt to look for a way out, to no avail.

“Hey… you’re a kind kid right?” She smiles at you, holding out her smaller sized palm. “I’m Jieun. You should respect your elders.”

Even with such a smaller frame, her attitude has no chill.

You’re a bit surprised. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. You were going to simply purchase your toilet paper, have a nice awkward moment with this elder woman, and bing watch Netflix while stuffing your mouth with junk food.

But—not only is the toilet paper not in your hands anymore, the woman has completely disappeared.

Your head practically spins 360° in hopes you’d spot Jieun’s red sweater in the process, to no avail.

Only a few hours pass while the convenience store incident hovers within your mind. The sidewalk tells its history of today with each patch of snow with a footprint implanted within its white chilliness. You include yourself, hands stuffed within empty pockets.

Though, along the trail you notice a few small crowds a little scattered throughout the street, everyone filled with laughter and joy—bringing a bit to your own.

In the mist of the crowd you spot Jieun’s red sweater swiftly maneuvering betwixt the variety of people—her gorgeous hair reflects the sun’s light and her short figure is rather hilarious stumbling about the audience.

You decide to follow her. She stole from you, plus where the hell did she vanish to that fast.

It’s quite easy keeping track of Jieun’s movements since she stands out so greatly from the crowd.

Jieun slightly attempts at flashing through a metallic door with words that boldly read, “Maintenance Only.”

Jieun’s journey towards the restricted door seemed to be set to minimum difficulty—as yours was more of a… challenge. You realize you almost popped your should twice before you’re finally a step ahead.

The scenery within the place seems like it’ll frequent plenty of celebrities. Singers, as a couple of instruments and microphones laid useless within a pile of various other junk. Actors, a number of props and cameras set themselves up by a stanchion along the wall as if to present them. You also notice a page of scripts and names, Jieun’s being at the top of the list.

You ruminate on the idea of Jieun actually being some type of social star. Every cause had an effect and every solution had a conclusion.

You could only gather that you’ve probably just met a movie star and singer when a small tap on your shoulder interrupts your thought process.

You jolt a bit, nescient of the strangers presence.

“You’re a bit nosey, huh?” The familiar voice only enhances your horror.

“Uh, no?” you reply, whipping yourself around. You forgot how short Jieun was in the limited amount of time. It almost makes you feel cornered and pathetic.

“You shouldn’t—” In a sudden manner the same door you entered opens in a swift motion, despite its weight.

Jieun’s quicker though—and you don’t have enough time to react before your wrist is practically interlocked with her palm. Jieun drags you into a janitor’s closet not too far from the individual. Your bodies seem glued together, the tips of your shoes are kissing and your hands have no other option but to contact each other.

The closet lacks sufficient light, the only sort of sound is your erratic breaths and the slight sounds of movement from without the closet. You hear faint footsteps in the distance, a bit or rattling and clanging—as if rummaging about, potentially seeking something.

“We can’t leave yet,” Jieun says to snap you out of your trance. You were so caught up in the figure’s actions that you didn’t even come to common terms with your own. You snatch your hand away from the closet’s handle; barely visible, an attenuated sheet of dim light spreading from one wall of the closet to the opposing wall, all the while your waists and above have been completely engulfed in a starless cloud.

You progressively feel Jieun’s small, hitched breaths quicken—your bodies even closer, an intense sensation of warmth interlocks your figure and you realize that your pants have tightened tremendously. You completely stop breathing, attempting to make as much space as you can betwixt yourself and the smaller woman who’s arms suddenly make their way around your waist.

“Will you quit squirming, they’re gonna hear us..!?” The stern tone is enough for you to embrace Jieun’s presence again, this time a bit closer, and much hotter. Perhaps it’s the slender arms locking you in tightly, her short breaths on the front of your throat—maybe it’s the fact that you can feel Jieun’s warmth as well. She lifts her face within the dark, though you have trouble seeing anything else but Jieun’s eyes, glowing in crimson—a bit hypnotic, a punctilious replica of a vampiric illusion.

You feel yourself slowly drifting within.

And without the answer to whether this is right or wrong, you find yourself lip-locked with the older woman you’ve just met in a convenience store, who has also had the nerve to steal your toilet paper. Though the timing is too wrong, you descry the attempt to refrain; but you’re rather confounded when your own body pulls Jieun closer, and your faces practically glue themselves together.

Jieun wastes zero time in the rush of undressing you. It’s as if all of your clothing just… disappeared.

You feel Jieun’s hands on your bare skin. Only now do you finally begin getting rid of her clothes as well, having her join you in this nude display, though the viewers are unique and enjoy shadows and curves, if that counts.

Jieun’s arms travel from around your waist to slither along your figure until they daintily dangle from your shoulders, her soft small hands clasping your nape passionately. You take this time to embrace Jieun in the prior manner she frequented. As your hands cuff her smaller sides, Jieun’s tongue manages to slip within your lips, sending butterflies hurtling through your torso—anything else now a mere blur, your mind fully clouded with the feeling of pleasure.

You let yourself sink into her small frame, entwining oneself around her warmth—sinking deeper into her, allowing all of you to just give in.

Jieun loses a bit of time while attempting to undo your belt buckle, a slight zip the only sound aside from your heavy breaths and minimum shuffling. She succeeds, though, dropping along with your pants in unison, and even when you can’t see Jieun looking up at you you maintain the image in your head. She smiles, her tongue lapping the underside of your tip, her soft palm clasped in a fixed manner around the base, her other hand cupping your balls sensually in a rhythmic motion.

You’re too far gone to keep caution of the erotic swirls pleasuring your erection, each slick to and fro from the tip to the shaft, each gag and swallow hollow though undeniably sexually appealing, each stroke of Jieun’s soft hands as they assist her mouth in making you feel satiated.

Jieun pulls off and leaves several precursory kisses as if her previews didn’t already cash-grab you. Though she hand-grabs you in another clamped fist and her hands stroke your shaft—giving you and her jaw a rest.

Before Jieun’s hand succeed in their succession, pull her until her stature matches your chest and turn her around firmly, placing her against the closet wall while also placing her back an arch deeper. It takes not a single hesitation before Jieun’s complying: her arms keep her face from colliding with the wall and she makes sure her back stays nice and curved.

“Good girl,” was accidentally said until Jieun whimpers and backs her ass up against your crotch; allowing you to slip smoothly into the warmth of her body.

It’s enough to make you shiver.

It’s enough to make the clench and squelch of Jieun’s insides intensify as she finally cries out in pleasure. Your body essentially lunges forward to mute the moans and whines that still manage to escape the gap your fingers provide; you could only say it worked for two seconds. Plus the couple that Jieun tried, though failed, to muffled herself. Probably why she just lets her face fall into the wall. A makeshift pillow. An even better palm. Shit, even better than attempting to keep her mouth closed, because that totally wouldn’t work.

You worry but still when Jieun’s pussy tightens, her hips rocking her body to and fro, back and forth, following an erratic rhythm that she, in all likelihood, can’t even read, you almost forget about the knot most likely swelling upon her head right now. Though the slow clap of her ass hitting your waist is just at the tip of hypnotic, the occasional gleam of the results of your seduction as Jieun slowly and steadily sucks you back in after you manage to escape her grasp each time, even the erotic sounds you’d usually hear in front of a stove or an oven top, all furnish and contained; all feverish and galvanized; all waterlogged and sticky.

Everything leads to you wanting more.

Grip Jieun’s waist sternly and fearlessly begin thrusting. The impact is almost instantaneous, Jieun’s whines grow in octave and her pussy is a hard worker when it comes to milking. Her tongue has difficulty helping her talk, her arms have already failed in their quest, and her legs are on a sliver of health.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” is about all she can muster while her pussy drenches your lap.

She honestly should feel guilty, you’re going to need a new pair of pants after this…

And maybe some tissue.

Even then, though, Jieun has enough liquid to supply her for months.

Let your hands be your eyes as they venture across the lands of Jieun, an older woman you’ve just met today—even better, she stole from you.

So, let them venture until you reach one of Jieun perky titties and lift her torso until she’s basically a second shirt for you. The material is soft, a bit supple, a lot stiff. But before you can tease her about it she slams her ass into you, your dick reaching wondrous depths, Jieun’s moans reaching incredible volumes, your pleasure reaching its peak.

Jieun’s pleasure reaching its conclusion as well. Her legs kind of wobble pathetically and she gasps before an, “oh shit, oh my god,” notifies its arrival.

Jieun whimpers miserably as her imminent squirt discontinues your connection.

Attempt to regain yourself but it’s far too late. Before you’re able to groan, a spurt of cum covers a part of Jieun’s lower body, and the rest attains other unspecified areas until you deem yourself completely spent.

A soft creak on the other side of the closet door snaps you out of the haze, a knock following.

You notice you don’t have enough time to clean anything.

[nsfwrpg]

Panda Making - Dreamcatcher Dami

A/N: I apologize for the utterly terrible puns (if you get it), if not, nothing of value was lost, trust me.

"Oh my god, it's so cuteeeee!" You remind yourself that Dami is not the cute one in Dreamcatcher, that she isn't one to fawn over something as mundane as a four-legged creature that eats shoots and leaves, but here she is, squealing at a pitch higher than you've ever heard her sing. "Did you know its name is Fu Bao?"

"Yes it's on the sign."

"And that it's the first panda born in Korea?"

"Yes that's also on the sign."

"Ahh and it's so cute!"

"I can tell, I can tell," you reply, unimpressed. Seeing her good mood, you try earning brownie points with Dami. "But you're cuter."

"No no, it's the cutest!" It is time for the two of you to move on, for the next viewing group to enter the enclosure. As you leave though, Dami curls her arm tightly around your elbow, guiding you back to the viewing line.

"Let's go again!"

The panda is an invasive species, coming up in conversations even after you arrive back home with Dami.

"Can we make some bamboo-related dish?" "Let's get some fruit the pandas eat?" You are mentally prepared to put your foot down when Dami brings up pandas again.

Except it came at the most unexpected time.

"Oppa?" You're shaken awake by your girlfriend.

"Hmm?"

"I want to make a baby panda." Half-asleep you don't process her words properly.

"That's great, but we're not the zoo babe," you grumble into the pillow. You are significantly more awake once you feel Dami's hand dip beneath your shorts.

"We can make our own little Fu Bao right here..." Dami nibbles on your earlobe, rolling you on your back and climbing on top of you. Your eyes are widen open as you watch her slowly undo the buttons on her pajama top. "Maybe even call it Da Bao."

"God that's a terrible name," you chuckle as you pull Dami in for a kiss, slipping the silk shirt off her shoulders.

"Really? That's the takeaway here, that Da Bao's a bad name?" An outraged Dami is shushed by you slipping your hands under her pants, squeezing a tight cheek.

"You know what you're asking for right?" Dami's grinding on you slowly, her hips nodding up and down against you.

"Yeah, I know, maybe it's just me seeing cute stuff nowadays, gone a little bit stir crazy." You keep kissing her neck, letting her continue to grind on you, but not going further, not responding to her. "You're really going to make me say it hmm?" You kiss Dami's jawline, hands teasingly playing with the hem of her panties and struggling not to just rip it off her—her heat is palpable.

"I dunno what you're talking about, Da Bao's mom."

"God..." She shivers on top of you. "Fuck fine, I need you to get rid of all the condoms in the place."

"Now? Get off me then." Dami damn near dunks your dome on the bed and plants her derriere on you.

"Not right now!" she hisses, before shimmying and kicking off her pants. "I need you to knock me up." She pulls out your wide-awake cock and pulls her panties to the side, revealing that she truly "needs" you right now, pink flesh glistening even in the dim bedroom.

"Do you mean—" You hold Dami at whining distance, your cock twitching when you feel a drop of slick drip on your tip. "Do you mean a panda needs to be bred in Korea?" She growls as you bring her down on you, sheathing yourself in her.

"Yes god yes!" Dami's leaning against you heavily, reeling at feeling you raw inside her. "Fucking breed me."

"You feel so good, fuck!" Dami clenches around you, and you feel every texture and fold of her walls—it's so much more pleasurable with nothing wrapped around you, nothing stopping you from planting your seed inside her. "Ugh, not going to last long."

"It's fine, cum inside me, just cum inside me!" At your admission of poor stamina Dami rides you hard, her flat midriff moving sensuously. Her husky moans are right in your ear, begging you with "give me a baby panda" and "let me milk you". The whispers get more and more desperate until she sits down on you with a lewd squelch. The sudden increase in wetness gets to you, and you hold her down, making sure you're hilted in her before you explode. Dami sucks harshly on your neck, leaving a dark hickey as she creams all over you, purring contentedly as you fill her.

"Fuck, baby..."

"Are you talking to me or Da Bao?" You're shut up by your girlfriend, grinding down on you vengefully. Dami regrets it though, quivering on top of you.

"Shit, you're leaking, I can feel you leaking!"

"You're the one doing the leaking, all over our bed." You hold her close, feeling her clench around you, like she's still cumming or something. "Are you trying to milk me?"

"No, want to get you hard again."

"Hm, it's going to take more than that to make Da Bao."

"I know, I'll have to track my cycle, figure out when's the best time, and then make sure we're in our best condition, and—"

"You're overcomplicating things dear."

"What? Ah!" You hug Dami close as you put her on her back and get on top of her. "T-That's what I read, I did a lot of reading!" It makes you hard again, that Dami's not just having baby fever, but that she's actively doing research, really meaning to try for one. You enter her easily, and she arcs against you, body pressed flushed with yours.

"Maybe, but I have an easier solution." You start moving, pumping her full of cock while you lean down and whisper in her ear. "I fuck you before and after you finish work every day until it happens."

"D-Day and night?"

"Day and night, I'll fill you up properly, you'll have to hide from the members why you're walking funny, while you're still dripping my load, because you won't be able to get all of it out."

"That sounds good..." Dami gasps, wrapping her legs around your waist to lock you in. "And then?"

"And then when you come back home, I welcome you back and let you choose, do you want to ride me or should I bend you over the dining table before we eat dinner?" Dami's eyes roll as she imagines it happening, a small orgasm flowing through her.

"A-And then?"

"We do it one more time before we sleep, so you can get the best rest, maybe I fuck you in the shower so we can clean up quickly and go to sleep right after."

"What happens when I, when I—" Dami's a bit of a wreck, the thought of her doing her research combined with you actively trying to knock her up sending her into some kind of heat.

"When we succeed," you bring your hand down to her flat belly. "This little tummy won't be so flat any more, and it'll be fucking hot." You press down on her womb from above, and you drive into her powerfully, making sure she feels it all the way inside her.

"Yes yes yes yes yes..." Dami doesn't hear you groan and tell her you're cumming, she experiences it with you, your thick seed filling her up as the warmth flushes over her with her own peak. She clenches on you repeatedly, until you no longer throb inside of her.

As Dami cuddles against you, you remind yourself to throw out the condoms, and maybe you wouldn't mind taking her to see Fu Bao again before the panda is transferred back. After all...

Da Bao is part of the package.

A/N: So this came up randomly when I was listening to news about Fu Bao, one thing led to another and I had panda breeding in my head. I already had an idea for Seoyeon (Fromis App) so Dami was it. And once I got the name "Da Bao" in my head the pun is too terrible to not use it. Just a short little thing, thanks for reading!

[nsfwrpg]

Yayyyyy! More Chaesis pics :)

Speaking of Chaesis, everyone go watch this, you won't regret it. I promise <3