#once in a dream in seoul | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dakusan · 21 days ago

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S h u t U p a n d S i t S t i l l

Tattoo Artist!Kim Seungmin x Reader | He tattoos like a surgeon and fucks like a sadist. You showed up for ink. He gave you obsession.

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. you walked into NO SAINT INK for a rib tattoo—left with trembling thighs, his hoodie around your neck, and a cock you can't stop dreaming about. Seungmin is quiet, sharp-tongued, and mean in the best ways: he bends you over the bench, fucks you until you cry, then wipes you down and feeds you strawberries like you're his favourite masterpiece. It starts with your seventh tattoo. Ends with you moaning his name every night, in his bed, in his hoodie, with his fingers under your panties. This isn’t just art. It’s obsession. And now he’s your boyfriend too—lucky you.

💌a/n: i literally don’t remember who requested tattoo artist seungmin first. either way. you got it. the man who fucks you stupid then wipes you down like he’s cleaning his favourite mug. HE’S HERE. AND HE’S IN LOVE (but would rather die than admit it out loud) 🫶🍓🖤. also? 🔔 THE MINI SERIES ORDER HAS BEEN DECREED 🔔 next up: JEONGIN. after that: ⟡ MINHO ⟡ CHANGBIN ⟡ FELIX and then finally—drumroll, throat clear, studio lights flickering— BANG CHRISTOPHER FUCKING CHAN. the cherry on top. the tattoo daddy. the final boss of soft filth and filthy softness. pray for me. p.s. if you liked it, if you screamed, if your thighs clenched even ONCE—REBLOG IT. LIKE?? yes. COMMENT?? also yes. p.p.s. if i catch you in the notes saying “need him biblically,” “he wiped me down like a canvas,” or “not the strawberries 😭”—just know i love you. violently 💋 p.p.s. see u next Tethered Tuesday with Jeonginnie~

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch. You are the CEO of your own coochie.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Charmer — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:09 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Seoul, South Korea. Tuesday, 3:12 PM.

You push the door open with your hip, bells jingling overhead as warm incense curls toward the ceiling — sandalwood, patchouli, something citrusy beneath it all. It’s always like this at NO SAINT INK. Chill beats humming low, Felix probably somewhere in the back rearranging his piercing tools like he’s Marie Kondo with a needle fetish, and—

“Fuck,” a voice mutters from behind a half-drawn curtain. You grin. Found him.

Kim Seungmin.

The reason you have six tattoos—and the reason you keep coming back for more.

You strut past the front desk like you own the place, setting down your tray of iced americanos and pastries with the confidence of someone deeply annoying. Your seventh session. Four healed pieces, one still peeling, and the newest one inked just last month. And of all the artists here, you keep picking the same one. On purpose.

Seungmin doesn’t look up at first. He’s sketching something at his desk—lined in ruler-straight precision, every pen stroke exact, no wasted ink. Hair slightly tousled. Sleeves rolled. Black gloves already on like he’s been prepping to ruin someone’s day.

He finally lifts his eyes—and groans.

“Why are you here again?”

“Hi to you too, sunshine,” you chirp, sipping your iced coffee with maximum slurp.

“I told Felix to screen your bookings.”

“I bribed him with matcha cake. Also, he says hi.” You swing the drink tray toward him with flair. “Got you your usual. Thought you could use the energy. You looked a little pale last time.”

He stares. “You’re lucky I don’t stab clients.”

“You already do,” you smile sweetly, plopping into the client chair. “It’s called tattooing.”

You met him through Felix, of course—NO SAINT INK’s glittery menace and certified piercing god. You came in on a whim two years ago for a constellation of helix piercings and left with a phone background of Felix’s stupid peace sign and a mouth full of swear words after he showed you Seungmin’s tattoo portfolio. Clean lines. Razor-sharp contrast. Occasional anatomical sketches paired with poetry in tiny, deliberate script.

When you told Felix you wanted something specific for your first tattoo—a geometric wolf across your ribcage—he nodded once and said, “Seungmin’s your guy.”

You’ve hated him ever since.

He’s impossible. Quiet, dry, sarcastic in a way that feels like a dare. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t smile. He just tattoos like he’s building something permanent—measured, focused, untouchable. But when you’re the one under his needle? His fingers linger a little too long on your waist. His voice drops when he tells you to hold still. And you—being the insufferable brat you are—live to poke at the ice until it cracks.

Which is why you’re here today. For tattoo number seven.

From him. Again.

“Let me guess,” he says, sipping the coffee despite himself. “Some half-baked Pinterest inspo you expect me to redesign overnight?”

“I’m hurt,” you pout dramatically. “I actually brought a reference this time. Plus, I figured you missed me.”

“I miss peace and quiet.”

“Then why’d you pick a career where girls beg to get pinned under you?”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just says, “Get on the table before I change my mind.”

You smirk. There it is. That little twitch in his jaw. That flick of his tongue against the inside of his cheek when you say something just annoying enough to rattle the cage.

You pull out your sketch. “I want it here,” you say, lifting your shirt to gesture just below your sternum, to the space between your breasts and your ribs. “Delicate linework. Abstract. Your specialty.”

Seungmin stares. Then sighs. “You do realize I’ll have to touch you for placement.”

“Oh no,” you gasp, faux-innocent. “That would be terrible.”

He drops the clipboard with a snap.

“You’re unbearable.”

“You’re obsessed.”

Seungmin mutters something under his breath—probably a curse, probably in two languages—as he snatches your sketch and jerks his head toward the back hallway.

You follow with a smug little skip in your step.

The private rooms at NO SAINT INK are all artist-personalized. Seungmin's? It’s all dark wood, clean steel, framed minimalist pieces, and surgical-grade tidiness.

Cedar diffuses from a sleek black humidifier in the corner. The light is warm-toned and angled perfectly. His iPad sits on a tidy desk, stylus already beside it like it was placed there with a ruler. And on the windowsill—three succulents. Perfectly spaced. You teased him about it once and he deadpan replied, “One for every time you’ve wasted my time.”

He drops your paper sketch on his desk and sits, spinning the iPad toward him with a sigh. “You’ve got five minutes to explain what the hell this is.”

You plop down in the rolling stool beside him, leaning your chin on your hand. “It’s art. Use your imagination.”

He gives you a long, deeply unimpressed look.

“Fine,” you huff. “It’s… inspired by sacred geometry. Like a mandala, but cracked open. Fragmented. I want it to feel like breaking and healing at the same time. Like symmetry trying to reassemble itself.”

Seungmin blinks. Then blinks again.

“…You pulled that out of your ass just now.”

“I did not.”

“Did too.”

“Seungmin.”

He groans and starts sketching.

You watch, quiet now—because this is the part you actually love. The way his fingers move when he draws. Controlled, calculated. Not robotic. Not sterile. There’s warmth there, if you know where to look. And you do.

He sips the coffee you brought like it’s medicine. Then grabs a croissant and bites it with grim resolve, like chewing it too quickly might register as gratitude.

“I still think you bribed Felix with blackmail.”

“He was emotionally weak. I seized the moment.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And you’re drawing me the prettiest trauma-symbol I’ve ever seen, so who really wins here?”

He doesn’t answer. But his pen slows. His strokes get sharper. He’s in his element now. You recognize the shift—the way he leans in closer to the iPad, slightly squints, drags his stylus with deliberate precision.

The design blooms under his hand: a fractured mandala, circular symmetry interrupted by jagged arcs and broken segments. Clean dotwork in the center, a few splashes of abstract floral curls breaking out near the bottom edge. Like order blooming from chaos. Like something whole again.

“You’re disgusting,” you whisper, stunned. “That’s perfect.”

“I know.”

“Arrogant.”

“You begged me for it.”

“I said please once and you moaned like I kicked your dog.”

He flicks his eyes to you, slow. “Say please again.”

You blink.

Then smirk. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

But he’s already reaching for the print button.

“Let’s stencil this,” he says coolly, rising from his chair and heading towards the printer to print the design out. “I’d like to be rid of you before sundown.”

“Careful,” you say, trailing him out of the room. “One day you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“Promise?”

“Never.”

While he is busy with the printer, you kick your shoes off and climb onto the bed like it’s yours.

Technically, it’s a client bench. Adjustable, padded, wrapped in fresh black vinyl. But in your mind? It’s a throne. A stage. A perfect little altar for the games you play with Kim Seungmin.

You wiggle into place, tugging your top over your head in one smooth motion. You’re down to your bralette now—delicate black lace with scalloped trim, something clearly chosen on purpose. Not slutty. Not overt. But just enough to see Seungmin’s jaw tighten when he walks back in.

He’s still fiddling with the stencil printer—cutting the sheet, prepping it with solution. Focused. Professional. Cold, as ever.

You lounge, arms folded behind your head, watching him from the bed like you’re sunbathing and he’s just lucky to be in your light.

“You gonna stare the whole time?” he murmurs without looking up.

“Am I bothering you?”

“Always.”

You grin.

Just then—click—the door swings open, and Felix’s voice rings through the room.

“Hey, demon duo—just letting you know I’m locking up soon. Jisung dipped early, and Chan-hyung’s out all day, so it’s just you two in the studio for the rest of the afternoon.” He wiggles his brows. “Try not to kill each other. Or fuck. Or both.”

Seungmin doesn’t look up. “Go away, Felix.”

“Don’t be rude. I brought you into this world.”

“I was here first.”

“Emotionally? Never.” Felix flicks his brows toward you. “Good luck, baby girl. If he’s mean, just call me and I’ll stab his tires.”

You salute him. “Noted. Drive safe.”

With a wink, Felix is gone. The click of the studio door locking behind him feels final. Loud.

Seungmin exhales slowly. Then turns.

You’re still lying there on the bed, head propped, shirt discarded, body sprawled like a damn invitation.

His gaze flickers once. Down. Then away. Then back again, like it physically pains him to give you that much attention.

He lifts the stencil paper, holds it up to the light. “You know this placement is gonna be tricky.”

“Delicate linework on soft skin,” you echo sweetly. “Your specialty.”

He levels you with a look. Flat. Dangerous. Amused.

“…You’re going to be impossible today.”

“I’m always impossible.”

“No,” he says, slipping on gloves with a soft snap, “today it’s worse. Today you want something.”

You blink, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “Me? Never.”

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, stencil sheet in one hand, alcohol wipe in the other.

“Sit up,” he says, voice low. Commanding. “And lift your arms. I need a clean canvas.”

You obey—grinning like a menace—arms up, ribs exposed, breath catching slightly as the cold wipe grazes under the swell of your breast. He’s careful. Professional. Completely murderous about it.

The tension is a wire, pulled tight between you.

He smooths the stencil paper across your skin, presses down, then peels it back slowly, eyes trained on the imprint left behind.

It’s beautiful.

Nestled between your ribs, spanning just above your solar plexus: the fractured mandala blooms in fine linework, cracked yet radiant. His style. His hand. His art.

And now—it’s on you.

Seungmin looks at it for a beat too long.

Then: “Lie back.”

You do.

He adjusts the overhead lamp. Tilts your chin slightly. Brushes a single finger along your sternum, just below the stencil line.

You shiver.

He smirks.

“Try not to squirm this time,” he says. “You’ll fuck up the symmetry.”

Finally, Seungmin moves again. Gloves snap into place—tight, black latex stretched over knuckles and the fine lines of his fingers. You watch him through lowered lashes as he pours ink into the caps—his shade of black. You’ve learned that by now. Not too warm. Not too blue. Just sharp enough to slice through skin and stay.

The hum of the machine starts soft. Like a warning. Like a purr with teeth.

He looks at you once.

Just once.

And you know he’s not going to go easy.

“You good?” he asks, voice flat.

You nod, smug. “You always ask like you care.”

“I do care,” he mutters, tilting your chin again with a gloved hand. “Would be a shame if my art got fucked up because someone couldn’t keep still.”

Your eyes narrow. “Someone?”

He dips the needle, tests the line on a pad, and leans forward—right into your space. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“You.”

You roll your eyes and shift slightly, arms up, chest rising.

“God, you’re such a dick.”

His smirk could slice bone.

“And you’re still here. What does that say about you?”

You go to reply—but the first sting of the needle hits, and the breath punches from your lungs.

“F-fuck—!”

“Oh?” Seungmin says innocently, hand steady as he traces the mandala’s outer ring. “Is it too much already?”

You grit your teeth, exhale through your nose.

“No. Just... colder than I remembered.”

He hums like he doesn’t believe you. Like he knows what you’re really reacting to.

The first lines burn clean and sharp—stretching out beneath your skin, each pass as exact as a scalpel. Seungmin works in slow, confident strokes, one hand guiding your body where he needs it.

His fingers splay across your ribcage for tension. Firm. Possessive. Cruel.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just tattoos. Focused. Controlled.

But then—

“You know,” he murmurs, “most people don’t come back after their first rib piece.”

You hiss, fingers curling into the vinyl under you. “Most people don’t have your charming personality to keep them coming.”

He chuckles. Actually chuckles. Which should be illegal.

“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” he says.

The needle lifts for a second. He wipes gently with a cloth—soft at first, then firm, dragging over raw skin like he’s making a point.

You arch just slightly into his touch.

“I’m getting off on annoying you,” you counter, breath shaky.

His next line is faster. Harsher. He presses your side firmly, keeping you in place.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, low against your neck. “Then try really hard not to flinch right here.”

You flinch.

He clicks his tongue. “You’re so fucking bad at taking orders.”

“And you’re so—”

The machine stops.

He raises a brow. Wipes again. Slow this time.

“I’m so what?”

You glance down. Past his gloved hand on your ribs. Past the half-finished mandala. Past the slight smear of ink on your sternum.

You swallow.

“…focused.”

He smirks. Dangerous. “Damn right.”

And then he leans in—his next line beginning right where your breath catches worst. Right under your breast. Right on the spot where your heartbeat flutters like it’s begging him to notice.

You think he does.

Because his voice dips—deeper, smugger.

“Still think I missed you?”

You bite your lip.

Lying here. Under his hands. Wrapped in tension and black ink and the sharp, brutal pressure of a boy who tattoos like he’s angry at your skin for hiding itself from him—

You can’t lie.

Not to Seungmin.

“…yeah,” you say quietly.

His eyes flick up when you say it.

Yeah.

One syllable, quiet as breath, but loaded—the way confession always is. He doesn’t reply, not out loud. But the corner of his mouth lifts. Not a smirk. Something more dangerous. Something knowing.

He tilts your body slightly to one side, guiding you into the perfect angle, and you let him. Of course you let him.

“Still breathing okay?” he murmurs, even though he knows damn well what your breathing sounds like right now—shallow, choked, tight.

“Mhm,” you manage.

He presses back down with the needle. His strokes are smoother now, filling in the fractured petals of the mandala. He works just beneath the undercurve of your breast, just along the swell of sensitive skin—close enough to tease, close enough to make you ache.

You twitch. Barely. But enough.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t have to.

Because when he lifts the needle to switch angles, he uses his other hand to press firmly along your waist, holding you in place. His fingers curl just slightly into your side. Possessive. Grounding. A little cruel.

You shudder.

“Still can’t take orders,” he mutters.

You glare. “Still a fucking sadist.”

He hums. “Takes one to keep coming back.”

That earns him a punch to the shoulder—gentle, a flick of your knuckles—but he’s already grinning as he dips the needle again.

Your skin burns.

And still—still—you want him closer.

The ink trails down now, toward the bottom of the design. He’s practically tattooing over your stomach, your diaphragm pulsing with every breath. He’s leaning in lower too—head bent, nose just inches from your sternum. If he angled left, he’d be mouth-to-skin. If you arched just slightly, you’d be brushing right into him.

The tension hums in the air—hot, oppressive, close.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low again. This time it’s not mocking. It’s… loaded.

You nod once. “Are you?”

He glances up.

“Been better,” he mutters. Then, deliberate: “You squirm too much.”

You lift your eyes to his—taunting, daring. “You tattoo too slow.”

That gets you a sharp tap against your side.

“Careful.”

“Make me.”

The machine goes quiet.

You blink.

Seungmin sits back, gaze steady. Gloved fingers still resting against your stomach.

“You always this mouthy when someone’s on top of you?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know.

Your heart stutters.

You open your mouth—then close it.

He watches you for a second longer—until you shift just slightly under his stare. And only then does he lean back in, restart the machine, and murmur:

“Thought so.”

The final line burns sweeter than the rest.

Your breath hitches again—not from the pain, not really. You’ve gotten used to the sting. You chase it now. Crave it. Especially when it’s from him.

Seungmin finishes with a few last passes, the machine humming low and steady, until finally—he stops.

The silence after feels too quiet.

You blink up at the ceiling. It’s over. And suddenly your whole body is aware of how tense it’s been—your spine bowed slightly, your legs tight, your hands fisted in the sheets beneath you like you’ve been trying not to moan the whole time.

(You kind of have.)

He switches the machine off. The room exhales.

You stay lying down for a beat too long.

Then you hear the snap of his gloves being pulled off. The rustle of the rolling stool as he pushes back. The low clink of metal—his tools being set aside, wiped, lined up again with military precision. He always cleans up like he’s scrubbing evidence.

You sit up slowly, your ribs feel warm, raw—but not in a bad way.

He’s already tossed the gloves into the bin and is reaching for the mirror. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, biting your lip as you peek down.

The mandala gleams—inky black and flawless, nestled beneath the swell of your breasts like it belongs there.

Your breath catches.

“…fuck,” you whisper.

Seungmin glances over.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

You shoot him a look. “Cocky much?”

He shrugs, reaching for his disinfectant spray like it’s nothing. “Not my fault I’m better than everyone else.”

You laugh—quiet, low, still slightly winded. “I should stop feeding your ego.”

“You should stop showing up half-naked and asking me to touch you for two hours.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t even blink.

You’re perched on the edge of the bed now, ribcage still bare. And he’s standing barely a foot away, still wiping his tools, still calm—but his jaw is tight again. His fingers grip the disinfectant bottle like he’s trying to decide whether to clean your table or ruin your day.

The air shifts.

Slowly, you stand—stepping forward. His eyes flick downward. Just once. Then he meets your gaze.

“…Seungmin.”

He raises a brow.

You step closer. Bold. A little breathless. “You never said thank you.”

He tilts his head. “For what?”

“The coffee. The pastries. My continued emotional support and aesthetic contribution to your client portfolio.”

He snorts. “Oh, right. How could I forget.”

“You could show some gratitude,” you say, smile growing. “Like, I dunno…”

A beat.

You lean in.

“…a kiss, maybe?”

He stares at you—flat, unreadable.

Then, finally, finally—his hands stop moving. The rag drops from his fingers. His jaw twitches once.

And he says, voice low: “Lay back down first.”

Your breath stops. “W-What—”

“For the aftercare,” he says—completely serious. But his eyes are glinting, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners. “Unless you want it to get infected.”

You huff, but you obey—because of course you do.

You lie back down, ribs lifting with every inhale, the crisp air of the studio brushing across your skin. Seungmin moves slowly—methodical, precise. He reaches for the healing balm and the bandage roll with the same focus he uses when prepping a tattoo needle.

And then—

Then he steps into your space again.

You feel his gaze before his hands. That lingering look, dragging from the ink across your sternum to the fine lace of your bra. To the soft dip between your breasts. You’re not stupid—you know how you look. You know how he’s looking.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Just kneels beside you on the tattoo bed, bracing one arm by your head, and starts applying the balm.

It’s… soft. Softer than it should be.

His gloved fingers glide gently across your skin, cool gel easing the sting of the fresh lines, but what you feel isn’t clinical. It’s heat. A low, blooming throb of something far more dangerous. Especially when his thumb grazes the edge of your bra. Not on purpose, not exactly—but he doesn’t move it away either.

You exhale. Carefully. Slowly.

His voice comes quieter this time, rough around the edges.

“You really wore this just to fuck with me, didn’t you?”

You blink up at him. “Excuse me?”

“This,” he murmurs, brushing the bandage wrapper open, eyes never leaving yours. “The lace. The black. The fact that it’s barely covering anything while I have to touch you like a fucking monk.”

You smirk. “What, don’t like being teased?”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not teasing.”

“No?”

“You’re begging.”

Your stomach flips.

He leans down slightly. Applies the bandage. His fingers skim the top edge of your sternum, then press lightly under your breast to make it stick. You jolt a little—not enough to be a flinch, but just enough for him to notice.

His lips twitch. “Thought so.”

You swallow.

“You could’ve said something,” you murmur.

“I did,” he says. “When I told you to stop showing up half-naked and flirty like I wouldn’t do anything about it.”

“And yet—” you gesture around, breathless, “—you haven’t.”

He finishes pressing the bandage into place. Carefully. Slowly. But his eyes—his eyes are anything but.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says softly.

And then he leans in. Close. Close enough that his breath grazes your cheek, close enough that the heat of his body curls over yours like smoke.

“I’m just not done punishing you yet.”

You barely have time to gasp.

Because his hands are suddenly on your waist, fingers splayed wide, warm. He leans over you, lips brushing your ear as he speaks, voice like smoke curling from a lit match.

“You really think I’d let you keep pushing me forever?” he murmurs, his tone dark velvet, laced with something wicked. “Waltzing in here every time with that mouth—wearing shit like this—knowing damn well I’d eventually snap.”

You can’t speak.

Not with the way his hand is sliding up—up—fingertips skating the edge of your ribcage, the outline of your bra, the warm silk of your skin. Every inch he touches makes your back arch, breath stutter, pulse thunder.

“I—I didn’t—” you start.

“You did.” He cuts you off with a growl of a whisper, lips ghosting just beneath your jaw. “You knew exactly what you were doing. And you knew exactly who you were doing it to.”

His hand finds the clasp of your bra—flicks it once, expertly. Loose. Deliberate.

Lace falls.

You whimper.

He exhales sharply through his nose—his palm sliding up to cup you fully, thumb brushing across a nipple already sensitive from all that adrenaline and ink and restraint. The tension coils tighter—like it’s been waiting weeks to snap.

“You’ve been needing this,” he mutters against your skin. “Coming in again and again—acting like a brat. Begging for attention. Flashing me those looks like I wouldn’t fuck you into the goddamn wall the second I got the chance.”

A pause.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, mouthing down your throat, sucking once—hard. “You wanna be my canvas off-hours too?”

You nod. Frantic. Breathless. Your fingers clutch at the hem of his shirt, tugging, anchoring, pleading.

“Say it.”

“I wanted you,” you pant. “I want you. I’ve always—fuck—Seungmin—”

He snarls.

And that’s it.

His mouth finds your breast with zero pretense, tongue hot and teeth grazing—biting, not cruel, but enough to leave a mark. His other hand slides down, past your waistband, finding the thin lace of your underwear—

Already soaked.

You feel him smirk against your skin.

“Such a fucking mess,” he growls. “You come from the needle or from me?”

You writhe.

“Seungmin—”

“Yeah?” His fingers slip beneath the lace. “Lie to me again. See what happens.”

And then—

Then he presses in. Two fingers, all at once, knowing exactly where and how to touch you. Because he’s studied you. Memorized you. Sketched you in his mind over six tattoos and hours of tension, and now he finally gets to wreck you.

His fingers curl.

You break.

Your head falls back. Your thighs tremble. He’s still got one arm braced next to your head, and the other is fucking you open while his mouth maps every inch of your chest like it’s sacred.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters into your skin. “You wanted this? You earned this. So take it.”

You moan—high, wrecked, nearly slurred. His fingers don’t relent. Curling deep. Unforgiving. He’s fucking you with them like he’s trying to carve his name inside you, and maybe he is.

But just when it starts to crest—when you feel it, the rush, the crash, the electric burn starting in your spine—

He stops.

You jolt. “No—!”

He pulls out slow. Cruel. Slick fingers dragging free. You clench around nothing, hips chasing him, tears prickling your lashes.

He tsks.

“Thought you were smarter than that.”

You blink, dazed. “Wh-What—?”

“You think you get to cum already?” He leans down, lips brushing your ear again. “After walking in here like that? After tormenting me for months?”

His hand finds your throat—light pressure, just enough to pin you back against the vinyl bed. Your mouth falls open. Instinct.

“I spent hours sketching that design,” he whispers. “Tattooed it on your fucking ribs. You came in here dripping and smug and bratty. And you think you get to finish first?”

You whimper.

He lets go.

“Get on your knees.”

You blink. “W-What?”

“You heard me.”

He stands, undoing his belt in one smooth motion—his eyes never leaving yours. You follow his gaze down, down, as he pushes his jeans low and his boxers lower, cock flushed and leaking and so fucking hard.

You drop to your knees, onto the soft rug in his private studio, beneath the overhead lamp and the echo of the bed creaking behind you.

“Open,” he says tapping the tip of his cock against your pretty lips.

You blink up at him, lips parted, brain still catching up to the command. Seungmin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t repeat himself—he just stares down, eyes half-lidded, cock heavy in his hand, tapping the head once more—twice—against your bottom lip like a test.

You obey.

Mouth open. Knees aching. Head swimming.

"Good," he murmurs, voice like low thunder.

One hand tangles in your hair—possessive—guiding, not forcing. His hips roll forward, slow and controlled, and the first brush of him on your tongue makes you whimper. Your thighs press together instinctively.

Because he tastes like every fantasy you’ve denied yourself. And he’s watching you the whole time—jaw tight, chest rising, his gaze flicking between your mouth and your eyes like he's trying to brand the moment into memory.

“You always run your mouth,” he mutters, stroking your cheek with his thumb as you take him deeper, “but you’re so fucking quiet now, huh?”

You hum around him, tongue flattening, jaw straining, eyes locked on his like it’s the only anchor you have. He groans—quiet, raw, like it slips out before he can stop it.

Your hands steady on his thighs, you suck deeper. Hollow your cheeks. Let him feel everything.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You really—shit—you’re good at this, huh?”

You moan, just to be a brat. The vibration makes him jerk.

His fingers twitch in your hair. The other hand finds the back of your neck, thumb pressed right where your pulse jumps.

“Greedy,” he mutters, breath stuttering as you pull back slow—spit-slick, lips flushed—then take his cock again, deeper this time, choking a little and loving it. “You want all of it, don’t you?”

You blink up at him, teary-eyed and burning, and nod.

And that’s all it takes.

His grip tightens. His hips roll. Controlled at first, almost gentle—but the moment you relax your throat and let him in further, something cracks.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The next thrust punches straight down your throat.

You choke—once, loud and messy—but you don’t pull away.

You don’t dare.

Not when Seungmin’s hand tightens in your hair like a leash. Not when his cock sinks deep, hot and throbbing and slick with your spit. Not when his groan scrapes straight from his chest, raw and filthy, as he watches your throat swallow around him.

“Fuck—” he snarls, voice strained. “You were made for this. Look at you.”

You try—your eyes flicking up through the blur of tears, spit dripping from your lips, mascara smudged beneath your lashes. You can barely see, but you feel everything—his fingers curled at the base of your skull, his cock throbbing on your tongue, the harsh stretch of your jaw.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he pants. “Spit everywhere—shit—drooling on me.”

You are—slick and soaked, saliva trailing from the corners of your mouth to your chin, coating his cock in glistening sheen. You gag again when he presses deeper, but he doesn’t let up.

“Take it,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Take it. You fucking wanted this.”

He rolls his hips again—harder this time. Meaner. The tip of his cock bruises the back of your throat, and you sob around it, spit bubbling at the seams.

Seungmin hisses. “Yeah. That’s it.”

His hand tilts your head—just slightly—enough for him to watch you from above. “Look at you. Fucking crying for it.”

You blink up, lashes clumped and wet, mouth stretched open and obscene.

“Don’t stop,” he growls. “Wanna see you ruined.”

He fucks into your mouth like it’s a punishment. Like every gag, every wet choke is a penance you owe for teasing him for months. For bratty texts. For lace bralettes and stolen glances. For every look that said take me without saying a word.

Your throat tightens—and he moans.

“God—your throat—shit, I can feel it. Fucking clenching like your pussy would.”

You twitch.

He laughs—low and cruel. “What, you liked that? Want me to fuck both ends until you can’t walk or talk?”

You whimper around him. Loud.

Precum spills onto your tongue—hot and bitter—and he curses. Your hands claw at his hips, digging for purchase as he starts to lose it—thrusts jerking harder, messier. Your throat is raw, face soaked, and still—still—you stay open for him.

His voice shatters through your haze, ragged and mean.

“You look fucking perfect like this. Broken. Beautiful. Mine.”

One more thrust. Deep. Sharp.

You gag—again. Loud.

And Seungmin snaps. He jerks back suddenly—his cock pulling free with a slick pop, strings of spit connecting you still. You gasp—cough—spit dripping from your tongue.

“Open wider,” Seungmin rasps.

You do. Tongue out. Strings of drool glistening in the studio light. He grabs his cock—slick, flushed, twitching—and strokes once, twice—then spits. Right into your mouth. Then again. Then again.

You moan. Loud. Shameless.

“Filthy little thing,” he pants. “Look at you. Covered in spit and tears and fucking loving it.”

You nod. Once. Hard.

He leans down, cupping your jaw—thumb swiping through the mess on your chin, dragging it across your lips like warpaint. Seungmin's eyes watch you for a beat longer until he finally helps you up onto your feet.

You gasp, legs wobbling, mouth still slick and open as he turns you around and places a hand between your shoulder blades, coaxing you down on the bench.

“Hands flat,” he orders.

You obey.

He kicks your legs apart with his knee—rough. You gasp. Then moan, throat raw and spit-slick, head swimming from the sudden repositioning. His hands working quick, pulling down your pants and panties in one go. Seungmin hums in satisfaction at the sight of your wet cunt dripping. Fucking dripping.

“Better,” he mutters. “Stay like that.”

You squirm—but not far. Not really. Just enough to test him.

He growls.

And then—CRACK.

His hand lands sharp across your ass, a loud sting that echoes through the studio like an accusation.

You cry out.

“Still a brat,” he mutters. “Still fucking pushing me.”

His hands drag down—gripping your hips, pulling your ass back against him like he’s lining up a weapon.

“You think I won’t fuck you right here? Bent over the same bench I tattooed you on?” he says low, cruel. “You think I won’t use you just like this—all messy, full of spit, dripping down your thighs like a fucking reward?”

You whimper. “Then do it.”

A beat.

And then—he does.

He thrusts in all at once—deep, unforgiving, stretching you full in a single brutal push that knocks the air clean from your lungs. The bench creaks. Your nails scrape against the vinyl. You’re already soaked, still fluttering from his fingers.

Now you’re split open around him.

“Fuck—” he hisses. “Tight little thing—gripping me like you were made for this.”

You were. You want to scream it. But all that comes out is a cracked moan, spine arching as he pulls back—

Then slams in again.

Hard.

Rhythmic.

Cruel.

The bench jerks with every thrust. His hips slap into your ass, cock punching deep and devastating with every motion. The angle hits something brutal—low, mean, a spot that makes your vision spark.

“Louder,” he growls. “Wanna hear you.”

You whine—broken, gasping, drooling against the bench.

He leans over you now—chest to your back, breath in your ear, one hand fisted in your hair while the other snakes under your stomach to lift your hips just right.

His cock drags so deep, your thighs shake from the pressure, and the stretch is perfect—like he’s carving himself into you on purpose.

“This pussy’s been waiting for me,” he mutters, voice guttural. “So fucking wet—so ready to be used.”

You cry out as he pounds harder—faster—gripping your hips with both hands now, dragging you back onto his cock with every brutal snap of his waist.

“You hear that?” he pants.

Slap slap slap. Wet. Filthy. Perfect.

“That’s you,” he growls. “Fucking dripping down my cock—making a mess all over my bench like a desperate little toy.”

You moan—loud. The vinyl squeaks beneath you. Your toes curl, your back arches—and you know it’s close. That heat low in your stomach coiling tight.

“Wanna cum?” he grunts, snapping his hips even harder. “Gonna let me make you cum on my cock this time?”

You nod frantically. “Please—please, Seungmin—”

“Beg properly.”

“I need it—I need you—I’m gonna—fuck—please—!”

He slams in one final time—

And you break.

You cum hard—clenching around him, gasping his name like a prayer, back bowed and thighs trembling, your body nothing but nerve endings and his. It hits like lightning—violent, hot, devastating.

Seungmin moans through his teeth.

“God—fuck—you feel so good when you cum—” he grits, voice cracking with restraint. “So tight, so—shit—don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop squeezing me like that—”

He doesn’t slow. Not even a little. Seungmin just keeps going—thrusts deeper, harder, dragging your spent cunt right through the sensitivity like he wants to fuck you into a second orgasm.

You whine. Loud. High-pitched. Borderline sobbing.

“Too much—” you gasp, but your body says otherwise—clenching, fluttering, soaking him.

He groans, hips snapping into you again.

“I know,” he pants, voice wrecked. “I know it’s too much—but you’re taking it anyway, aren’t you?”

You nod. Shaking. Barely holding yourself upright over the bench as his cock slams into your soaked pussy again, again, again.

“You look so fucking wrecked,” he snarls. “Bent over this bench, fucked-out and dripping—mine.”

“Yours,” you echo—half-breath, half-moan. “Yours, Seungmin, fuck—!”

And that—

That does it.

He growls, deep in his chest, and thrusts one final time, burying himself to the fucking hilt—and you feel it.

His cock jerks once. Twice. Then—heat. Hot, thick, flooding you.

Seungmin’s cum spills inside you in brutal waves, pulse after pulse, spilling past your already-fucked entrance, dripping down your thighs with every twitch of his hips.

He groans—loud, broken—grinding in deeper as his release coats your insides.

You both stay like that for a beat.

Panting. Shaking. Silent except for the slow drip of your combined mess hitting the studio floor. His hands are still on your hips, fingers bruising, cock still buried deep inside you like he can’t bear to pull out just yet.

Finally—

“…fuck,” he mutters. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper. “You started it.”

He smirks. Breathless. Still inside you.

“You came first,” he says, voice hoarse. “That makes it your fault.”

You roll your eyes. Weakly. Legs trembling.

But when he finally pulls out—slow, careful—you both groan at the mess. His cum leaks from you instantly, hot and obscene, slicking down your thighs in thick globs.

Seungmin watches. Just watches. Then hums.

“Pretty,” he says quietly. “All ruined. Just like I wanted.”

You’re bent over the ink bench, gasping. Barely conscious of your own limbs. There’s cum dripping down your thighs, breath fogging the vinyl, your body throbbing in time with your pulse.

And behind you—

Seungmin exhales. Low. Spent. Quiet.

Then: zip.

The sound of his jeans being pulled back up, the belt loosely fastened with one hand as the other brushes through his hair. You hear it—the shift. The snap back to reality. To composure. To Seungmin-afterglow, where all that bite turns to balm.

You expect him to vanish, to go grab wipes or complain about the mess—

Instead, you feel his hands. Gentle. Soft on your waist. Carefully guiding.

He straightens you. Not rough. Not impatient. Just… careful. Like you’re something fragile now.

You blink as he eases you to sit on the edge of the bench again, his hands steady on your hips until your legs stop shaking.

“Still with me?” he murmurs.

You nod. Slowly. “Barely.”

He huffs a breath of a laugh—tired, wrecked, softer than before.

Then he brushes sweaty strands of hair from your forehead and mutters, “Good girl.”

You melt. Right there. Ruined part two.

He disappears for a moment—only to return with a full box of wipes, a towel, and a silver water bottle you know is his personal one.

“Open,” he says gently, uncapping it and holding it to your lips.

You sip.

He waits. Watches to make sure you don’t choke. Then: another sip. A wipe to your neck. Another for your thighs.

He doesn’t comment on the mess—doesn’t smirk, doesn’t tease. Just… cleans you.

Tender. Focused. A little too quiet.

He wipes the insides of your thighs slowly, scooping up the slick and cum and sweat and ink-tainted heat with barely-there touches. When you flinch, he pauses. When you shiver, he murmurs something under his breath you don’t quite catch—but you feel it. Like a balm.

“You’re doing fine,” he says eventually. “I’m almost done.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

That shuts you up.

Once he’s cleaned every inch of you he marked, he helps dress you up again, pants and panties up but then he grabs his spare hoodie—crumpled on the back of his chair—and slips it over your head with no warning.

It’s oversized. Smells like cedar and ink and him.

He tugs the hood over your messy hair, then pauses to kiss the top of your head.

And that’s what finally ruins you.

Your eyes sting. But you blink fast. No way you’re crying in this hoodie.

“…Seungmin?”

He hums.

“You okay?”

His gaze lifts to yours. Tired. Sweet. Still a little dazed. Another soft hum in response. And then he's back in motion. Efficient again. Packing up the mess, tossing used wipes, wiping down the vinyl. He moves like he needs something to do with his hands or he’ll grab you again.

Once the bench is clean, he turns to you—really turns.

And in a voice way too soft for someone who just fucked the breath out of you against workplace furniture: “Wanna come back to mine?”

You laugh—hoarse, soft, still ruined. “Like this?”

He smirks. “I have more hoodies.”

You blink up at him.

“…And strawberries?”

He smiles.

"And strawberries."

You end up at his place that night. Still wearing his hoodie. Still barely walking.

He gives you a fresh towel and the softest pair of sweatpants he owns, sets you in the bathtub like you’re made of porcelain, and kneels beside it the whole time—washing your hair with slow fingers and kissing your shoulder between rinses.

You eat strawberries straight from the bowl while wrapped in his towel. He lets you finish the last bite before tugging you onto his lap and kissing you breathless all over again.

No sex that night. Not because he doesn’t want to—But because he already has you.

And maybe, he just wants to hold what he’s wrecked.

He lets you fall asleep on his chest. Hoodie, thigh over his lap, lips parted against his collarbone. He doesn’t sleep. Just watches. Fingers curled around your wrist like a habit he never wants to break.

And the next morning? He wakes you up with coffee. And a second round (Messier than before.).

And ever since that day? You just… kept coming back. Not for tattoos, though that’s still a bonus. No—now you show up for him. Your boyfriend. Your soft-spoken menace. Your chaos control. Your personal ink-stained sadist.

You still strut into NO SAINT INK like you own it—drink tray in hand, smug little smirk on your face, eyes locked on the back room like a predator in love.

You still flirt just to watch him clench his jaw. Still wear lace under oversized hoodies and whisper “miss me?” every time you lean against his worktable.

He still rolls his eyes and mutters “unbearable” without looking up.

But when the clock hits closing time?

And everyone is gone. The lights dim. The blinds are drawn. The door locks with a click.

Seungmin doesn’t pretend.

He pulls you into the back with one hand around your neck and the other already working at your zipper. He lays you across the vinyl like it’s a fucking altar. And he fucks you like he’s trying to tattoo his name inside your soul.

You moan like you were made for it.

And when it’s over—when you’re sore and sticky and boneless all over again—

He picks you up. Wipes you down. And kisses your forehead like you hung the moon. A ritual really. Because from annoying menace client, you are now his favourite annoying menace girlfriend.

Who still pisses him off about random designs and bullies him into doing them. And he still ends up doing them for you, except they are ten times better and equipped with all the loving bullying just for you.

Just for his favourite menace girlfriend.

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #skz smut #kim seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin smut #승민

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angelseraphines · 6 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ million dollar man ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x girlfriend!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! this story takes place in an alternate ending for squid game where sang-woo wins instead of gi-hun! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ it had been over two weeks since you last heard from cho sang-woo. no calls, no texts, not even the smallest acknowledgment of your existence. the silence weighed on you, growing heavier with every passing day. sang-woo, your long-term boyfriend, the man you had imagined spending the rest of your life with, had seemingly vanished without explanation.

˚ ༘♡ he was everything you had dreamed of, handsome, intelligent, educated. in your eyes, he was near perfect. you had moved to south korea a year and a half ago. the two of you met only a month after your arrival in seoul. you were standing at a convenience store counter, struggling to buy an iced coffee before work. the cashier’s words blurred into a language barrier you couldn’t break through, leaving you flustered and embarrassed.

˚ ༘♡ then there he was. cho sang-woo, with his neatly pressed suit and square-rimmed glasses, stepping in to translate with a calm assurance that immediately put you at ease. he went further and insisted on paying for your coffee, brushing off your protests with a polite smile. “you can pay me back with your number,” he had said, his tone light but his warm gaze unwavering. you gave it to him without hesitation, your heart racing as he walked away with a casual, confident stride that lingered in your mind for days.

˚ ༘♡ what followed was akin to a fantasy. your first few dates were sweet and unassuming, dinners at cozy restaurants, walks through bustling markets, late-night phone calls that stretched into the early hours of the morning. before long, it became more than casual. he wasn’t simply a charming man in a suit, he was someone you trusted, someone you leaned on. yet, as your relationship deepened, so did the flaws.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo treated you well in many ways. he insisted on paying for meals, even when you protested. he offered to help with rent when he noticed you were stressed about expenses. his job at joy investments afforded him a lifestyle of financial stability, one that he willingly extended to you. however, beneath his polished exterior, there was an undeniable distance.

˚ ༘♡ it started small, little things that nagged at you but seemed too insignificant to bring up. his phone was always locked, the screen flashing dark whenever you glanced at it. he would leave suddenly, without warning, offering only vague explanations that never quite satisfied your curiosity. “work,” he would say, brushing off your questions as though they were irrelevant. and no matter how many times you pressed him for the truth, he never admitted anything.

˚ ༘♡ those moments of secrecy chipped away at your trust, leaving an uneasy ache in your chest. you told yourself it was nothing, that you were overthinking. but the fights that erupted when you brought it up told a different story. his calm facade would crack, and he would grow defensive, his words sharp and cutting. “don’t you trust me?” he had asked more than once, the accusation in his tone a slap in the face.

˚ ༘♡ despite the arguments, despite the unanswered questions, you loved him. you loved the way he smoothed a hand down your back when you were upset, the way his voice softened when he called you by name. you loved the rare instances of vulnerability he let slip, the heartfelt glimpses of the man beneath the polished exterior. you loved him enough to forgive, enough to overlook the secrets that cast shadows over your relationship.

˚ ༘♡ as you sat alone in your apartment, staring at your phone with an empty inbox mocking your worry. two weeks of silence was unbearable. the man you loved, the one who had promised to protect you, had left you with nothing but questions and a ache where his presence used to be.

˚ ༘♡ the doorbell rang, cutting through the quiet of your apartment as though it were a sharp blade. it wasn’t merely unusual, it was unsettling. who would come at this hour? you glanced at the clock on the wall, its glowing numbers reminding you that it was well past midnight. your stomach churned uneasily as you stood up, your fatigue from a long shift at the café clinging to you.

˚ ༘♡ working from sunrise to sunset every day had worn you thin, but you had refused sang-woo’s offers to help you financially. he had already done so much, given so generously, and the thought of taking more was crossing a line you couldn’t bring yourself to breach. it would be an abuse of his kindness.

˚ ༘♡ the hallway was dark as you approached the door, your bare feet silent on the cool floor. you hesitated before unlocking it, your hand hovering over the latch. “hello?” you called out cautiously as you cracked it open, peering into the dimly lit corridor.

˚ ༘♡ before you could register what was happening, a hard shove sent the door crashing into you, knocking you backward. you stumbled, barely managing to catch yourself against the wall. your heart leapt into your throat as the figure who had forced their way inside quickly shut the door behind them.

˚ ༘♡ your confusion turned to disbelief as the light from your apartment fell on their face. it was sang-woo.

˚ ༘♡ his chest heaved with each labored breath, his shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the collar, his dress pants scuffed and slightly torn. his glasses, the ones you always teased him about for making him look too serious, were nowhere to be seen. instead, his face bore the evidence of recent hardships, bruises, faint scars, and scabbed-over cuts that marred his formerly pristine appearance. even his hands, the ones you’d grown so used to seeing holding a pen or a glass of wine, were scratched and battered.

˚ ༘♡ he looked like he had aged years in the short time he had been gone.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you stammered, your voice unsteady with equal parts confusion and fear, “what the hell are you doing? it’s the middle of the night, and… why haven’t you been answering my calls?”

˚ ༘♡ he opened his mouth as if to respond, but the words didn’t come immediately. instead, he leaned against the door, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the world was pressing down on him. “i…” he started, his voice hoarse and raw, but he seemed unable to finish.

˚ ༘♡ without warning, he crossed the room in a single stride and pulled you into a tight embrace. his arms wrapped around you with a desperation that felt almost suffocating, his head burying into the crook of your neck as he clung to you.

˚ ༘♡ you stood unmoving, the shock of his sudden appearance warring with the affection of his touch. part of you was relieved beyond words to have him back, while another part was angry. angry at his disappearance, at the unanswered calls and texts, at the fear and doubt he had left you to wrestle with.

˚ ༘♡ “i missed you,” he murmured against your shoulder, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

˚ ༘♡ his words tugged at your heart, but they weren’t enough to quell the storm of questions brewing inside you. “sang-woo,” you said, your voice softer now but still laced with frustration, “what’s going on? where have you been? what happened to you?”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer right away, his grip tightening, as though the very act of holding onto you could keep him grounded. his breath was unstable, his chest rising and falling against yours in a way that betrayed the turmoil beneath his silence. the room felt oppressively quiet.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo!” you exclaimed, your voice sharp, desperate for clarity. the sound seemed to jolt him, his body stiffening before he reluctantly pulled back.

˚ ༘♡ his hands were shaking as he reached into his pocket, the movement clumsy and hurried. when he withdrew, he thrust a thick stack of cash into your arms, one hundred million won, neatly bound and unnervingly out of place in your modest apartment. the weight of the money startled you, as you stared at the crisp bills in disbelief.

˚ ༘♡ “listen to me,” he said, his voice shaking but steadfast. “after this, after i take care of everything, i’ll buy us a beautiful home. somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. hold onto this for now.”

˚ ༘♡ you blinked at him, your mind struggling to process the sudden shift, the money heavy in your grasp. “sang-woo,” you said, your tone rising with vexation and confusion, “where did you get this money?”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer, his eyes avoiding yours, and that only fueled your frustration. “tell me!” you demanded. “where have you been? do you have any idea what I’ve been through? i thought you left me for another woman or fled the country!”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw clenched, his expression fading as guilt flashed across his face, but he said nothing.

˚ ༘♡ you pressed further, your voice strained with a mix of hurt and fury. “i talked to your mother. she said you haven’t called her in ages! i went to your work. they haven’t seen you in weeks! your friends? same thing. no one knows where you’ve been!” your hands tightened around the cash, your knuckles white as your chest heaved with the distress of your tone. “how could you do this to me? how could you leave without a word, without an explanation?”

˚ ༘♡ his silence hurt more than any words could have. he looked at you, his expression a painful mix of regret and something darker, something you couldn’t place. his lips parted as if to speak, but he hesitated, the words caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears began to sting your eyes. “please. i need to understand.”

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll tell you everything soon, i promise, sweetheart,” sang-woo murmured, his voice unsteady, as if it pained him to speak. his hand, calloused and trembling, reached out to rest gently on your cheek, his touch delicate. your heart ached as you met his gaze, those dark, exhausted eyes glistening with unshed tears. it was a look so raw, so unfamiliar.

˚ ༘♡ “you have to trust me,” he said, his tone soft but pleading. “you have to listen to me. i’ve already given you what you need to cover your expenses.” his hand lingered against your cheek for a monthly moment before falling away, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. “i have urgent legal and business matters to deal with, but once they’re resolved… we’ll have the life we’ve dreamed of. everything we’ve talked about.”

˚ ༘♡ his lips brushed against your forehead, the kiss light but filled with a quiet desperation that made your chest tighten. “nothing could ever keep me from you,” he breathed, the words barely audible. “promise me you’ll do as i ask.”

˚ ༘♡ everything about this felt wrong, the way he avoided your questions, the haunting exhaustion in his voice, the bruises that lined his hands and face. you wanted answers. you wanted to demand he tell you everything right then and there, but the way he looked at you, so broken, so unlike the composed sang-woo you knew, kept you from saying anymore.

˚ ༘♡ uncertainty clouded your mind, nonetheless you nodded, your voice hardly above a whisper. “i promise.”

˚ ༘♡ his shoulders sagged slightly at your answer, the tension in his body loosening, though not entirely disappearing. “good,” he said softly, almost to himself. he was still nervous, his eyes darting toward the door as though expecting someone to burst through at any moment.

˚ ༘♡ “i have to go,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance. “but i’ll come back. i swear, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ “okay,” you replied, unsure but unwilling to push him further.

˚ ༘♡ he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting, tender kiss that left you yearning for answers. then, without another word, he turned and left the apartment, closing the door behind him.

˚ ༘♡ you stood there, the silence of his absence pressing down on you, dread engulfed your thoughts. your mind churned with questions, with doubts, but one thing was certain, you were relieved, no matter how strange the circumstances of his return, to have seen sang-woo again. the agonizing ache in your chest told you that his departure had left you with far more questions than answers.

a/n: my first sang-woo fanfiction!! is it controversial for me to say i love his character and he’s my favorite one in squid game? please let me know if you have any requests! 🤍

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paarksunghoon · 2 months ago

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walk the line | jongseong

SUMMARY: park jongseong has one regret and he's spent his entire life atoning for the pain he caused you. when you walk into office under the premise of working together, he's only got one shot to make things right before it's too late.

WORD COUNT: 33.1K

NOTES: this story was originally posted on my other blog, @pprodsuga. I will be transferring some work in due time and this is the first one! if it looks familiar, no need to panic or think I’m plagiarizing.

WARNINGS: contains smut.

PLAYLIST + MASTERLIST

***

When Jay was eleven years old, his father brought him a souvenir back from New York City when he traveled abroad for a week-long business trip. Jay has always been a big dreamer, too lost in his own reality to acknowledge the everyday life of grade school and all that came with it. It’s a tendency that his parents fostered and nurtured, instilling the belief that Jay could achieve anything he wanted in life if he dreamt hard enough.

The “I Heart NY” pin sits in the first drawer to the right of his desk. Besides his quick wit and intelligence, Jay would love to believe that pin is the reason why his desk on the fiftieth floor overlooks the city of Seoul.

Jay doesn’t make mistakes. He’s calculated and smart with his decisions based on cold, hard facts. He trusts his gut and prides himself in taking the high road when things get tough, letting losses go and holding his wins close to his heart. Practicing law isn’t for the weak, and Jay is not weak.

Yet walking into his office feels bleak on some days. The castle he serves doesn’t seem as golden as it once did in the early stages of his career. The gifts given to him by clients and admirers that sit around his office feel undeserved, no matter how many hours he put into making them happy. His only sense of comfort is the large vinyl collection he has that sits between shelf upon shelf for no one to touch but him.

Jay is meticulous in his work, rarely letting anyone into his inner circle without proving themselves first. It’s what makes him a great lawyer and what gave him a respectable name to his firm and others alike—Jay takes calculated risks and trusts no one, other than himself, completely.

Still, his days wane between fulfilling and empty.

He’s one of the first people to arrive at the office with a briefcase in hand and hair slicked back with expensive gel, wearing suits tailored at a few grand apiece. Jay doesn’t leave early either. He watches associates under him file out of the office one by one as the hour goes by until there’s no one left but him. It’s only then will Jay cap his pen or queue an email to send in the morning to make it appear as if he hadn’t spent all night in his office.

Jay loves his job. It gives him a sense of self fulfillment and it brings him joy to win cases for his clients, who range from high-paid celebrities to private equity firms. While the high salary and other liquid assets are perks of his profession, Jay puts his entire faith into his work and lets his winning streak do the talking for him.

He has to, or else law school wouldn’t have been worth it.

For three years, Jay studied from dusk until dawn for the chance to work in the career he’s been dreaming about since he received that ‘I Heart NY’ pin from his father all those years ago. Opening a particularly long chapter that was difficult to analyze never felt like a burden to Jay, not when his life would eventually amount to working at one of the big three law firms in Korea as Senior Partner.

Jay holds more ownership than he once did and manages his own associate now. He’s no longer at the entrance phase of his career. Jay’s responsible for more finances and harder cases the firm encounters, and he knows his boss and the Managing Partner, Lee Heeseung, expects the best from him.

Perhaps it’s why he feels compelled to put on his best smile and work until he feels exhausted because he knows he’ll be proud of it down the line. It’s what Jay assumes; all of the early mornings and late nights will prove to be worth it once he’s able to sit back and look down his long, successful career. People don’t admire him for nothing.

Nothing beats watching the sunset over the horizon as he ends his workday. The golden hues on the sun cascading down the city skyline fills the atmosphere of the office, signaling the end of the day. It’s when Jay feels his happiness. He’ll let the associates go home to catch up on rest and see their friends and families before it approaches a late hour.

Jay, however, stays behind to finish up on projects before his eyes grow weak and when he can’t keep his yawns at bay anymore. He’s already had his moments to leave at an appropriate time when he was a mere associate. Now, Jay has more responsibilities that he needs to maintain in order to feel like he really earned the title of Senior Partner. So he stays an hour after everybody goes home.

Jay is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears the sound of knuckles on his glass door.

“Knock knock.” Jake Sim’s voice echoes through the large office, bringing Jay back to reality. He clears his throat and turns around to see the younger man standing before him with a blue manila folder in his hands. “I come bearing gifts.”

“You’re a bit too late. Christmas was four months ago.”

“Ha-ha,” Jake laughs dryly. “Consider this an early birthday present, then.”

Jake presents the folder to his colleague, who opens the file and sifts through the papers at his fingertips. Jay’s eyebrow quirks with interest as he looks between the documents and the man standing before him. It’s something he’s been waiting on for weeks. Something that’ll make or break a case he’s been anxiously thinking about and what’s been making him stay behind until the clock ticks is the only audible sound on the entire floor.

“I’m only going to say this once,” Jay begins. He points at Jake with the folder. “You’re the man.”

“I’m always the man, you just don’t want to admit it.”

The pair smile at each other after a beat. Jay puts the file on his desk and invites Jake to take a seat on the couch by his vinyl collection, one that the man knows not to touch.

“I heard you’re almost done with the Yeon-Choi merger,” Jake says. “Heeseung mentioned it this morning.”

“I’m waiting on a fax from them, actually.” Jay takes his specks off of his face and places it nearly on his desk. “Sunoo’s on the lookout for the document. Speaking of which.”

Jake looks behind him to see Sunoo enter the office space as Jay waves him in. He hands over the stack of documents, freshly printed with the paper still warm to the touch.

“Ms. Kang just faxed it over,” says Kim Sunoo, a first year associate. “Thank you,” Jay says as he receives the document. He looks at Jake. “Now I’m done with the Yeon-Choi merger.”

“You’d think two global giants in the world of finance would be at odds with merging given their competitive streak in the past few years, but they’ve just signed a document that lists a communal agreement to share assets.” Jake watches Sunoo leave and waves goodbye before he walks out the door. “Managing this client was an insane move, even for you.”

“Choi Analytics is nothing if not determined,” Jay informs. “So am I, Sim. You should know that by now.”

“I think you bit off more than you could chew. You only secured that win with two days to spare.”

“I have you, don’t I?” Jay teases with the tilt of his head. “Who was it that told you to talk to Yang Nari and convinced her to take that settlement before we could agree to the terms of the merger?”

Jake laughs. “You, Park Jongseong.”

“It’s all about working smarter, not harder. Remember that.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Jake says with a mock salute.

“Please don’t ever call me that again.”

“Whatever you say, captain.”

Jay’s mouth quirks. “Go back to the bullpen and finish up the reports. Wouldn’t want you to pull another all nighter.” Jake leaves with a laugh and disappears around the corner.

The large office with glass doors and windows feels like a familiar set up. His workspace, with his name and title underneath it, feels more like a trophy case than a managerial place of work. His walk to his office from the elevator takes him past the associate bullpen, situated right next to Heeseung’s. This space is his sanctuary and he’d like to believe he performs best under pressure. It’s why he doesn’t mind people peering into his office whenever he’s sitting at his desk.

The days are long and the work is hard, but it’s the kind of job that makes Jay feel like he’s accomplished something in his life. Coming in as the sun rises and leaving just after it sets doesn’t feel like a sacrifice, nor does it feel like he’s losing out on opportunities when he’s got a bank account filled with zeroes and a penthouse apartment with the same view as his office. If anyone were to ask Jay about his life, he’d tell them he’s pretty damn happy.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway. Every morning is spent repeating mantras in his head about how far he’s come with the hard work and diligence that came with law school. The late nights and busy weeks spent memorizing cases and writing essays led to his employment as Lee & Associates, where he managed to acquire promotion after promotion through diligent work.

His newest title itself makes people look at Jay with respect, the kind of attitude he used to strive for when he was a humble law student. His early childhood was spent hearing his father talk about winning in court and the importance of believing in yourself when it comes time to face tough decisions. Jay’s father always advised him to do what he thinks is right, or else he’ll live with a regretful consequence for the rest of his life without the chance of rectifying it.

Jay’s loyalty and integrity is what makes people revere him. He stands tall and proud, walking into every room like he built the place with his bare hands. There’s never a hair out of place and his wardrobe reflects his luxurious tastes, always a suit from abroad and accessories to match.

He’s built a good life for himself. His father is still a practicing lawyer while his mother is considering retiring from her wildly successful jewelry business. Jay comes home for the holidays and visits them a few times a month for dinner when he has the time, and he does his best to keep the people around him happy.

After all, that’s what Jay does best.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

It’s Thursday morning and Jay’s week has gone by without a hitch. His clients aren’t giving him a hard time and he hasn’t had a reason to step into the courthouse at all. In addition, he hasn’t heard any of the associates complain about the workload given to them nor has Jake needed help with a problem for Jay to amend.

It feels odd to be as calm as he is. Jay wants to welcome it with open arms and sink into his seat until he feels like he’s vulnerable enough to sleep, but he knows that’s not in his job description. Instead, Jay needs to sleep with one eye open.

“Park,” Heeseung says as he pokes his head into Jay’s offices. “Can you spare a few minutes and meet me in my office? I need to call an impromptu meeting.”

“Sure,” Jay says as he puts a file in his cabinet. “What’s it for?”

“It’s better if we talk behind closed doors. Jake and Sunghoon are already waiting for us.”

Jay anxiously walks behind Heeseung and fixes his tie, patting it to his chest and smoothing it over in an attempt to distract himself from Heeseung’s cryptic words. He sees Sunghoon and Jake in the office and takes a seat on the armrest of Heeseung’s couch.

“What’s so important that you need to discuss this in your office with the door closed?” Park Sunghoon, a fellow senior partner, asks. “We didn’t lose a billion dollars overnight, did we?”

“No, but I know you would’ve caught that before that would’ve happened,” Heeseung quips back. “You aren’t our financial expert for nothing.”

“Damn straight.”

“What did you bring us in for, Heeseung?” Jake asks. Heeseung takes a moment to gather himself, eyes darting around the office before speaking.

“It’s about the Hybe Records case.”

“They’re holding a tight leash on people they sign on their main label or subsidiaries,” Jay nods. “Won't settle for a penny less than the recoupment.”

“Which is why a portion of people signed with Hybe came to us to help them rewrite the contracts from here on out,” Sunghoon adds. “Hybe came to us with a bullshit settlement offer and we declined. We’re still working on finding a chink in the armor.”

“Right,” Heeseung says. “What else do we know about the case?”

“Hybe acts as the bank and their musicians take out a loan to make an album,” Jake says, pacing in Heeseung’s office with his arms outstretched for emphasis. “The artist can use that money however they like and the sales made go right back to the label before they can make a profit.”

“Exactly,” Jay nods, “which is why the label has been terminating their contractual agreement before they can produce the agreed amount of records.”

“Hybe has more than enough money for a buyout.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “It’s fucked up.”

“The label keeps the catalog and the money while the musician gets nothing.” Jay frowns.

“We all know it’s why musicians and idols pick up endorsements or pick up acting,” Heeseung mentions. “I mean, the money they get from other ventures supplements their income that they don’t get from music. But because that’s normal practice and it doesn’t help our sob story angle, I don’t know where else to turn to.”

“We’ve been fighting this day and night for weeks. You’re not telling me you’re dropping this, are you?” Sunghoon asks.

“Between Jay’s regular clients, Jake’s assisting, my workload, and your cases, we don’t have the bandwidth to fight this. Quite frankly, I don’t trust anyone to work on this but you three.”

“Is there something we should know about?” Jay inquires. “Did Hybe threaten us?”

“No, nothing like that.” Heeseung sighs. “Look, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m burnt out. Hybe isn’t making this easy on us and we’re running out of time. What I’m trying to say is I’ve consulted with another firm and have hired outside help. We need fresh eyes on this case.”

Jay nervously runs his hand through his hair.

Heeseung’s right, this lawsuit is eating up most of his hours and consumes his thoughts when he’s off the clock. The people being affected are anywhere between starving artists and people who can afford to pay him his billables without question. But the greater good is what Jay thinks about and realistically, he knows it would hurt him to see so many people lose their avenue to pursue their passions.

Hearing stories from clients makes his heart lurch. Each deposition to discuss what happened behind closed doors with label executives makes Jay’s pursuit that much stronger. To know he has the privilege of obtaining a law degree and being able to work in his dream career without much of a hitch makes him feel guilty when he knows the very people sitting in front of him are putting their passions on the line. It makes him work harder.

He’s no longer the law student that slaved away writing essays and pulling all-nighters to accomplish a task that wouldn’t matter in the long run. Now, all of Jay’s efforts matter. His work will be impacted for years to come and he can’t afford to misstep when handling clients. It’s why he feels so strongly about this case and why it’s hard for him to stop thinking about it when he gets home. A penthouse overlooking the city means nothing if he can’t help the people who got him there.

Jay knows Sunghoon and Jake feel the same way, too. Sunghoon, who came from a similar background to Jay, has always struggled with finding his voice in the business of law. Now as a senior partner with more at stake, he knows his friend will stand his ground if that means his clients walk away with everything they asked for. Jake, a first year associate having graduated law school after taking a few years off from college, is arguably the most sensitive of the three. He loves his work and finds passion in the people he helps represent. It’s why Jay trusts him and why he chose Jake to be his associate in the first place.

To take action on behalf of his clients means to succeed. Jay knows he comes from wealth and privilege, and he’d likely be just fine if he chose a career that wasn’t law. But his foot is in the door because his father was able to give him a legacy standard at law school, and it would be a shame to let that go to waste as if he didn’t have anything to prove. Jay knows he does.

“As we already know,” Heeseung begins to say, “we need all the help we can get on the Hybe Records case. They’re the most powerful label in all of Asia and they’ve got their teeth sunk in every Asian market.”

“They’ve got a dozen smaller labels beneath them and they’re always looking to convince independent labels to give up their ownership,” Jay says. “It’ll be hard to reach a settlement for all of them.”

“I know,” Heeseung sighs. He leans on the front of his desk. “I know you guys can handle it. Between the four of us, we can try to win this thing but it’ll take more time than they’re giving us.”

“Kid genius could probably read up on their files by tomorrow morning,” Sunghoon snorts as Jake elbows his rib cage.

“Don’t be silly, Sunghoon. I couldn’t possibly do that in a single night.” Jake smirks. “Give me two days.”

“Show off,” Sunghoon mutters with a hidden grin.

“Even so, it won’t be enough to fight them. Hybe has hired a plethora of lawyers to back them up and block us out.” Heeseung crosses his arm and is sure to maintain eye contact with the three boys in front of him. “It’s important to keep our clientele, but imagine how much business this would bring if we won.”

“You think that many musicians would hire us?” Jake asks.

“I think that many musicians care about owning their own music and not having to pay back a recoupment.”

“The amount an artist has to pay back before they keep their earnings,” Jake says with pursed lips. “Right. That’s really unfair.”

“That’s the music industry for you.”

“Labels are greedy as shit,” Sunghoon says with bitterness in his tone. “They make a promise to up and coming musicians and swear they’ll be successful by the end of the year, but they don’t really care about that. They’ll give money to make albums but won’t care if these people live or die if they don’t see a late profit.”

“It’s sickening,” Jake adds. “It should be illegal for musicians having to take endorsements and sponsorships just to pay the bills. They look like sellouts.”

“I don’t like it any less than you guys do,” Heeseung responds. “But that’s the way it works. We just need to find a good enough reason for them to settle with us. We aren’t budging on the recoupment.”

“Well, I’m glad we all agree that musicians shouldn’t have to pay back their loan.”

“I’m confident in you all,” Heeseung tells them. “Jay, you’re one of my best guys. You close deals and negotiate settlements like no one I’ve ever seen before. Sunghoon, you’ve been an incredible lawyer since the moment we hired you and you’re the only person I don’t have to keep my eye on.” Heeseung turns to take. “And Jake, you’re a gifted associate with a knack for getting people to tell you the truth. I’ve never met anyone quite like you either.”

“He makes depositions seem like fun,” Sunghoon laughs.

Jake smiles dramatically. “Nobody can lie to this beautiful face.”

“What I’m trying to say is,” Heeseung interjects, “is that you’re all incredible lawyers and I’ve never regretted hiring you.”

“There’s always a but,” Jay comments. Heeseung nods.

“But, our best isn’t enough. Our best doesn’t account for the numerous legal and financial attacks Hybe Records will bestow on us. We’ve been thinking big but we need to think bigger. We need to think outside the box.”

“What do you propose?” Jay asks. “We’ve already gotten a first meeting with Hybe and God knows they’ll pressure us to give them an answer soon. I know that they know we won’t budge and are probably working with a counter move as we speak.”

“We’re bringing in someone from an outside firm.”

“What?” Sunghoon says. “Which one?”

“Tang-Young,” replies Heeseung. “They’re a powerful firm, as we know, and were one of the few who declined to represent Hybe.”

“We trust them, right?” Jake asks.

“We do, yes,” Heeseung confirms with a single nod. “Tang-Young have been kind to us and I’d like to believe we’ve been the same to them. We’ve been invited to consult on cases before and they’ve helped us out in the past, albeit it’s been a while. But we need all the help we can get and they were enthusiastic about assisting us.”

“I don’t know,” Jay says. “Catching someone else up to speed while we’re this far down the line? That seems like busy work. Unless we have another Jake who can read and memorize documents as quickly as he can, I don’t know how much help they’ll be.”

“Oh, I think you’ll be pleased with our colleague,” Heeseung says cryptically. Jay looks at him with confusion. “You guys trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” says Sunghoon. “I wouldn’t be working here if I didn’t.”

“Then I’ll need you to trust me when I say the partner working with us is the best in the business. She’s an old friend and someone I confide in, which if you know me, is hard to do unless you work at this firm.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Jake asks.

Heeseung sighs. “I’m saying this now because I didn’t have time to discuss the partnership prior to today because of deadlines and we need all the help we can get. A friend from law school, Kazuha, was willing to help us out since we assisted on that auto lawsuit a few months back.”

“We don’t need to worry,” Sunghoon says. “This is the best law firm in Korea and we have a history of having the highest rate in cases closed successfully. You’re our leader, Heeseung. We know you wouldn’t go behind our backs unless it was important.”

“We need a miracle for this one,” says Heeseung. “Jay’s already running point on this case but he alone can’t handle the burden.”

A sinking feeling festers in Jay’s chest. He knows that name–Kazuha–from when he was in law school and knew her family to have built Asia’s largest corporate law firm from the ground up. They’re respectable, highly profitable, and a company Jay would rather not think about because hearing that name reminds him of his deepest regrets.

His week is offset by Heeseung’s sudden news. Jay has never doubted his elder, especially since Heeseung was a mentor to Jay in his early years of his career, but the hairs on the back of his neck perk up at the sight of Heeseung periodically looking at Jay. He doesn’t think Sunghoon or Jake notices the awkward tension in the room either, too engrossed with talking strategy plans on how to make sure the new, mysterious partner is up-to-date.

Jay fiddles with the rings adorned on his fingers. The expensive jewelry, some of which are presents to himself and others gifts from his parents, provide a temporary distraction for him. They’re warm to the touch with how often he twists them for every word Heeseung speaks. Jay’s throat suddenly feels too dry.

“We’ll be fine,” Sunghoon tells Jake, forcing Jay to tune back into the conversation. “I think we’re all on edge because this is by far the biggest case we’ve handled in the past few years.”

“There are dozens of clients who are filing a lawsuit against Hybe but it isn’t considered class action yet,” Heeseung replies. “We could very well set a precedent if we manage to win this thing.”

“That would put the firm on the map!” Jake exclaims. “Just think about it. If we manage to settle in our favor so that these musicians don’t have to pay the label back, we could set an example so other major labels follow through with no recoupment.”

“This is why everything’s been kept under wraps and why I’ve had to act before consulting you three.” Heeseung finds a pen from his desk and twirls it in between his fingers. “I love this company. I became managing partner not too long ago and my predecessor took his name off of the door and added mine because he thought I could do something with the firm. You three are people I trust more than anyone else and I wouldn’t have agreed to let you work on it if I didn’t believe we could succeed.”

Jay can sense the nervousness and anxiety in Heeseung’s tone. In all of his years working with him, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man as on edge as he is now. Heeseung cannot manage to sit still and the pen his fingers are distracting him almost like Jay’s rings are. It’s no wonder they work so well together.

“We can do it, Heeseung,” Sunghoon says in an attempt to quell the atmosphere. “It’s hard and tedious, but what case isn’t?”

“Besides, we have Jay. He is the best closer in Seoul,” Jake vouches, a coy smirk sitting on the edge of his lips as Heeseung merely smiles and shrugs in casual agreement.

The sounds of knuckles rapping on Heeseung’s glass door interrupts their conversation. The image of you standing before him knocks the air out of his lungs.

He’s brought back to when he was a second year law student, struggling in his criminal law class before meeting you for the first time. Your timid and quiet demeanor is nothing compared to the confidence you exude in the present day. Right now, you look put together with your all-black attire and red bottom heels to match. The way you’ve styled your hair allows your face to be seen instead of using it as a tool to hide yourself. Even with all of your perceived shortcomings, Jay remembers you as timid but headstrong. Now, it looks like he’s staring at someone he doesn’t recognize.

Jay feels innocent again, traveling back to a time before work became the sole focus of his life and before the guilt of what he did to you ate him alive. It feels almost unnatural for him to see you in a professional setting. Sitting in the campus library with opened books or looking at you from across the table of a cheap ramen restaurant is where Jay’s used to seeing you.

Heeseung’s office is the last place he’d ever expect to run into you.

The last Jay heard, you were off practicing law in Busan before heading to New York for a few years to consult on Korean-American affairs until your visa expired. He never had the opportunity to see you in court before, not since law school.

There was a time when Jay couldn’t step into a courthouse without wondering if you were inside with him. With every corner turned and every door opened, Jay would anticipate seeing that same beautiful and innocent face locking eyes with him as he stepped into the room. Jay would picture you in those long floral dresses you loved so much staring at him with anger in your eyes, wearing an expression caused by actions he’d never be able to atone for.

Guilt used to eat him from the inside out. The moment his alarm clock woke him up was when the guilt would settle deep within his chest. For a while, this feeling towards the way things ended with you was the reason why he pushed himself to stay in the office after everybody else left, back when he was a first year associate. Guilt led Jay to work three times as hard as everyone else and why he will never leave a stone unturned.

While that culpability subdued with the time that has passed, none of that matters now. Seeing you in Heeseung’s office with a friendly smile on your face makes that sense of wrongdoing resurface all at once.

The woman he sees before him is not the woman he remembers. Jay still has the same overly confident, hardworking attitude he exhibited when he knew you back in law school. He’s still the same person who gets tongue-tied when he looks at you and he’s still the same person who regrets never calling you after you both graduated.

Unlike the disheveled mess Jay remembers from when he last saw you, you’ve become polished. He sees that you’ve grown into yourself with your shoulders held back and head looking straight in front of you instead of casting your gaze to the floor. Your eyes meet everyone in the room, his included. You wear a big smile on your face and take a step forward before bowing towards him and his colleagues.

Jay doesn’t think he deserves that respect from you.

“Jay’s the second best,” you comment. Even your speech has matured. “I happen to be the first.”

“Everyone, meet Kim Y/N.” Heeseung takes a step forward to return your bow and shake your hand, welcoming you into his office.

“Y-Y/N?” Jay stutters, eyes widened in shock when he spots you next to Heeseung.

The reaction is unwarranted and even he can’t believe his words came out like that. Jay pays no attention to Sunghoon and Jake, who look at him with quizzical expressions. Jay can only focus on you, with the way your pantsuit hugs your body and the way your high heels make you stand taller than he remembers you. You’re very confident. Jay wonders what must have changed in the time he last saw you until now.

“In the flesh, Park. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Y/N’s the best chance we got to win this against the biggest record label in Korea,” Heeseung interrupts, forcing Jay to push his thoughts aside. “I don’t need to remind you that our clients are high profile names trying to make a case for musicians who can’t afford to pay back the recoupment. If we lose this, we lose their business. It won’t look good for the company if we don’t secure a public win.”

“A public win means a public loss,” you chime in. “Hybe’s settlement deal is bullshit and we all know it.”

“Exactly.” Heeseung points at everyone in the room before landing on you. “I know we don’t ask for outside help but we need Y/N. I trust everyone to make her feel welcomed and to give her anything she needs.”

“It would be an honor,” Jake says before stepping in front of you to bow with his body perpendicular to the floor below him. “Sim Jayeun, but feel free to call me Jake. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He outstretches his hand to you for good measure and is pleased when you reciprocate. His kindness brings a smile to your face.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Jake. I look forward to working together.” The aforementioned nearly falters in his movements as he takes a step back, hearing Sunghoon snickering behind him before you turn your attention to him. “You must be Park Sunghoon. I’ve kept up with your work for a while now. Your work with Kim Mingyu against General Motors was impressive.”

“All in a day’s work,” Sunghoon says as he brushes his shoulders for dramatic effect. “I’m honored that you know about it.”

“You saved Mingyu’s reputation for being a whistleblower and forced the company’s hand to not only change their flawed design, but to pay out the victims. You bled that company dry in the process to compensate for the casualties. That’s something worth talking about,” you tell him. “It’s impressive to me.”

Jay swears he sees Sunghoon blush.

“Thank you,” says the latter, clearing his throat. “It means a lot that you said that.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been either.”

Your eyes move towards Jay and he expects to see nothing short of a scowl painted on your lips because the last time he saw you, he remembers Jung Iseul asked him if he loved you in front of thirty of your classmates.

Jay said no.

He regrets how he handled it. He wishes he could turn back time and tell Iseul and her friends to leave you alone, and tell her the way she acted was nothing short of childish. Jay would like to believe he’d pull you away from wandering eyes and hold you until your eyes were dry if he was able to turn back time and relive that awful moment, but he can’t. The memory of you looking at him with betrayal in your eyes is what keeps him up at night.

Jay thought of his own needs before yours, selfishly acting to protect himself from the embarrassment of a public confession instead of thinking about how humiliating it must’ve been for you. Your classmates were never the nicest and often commented on your quiet and shy demeanor. Jay always tried to do his best to encourage you to be the best version of yourself, growing silently frustrated that you’d allow people to say harsh things about your skill sets instead of proving them wrong. What he failed to realize is that you’d grow into yourself at your own time.

You're not the timid girl you used to be. Jay sees the fruits of your labor standing in front of him.

When you look at him, Jay’s breath catches in his throat. It’s been years since he last saw you in person and he can only imagine what you must be thinking. Are you seething? Are you angry? Are you here for revenge? Do you still think about that night as frequently as he does?

Any thoughts of you being spiteful are thrown out the window when he hears you speak in that same, soft tone you always reserved for him.

“Hi, Jay.”

He’s quiet for a second too long because he sees Heeseung glaring at him from the corner of his eye.

“Hey.” Jay says pathetically, shifting from one foot to another. “Long time no see.”

“Woah, wait. Do you two know each other?” Jake asks, pointing between the two of you.

“We shared a few classes in law school,” you explain. “We even graduated in the same year.”

“Oh, wow.”

You tilt your head as you look at him. “You seem surprised.” “I’m just shocked that you two know each other,” Jake says. “You have the highest closing rate in all of Seoul and you’re telling me you went to law school with my boss?”

“I’m trying not to take offense to that,” says Jay, who furrows his eyebrows. The atmosphere is too much for his liking and suddenly he feels as if his tie is too tight around his neck.

“We knew each other a long time ago, but it’s always nice to see a familiar face.” You smile at Jay before turning to Heeseung. “When do I start?”

“Whenever you’d like, but knowing you, you’ve already begun drafting strategies.”

You grin. “You know me very well, Heeseung.”

“Y/N will be working from our office a few times a week for the next few months to make things easier. She’ll still be handling cases from her firm with an emphasis on the Hybe lawsuit.”

“Thank you for welcoming me,” you tell everyone before looking at Heeseung. “Care to show me to my temporary office?”

He smiles. “Right this way.”

“It was lovely meeting you all,” you say before turning to leave. You pause and turn to face Jay. “It really is nice to see you again.”

He stands in his spot at a loss for words. It feels as if his feet are planted on the ground with no way to make him move. His mouth might as well be hung open with the way he stares at you and merely nods. Speaking makes him feel like he’s going to choke and say the wrong thing, so he opts to say nothing.

You exit behind Heeseung without sparing him a second glance and he watches as your figure disappears around the corner, listening until he can’t hear the sound of your voice speaking with Heeseung. His hands are planted firmly in his pocket, the fabric of his suit providing a distraction from the sudden notion of seeing you after all these years.

He feels Jake and Sunghoon looking at him from the side. Sunghoon merely walks past Jay and offers a pat on the shoulder while Jake enthusiastically stands from his seat and bounces with excitement.

“You know Kim Y/N? The Kim Y/N?”

“It was a long time ago,” Jay says with a small voice. “We used to be study partners.”

“No fucking way,” Jake swears with his hands on his hips. “How come you never told me? She’s like, one of the most respected lawyers in all of Asia. Did you hear about her work on that Cheong-Smith case back in New York? God knows how tedious working between America and Korea must’ve been. She’s so fucking cool, Jongseong. A badass is what she is. I want to be her one day.”

Jay’s mouth quirks in a half smile. He knows you’ve built a reputation but refuses to read about you in the newspaper or listen to conversation where your name has been brought up. It brings painful memories and no matter how much he chastises himself for being in the wrong, part of him can’t help but hurt and yearn for you.

If Jake notices Jay’s quiet demeanor, he doesn’t acknowledge it. The former is pacing in Heeeung’s office with his hands rubbing his face as if he’s won the lottery. Jay’s envious of Jake’s ignorance, in a way. He wishes he could forget that night and re-do his friendship with you. Jay wishes he could meet the person you are now if that means rejecting you in front of your classmates never happened.

“Y/N’s a great lawyer,” Jay finally says. “I’m glad she’ll be working with us.”

“So fucking cool,” Jake whispers in disbelief. He turns to Jay. “I can show her around the office and, you know, show her the ropes.”

“Don’t try anything.”

Jake puts his arms up in mock surrender. “Hey man, I won’t. Y/N’s someone I view as a mentor. I don’t have weird, unresolved romantic feelings like you do.”

Jay opens his mouth in disbelief as Jake winks at him before walking out of Heeseung’s office. He sits with his thoughts and wonders if this meeting was a figment of his imagination and if he’d wake up with you halfway across the world and his life being as normal as it can be.

But he sees you enter your own private space when he walks to the break room and tries not to stare at you too long. It wouldn't be good for his health.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

“This office is pretty nice.”

Your jaw nearly drops at the sight before you. The tall windows overlooking the city boasts a beautiful skyline with pedestrians barely visible from where you stand. The carpeted floor is plush against the click of your heels and the temperature in the room is just warm enough for you to set your suit jacket atop the armrest of the brown leather couch.

“It used to be mine before I became the managing partner,” Heeseung tells you.

“I see. That must be why I like the interior design.”

Coming back to Seoul six months ago wasn’t your idea. But your visa in America had expired and there was no legitimate reason for you to extend your time abroad. With a heavy heart, you packed your bags and returned to the city with unfavorable memories you hoped to put behind you.

However, it seems that life finds a way to throw you a curveball and make you face your fears. Returning to Seoul wasn’t for the faint of heart. The familiar sounds of people walking and talking in the street and the scent of street food vendors warmed your heart as best as it could. The memories of your childhood summers spent frolicking in the city because your parents were too busy pursuing their dreams to entertain yours will forever remain a tasteless memory. The sound of squeaky wheels on vendor carts is bittersweet.

Upon returning, you’d taken a couple of weeks to settle into a new apartment just a few towns outside of the city. The modest apartment is nothing like the penthouse you rented in New York. The amenities were appealing at first, with the tall ceilings and marble statues adorning each room. The affluent neighborhood you lived in felt familiar from your childhood days, although feeling at home wasn’t something you think you could ever do if you lived in a house made of glass.

The mental images of running inside your parents’ gargantuan household with them nowhere to be seen is imprinted in your mind when you close your eyes. Your mother’s office door that always remained closed and uninviting to anyone but your father and older brother felt demoralizing, as did your father’s study, which was never to be entered. The large house felt more like a fortress than a home. The empty hallways with no one to converse with felt like a prison with your bedroom being your only sanctuary.

The two bedroom apartment in a modest neighborhood outside of Seoul feels like home to you. The neighbors who garden when it’s warm out and retreat on rainy days feel like friends rather than people you live next to. The children on their way to school wave at you before work and make you promise not to work too late, which is likely why you leave your office at a reasonable hour. If you bring your work home with you and hide behind your curtains as you pretend to watch TV, that’s nobody’s business but your own.

You jumped at the idea of leaving Seoul as you approached your second year in your law career. The idea of exploring a new country in a language you half-spoke felt more exciting than horrifying. Knowing your mentor had recommended you for the apprenticeship served as the encouragement you needed to pack your belongings and say goodbye to your friends, family, and life as you knew it.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you were running away from your childhood and the wound Jay had opened when he left you alone in front of your classmates.

That hurtful memory reopened itself when Kazuha pitched the idea of working with Lee & Associates on this case. The both of you know you’re her top choice to fight this battle given your brother’s notable status and area of expertise. Your relation to your sibling is a secret you keep close to yourself with only a select few people in your life knowing, preferring to keep yourself out of the limelight as best as you can.

Yet the idea of working with Jay made these unresolved feelings bloom at the surface when you thought you had locked them in a box and threw the key away. The sleepless nights were just shy of affecting your work. Day after day, you’d stare at the Hybe Records file to see what information had been gathered, glossing over Jay’s name on each document and each email that was forwarded to your inbox. It hurt over and over again, just like it did when he left you standing alone, never to return.

But life never works out the way you want it to. Coming back to Seoul was for the best and facing old enemies and seeing old friends is part of your path. Having the grace to prepare yourself makes you reflect on how much you’ve grown in the years you spent away from Korea and that you’re ready to move past the hurdle that’s been keeping you tied down for so long. Or so you tell yourself.

Heeseung knocks his shoulders with yours. “You don’t seem as shocked to see Jay as I thought you’d be.”

“I had a few weeks to prepare,” you tell him as the two of you face the scenery in front. “When Kazuha told me I was her first choice to work this lawsuit, I saw Jay’s name sitting at the top of the file.”

“It’s his case, technically. But we all know you’ll outshine him in one way or another.”

You shake your head. “I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes, Heeseung. I’m just here to do my job.”

“And see an old friend, I’d assume.” This time, you knock your shoulders against his.

“Oh, you know it’s always good to see you when I’m on this side of town.”

Heeseung smiles, pleased. “I know it’s been a while since the two of you have seen each other and I hope you know that you weren’t picked for any dubious reasons.”

“I know, Hee.” The man looks at you, tilting his head to assess the true intentions behind your words. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

“This company would have benefitted from your work,” he replies. “Still, I’m sorry for how things worked out.”

“That was ages ago,” you wave off. “You really don’t need to apologize for it. I appreciate you fighting to hire me, but Jay has done a wonderful job and you can’t deny that.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, I really can’t. He’s one of my best. One of the best lawyers in Korea, I’d argue.”

“What does that make me?” you joke.

“It makes you the best in the universe.”

You throw a fond smile Heeseung’s way. “It really is nice to see you again.”

“I meant it when I said you could reach out for anything.

“Most days, I just need a friend.”

Heeseung quirks an eyebrow. “Is that why you text me photos of you baking at three in the morning?”

“Precisely. What else would I text you about?”

The man laughs. “I love the ones where your cat sits on the counter to watch. I love Gerry.”

“For the love of God, Heeseung. Her name is Miso.”

“Yeah, but your cat is orange like a tangerine and in my head, Gerry, is a cute nickname for tangerine.”

“You need to re-evaluate your definition of cute.”

Heeseung smiles at you fondly and tilts his head. He knows he’s looking at a version of you no one in Seoul has seen before. The new person standing before him is confident in herself and her capabilities, no longer shying away from the spotlight. The person you are now could look him in the eye and call him an equal, unlike when you were an emerging teenager dealing with peer pressure and hormonal acne.

“Your mom calls mine from time to time, you know,” Heeseung says after a short pause.

You snort. “Oh God. Please don’t tell me Lee Jiwoo cares about what my mother, of all people, has to say.”

He shrugs. “She doesn’t, but they were neighbors for forty years before my parents moved. I think your mom has some weird attachment to the past.”

“You’re telling me,” you say as you roll your eyes. “I remember as kids, she’d force me to go over to your house with the hopes that we’d fall in love and get married someday.”

Heeseung laughs. “God, you were so hung up on Lee Seokmin that you barely paid attention to me.”

“If I recall correctly, you were head over heels with Kang Ara and that made you a lovesick fool. Who knew you were into older women?”

“She was nice enough to help me with my homework, okay?” Heeseung defends himself as he laughs.

Recounting childhood memories with you feels warm. When you’d left Seoul in pursuit of a career in America, Heeseung knew you were running away from your problems rather than facing them. He grew up seeing the harsh reality that was strict parents who placed too high of a standard on you whereas your older brother remained unharmed by their lashings and expectations.

Heeseung always chided the way his friends would tease him when he walked you home from school or offered to make room for you in his house when your parents were home. He’d witnessed the volatile relationship between the three of you and offered his household as a sanctuary for as long as he could. Heeseung’s parents offered the kind of hospitality he wished you could receive from your own parents.

Still, it feels warm to know you chose to return. Seeing you in your element makes Heeseung think he must’ve done something right all those years ago, even if you briefly lost touch when you moved overseas.

“I’m really grateful for you, Hee.” You lean your head on his shoulder and cross your arms in front of your chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for being so nice to me when we were kids. You were always so popular with the girls and every guy wanted to be you. I know people made fun of me when we’d walk home from school together. Knowing you defended me and made me feel like a normal person despite my relationship with my parents makes me feel happy.”

“I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?” Heeseung asks. He feels you nod against him. “It killed me to see you fight with your parents and I didn’t care that Han Bora got jealous of you or that Choi Youngchul made fun of me for having a girl around. You were more than that to me.”

“I love my brother, I really do.” You bite your lip to keep a sigh at bay. “But he’ll never understand how my parents treated me. I know he loves me and I know he did everything he could to protect me when we were younger, but he still reaped the benefits from our parents.”

“No apology from them can outdo everything you went through,” Heeseung says. He leans his head on top of yours. “You were my best friend, even if I didn’t say that to you. Everyone at school wanted to be my friend because I went puberty faster than everyone else but you always treated me as the same kid who got a bloody nose after falling face first on the pavement.”

Heeseung smiles when he hears you laugh. “I told you to tie your shoe laces.”

“SInce when do I listen to what you say?”

You pull yourself from him. “Thanks for always being there for me, Hee. I hope you know I’ll work my hardest to win this case.”

A knock at the door brings both of your attention behind you. Jake stands politely and bows his head as he enters when Heeseung beckons him inside.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Jake says carefully.

“Not at all,” Heeseung assures. “Is there something you need?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could give Y/N a tour of the office. I’d love to show her around so she feels more comfortable and familiar.”

“That’s a great idea, Jake.” Heeseung turns to you. “Why don’t you settle in and make yourself at home for an hour, yeah? Let Jake take you to the cafe that’s across the street and use my company card to pay for it.”

“I’ll never say no to you paying.” Heeseung rolls his eyes at your playful banter but hands you his credit card regardless. Seeing you this open with him warms his heart.

“We won’t be long,” Jake assures.

Jay approaches where the three of you are standing and busies himself in the bullpen when he notices you and Jake walking out of the office. Pretending to be intensely reading a document about finance, Jay prays you don’t see him and waits until the two of you are out of sight to walk towards Heeseung.

His footsteps feel heavy as he enters what is to be assumed, your office.

“I already know what you’re thinking,” says Heeseung with his hands in his pockets.

“Then you know I’m going to ask you what the hell is going on.”

Jay has seen his fair share of hard moments from the man standing in front of him, whether in court or behind closed doors. He knows Heeseung to be someone that mentors by giving tough love and credit where it’s due, playing the role of a fair judge in the name of building a strong career. Jay is no stranger to people being upset with him, least of all Heeseung.

“Do I need to remind you that I'm the managing partner and that I don’t need to consult you on my decisions?”

“You don’t,” Jay begins, “but you know the history I have with Y/N. A little heads up would’ve been nice.”

“We don’t always get a heads up when the stakes are high, Jay. You know that. I tried to be as forthcoming as best as I could but we only heard confirmation a few days ago and you were out of the office preparing for your briefing.”

Jay breathes deeply. “You of all people know we left on bad terms.”

“So you should know that Y/N is like my sister,” Heeseung retorts. Jay can hear the slight venom in his elder’s tone. “I’m able to set aside my differences because it’s my job to do so and because I like you.”

“Heeseung–”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that you’re the only person making this awkward?” Heeseung asks, looking at Jay directly into his eyes. “Nobody else seems to be having any problems with Y/N joining this lawsuit.

“You are one of the best lawyers Korea has ever had the privilege of seeing, Jay. Hell, this company owes you a lot. But you can’t tell me that Y/N being here has affected you this much to the point of coming to talk to me about it in my office.”

Jay remains silent knowing Heeseung’s right, even if his pride refuses to quell.

“You made your choice all those years ago and from the looks of it, Y/N seems to have moved on.” Jay nearly chokes at Heeseung’s words. “You need to move on as well, Jay. Do whatever it is you have to do to get your head straight.”

Jay shuts his eyes for a brief second. “It’s really hard, Heeseung. It’s hard to forget.”

Heeseung’s expression softens. “She’s not seeing anyone.”

Jay abruptly opens his eyes.

“That is not what I meant.”

Heeseung smirks. “Sure it wasn’t.”

“I’m serious, Lee. I just regret how it all went down and I regret not reaching out after graduation. My parents took me abroad for the summer to celebrate. I was so caught up that I didn’t make time for Y/N.”

“You can still make time for her now.”

Jay shakes his head. “It’s too late. I’d bet anything to know she hates me.”

“Well, I know for a fact that she doesn’t. If we’re talking about the same Y/N you and I both knew all of those years ago, then you know she doesn’t hold grudges.”

“But we know she can.” Jay sighs. “You know about her parents.”

“Two people bringing her into this world just to treat her like nothing is far different than a boy not calling her back.” Jay tries to not take his comment to heart no matter how much it stings. “The difference between you and them is that you have the chance to make this right and correct your wrongs.

“But let me make myself clear. You are to work with Y/N and make her feel welcomed during her time on this case. I don’t care how you do it as long as your head is clear and you can work beside her without letting your feelings get in the way.”

“Understood.”

Heeseung’s expression softens. “You know I care about you, man. I wouldn’t have agreed to be your mentor if I didn’t think you were worth it.”

Jay nods. “I know. I just forgot that you two knew each other as well.”

“You should’ve seen Y/N back when she was in middle school. Still as timid as she was in law school but still the kindhearted person we know.”

Jay tries to picture what you were like as a child. He’s seen photos of you from preschool until the day you graduated college and wonders if you were the same shy, timid girl he knew you to be before the two of you parted ways. Would you two have been friends in elementary school? What kind of foods did you like to eat? Did you have a happy childhood?

He knows the answer is complicated. Jay’s assumption is that your parents, who happen to manage the biggest law firm in Korea through defending oil companies, did not value you as much as they valued your older brother. He, who was their prized possession, often tried to pull you into the spotlight with him. Jay remembers you talking about him fondly like he hung the moon in your night sky. It brought him a sense of peace to know there was someone always looking out for you when you were younger.

After all, your brother was the only form of family who came to your graduation during law school.

Jay remembers him standing tall, clad in a mask and clothing that made him unrecognizable. He blended in with the crowd and made himself seem smaller than he actually was in order to remain undetectable by people who weren’t you. Jay always wondered why you were hellbent on keeping your brother’s identity a secret and why you refused to share photos of him despite having shown him other pictures of you in your youth, but it made sense once Jay saw him pull the mask down and smile for a picture.

He knows he doesn’t deserve to ask you how your brother has been or what you’ve been up to since he last saw you all those years ago. Jay feels a lump grow in his throat when he thinks about working with you and having to talk to you about the case against Hybe. He wants to, and he wants to build a relationship with you that doesn’t result in him panicking when you look into his eyes, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Heeseung advises when he notices Jay growing quiet. “You’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jay says with a sigh. “You weren’t the one who broke her heart.”

“Y/N’s resilient. You and I both know the lengths she went through as a kid and how successful she is now. She wouldn’t have taken this case if she wasn’t willing to work with you. That should be a sign in itself.”

Jay takes Heeseung’s words into consideration, but it goes through one ear and then out the other. His heart won’t stop beating at a rapid pace and he can’t help but feel like there’s no hope for him at all.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Heeseung seems to know you too well.

The cafe across the street speaks to your soul with their delicious drinks and delectable pastry menu. You buy something for Jake on Heeseung’s card too. He merely looks at you with wide eyes and stutters over his words when he asks if you’re allowed to do that, to which you wave him off and say you’ve known Heeseung far too long for him to care about another fifteen dollars missing from the company funds.

“How long have you known Heeseung?” Jake asks as he takes a sip of his drink. The two of you sit cross from one another, basking in the atmosphere of the lunch rush hour.

“Our whole lives, practically. I think his parents moved next to mine way before either of us were born. They always joked that we’d get married and have that fairytale ending.”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “Is that still happening?”

“God no,” you say, shaking your head. “Heeseung is like a brother to me. He’d walk me to and from school when we were younger and hung out with me, back when I was a timid mess.”

“I don’t think I could ever imagine you as shy.” Jake blushes when he realizes he’s speaking candidly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Pray tell.”

“W-Well,” Jake stutters, “it’s just that, people talk and I know you know that. I’ve heard people brag about what an amazing attorney you are and how you dominate the courtroom. Or, you know, even the opposite, when people would tell me sob stories about losing to you.”

You stifle a laugh. “I’d like to think I’ve come a long way since law school. I don’t know if Jay’s ever told you, but I used to be very quiet. I kept to myself a lot. I didn’t have enough confidence to talk in class and panicked every time I was picked for a cold answer.”

Jake shudders. “I hated that. I was somebody who always came prepared to class but being put on the spot made me feel like I didn’t read the material at all.”

“Confidence comes with practice,” you tell him. “This job has built my self esteem, especially when I moved to New York for a few years. I didn’t speak English very well, just bits and pieces from music I grew up listening to and because my brother is fluent as well.”

“Do your parents speak English?”

You shake your head. “Broken English. My brother’s a special case. He listened to a lot of rap music behind our parents’ backs and dedicated so much time into learning how to rap in English that he became fluent. He was obsessed with the show Friends, too. I picked up after him.”

“Your brother seems like a cool guy.”

You smile into your cup. “Yeah, he is. He’s part of the reason why I took this case against Hybe Records. It feels right to fight for the underdog, you know?”

“Jay says the same thing,” Jake tells you. It makes your heart twinge. “He’s been my mentor for the past year and I don’t think I could ever thank him for taking me under his wing. I’m sure you know–he’s the type of guy to be fair and just. I never feel like he’s looking down on me, even when I royally screw up and he has to fix my messes.”

“He used to be really good at talking me down a ledge in law school,” you laugh. “I used to get so hot headed and frustrated every time I couldn't understand a brief or when I’d read for too long. Jay was always the calmer one between the two of us. He’d tell me to take a breath–”

“–and take it easy,” Jake finishes with you. You smile.

“Yeah, that. I still think about him saying that to me when times get tough. Jay was a big reason why I even graduated law school in the first place.”

“I thought you graduated at the top of your class?”

“He and I held equal rank,” you explain. “But mostly, he helped me see the bigger picture, you know? Jay always put my goals into perspective and reminded me why I wanted to become a lawyer in the first place.”

“Why did you?”

You set your cup down. “It feels right to help other people in ways that can’t be seen. No one talks about financial burden or responsibility. I had more than enough privilege growing up and it’s unfair that the rest of the world will never experience that kind of safety. If I can provide some kind of comfort for people going through tough times, who am I to deny them that?”

Jake nods. “I understand. I didn’t grow up in a legacy family myself and it makes me feel better knowing there are good people like you who pursued law. I guess that’s also why I wanted to become an attorney. I want to help people and this is the best way I know how.”

“Does Heeseung still make you guys take on two pro bono cases every year?”

“Three now,” Jake corrects. “But I don’t mind it that much. I love meeting new people and it makes me happy when we secure a win for them.”

“This job has brought me out of my comfort zone and has made me feel more confident while doing it. I owe a lot of that to Jay and Heeseung.”

“I’d love to learn from you,” Jake says honestly. “Even if it’s watching you in depositions or preparing case files. I feel like I could learn a thing or two.”

“I’d love that, Jake.”

He smiles. “I still can’t believe you knew Jay in law school. What was he like? I’ll bet he still had the same, brooding glare when he’s focused.”

“I think that was part of his charm,” you say with a fond smile. “Girls loved him. I mean sure, he came from a powerful family, but I think people were digging the whole ‘I-Don’t-Want-To-Talk-To-You’ vibe.”

“So how did you two end up becoming friends?”

“We sat next to each other in our criminal law class and he was struggling with a few cases,” you explain. “I excelled in criminal law while he excelled in intellectual property, which was a subject I needed help in, and we formed a study partnership in our second year.

“I couldn’t really tell you how we got as close as we did, though. We met in the library a few times a week before realizing being in a quiet environment made us too tired to read. We’d find coffee shops all over town and would end our study sessions with a late night dinner before parting ways.”

“That does sound like the Jay I know,” Jake laughs. “I don’t think I’ve seen him go home before the sun goes down.”

“Everyone knew how diligent he was with his work. He was always so confident in class when answering questions from our professor. I’m pretty sure everyone was intrigued by him. Jay mostly kept to himself until he and I became friends.”

“I can totally imagine Jay being a lone wolf.”

You laugh. “He was, kind of. We started hanging out without the premise of studying shortly after. He was probably my closest friend at the time.”

Jake can see a lingering thought behind your eyes but chooses not to comment, instead checking his watch for the time.

“Oh, we should probably be getting back soon. I’ll show you around the floor so you can get situated before you work.”

“That would be great, Jake. Thank you for volunteering to do so.”

On the walk back to the office, your steps become heavier as the reality of your present sets in. Jay, a former crush and confidant, sits just out of arm’s reach.

You replay the night in your head when Iseul had cornered the two of you at the local dive bar with the rest of your classmates upon celebrating the last final days of law school before graduation. At that time, everyone had received final offers from recruiters and were placed in law firms across Korea, yourself included.

It hurt to know that there was competition with Jay to join Lee & Associates, and that he was the chosen candidate. It hurt more to know that Jay couldn’t bring himself to reject you in private.

Iseul’s smile burns in your memory when you recall the way Jay walked away from you. Her wicked grin has etched itself into your mind, especially when you close your eyes. Time and distance has been kind to you, especially knowing she had moved from firm to firm because of negligence on her part, but you reckon there will always be a part of you that will remain standing in that dive bar feeling like no one would be willing to catch you as you fell.

That sadness planted deep seeds of distrust within you. That melancholy feeling followed you throughout the summertime, especially when Jay didn’t make the effort to call you during the summer that followed graduation.

It felt beautiful to be wanted by someone as kind and generous as Jay. It felt just as wonderful to be wanted by someone who you considered to be sought after. The brooding, quiet boy everyone thought to be mysterious had an energetic, talkative personality if you got to know him well enough. It was no wonder that you developed a crush on him towards the end of your second year in law school together.

When you think about it now, it must’ve been sickening to watch you follow Jay around like a lost puppy. You certainly felt like it from time to time. The two of you only shared one class in your final year together but stuck by each other for study sessions nonetheless. Jay was always more popular out of the two of you, always knowing people who passed him by and waving at other law students. It made you feel like you had to live up to a certain expectation and to branch out in order to be seen with Jay, but he always made it a point to tell you that it didn’t matter how many friends you had. You were always going to be his favorite.

You’d always considered yourself as an awkward, stuttering mess when it came to making friends. Something about Jay quelled your fears about socializing and playing the part of an extrovert with his calm tone and soothing demeanor. On most days, Jay was the person who encouraged you to relax and let your thoughts run wild before making brash decisions. He was the first person to listen to you talk about the burdens your parents placed on your shoulders without insinuating you had to be grateful for the life that you were born into.

You were. You are. But you aren’t grateful for being neglected and being made to feel like being born was a mistake and a burden.

Jay has seen you at your worst, whether it be tearing up over a low test score or coming back from winter break after a couple of weeks with your family. You’d argue that you’ve been with him at his worst too, having seen Jay cry a few times throughout your friendship from frustration and stress. There was something about your bond that made you believe he trusted you with his heart and soul, and something that made you believe you could trust him too.

The weight of your parents’ actions, coupled in with Jay’s selfishness, made you numb for a while.

His silence and the lack of an apology felt like the ultimate betrayal. You deleted his phone number out of anger when you began your position as a first year associate. You kept your head down and used work to distract yourself from the hollow feeling inside of you, often wondering how Jay was doing at Lee & Associates. It hurt to know you didn’t have a relationship with him where you could tell him about your day and discuss the stress of cases within legal limits. It stung to know he likely didn’t care about you enough to repair the bond after not having called you all summer. Deleting his number, as well as all of the pictures and videos you had of him from your phone, felt like the last straw. Jay was no longer going to be in your life.

It was why choosing to relocate to New York was so easy for you. Physically leaving Jay behind meant running away from everyone who had ever hurt you to start anew in a city where no one knew your name; this was a fresh opportunity to become the confident, carefree person you always yearned to be, the type of person you knew you could be. Having to navigate a new environment in a language you barely spoke strengthened your self confidence and demonstrated your resilience. If you could overcome this, you could overcome anything.

Seeing Jay’s name in the original Hybe Records case file startled you, but it wasn’t as jarring as you thought it would be. You imagined what you would say to him if you ever got the chance to see him in person again. Would there be screaming? Would you cry? Would your throat close and feel like you were choking on your words if Jay were to have acknowledged you in any way?

Would Jay apologize for the night he left you?

The answer, you later found out, was none of the above. Instead, seeing the name ‘Park Jongseong’ caused a flurry of evocative memories to replay in your mind. After years of dealing with the torment of not feeling good enough to keep your loved ones around, the struggle to find who you were in an industry unkind to timid people like you dissipated with every hour spent working. The more you worked, the more you strategized about winning cases. The more cases you won, the more confident you got.

Taking on the case against Hybe records was already a no-brainer for you. Your brother is far too passionate about music to ever forgive you for passing up a case you know so much about. Not even Jay could have deterred you from working on it. Even so, you’re eternally grateful that seeing his name doesn’t bring up unpleasant feelings like it did once before.

Jake brings you out of your thoughts when he opens the front door for you. With a bright smile and your guest badge in your hand, you walk past security without a hitch and take a deep breath before following Jake into the elevator and back to the main floor.

“I think you’ll really like the associates and paralegals,” Jake says to make conversation on the long trip to the fiftieth floor. “Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki are my favorites, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Sunoo’s a first year associate and he’s brilliant,” Jake explains. “He’s quick on his feet and he’s quite bubbly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so excited to be awake at eight in the morning like he is. Jungwon’s our best parasocial as well. He’s incredibly smart and quick-thinking, and he’s thinking of studying to take the entrance exam to enter law school, actually.”

“Oh wow,” you say with a nod. “That’s incredible. His experience as a paralegal will definitely prepare him for that.”

“I think so too,” Jake agrees. “Riki’s our legal intern for the summer. He’s passionate about his work and really funny. He’s got a natural charm to him, even if his resting face makes him look unapproachable. You’ll like him.”

“If Heeseung trusts you, then I trust you,” you tell Jake, stepping out of the elevator.

“Speaking of Sunoo,” Jake mumbles as he expedites his pace to catch up with the brunette. “Sunoo, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Kim Y/N,” Sunoo says with a perpendicular bow. “An honor to meet you, truly. I’m Kim Sunoo”

You reciprocate. “I appreciate your kindness, Sunoo.”

“He’ll probably scream about you bowing to him in the break room,” Jake laughs. Sunoo swats his arm.

“Yah. Maybe if you were half as cool as Y/N, I’d scream about you in the break room.”

Jake pouts before smiling. “I was just telling Y/N how you’re one of my favorite first year associates.”

“He spoke quite highly of you. I heard that you’ll be assisting on the Hybe case with us?”

“If at all possible!” Sunoo exclaims. “I wouldn’t want to overstep.”

“Nonsense,” you say as you wave him off. “I’m sure Heeseung will talk to you about this sooner or later. I saw your name on the file when he and I spoke earlier. I have a feeling we’ll be working together quite often, Kim Sunoo.”

The aforementioned blushes. “That would be amazing.”

“We’ll see you later,” Jake says as the two of you wave goodbye. “See what I mean? He’s a ball of sunshine but his bite is definitely worse than his bark. Sunoo’s incredible when it comes to reading clients to absolute filth.”

“He seems sweet,” you say with a pout. “Who else am I meeting again?”

“Jungwon!” Jake shouts as he knocks on the glass door with the title ‘YANG JUNGWON | PARALEGAL.’

The boy looks up and rolls his eyes before registering you standing behind Jake. You hear him clear his throat and fix his posture before standing, beckoning the two of you into his office.

“Sorry,” Jungwon apologizes with a bow. “I’m sure that, by now, you know how loud Jake can be.”

Jake merely laughs. “It’s because I like you, Wonie.”

Jungwon faces you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jungwon, your resident paralegal. Let me know if you ever need anything and I’d be happy to help!”

“Jungwon’s the best paralegal Lee & Associates,” Jake tells you. “It’s why he’s the only paralegal that has his own office.”

“Anyway,” Jungwon says, hiding a blush from Jake’s compliments, “this is my second year with the company and I know it like the back of my hand. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever need anything.”

“That’s really sweet of you to say, Jungwon, thank you.”

“Anything for a friend of Jay and Heeseung!”

“We’ll probably come back to you before the day ends,” Jake says to the younger boy. “Is Riki still on his lunch break or is he in the bullpen?”

“He got back a few minutes ago.”

“Sweet,” Jake says. “Let’s go meet the rascal.”

Riki and Jake have a closer bond than you expected, with the younger boy greeting his elder with a bright smile and a handshake they seem to have perfected. He turns to you and listens as Jake introduces the two of you before he bows politely.

“Riki’s from Japan but chose to study here in Korea. He and Jungwon want to take the LSAT together,” says Jake.

“あなたは日本語を話していると思います？” you ask him. I assume you speak Japanese?

Riki’s face beams.

“はい、そうです,” he says. Yes, that’s right. ?どこでそれを話せるようになったのですか” Where did you learn to speak it?

“私は高校で学びました。しかし、もっと練習が必要です.” I learned back in high school. I need a more practice, though.

Riki smiles and shakes his head. “Your Japanese is perfect.”

“Ah, you flatter me too much.” “That was so fucking cool,” Jake says. “You speak Korean, English, and Japanese?”

“Add in a little bit of Spanish and we’re golden.”

“You’re officially the coolest person in this goddamn office.”

“I hope our paths cross before your work here is done,” Riki says with another bow. “I need to get back to work, unfortunately.”

“Please, don’t let me keep you!” Riki smiles at you once again before disappearing into another office. “You're right, I really do like him.”

Jake smiles and points across the room. “The break room is just around the corner and is always filled with coffee, tea, and other snacks. The secretaries at the front of the floor make sure it’s stocked to the brim but if anything is missing, just ask. They’re usually happy to replenish.”

“Good to know.”

“Do you need anything else from me or are you ready to win this goddamn case?”

You smile.

“Let’s win this goddamn case.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

In the two weeks that have passed by, Jay still hasn't mustered up the courage to speak to you.

Beyond a polite greeting when the two of you cross paths in the morning, Jay can barely smile at you without his heartbeat betraying him. His chest starts to tighten and his tie feels too tight around his neck when you look into his eyes. If you look deep enough, Jay is sure you see all of the regret he’s harbored for so many years.

Heeseung has had to tell him to get a grip twice already. Jay isn’t slacking at his job as much as he thought he would. But if his mentor and dear friend could notice how awkward he was acting around you, Jay was sure you could sense it too.

In truth, Jay doesn’t know how to talk to you. He’s never felt pain like this before. He yearns to hear your voice speaking to him and to converse like once before, but he doesn’t know how to. This obstacle causes pain within Jay, and he wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to say more than a sentence to you before your time with him is over.

Watching you talk freely with his colleagues is foreign to him. Jay can’t wrap his head around the fact that you’re much more confident than you were back when he knew you. The same girl who couldn’t go a few sentences without looking at her shoes is holding eye contact and smiling after she speaks. You don’t cower over your body in an attempt to make yourself look like you’re hiding in your shell. Now, you speak with assertion and hold your chin level with the floor as you hold conversation.

It’s jarring, but a large part of Jay can’t help but feel proud of you. If there’s one thing he knew you wished for back in law school, it was to grow your self esteem. Having parents who belittle your dreams and spoke pathetically about your life choices didn’t leave room for you to understand what liking yourself looked like. The accolades and achievements your parents were bestowed with felt unnatural when you knew it was only a matter of time before they had something negative to say. As attorneys themselves, defending oil companies who don’t care about oil spills in the ocean or bribing employees to keep a quiet mouth about misfortunes never felt like confidence to you. It was cowardice.

Seeing your parents in magazines with a perfect picture smile never made you want to emulate them in any capacity. They look like dolls, playing the role of hardworking attorneys and devoted parents until they cross the threshold of your home, letting the mask fall to the floor. Their confidence felt brazen. They didn’t deserve to be your role models.

Yet, here you are.

Jay doesn’t notice that he’s been staring at you from his office door until Sunghoon knocks his shoulder with his own.

“Quit staring unless you want to look like a creep.”

Jay clears his throat. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Sure,” Sunghoon smirks. “And I don’t handle the majority of our finances.” Jay rolls his eyes.

“I know what you’re gonna say and you don’t need to say it. I know I need to talk to Y/N.”

“You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“I know, Hoon,” Jay says. He spares one more glance at you before looking away. “But it’s hard to try when I don’t think I deserve any respect or forgiveness.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but it’s obvious that something did happen by how tense you are when she’s around.”

“Am I really that bad?”

Sunghoon nods. “Y/N can tell. She keeps looking at you when you walk away.”

“Shit,” Jay curses.

“Whatever happened back then was a long time ago. I obviously don’t know her as well as you do, but she’s been a great asset to the team since she joined. She blends well with everybody and leaves her office door open most of the time. Y/N talks to the associates and interns when she’s taking breaks. She wouldn’t do all of that if she wasn’t willing to talk to you.”

Deep down, Jay knows his friend is right. But it’s hard to convince himself to talk to you when he pictured the agony on your face before he turned around and left you by yourself with the wolves. It makes his heart lurch from left to right. This feeling only quells when you’re out of sight and when he’s distracted with his work.

“Try,” Sunghoon says. “I know it’s scary, but the universe put her right back in your life for a season.”

“I know,” Jay says quietly. “Thanks, Sunghoon.”

“Anytime.”

Sunghoon leaves and Jay fixes his posture, pushing his shoulders back twice in a row. Jay still thinks you are the most beautiful and selfless person he’s ever seen. Looking at you makes him feel like a small volcano has ruptured within his heart and the cage that once kept his adoration for you hostage no longer keeps him in the dark. Jay isn’t the insecure young adult he was when he knew you. Even he is more sure of himself.

Jay thinks you look gorgeous now that you’re smiling more. He remembers all the times he used to take candid photos of you during impromptu moments and the squeals of discomfort you echoed when he would try to take a picture. You used to cover your mouth or shy away from the camera as if you were too embarrassed to be caught. But the way you’re smiling to his colleagues and how animated your conversations are seem to make his heart swell to see how far you’ve come.

Working alongside you in the time that he has makes Jay observant. He’s been in a room with you plenty of times, whether it be for an internal meeting or sessions where each attorney looks through files of documents. You’re still the diligent and hardworking person you were all those years ago. You still tap your pen quietly over the stack of papers and you still like to eat sweets when you’re in the thick of it. When he sees you like this, Jay begins to recall all of the nights spent in the library studying for an exam or rushing to finish an essay before the submit date. Seeing you harbor the same habits you did in law school makes his heart warm.

For as awkward as it is, Jay is glad that he gets to see you as successful as you are. He always pictured the two of you as lifelong friends back when he knew you for six months. You were reliable and honest, loyal to your core, and passionate about your work and hobbies. He loved to hear you talk because it demonstrated your confidence when the two of you were together. Jay would reckong that he’d fly a great distance if you asked him to have a conversation with him.

He loved seeing you switch on for him. One look at you and you were smiling with your eyes closed. Jay adored the way you’d laugh every time he said something mildly embarrassing or the way you would subtly blush whenever he got up early enough to buy you something from the cafe near his apartment. Jay knew he made you flustered from time to time and it brought him great joy to see you look at him like you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

When he made the executive decision not to call you three months after graduating, Jay wondered if it was cruel of him to revel in the way you reacted to him. His heart felt lighter when you smiled at him while making eye contact. He didn't mind carrying your purse when the two of you hung out or remaining the more sober of the two whenever he drank with you. It felt so natural to look after you like that despite not having many people in his life to do that for. It gave Jay a sense of purpose to do so, going as far as to seek for you when you weren’t with him.

He always felt selfish for teasing you with the purpose of seeing that shy smile and seeing you look away from him in an attempt to stop laughing. You looked so beautiful when you were bashful, so humble too. Jay prayed for borrowed time because seeing you between classes wasn’t enough. He always thought you were too cool to hang out with him no matter what other people said because you had a million passions and could talk his ear off about everything and nothing at the same time.

Realistically, Jay knows he can talk to you whenever he wants to. You’ve been mad at him before and have done days without talking to him, but when he took the time to reflect and apologize to you the way you deserved, you always let him back into your hold. Jay knows he has the opportunity to strike up a conversation since you both have been working together for a couple of weeks. He knows you won’t dismiss him.

But when he sees you laughing with Sunoo and Jungwon in the bullpen from his office, he can’t help but think about just how little he knows about you and how much you don’t know about him. Jay knows it’s his fault since he put the distance between the two of you. Yet here you are, talking to people he’s known for years like you’ve known them all your life.

Jay can talk to you, but it won’t be today.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Luck is (or isn’t) on his side when the two of you jump into each other while trying to open the door to the cafe across the street from the law office.

Regretfully, Jay wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking, as his nose was buried deep in an email he was reading as he motioned to pull the door open. It was then he realized he’d bumped into someone. It took him a few seconds to register he had humped into you.

“Oh,” you say, startled.

“Shit,” Jay curses. “I’m sorry. I, uh, wasn’t watching where I was going.” He pockets his phone. “I should really start doing that.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have coffee in my hands,” you say with a laugh. “It’s fine, Jay.”

You let him pull the door open for you after he corrects himself. With his head, he gestures for you to enter first and you give a polite smile as a silent thank you. Jay forces himself not to audibly sigh behind you, instead choosing to glance at the ceiling and pray he doesn’t say anything stupid.

He meets you at the cashier line and notices what you’re wearing. Your forest green dress hugs you in a respectable way, contouring to the ridges of your body. The color looks gorgeous against your skin tone, as does the color of your jewelry. Your coat is dangling from your arms and your hair is styled in a way that makes you look almost glamorous.

“You look stunning.”

To his horror, you look back and catch him looking at you.

“Thank you,” he hears you say after a long pause. Jay feels his cheeks reddening.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “That was weird, wasn’t it?”

He’s surprised when you shake your head.

“Not weird at all. I bought this dress and took the tag off prematurely. I wore it today so I could get use out of it since I’d spent so much money on it, so I’m glad someone likes it.”

That same, shy smile adorns your face. But this time, you aren’t looking away from him. That makes Jay’s heart flutter and for once, he feels like he’s got a shot at making things right with you.

“You really do look stunning,” Jay tells you as he looks you directly in the eye. He doesn’t dare let his gaze wander.

Before either of you can say anything, the cashier is waving you towards the counter. He doesn’t think twice about pulling his wallet out and hanging it to the employee behind the counter when you finish ordering, quickly saying his own order before smiling at you.

“You don’t have to pay for me,” you tell him.

“I know,” he says with a meek smile. “But let me, yeah?”

You don’t fight him on it, namely because the employee has already used his card by the time you could even think about pulling your own out. Jay ushers you to the side where the waiting area is and puts his hands deep in his pockets.

The two of you are quiet for a while. It’s semi busy and the sound of chatter and steaming milk reverberates around the room. Jay looks at you through the corner of his eyes and sees you looking at your watch for the time. If he's to say anything, he needs to say it now.

“It’s good to see you again,” is what Jay settles with. You turn to look at him. “I didn’t realize you were the borrowed partner. It’s good to see that you achieved your dreams.”

You don’t know how to respond. You choose to respond honestly.

“It makes me happy knowing that we both made it,” you tell him. “Heeseung told me he promoted you to senior partner a few months ago. That’s incredible.”

“Not as incredible as being the youngest person to be named senior partner at Tang-Young.” Jay smiles at you. “That’s incredible.”

“It feels that way,” you tell him earnestly. “I used to think days like these were far-fetched, like I’d never be named senior partner or have my foot in the door. It feels crazy to feel put together for once.”

“I know the feeling,” Jay agrees. “I have my own place and haven’t had any help from my parents since I graduated law school. I’ve been on my own for a while now.”

The barista calls out your orders. Jay lets you pick up your beverage before he takes his.

“Do you ever think about when you were a first year associate? I think about sitting in the bullpen all the time. Sometimes it feels wrong to have my own office.” Jay opens the door for you and lets you walk outside first before he follows.

“I picture myself out there when I first joined the firm,” Jay confesses. “I was so young and naive…I didn’t have a clear picture of what I wanted to do with my career yet.”

“It’s insane how much time has passed,” you comment, looking both ways before crossing the street. Jay doesn’t think you say it as you do on purpose, but emotions tug on his heart strings. “I feel like I was just a first year associate only a few days ago.”

Jay swallows harshly. “A lot has changed. Some for the better…some for the worst.”

You finally look at him when the two of you reach the other side of the road. He doesn’t like talking in tongues or minding your language when he speaks to you because he wants to apologize. Jay has spent the last few weeks dreaming about what he’d say to you or what he’d do to make up for his shortcoming years prior but he doesn’t know how to start. He doesn’t know what he should do first or if you’d consider hearing him out.

Today is an indication that you might be, is the conclusion Jay comes to.

The cliches of time slowing down is what he feels when you stop to look at him. He feels like you’re staring through his soul, almost as if you’re inspecting him from head to toe. Jay doesn’t know what you’re thinking and he’s too afraid to ask. He can’t tell what’s going on in your head with your emotionless expression, rocking back and forth to keep his balance.

Did he say the wrong thing? Jay bites his tongue and wishes he could wake up from whatever dream he’s having. This doesn’t even feel real. He can barely hear the sound of taxis and people around him through the thumping of his own heart. Jay can’t see anyone else but you, so he reckons he could open his eyes and still be in his bed.

But he blinks and you’re still standing in front of him.

“Things might’ve changed and so do people. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

He watches you walk towards the entrance of the building and forces himself to jog until he’s walking next to you. Jay catches himself and tries not to bump into the people walking in the opposite direction as him. When the two of you are back on the fiftieth floor, you bow to the secretaries and greet Heeseung and Jake, who are standing next to one another.

“Oh good,” Heesueng says, “Y/N, you’re here. I know you have to appear in court in a few hours and I was wondering if you’d be willing to stop by Attorney Ahn’s office.”

“Ahn?” you ask him quizzically. “What for?”

“We secured an agreement for them to hand over the Hybe’s contracts. They didn’t want to disclose and Ahn tried hard to block this from being filed, but I think Judge Han allowed it to pass. Do you think you could grab the box from his office?”

“Sure thing,” you tell him with a nod. “I should be leaving in about an hour. No idea when I’ll be back, but I planned to put in some extra hours. Might as well get a head start by looking at those files.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Heeseung praises before walking back into his office.

“I’m kind of offended neither of you invited me to get coffee,” Jake says as he hands Jay a manila folder.

“Maybe if this file was on my desk yesterday, I would have,” Jay says with the quirk of his mouth.

Jake shakes his head dramatically. “Do you see what I have to deal with, Y/N? It’s like he wants to punish me.”

“Punishing you would be making you go to housing court three times a week, but I don’t,” Jay retorts. “Instead, you get to work with the big kids.”

“Atta boy,” Jake says as he elbows Jay’s side. “But seriously, I want an invite next time.”

“We ran into each other this morning but how about you and I go together tomorrow morning, say around eight?”

“I think you’re my favorite attorney!” Jake exclaims.

You turn to Jay. “You’re welcome to join us.”

“Yes,” Jay accepts immediately. “Yeah, uh, I’d love to join.”

“Great.” You look between them with a pleasant smile. “Well if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to prepare for trial. See you this afternoon?”

“Count on it,” Jake says with a mock salute.

You leave the two of them and Jake watches as his mentor forces himself to pry his eyes off of you. In the duration that he’s gotten to see you and Jay work alongside one another, Jake has never seen his mentor at a loss for words before you started to work in the same office. The younger boy looks between the two of you before slipping back into Jay’s, waiting for him to follow suit.

Jake joined Lee & Associates as a first year associate. His designated spot in the bullpen felt scared to him, like it was the one place in the entire office that didn’t make him feel like a belittled mess. Law school was over and Jake couldn’t help but feel nervous about practicing law in the real world where the consequences would be more fatal than a bad test score.

Jay was in need of an associate at the time and there didn’t seem to be anybody who could step up to the plate and deal with Jay’s on-and-off personality, along with the fast pace he kept when working. Before getting to know him, Jay was someone unreadable to Jake. He felt untouchable even though his desk was right in front of the bullpen with the glass doors separating the two of them, mimicking something as dramatic as The Great Wall.

Yet he finds himself seeing Jay like a brother after the time spent together. Jake knows his mentor is anything but a stone cold, hardened attorney people make him out to be. Jay prefers to keep his emotions closer to himself rather than on his sleeve for people to notice at first glance. He loves loyalty and honesty, and will go to great lengths to award people who stand beside him through tough times.

It’s why Jake can see the conflict in Jay’s eyes when he sees him looking at you. Jay’s stare is far away, almost as if he’s looking at the spot you stood in to yearn for what he once had. It takes him a moment or two to collect himself and continue with his day.

Jay clears his throat when he realizes he’s been quiet.

“Do you have the briefing for the damage collection case?”

Jake stares at his friend. “I’ll give it to you if you tell me what’s going on between you and Y/N.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Jay sputters in an attempt to seem calm. His heart is beating twice as fast. Jake merely shakes his head.

“Nah, man. You look at Y/N like you’re seconds away from telling her you’re in love with her.”

“I am not in love with her,” Jay defends immediately. He sees Jake raise his eyebrow and disconnects eye contact. “We used to know each other in law school and now we aren’t as close anymore.”

“See, that’s the thing. I know that. Everyone else knows that too. But there’s something neither you nor Y/N are acknowledging and there’s tension in the air whenever you two are in the same room.”

“There’s no tension.”

Jake deadpans. “There’s so much tension. Even Riki can sense it.”

“Don’t bring interns into this.”

“I’m not bringing anyone into anything,” Jake replies. “It’s you and your weird mojo that needs to be fixed.”

“My mojo?”

“You’ve been off kilter for the past month,” says Jake. “I’m your right hand, you know? I’m with you for ninety percent of the week. I can tell when something’s bothering you.”

Jay sighs. “It’s complicated, Jake. I…did some things in the past that I wasn’t proud of and I can’t bring myself to talk to Y/N, especially knowing how it all went down.”

“You don’t have to be so cryptic about it,” Jake says sarcastically.

Take a seat,” Jay instructs. “You’ll want to sit down.”

Recounting the story to Jake makes Jay feel like he’s telling a juvenile story about two lovestruck teenagers who were too immature to know any better. He feels the guilt rising to the surface all over again, as if he were shaming his younger self for acting so selfishly.

Truthfully, Jay knew you didn’t deserve to be treated the way he treated you. He viewed you as the epitome of sunshine even if you didn’t believe him on most days. Your quiet demeanor hid a blooming flower. You deserved more than a coward who couldn’t own up to his feelings.

They stay in Jay’s office, foregoing the workday to discuss what happened the night he left you and what transpired in the summer that followed. Jay tells Jake that he and his parents hopped on a flight abroad a few days after graduation. He tells him how you were always at the forefront of his mind and how that sad look in your eye imprinted in his mind every time he closed his eyes.

“Shit,” Jake says, leaning back to clutch against Jay’s chair.

“Indeed.” Jay averts his attention to the city below his office from his window. “I don’t know how to act around her. She walks around like nothing happened between us but when I look at her, all I can picture is that look on her face when I walked away.”

“Have you ever considered that Y/N has moved on?”

Jay shakes his head. “Heeseung said the same thing but this isn’t something you get over, Jake.”

“You said it yourself, though. Y/N is a resilient person. You just told me what you admired about her most was that she could see the bigger picture and react accordingly.”

“I used to think she never had the guts to stand up for herself when people were meant to her,” Jay confesses. “I’d get so frustrated and we’d get into arguments because I’d tell her she doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. But Y/N would always tell me that some battles aren’t worth fighting. I never understood it then.”

“And now?”

Jay sighs. “Seeing her here, making friends with all of the associates and walking into Heeseung’s office like she owns the place, makes me realize she always knew what she was talking about. I mentioned she didn't have a great relationship with her parents, right? Well, I think part of me always forgot that since I had a great relationship with mine. I was more vocal than she was. I didn’t have a problem telling people off if they deserved it.

“But she was quieter. Maybe it was by nature or maybe it was because she didn’t like talking unless she had a reason to. I don’t know. But when I look at her now, I don’t see that angry, frustrated person anymore. I can’t begin to describe it. It’s like she broke out of her shell and became a completely different person. More confident, I’d say.”

Jake nods. “You know, she told me and Sunoo that she has a tattoo of a butterfly on her hip.”

“A butterfly?”

“A butterfly. A monarch, I think. Anyway, the type doesn’t matter. It’s just funny that you think she’s come out of her shell when butterflies start out as caterpillars and have to go through their metamorphosis period before becoming a butterfly.”

Jay bites his lip in contemplation. Jake continues.

“Monarch butterflies migrate to warm weather once a year because they can’t survive the cold. They fly in groups, hundreds of thousands at a time and build communities. Y/N did the same thing, if you think about it. She left Korea to find herself in New York and returned when she was ready.”

“I never thought about it like that,” Jay says. “I knew she was working from New York but I always thought it was to get away from me.”

“Maybe in the beginning,” Jake adds. “Maybe Y/N needed to get away from you, her parents, and her life as she knew it to find the person she was always supposed to be.”

“I will never forgive myself for not calling her after we graduated.”

“You don’t have to, but I think Y/N has.” Jake leans his elbows on Jay’s desk and looks the man in the eye. “Look, I know I haven’t known her for as long as you have, but in the month we’ve worked together, I’ve learned a lot from her. I’ve seen her talk to the opposing counsel in depositions and learned that she can get to the point without saying much. She’s really confident in herself and is almost always willing to help associates when they approach her.

“What I’m trying to say is, you need to let go of the person you once knew and the person you were back then. You and I both know how far you’ve come in your career and I’m sure Heeseung knows how much you’ve changed as a person since you graduated. But you can’t keep living in the past if you want to move forward.”

Jake’s right and Jay knows it. Every day, he wakes up and his first thought is the memory of you averting your eyes from him at the graduation ceremony. He thinks about his wrongdoings more often than he’d like to admit and can’t seem to move past this feeling of inadequacy when it comes to you. Jay contemplates on whether or not he deserves your respect or forgiveness, the unknown being the obstacle that prevented him from apologizing to you in the first place.

But he needs to let that go. He’s not the person who decides whether or not he deserves forgiveness. You are.

You are the person who dictates how you feel. Not Jay, not anyone else. For the past month, Jay has been overthinking about how to talk to you if it’s not related to the litigation. He can talk to you when it’s in conjunction about the Hyb case, but he can’t talk to you about anything else.

Jay needs to start trusting you and your judgment in a way he couldn’t before. But unlike now, Jay wasn’t in your crossfires all those years ago. The version of him during law school never gave you a reason to overcome the loss of a friendship. In order to understand you better, he needs to stop thinking about you the way you were back then. For right now, you’re a stranger he knows everything about.

“You’re right,” Jay nods. “I’ve been so caught up in dealing with this shock that I forgot Y/N’s had to deal with it longer. It makes sense that she isn’t as shaken up as I am.”

“She’s smart and way more perceptive than you give her credit for. I think Riki’s about to ask Y/N to adopt him because she keeps talking to him in Japanese.” Jake smiles. “Speaking of which.”

Jay quirks his eyebrow. “Speaking of what?”

“You so clearly still have feelings for Y/N.” Jay opens his mouth and immediately closes it.

“Lying to you would be useless, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m also more perceptive than you think. That, and you talk about her like she saved your cat from a tree, or something.”

“I can’t help it,” Jay sighs as he rubs his face. “Being around Y/N makes me feel the way I did all those years ago. I don’t think I ever got over her. She had this ability to keep people in her grasp, you know? Once you peeled back her layers and looked past her shy personality, there she was. Now, it’s like watching everyone else meet the Y/N i knew she always was, just more openly. It’s weird to see her talking to everyone but in a good way, you know? She’s not apologizing for who she is anymore.”

“Like I said,” Jake says, “Y/N’s a butterfly.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Later in the afternoon, Jay stops responding to emails when he feels his eyes getting tired from looking at his laptop. The conversation he had with Jake weighs on his mind with every passing hour and his leg bounces with anticipation for your arrival back to the office.

Throughout the entire day, he’s been reminding himself that he has also grown and matured since the last time you saw him. He’s no longer somebody who hates conflict and speaking his mind. His job has taught him the value of saying what you mean and sticking to an argument until the very end. Jay’s tendency to falter in himself has diminished over the years, especially since working at a legacy company such as Lee & Associates.

His success as an attorney plays a factor in his confidence, too. Seeing his father in the courtroom inspired him as a child to pursue a career in law so that he may one day fight on behalf of people who don’t have a voice themselves. Never in his wildest dreams did Jay ever think he alone could make a big difference in the lives of others but he sits behind his desk with a promotion just shy of having his own surname on the door in the main office.

Jay’s job means everything to him. It means working hard after spending countless days and nights stressing over cases and essays in law school. It means working with his colleagues to bring out the best in people and take down companies who value profit over people. It means making a difference in the lives of those who aren’t as fortunate as him. If Lee & Associates wasn’t as philanthropic and as morally-good as Jay would’ve hoped, he doesn’t know if he would’ve said yes to their offer when it was offered to him.

He decides to take a break and head over to the break room when he bumps into Sunghoon, who has a scowl etched on his face.

“Hoon,” Jay says, tugging on Sunghoon’s arm to force him to stop walking. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he mumbles.

Jay’s eyebrows contort in confusion. “What’s happening? Is there anything I can do? Talk to me.”

Sunghoon sighs. “It’s nothing you can fix, unfortunately. Remember when Heeseung asked Y/N to get the Hybe contract files from Ahn?”

“What about it?”

“Y/N met with him in his office and he sent her home with one box.”

“I don’t understand why that’s a bad thing.”

Sunghoon points behind Jay, who sees a room filled to the brim with boxes.

“He sent the rest here.”

The two men walk over to the office and see you standing next to Heeseung with both hands on your hips. You look just short of enraged. Jay swears he can see steam coming out of your ears.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jay says as his eyes scan the boxes piled on top of one another. “How could we possibly get through all of this?”

“Hybe’s burying us in paperwork so we look unprepared in our next meeting,” you say in disbelief. “I wish I could’ve slapped that smug look off of his face when he gave me only one of the damn boxes.”

“We might have to fight about who gets to do that.” Heeseung curses under his breath. “We’ve got two weeks before our next hearing to determine the next step in the settlement.”

“It looks like they’re gonna win,” Sunghoon grains from beside Jay. “They’re not giving up the recoupment clause.”

“The answer is in here somewhere,” Jay adds. “We just have to find it.”

“We’ll be up all night.” You look somewhere between defeated and determined, although Jay isn’t sure which is which.

“Not if we work together,” says Jungwon, who has Sunoo and Riki standing behind him. The five of you look behind you to see them standing in the doorway. “We want to help.”

“We can’t possibly ask you to do that,” Heeseung says. “I know the expectation is that you stay later than six in the evening, but this is too much to ask of you guys.”

“You aren’t asking,” Sunoo insists as he sits down in front of Heeseung. “Jay and Jake already have me working on a few of the case files. It makes sense to have another set of eyes that knows this case well.”

“I want the practice as well,” Riki agrees, taking a seat next to Sunoo. “Jungwon and Sunoo have been teaching me how to read these types of documents and pull relevant information out of them. I’d really appreciate the experience.”

“You’re sure about this?” Jay asks.

“We’re positive,” Sunoo confirms.

“Well, you guys can go home at any point,” Heeseung says. “This goes for everyone in the room. God only knows how much bullshit we’ll have to dig through.”

The sun starts to wane over the blue sky when Jay decides he needs a change of scenery. He’s been sitting in the same chair for a few hours at this point and desperately craves the sweet melodies of soft jazz from his vinyl collection. He excuses himself and lets everyone know he’ll be in his office if anybody needs anything.

You watch him stand up from where you’re seated and as he walks out of the room. You must admit, Jay still looks criminally handsome. That tendency to cower into yourself whenever he looks at you is still present today, especially when he makes room for you to speak during depositions and internal meetings.

For a while, you were hellbent on making an enemy out of Jay for what he did to you. The person you were before leaving Seoul was somebody who would likely paint Jay as a target and a villain for life. The friends you made in New York would entertain you in conversations about boys who have a tendency to break hearts and you always had a story to share.

Even so, time has been kind to you. The years spent focusing on your career and your loved ones has molded you into the kind of person who can see people for who they are, not what they’ve done and have atoned for. Jay has worked all his life to prove himself worthy of being somebody who can take care of himself and stand on his own two feet. In a way, you’ve done the same thing.

Half an hour goes by before you decide you need to stretch your legs. You make the bold decision to take your work with you and pay no mind to Heeseung, who winks at you on the way out.

Approaching Jay feels like a mix between normal and anxiety inducing. Seeing him hunched over his desk with a scowl on his face as he concentrates is nostalgic to you, and it makes you remember all the times you’d search for him after your classes ended just to find him in the library with a gargantuan book beneath his focus. His hair still falls as perfectly as you remember it and he still twirls his pen in his fingers like he used to.

It brings a set of uneasiness to your stomach. You’ve spent years trying to forget Jay before coming to the conclusion that you could never forget someone who once meant so much to you. All of the hatred you harbored for the man you held deep feelings for dissipated when you remembered that he too was growing and trying to find out who he was aside from all he once knew.

Gathering the courage to knock on his door, you force yourself to do it before you convince yourself to back out.

Jay looks up at you like you’re the last person he expected to see. It makes your stomach drop.

“Sorry,” you mutter when he doesn’t motion for you to enter. “I’ll go.”

“No!” Jay says immediately. He clears his throat and puts his pen down, waving you into his office. “Come in, please.” You walk inside and close the door behind you, the sound of soft jazz is reminiscent of the times you used to study with him in his apartment.

“I needed a break from sitting in the same spot,” you tell him, standing before his desk and looking at the decor around the room. “I see you still love collecting vinyls.”

“My collection has definitely grown,” he laughs. You feel his eyes watching you explore his office before you find your way to sit in the chair in front of him.

When the air settles around you, a sense of nervousness washes over your body. Suddenly, you can feel your entire weight on the chair you’re on top of. You can hear the clock that resides from just outside of his office and your mouth becomes too dry to handle.

You’re not sure why you’ve come to see Jay. You don’t know what you’d say to him. All of those nights you imagined a great big showdown where Jay would fall to his knees and apologize to you, just for you to refute his attempts, don’t matter anymore. You look back at yourself and think of it as silly even though that’s what you needed at a time. But part of growing up and learning about who you are is realizing your capabilities and strengths. Being able to reconcile with the past that hurt you without feeling pure anger towards the cause was arguably the hardest thing you’ve done.

You two are grown versions of your unsure, unconfident selves. The wall you spent your teenage years building has fallen down with time, knowledge, and grace. Two beings achieving a high clarity of peace is what’s left in this room.

It isn’t that you forgive and forget. Rather, taking the time to heal and forgive Jay for embarrassing you has made you realize there are worse things than a memory filled with people you aren’t in contact with anymore. Nobody in your life knew about what had happened because you hadn’t bothered to keep in touch with anyone, and no one did the same with you. The shame and burden you carried and blamed on everyone else was misdirected. It was your own insecure nature and unconfident persona that prevented you from healing.

Separating oneself from the pair of people who stripped away your confidence was the lowest you ever felt. The violent words echoing through your ears after a particularly bad test in high school broke your heart for the last time. You would no longer hold any room in your heart for another chance. The pieces of you that shattered onto the floor were swept away, never to be seen again.

You kept your head down for the years of the time you lived with them. There was no use to talk back and fight to be seen by them, even if it was to glare at you for misbehaving. It came to a point where even unloving attention from your parents was enough, settling with the notion that you wouldn’t get what you asked for as you wanted it.

But having realized sweet ignorance was bliss made you sick to your stomach. It made you ashamed to know you had spent so long wishing the people who brought you unto this Earth would look at you. The realization that changing everything about yourself would do nothing but damage in the end, taught you more than you could ever sum into words. It didn't matter if you were loud or quiet. They would never look at you the way they looked at your older brother.

It was hard to come to terms with it. Everyday was a battle against immense frustration and turmoil as you tried to navigate your way as a young adult without the opinions of your parents shoved down your throat. They’d already expected the best out of you, so perhaps being interested in law was the only thing you’ve ever done that made your parents feel as though you were worth celebrating.

Separating yourself post-high school and college was easier than ever before, especially when they hadn’t shown up to your law school graduation.

That final nail in the coffin is what solidifies what remained of the relationship. You wouldn’t see them save for holiday parties to save face, especially when your colleagues and mentors were good friends of theirs. The posed smiles and awkward conversations were part of your way to make connections and play the game before you ended up crying on your bathroom floor. Playing the part of an obedient daughter only to turn into a stranger to your parents was a role you were likely born to play.

“I was wondering if I could look through the paperwork with you.”

Jay’s eyes widen. “With me?”

“Only if you want to! I mean, it was always nice to work with you in the library all those years ago. I thought it might be a nice change of pace.”

Jay looks at you through his lashes and can’t believe the grace he’s been given to have you approach him before he got the chance to. The unexpected load of files put a dent in his plans. It seems, however, that somebody is looking out for him,

“I…I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Jay says. It’s as if the filter on his mouth has disappeared because he can’t stop talking about what he’s thinking about. “I didn’t know you were the person who was going to help us out on this case and seeing you for the first time in years made me think about when we were kids. I probably don’t have the right to say this, so forgive me, but I really missed you.”

That shy smile he always knew you to have adorned your lips.

“I missed you too,” you tell him. “There are a lot of things I’ve done that I wish I could have shared with you. Although I admit I had a few weeks to prepare seeing you before I officially said yes to helping with this case.”

“I used to think about what would happen if I ever saw you in court,” Jay confesses. “I’d like to believe I’d say hi, or something.”

“I probably would’ve done the same thing. Do you still play guitar?”

“Every chance I get,” Jay smiles. “I’ve added a few electric and acoustics editions to my collection. I have an entire music room back at home.”

“I always remembered you being so musically gifted. If you didn’t become a lawyer, you probably would’ve been a successful musician.”

“You always flattered me too much.”

“Why stop now?

Jay smiles at you. “Do you still want cats?”

“I have a cat called Miso. I’ve had her for a few months. She’s still such a small baby. Is it bad that I’m considering getting another one?”

“Not at all,” Jay agrees. “But three might make you a cat lady.”

You pretend to weigh your options. “I’ll think about it.”

“I can’t believe you lived in New York for a few years. I remember you loving the big city.”

“I think I’ve changed a bit,” you tell him. “I love the hustle and bustle, but living in Manhattan made me realize I miss living away from the noise. I like traveling into town and having the option to leave it, you know?”

“Definitely,” Jay nods. “My place is in a high rise so I don’t hear construction noises or birds chirping when I want it to be quiet. I got the chance to move in a few years after I started my job here.”

“I live just on the outskirts of Seoul. It’s a good sized neighborhood in a family town. I like that it’s so quiet. I usually hear children who live in the houses play on the streets on weekend mornings.”

“That sounds like quite a peaceful life.”

You smile at him like you know something he doesn’t.

“Yeah, it really is.”

“Do you ever think about how long ago law school was?” you ask. “Sometimes I pinch myself when I’m given big responsibilities. I pinched myself over and over again when I was named senior partner and nearly gave myself a bruise.”

“I see the associates in the bullpen everyday and think about how that was me ages ago,” Jay responds. By now, he’s turned his attention from the document to you. “I used to be an insecure prick who pretended to have everything under control. I was so desperate to prove myself. I’m sure you know how that feels. I don’t think I got a wink of sleep in the first four years of my career.”

“You and I both. I think my life got more stressful when I started my career. Law school did not prepare me mentally for what it was gonna be like.

“But it’s rewarding, right? I feel like I’m doing something good with my life. And you know Heeseung, you know he wouldn't sign off on clients who are morally corrupt.”

“It feels incredible, honestly. Being able to help people makes me feel like I’ve served a good purpose. I used to think about texting you all the dumb mistakes people made when I was a first year. It’s hilarious to know how many professionals can’t remain professional.”

Jay’s smile weakens as his guilt creeps back into his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly yet firmly.

You look at him. “I know. Let’s focus on the case, yeah?”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Arriving at the office as the sun is peeking from the horizon is not a new phenomenon for you. Despite the crust that formed around your eye last night, indicating a good rest, you feel somewhat sluggish as you wait for Jake to finish ordering his coffee.

“Jay woke up late again,” he snickers as he pockets his phone. “He probably won’t be at the office until eight.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “We all need beauty sleep after yesterday.”

“Ahn can kiss my ass. I felt like I was knee deep in paperwork. My eyes were gonna fall out of their sockets.”

“You and me both,” you sigh, retrieving your beverage and pastry. The warmth lifts your mood. “I’ve seen my fair share of paperwork and dirty moves, but they never cease to surprise me.”

“The audacity of him to give you one box to leave with, too,” Jake says with venom in his tone. “I’ll punch him for you.”

“How about you hold him down while I do the punching?”

“I like your style.”

The office itself is still relatively quiet, save for the few first year associates milling around the bullpen and the break room. The coffee and espresso machine have seen better days, and you make a mental note to tell Heeseung to invest in new ones.

Jake raises his hand in a mock salute as you walk towards your office. The pretty skyline will always remain a marvel to you. To live a life of privilege and to neglect the beauty around you would be a disservice to all that has raised you and all what will be awarded to you. The streets below you begin to fill with people commuting to work. It feels much like New York, where the city never sleeps and the people never lose their dreams.

Working with Jay in his office felt normal. Sitting in front of him and getting to know his life as he built it wasn’t as hurtful as you once thought it would be. With each quip, it felt as if the two of you fell into old habits like there was never a time where the two of you spent any time apart.

You could tell Jay had more to say than he led on. But hearing a full confession or an apology in the office didn’t feel right. It’s why you shut him down. Hearing the sincerity in his voice when he came to apologize, but having a short conversation between looking through piles upon piles of documents, felt too colloquial. You’re owed the decency of no distractions, at least, even if you’ve done the work to grow and heal.

There was once a time you swore you’d never give Jay a second chance and that actions, at face value, mean more than any rectification. Back when you were blindsided by hurt and emotion, the realization that the person you cared about the most leaving you felt like a punch to the gut. If Jay had the audacity to leave you as you were, what good were you to anyone else?

The answer isn’t simple. It wasn’t until you realized running away from Korea and relocation to New York didn’t make you as happy as you thought it did.

You were lying to yourself when you’d smile and tell your friends that it was the best decision you ever made. You had fooled yourself into believing it as you said it, sipping on whatever alcoholic beverage was at hand at the time. But coming home to an empty loft made those unsavory thoughts ruminate in your mind until you fell asleep. Even so, you dreamt about what your life would be like if Jay had chosen to stay.

Years of running resulted in a sudden crash. It was like your life wasn’t as perfect as you made it out to be. You loved the part of you that made a life in New York and you loved the people and the work that was established, but a larger part of you missed your life in Seoul. You missed your friends, your old haunts, and the places you swore you’d never go but found yourself visiting when you came back home. You missed your family too, or whatever was left of it. In the years you spent overseas, you learned to come to terms with the notion that who you are is not a product of people who do not know you. Rather, who you are is an accumulation of your experiences and passions, and nothing else.

That realization made it easier to forgive Jay. Truthfully, you didn’t know if you’d ever see him again and the thought of what you would say if you came face-to-face with him, or what apologies you would’ve wanted to hear from him, didn’t matter. It became something you tossed at the bottom of your priority list because relying on the actions of other people became a dangerous habit of yours. You’d look at yourself in the mirror and slowly begin to like what you saw looking back at you.

To let go of the past feels like freedom. You could dwell on everyone who wronged you and remain spiteful at all of the times you were left to feel like an embarrassment and a burden, but none of that could have ever helped you arrive in the present day as tranquil as you are. Every happenstance, good and bad, happened for a reason, and it isn’t up to you to figure out why.

You’re brought out of your thoughts when Jungwon knocks on your door.

“Y/N?” he asks timidly.

“What’s up?”

“Do you have the time to go over these case files with me?” Jungwon asks. “I know you have a lunch meeting you need to prepare for, but none of the other attorneys are in the office right now and Heeseung needs these as soon as possible.”

You smile at him. “I’ll make time.”

The two of you sit in relative silence for the next twenty minutes, hearing the sounds of paper turning and pens scribbling in the margins. The city’s waking up and people are filing into the office one by one as the two of you remain in the vacated copy room just around the main office. Jungwon suggested relocating to the small corner for concentration purposes and you start to understand why he’s everybody’s favorite paralegal.

“This stuff is insane,” Jungwon comments. You look up at him to see a scowl etched on his face. “How can people willingly take advantage of people trying to pursue their dreams?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly. “It kills me to see greedy corporations treat people like they don’t matter.”

“It’s unfair,” Jungwon says. “If I had my way, I’d stick it to these music executives. Screw Ahn for burying us in paperwork.”

“Making the musician pay back a certain fee feels almost impossible, doesn’t it?” you ask Jungwon rhetorically. “It almost feels like the label is stealing talent and profiting off of it wherever and whenever they can.”

“These poor people are trying to make a living doing what they love. None of this is fair. It’s stupid for labels to require a certain number of albums to be made under contract.”

“Even more stupid when labels cut them loose because they can’t pay back the recoupment quickly.”

“If I had time in the courtroom with Attorney Ahn, I think I’d rip him a new one.”

You laugh. “How long have you been a paralegal, Jungwon?”

“A couple of years,” he tells you. “I’m thinking about other career options in the meantime, but I love my job and I love helping the associates when they ask me.”

“Why would you think of different career paths if this is what you love to do?”

He sighs. “I’m not good at testing. I mean, I took the bar and failed. It feels like it’s too late for me, you know?”

“Well, you could always take it again.”

He shakes his head. “It’s no use. I’m not good at practice tests but I could tell you about any case. I’ve been at this job long enough to discuss concepts and have them make sense, but it’s testing that gets me. I just get so anxious, you know? I second guess myself all the time and I hate that I do that.”

“Testing used to be my greatest enemy.”

“What changed?”

“Jay, honestly. He was always the better student when it came to that kind of stuff. I had really bad testing anxiety but he managed to help me study enough to the point where I knew I would ace them.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you guys used to be so close.”

“I’d say he was my closest friend in law school. It’s nice to see him again after all these years.”

Jungwon doesn’t press further, instead returning his attention to the documents below him.

“Ending the recoupment expectation means the artist can keep the profit from the moment it’s been released, right?”

“They’ll have to split their earnings with people who worked on the project based on copyright laws, but yes, essentially.”

Jungwon sits with his thoughts and stares at the documents before him. His hands sift through the folders as his eyes dart from page to page.

“This is what I love about my job,” he begins. “I love helping people because it’s what I feel like I was meant to do. I love solving problems and I love fixing them.”

“You owe it to yourself to try, you know,” you encourage. “Going to law school isn’t easy, but not many people can say they have your experience. You’ve got a few years of working with associates and partners under your belt. There’s no reason to be afraid of taking the LSAT.”

“I guess I’m just nervous that I won’t be good enough,” Jungwon confesses. “Every day, I’m surrounded by the smartest people I know who all graduated from the best law school in Korea. How could I ever compete with that?”

His doubt speaks to your younger self, the one who cowered in fear when your parents neglected to praise you for a job well done or turned a blind eye when you asked for advice. Jungwon’s worries speak to the part of you that wished for external validation when it came to your capabilities and strengths, because doing it yourself could only go so far.

His words remind you of moments when you felt small, like the world was too big and you’d never have enough time to discover all the wonders it could bring. You were meek back then, thriving off of whatever little validation they gave you just to have them knock it down. You don’t know why you spent so many years yearning for their approval, but never getting it felt too familiar.

Your acceptance at the most prestigious law school in Korea was met with apprehension. You recall the sinking feeling in your stomach the moment the idea about your worth was proposed; having your parents question your capabilities or how you’d fit in with your peers had you second guessing your career path, leaving you wondering if following your passion was worth the struggle and pain of convincing them to let you pursue it.

They agreed to let you go under the condition that they pay for the first year before you’d need to pay for the remaining two. It felt unfair and it still feels unfair. But what’s done is done and you managed to gain the courage to chase after that dream of yours that always seemed just too far out of reach, and it has paid off.

Now, you look at Jungwon as if he were a ghost of your former self.

“You say you’re worried about committing to a career path, but it seems like you’ve got your heart set on becoming a lawyer,” you tell him. “Don’t you think you should explore that?”

Jungwon smiles at you.

“I think I will.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Jay finds you in the break room laughing with Jungwon when he’s able to pull himself away from meetings. You look gorgeous when you laugh as freely as you are, like you aren’t shy about showing people what you look like when you smile. It warms his heart to hear that fluttering laugh of yours.

“You’re serious about helping me study for the LSAT?” he hears Jungwon ask you.

“Dead serious. It’ll take some time but the test comes around a few times a year. Take it easy, okay? There’s no need to rush.”

The younger boy sees Jay approach and nods his head. “I should get going. See you later, Y/N!”

“Jungwon’s taking the LSAT?” Jay asks when the former disappears.

“I’m trying to convince him. He told me earlier about why he’s hesitant to go to law school but I think Jungwon can do it if he really tries.”

“I think so too,” Jay agrees. “He’s the only person in this office who knows what’s going on. Might as well promote him to first year associate. We’ll definitely miss him around the office, though.”

“All the more reason to hire him when he graduates.”

Jay smiles. This kind of generosity is something he always thought of you.

“Anyway, I have a meeting in thirty minutes and I’m considering canceling if not for the free lunch.”

“Hot young finance wannabe taking you out to an expensive steakhouse?” he jokes.

“Try a sixty-year old former housewife afraid that her assets are in shambles when they haven’t been touched in years,” you laugh. “The restaurant is a dim sum place by my apartment and I will never say no to dim sum.”

“Bummer,” Jay says, biting back a smile. “I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee before the afternoon rush.”

“Can we rain check?” you ask eagerly. “I’d love to get coffee with you again.”

“I would love that. Are you going to be back in the office this afternoon, though? I’ll keep my door open for you.”

“I’ll be back around three,” you tell him with a shy smile. “I’ll be sure to knock.”

Jay shakes his head. “You can walk in. I’ll make an exception for you.”

The atmosphere around the office has changed when you come back and sit with him to work. It’s like the distance and wrongdoings have been erased when it’s just the two of you sitting in front of one another, almost as if time has transported the both of you back to law school.

You find that you’re able to get work done much faster without the impending doom of awkwardness lingering around the two of you. Jay’s tendency to skirt around you created a strange atmosphere during the first few weeks of you working in his domain, but sitting with him now makes you feel like things are going to be okay.

For Jay, it feels the same. His guilt has subsided, not because he feels absolved, but because he feels like he’s working towards a better version of himself with you back in his life. Jay has always sworn to rectify his mistakes if he was given the chance to and the universe granting him one last chance by allowing you back in his life feels like a second chance. He doesn't want to mess it up and make you feel the way you did once upon a time.

It isn’t until the sun goes down and you yawn that he registers just how late the two of you have been working. Conversations flow easily and it feels like time has moved too fast.

“Let’s get noodles before going home? For old time’s sake,” Jay asks you.

“It’s like you read my mind.”

He knows of a place not too far from away, a small hole-in-the-wall joint that boasts an array of soups that immediately smell like comfort in a bowl. The waitress leaves the two of you alone after putting your meal in front of you, and you waste no time before digging in.

“Woah, slow down before you choke on the soup,” Jay teases.

“Cut me some slack,” you whine. “This is definitely not the first time you’ve watched me inhale my food.”

Jay laughs. “I remember when you couldn’t stop eating the shumai from across my apartment. You must’ve thrown up twice? I think?”

“That night single handedly made me watch how much I ate in one sitting.” You recoil at the memory. “But I still love shumai. Just not as much.”

“Or that time you went through a phase where you couldn’t stop drinking fruit-flavored punch and got so nauseous that you almost skipped the last exam before winter break.”

“I made it, though! I think I got a ninety-one on that test? But who cares. Law school was forever ago.”

Jay’s eyes soften.

“I really am sorry,” he begins. “I’ve been thinking about when the best time to talk to you is, but everyday there’s something new between the Hybe case and other things that need our attention. So, I’m sorry if right now it seems like it’s coming out of the blue.

“It’s selfish of me to say it when you’re eating, I know. I just want you to know how sorry I am for being a coward and for leaving you standing.” Jay’s eyes falter and he looks back at his bowl of soup before forcing himself to look you in the eye. “I couldn’t tell you what my younger self was thinking back then. Every single day I think about how awful and selfish I was to put my emotions above yours.”

“Jay–”

“I don’t know if this counts for much, I’d like to think I’ve grown since then. I’ve learned to be empathetic and that I can’t run away from things just because it was too much or because I was scared about how I felt about you.” He swallows harshly. “I really, really liked you back then.”

You bite your lip. “I really liked you too.”

“Working with you for the past few months has made me realize how much of a fucking idiot I was to walk away like that. I should’ve told Iseul to shove it down her throat and walk out with you instead of leaving you alone. I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so fucking sorry.”

In your years imagining what this moment would look like, it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t in a small noodle stop sitting in an expensive dress. It wasn’t at the end of a long workday where your thoughts are all over the place. It certainly wasn’t with Jay sounding as honest and as sincere as he is now.

You prepared to leave in astonishment or throw a drink at him for his audacity. You envisioned yourself laughing in his face and walking away with your hair brushed behind your shoulders, only to peek over and see him fall to his knees in despair. You imagined Jay looking disheveled and helpless, catching his insincerity with a smug grin before telling him to leave you alone forever.

But the man in front of you looks like he’s waited a long time to apologize. He drops his eye contact with you in favor of moving his chopsticks around the bowl, moving the noodles as a way to fill the awkward silence from your lack of response. In truth, your heart is beating three times as fast as it normally does. It doesn’t help that your feelings for Jay never went away. It certainly doesn’t help that his apology feels like one crafted by a mature adult as opposed to throwaway words someone strings together to absolve themselves of guilt.

Jay’s guilty and he knows it. He’s willing to live with the consequences, but your silence is killing him.

Instead of speaking, you push your hand to reach for his and pry his fingers off of his chopsticks. Jay’s eyes snap to your hands touching his, afraid that if he moves, you’ll be gone quicker than he can register.

“You were never one for words,” you begin to say. Jay’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest. “I remember you having the hardest time carrying a conversation because you were thinking too hard about what to say. I always thought I was the shy one, but getting to know you was a little hard when you said so little.

“I don’t know what changed, honestly. It was like you had a million and one different things you wanted to talk about. I learned that you trusted few people and I knew I was one of them the second you talked my ear off about how you probably would have pursued a career in music instead of law.”

Jay’s mouth quirks. “I remember that.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I know you’re being honest with me now. The fact that you said all of that in a noodle shop tells me more than you know.”

He chuckles. “It’s a little poetic, isn’t it?”

“Considering we spent maybe half of our time together eating ramen, I’d say so.”

He squeezes your hand. “The last thing I want you is for you to feel like I’m forcing you to say something you don’t want to, or even forgive me. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to do something you aren’t ready to do.”

“One thing you should know about me is that I always do as I please.” You squeeze his hand back. “You’ll know how I feel, Jay. Right now, I feel very strongly about you.”

The two of you look at each other before the doorbell chimes. You two pull your hands apart as if you’re two teenagers caught holding hands. Jay laughs once he sees your mouth forming that same bashful smile he fell for all those years ago before clearing his throat and enjoying the rest of his dinner.

As for you, the warmth of the broth is almost as warm as your cheeks.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Nothing is going according to plan.

The Hybe case has taken all of your effort and resources, as well as your mental sanity. As the date for the next settlement hearing, and likely the final one, draws nearer, you feel the walls closing within you with no way to stop it.

It’s taken a toll on you. You’re sure everyone in the office can see it. Sunoo creeps quietly into your office with a polite bow every time he delivers what you ask for, ceasing to make small conversation when he can see how little sleep you’ve gotten. Riki and Jungwon are the same, waving to you from outside of your office because you’ve spent a majority of your time there.

Jay’s noticed it as well. He remembers the moments when you’d hole yourself in your apartment due to exam stress and when things with your family affected you. Back then he would try everything in his power to get you to come out of the cave you created, whether it be staying in his car until you were ready to see him or dropping off meals for you.

It’s not so different now, except this is occurring in the workplace. He sees the dark circles under your eyes and the way your shoulders slump when you’re working at your desk. Jay sees the way you shake your head to fight to stay awake and how unfocused you’ve become during meetings.

Everyone in the office is losing their hope about winning this case. Hybe has drained all of the resources every attorney has put into fighting it. Heeseung feels the pressure from the clients, which in turn has everyone else worrying about if this was a case they were going to lose. The hope everybody exhibited from the beginning of the case until now has dimmed. Nobody knows what went wrong or why team morale has changed for the worse.

It’s late on a Friday night when Jay catches you still in your office. Your coat is still hanging behind your chair and he can see the tissues around your garbage can. His heart lurches when he puts two and two together, and races all over the office until he finds you walking out of the bathroom.

You look at him with bloodshot eyes and tears at the brim. Jay’s tie feels tight against his collar and his suit jacket suddenly feels too warm on his body. Your nimble fingers tremble beside you as you catch your breath, halfway between embarrassed for being caught crying and fighting the urge to jump into Jay’s arms. He hates seeing you cry and he hates knowing that there’s nothing he can do to make you feel better.

Jay makes the decision for you. He wastes no time and tugs you closer to his chest.

He doesn’t pay any mind to your tears soaking his dress shirt, opting to put one hand behind your head. He strokes your hair and wraps his other arm around you to hold you securely within him, using what little momentum he has to rock your bodies from side to side. It feels right to have you in his arms like this. Jay has fantasized about the day you’d let him touch you like this, so intimately woven together as if the two of you were always meant to be together.

Your face feels hot against his chest. Jay feels you rest your cheek on his shoulder and he fights the urge to press a kiss to your head. The office is eerily quiet, with everyone else having left hours earlier. Jay was stuck in a late night meeting before heading back to the office to pick up his belongings for the night. He’s glad he came back.

“Sorry,” you croak, voice sore from holding your tears at bay. Jay lifts his hand to wipe the tears off of your cheek with this thumb.

“Don’t be,” he tells you. “God knows how many times I’ve cried in this bathroom.”

You smile. “You’ve cried in the women’s restroom?”

Jay pinches your arm. “You know what I mean.”

The two of you stay like that for another minute and bask in the silence. Half of the lights have turned off due to lack of movement and it feels liminal to be holding one another without the judgment or prying eyes of others. Jay coaxes you to your office and gently holds your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pulls you down on the couch. You don’t fight him, letting him pull your body down next to his until your feet are tucked underneath you with your head resting on his shoulder.

Jay doesn’t want to push his luck. He’s sure you can feel his heart beating from where you sit. But your head is within reach and experimentally places his cheek on top of you. When you won’t move away, he closes his eyes for a brief moment and thanks whoever is watching him for the opportunity to be this close to you again.

“Life is so hard,” you say, grabbing his hand and toying with the rings on his fingers. “I feel like nothing I’m doing is amounting to anything.”

“That’s not true,” Jay says to you. He fights the urge to smile when he sees you pick a ring off of his finger and place it on your own hand. “You’ve done a lot of good, you know that? You wouldn’t be here today if you didn’t.”

You return the ring back to Jay’s hand. “I know. This case is keeping me up at night. I get nightmares about Ahn’s stupid, smug grin after telling us we wasted our time trying to fight Hybe.”

“You and I both. Sometimes, our efforts feel futile when all we do is stare at paperwork and hold empty promises to our clients.”

You nod in agreement. “I just want to be at a place where I don’t feel like I’m fucking things up all the time. I spent so long trying to run away from everything but I got tired of doing that before I moved back to Korea. I want to rest.”

The two of you remain silent for a few peaceful moments. It doesn’t feel awkward and neither of you feel pressed to say anything. The comfort that you feel with Jay is something he’s been praying for. He’d reckon that the person he was when you first joined the office would almost doubt the fact that you're comfortable resting in his arms. To him, this is a sign that you’re starting to trust him again.

“Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?” He tries not to smile when you shake your head.

“Can you stay here with me?”

Eventually, he convinces you to go home after a tiring day. Jay calls a taxi for you and waits with you until it arrives. The smile you give him makes him feel like there’s nothing he can’t achieve, and it isn’t until you kiss his cheek that Jay feels as though he might melt into a puddle.

“Get home safe, okay?” you ask of him.

“Anything for you.”

He closes the door behind you and watches the taxi drive away until it’s out of sight. Jay pulls his phone out and begins to hover this thumb over a certain phone number he hasn’t called in a while, arguing back and forth with himself until he hastily presses the ‘call’ button and puts the phone to his ear.

One, two. Click.

“Hello?” comes the voice from the other line.

“Hey,” Jay says. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry to call you out of the blue. I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but I’m calling about Y/N.”

“Is she okay?”

“Relatively speaking.” Jay takes a deep breath before continuing. “We’re working on this case together. I’m sure she’s told you about it and I think it’s taking a toll on her. You know how she gets. She closes herself off because she doesn't want other people to worry about her or feel like a burden.”

“Sounds like classic Y/N if you ask me.”

Jay laughs. “I found her crying in the office tonight and we talked a little. I just sent her home in a cab. I know I don’t have the right to ask anything of you, but this is Y/N. Can you give her a call and make sure she’s alright?”

The voice on the other end is silent for a brief moment. Jay holds his breath and he swears he can feel his lungs constrict within him. If anything, he’s prepared to have his heart broken in two and for everything he knows to fall apart around him.

It doesn’t.

“I’m in Seoul, actually. Don’t tell anyone, though. I’ll visit Y/N.”

“Thank you,” Jay breathes.

“Of course. We both know she would have kept to herself until it’s too late.”

“That we do.” Jay swallows harshly. “I also just wanted to say…I’m sorry. For everything. I wasn’t the greatest friend, haven’t been the greatest friend, but I want to do everything I can to make things right. I’ve already apologized to Y/N but apologizing to you feels right.”

He hears a small chuckle from the other side. “You’re a good person, Jay, even if you make bad decisions every once in a while. The fact that you’re calling me after everything you’ve done tells me how much you’ve changed.”

“I…thank you. I don’t know what I’m looking for. But apologizing feels right.”

“It’s a good start. Thanks for calling, man.”

“Take care.”

The line ends and Jay walks back into the office with a happy heart.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

A knock comes at your apartment door and your heart starts to spike. It’s nine in the evening and you’re sitting on your couch in pajamas with an empty bag of chips on the coffee table. Your ears perk up at the sound and you clutch your phone in your hands until you see a notification come though.

Dearest Brother (Korean cell): Open up!

You lift the blanket off of you with record speed with Miso tailing behind you and open the front door without a second thought.

“Namjoon,” you breathe.

“In the flesh,” he says with that same boyish smile he gives you when he sees you after coming home from overseas. “Are you gonna let me in or are you gonna let me freeze to death?”

“With that attitude, you can starve too,” you say, angling your body away from the door for him to walk in. Namjoon takes his shoes off and slips his feet into the slippers you always keep for him. Miso nips at his ankles until he bends down to pick her up, cradling your beloved in his arms. “What the hell are you doing in Seoul?”

“The boys and I got back earlier this morning,” Namjoon tells you. “Promotions are over and we get two weeks to rest before we start preparing for the next tour.”

“God, I can’t believe you guys are going on tour again,” you say, patting the spot next to you on the couch for Namjoon to sit on. “It feels like you guys just started working on the album.”

“Seokjin said the same thing,” says Namjoon, who puts his feet on the coffee table before you chide him with a playful slap to the bicep. “The guys and I decided we weren’t gonna see each other until tour rehearsals. God knows we’ve spent too much time together in the past few months.”

“How are they?” you ask him. “I’ve only seen updates on those fan accounts that update your every move, which is somewhat creepy but every wholesome at the same time.”

Namjoon laughs. “The guys are fine. Taehyung and Hobi spent most of the promotions shopping and came home with two duffel bags each. Yoongi’s probably gonna sleep for the next two weeks. Jungkook got ripped, and I mean ripped.”

“I saw that, Jesus. He sent me a progress photo and all I could think about was how small he used to be before you guys debuted.”

“Jimin’s just…Jimin. He says he misses you and that the two of you should get together before it gets busy.”

“I would love that.” You lean your head on his shoulder. “I missed you guys a lot. More than I care to admit, probably.”

“See, I told you all our sibling rivalry would disappear when we got older.”

“Yah. Whatever you say. We’re still enemies at heart.” Miso purrs against Namjoon’s lap. “I think she likes you more than me.”

Namjoon smiles down at Miso. “Jay called me earlier tonight. He says you haven’t been feeling very well.”

“Jay is a tattletale.”

“Did he lie?”

You sigh. “No, he didn’t.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“So many things that I don’t even know where to begin. There’s the Hybe case, which has made me want to blow my brains out.”

Namjoon nods. “Ah, the Hybe case. It’s funny what a small label could do in ten years.”

“Seems as though your underground rapper dreams came true. Now you’re touring the world and forgetting to bring me back expensive gifts from abroad.” Namjoon chooses not to comment. “You know attorney Ahn, right? Well, he sent us dozens upon dozens of legal files for us to sort through before our next hearing. We’ve gone through eighty percent of them but it feels like we’re going nowhere. It feels useless”

“You’re doing more good than you know,” he tells you. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re giving a lot of hope to a lot of young musicians.”

You sigh. “I hope so. And then there’s the whole thing with Jay…I can’t remember what I last told you. I know I said that my feelings towards him have changed and that I’ve forgiven him, but spending as much time as I have has made me rethink a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like whether or not it’s stupid of me to give him a second chance or if I should feel ashamed for liking him in the first place.” Namjoon watches you frown. “All those years and my feelings for him never went away.”

“Well, we can’t control how we feel.”

“He hurt me, Joon.”

“I know,” says Namjoon, “but that was years ago. In the months you’ve worked with him, has Jay given you any reason to doubt his sincerity?”

You think about it. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Has he apologized for what he did and is he being respectful of you?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitating.

“There’s your answer. You can’t let the past dictate people. I’m sure there are parts of you that have outgrown your younger self.”

“You know, I can hear the voices of people I met back in New York telling me not to give Jay the time of day and that I should block his number when we finish working this case.”

“Your New York friends knew the person that was angry at him, though. You stopped talking about Jay two years before you moved.”

“I know. I don’t know what’s stopping me from going for it.”

“Have you ever considered that you’re afraid things will turn out the same way it did all those years ago?”

You roll your eyes. “All the time, Joon.”

“Okay, fair point. Have you considered that you’re the one in control of how you react to things?” You purse your lips and Namjoon takes it as a sign to keep talking. “You can think of a million different ways this plays out. Maybe you guys break up after a week. Maybe you get old and live together until you’re ninety. But all of those scenarios are just what-ifs. You’ll never know until you make a decision and stick with it, otherwise your fears hold you back from reaching your true potential.”

“But what if it fails? I’m scared of becoming the person I was back then.”

“Well I, for one, know you’re much stronger than that. Working in corporate law makes you tougher, not weaker. But to speak on your concern, you’re the only person who can control how you react to things. If the timing isn’t right and you feel it coming, then you let go.”

His words sit with you as the soft sounds of the television plays in the back of your mind. For a few months, you’d been worried that you jumped the gun and forgiven Jay in ways the you of the past would never understand. The deep seeded fears of being rejected and left behind creep into the forefront of your mind every so often, leaving you a paralyzed mess.

But Namjoon’s right. You can only control your reaction to what cards you’re dealt with. Any wrongdoing by the hands of others isn’t your fault nor are they your responsibilities.

“As for the Hybe case,” Namjoon says as he brings you out of your thoughts, “I think I have a solution.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nods once. “The guys and I have been talking about this for a while. We’ve known about other musicians suing Hybe longer than you’ve known about this case and we didn’t know how we could help. On one hand, Hybe gave us everything we have now, you know? They gave us the opportunity to become musicians. I don’t know what got lost in translation, but it seems that fewer and fewer artists are able to experience what we did.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“We’re going to make a statement. With your approval, of course.” Namjoon tells you. “I was going to call Heeseung on Monday to set up a meeting with you and surprise you at the office, but tonight seemed like a better time to drop by.”

“Wait.” You use the remote to pause the TV. “You guys are going to speak at the hearing?”

“All seven of us,” he confirms. “It’s not fair that everyone else has to work twice as hard because of Hybe’s standards. We’ve been given this platform and it’s only fair that we use it to help other people.”

“God, I could cry right now.” Namjoon chuckles at the tears that have formed at the corner of your eyes and picks up a tissue before handing it to you. “You don’t know what this means to me, Joon.”

“I always told you I’d be here for you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I thought that meant buying me gifts paying for my takeout,” you joke, swatting his arm, “not saving the biggest case of my career.”

“I’m really proud of you, Y/N. Not a lot of people are as resilient as you.” He smiles down at you. “Oh, and you should also know about Jay.”

“What about him?”

“He apologized to me too,” Namjoon says. “I know what people sound like when they want something from me or say things because they know it’s what I want to hear. But Jay didn’t sound like that. He didn’t have to say anything since he was calling about you, but that in itself lets me know how sorry he is.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to know. Besides, it’s a Friday night and you have the entire weekend before you see him. Let’s watch cartoons like old times, yeah?”

“Yeah, but you better not sleep in the middle of the second episode.”

Namjoon laughs. “You wound me.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

For the first time in a while, you don’t feel imminent doom as Monday approaches.

The sky is as sunny as you feel when you walk into the office. Sunoo and Jungwon seem rather pleased that you’re spending more time outside of your office and Heeseung makes several comments about how your mood has shifted from how it was last week.

“You’re telling me Namjoon stopped by and you didn’t tell me?” Heeseung chides. “I feel like chopped liver.”

“That’s because you are,” you tease. “The guys are resting for the next two weeks before tour preparations. Namjoon, Jimin, and I are going to get dinner one of these days if you’d like to join.”

“I’m taking you up on this invite, thank you very much. Did you know Joon was gonna be back in town?”

“I didn’t, actually.” A knock comes from behind you and the man of the hour appears. “Jay called him.”

“Am I in trouble?” Jay asks. You smile and shake your head.

“Just the opposite. Thanks for calling my brother. It meant a lot to me.”

“You looked like you needed him and I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he tells you sincerely.

“It’s great that you’re both here, actually.” You close the door behind your office. “Namjoon and I talked about a lot of things, one of them being the case. He told me how he and the guys have felt helpless in the past few months to see their labelmates suffer through corporate greed. He told me that they’re willing to testify and speak on our behalf against Hybe.”

“What?”

You nod. “I think they’re starting to understand how unfair the new recording contracts are and want to make a difference. I know Judge Han’s granddaughters are fans of Bangtan, so I think their presence could sway the decision.”

“You fight dirty,” Heeseung says, bumping his hip with yours. “I love it. Are they ready to go up against Ahn?”

You shake your head. “They’re gonna schedule a meeting with us sometime in the next week to prepare. It’s going to be a tight fit with their tour preparations and our hearing, but if all goes according to plan, Ahn should be willing to move the hearing date earlier.”

“This is fucking incredible,” Jay swears. “We owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing,” you tell him. “I love working with you two, honestly. Namjoon however…you might owe him a few.”

“I’ll pay for dinner under the company card and say it was a client business,” Heeseung says. “It’s a done deal. I’m gonna let the others know, if that’s okay?”

Heeseung leaves when you give in the greenlight, leaving you and Jay standing alone in your office.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Jay says. “I owe you one.”

“Seriously, Jay. You owe me nothing. It comes with the job.” He laughs and shakes his head.

“I’m bad at this.”

Jay bites his lip and reaches his hand out for yours, holding a loose grip in case you want to pull back. When you don’t, he takes the opportunity to push his fingers through yours.

“I’d love to take you out on a date,” he says. “As a thank you. But more so because I really like you and want to take you out like you deserve.”

You squeeze his hand. “If I said I wanted to stay indoors because this week will likely kick my ass, what would you do?”

Jay pretends to think. “In that case, I think I’ll cook us dinner while you watch with a glass of wine. If I recall correctly, that’s how most of our Friday nights looked like.”

You bite your lip. “You make a mean steak.”

“Whatever you want is what you'll get. Although, I have a sneaking suspicion that this was your way of asking me to cook for you.”

You look at him in faux surprise. “Whatever do you mean, Park Jongseong?” Jay chuckles and takes a step closer towards you.

“Silly girl. I'll cook for us once this case is over, yeah? How does that sound?”

“Sounds like you’re after my own heart.”

Jay learns until you feel his lips land on your cheek.

“That I am.”

He leaves your office without another word and you fight the heat creeping up your neck as you bite your lip. When you turn around, you’re met with Jake and Jungwon’s prying eyes from the bullpen, and watch as they high-five each other whilst giving you an array of thumbs ups and silent applause.

You struggle to get back to work.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

In an unsurprising turn of events, Ahn folds when Namjoon takes the stands. When all is said and done, you find yourself at an all too familiar position with Jay in the kitchen and you sitting behind the counter with a glass of wine in your hands.

He’s grown up, for one. Jay’s back muscles are more defined in his t-shirt as opposed to the dress shirts he wears everyday, giving you something else to look at as he cooks dinner for the both of you. The week wasn’t as bad as you anticipated it to be, but you’re sitting in his penthouse and patting yourself on the back for making the suggestion to stay indoors.

It’s oddly comforting to feel as relaxed as you are in his space, sans wine. The buzz hit you after he gave you a tour of his place and the Jay of the present is definitely not the Jay you used to know. His tastes are elevated and his collection of instruments has nearly tripled. The artwork adorning his walls speaks for his maturity, as does the furniture in his living room. It reminds you just how much the two of you have grown up since law school and how eager you are to explore sides of him you have yet to discover.

The steak is almost done cooking and Jay has spoon-fed you mashed potatoes until they’re to your liking, and you laugh when he celebrates your approval. The seasoned asparagus sits underneath warming lights while the rest of the meal is done cooking, and it wouldn’t feel right to have dinner with Jay without commenting about how much of a professional he looks from where you’re sitting.

You know it’s the wine in your system intensifying your emotions, but you can’t help but stare at Jay’s muscles as he moves throughout the kitchen. He works effortlessly and seamlessly, never neglecting any part of the meal he’s prepared for you. The level of care and precision he’s exemplifying through his cooking, while simultaneously entertaining you, has rendered you a blushing, giggling mess. You’re sure Jay can tell that you’re already buzzed after two glasses, but he promised to drive you home so you don’t have anything to worry about.

Jay looks criminally good in dark clothes. His laid back attire makes him look more attractive to you compared to the suit and tie he wears everyday. Something about seeing Jay like he used to be all those years ago stirs something within you. It makes you cross your legs in your seat and perch forward with your elbows on the counter below you as he puts the finishing touches to the meal.

You requested nothing fancy for tonight upon knowing Jay would drop everything for you to secure a date at the most expensive restaurant and pay the bill to back it up. That could be saved for another today. Tonight is less about wanting Jay to prove himself than wanting to feel comfortable around him, as this would be your first time hanging out with him in his space since law school.

When he’s finished cooking, Jay pulls the smaller dining table towards the tall window overlooking the city below and seats you in your chair opposite his. He tops you off with another glass of wine when you nod, pouring himself a glass as well.

Conversation flows like the two of you are out on a first date. You are, in a sense, but you’re also two long lost best friends who happen to have deep feelings for each other, finding yourselves once again. Perhaps it’s the alcohol that’s settled in your system with the headstart you had compared to Jay, or maybe it’s the soft look of adoration in Jay’s eyes when you laugh at his jokes, but tonight you feel as though you’re the only woman in his life who matters to him.

“I really missed you,” you tell him. Jay looks back at you from the kitchen as he clears the finished dinner plates. Too full to entertain dessert, he leaves it in the fridge until you’re ready to eat again. “I missed this too, you know? Coming over and doing nothing but talking to you, I mean.”

“I’m here if you’ll have me,” Jay says. You’ve followed him to the kitchen, albeit wobbling because of the wine. Jay reaches out and steadies you with his arms until you’re pushing yourself to hug his body with your arms around his middle.

“You’re so warm.” You turn your head to peck at his chest before letting your cheek rest against him. Jay closes his eyes and wraps his arms around your body too, his own lips finding the crown of your head.

“You’re even warmer, but I’ll bet it’s because you had half a bottle of wine.”

You playfully smack his arm. “Hey. You said you’d drive me home so I took that as a sign to get tipsy.”

Jay laughs. “I thought you might say something like that. Good thing I have a higher tolerance, isn’t it?”

You nod against him. “It’s the best.”

“Do you want to go home now?” Jay asks carefully when the two of you have stood in silence for a good minute or two. When you shake your head, he bites back a smile. “Do you want to watch a movie? You can pick something off of Netflix and we can watch it until you’re ready to go home.”

“Sounds like a perfect idea,” you say, sighing out of content.

Jay lets you change into one of his oversized shirts that covers you just enough and you walk out of the bathroom looking like sin. It takes everything in him not to comment because he doesn’t want to scare you away. Jay comes to the realization that you likely aren’t wearing shirts underneath because of how the fabric rode up your thigh as you sat on the couch beside him. He desperately tries not to pay any mind to it for the sake of your comfortability.

Truthfully, Jay wants to wrap you up in his arms and put the blanket he got from his closet over the both of you. But he’s letting you take the lead when it comes to physical contact, unsure of just how comfortable you are with him yet. He’s only just gotten you back in his life. He doesn’t want to scare you away any time soon.

The movie you picked is somewhat interesting, although Jay can’t say he’s too keen on paying attention. In the first ten minutes, you’ve shifted to rest your head on his shoulder and his arm is now resting behind you to accommodate your body. He feels you dip yourself lower as the movie progresses until you’re fully leaning on his chest, and Jay has a sneaking suspicion you’ve been slowly edging your way into this spot to not make him feel uncomfortable either.

He puts his free hand on your hip and squeezes your body to let you know he’s right with you. Jay watches you smile and try to hide it. He thinks it makes you look even more attractive than you already are.

Jay doesn’t know what happens next. Another thirty minutes pass by with easy conversation between the two of you. One thing leads to another and he feels you shifting in front of him, and his mind thinks you’re getting up to tell him you want to leave.

But you don’t. You shift to face him and push your body up until your face is right in front of his.

He can feel your breath on his lips. The scent of wine is long gone but your eyes look like they’re searching for something. Jay sees the way your throat constricts and he tries not to look down past where it isn’t appropriate.

“Is it bad that I want to kiss you?” you ask him just above a whisper.

Jay doesn’t say anything. He doesn't need to. Instead, he leans forward to push his lips against yours.

His lips touch your plush ones as his hands encircle your waist to hold you steady, like he’s afraid you’ll topple over on the couch. Your own hands immediately touch his chest and scrape the fabric like an experimental touch. Your lips feel so soft against his and the sounds of your lips smacking against one another become more audible than the soft volume of the television in the background.

Jay pulls back to see you suppress a grin, but he pinches your side to get you to smile for him.

“You’re a really good kisser,” you say. “Had any practice?”

“Just my pillow and a few posters,” he jokes. “I needed to practice so I could kiss you like you deserve.”

He watches you blush. “Don’t say that. I feel like I’m sixteen again.”

Jay pecks your lips and lingers for a few seconds. “Good. You make me feel like a teenager too.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, shifting yourself until you’re perched on his lap. Jay watches from beneath you as you steady your body by placing both hands on his shoulders and swinging your leg across his lap.

“Yeah,” he whispers just before you lean down to kiss him again.

Jay feels your hands wrap around his neck to hold him in front of you like you’re afraid he’s going to push you away again. To quell your fears, his own hands take hold of your wrists before he holds your fingers in his own and gives you a gentle squeeze. You seem to loosen up as you smile into the kiss, prompting Jay to do the same.

Holding you feels familiar. It feels like coming home after a long, tiring day at the office to the person he loves the most. Having you in his arms after all this time has Jay rethinking his future and where you fit in it. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s ready to risk all that he has if that means seeing you as happy as you are in this very moment.

You whine when Jay’s lips detach from yours but he smirks into your skin when he hears a soft moan coming from your own upon placing his just below your ear. He thinks how his younger self would’ve killed to hear the sounds you’re making right now and how lucky he is that this opportunity is being granted towards him. You sound like you’re enjoying yourself and that’s all Jay could ever ask of you.

Your hand creeps below his shirt until your nails are raking his abdomen and you moan when you feel the ridges on his body. He sighs against your neck and you’re left speechless at how his physique has changed since the last time you saw Jay shirtless. The ache in your belly leaves you wanting more and you arch your body until it feels as though you’re completely giving into him before pressing your palms against his body.

You two kiss with fervor as the minutes go by. Suddenly, Jay feels your body beginning to rock yourself on his lap as your lips find his own. He feels you tug on his shirt until you push it up his neck, breaking contact with him so that he can pull his shirt off completely.

Your lips feel like heaven against his own skin as you begin to explore every inch of him. He feels you peppering kisses along his jawline and closes his eyes to bask in the feeling of your body so close to his. Jay lets his hands roam around your waist and when you don’t move to push his hands off as his fingers dip beneath the shirt you’re wearing, he smiles to himself and lets his fingertips push the fabric upwards just slightly. The feeling of his hands on your body has you rocking forward until your chest is in front of Jay’s face. You gasp when you realize how hard he’s become underneath you.

“I’m sorry,” Jay begins to apologize. “You’re very attractive.”

You look down and tilt your head, experimentally pressing your lower half on his crotch. Jay emits a low moan, making your mouth quirk in excitement.

“You’re very attractive,” you tell him, slowly rocking your body backwards and forwards.

You move to push Jay’s hands closer to your body and he gets the hint. He uses the momentum to push and pull you into him at the pace you set, watching as your mouth opens in euphoria. Jay finds it incredibly attractive the way your eyebrows pinch in arousal every time the tip of his clothed cock bumps your covered core, and if what you’re wearing is anything to go by, he was correct in assuming you weren’t wearing shorts underneath his shirt.

Your pace quickens with every pass of his cock beneath you. He gets harder and harder, and you get wetter and wetter. Your own slick is rubbing against you from the fabric of your panties and it becomes almost too much to bear. Jay’s hands have found their way to your back as your own body pushes against his. He feels your tits pressing against his chest and the desperation in your hips as you gain momentum while he begins to take control from beneath you.

Jay bucks into you until you let out a particularly loud gasp. His strength surprises you, as does the force with which he thrusts into you. His clothed cock hits you at the most delicious angle while you’re fighting to stand upright against his lap, fighting to grip the couch and his body at the same time. Jay doesn’t let you breathe, however, until you’re pushing him away so that you can access his lips once again.

The kiss is wet and messy. It’s hot in the room and you’re pushing Jay’s hands until they cup your breasts. He pinches your nipples and watches in pleasure as you throw your head back.

“My baby likes that, doesn't she?” He pinches them again when you nod and it sends a shock straight down your spine and where you need him the most.

Jay lifts the shirt just enough to uncover your chest and brings your right bud into his mouth. He licks it with his tongue in an effort to tease you until you’re squirming in his lap. He does the same with the other nipple until you’re pushing yourself against his cock that he grunts and nips at the bud before sucking it with his mouth.

The pleasure is almost too good to form words. Your mouth stays at a permanent ‘O’ with every swipe of Jay’s tongue and he pushes your shirt until you take it off for him. He places his hands on your breasts and squeezes them in his palms as if getting to know your body better, almost like he wants to commit you to his memory.

But you’re impatient. After the long years of daydreaming about Jay, you want nothing more than to have him inside of you.

“Please let me have it,” you whisper against his lips, pushing your body down onto his. “I need it so bad, Jay.”

“We can’t,” he chokes. He doesn’t want to push his luck. “I-I need to drive you home.”

Not even he believes this pathetic excuse.

“I don’t care. Drive me home tomorrow.”

Jay doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He flexes his fingers to distract himself before giving in, placing his grip on your waist and pushing you down onto him. He hears you gasp at the sudden movement and chides himself for being so turned on by you when mere moments ago he was thinking logically.

“Just the tip,” you mutter against his mouth to convince him. “Please.”

“Just the tip,” Jay agrees, pushing his trousers just enough to free his cock. To the best of your ability, you take your panties off without moving from his lap and throw it behind him. He finally feels your pussy glide over him and throws his head back, feeling pure euphoria.

Jay’s cock is thick and long, and you feel it throbbing between your legs. The friction is too delicious to ignore, as is the wet sounds consisting of your arousal covering him. He lifts his head up to watch you bite your lip and look at him with desperation in your eyes. It’s the kind of expression he’s wanted to see from you for so long. Jay can only hope you know that this is how he looks at you.

It’s quiet in the room, save for wanton breaths and the sound of your own arousal mixing with his precum. It’s so erotic to see you as desperate for him as he is for you because he’s yearned for this moment for so long. Jay bites his lip with every pass as you hover above his tip and he tries his hardest not to buck his hips, instead allowing you to move at your own pace.

When you catch the tip of his cock inside of your pussy, the two of you let out an audible gasp at the sudden intrusion. His thick head breaches your fluttering hole as he grabs your waist to prevent you from moving when his tip is fully sheathed inside of you.

“Holy fuck,” you moan, balancing yourself on his hot tip. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Jay asks. “It does, doesn’t it?” You nod rapidly and Jay kisses the side of your mouth before moving to your neck.

You keep yourself steady by gripping his shoulders that are hot to the touch. He flexes when your nails dig into him, causing you to moan at the sight. Jay feels the movement of your throat as he kisses your neck and grunts when he feels your pussy clench around him.

The two of you stay like that for a few minutes until your legs give out and you’re holding onto Jay’s neck as a silent plea for him to take over. He gets the hint, wrapping his arms around your body until you’ve fallen limp against his chest. Jay uses his leverage to slowly pull himself out of you before pushing the head of his cock back in.

The moan you emit against his ear makes him feel like the two of you are starring in your very own sextape. It causes Jay to jerk his hips unexpectedly and push another inch of himself into your pussy by accident. He’s about to apologize until he feels your pussy clenching around him at the sudden intrusion.

“You’re so big,” you whisper to him. “S-So big. So good.”

“You feel fucking amazing,” Jay praises. “Such a wet pussy and I’ve barely done anything to you.”

You whimper at his words while closing your eyes shut and move your head until your cheek rests comfortably on his shoulder. The angle allows you to press kisses to Jay’s jawline and you do so until you feel him begging to thrust into you once again.

The tempo he sets is slow and delicious. He feels every drag as your mixed arousal coats the rest of his cock and Jay feels as though he’s found pure euphoria on earth, the kind that men search for but never seem to find. The shallow thrusts cause his mouth to hang open and his fingers itching to touch your clit, but he doesn’t want to move unless you tell him to.

It isn’t until you’re pushing yourself down onto his length that he speaks again.

“Baby,” he warns. “I thought–”

“Changed my mind,” you tell him desperately. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Jay nods. “I want to. Fuck, I want to.”

You kiss him hard before pushing down on him. “I just want you.”

Jay’s body falls limp when he feels your body glide up and down his cock like you’ve trained your entire life for this very moment. He sees the sweat building between your brows and licks his lips at the way your tits bounce against your chest. It’s sensual the way you look on top of him. Jay brings one of your nipples in his mouth and makes a home there as your hips begin to work his own.

His body feels like it was made for you to use. The desperation at which his own hips chase yours should make him feel embarrassed, but he feels like a lovesick fool. In this moment, everything he’s ever wanted to say to you lies in the power of his thrusts and the way his lips move with yours. It makes him feel like there’s nothing in this world that could take you away from him.

He pushes himself up until you’re clinging onto his body for dear life. The sounds you make push him even harder against your body, drilling his hard cock within you until you’re moaning like somebody’s filming you. It’s all too much for Jay to handle, and he’s glad he feels you come undone before him.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” you moan out, clenching against his cock as it works your body until completion.

Jay pulls out and finishes on your ass just after you’ve come down from your own high. You jolt when you feel his come on your skin but move to kiss him as the two of you come down from your respective highs and he feels your heartbeat against his chest, smiling into the kiss.

“You’re amazing,” he tells you between kisses. He tries to speak but you silence him with more pecks. “Let me clean you up, yeah?”

Your heart feels warm. You nod and let him pry your body off of his, carefully laying on your stomach so that the couch doesn’t see the mess Jay created. He comes back a moment later with a warm washcloth and his trousers zipped up before wiping you clean. The rag is tossed onto the floor as he pulls your body towards him, wrapping your legs around his torso, and pulling your lips to his once more.

“Stay the night?” he asks you.

“That was my plan, but I’m glad you brought it up before I did.”

Jay pinches your thigh and hears you laugh. He could die like this.

“Since it’s a weekend, I think you and I have a lot of catching up to do.” Jay kisses down your neck and between the valley of your breasts, gliding his lips along your stomach until they’ve reached just below your belly button.

“Oh? And what is it you’re promising, Park Jongseong?”

Jay smirks up at you from where he’s positioned.

“I have an idea in mind,” he says coyly, moving his mouth to press a chast kiss on your slit. “It has a lot to do with my mouth and my fingers.” Your body arches when Jay’s tongue licks a bold stripe up your slit.

“I like the sound of that. Would you let me return the favor?”

“Only if you cum on my tongue twice.”

You push his face into your core.

“Better get a head start.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

#enhypen x reader #jay x reader #jongseong x reader #enhypen smut #jay smut #jongseong smut #kpop x reader #kpop smut #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong fanfiction #park jongseong fluff #park jongseong angst #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #fic: walk the line #jay #my writing*

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seumyo · 3 months ago

Text

will bakugou choose seoul, korea or your wedding anniversary?

Bakugou had turned the damn house upside down three times.

“Where the hell is it?” He hissed under his breath, storming through the hallway closet for the third time in two days. He’d torn apart the shoe rack, the document folders, and even flipped through the cookbooks in the kitchen, just in case he’d used it as a bookmark. No dice. The damn passport was still missing.

His hair was sticking up more than usual—half from stress, half from the static of the hoodie he’d thrown on that morning in frustration. They were supposed to leave for Korea in three days. Three. It was the biggest pro-hero conference he’d ever been invited to—panel talks, interviews, awards. Best Jeanist, Lemillion, and even Halfie had their confirmations sent in already.

And what did he have?

An expired copy of his license (he got a new one; the expired one’s just in his drawer), a half-crushed protein bar, and a very pouty, very pregnant wife in the living room.

You had your feet up on the couch, ankles slightly swollen beneath the oversized hoodie you’d stolen from his wardrobe. You were scrolling on your phone with one hand, the other resting on your baby bump, lazily tracing circles. When Bakugou stomped past, you looked up with the slow blink of a cat.

“Still lost?” you asked, not bothering to hide your amusement. Even laughed under your breath.

The audacity, he thinks, though it wasn’t frustration. He could never be mad at you.

Because he knows you’ll get mad at him, too.

Bakugou didn’t answer. He grunted instead, pulling out another drawer in the cabinet near the TV.

“Maybe it grew legs and walked off,” you teased. “Or maybe your big fat ego swallowed it.”

He shot you a look. “Not helping.”

You hummed. “Not trying to.”

Your pout had gotten more dramatic since hitting six months. Bakugou noticed it more these days, how you’d stare down your food like it personally offended you, or how you’d sigh theatrically every time the topic of even him leaving the house came up. At first, you’d been supportive—even joked that you’d video call him during the conference and heckle him from the screen. But once you found out the biggest day of the event landed on your wedding anniversary, the whole game changed.

Suddenly he feels like he’s on house arrest.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you murmured, taking a sip of the juice he made you this morning. “Maybe you’re meant to stay home this time.”

Bakugou scoffed. As if.

“Ain’t no damn sign. It’s just misplacin’ shit.”

“You don’t have to go,” you said again. “You could stay. Cuddle me. Eat cake. Listen to me cry about clouds.”

“You said I could go if I find my passport,” he pouts, brows furrowed, and his lips jutted slightly.

“I did, and don’t be mad,” you replied. “I want you to go. Really. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Then why do you look like you wanna punch me in the throat?”

You blinked at him. “Because it’s our anniversary and I’m hormonal. Sue me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So I hope you don’t find it.”

That was the end of that conversation.

The night before their anniversary came sooner than expected.

Bakugou had made a reservation at one of the nicest rooftop restaurants in the city. Private booth, soft fairy lights, cityscape twinkling behind them. The host even laid a small bouquet of lavender on the table when he told them it was for a special occasion. He hadn’t told you where you were going, only grunted, “Wear that dress you like—that comfy one. You know the one.”

He hadn’t mentioned anything new about the passport ordeal. You, who figured he’d either given up or accepted fate, were mostly content to enjoy the evening.

You looked like a dream, so his focus was entirely on you. Someone who he somehow managed to have (maybe his bond with his guardian angels came in clutch and even contacted Cupid himself to arrange an arrow for you two).

You waddled into the restaurant, cheeks a little fuller, eyes glowing. He still looked at you like he couldn’t believe he got so lucky. He thinks it makes you shy, how intense his gaze got, even after everything—the morning sickness, the mood swings, the late-night hospital runs due to paranoia.

“You okay?” he asked, placing a hand on your lower back as you walked in.

“Mm,” you hummed, leaning into his touch. You could barely hide your smile at this point. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t even deny it. “I am? So what? Can’t a man just appreciate his wife?”

Dinner went well, for the most part.

You had one hand on your belly, the other wrapped around his fingers on the table. You were halfway through your chocolate mousse when Bakugou reached into his jacket pocket and slid something across the table.

“No,” you said slowly, setting your spoon down. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.”

He didn’t look smug at all, more like... hopeful.

Your brows furrowed. You reached for the passport, flipping it open.

There it was. His damn passport. Found. Intact. Stamped. His most recent picture was taken only a few months ago.

Yoh stared at it. Then at you. Then back at it again.

“…You found it?”

“Yup.”

“Where was it?”

He cleared his throat, gaze shifting to the side.

“…Behind the dresser in the guest room. Stuffed in that red envelope labeled ‘Important Shit,’ which you labeled in your handwriting, by the way.”

You paused. Your cheeks puffed again as your lips turned downward in the softest pout he’d ever seen. You looked down at your half-eaten dessert, spoon idle.

“You’re really gonna go?”

“I want to,” he admitted. “But I don’t wanna leave you pissed off and lonely, either.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just poked at your mousse with your spoon. Your lashes were low, and he could tell you were struggling. Not angry, just…sad.

Finally, you said, “It’s just one. It’s just one anniversary. We’ll have dozens more, right?”

“We will. We’ll have centuries more.”

“…And you’ll video call me. Every day.”

“Morning and night.”

“And text me when you land. And when you eat. And when you leave the venue. And—”

Bakugou reached across the table and tugged gently at your hand. His hands are rough against yours, but they’re filled with sincerity and utmost love that a man could give to his wife.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

His voice softened.

“Seriously, d’ya think I’d leave you without a plan?”

You blinked.

“I’m leavin’ you flowers and your cake. I told Kirishima to drop off that spa basket thing you said you wanted last month. And your mom’s stayin’ over the night of. I made sure. I even stocked the fridge.”

Your mouth parted slightly, tilting your head to the side. “You…did all that?”

“Yeah.” He looked almost bashful now, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t want you to think I forgot. Even if I ain’t here physically. I’m still here.”

Your eyes shimmered just a bit. A good sign, Bakugou notes.

Then you smiled—soft and tired and affectionate.

“God, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Tch. Don’t cry. I’ll look like an asshole.”

You laughed then, nose crinkling. “You are an asshole. But a sweet one.”

“Yeah, you love me.”

“I do.”

You two didn’t talk about the passport again that night. Not after that.

Instead, you finished dessert. Slowly. Your hand stayed in his the whole time.

When you walked out of the restaurant, he kept his arm around your shoulders, guiding you carefully down the steps like you were made of glass. You leaned into him, soft and warm, your belly pressing into his side.

And when they got home, you told him, “Let’s open the anniversary cake early.”

He didn’t say no. Not when you looked that happy. It doesn’t matter that he’s already full from the chocolate mousse you two had earlier.

When night finally settled, and Bakugou’s wiping the excess frosting off the corners of your lips with a napkin, he hears you say, “Come home soon, okay?”

He nodded, then softly kissed the crown of your head.

“Always.”

Always come home to you.

The morning of Bakugou’s flight started earlier than usual.

He had been up before the alarm even went off, brushing his teeth with the kind of intensity that only came from years of military-grade discipline… or nerves (also because he wants all bad germs on his mouth to die). Not that he’d ever admit to the latter. He stood in front of the mirror, towel slung low on his hips, steam curling from the hot shower as he stared at his reflection.

This was it. The day he was supposed to fly out to Korea.

Except—he wasn’t going.

Not really.

He’d made his decision last night, somewhere between the weight of your hug and the feel of your heartbeat against his body when you fell asleep on his chest. The moment you started snoring softly, your nose slightly buried in his shirt, he realized there was no way in hell he was getting on that plane.

Not this time.

But you didn’t need to know that just yet.

Because if there was one thing Bakugou knew about his wife, it was that you’d throw a fit if he skipped a life-changing professional opportunity just to spend your anniversary folding baby laundry and rubbing your swollen ankles. Plus, he knew you’d never allow him to stay. And if you knew he was lying about leaving, you’d huff and puff until he actually made him go.

So, he planned ahead. Like a goddamn mastermind.

By the time you woke up—slightly groggy with pillow lines on your cheek—he had already “packed.” His suitcase was zipped shut and positioned neatly by the door. His travel duffle bag sat upright next to it. His travel documents were tucked inside an envelope labeled “Do Not Open Unless Emergency.” (Totally blank inside.)

You blinked at him sleepily, rubbing your eyes as you waddled into the living room in his oversized T-shirt. One of the many shirts he was sure was missing from his closet.

“You already packed?” you murmured, voice small and pouty.

He turned from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. Acting too nonchalant to not give anything away.

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t wanna rush.”

You crossed your arms over your bump. “It’s only a three-hour flight, Katsuki. Not an expedition to the Arctic.”

“Still gotta prep,” he said, biting back a grin.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, but the smell of something sweet distracted you. Bingo.

He stepped aside, revealing a neatly arranged dessert box sitting on the counter. Inside: four of your favorites—strawberry shortcake with extra whipped cream, a slice of creamy Basque burnt cheesecake, a generous portion of tiramisu, and your current obsession: mango sticky rice.

“You bought me desserts?” you awed.

“I bought you a stack,” he corrected. “Don’t think I don’t know you get all sad and start craving sugar when I leave.”

You scoffed. “I do not.”

“You do,” he said, crossing his arms smugly. “You pouted so hard last time I left, I came back to find the fridge empty and you passed out with a half-eaten ice cream tub on the couch.”

“That was one time!”

“And I’m not takin’ chances.”

He bent forward, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then to your rounded belly. “Eat well. Don’t lift anything heavy. Text me when you’re sleepy. I’ll land by lunch. Kirishima’s already on the way, but it’ll take a while because of traffic since the bridge is getting repaired.”

“You’re acting suspicious,” you said, frowning as you clung to his shirt. “You never say goodbye this… nicely.”

“That’s rude,” he muttered. “I’m always nice.”

“No, you’re normally grumpy and say something like, ‘Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.’”

He smirked. You weren’t wrong entirely.

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna come back to find out you’ve cried over an empty dessert box.”

Your lip wobbled, and he kissed you again—softly this time, with an extra squeeze to your waist.

“I’ll be back before you know it. It’s just for two nights.”

He left around nine. Or at least, pretended to.

Instead of heading to the airport, he drove straight to his agency, parked in the underground garage, and holed up in his office. There was a bottle of juice in the mini fridge, emergency snacks in the bottom drawer, and an absurd number of congratulatory emails flooding his inbox that he ignored.

The hours ticked by slowly.

He checked his phone a dozen times. No calls. No texts. Just one blurry photo from you of the dessert box with the caption: You’re lucky I’m in a sugar coma right now. Or I’d be mad you left without triple kissing me goodbye.

He snorted.

Around lunchtime, he got restless. Then irritated.

Then, at exactly 1:00 P.M., he got in the car and drove home.

No warning.

No heads-up.

He half-expected you to be lounging in the living room, watching drama reruns and fanning yourself while complaining about heartburn. But when he pulled up the driveway and unlocked the front door—

The house was suspiciously quiet.

His brows pulled together.

“[Name]?” he called out, stepping in.

Nothing.

He frowned and shut the door behind him, stepping out of his boots. He heard a thud from the back hallway. Then a low grunt. A shuffle.

His eyes narrowed.

Then he heard you muttering.

“Come on, come on, I’m not that heavy—”

He rounded the corner—and stopped cold.

There you were.

Standing in the hallway. Sweaty. Red-faced. Holding a large box half your size with both hands, your bump barely giving you enough room to balance it. Your lip was caught between your teeth as you struggled to carry what was definitely one of the boxes he had explicitly labeled: Do Not Touch.

“…What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You screamed.

You literally screamed—jumping nearly out of your skin, eyes wide like you saw a ghost.

Or a burglar.

Or both, at this point.

“—Katsuki! I thought you were in Korea—what the hell—”

“Put the box down.”

“You can’t just walk in like that, I thought—I—”

“Put it down, [Name].”

You dropped it with a loud thunk, wobbling backward and grabbing your shoulders.

“Oh my god, I thought you were a home invader! I was ready to throw a candle at you—why are you back?!”

Bakugou marched toward you, still wide-eyed with a mixture of rage and pure panic. He can’t believe this at all. “More importantly, why the fuck are you lifting boxes?!”

“I was bored!”

“Bored? So you decided to tear a disc and pop a blood vessel?!”

“I didn’t tear anything! And it wasn’t heavy; it’s mostly baby blankets!”

He crouched down instantly to pick it up—still heavy, despite your excuses—and carried it to the nursery, grumbling the entire way. “Goddamn woman’s gonna give me a stroke,” he muttered, though there was never any heat in his words.

You waddled after him, still stunned.

“Wait. Why are you here?!”

“I never left.”

“You… what?”

“I stayed at the agency. Figured I’d come back after you thought I was gone. Catch you red-handed.”

“You liar!”

He turned toward you, his frustration subsiding.

“You’re not even a good liar! You went full fake goodbye mode this morning! You even left me mango sticky rice!”

“Yeah. ‘Cause I knew you’d snoop around and start being reckless the second you thought no one was watching.”

Your cheeks puffed up again. That damn pout.

“I was just nesting,” you mumbled.

“Nesting doesn’t involve deadlifting half a closet,” he shot back. “You promised you’d take it easy.”

“…I thought you were in Korea.”

“Yeah, well, again, surprise.”

You blinked up at him again, eyes soft now, overwhelmed. “…You really stayed just for me?”

When he sets the boxes down, he exhaled and cupped your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. “You really thought I’d leave you alone on our anniversary? Pregnant? Carrying boxes? Eating dessert by yourself? What do you take me for? A shitty husband?”

You hit his chest weakly.

“You’re so unfair,” you muttered.

“I know,” he grinned. “And I love you.”

You melted then. Completely.

Wrapping your arms around him, your bump pressing into his stomach, you buried your face in his chest and whispered: “I love you too, you dramatic maniac.”

That night, there was no flight. No press. No conference.

Just takeout on the couch, your feet in his lap, mango sticky rice on your plate, and his hand splayed across your belly like a homecoming gift.

Bakugou may have missed a headline.

But he made the right choice.

And that mattered more.

2K notes · View notes

noonecareslol · 5 months ago

Text

࣪˖ ִ ೀ 𝐀 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Hwang In-ho x Fem! Reader

Summary: When the games aren’t in session, and In-ho is lonely, he finds himself in the first row at the ballet. Watching you. Suddenly he's falling in love.

TW: Channeling my love for older men. Injury. Reader lowkey gets sad for a sec. Age gap (reader is 25 In-ho is 49). Just FLUFF! In-ho learning how to love someone again. Quite literally head over heels for you. Allusions to masturbation. Size kink if you squint.

WC! 5k Part 2! -> here!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It is quite obvious that In-ho is an old soul.

He enjoys old films, old clothing, old theatre, and old music. The little jazz set that plays, “Fly Me To The Moon” is a cherished possession of his, along with his vintage whiskey decanter.

He wears a musky cologne he’d been gifted by his late wife, and his closet is lined with leather dress shoes and perfectly pressed slacks. His dimly lit room on the island is vastly similar to the one in his Seoul apartment, everything perfectly neat and clean.

Yes, In-ho is an old soul.

And in between the games, when he would return to Seoul, he’d find himself bored. Especially during the night. He’d miss his wife, the whispered hope of a promised future.

Often he would distract himself by putting his whiskey decanter to good use, pouring the aged whiskey into his glass over and over again. He would linger by his shelf full of movies he’d seen hundreds of times, tracing his fingers along the cases until he landed on a title. A small smile would play on his lips before popping it into the DVD player and taking a seat next to his beloved cat.

He would find himself mumbling the lines as the actors spoke them on screen, his hand absentmindedly petting his cat. When the movie is over, and the quiet resumes, he’d move to his bedroom.

He’d ensure his cat followed before changing into his expensive pajamas and climbing into the king-sized bed. His cat would join him and he would drift to sleep, dreaming of, well, nothing.

He would close his eyes and wake up without any dream having occupied his mind.

This routine became comfortable. Each night he would get home from whatever he’d been doing before, drink, watch a movie, play with his cat, and sleep without any dreams.

But this night, this night was different.

It was a cold night. And all In-ho wanted to do was drown in glasses of whiskey and watch “Dial ‘M’ For Murder” with his cat.

But as he walked past a line of people waiting to enter a theatre, a poster caught his attention. He blinked once, twice, before walking toward the lit-up frame.

A strikingly beautiful ballerina caught his attention first. She held her arms elegantly above her head, her leg pointed behind her, her other leg resting on pointe as she looked to the side. She was breathtaking.

The Seoul Ballet Company Presents: Swan Lake

Opening Night November 1st

Suddenly the thought of whiskey and Alfred Hitchcock left his mind as he joined the line. I mean, who would miss out on opening night?

Especially when the lead was so pretty.

“We have one ticket left in the front row.” The woman behind the ticket booth clicked her pen unenthusiastically as she watched In-ho pull his leather vintage wallet out of his coat pocket.

A grin rested plainly on his lips as he fiddled with his cash, “That’s perfect. How much?”

The woman slowly turned and punched a few numbers into her register before turning back to him, “80,000 won.” She clicked her pen again.

“Do you have change for 100,000?” He held the two 50,000 won in front of him, watching as she stared at him blankly.

She blinked once before snatching the bills from his hands, “Nope!” In-ho sighed. For someone so slow she took those bills awfully fast.

In-ho drew his lips into a thin line before taking the ticket and placing it in his wallet, “Thanks.”

“Yeah enjoy the show or, like, whatever.” The woman took out her phone and began to text as he walked away, obviously not giving a shit about her job.

But as In-ho walked through the double doors, his breath caught in his throat. The theatre certainly did not disappoint his love for old architecture.

The large barrel vaulted ceilings were beautifully ornamented and adorned with intricately painted designs. Gorgeous crown molding edged the ceiling and stretched to the floor. And a large crystal chandelier rested as the centerpiece, warmly lit and inviting.

In-ho took his seat, a smile evident on his lips as he sighed contently. However, he hoped his cat wasn’t too worried about his whereabouts. Maybe she could come along next time? She is a very sophisticated cat, after all.

As the chandelier and house lights began to dim, the crowd became quiet with anticipation and excitement. And it would be dishonest to say that In-ho wasn’t a little excited as well.

He looked to his left at the woman sitting next to him. She was a small elderly lady with a pair of glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her eyes were filled with excitement as she scanned through the pamphlet, a wide smile plastered on her face.

She wore a vintage necklace around her neck, layered with pearls. In-ho smiled, it was nice to see someone who also had a knack for old taste.

The soft notes of Swan Lake began to play, and In-ho watched as the curtains opened, revealing the beautifully decorated stage. Large trees with hanging vines arched over the set, greenery and flowers blending into the painted backdrop.

A foggy mist flooded the stage as dancers began to move elegantly across. But the lead had yet to make an appearance.

In-ho watched rather impatiently, and failed to notice the woman next to him lean in, “Right now, the prince is going hunting with his crossbow. But he will find that the white swan has turned into a beautiful woman, and has fallen under a curse.” The old woman pointed slightly to the prince, her voice whispering just loud enough for him to hear.

His eyes trained on the prince as he danced with his crossbow, “Thank you. I must look confused.”

The old lady gave a small laugh, “I used to dance for this company, i’ll never miss an opportunity to explain the ballet.”

In-ho watches as she subtly mimics the prince's moves, her hands moving elegantly in front of her. Her eyes were closed, the sound of the music bringing emotion to her face.

Her eyes flick open as the music changes softly, “Look.” Her eyes lighting up as she nods slightly to the stage.

In-ho watches as you finally take the stage, fluttering your feet as you move elegantly toward the prince. Your hands held high above your head, moving gracefully as you bourrée.

He watched as your back muscles contracted, moving as if you had wings. His eyes trained down to your legs and to your pointe shoes, watching as you danced with ease.

Your white feathered skirt moved along with you, the bodice elegantly framing you perfectly. The feathered piece in your hair catches In-ho’s attention, causing him to study your face.

That poster was nothing compared to your beauty.

You held a soft look, but In-ho didn’t fail to notice the focus that caused your eyebrows to furrow slightly. Your movements were soft and graceful, your demeanor innocent and melancholic.

You were perfect as the white swan.

You were perfect.

He wondered if you were just as innocent as you portray yourself to be, “God, she’s beautiful.”

The elderly woman hummed in agreement as she watched In-ho’s gaze remain sharp on the white swan, an all-knowing smile spread across her lips.

As the ballet continued it seemed that the rest of the audience had disappeared. In-ho felt as if you were only dancing for him. No one else.

He swore you looked at him a few times, him being the focus point of your graceful turns.

And when you transitioned into the black swan, all thoughts in In-ho’s head became dark.

Oh, how he liked this side of you.

Your movements were sharp, determined, and seductive. And he found himself adjusting in his seat as his slacks became increasingly tight. You were so close to him. Just a few feet from his touch as you danced on stage. He could take you right now. He could fuck you, make you feel things you’ve never felt before.

And as you leaped on the stage, the white swan jumping to her death, In-ho felt a tear slip from his eye. You were magnificent.

The audience filed out of the theatre, fanning themselves with their pamphlets and discussing the ballet. You had received a standing ovation, and In-ho took pride in being the first one to stand and clap.

He had finally caught your attention. And when you locked eyes with him as you bowed, you felt your brain turn to mush.

He was handsome. Like, extremely handsome.

His face was perfectly chiseled. His eyes crinkled as he flashed a perfect smile, his hair slightly falling in front of his face and covering his dark eyes.

You didn’t blink once as you remained under his gaze, and it wasn’t until another dancer pulled you up that you realized you were bowing for far too long.

You avoided his eye contact as you walked off, embarrassed he had made you turn into putty just by his stare.

And as In-ho exited the theatre, he took his time lingering by the lamp post. He’d secretly hoped to see you leave.

He doesn’t know what he would say if he did see you. Maybe he would compliment you, or ask you a meaningless question. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d push you against the lamppost, and let his desire consume you.

He’d just wait a little bit longer.

10 minutes.

15 minutes.

30 minutes.

The woman from behind the ticket booth locked the door as she brought down the metal gate, “Excuse me, did the woman who danced as the white swan leave yet?”

She turned around smacking her gum, “Yeah. Why?” She sized him up, placing a hand on her hip as she cocked an eyebrow.

In-ho felt his face flush, “I was just going to compliment her.” He put his cold hands in the pockets of his coat, shifting his weight onto his other foot.

“Yeah well,” The woman smacks her gum as she walks up towards In-ho, handing him a flier, “They have open practice every Friday. Tickets are only 10,000 won.”

He took the flier from her hand, folding it and sliding it into his pocket, “Thanks.” She nodded her head and walked past him, slipping into her jacket.

In-ho turned and started his walk to his apartment only a block away. When he arrived, he heard the familiar sound of meowing by his front door.

And as he opened the door, he came face to face with his cat waiting on the couch, “I’m sorry Elisabeth, but I’m too tired for a movie tonight.”

She gave an annoyed meow before reluctantly following him into his room, hopping onto the pillow beside his. In-ho got dressed in his pajamas, ready for another dreamless night as he slipped into the sheets next to Elisabeth.

But this time, it wasn't dreamless.

In fact, he had dreamed a very vivid dream.

He had dreamt of you.

And as In-ho woke up the next morning, his hand immediately went to his nightstand, picking up the flier.

It seems that the pretty ballerina has stolen his heart.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Plié! Ron de jambe, retiré! Good!" You held your arms in front of you, your right leg coming up at a bend, "Pas de chat, écarté! Don't rush it, Fiona!"

Your ballet teacher weaved between you and the other students, her tight bun sitting perfectly on her pointed head, "Développé, demi-pointe! No! Not pointe, demi pointe!"

Her thick French accent bellowed throughout the theatre, "Good y/n! Très bien!" A wide smile painted your lips as you continued your dance, your friend Fiona rolling her eyes at your praise. You giggled as you went into second, your arms outstretched to the side.

"Well done! Take a water break and stretch, we'll take five." You brought your hands to your knees, leaning over slightly as you caught your breath.

Fiona dramatically flopped on her back, a hand coming to her forehead as she breathed heavily, "I've died, she's killed me." You tossed her water bottle into her hand with a laugh as you sat next to her, your eyes scanning the theatre.

Familiar faces met your eyes. Elderly couples, former dancers, and little kids with their moms. Oh! And the man who you haven't stopped thinking about.

Wait.

You hit Fiona's shoulder hard, not taking your eyes off him, "Fiona. Fiona, look." She sat up, holding her shoulder as her eyes trailed to where you were subtly pointing.

"Oh, it's the hot dilf." Fiona took a drink from her bottle, watching as In-ho looked around while taking in the architecture.

You slapped her shoulder again, "Shut up! What if he hears you?" You get up from the ground, pulling Fiona up with you and tossing your water bottle back into your bag.

She followed suit, taking one last drink before tossing it in her own, "First off, stop hitting me. It's abuse." You rolled your eyes as you both took your spot by the barre, "Second, he's in the back corner of the theatre, he's not hearing shit. Except for our teacher's constant yelling."

You didn't respond, instead, you continued looking at him. His black turtle neck sweater hugged his biceps perfectly, and you didn't fail to notice his empty finger where a ring would sit.

"Okay! Lets continue! Tendu, plié! Ron de jambe, plié!"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It had been two months since In-ho first started spending his Fridays pining over you.

Each Friday, he would come home, change into an outfit he had dry-cleaned and pressed, feed Elisabeth, and head to the Theatre. He would take his spot in the far left corner, and watch as you danced and laughed with your friends.

He found himself looking forward to Fridays. Which is strange, because he's never looked forward to anything before. Well, besides the games. But he had been so focused on you, that he had fallen behind on his work. Something he'd never done before.

You plagued his mind.

He dreams of you. When he's asleep and awake. He'd find himself walking by the Theatre on other days when you were practicing, hoping to see a glimpse of you.

He found himself listening to Etta James and Nat King Cole more often than not. 'A Sunday Kind Of Love' and 'Unforgettable' filing his apartment as he cooked his dinners. 'My Fair Lady' and 'Gone With The Wind' replacing his classic mystery movies.

He even found himself stopping by flower boutiques, smelling the tulips and Orchids. He wonders what your favorite flower is. Perhaps it is Lilies, the flower that represents innocence and purity.

He wondered a lot if you were a virgin. Often imagining the feeling of your body under his large one late at night when he can't sleep, and when his hand finds itself under his pants.

You had him wrapped around your pretty little finger and you didn't even know it.

Vice Versa, you found yourself looking forward to Fridays as well.

It was the only day you could see the stranger who you had been thinking about constantly.

You liked his style, the way he carried himself with a confidence that intimidated you. His large frame towered over everyone, and he stood out from the crowd. He was perfect. It was as if god himself sculpted him with his own hands.

And oh my god.

You were down bad.

Fiona constantly teased you about it. Making fun of how you stopped wearing your loose cover-up, "Im just hot, that's all Fiona. It's warm in here." You lied. And Fiona was obviously aware of that.

You started offering to stay late with your teacher and help clean up, hoping to catch the stranger before he left. But your teacher always insisted you should go home and rest, and who were you to disobey her.

You've always been perfect. At school, at dance, at everything. When auditions came for Swan Lake, there was no question in anyone's mind about who would get the lead.

But since opening night, things have been slightly different. You often got distracted during practice, your eyes always finding the man in the back corner. You started falling out of your turns, forgetting to bring your pointe shoes, and, worse of all, you had been forgetting to point your toes.

And here you were. Walking to the center of the stage, ready to run through your variation in front of everyone. It was an easy variation, but the end was complicated. You had to do several pirouettes, which you have always been good at. But today you decided to test yourself.

You knew your teacher was becoming increasingly disappointed in you, it plagued your every thought. So, as you spun perfectly, you decided to see how many pirouettes you could perform.

17, 18, 19, 20.

Your leg is wobbling, but you choose to ignore it.

21, 22, 23-

You hear Fiona call your name as your foot slips out of pointe, twisting as you fall on top of it, "Oh my god!" The sickening sound of your ankle cracking causes your heart to drop. The stinging feeling of tears replaced by the overwhelming pain that was now shooting up your leg.

Everyone huddles around you as the teacher runs to call an ambulance, but Fiona kneels at your side, "I know this isn't the right time but, the dilf is running over here right now."

You close your eyes, trying to control your rapid breathing. You wished the stage would open around you and swallow you whole, just put you out of your misery.

In-ho jumps with ease onto the stage, his sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbow, "Move." He pushes past the dancers huddling over you and grabs your face.

Your eyes flick open at the feeling of warm hands pressed against your cheeks. Oh my god, he was holding your face. Your heart fluttered but you didn't notice, you were too worried about the fact that your ankle was bent the wrong way.

In-ho's hand softly brushes over your ankle, causing you to wince. At first, he's skeptical about touching you. Was it too fast? Too sudden? Too bold?

But he didn't have time to think it over as he put his strong arms under you, lifting you gently as he stood. Fiona watched with a smirk on her face as she saw shock fill your eyes, his biceps flexing as he pulled you close to his chest.

Without a word, In-ho steps down from the stage and carries you through the exit, "I have an ambulance coming!" Your teacher ran after him yelling, her typically neat bun somewhat loose and frizzy now.

In-ho motions to his pocket and Fiona responds, grabbing his car key and unlocking his Mercedez-benz, "It will take too long. I'll drive her."

For a split second, you catch his eye, and you could've sworn to god your pain disappeared for a moment. And if it were a different circumstance, In-ho would kiss you. He would kiss you right here with you in his arms.

But the shared look was short-lived as he very carefully sets you in the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt gently. Your ballet teacher leans down to the window, "Don't worry! Fiona can dance for you!"

Your heart shattered.

And tears began to flood. You ignored In-ho's words of reassurance as he took off, speeding to the hospital. The drive was quiet except for your soft cries. And In-ho wanted nothing more than to cradle you and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

"Im sorry im getting your car dirty." You looked at the tear-stained headrest you laid against, wiping your sore eyes with the back of your hand.

In-ho cuts a car off as he turns, ignoring the beeps from the angry driver, "It's okay. I have another one." The subtle money brag wasn't missed by you. In-ho just wanted to impress you.

"What are you? Like a CEO or something?" You turned to face him, giving a pitiful sniffle as he gave another sharp turn.

He chuckled, and you felt your heart beat faster. Was it because of the adrenaline? Or was it because the man whom you've become obsessed with is quite literally acting like your night in shining armor, "Im... Im a game show host."

You nodded, an impressive smile growing on your face, "That's cool. Im y/n by the way."

He flashes a smile, the same smile from the night you first saw him, and a blush creeps up on your tear-stained cheeks, "You're sitting there, with a fucked up ankle, and you're making small talk?"

You suddenly feel embarrassed. He's just some random guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time, nothing more. "Sorry. Just trying to distract myself."

In-ho frowns. Did he say the wrong thing? His grip tightens on the steering wheel, "No! Don't be sorry. If I'm being honest, I've been dying to know your name."

His eyes flick to you before looking back in front of him, "Im Hwang In-ho." A small smile creeps onto his lips as he pulls to a stop in front of the ER.

"Well, Mr. Hwang, it's nice to meet you."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Well, it looks like you have a fracture." You give a long exasperated sigh as the Doctor holds up the X-rays, "The fibula is fractured below the level of the syndesmosis, which is the joint between the tibia and fibula."

You look at In-ho, who, for some reason, seems more stressed than you do, "What's the healing process like? Will she need surgery?" Your head snapped to the doctor at the mention of surgery. Surgery for dancers is like a death sentence.

No. More. Dancing.

"Fractures like these are considered stable, meaning that they are unlikely to worsen with correct treatment and management. You'll just need to wear a boot for a while." The doctor noticed how your concerned look didn't falter, and gave a sigh before placing a hand on your shoulder, "You can still dance."

The breath you were holding escapes your lips as you feel a heavy weight fall off your shoulders, "Thank you so much." The doctor rubs your shoulder before leaving, instructing the nurse to fit you for a boot.

In-ho watches as you close your eyes, a smile resting on your face. He cocked his head, how could you be so beautiful in a moment like this? His eyes take a minute to trail down your body, taking you in, something he's grown fond of doing.

Your hair is a mess, your cheeks are red and tear-stained, your ankle looks like a snapped twig, and you're picking at your cuticles. But god.

You are perfect.

Just as beautiful now as you were months ago.

An unfamiliar feeling has taken over his chest ever since he saw you. A tightening, warm feeling that he hasn't felt in years. At first, he ignored it. Maybe it was just heartburn? But as it progressed, he got worried. The next thing you know a doctor is laughing in his face.

Calling it 'love'.

In-ho immediately left after he heard that, making sure to write a very passive-aggressive review on Yelp. What doctor diagnosed a patient with 'being in love'?

In-ho was not in love.

...

Right?

It wasn't until he watched 'Funny Face' that he realized the estranged doctor was correct. The moment Fred Astaire saw Aubrey Hepburn and was immediately captivated by her beauty, he knew it was true.

He didn't care that he was more than twenty years older than you, or that he had bigger things to worry about, all he cared about was you.

And that made him so confused.

You had managed to captivate his heart, soul, and body. And he felt like a teenager with his first crush all over again. So as he saw you look up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, he couldn't help what happened next.

He stood from his chair, taking large steps towards your frame. You furrowed your eyebrows as you watched him stand between your legs, careful not to hit your ankle.

His big hands reach down and grab your face, slamming your lips into his own. Your eyes grow wide, confusion flashing across your face before slowly giving in, pulling his head down lower.

His touch was gentle, the opposite of his kiss. His hands softly caressed your red cheeks, while his lips hungrily chased after your own.

You tugged at the baby hairs that rested on the back of his neck, desire and hunger feeding off you as he slipped his tongue into your pretty mouth. A low growl escaped his swollen lips, and you felt arousal begin to pool between your thighs.

You whine as he removes his hand from your face and steps back, crossing his arms. His gaze has always been intimidating. But now that he's seen you fall on your ass, cry, and melt under his touch all in one day, it is much more intimidating.

You've been vulnerable in front of him. Something you could never do before. But you didn't care if he saw your flaws, you were perfect to him.

He saw a future when he looked at you. He saw a family, something he had longed for many years ago. He saw hope, love, and promise.

He saw you.

Beautiful, perfect, irresistible you.

And as he looked at you, only one question entered his mind.

"Do you want to meet my cat?"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

a/n: chat. its 2 am. but i am DETERMINED to post this. i just love you guys sm mwah mwah. also, wasn't in a smut mood. still getting used to writing smut LMAO.

also random disclaimer: i have never done ballet. so if any terms are wrong or if my spelling is trash PLS LMK!

@bohemiandelilah @menabuser16 @verouys @speedymagazinewhispers @metalbaby2 @nellabear @marymun @orihime188 @nanascupid @fnl9zer @chasinghxran @crystalizia @auspicious-lilana @machipyun @cdej6 @namelesslosers

#hwang inho x reader #hwang in ho #in ho x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #hwang in ho x reader #in ho #squid games #lee byung hun x reader #lee byung hun #001 x reader #young il x reader #young il #front man #front man x reader

2K notes · View notes

sprenthecreator · 1 month ago

Text

P.S.T INTERLUDES. 2 | Deep in the Willow

Male reader x Seulgi, Wendy

10.2k words

tags: sorrow( :( ), whipped cream, threesome, anal, fucktoy wendy

━•✦•━•✦•━

"So? How's Europe?"

Rina was on the other side of the screen on FaceTime with you. She was in London, the second stop on the European leg of Aespa's tour. The cute angel looked tired, her hair loose and somewhat disheveled, already dressed in the blue pajamas she loved as she spoke to you at length about her recent experiences.

"And god, Minjeong has been clingier than usual!" Rina said in an exasperated tone. "Not having you around makes it a damn group task to keep her from going crazy."

"Speaking of not having any of us around…" You took a moment to consider the words, aware of how sensitive the subject was for everyone. "How's the new manager? I imagine the change hasn't been easy."

Rina's expression darkened as she looked down. It pained her to remember that Jihye was no longer her manager as much as it pained you to not have her by your side.

"Well… he's not Jihye, but he takes good care of us," Rina looked up. "At least he doesn't ask me to give him head. That's good."

You both burst out laughing at the memory.

"You can't complain, though," you pointed out. "That little favor led to those nights in Miami. I wouldn't trade anything for it."

"That's true," Rina smiled, and you heard her bedroom door open. "We have to do that again. You know, when the tide goes out a little."

"Jimin-ah!" you heard Minjeong say. "It's supposed to be girls' night and you're here. You said we'd watch Little Women!"

"Coming, coming!" Rina said. She squealed when one of the girls tickled her as a threat. "We were just catching up! We're leaving now."

Minjeong pulled Rina away from her own phone to say hello. Ning and then Aeri joined her on either side to do the same.

"How have you been, darling?" Ning asked.

Damn, what a question. How were you? Being in the eye of the storm day after day hadn't let you stop and think about it. It seemed crazy, but it wasn't. You didn't really know how you were. That's what happened when you were busy all the time: your mental health took a backseat, like going on autopilot through life. Honestly, you didn't know if that was good or bad.

"I've been fine, dear," you opted to say. "At least I'd like to think so."

Minjeong took the whole frame to herself.

"Any news about Jihye?" she asked, hoping for good news.

Another difficult question. Only you were expecting that one, and you were dreading it. You couldn't blame Minjeong for asking it; after all, she must still be feeling guilty about the whole thing.

Three months had passed since the events at the airport, and aside from rumors that were just rumors and the occasional leaked message from Gunwook, Jihye's existence had come to feel like a mere dream. Something that was once too good and beautiful to be true. Something that had been taken away from you.

Because yes, she was taken away from you. From you and the girls.

You took a deep breath and searched your phone for the last message Gunwook had given you about her.

"And I quote: Jihye and Irene are fine," you said. "She misses the girls and is constantly watching fancams and supporting them from Seoul. She also wanted me to tell you all that technically she was still your boss, just a few steps above you. So you better not disappoint her."

When you exited the messaging app and zoomed in on FaceTime again, you were met with faces full of mixed emotions.

"Oh… okay," Minjeong said. "Well, it's good to know we still have her support."

"I really miss her…" Ning added softly.

And a silence fell between you.

"I'll keep you updated, I promise," you said after a few seconds. "But right now you have a movie to watch and I have work to do."

The girls said their goodbyes one by one, Rina being the last. And so, your video call with the girls ended.

Bringing you back to the harsh and exhausting reality.

Shortly after the pool party, work had you by the throat with a grip that wouldn't loosen. Just as Gunwook and Jihye had anticipated some time ago, the level of paranoia among the upper management after the incident with the reporter had skyrocketed. Now they had you hunting down college boys and forcing them to cut off all contact with idols or trainees from their companies.

Interestingly, JYP was the complete opposite, considerably more flexible and permissive. They were somewhat strict, as you'd expect, but they were everything the other agencies weren't: humane. That confirmed to you that all this time, Gunwook had indeed been on the right side of history and was truly putting his effort into his fight to give idols decent lives. Thank god he was winning it.

That was a relief, because over the past three months, the two of you had become more than just coworkers; you could now call each other a friend. It would have been a shame to throw that away if he had turned out to be another heartless maniac.

And speaking of JYP, ITZY started preparing for their world tour not long after the pool party.

The stress was making them all miserable, but it was Lia who, sadly, finally gave in to the pressure and requested a hiatus so she could take care of her mental health after so many years of working day and night nonstop. She would be close to her family, right where she needed to be to heal, so you remained calm about it, knowing everything would be okay for her.

But that didn't mean you didn't miss her like crazy. Lia was one of those rays of sunshine who always helped you move forward, and now it was the ray of sunshine who needed help to move forward. It broke your heart, and you couldn't do anything but pray for her return as soon as possible.

Other than that, the only thing you could do while the girls were all on tour was throw yourself into your new job. Nayeon and Chaeyeon had been trying to distract you from that from time to time, and while they had usually succeeded, the most common thing was for you to joke about them having to make an appointment with your receptionist first.

The same receptionist who, at that time of the afternoon, was helping you with your notes. Being on the dirty side of the industry, Gunwook had suggested you keep a file as a burn book, and one of the day's tasks had basically been to update the records to stay current.

Of course, you weren't stupid. The file contained a long list of many things the agencies wanted kept secret that only a few of you knew, so the most sensible thing was to give code names to each of the idols involved in each case. Western names, mostly. And the password for that file was saved in a notebook in your personal safe.

You were just doing that last thing. But as you were entering the safe combination to store the notebook, your phone vibrated on your desk. Gunwook was the one calling.

It wasn't uncommon for him to call at that time of the afternoon, so you quickly assumed he'd either invite you over for drinks and karaoke, or invite you over to his house to show off his collection of fine liquors. So you took the call without fear.

"Hello?" you answered, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you continued doing what you were doing.

"Hey man," Gunwook said. "Look, I hate to make this call, but it's best to give you a heads-up."

Well, and there went all your hope for a peaceful, normal call.

"You're going to get a call soon, from my namesake at HYBE. I'm sure you remember him from the airport."

"Uh… yeah, I remember him. Unfortunately," you said, closing the safe and signaling for your receptionist to leave.

"Well, what he's going to ask you to do tomorrow is probably the most messed up thing you've done so far."

"Gunwook, you're scaring me," You sat up straighter in your seat and leaned back.

"Tomorrow you'll have to go to the HYBE building, using the same underground parking garage as always so as not to attract attention. And listen to me carefully," his tone became more imperative, but also lower. "You can't, and you won't, talk to the girl you're picking up. She'll be wearing a mask, cap and sunglasses, so you won't know who she is."

Suddenly, a chill ran through you. The words stuck in your mouth, and already feeling anxious, you stood up to pace slowly around your office.

"Look, this shit sounds wrong, Gunwook. What the fuck am I getting myself into?"

"You're going to take her to a clinic, and before you get her out, you're going to make sure there's only the necessary personnel inside for her… operation."

"So much secrecy for a simple cosmetic surgery?" you asked. "I've already taken idols to appointments like that. What's the difference here?"

"This isn't plastic surgery we're talking about, kid," Gunwook said, his voice shaking throughout the sentence.

That alone was enough to make reality hit you like a speeding truck. The chills returned, and with them the unpleasant feeling of your stomach crumpling like a cardboard bag.

"You don't have to say anything else, Gun," you said. "The topic is difficult for me to broach, let alone for you with your religious beliefs."

"You have no idea," Gunwook sighed. "The decision wasn't mine, but my priest will definitely find out about this at my next confession."

There was a much-needed silence between you.

"I know this is heavy, kid," Gunwook began again, his voice calmer now. "But we need you to be a professional tomorrow. With something this delicate, you're going to be under scrutiny all day, and yes, they're going to be on your trail too. I also recommend you don't write this down in your notes; it'll be like it never happened."

Just as he finished speaking, you received a second call. An unknown number. It had to be him.

"It's happening, dude," you said. "I'll call you back later."

"Sure. Good luck, bro. And God bless."

With that, you hung up on Gunwook and answered the other one.

As you expected, the HYBE representative told you everything Gunwook had already told you you would do, but lacked the tact with which your friend spoke about it. He even mentioned that the root of the problem had been this girl and her stupid boyfriend not using protection. To the surprise of no one.

The son of a bitch sounded like a robot: not a hint of emotion as he talked about the matter. He didn't sound worried, or disturbed, or anything. He didn't care at all. It was fucking sickening to hear him talk, especially since he talked about the girl—whom you decided to call Rosemary—as if she were a damn animal.

All you could hope for was that one day karma would knock on that bastard's door and force him to testify.

The weight of what was going to happen tomorrow fell heavily and oppressively on your shoulders on the ride home. You were one of those who believed that women could do whatever they wanted with their bodies, and that the decision was solely theirs. But in this case, you felt like the decision was everyone's but hers.

For the love of God, poor girl.

Much to your chagrin, you had to swallow all your worries and go with the flow. You were in the middle of a war, and as low and mean as that seemed to you, there were battles better lost. So tomorrow you'd be a good soldier and do whatever was asked of you.

But fuck. Poor girl. All because she was an imperfect human, like you and everyone else. The only difference was that, in Rosemary's case, she'd chosen the wrong industry in which to make mistakes.

The next morning, you arrived punctually at the meeting point designated by the HYBE representative: the underground entrance to the main building, which was accessible only with prior authorization. You parked right in front of the exit, as instructed.

Anxiety was eating away at you from the inside. Over time, you'd trained your stomach to cope with the pressure of dealing with these kinds of situations. But this absolutely surpassed all extremes. There was nothing about it that felt right or normal.

The demons didn't keep you waiting long. A couple of minutes after your arrival, a security guard came out, escorting a girl who perfectly matched the description Gunwook had given you. Rosemary hurried to follow the path the security guard indicated, head down and arms crossed as she was ushered into the backseat of the sedan you had rented for the day.

When the girl settled into the seat, the guard closed the door and approached your window, which you had to roll down. He bent down and rested a forearm on the edge of the window.

"Look, kid, I don't think I need to remind you how crucial it is that everything goes smoothly today," his tone of voice was subtle and kind, but you could see in his eyes that he was trying to intimidate you. "You can't, and you won't screw this up. There will be zero tolerance."

He then took a folded piece of paper out of his front jacket pocket and handed it to you.

"That's the address you'll be going," he pointed as you opened the paper. "Don't even think about using the GPS. Just follow the street signs."

"Understood," you nodded. "There'll be no problem."

"Good. Get out of here."

The guard stepped back and signaled for you to get going.

According to the address they'd given you, and according to your calculations, it would take you around 15 minutes to get there. 15 minutes in which you'd have to deal with the awkward silence inside the car, because you couldn't talk to her, and you also couldn't play music because it would be too out of place.

It was going to be a fucking horrible ride.

There was a huge chasm between you and Rosemary. No connection at all. When you got a taxi, the driver would at least try to make conversation once in a while, or play the radio at a considerable volume to keep the atmosphere pleasant. But at that moment, all you were forced to hear was the sound of the engine running and the air conditioning. Nothing else. It was unbearable. And it must have been even worse for her.

The worst part wasn't that, but the uncomfortable feeling that you weren't transporting a sentient person. The mask, the cap, the sunglasses, and the fact that she remained silent the entire trip certainly didn't help either. Rosemary was being treated like a disposable object, and that was exactly the feeling all of this gave you. Fuck, you just wanted it to end soon.

Your calculations were correct, and you arrived at the clinic about 15 minutes later. It wasn't exactly a seedy place, but it wasn't the kind of clinic a famous person would go to for medical problems.

"Stay here for a moment, please," you said to Rosemary, breaking the silence after all that time. "I'll pick you up right away."

Rosemary didn't say anything, just nodded distractedly.

Getting out of the car, you went straight into the clinic and followed the protocol they'd given you to the letter. You'd been told the staff was already aware of everything, so your job was to make sure everyone remembered the importance of everything running smoothly that day. Part of the job also involved questioning the nurses specifically, to prevent any potential leaks. You weren't going to be in charge of the doctors; coercing them would be the job of your superiors.

After making sure the staff was trustworthy, you left the clinic and opened the car door for Rosemary to get out. Then you escorted her inside, looking in every possible direction for onlookers. But even four eyes in your back couldn't have saved you from the car that was parking behind yours at that very moment. Instantly, a man you didn't recognize got out.

Then you remembered what Gunwook had told you: 'They're going to be on your trail too.'

Fuck, they were good. More than once, you'd looked in the car's rearview mirror to see if anyone was following you, and not once had you seen that car. Terrifying.

You simply motioned for Rosemary to walk inside. You followed her.

The nurses quickly took care of her, directing you to sit and wait on some benches near the reception desk. Anxious for everything to go well and your heart pounding, you nodded and sat down for a wait that seemed like an eternity. You weren't one to overthink things, but hundreds of ways this could somehow go wrong ran through your mind.

Fortunately, the doctor came out of the operating room half an hour later to tell you that everything had gone perfectly, and that she would be discharged in about an hour. Only then did you allow yourself to relax.

"So…" the doctor folded his hands behind his back. "About the payment?"

"Uhm…" you frowned. You had assumed HYBE had already taken care of that.

The doctor and you turned your heads toward the clinic entrance when the man who'd parked behind you walked in, a duffle bag in his hand, presumably full of money.

"Every won is in here, doc," the man said, placing the duffle bag on the ground. "With a little something extra as a thank you for your professionalism."

"Thank you," the doctor bowed and took the bag without hesitation.

"Now you know the drill: I need every tool you used to dispose of them. Including what was already discarded."

"Sure," the doctor nodded.

He turned to signal one of the nurses, who shortly returned with everything packed in vacuum-sealed ziplock bags, which were then handed to the HYBE man.

"Excellent. Pleasure doing business," the HYBE man now turned to you. "You're almost there, kid. Keep going and don't do anything stupid. I have plans tonight, and I wouldn't want to cancel because I have to clean up your messes."

"Whatever you say, man," you replied, already mentally exhausted, perhaps in a less than friendly tone. "I know what I'm doing."

"You better."

The man then turned around and left the way he'd come in. A few seconds later, you heard his car start and speed off down the street.

An hour passed until Rosemary finally emerged from the operating room, flanked by two nurses who had been guiding her.

The sight of the poor girl broke your heart.

Rosemary walked with her head down, slightly hunched over, hugging herself, her steps somewhat unsteady. As she got closer, you could notice her hands were shaking. In another context, you would have assumed she had some kind of severe concussion, but on second thought, the apple didn't fall too far from the tree.

For the love of god, what the hell was wrong with the world? That was exactly what a girl whose decision about her body had been ignored, trampled on, and spat on looked like. You would have said she looked fragile, but no.

That girl was already broken.

"All set to go, ma’am?" you asked one of the nurses.

"Yes, sir," a nurse nodded. "Make sure she doesn't get too agitated."

"It'll be no problem, thank you very much," you motioned for Rosemary to walk ahead of you. "Good afternoon."

And so, in a matter of minutes, you were back at the HYBE building, a journey that was uneventful but had left you feeling unpleasantly sick.

When you parked in front of the same underground entrance, you heard a girl talking. You thought it was someone outside the car, but when you listened closely, you realized it was Rosemary talking. Some medication must have loosened her tongue.

"This is bullshit," Rosemary said to herself with a chuckle. "I didn't do anything the other girls didn't do. Nothing. I just had bad luck. It's fucking bullshit…"

Your orders were not to speak to the girl, and you did your best to hold your tongue.

"I probably would have made that decision myself," Rosemary continued. "But it all happened so fast I didn't even have time to think about it."

There was another long pause. The HYBE employee was taking his considerable time appearing.

"So much work… so much effort put into all of this," Rosemary's voice cracked, and even you could feel the lump in her throat. "It was my dream. Fuck… it was my dream…" she sobbed. "All wasted for 20 minutes under the covers. I'm an idiot."

Your stomach lurched. You looked out the window, biting your nails, your face dismayed. It was so painful to hear her blame herself, so heartbreaking, that you couldn't help but glance at her in the rearview mirror.

"Hey, you can still debut," you said. "You'll be able to handle all of this, I'm sure. Lean on your other trainees…"

Rosemary started laughing through her tears.

"I can tell you're new on this side of the pond," she mocked. "A little naive and too sweet. I appreciate your concern, but my fate is already sealed. The company agreed to settle my debt in exchange for signing an NDA, and then they'll fabricate a bullying scandal in my name to get me out of the group. Simple as that."

Then finally, the same HYBE employee from a few hours ago came out to pick up Rosemary.

"Wait a second here," he said as Rosemary got out of the car.

The man motioned for Rosemary to come inside the building with him. And that was the last time you saw her.

He returned a few minutes later, carrying a duffle bag similar to the one given to the doctor, but not much smaller. He placed it on the passenger seat.

"Good job today, kid," he said, and without further ado, he walked back inside.

When the man disappeared from your sight, you opened the bag a little to confirm what it was: money, and quite a bit of it. As always, it was going to be a pain to declare it to the tax authorities, but thanks to Gunwook, you had made some contacts that would make things easier.

However, money was the least of your problems at that moment.

Despite having already finished the job, the bad feeling wouldn't go away. Not even when on the way home you'd put on some music in the car to try to wash your brain of the memories of that day. It was useless; you were on autopilot, unable to feel good even knowing that none of it was your fault and that there was nothing you could have done to prevent it.

It was a call from Gunwook that brought you back to reality at a stoplight.

"Hi," you answered halfheartedly.

"Hey bro, how are you holding up?" Gunwook asked.

You sighed, staring blankly at the red light. A light drizzle had begun to fall at that time of the afternoon, even though it was almost October and the rainy season had already passed.

"How do you think?"

"Sure, it was a stupid question, sorry."

"Nah, you good."

"I don't feel much better than you, if that helps, but hey, did you eat already?"

"I plan on doing it when I get home. I don't feel like stopping to eat anywhere right now."

"You can come over tonight if you want," Gunwook said. "You know, we'll grill some steaks and have a drink, and my wife can make us a salad."

"Honestly, I think what I need is time at home. I…"

"That'll work!" Gunwook interrupted. "I can take the steaks and beer over there."

"Gun, I appreciate it, but no. I just want to unwind."

"Well… okay," Gunwook finally relented, hesitantly. "Anyway, I'm just a phone call away, buddy."

"I know, thanks. Have a nice afternoon."

You hung up and waited a few more seconds until the light turned green again.

Once you got home, you went straight to the couch and sat down, surrounded by a cold and profound silence, wondering how much longer you could endure all that fucking torment. After all, the person you were willing to do all this for in the first place didn't show even the slightest hint of caring. So what was the point?

Your sense of time vanished as you sat there, sunk in the middle of a moral dilemma that was starting to give you a headache. Your stomach growled, but you didn't have the strength to get up and cook anything. You didn't even change your position during the thirty minutes you were dissociating.

But a soft, unusual knock on your door awakened all your senses, completely certain that you were now a loose end that they, the demons, needed to burn. It was probably just your paranoia, but you had reason to believe such a thing. At that point, you saw them as capable of anything.

The heaviest object within reach was an acoustic guitar Chaery had given you a while back. You picked it up by the neck and walked toward the door as cautiously as possible. Two more knocks, and you were already preparing to smash the guitar over someone's head.

"Hey, we know you're there," you heard… Seulgi? say from the other side of the door. "Don't play hard to get."

Of all the voices you expected to hear that night, Seulgi's certainly wasn't one of them. After leaning the guitar against the wall next to the door, you opened it to find two beauties standing in the doorway.

"Hey tiger, long time no see, huh?" Wendy greeted, as Seulgi threw her arms around your neck and hugged you.

The thoughts of wanting to be alone in your bubble of misery and dismay disappeared when you saw Wendy smile and when you wrapped your arms around Seulgi's body.

But the fact that the two of them were there, at that time of day and after everything that had happened, seemed suspicious. Something didn't fit.

"Wait a minute," you pulled away from Seulgi, somewhat distracted by the fact that they were both wearing outfits that left their midriffs exposed. "How did you know my day was a total mess?"

Seulgi placed her hand on your chest and led you inside. Wendy, being the last to enter, closed the door behind her.

"We don't know all the details," Seulgi began as you hugged Wendy. "And maybe this isn't what you want to hear right now, but Gunwook called Jihye and told her he was worried about you."

Wendy went to sit on your couch when you gestured for her to sit. Seulgi walked beside you, following the same path.

"He told her that today you'd have to do something you'd never had to do before and that he knew it would affect you," Seulgi sat down next to Wendy, and you sat down next to her. "After talking to Gunwook, Jihye shared her concern with Irene, and as soon as Irene got some time alone she called us and asked us to come check on you."

Knowing that Jihye still cared about you made you feel like an idiot. How could you even dare doubt the most wonderful woman you'd ever met? It was even insulting to the memory you had of her. Never again.

But Irene?

Was she showing signs of being a real, sentient person? Or was this just another one of her tricks? It's not like you held a furious grudge against her, but anything she did was enough to make you doubt her. It wasn't your fault, though; she'd earned that reputation the hard way.

"What, are you surprised it was Irene who sent us here?" Seulgi asked, curious by your silence. "I told you she wasn't all evil."

"She also forbade us from telling Jihye we were coming to see you," Wendy added. "She didn't want you to think it was a way to curry favor with you. She really does care about you."

Irene legitimately worried about you? Wow, that sounded idyllic. It was something to behold.

"And I thought nothing could surprise me anymore," you said, slumped in your seat with your arms crossed. "But it seems you all have tricks up your sleeves."

Then you began to share your day with them, perhaps skipping details and not explaining yourself very well on some things, but in a way that helped you vent and process everything with a cool head and out of the fire. Wendy and Seulgi listened attentively to every word, careful not to interrupt you more than necessary. When you finished letting out everything you were feeling, Wendy kissed your cheek and stood up to go to the kitchen, rummage through your pantry, and start making dinner for the three of you.

Seulgi snuggled up against you, her head resting on your collarbone on the left side, wrapped in your arm.

"I'm so sorry you're having to go through all this, darling," Seulgi said after a while, wrapping an arm around your abdomen to hug you. "And believe me, I'm just as devastated as you are for that poor girl." She turned her head to look at you closely. "But beating ourselves up about it won't get us anywhere."

"You knew this wasn't going to be an easy road and that you were going to need some serious balls to get through it. I have faith in you and your desire to help all these people, and I love your nobility. But it won't happen overnight, sweetheart. Don't be so hard on yourself."

You remained silent, not quite sure what to say to such kind words. Seulgi understood, and being the care bear she was, she only hugged you tighter. You hugged her back and closed your eyes.

"Thank you, little bear," you sighed. "In case I haven't thanked you enough for everything."

"I don't need you to. You deserve everything for always being so sweet to us."

"Guys, dinner's ready!" Wendy said from the kitchen behind you. "Come on."

You and Seulgi stood up and went to sit at the dining table. Wendy had prepared chicken wraps with orange juice, something quick and delicious that she knew you'd love.

Wendy carried the plates to the table and sat across from you, Seulgi to your left. Then, you proceeded to eat while catching up. You hadn't seen Wendy in a while, so it was only natural that she did most of the talking throughout dinner.

The levity of the conversation managed to wash away all the bad feelings you had after the events of that day. It was strange, but lately, there were very frequent moments when you stopped to appreciate the wonderful friendships you'd made and all the good things that had happened to you thanks to the questionable career decisions you'd made so far. You were extremely lucky for that.

But at that moment, all your gratitude was directed toward those two women who were eating with you that night. Who knows where your thoughts would have gone if they hadn't shown up? The range of stupid decisions was wide, and every one of them ended with you either at a severe disadvantage or potentially in a black bag in the Han River.

Blessed were Jihye and Irene, after all.

"Hey, aren't you hungrier by any chance?" Wendy asked half an hour later, when you'd finished eating and talking.

"Hungrier?" you asked. "Why?"

"I don't know…" you heard Wendy take off her sneakers, and a moment later, you felt one of her feet on your inner right thigh. "I'm kind of hungry for more than just food."

Seulgi placed her hand on your other thigh, and you turned to face her. Where had her black jacket gone?

"I think me too, you know?" Seulgi said. Her fingers tightened on your thigh, and her hand moved up to grope your bulge. "I guess it's because I didn't have lunch today."

"You guys are big eaters then, aren't you?" you asked, as Wendy rubbed one of your thighs with her foot and Seulgi worked you up with her hand.

"Only on very specific days," Seulgi replied, and when you wrapped your left arm around her back to hold her waist, she kissed you.

Seulgi immediately unbuttoned your pants, unzipped your zipper, and pulled your hard cock out of your boxers, wrapping her fingers around it and slowly moving her wrist. Wendy added to the equation by lifting her foot slightly and rubbing the back of your shaft and your balls with her toes.

Since you found it impossible to stay still with Kang Seulgi by your side, you brought your right hand to her perfect tummy and caressed it with your fingertips before undoing her belt, unbuttoning her pants, and reaching in to rub her pussy over her panties.

Seulgi let out a soft moan against your lips and cupped the side of your face with her left hand, while the other moved off your cock to unzip her pants, pull down the top of her pink crop top and pull up the bottom so it was bunched up just below her breasts, which were currently covered by a black bra.

Wendy took advantage of Seulgi's release of your cock and leaned back in the chair to lift her other leg, take your shaft between her feet, and move them up and down.

Seconds later, Seulgi's panties became slightly wet from you rubbing circles on her clit. You then took your hand out of her pants, and before moving it to her breasts, you used your left hand to unclasp her bra, revealing those pretty mounds. Seulgi bit your lip and sighed when you pinched one of her nipples, returning her hand to your cock.

"Do you have any whipped cream?" you heard Wendy ask with a moan.

Frowning, you broke away from Seulgi's lips to turn to look at her; the question seemed odd to you. Wendy had already removed her black crop top and bra. Only her necklace remained, the cross perfectly positioned between her small, bare breasts.

Wendy just looked you in the eye and bit her lower lip. You didn't need any further explanation; you got it immediately.

"In the fridge," you replied. "I just bought it yesterday."

Wendy smirked, slid her legs off your lap, and stood up to go to the kitchen. Meanwhile, you and Seulgi stood up and walked over to the couch to kiss again. Seulgi grabbed the hem of your pants and boxers and pulled them both down. Returning the gesture, you took care of her pants and panties, and also took off your sweater so that both of you were naked.

Seulgi pushed you down onto the couch, then straddled you to cradle your face and deepen the kiss. Her pussy ground against your cock, and she ground her hips slowly to rub it between her wet folds. Your hands immediately went to grope her firm ass.

"Dessert is served!" Wendy said, standing behind you. "Come here, unnie."

Seulgi pulled away from your lips and looked up. You both looked at Wendy, who was holding the tub of whipped cream. Seulgi smiled and straightened her back, sticking out her chest so Wendy could cover her tits with whipped cream.

Wendy tapped you on the back of the neck with her middle finger.

"Come on, you know what to do," she urged.

Maybe your memory was failing at the moment, but you couldn't remember a single time you'd done that. Seulgi's tits looked stupidly hot, tho, and you loved whipped cream, reason enough to lean your head forward and start licking and sucking as slowly as you could.

Seulgi seemed to like it as much as you did, letting out small, muffled moans as she held the back of your neck, her fingers tugging at strands of your hair. Wendy joined you on the couch, sitting on your left side, completely naked except for her necklace. She knelt up and poured whipped cream on her small tits, so when you were finished with Seulgi, you could move on to hers.

Wendy moaned and wrapped her arms around your neck as you licked the whipped cream off her perky little nipples. Seulgi climbed off you and sat on your right side, grabbing the can of whipped cream and pouring just a little on the tip of your cock. Then, she bent down, licked it, and wrapped her lips around it to suck a few inches of your shaft.

"Hmm, I want to do that too," Wendy gasped. "Stand up."

You obeyed and stood in front of the couch. Seulgi and Wendy sat back on their heels, side by side, and both leaned toward your cock to lick and kiss it from different sides. It was Wendy who grabbed the can of whipped cream to pour it in a straight line from your base to your tip, and without a second's hesitation, she opened her mouth and took a sizable portion of your shaft inside until her lips closed and moved up. There was a bit of cream left near your base, but Seulgi was quick to lick it off.

Wendy sucked your cock with sensual pumps of her head, savoring the whipped cream she had collected as Seulgi poured more cream onto the few inches of your shaft that Wendy couldn't reach, using her tongue to lick it clean and suck on it.

When Wendy pulled out of her mouth, Seulgi took her place, sucking on almost the same number of inches of your cock as Wendy, who moved down to cup your balls, fill them with whipped cream, and bring them to her mouth. You moaned, one hand on both heads. You watched them have fun with your cock for a few minutes, letting them slurp and lick as much whipped cream as they wanted from it. Soon your cock was slick and saliva-soaked.

"Would you let me have a little fun too?" you asked, taking the can of whipped cream from Seulgi's hand.

"Oh sure, baby," Seulgi smiled, turning her back on you to lean forward and rest her hands on the back of the couch, her beautiful ass now at your mercy.

Wendy imitated her, and in a few seconds, both beauties were on all fours on your couch. The temptation to fuck them right away was there, but the desire to taste those asses and pussies was even bigger. So, you started by swirling whipped cream twice over each of Seulgi's buttocks, then bent your knees, grabbed her thighs, and licked the cream off, adding kisses and bites.

Moving to Wendy, you spanked her buttocks a couple of times and made her squeal, knowing she loved spanks. Then, on the red marks your hands had left, you poured cream the same way you did with Seulgi and repeated the process.

"Fuck, you must be in heaven, right?" Seulgi asked with a chuckle.

"You have no idea," you smiled, delighting in licking and kissing Wendy's cute, tight asshole. "And I haven't even eaten your pussies yet."

"Then what are you waiting for, hunk?" Wendy asked, looking over her shoulder at you. "Can't you see how wet you've got me?"

"What, needy already?" you asked back. "I can tell we haven't seen each other in months."

"Oh god, shut your mouth and… oh fuck yes," Wendy moaned when you grabbed her ass cheeks and brought your mouth to her pussy. "That's it, that's exactly it."

You gave Wendy a quick taste, licking and kissing between her folds. You also allowed yourself to move up a bit and pay attention to her butthole, making her moan louder since that was one of her sensitive spots.

"Hey, cutie," Seulgi called. "Over here."

Turning around, you found Seulgi spread-eagled, her head resting on the armrest at the end of the couch. Her pussy was covered in a line of whipped cream. Unable to resist, you moved away from Wendy and knelt on the floor in front of Seulgi, grabbing her thighs and wiping the cream off her pussy with a single upward lick.

Wendy lay between Seulgi and the back of the couch and hugged her, attacking her neck with kisses. Seulgi moaned, one hand in your hair as you savored the cream and ate her pussy, and the other cupping Wendy's face as she kissed her.

Seconds later, Wendy and Seulgi's lips met. The two women shared a passionate and sensual kiss, groping each other. Wendy rubbed Seulgi's clit, and Seulgi played with Wendy's small tits. The scene made your cock throb, especially seeing that pair of perfect tummies side by side.

Something occurred to you.

You left Seulgi's pussy and knelt in front of them, grabbing the can of whipped cream and pouring three lines on Seulgi's belly. You leaned down, grabbed her waist, and licked the sweet cream directly from her firm flesh. You did the same with Wendy, savoring the cream while you covered her toned abdomen with wet kisses and licks.

After indulging in that little treat, you went a little higher and, leaving the whipped cream aside, brought both pairs of tits to your mouth again. Seulgi reached down and grabbed your cock to rub it. Wendy, for her part, had you by the side of your neck while you were focused on her. A minute later, you rose up towards their faces, and the three of you merged into a dirty, saliva-filled triple kiss.

"Mmm, I'm assuming you're going to want to get fucked first, right?" you asked Wendy seconds later. "Seulgi can't protest; she already paid me a visit a few days ago."

Seulgi frowned.

"I don't know how that has to do with…"

"You're assuming right, sweetie," Wendy nodded, ignoring Seulgi. "You must be missing one of your favorite tight pussies, aren't you?"

"You can't imagine," you gave her a small kiss. "Wanna ride me?"

"No, right now I want you to pound my pussy like you've been saving that energy for all the days we haven't seen each other," Wendy replied, looking into your eyes with every word.

Wendy knelt up so you could wrap your arm around her small body and carry her to the opposite side of the couch, laying her on her back and spreading her legs. You spit on your cock to lubricate it, and without wasting much more time, you placed the tip inside Wendy's pussy and slowly pushed forward.

"Oh fuck fuck fuck," Wendy gasped, watching as you buried every inch inside her tight pussy until it bulged her abdomen. "Oh my god, wait," she writhed with a hand on your abdomen. "You're the biggest thing I've ever had inside me, and it's been too long."

Seulgi moved to the other end of the couch, which had a wider space, and got on her hands and knees, facing you, her face directly above Wendy's. She stroked her beautiful short brown hair and grabbed Wendy's face to force her to look at you.

"Ask him to fuck you really hard, go on," Seulgi said in a low, silky voice. "I know you're ready. You just like feeling him stretch you from the inside out."

Wendy looked you straight in the eyes as you held her left thigh against hers and left the other loose. Her face was flushed, making her pale skin look even prettier.

"Fuck me really, really hard, sweetie," Wendy moaned, caressing your abdomen with her fingertips. "My pussy needs it. I need it."

Fuck, you'd almost forgotten how submissive Wendy had always been.

"Don't beg anymore, gorgeous," you said with the same gentleness Seulgi had used, starting to slowly move your hips. "You know I always spoil you."

With that, you spent only a few seconds fucking her pussy slowly until you drastically increased your speed, making Wendy smother moans against Seulgi's lips. Her tiny waist was your initial point of grip, digging your fingers hard into her flesh as you shook her petite body with hard, fast thrusts.

Seulgi quickly grew aroused just watching you fuck Wendy and let out little moans as well. She leaned forward over Wendy's body, lowering her head to suck and lick her tits. Her ass looked really inviting from there, with that beautiful back arched above Wendy's face.

Wendy started moaning louder when Seulgi reached out a hand and began rubbing circles on her clit, in perfect sync with your strong pumping. Seulgi then looked at Wendy's abdomen, which bulged every time your cock went all the way into her pussy, and leaned forward a little further to kiss that constantly rising portion of flesh.

As the seconds passed, Wendy had her first orgasm, arching her back loudly and hugging Seulgi's body on top of her. You heard her muffle her moans against something, but it was Seulgi's face twisting that made you realize it was her pussy.

"Oh girl, you shouldn't have done that," Seulgi gasped, and turned around to straddle Wendy's face, pinning her arms with her knees. She leaned forward, arching her back again so you could see in detail how Wendy ate her pussy. "You keep at it, champ. She's loving every second of this."

You went from holding Wendy's waist to her thighs, pressing both of them against her torso as you gradually resumed your rhythm. Soon you were pounding her pussy again, so hard that it made her breathing ragged and her nails digging into Seulgi's ass.

Wendy had another orgasm not long after. Her whimpers, muffled against Seulgi's tender, wet flesh, were like music to your ears as you gently fucked her and she squirmed her hips. She instinctively moved one of her feet to your mouth, and of course you accepted it with kisses and sucks on her big toe.

"Don't you think it's my turn now, baby?" Seulgi asked, knowing her ass looked irresistible from that spot.

You pulled out of Wendy's pussy and crawled over her until you were kneeling above her chest, just behind Seulgi's ass. Wendy's first instinct was to capture your balls with her mouth, giving them light suction and licking. But then she grabbed your cock herself and guided it into Seulgi's pussy.

"Fuck, what a view," Wendy said, watching your cock force its way between Seulgi's walls from below. "I fucking love being bisexual."

Wendy continued licking your balls and the underside of your cock until you buried every inch inside Seulgi. Then her focus shifted to her unnie's pussy. Seulgi moaned, both from feeling your cock stretching her and from Wendy's licking. You were just as overwhelmed with pleasure as she was.

"Thank god she's such a good girl," Seulgi moaned, propped up on her elbows. She was looking forward as she ran her hand through her hair.

With Seulgi, you prolonged the slow pumps a little longer, just wanting to feel a little more of the wonders Wendy was doing beneath you. As the seconds passed, you couldn't help going faster, but that didn't stop Wendy from eating Seulgi's pussy like it was a divine command.

"Oh my god, yes!" Seulgi moaned as you pounded her pussy from behind, hands on her waist. "Please don't stop, don't stop!"

One of your hands moved from her waist to her hair, firmly grabbing a handful of it and speeding up as you were close to your climax. Seulgi came first, trembling on Wendy's face, and the way her pussy suffocated your cock and throbbed around it made you explode with moans as loud as Seulgi's.

"God!" you groaned, leaving only your tip inside Seulgi's pussy as you came, so that when you pulled out, your entire load spilled from Seulgi's folds into Wendy's mouth. "Yeah, that's a good girl."

Wendy took every drop that fell from Seulgi's pussy, savored it, and swallowed it without hesitation, then stuck out her tongue and cleaned the rest herself. As a reward, you took your cock and guided it into her mouth. She took it with a moan and sucked it until it was glistening.

"Don't even think I'm done with you," Seulgi told you between gasps, looking back into your eyes. "You know exactly what I want, and I know you want to give it to me."

"I've never refused it," you replied.

You got off Wendy and went to Seulgi, taking up the space on that side she wasn't occupying. As soon as you lay down and rested your head on the small of the couch, Seulgi straddled you. And without even letting your cock soften, she took you back into her pussy and began moving her hips on you.

It was a little painful at first, but nothing you weren't used to with her, especially since she hated breaks. Seulgi bent over you and kissed you while moving her hips on your cock. Your hands went to her waist and quickly went down to her ass as she began to bounce, almost twerking on your shaft.

"Does it feel good for you now, baby?" Seulgi asked in your ear, knowing it had been a bit painful for you. She made you smile at her ability to be so sweet despite the lewd moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine now," you nodded with a giggle, wrapping your arms around her back to hug her. "You're free to go wild."

Maybe you shouldn't have said that, as Seulgi took it quite seriously. She bounced faster and faster on your cock, showing off the excellent control she had over her hips. Then you heard a spank, one you hadn't given her. Glancing to your right, you saw Wendy kneeling beside you, playing with herself with one hand and holding Seulgi's lower back with the other.

"Pay no attention to me," Wendy said. She hadn't noticed that she still had a few drops of cum on her chin. "I'm just watching."

Despite being ‘just watching’, Wendy gave Seulgi another spank that made her squeal. But your amused smile turned into a grimace of pleasure when Seulgi planted her feet on the couch and began bouncing like an unstoppable force of nature on your cock, her hands on your chest and her eyes fixed on yours. Her body had picked up a light layer of sweat, giving it a soft sheen thanks to the living room lights.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!!" Seulgi moaned, reaching up for you to suck on her fingers. You did so without hesitation, playing with her tits until she came again with a grunt.

Seulgi lowered her knees back onto the couch and ground herself against it, your cock buried deep inside her pussy. She throbbed deliciously inside, her silky, suffocating walls making you moan. Her body fell towards you, and with her tits pressed against your chest, she moved her hips up and down as she rode out her orgasm.

Your cock accidentally popped out of Seulgi's pussy, and Wendy was quick to grab it with one hand and suck it with desperate, sloppy slurps.

"Do you want more, you submissive little whore?" you asked, reaching out to grab her ass.

"You ask that like you don't know me," Wendy replied with kisses to your cock, then released it to stand in front of the couch. "Come on, come."

"I love that you guys think I have unlimited energy," you sighed, looking at Seulgi, still panting and with her hair disheveled. "Get off me, big ass."

Seulgi got off you and let you stand.

Wendy was pretty predictable when she wanted something, and that something was you grabbing her behind the knees and lifting her up into the air so she could wrap her legs around your torso. Once that was done, she grabbed your neck and kissed you, letting you grab your cock and guide it inside her.

That woman was small and petite, so it was effortless for you to hold her in the air. This made it easy to manipulate her at will, bouncing her hard and fast on your cock while you held her ass. Wendy squealed against your lips. Her hand was behind your head, tugging at your hair when her arms weren't wrapped around your neck.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Seulgi get off the couch and kneel in front of you, right behind Wendy's ass. Her intentions were clear to you, so you spread Wendy's legs from around your torso, held them in the air with a grip behind her knees, and began pounding her pussy while Seulgi ate her butthole.

Wendy filled the entire apartment with screams worthy of the main vocalist she was, visibly overwhelmed by both simultaneous inputs of pleasure. Her eyes glazed over as her head fell back and her nails dug into the back of your neck. She wasn't much of a talker during sex, and this time was no exception. All her enjoyment was expressed in the way her face twisted and her moans modulated according to how close she was to orgasm.

In that case, her orgasm was very close, and a couple of minutes later, she exploded in spasms and intense screams that rattled your eardrums. Seulgi, her work done, stood up and buried her face in Wendy's neck, peppering it with kisses. Then she looked up at you.

"Do you have lube here?" Seulgi asked, while Wendy still wasn't fully recovered from her orgasm, which was still making her thighs tremble.

"Let's go to the bedroom," you said.

Not wanting to put Wendy down because you knew she wouldn't be able to walk, you picked her up and carried her on your shoulder, your arm wrapped around her thighs.

Seulgi led the way to your bedroom, followed closely by you. Upon entering, the first thing she did was go straight to your nightstand in search of the lube while you placed Wendy on the bed. She quickly found it and crawled into your bed to lie on her side and quickly pour the clear liquid on her ass and part of her thighs.

"Fuck, you really need it, don't you?" you asked, watching as she spread the lube until her ass was shiny and slippery.

"I lost count of the last time you fucked my ass, so yeah," Seulgi looked down at Wendy, who was face down with one knee raised higher than the other. Her ass looked too cute, and Seulgi knew it. "Do you want me to do the same to her?"

"She wants you to, but right now she can't string two sentences together without fainting," you replied.

While Seulgi prepped Wendy's ass, you got into bed, positioned yourself in front of her, grabbed your cock, and pressed it against her butthole, slowly inching it in.

"Oh, fuck, wait," Seulgi moaned, still holding Wendy's ass. "I'm not done yet… mmmgh!"

"You said you needed it, and now I'm a busy man. I can't wait forever," you joked with a half-smile.

Your cock slid easily into Seulgi's perfect, amazing, wonderful ass, every inch surrounded by suffocatingly tight flesh. Seulgi did her best to focus on finishing work on Wendy's ass, and when she did, she tossed the bottle of lube away to grab onto your wrist.

"Fuck me hard then, busy man," Seulgi hissed. You were already moving slowly. "Make up for all these months of not treating me."

It was no secret to either of you, but Seulgi's ass always managed to make your head spin, and you couldn't really put your finger on why. It was simply the ass you loved being inside the most besides Aeri's, Chaery's, and Wendy's. Your moans and the way you clung to her waist proved it.

"That's it, that's it," Seulgi moaned, her body increasingly rocked by your thrusts. "Just like that, baby. Didn't you miss your favorite ass?"

Fuck, of course you did, but at that moment, you couldn't respond; you were focused on fucking her faster and harder. The bedroom soon began to reverberate with the sounds of your pelvis colliding with her sticky ass, coupled with Seulgi's moans. You pressed her thigh back and against her torso with both hands, trying to hit her at that angle you knew she'd love. You knew you'd succeeded when Seulgi brought a hand to her mouth and arched her back, squealing.

"Oh god, yesss!!" Seulgi screamed. "I knew you wouldn't forget. Fuck, fuck!!"

Seulgi slammed her hand on the bed when, a minute later, she came in that way you so vividly remembered from your first sessions with them. Like she was possessed, basically. Her face looked damn sexy while she did it, tho. And her ass was squeezing your cock like hell.

Wendy was already watching, eager for her turn, so with a swift movement, you pulled out of Seulgi's ass and straddled Wendy's thighs to guide your cock between her slick buttocks, find her butthole, and slowly enter it.

The big difference between Seulgi and Wendy was that the latter felt everything there, but multiplied by ten. That meant that for every inch of cock you buried inside her ass, the more she lost her mind, to the point where she couldn't even move from the immense pleasure she felt. Within a few seconds, you reached that point, with your cock disappeared between her firm buttocks.

"You love this, don't you, Seungwanie?" you asked Wendy, one hand on her lower back and the other on the back of her neck.

Wendy just nodded weakly, unable to do anything else. Even her face was in a state of partial paralysis; only her mouth moved occasionally to emit muffled sounds and gasps. Then you started fucking her as hard as you were fucking Seulgi a moment ago.

That ass was on par with Seulgi's: just as tight and just as warm. Every inch of your cock slid in and out of her, fast and hard, up and down. Wendy was happy to be pinned to the bed like that; her fingers, both her hands and her toes, wrinkled in approval. Her blank eyes also urged you to keep going.

Within seconds, Wendy had a silent orgasm, but physically you knew it was considerably the most intense, aggressive, and mind-melting of all. The way she writhed, pulling the sheets off the top corner of the bed, made every drop of sweat worth it. But you needed to cum urgently.

Seulgi got on her hands and knees for you, and you returned to her ass to pound it hard from behind, pulling her hair and delivering spank after spank. A while later, when you'd given Wendy enough time to recover, you returned to her and flipped her over onto her back to spread her legs and also fuck her ass like a madman.

You spent a considerable amount of time switching between both asses, and after making them both cum once more, you reached your climax while fucking Wendy.

"Oh fuck!!" You groaned, your fingers digging into Wendy's tiny waist until, with a sudden thrust, you exploded inside her. "Fuckkk!!"

It didn't surprise you that, as you emptied your balls inside her, Wendy came again, and this time she whimpered until tears streamed down her cheeks. You slumped forward and kissed her, filled with nothing but gratitude and affection. Wendy cupped your face with trembling hands and kissed you back, until, out of nowhere, she fainted. It was also normal for her, so you weren't alarmed.

You pulled yourself out of her, and your cum spilled from her butthole onto the white sheets.

"Do you want us to spend the night with you, sweetheart?" Seulgi asked from beside you, lying on her own arm.

"Yes, please," you nodded between heavy gasps.

"And you want me to comb your hair right now?"

"Fuck, yes please," you sighed.

"First let me help you clean Seungwanie and the sheets."

Seulgi stood up, and on shaky legs, went to the bathroom to grab some toilet paper and come back to clean up the cum-soaked mess you'd made. Then, she settled onto a pillow on the right side of the bed and held out her arms for you to curl up between them.

Mentally exhausted from all the day's shit and now physically exhausted from being drained by those two, you hugged Seulgi like a helpless koala and let her cuddle you until you fell asleep.

#kpop smut #smut fanfic #smut #red velvet smut #seulgi smut #wendy smut #male reader smut #male reader insert #x male smut

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rvp32 · 4 months ago

Text

Falling for the Unknown Part 2

Karina x reader

Part 1

Thank you so much msafterhours and kesujo for proofreading

Karina stands in the quiet of the Seoul night, the distant hum of the city a faint backdrop to the storm of emotions swirling within her. Months ago, she had been Jimin again—not the polished idol, not the face of a million posters, but just Jimin—tangled in sheets and your arms, her heart pounding with a freedom she rarely feels. That night, she lets herself drown in you, in the way you look at her like she is everything, not just a fragment of a spotlight. But as dawn creeps closer, reality claws its way back in, cold and unrelenting.

She remembers slipping out of your embrace, your steady breathing contrasting the chaos in her mind. Her phone buzzes incessantly on the nightstand—schedules, rehearsals, a looming comeback. Her groupmates count on her, their dreams intertwined with hers, and the weight of that responsibility presses down like a vice. She stands by the bed, watching you sleep, your face soft and unguarded, and her chest aches with a longing she cannot indulge. He doesn’t deserve this, she thinks. Dragging you, a non-celebrity with a life untouched by the madness of her world, into the relentless scrutiny, the rumors, the suffocating expectations, would be cruel. She imagines a future where you resent her for it, where the spark between you dulls under the glare of her reality, and it breaks her.

So she leaves. A whispered thank you scribbled on a note is all she manages, a fragile apology for cutting herself out of your life. She wants to stay—God, how she wants to stay—curled against you, pretending the world outside doesn’t exist. But she turns away, slipping back into Karina, the idol, the untouchable star, and buries that night deep where it cannot hurt her. Or so she thinks.

Now, standing outside the stadium after the halftime performance, the past rushed back with a vengeance. She’d seen you on the sideline, your eyes wide with recognition, and her carefully constructed mask had cracked. The dance moves had felt mechanical after that, her mind spinning with the shock of your presence. You were here, in her world, and the distance she’d forced between you felt like a wound reopening.

The air between you and Jimin crackles with tension as you face each other, the stadium’s noise fading into a dull hum. She’s close enough that you can see the faint tremble in her hands, the way her eyes dart nervously before settling on yours. The months apart haven’t dulled the pull you feel toward her—it’s sharper now, edged with the pain of her absence. You want to step forward, to pull her into your arms and kiss her until the questions and the hurt melt away, but you hold yourself back, fists clenched at your sides. She left you once, and the fear of reaching out only to lose her again keeps you rooted.

Her lips part, then close, as if she’s searching for words she’s scared of saying. Her voice was soft but strained, carrying the weight of everything unsaid. Your throat tightens, and you force a nod, the memory of that empty bed and her note flashing through your mind.

“Yeah,” you manage, your tone clipped despite the storm raging inside you. “Guess the universe has a cruel sense of humor.” You want to ask why she left, why she didn’t fight for you, but the words stick, tangled in the ache of wanting her so badly it hurts. She can't seem to meet your eyes fully, darting back and forth, meeting your gaze and flickering back onto the ground, in an endless, restless cycle. In the corner of her eyes, you can see her grip on her arm tightening, her feet shuffling every so often: there's an impatience about her, something about your presence that seems to make her uneasy, and while it makes you feel bad in more ways than one, it also arouses within you an urge to hold her—and it only makes the urge to hold her stronger, your resolve fraying with every second she stands there, so close yet untouchable.

The silence stretches, thick and awkward, as you and Jimin stand there, the weight of months apart pressing down on you both. You shift your weight, she fidgets with the hem of her hoodie, and then—

“Why did you—” you start, just as she says, “I didn’t mean—”

You both freeze, a nervous laugh escaping her lips while you rub the back of your neck. “You go first,” you say, gesturing toward her, your voice softer than you intend.

Jimin opens her mouth, her expression shifting to something vulnerable, but before a word can escape, a sharp voice cuts through the tension. “Karina, we need to go. The van’s waiting.” A man—broad-shouldered, clipboard in hand, with the unmistakable air of a manager—approaches, his tone brisk. Her face tightens, and she glances at him, then back at you, a flicker of frustration in her eyes.

“I—” she starts, then stops, turning fully to you. “Can I have your number? I want to talk. Really talk.” Her voice is low and urgent, and you nod quickly, fumbling for your phone. You exchange numbers in a rush, her fingers brushing yours as she hands it back, sending a jolt through you.

“Text me,” she says, her gaze lingering as the manager huffs impatiently. Then she’s gone, swept away by her world, leaving you standing there, heart racing.

*************************************************************************************************************

Later that night, you text her: When are you free? Her reply comes fast—Tomorrow, late. After midnight. Can we meet somewhere private? You suggest your hotel room, knowing the risk of being spotted together could spark chaos. She agrees, and the hours crawl by until the clock ticks past midnight.

A soft knock pulls you from your restless pacing. You open the door, and there she is—Jimin, or Karina, or whoever she is tonight—slipping inside, hood up, eyes wary but searching. You close the door behind her, and the room feels smaller, the air charged with everything unsaid.

“Hey,” she says, pulling down her hood, her hair spilling loose. She looks softer here, away from the stadium lights, but there’s a tension in her shoulders you can’t ignore.

“Hey,” you echo, leaning against the desk, arms crossed to keep your hands from reaching for her. “So… talk.”

She takes a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting together. “I owe you an explanation. About that night. About… me.” She meets your gaze, and there’s a rawness there that makes your chest tighten. “I’m Karina from Aespa. That’s my real life—stages, schedules, cameras. That night, with you, I was just Jimin. For once, I got to be someone else.”

You blink, the pieces clicking into place—her disappearance, the secrecy, the note. “You’re an idol,” you say, more to yourself than to her, running a hand through your hair. “And I’m—well, I guess I should tell you too. I’m not just some random guy. I play for Manchester United. Midfielder. Just got back from injury.”

“Guess we were both hiding something,” you say, a wry smile tugging at your lips. But it fades as the real question looms. “Why’d you leave, Jimin? That night—it felt real. Then I woke up, and you were gone. Just a note. ‘Thank you.’ Like it was nothing.”

Her face falls, guilt shadowing her features. “It wasn’t nothing. It was everything. That’s why I left.” She looks down, voice trembling. “I wanted to stay so badly. You have no idea how much. But I had rehearsals at dawn, a comeback to prepare for. My groupmates—they depend on me. And you… you didn’t sign up for my mess. The fans, the cameras, the chaos. I thought dragging you into that would ruin you.”

You step closer, unable to stop yourself, though you still don’t touch her. “You didn’t even give me a choice. I woke up thinking I’d dreamed you up, Jimin. That note—it broke me.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I hated myself for it. I thought I was protecting you, but I was just scared. Scared of what I felt, scared of what it’d do to you. I didn’t want you to hate me later.”

“I could never hate you,” you say, your voice rough with the truth of it. “I’ve been looking for you ever since. Every day, wondering where you went, why you didn’t trust me enough to stay.”

She stands, closing the distance between you, her hands hovering near your chest before settling there, tentative. “I trust you now. I didn’t leave because I didn’t want you— I left because I cared, no, I care about you and was worried about pulling you into a life you never chose to live. I thought it was the right thing, but it wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

You look into her eyes, seeing the regret, the longing, and it cracks your restraint. “I wanted you too,” you admit, voice low. “Still do.” Your hands twitch, aching to hold her, but you wait, letting her words settle, the misunderstanding unraveling like a knot finally loosened.

The air in the room thickens with the weight of your confessions, the space between you and Karina—Jimin—shrinking as her hands rest lightly on your chest. Her touch is hesitant, but it burns through you, reigniting every buried feeling from that night. Her apology lingers in your ears, her eyes searching yours for forgiveness, for understanding, and you can’t hold back anymore.

You cup her face gently, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones, and she leans into your touch, her breath hitching. “Jimin,” you murmur, her name a tether pulling you closer, and then you kiss her. It’s slow at first, tentative, a question answered as her lips part beneath yours, soft and warm and so achingly familiar. The intimacy of it steals your breath—her taste, the way she melts against you, her fingers curling into your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll vanish. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a reclamation, a stitching together of everything torn apart by her absence.

You deepen it, one hand sliding to the nape of her neck, tangling in her hair as you tilt her head just so, and she responds with a quiet whimper that sends a shiver down your spine. Her lips move with yours in perfect sync, a dance of longing and relief, and you pour every missed moment into it—the nights you wondered, the days you ached. She presses closer, her body fitting against yours like it never left, and the world outside fades until it’s just her, just you, just this.

You pull back slightly, needing to see her, to ground yourself in the reality of her here in your arms. Your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling as you stare into her eyes. They’re dark, endless, shimmering with something raw—regret, desire, hope. Her pupils dilate, her gaze flicking to your lips and back, and you see the moment she breaks. “I missed you,” she whispers, voice trembling, and it’s all the warning you get before she moves.

Jimin shifts with feline grace, climbing onto your lap in a single fluid motion that steals the air from your lungs. You’re still perched near the coffee table, its sharp edge grazing your knee as she straddles you, her toned thighs bracketing your hips with a firm, possessive grip. Her hands cradle your face, fingertips trembling faintly against your jaw, and then she dives in—kissing you with a raw, insatiable hunger that obliterates your thoughts. Her lips crash against yours, hot and urgent, and you groan into her mouth, a deep, primal sound that vibrates between you. Your hands snap to her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath her hoodie as you yank her closer, her body molding seamlessly to yours.

The weight of her atop you—the delicious press of her lithe, warm frame against your chest—ignites a wildfire in your veins. She rocks subtly, a teasing shift of her hips that sends a dizzying rush through you, and your hands glide up her back, tracing the elegant curve of her spine. Beneath the fabric, her skin is satin-smooth, her muscles flexing faintly as she moves. Her tongue brushes yours—tentative at first, then bold and demanding—and the kiss turns sloppy, a chaotic dance of lips, teeth, and breathless need. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” she gasps between kisses, her voice fracturing with desire as she grinds down harder, the friction of her pelvis against your growing erection sparking a heat that threatens to unravel you both.

You pull her flush against you, fingers sinking into the plush give of her hips, anchoring her as you lose yourself in her essence—the sweet, faintly salty taste of her lips, the press of her boobs against your chest, the soft whimpers she muffles against your mouth. It’s intoxicating, the way she fits so perfectly in your lap, her slender frame a puzzle piece slotting into yours. Her kisses carry the weight of every moment she’s been gone, a desperate reclamation of what distance stole.

The kiss deepens, a tangle of ragged breaths and clashing tongues, and the ache of missing her for months surges through you like a tidal wave. Karina’s hands grip your face tighter, her nails grazing your skin as she straddles you, her thighs flexing with each restless shift. You can feel the heat pouring off her, the damp warmth seeping through her shorts where she presses against your straining cock. It’s not enough—nowhere near enough. You need her closer, need to dissipate every inch of separation time carved between you.

Your hands slide beneath her thighs, firm and possessive, gripping the taut muscle as you stand in one swift motion. She gasps softly against your lips, a startled little sound that melts into a moan as you lift her effortlessly. Her legs wrap around your waist, locking tight, her ankles hooking at the small of your back. You don’t break the kiss—not for a heartbeat—as you carry her toward the bed, her fingers digging into your shoulders with a needy intensity. Her lips stay fused to yours, hungry and unrelenting, and you stumble slightly, too consumed by her to care about grace. The mattress edge bumps your knees, and you lower her onto it, her lithe body sinking into the sheets as you follow, hovering over her, your forearms braced on either side of her head.

“God, I missed you,” you murmur against her lips, your voice rough with the aching truth of it, and she arches up, her chest pressing into yours. Her hands claw at your shirt, tugging insistently, and you pull back just enough to rip it over your head, tossing it aside. Her eyes darken as they roam over your bare chest, drinking in the hard planes of muscle, the faint scars. Her fingers trace the lines of your pecs, then lower, mapping you like she’s relearning every inch.

“I missed you too,” she breathes, her voice trembling with the same pent-up longing that’s been gnawing at you. She sits up, peeling her hoodie off in one smooth motion, revealing the expanse of her smooth, golden skin and a simple black bra that clings to her round, firm breasts. Her nipples pebble faintly beneath the fabric, and your hands are on her instantly, sliding up her sides, savoring the warmth radiating from her. She shivers under your touch, her breath hitching as your thumbs brush the sensitive skin just below her ribcage.

You kiss her again, slower this time but no less desperate, your tongue teasing hers in a languid, deliberate dance as you ease her back onto the bed. Her hands roam your back, nails grazing lightly over your shoulder blades, leaving faint, tingling trails. You trail your lips down her jaw, then her neck, tasting the salt of her skin as you go. She tilts her head, offering more, and you linger at her collarbone, sucking gently until a faint, rosy mark blooms beneath your mouth—a quiet claim. “Mine,” you whisper, half to yourself, and she moans softly, her fingers threading through your hair, tugging just enough to send a spark of pleasure-pain down your spine.

“Not fair,” she murmurs, a playful lilt cutting through the heat in her voice. She pulls you down, her lips finding the taut skin just below your collarbone. Her mouth is searing, deliberate as she kisses the spot, then sucks hard, her tongue flicking against you. The sensation jolts through you—sharp and electric—and you groan, your cock twitching in your jeans as her teeth graze your skin, leaving a bruise to mirror hers. She pulls back, smirking at her handiwork, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes, and you grin back—until the primal urge to touch her overtakes you again.

You ease her onto her back, hands roaming her flat stomach, teasing the waistband of her shorts. “You’re too much,” you say, voice low and teasing as you pop the button open, dragging the zipper down with excruciating slowness. She lifts her hips, helping you peel the denim away, and you take your time, letting your fingers skim the silken insides of her thighs—soft yet firm, trembling faintly under your touch. You stop just shy of her core, and her breath catches, her legs parting slightly as she whines, “Stop teasing.”

“Not yet,” you reply, smirking as you lean down, pressing a kiss to the tender skin of her inner thigh. You move higher, closer, your breath ghosting over her warmth, and her hips buck, chasing your mouth. Her chest heaves, her round breasts rising and falling rapidly, frustration simmering in her half-lidded eyes. You slide her panties down, revealing her glistening core—pink and slick with want—and the sight makes your throat tighten, your cock aching painfully against your jeans. “Fuck, I’ve missed this,” you say, voice raw with hunger, and you dip your head, kissing just above her clit, teasing her with the faintest brush of your lips.

“Please,” she gasps, her hands fisting the sheets, knuckles whitening, and you relent—just a little. Your tongue flicks out, tracing her slowly, savoring her sweet, musky taste as her body trembles beneath you. She’s warm and wet, and every shuddering moan she lets out stokes the fire in your gut. You circle her clit, deliberate and torturous, sucking gently until she’s writhing, her voice breaking on your name in a desperate, jagged plea.

When you finally pull back, she’s panting, her eyes glassy with need. You shed your pants and boxers in a frantic rush, climbing back over her, and she drags you down, kissing you fiercely, tasting herself on your lips. “I need you,” she whispers, her legs wrapping around your hips, pulling you close. You tease her one last time, sliding your cock along her entrance, coating yourself in her slick heat, and she groans, her nails biting into your back hard enough to leave crescent marks.

“Missed you so fucking much,” you growl, and then you push inside her, slow and deep. The sensation is overwhelming—her tight, wet heat envelops you, her walls fluttering around your shaft as you stretch her open. She cries out, her head tipping back into the pillow, exposing the delicate column of her throat, and you feel her pulse racing beneath your lips as you bury your face in her neck. “Jimin,” you groan, starting to move, each thrust a visceral reminder of how much you’ve craved her—how much you’ve needed this.

She meets you thrust for thrust, her hips rising to match your rhythm, her moans loud and unrestrained, filling the room. “Harder,” she gasps, her voice raw with desperation, and you oblige, slamming into her with a force that makes the bedframe creak. Her body arches beneath you, her breasts pressing into your chest as you grip her thighs, spreading her wider. The angle lets you hit deeper, your cock brushing that spot inside her that draws a scream from her lips, sharp and uninhibited. “Yes—fuck, just like that,” she pants, her words ragged, her face flushed and glistening with sweat.

You pull her up slightly, shifting so she’s half-sitting, and kiss her again—messy, deep, all tongue and clashing teeth—as you drive into her relentlessly. Her hands clutch your shoulders, her breath scorching against your lips, and you feel her tightening around you, her walls pulsing with every thrust. “I’m so close,” she whimpers, her voice breaking, and you push harder, your own release coiling tight in your core as her body trembles on the brink.

When she cums, it’s with a cry of your name, her body shuddering violently beneath you. Her walls clamp down around your cock, milking you as she unravels, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy. The sight—her flushed cheeks, her arched back, the raw vulnerability of her pleasure—shatters you. You groan, spilling inside her, the pleasure crashing through you in blinding waves as your cock pulses, filling her with heat. You hold her tight, riding out the aftershocks together, your breaths mingling in the stillness.

You collapse against her, both of you sweaty and breathless, and she clings to you, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “I’m never leaving again.” Her voice is soft, shaky, but certain, and it sends a warmth through you that has nothing to do with the sex.

You pull back just enough to kiss the mark you left on her collarbone, then press your forehead to hers, your noses brushing as the afterglow settles over you like a second skin. The world narrows to this—the quiet rhythm of her breathing, the steady beat of her heart against yours, and the unspoken promise hanging in the air.

*************************************************************************************************************

The morning light filters through the curtains of your hotel room, casting a gentle glow across the bed where you lie, still wrapped in the warmth of last night’s passion. You stir awake, the weight of Karina’s arms around you pulling you back to reality. Her grip is tight, almost desperate, her fingers curled into your side as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away like she once did. It’s a silent plea, a fear mirrored in the way her body presses against yours, her chest rising and falling steadily in sleep. You can feel the tension in her hold, and it tugs at your heart—a reminder of how much she’s been carrying, how much she fears losing you again.

You shift slightly, careful not to wake her, and take a moment to admire her. Her face, inches from yours, is a vision of serenity, illuminated by the soft light. Her dark hair fans out across the pillow, framing her delicate features—those almond-shaped eyes, closed now but still vivid in your memory, framed by thick lashes that curl gently against her cheeks. Her skin glows, smooth and flawless, with a subtle flush that lingers from the night before. Her lips, full and slightly parted, are a soft pink, still swollen from your kisses, and the beauty mark near the corner of her mouth catches your eye, a perfect detail in her otherwise ethereal face. Her high cheekbones and sharp jawline, softened by sleep, are as striking as the poised idol you saw on stage, but here, in this quiet moment, she’s just Jimin—vulnerable, real, and breathtakingly beautiful.

You can’t resist reaching out, your fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. Leaning in, you press a tender kiss to her forehead. The contact is light, but it stirs her. Her brows furrow slightly as her eyes flutter open. She blinks, disoriented, and her grip on you tightens for a moment before relaxing as recognition dawns.

“Good morning,” you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips as you lean in to kiss her, craving the taste of her again. But she turns her head away, her cheek pressing into the pillow, a shy giggle escaping her.

“No, wait—” she mumbles, her voice groggy but playful, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Morning breath.”

You chuckle, the sound warm and genuine, and you gently cup her face, turning her back toward you. “I don’t care,” you say, your voice soft but firm, and before she can protest again, you kiss her. It’s slow and sweet, her lips hesitant at first but softening under yours, the taste of her—morning breath or not—exactly what you’ve been craving since she walked back into your life. She melts into it, her arms loosening their grip to wrap around your neck, and you pull her closer, the laughter fading into a shared, quiet intimacy that feels like coming home.

The morning lingers in comfortable silence, the warmth of your kiss fading into a gentle closeness as you both lie tangled in the sheets. Jimin shifts beside you, propping herself up on one elbow. Her dark hair falls over her shoulder as she looks at you with those captivating eyes. “What if we went on a date today?” she suggests her voice soft but laced with excitement. “Just the two of us.”

You hesitate, the image of paparazzi flashes, and headlines flash through your mind. “I don’t know, Jimin,” you say, your tone cautious. “I’d love to, but… what if someone sees us? I don’t want to cause trouble for you—your career, your group. It’s risky.”

Her expression softens, and she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “I get it, I do. But I’ve spent months hiding, running from this—from us. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ve noticed some llittle spots that linger in my mind, and I catch myself picturing us there, sharing quiet moments. And the other day, a film played on the flight, its warmth sticking with me, making me think of us tucked away together, enjoying the story. We can be careful. There’s a private restaurant I know, with private rooms. No one will see us. Please?” Her plea is earnest, her eyes pleading, and the way she looks at you—vulnerable yet determined—chips away at your reluctance.

After a moment, you nod, a small smile breaking through. “Okay. Let’s do it. Private restaurant it is.”

*************************************************************************************************************

Later that evening, you’re seated across from her in a secluded room, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows on the walls. The table is small and intimate, and the door is locked behind you, ensuring your privacy. The meal—delicate Korean dishes served with care—sits mostly untouched as the conversation deepens, the food secondary to the connection reigniting between you.

Karina leans forward, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze steady but emotional. “You know,” she begins, her voice low and sincere, “you make me feel so safe. Like I can breathe, even with all the chaos in my life. That night we spent together—it wasn’t just passion for me. It was the first time I felt like I could be myself, not Karina the idol, but Jimin. And then I left, and I missed you every single day. The way you looked at me, the way you held me—it haunted me. I can’t believe I almost gave this up because I was too scared. Too scared of what people might think, of what it might do to you. I was wrong.”

Her words hit you hard, stirring your longing since she disappeared. You reach across the table, your hand hovering over hers before you gently take it, your thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I missed you too,” you admit, your voice rough with emotion. “More than I can say. And I don’t want to lose you again.” You pause, the question burning in your chest, and before you can overthink it, you blurt out, “Jimin—Karina—will you be my girlfriend?”

Her eyes widen, and for a moment, she doesn’t respond, her lips parting as if searching for words. The silence stretches, and panic creeps in. “I know it’s quick and random, and maybe I’m rushing this,” you ramble, your free hand running through your hair. “But I don’t want to let you go. I’ve spent too long wondering where you were, and now that you’re here, I—”

She cuts you off with a laugh, bright and melodic, her head tilting back as she squeezes your hand. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous,” she teases, her eyes sparkling with affection. Then her expression softens, and she leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that feels like a promise. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend. With you, I feel like I’ve found a home I didn’t know I needed—a place where I can be me, fully and without fear. I want to build this with you, step by step, through every hidden room and stolen moment, because you’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it.”

Her words wrap around you, warm and romantic. You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling as you gently kiss her hand.

*************************************************************************************************************

Over the next few days of Manchester United’s tour in South Korea, you and Karina carve out stolen moments in secret places, each date a cherished escape from the world. You meet her at a hidden rooftop garden in Gangnam, the city lights sprawling below as you share whispered conversations and soft kisses under the stars. Another night, you sneak into a private hanok courtyard in Bukchon, the traditional wooden walls shielding you as you hold hands and laugh over shared street food. You even manage a late-night stroll through a secluded trail in Namsan Mountain’s forest, the darkness cloaking you both as you steal glances and brush against each other, the air filled with the scent of pine and her perfume. Every second with her feels like a gift—her laughter lights up your world, her touch grounds you, and the way she looks at you, unguarded and real, makes you forget the looming end of your time together.

But the final day arrives, inevitable and heavy. You’re at the airport, your team already boarding for the flight back to Manchester, and Karina stands before you in a quiet corner of the terminal, her hoodie pulled low to avoid recognition. Your chest tightens as you pull her into a hug, her arms wrapping around you with a desperation that mirrors your own. “I don’t want to go,” you murmur into her hair, the words raw and honest, but you both know it’s not something you can change—not with her comeback looming and your season about to start. She pulls back, her eyes glistening but resolute, and presses a lingering kiss to your lips, a silent promise that this isn’t the end, even as you step away, the ache of leaving her settling deep in your bones.

Karina watches as you disappear through the airport gate, your figure swallowed by the crowd until there is nothing left but the echo of your goodbye in her heart. The weight of your departure crashes over her the moment you are out of sight, and tears spill down her cheeks, unchecked, as she makes her way back to the van. The ride to the dorm blurs into a haze of quiet sobs, her hands trembling as she presses them to her face, unable to believe how deeply she has let herself fall for you. In just a few stolen days, you weave yourself into her soul—your laughter, your touch, the way you make her feel safe—and now the emptiness suffocates her.

When she finally reaches her room, the door clicking shut behind her, she drops her bag and moves instinctively to her bed. Her fingers find the tiger cub toy you won for her at the bustling street market. Its soft fur is a tangible reminder of your grin as you hand it to her. She clutches it tightly to her chest, curling into a ball as fresh tears soak into its surface. Then, reaching for the hoodie she slyly took from you—a bold theft masked by a playful kiss—she pulls it over her head. The fabric envelops her, carrying your scent—earthy, warm, and unmistakably you—and she buries her face in the collar, inhaling deeply. It is a poor substitute for your presence, but it wraps her in a fragile comfort, easing the ache just enough to let her drift into a restless sleep, dreaming of the next time she sees you.

Karina knows she misses this—misses the rare, unguarded moments where she sheds the weight of her public persona and simply is. She misses the freedom of her truest self blooming in your presence, unfurling like a flower kissed by dawn after a long, cold night. Most of all, she misses you—misses the way you see through the layers she has so carefully crafted for the world, peering straight into her soul with those warm, knowing eyes. Even after she bares her deepest secret, confessing the identity she hides behind the spotlight, you never waver. You still call her Jimin, her name falling from your lips like a soft, cherished melody, untouched by the chaos of her fame.

She adores how it sounds in your voice—smooth and tender, a quiet caress that wraps around her heart each time you speak it. “Jimin,” you say, the syllables rolling off your tongue with a reverence that makes her feel seen, truly seen, not as an idol or a symbol, but as the woman she is beneath it all. It is a simple act, yet it carries a profound intimacy, a promise that you hold her authenticity close, cradling it like something precious. In those moments, with your voice threading through the air between you, she feels anchored, loved in a way that transcends the fleeting adoration of crowds. She misses that sound, that feeling, the way it tethers her to you—a lifeline she hadn’t known she needed until it becomes hers.

Back in England, the rhythm of your life as a Manchester United midfielder picks up with the intensity of the season, but Jimin—Karina—remains a constant, grounding presence despite the distance. You both make it work, carving out time for video calls whenever your schedules align, often late at night for her due to her packed idol schedule. Her face lights up your screen, sometimes framed by the dim glow of her dorm room, other times from a backstage corner during a break. “I’m so tired,” she’ll admit at 2 a.m. her time, her voice soft but warm, “but talking to you makes it better.” You smile, urging her to rest, but she insists on staying up, craving the connection as much as you do.

Your conversations flow effortlessly across a wide range of topics—her latest dance practice struggles, your grueling training sessions, funny stories about her groupmates, and your teammates’ locker room antics. One night, she giggles, her eyes sparkling through the screen. “My members figured out I’m dating someone—they keep teasing me about how I’m always smiling at my phone. But I haven’t told them it’s you. Not yet.” You laugh, imagining her blushing under their scrutiny, and the thought of being her secret makes your heart race.

As the Premier League season kicks off, Jimin surprises you during a call after one of your matches. “I’ve been learning more about football,” she says, her tone proud. “I watched some breakdowns online, and now I can really appreciate how good you are. That assist you made last game? Insane.” Her words catch you off guard, a flush creeping up your neck as you rub the back of your head, trying to play it cool. “You’re making me blush, stop it,” you mutter, but her laughter only grows, bright and infectious. “I also try to watch your matches whenever I can,” she adds, “even if I’m half-asleep on a plane. You’re worth it.”

Through your late-night scrolling, you stumble across a fan page mentioning Jimin's birthday. An idea sparks, and you spend days planning the perfect long-distance gift. You settle on a delicate platinum necklace with a small pendant shaped like a heart with ‘I love you Jimin’ engraved on the back, paired with a handwritten letter pouring out how much she means to you. You arrange for it to be delivered to her dorm through a discreet courier, ensuring her privacy.

A few days later, during your next video call, Jimin’s eyes are brimming with emotion as she holds up the necklace, the pendant glinting in the light. “I love it,” she says, her voice trembling with gratitude. “It’s so thoughtful—I can’t believe you remembered the tiger cub. And your letter… I cried reading it. Thank you, really.” She clasps the necklace around her neck, her fingers brushing the pendant with a soft smile. “I’ll wear it all the time. It’s like having a piece of you with me.” Your heart swells at her reaction, the distance between you shrinking just a little at that moment.

The days stretch on, each one marked by the gnawing ache of missing Jimin. Your mornings start with thoughts of her smile, your evenings end with the memory of her touch, and every quiet moment in between is filled with longing for the sound of her voice. In England, the grind of training and matches keeps you busy, but it’s never enough to fill the void she left when you parted at the airport. Meanwhile, her texts hint at the same yearning—late-night messages about how she stares at the necklace, how the hoodie she stole from you still carries your scent, and how she wishes she could feel your arms around her again. The distance feels unbearable, yet your video calls, scattered across time zones, become a lifeline, a way to bridge the gap between Manchester and Seoul.

One night, during one of your usual calls, the screen flickers to life, revealing Jimin in her dimly lit dorm room, her face framed by tousled hair. But something’s off—her breathing is uneven, punctuated by occasional gasps, and her voice carries a strange, breathy edge, distracted and distant. “Hey,” she says, her words faltering slightly, and you tilt your head, narrowing your eyes.

“Jimin, what’s going on?” you ask, your voice tinged with curiosity as it crackles through the video call. She shakes her head quickly, a breathy “Nothing” slipping from her lips, but the gesture feels hollow. Her dark eyes flicker away from the screen, betraying her, and you catch the subtle shift of her hand disappearing below the frame. Leaning closer, you study her—the faint quiver in her slender shoulders, the way her full lips part with each shallow, uneven breath. Then it clicks: she’s touching herself. Her fingers, hidden just out of view, are working her slick, needy pussy, her body betraying her attempt to stay composed while she pretends to focus on you.

A slow, mischievous grin curls your lips as you decide to play with her. “Oh, I see what you’re up to,” you tease, your voice dropping low and warm, laced with amusement. Her reaction is instant—her cheeks flush a deep, rosy pink, the color blooming across her smooth skin as her wide, doe-like eyes snap back to you in mortification. “I—I didn’t mean for you to—” she stammers, her hand stalling beneath the desk, fingers glistening with her own arousal. You interrupt her gently, your tone softening but carrying a hungry edge.

“No, don’t stop,” you murmur, your voice dipping into a husky, commanding register that sends a shiver through her. “Keep going. Let me watch you.” Her blush deepens, painting her neck and chest in a faint glow, but she nods shyly, her hesitation melting under your gaze. Her hand resumes its rhythm, slow and deliberate at first, and you can just make out the way her delicate fingers slip between her wet folds. Her pussy is slick and pink, glistening in the soft light as she parts her thighs slightly, giving you a better view. Her thumb grazes her swollen clit in tight, needy circles, and the sight ignites a surge of heat that races down your spine, pooling in your groin. Your own hand drifts instinctively, sliding beneath the waistband of your pants to wrap around your hardening cock. The first touch sends a jolt through you—your shaft thickens in your grip, warm and pulsing as you stroke yourself slowly, syncing with her tentative pace.

“God, I wish I was there,” you groan, your voice rough with want as your fingers tighten around your length. Precum beads at the tip, slicking your hand as you drag it along your shaft, the friction sparking a low burn in your core. “I’d bury my face between your legs, taste every inch of you—lick you slow until you’re dripping for me.” You imagine her sweetness on your tongue, the way her thighs would tremble against your cheeks, her soft moans filling the air.

Jimin lets out a quiet, desperate moan, her fingers picking up speed as she responds to your words. Her pussy shines wetter on the camera, her arousal coating her hand as she spreads her legs wider, her hips tilting forward. Her body is a vision—petite but curvaceous, her small breasts rising and falling beneath her thin tank top, nipples pressing faintly against the fabric. “I miss you so much,” she gasps, her voice trembling with raw need, her long, dark hair clinging to her sweat-dampened neck. “I wish you were here, filling me up with your cock instead of my fingers. Touch yourself harder—please.”

Her plea sends a thrill through you, and you obey without hesitation. Your strokes grow firmer, your grip tightening as your cock throbs eagerly in your hand, the veins along its length pulsing with each rough tug. You can almost feel her—her tight, wet heat clenching around you, her walls fluttering as you thrust into her. “Like this?” you ask, your voice gravelly, and she nods with a frantic little whimper, her eyes glued to the screen where your hand moves in a steady, relentless rhythm. “Yes—faster,” she begs, her fingers plunging deeper into her soaked pussy, her knuckles brushing her clit with every thrust. Her hips buck slightly, her toned thighs tensing as she grinds against her own touch, chasing that edge. Her moans climb higher, breathy and unrestrained, her free hand clutching the edge of her desk so hard her knuckles whiten. You can see her inner walls tightening around her fingers, her clit flushed and swollen beneath her circling thumb, and it drives you wild.

“I want to feel you come,” you growl, your hand pumping your cock with desperate urgency now, the heat coiling tight at the base of your spine. Your balls draw up, heavy and aching, as you imagine sinking into her, the way her body would arch beneath you. “Picture it’s me inside you, Jimin. I’d thrust so deep, stretch you open, make you scream my name until you’re shaking.”

“Oh God—yes,” she cries, her voice breaking as her orgasm crashes over her. Her body trembles violently, her fingers buried to the hilt in her pulsing pussy, her juices spilling over her hand and dripping onto the chair beneath her. Her head tips back, exposing the graceful line of her throat as she rides the waves, her lips parted in a silent scream of ecstasy. The sight shatters your control—your cock jerks in your hand, and with a guttural groan, you cum hard. Hot, thick streaks spill over your fingers, splattering across your stomach as your hips twitch, every pulse a release of the tension you’d built watching her.

Panting, you both ease to a stop, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Jimin’s hand slips from between her legs, her fingers slick and trembling as she wipes them on her thigh. A shy, dazed smile breaks through her flushed face, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. “I can’t believe we just did that,” she whispers, her voice soft and shaky, a contrast to the boldness she’d shown moments ago. You chuckle, grabbing a tissue to clean yourself up, the sound warm and intimate despite the miles between you.

“Me neither,” you admit, your tone tender as the afterglow settles over you like a blanket. “But I meant it—I wish I was there with you. Soon, okay?”

“Soon,” she echoes, her eyes softening with a mix of longing and contentment, the distance between you shrinking just a little in the hazy warmth that follows.

One evening, as the golden hues of a Manchester sunset filter through your apartment window, you settle in for another video call with Jimin. Her face appears on the screen, her eyes sparkling with a brightness that makes your heart skip a beat. “I’ve got something to tell you,” she says, her voice practically vibrating with excitement, and you lean closer, hanging on her every word. “Aespa’s going on tour next month—and we’re stopping in England! London, Manchester, the whole deal!”

The words slam into you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you’re speechless, your chest tightening with a rush of joy so intense it almost hurts. “Are you serious?” you finally choke out, your voice cracking as a wide, uncontrollable grin spreads across your face. “Jimin, you’re really coming here? I’m going to see you?” Your hands grip the edge of the table, your pulse racing as the reality sinks in. After months of longing, of aching for her touch, the thought of holding her again feels like a dream you’re terrified to wake up from.

“Yes, I’m serious!” she laughs, her own excitement mirroring yours, her eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you adore. “I couldn’t believe it when they told us. All I could think about was you—finally seeing you, being with you. I’ve been counting down the days already.”

“God, Jimin,” you say, your voice thick with emotion, “you have no idea how much I’ve missed you. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath since I left Korea, and now I can finally breathe again. I can’t wait to hold you, to kiss you, to just… be with you.” Your throat tightens, and you blink back the sting of tears, overwhelmed by how much she means to you.

“I’ve missed you too,” she whispers, her voice softening, her gaze locking onto yours through the screen. “Every day, every second. I keep touching the necklace you gave me, thinking about you. I can’t wait to be in your arms again.”

The call ends with your heart soaring, the promise of her arrival a beacon lighting up the days ahead. After training the next day, your phone buzzes, and you open a message to hear Jimin’s voice—pure, hauntingly beautiful, filling your ears with an unreleased song. Her vocals soar through the melody, a perfect blend of longing and tenderness, each note wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You listen to it on repeat, letting her voice wash over you, and it becomes your sanctuary—something you play whenever you’re alone, whether you’re on the team bus, in the locker room, or lying in bed at night, her voice a tether to her across the miles.

The following day, you can’t wait to tell her how much it means to you. You call her, your excitement spilling over the moment she answers. “Jimin, that song—it’s incredible,” you say, your voice brimming with awe. “Your voice… it’s like magic. It’s so perfect for the melody like it was made for you to sing. I’ve been listening to it nonstop, every chance I get. When I’m alone, it’s like you’re right here with me. I can’t stop hearing you.”

Her laughter comes through, soft and delighted, and you can see the faint blush creeping up her cheeks on the screen. “You really think so?” she asks, her tone shy but warm. “I was so nervous sending it to you. But knowing you love it, that it’s with you like that… it makes me so happy. It’s like I’m there with you, even when I can’t be.”

“You are,” you say, your voice low and earnest. “Every note, every word—it’s you, Jimin. And it’s keeping me going until I can see you. I love you.” The words slip out, raw and unfiltered, and her eyes widen for a moment before softening, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I love you too,” she whispers, and the words settle deep in your chest, a promise that makes the wait for her arrival feel both endless and worth every second.

*************************************************************************************************************

The day finally arrives when Aespa’s tour reaches London, and the anticipation has been building inside you like a crescendo, each passing hour amplifying your excitement. Thanks to Jimin, you’ve secured VIP tickets and backstage access, a privilege that feels surreal as you watch the concert from the front row, her voice soaring through the arena, her every move a testament to her artistry. The crowd roars, but your eyes are locked on her, your heart pounding with the knowledge that you’ll see her soon.

As the final notes fade and the lights dim, you’re ushered backstage, your pulse racing. The moment you spot her, standing near a dressing room door, still glowing from the performance, you don’t hesitate. You close the distance in a few strides, pulling her into a tight hug, your arms wrapping around her with a fierceness born from months apart. “Jimin,” you breathe into her hair, and she melts against you, her arms squeezing you back just as hard. Then you tilt her face up, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss—deep, hungry, and filled with all the longing you’ve carried. Her lips part under yours, her breath hitching as she kisses you back with equal fervor, the world narrowing to just the two of you until the sound of giggles breaks you apart.

She pulls back, her cheeks flushed, and turns to the three women standing nearby—her groupmates, Winter, Ningning, and Giselle—watching with wide eyes and amused grins. “Guys, this is… my boyfriend,” she says, her voice a mix of pride and nervousness as she gestures to you. The room goes quiet for a beat, then erupts in a chorus of gasps and exclamations.

“Wait, boyfriend?” Winter blurts, her eyes darting between you and Jimin. “And he’s… a football player? Like Manchester United famous?”

Ningning claps her hands, laughing. “Oh my God, Karina, you sneaky thing! We knew you were dating someone, but a pro athlete? That’s next-level!”

Giselle steps forward, eyeing you with a playful smirk. “So, you’re the reason she’s been all giddy and blushy on her calls? She turns into a lovesick puppy. It’s hilarious—last week, she was giggling at her phone like a teenager!”

Jimin’s face turns beet red, and she swats at Giselle’s arm. “Stop it!” she protests, but her smile betrays her embarrassment. “They’re exaggerating,” she mutters to you, but the warmth in her eyes tells you she’s secretly delighted.

Winter chimes in, grinning. “No, we’re not! She’s been spacing out during practice, muttering your name under her breath. It’s adorable—and totally unlike her usual self.”

You laugh, pulling Jimin closer, your arm around her waist as you take in the teasing. “Well, I’m honored to be the cause of that,” you say, winking at her.

The backstage chatter buzzes around you as you spend a little while getting to know Jimin’s groupmates—Winter, Ningning, and Giselle. Their energy is infectious, each of them sharing quick anecdotes about life on tour, their playful teasing about Jimin’s lovesick demeanor blending with genuine curiosity about your football career. Winter leans in with a grin, asking about your latest goal, while Ningning mimics Jimin’s giddy phone-scrolling with exaggerated flair, earning a mock glare from her leader. Giselle, ever the observer, nods approvingly as you recount a tough training session. After a few minutes, you turn to them with a polite smile. “Hey, would you mind letting the manager know Jimin’s coming with me tonight? I’d love to spend some time with her.” They exchange quick glances, then nod enthusiastically, Winter giving you a thumbs-up. “Go for it! We’ll handle it,” she says, and the others chime in with supportive winks, clearly rooting for the two of you.

You guide Jimin out of the venue, the cool London night air brushing against your skin as you lead her to the parking lot. There, parked under a streetlight, sits your Aston Martin Vanquish—sleek, black, and gleaming with a quiet elegance. You open the passenger door for her, and her eyes widen in surprise, a delighted gasp escaping her lips. “Oh wow, this is your car?” she asks, running her fingers along the smooth edge of the door before sliding into the leather seat. The interior smells of polished wood and luxury, the soft hum of the engine starting as you close her door and circle to the driver’s side.

As you pull out onto the road, you glance at her, her profile illuminated by the dashboard lights. “That concert was incredible,” you say, your voice warm with admiration. “And you—God, Jimin, you looked so beautiful up there. Every move, every note—it was like you were glowing.” Her cheeks flush, and she turns to you with a shy smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice soft. “Hearing that from you means everything.”

The 30-minute drive to your house flies by, the car filled with a lively hum of conversation. You talk about your upcoming matches, and the pressure of the season kicking into high gear, and she shares details about her next concert stop in Manchester, her eyes lighting up as she describes the choreography. Laughter weaves through the dialogue as she recounts a hilarious mishap during rehearsal—Ningning tripping over a prop and dragging Giselle down with her—while you counter with a story about a teammate’s locker room prank gone hilariously wrong. The miles melt away, her voice a melody that keeps you anchored, and every shared glance feels like a step closer.

When you finally pull into your driveway and the car comes to a halt, the engine’s purr fades into silence. Before you can even unbuckle, Karina leans across the console, her hand cupping your face as she presses her lips to yours. The kiss is sudden, fervent, tasting of her excitement and longing, and you respond instantly, your hand sliding to the back of her neck to pull her closer. Your lips move together with a passion that’s been simmering since London, her breath warm against your skin as she deepens the kiss, a soft moan escaping her. The world outside the car fades, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in the intimacy of the moment, the night stretching ahead with unspoken promises.

You pull away from Jimin, the taste of her lips lingering on yours as you catch your breath, your heart racing from the intensity of the kiss. Her eyes are still locked on yours, dark and shimmering with desire, but you don’t linger in the car for long. You step out quickly, the cool night air hitting your flushed skin, and rush around to her side, opening the door with a swift motion. Before she can protest, you scoop her up into your arms in a classic princess carry, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. Her sudden yelp of surprise melts into a laugh, her arms instinctively wrapping around your neck.

“What are you doing?!” Jimin exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and amusement as she squirms slightly in your hold. “I’m too heavy—you’ll hurt yourself!” Her tone is playful, but there’s a hint of genuine concern as she looks up at you, her brows furrowed.

“You’re light as a feather,” you dismiss with a grin, tightening your grip as you start walking toward your front door. “Besides, I’ve been training for this moment—carrying my girlfriend is the best kind of workout.” She rolls her eyes at your teasing, but her protests fade, and she gives in, her body relaxing against yours. Her face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, her warm breath tickling your skin, and you can feel her smile against you, her hair brushing your jaw as you carry her. The closeness, the way she melts into you, sends a rush of warmth through your chest, and you savor every second of having her so near after so long apart.

You fumble briefly with the keys, managing to unlock the door with one hand while keeping her secure in your arms, and step inside your house, kicking the door shut behind you. The moment her feet touch the hardwood floor, you don’t give her a chance to catch her breath. Your hands find her waist, and you push her gently but firmly against the wall just inside the entryway, your lips crashing into hers with a passion that’s been building since the concert. The kiss is fiery and desperate, your mouths moving together with a hunger that speaks of months apart and countless nights spent dreaming of this moment.

Jimin moans softly into your mouth, her hands sliding up your chest to grip your shoulders, pulling you closer as her body arches against yours. You press yourself against her, pinning her to the wall, one hand cupping her face while the other slides down to her hip, your fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp. Her lips part, and you deepen the kiss, your tongue brushing hers, tasting the sweetness of her as the heat between you ignites. The wall is cool against your knuckles, a stark contrast to the warmth of her body, and every sound she makes—every hitch of her breath, every soft whimper—fuels the fire coursing through you, the longing of being apart finally giving way to the reality of having her here, in your arms, against your lips.

The kiss against the wall explodes into something feral, a collision of lips and tongues that sets the air ablaze with unrestrained heat. Jimin’s hands slip beneath your shirt, her nails—short but sharp—raking across your skin, igniting a trail of tingling fire over your abdomen. She tugs the fabric upward with impatient fingers, and you break the kiss just long enough to rip the shirt over your head, tossing it into the shadows. Her eyes, dark pools of molten desire, rake over your bare chest, drinking in the taut lines of muscle, the faint sheen of sweat already gathering there. You don’t hesitate—your hands find the hem of her hoodie, peeling it off to reveal the smooth, golden curve of her shoulders and the gentle swell of her breasts, barely contained by a thin black bra. The air between you crackles, electric with urgency, as you scoop her up again. Her legs snap around your waist, thighs clamping tight, the heat of her core pressing against your lower abdomen as you carry her toward the living room, her lips locked to yours in a messy, unbroken dance of need.

You lower her onto the plush couch, the cool fabric brushing her back as she sinks into it, her body a vision of taut curves and trembling anticipation. You hover over her, your hands roaming with a ravenous hunger that’s been simmering for months—fingers tracing the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the soft give of her belly. Her breath hitches as she fumbles with your belt, her desperation palpable, and you help her, shedding your pants and boxers in a frantic tangle that leaves you bare and aching. She’s already wriggling out of her jeans and panties, kicking them off with eager little jerks, and the sight of her—naked, her pussy glistening with slick arousal, her inner thighs faintly trembling—makes your cock throb, hard and heavy with need. You dip your head, kissing down the slender column of her neck, your teeth grazing her skin before you suck hard at her collarbone, pulling a faint, rosy bruise to the surface. Your hand slides between her thighs, finding her pussy soaked and scorching, the lips puffy and inviting. She gasps, a sharp, needy sound, her hips bucking as your thumb brushes her swollen clit, teasing it in tight, lazy circles while two fingers slip inside her impossibly tight heat.

“God, I’ve missed this,” you groan, your voice gravelly with raw want as you pump your fingers, marveling at how her walls grip you—velvet-soft yet so fucking tight, like she’s molded just for you. You curl them, hitting that spongy spot deep inside, and her moan—your name spilling from her lips in a broken cry—sends a jolt straight to your cock. “I want you so bad, Jimin.” Her pussy pulses around your fingers, slick and greedy, coating your hand as you work her, each thrust drawing wet, obscene sounds that fill the room.

“Please—don’t tease,” Karina whimpers, her voice fraying with desperation, her hands clutching your shoulders, nails digging into your skin as she pulls you closer. You can’t deny her—not when she’s like this, flushed and panting, her dark hair fanning across the couch. You pull your hand free, her juices clinging to your fingers, and position yourself, the head of your cock nudging her entrance. With a slow, deliberate thrust, you slide into her, and the sensation is mind-blowing—her pussy a tight, wet vise, clenching around you as you fill her inch by inch. She cries out, her head tipping back, exposing the delicate arch of her throat, and you set a steady rhythm, each thrust sinking deep into her molten core. Her walls flutter around your cock, warm and slick, sucking you in with every motion, and you groan low in your chest, the sound mingling with her breathy gasps. The couch creaks beneath you, protesting as you pick up speed, the slap of your skin against hers—your balls smacking her ass—echoing in the room. “Harder,” she begs, her voice a ragged plea, and her legs tighten around your waist, heels digging into your lower back.

You comply, slamming into her with a force that jolts her body up the couch, her round, firm breasts bouncing beneath her bra with each punishing thrust. Her pussy grips you like a fist, so tight it’s almost painful, the friction building a white-hot pressure in your groin. She shudders beneath you, her orgasm tearing through her with a scream that rips the air apart—her walls clamp down hard, pulsing wildly around your cock, milking you as her juices flood out, soaking your shaft and dripping onto the couch. The sensation shatters your control, and with a guttural moan, you cum, your cock jerking as you spill deep inside her, thick ropes of heat painting her insides. Your body trembles, muscles tensing and releasing as you collapse against her, her chest heaving beneath you, her skin sticky with sweat and sex.

But the hunger doesn’t fade—it lingers, smoldering, ready to flare again. After a brief respite, her lips crash into yours, fierce and demanding, reigniting the spark. You’re both up, stumbling toward the kitchen in a tangle of limbs, her hands shoving you against the counter with surprising strength. The cold edge bites into your lower back as she kisses you hard, her tongue claiming your mouth. Then she pauses, stepping back, her hands sliding to her back. “Wait,” she murmurs, voice husky, and with a flick, her bra unclips and falls away, revealing her tits—full, round, and fucking perfect. Your breath catches, eyes locking onto them: creamy skin, dusky pink nipples hardening in the cool air, the slight bounce as she shifts. “Goddamn, Karina,” you rasp, voice thick with awe, “your tits are unreal. So fucking beautiful—perfectly round, so soft-looking, I could stare at them all day.”

She smirks, stepping closer, letting them press against your chest. “You like them that much, huh?” she teases, but there’s a needy edge to her tone. You don’t just answer—you act. Your hands cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, feeling them pebble under your touch. “Love them,” you growl, squeezing gently, marveling at their weight, their warmth. “They’re fucking gorgeous—best I’ve ever seen.” You pinch her nipples lightly, rolling them between your fingers, and she gasps, head tilting back as a shiver runs through her.

“Play with them more,” she whispers, and you oblige, kneading her tits, tugging her nipples until they’re stiff and swollen, her soft moans spurring you on. You lower your head, taking one into your mouth, sucking hard, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. She arches into you, fingers tangling in your hair, and you switch to the other, leaving both glistening with spit, her skin flushed. “Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” she pants, her chest heaving.

She drops to her knees in a fluid motion, hands gripping your thighs, nails pressing into your skin. Her eyes—dark, wicked—lock onto yours as she wraps her lips around your cock, still slick with your cum and her arousal. “Fuck, Karina,” you groan, voice hoarse as her mouth envelops you, warm and wet, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip with devastating precision. She sucks hard, hollowing her cheeks, tasting the salty-sweet mess, and the sight—lips stretched around your shaft, spit glistening as she bobs her head—makes your head spin. Your cock twitches, hardening fast, and she takes you deeper, the head brushing the back of her throat. Her hands slide up, one cupping your balls, rolling them gently as her tongue flicks the underside, the other stroking the base.

“You taste so fucking good,” she murmurs, words muffled around you, vibrating through your length. You tangle your hands in her hair, guiding her as you rock your hips slightly, fucking her mouth. She moans, eyes watering but locked on yours, pupils blown with lust. Her tongue teases the slit, lapping up precum, her lips tight and perfect. The pressure builds—too fast—her skill undoing you. “Karina—shit, I’m gonna—” you warn, voice breaking.

She pulls off with a wet pop, lips swollen and shiny, a string of spit and cum dangling before it snaps. “Not yet,” she says, voice dripping with need. She stands, pressing her tits together with her hands, framing them like an offering. “Cum on my tits—please, I want it. I need you to cover them.” Her begging hits you like a punch, raw and desperate, and your cock throbs at the thought.

“Fuck, Karina, you’re killing me with those,” you groan, stroking yourself as she kneels again, pushing her breasts up higher. You can’t resist—your hands reach out, squeezing them again, thumbs circling her nipples as she whimpers. Then she takes over, wrapping her tits around your cock, soft and warm, enveloping you completely. “Like this,” she whispers, starting to move, sliding them up and down your shaft. The friction’s insane—her skin’s silky but firm, her nipples brushing your tip with every stroke, slick with spit she lets drip down to ease the glide.

“Holy shit, your tits feel so good,” you rasp, watching her work you, her cleavage swallowing your cock as she pumps faster. “Love how they squeeze me—perfect fucking fit.” She smirks, but her eyes are pleading, locked on yours. “Cum on them—please, I want it so bad,” she begs again, voice shaking, and she tightens her grip, pressing her breasts harder around you. The sight—her on her knees, tits bouncing as she titfucks you, begging for your load—snaps your restraint. You groan, hips jerking, and cum explodes from you, thick ropes splattering across her chest. She moans loud, tilting her head back as hot streaks paint her tits, dripping down her nipples, coating her skin in a glossy mess.

“Fuck, look at that,” you pant, admiring the sight—her breasts glistening with your cum, nipples swollen from your play, her chest heaving as she catches her breath. She runs a finger through it, smearing it over one nipple, then licks it clean, smirking up at you. “Tastes even better off me,” she teases, and you haul her up, kissing her fiercely, tasting yourself mingled with her sweat and spit.

She stands, wiping her swollen lips with the back of her hand, cum glistening on her chin and tits. You grab her wrists and bend her over the kitchen island, hunger driving you. Her pert, round ass presses against you, soft and warm, as you align yourself, your cock nudging her soaked entrance. You thrust in from behind, plunging deep into her tight, dripping pussy, and she moans loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. Her walls grip you like a vice, slick and scorching, clenching around your shaft as you drive into her. The cold marble presses against her belly and cum-slicked breasts, her nipples hardening against it.

You thrust hard, relentless, the wet slap of your hips against her ass filling the room, paired with the counter’s creak under her grip. Her fingers curl around the edge, knuckles whitening, and her second orgasm hits fast—her legs tremble, her pussy spasming around you, so tight it’s almost unbearable. Her juices gushed out, mixing with your precum, and trickling down her thighs. The sensation tips you over, and with a guttural groan, you cum, your cock pulsing as you spill deep inside her. Your thick release blends with hers, a hot, sticky mess dripping down her skin and pooling on the floor.

Breathless, you scoop her up, her body limp yet clinging as you stumble to the bedroom. The sheets are rumpled from earlier, and you lay her down, her dark hair fanning across the pillow. You kiss her breasts, nipples still pebbled and sticky with your cum, your tongue flicking over them, drawing a soft gasp. You kiss her stomach, muscles twitching under your lips, then her inner thighs, silky and trembling, slick with your combined release. You spread her legs, exposing her glistening pussy—pink, puffy, dripping—and dive in, tasting her. Your tongue laps up her sweet juices mixed with your salty cum, intoxicatingly filthy.

She writhes, hips bucking as you tease her oversensitive clit with slow swirls until she’s whimpering, tugging you up. You kiss her fiercely, letting her taste the mess, and slide into her again—slower, savoring her tight, fluttering walls. Her nails rake down your back, leaving stinging trails, and she cums again, cries muffled against your shoulder as her pussy clenches hard. It drags you over the edge, your cock throbbing as you spill inside her, collapsing together, sweat-soaked and panting.

The night stretches on, insatiable, and you stagger to the bathroom, bodies slick with cum, sweat, and sex clinging like a second skin. The tiles are cool underfoot as you fumble for the shower, but she presses you against the sink, pinning you with surprising strength. Her hand wraps around your cock—still slick, half-hard—and strokes you back to life, fingers tight and teasing, coaxing a low groan. “One more,” she whispers, voice hoarse, and you lift her onto the counter, her legs spreading wide, her pussy dripping with your combined mess.

You step between her thighs, the mirror reflecting her bouncing breasts—round, perfect, still streaked with your cum—and her stretched, swollen pussy as you drive in. Her tightness grips you like a glove, every thrust forcing a wet squelch as fluids spill out, coating your shaft and dripping onto the counter. The slap of skin echoes in the small space, lewd and relentless, and she clings to you, arms around your neck, breath hot in your ear. Her third orgasm hits with a sob, her pussy clamping down hard, pulsing wildly, pulling you into your release. You cum with a broken moan, pumping her full again, some splattering her thighs as you thrust through it.

Exhausted, you step into the shower together, warm water washing away the cum, sweat, and raw scent of your marathon. The intimacy lingers, soft and unspoken, as your hands move gently over her body. You trace her hips, the dip of her spine, lathering soap across her skin as she sighs, head resting against your chest. She cleans you too, fingers tender over your shoulders and chest, washing away her nail marks, steam rising like a warm cocoon around you.

The soft light of a London morning filters through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom where you and Jimin lie entwined, her body nestled perfectly against yours. Her rest day in England is your precious gift, the only full day you have before her tour sweeps her away again, and you intend to savor every second. You wake slowly, the warmth of her breath against your chest stirring you from sleep, her arm draped possessively over you. With a reluctant sigh, you gently pry yourself from her embrace, careful not to wake her, and slip out of bed, the cool floor a stark contrast to the heat of her skin. Your heart aches with how much you already miss her closeness, but the promise of a perfect day fuels your steps as you head downstairs to make breakfast.

In the kitchen, the quiet hum of the morning surrounds you as you gather ingredients—flour, eggs, milk—setting out to make pancakes, her favorite. The sizzle of butter in the pan fills the air as you pour the first batter, the scent of vanilla wafting up, a small gesture of love. Lost in the rhythm of flipping, you don’t hear her at first, but then a soft rustle, followed by hurried footsteps, catches your attention. That morning, Karina wakes in your bed, the empty space beside her jarring, and a wave of panic grips her—her pulse quickening as she scrambles out of the sheets, searching the bathroom, the hallway, her voice shaky as she calls your name with increasing urgency. When she finally reaches the kitchen, her breath catches in relief. You turn to see Jimin standing in the doorway, her hair a tousled halo, her eyes still heavy with sleep but now softening with reassurance at the sight of you. She’s wrapped in your oversized shirt, the hem brushing her thighs, and the sight steals your breath.

“Good morning, beautiful,” you say, your voice warm and tender, a smile spreading across your face as she pads toward you. She doesn’t reply with words—instead, she slips behind you, her arms sliding around your waist in a gentle back hug, her cheek pressing against your back. “Your heartbeat,” she murmurs, her voice soft and dreamy, “it’s so calming. I could listen to it all day.” The intimacy of her words wraps around you, and you feel a surge of affection, your heart beating a little faster under her touch.

You turn in her arms, facing her, and cup her face gently, leaning down to kiss her. It’s slow and sweet, her lips soft and warm against yours, tasting faintly of sleep and the promise of the day ahead. Breaking the kiss, you lift her effortlessly, her surprised giggle filling the room as you set her on the counter, her legs dangling. “Stay there,” you say with a grin, turning back to the stove to flip the first pancake, the golden edges crisp and perfect. You slide it onto a plate, drizzling it with a touch of syrup, and hand it to her straight from the pan, the warmth transferring to her fingers.

She takes a bite, her eyes closing in delight, and as you cook more, you pass her each fresh pancake, the kitchen filling with the cozy aroma. She feeds you a piece in return, her fingers brushing your lips, and follows it with another kiss—brief but filled with love, the taste of syrup mingling between you. The ritual continues, a dance of giving and receiving, until the stack is gone, and her fingers are sticky with syrup and butter. You catch her hand, bringing it to your mouth, and slowly lick her fingers clean, your tongue tracing each digit with care, savoring the sweetness and the way her breath hitches at the intimate gesture. Her eyes lock with yours, a soft blush coloring her cheeks, and the moment stretches, a quiet, romantic thread binding you together on this fleeting, perfect day.

After the tender moment of cleaning her sticky fingers, the air between you and Jimin shifts, charged with a quiet, simmering intimacy. The kitchen is still warm with the scent of pancakes, but your focus narrows to her—her soft breaths, the way her eyes follow your every move. You step closer, your hands resting on her hips where she sits on the counter, and gently guide her thighs apart, the fabric of your shirt riding up to reveal the smooth expanse of her skin. Her gaze meets yours, a mix of curiosity and anticipation flickering in her dark eyes, and you feel your heart swell with love and desire.

Leaning in, you start with slow, deliberate kisses along her neck, your lips brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear. Each kiss is a tease, lingering for a heartbeat before moving to the next spot, your breath warm against her as she tilts her head back with a soft sigh. You trace a path downward, your lips grazing the curve of her collarbone, then lower, nipping gently at the hollow of her throat where her pulse quickens beneath your touch. Her hands find your shoulders, fingers curling into your shirt, and a quiet moan escapes her, fueling the romantic tension building between you.

You sink to your knees, your hands sliding down her thighs, parting them further as you press slow, reverent kisses along the inner skin. Each kiss is a caress, your lips soft and warm, moving with agonizing slowness from her knee upward, savoring the smoothness of her flesh. Her breathing grows uneven, her thighs trembling slightly under your hands, and you can feel the heat radiating from her core as you inch closer. You kiss the tender crease where her thigh meets her hip, your lips hovering just shy of her pussy, and her hips shift instinctively toward you, a needy whimper slipping out.

Teasingly, you pause, your lips a breath away, and instead of touching her where she craves, you blow a gentle stream of cool air across her slick folds. She gasps, her body jolting at the sensation, the contrast of the air against her heated skin making her squirm. “Please,” she whispers, her voice a desperate plea, her hands tightening on your shoulders, but you only smile against her thigh, placing another slow kiss just to the side, prolonging the sweet torture. The intimacy of the moment wraps around you both, a dance of love and longing, her vulnerability laid bare as you worship her with every careful, teasing touch.

The teasing tension hangs in the air, but you decide to shift the moment into something even more intimate. Pulling back from Jimin’s trembling thighs, you rise to your feet, your hands lingering on her hips as you meet her flushed gaze. “I think it’s time for a bath,” you say, your voice low and warm, laced with affection. “Want to join me?” Her eyes light up, a soft smile breaking through her needy expression, and without a word, she slides off the counter, her movements eager.

Before you can take a step, she leaps onto your back, her legs wrapping around your waist and her arms encircling your neck in a playful, clinging hug. Her laughter rings out, light and joyous, as she presses her cheek against yours, her breath tickling your ear. “Carry me!” she giggles, and you chuckle, adjusting your grip under her thighs to support her weight, her body warm and soft against you. The short journey to the basement feels like a dance, her legs tightening playfully as you descend the stairs, the cool air of the lower level contrasts with the heat between you.

You reach the basement, where the jacuzzi sits nestled in a cozy corner, its sleek edges promising relaxation. Setting her down gently, you turn on the faucet, the sound of water filling the tub a soothing backdrop. “Can you keep an eye on it?” you ask, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She nods, her eyes following you with a tender smile as you head upstairs to gather supplies. You grab a pair of soft sweatpants and a t-shirt for yourself, a fluffy robe, and one of your old hoodies for her, along with thick towels. On impulse, you snag a bottle of red wine and two elegant wine glasses from the kitchen, the idea of sharing a romantic soak with her fueling your steps.

Returning to the basement, you find the jacuzzi nearly full, steam rising in gentle curls, the air thick with warmth and promise. Jimin stands by the edge, her silhouette is graceful against the soft, amber light filtering through the room, her presence magnetic. You set the clothes and towels aside on a nearby bench, your pulse quickening as you approach her. “Let me help you,” you murmur, voice low and edged with anticipation, your hands trembling slightly as you reach for the hem of the loose shirt she’s wearing—one of yours, oversized on her frame, the fabric clinging faintly to her curves.

You peel it off slowly, deliberately, revealing her skin inch by inch, and as the shirt lifts past her waist, her breasts come into view—unrestrained, no bra beneath, full and perfect. Your breath hitches, eyes locking onto them: round, supple, with a gentle heft that makes your mouth water, her dusky pink nipples already perking up in the warm, humid air. “Fuck, Jimin,” you whisper, almost to yourself, “your tits are incredible.” You drop the shirt aside, hands hovering for a moment before settling on her waist, guiding her closer as you begin your worship.

You start with soft, lingering kisses along her collarbone, tasting the faint salt of her skin, then trail down the curve of her shoulder, your lips brushing with a featherlight touch that makes her shiver. But it’s her chest that draws you—irresistibly—and you dip lower, pressing your mouth to the swell of her breasts. “So fucking perfect,” you murmur against her skin, voice thick with awe, as you cup them gently in your hands, thumbs grazing the undersides. They’re warm, and heavy, the weight of them filling your palms like they were made for you. You knead them softly, savoring their softness, the way they yield under your touch yet hold their firm shape.

Jimin lets out a quiet moan, her hands resting lightly on your head, fingers threading into your hair as you kiss across her chest, lips tracing the delicate curve where her breasts meet her ribcage. “You like them that much?” she breathes, a teasing lilt undercut by the hitch in her voice. “Love them,” you reply, muffled against her skin, and you prove it—your mouth finds one nipple, brushing it with a slow, wet kiss before sucking gently. She gasps, arching slightly, and you take your time, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, feeling it harden under your attention. “So pretty,” you groan, pulling back to admire how it glistens with your spit, swollen and flushed, before switching to the other, sucking harder this time, teeth grazing just enough to make her whimper.

Your hands never stop, massaging her tits with a reverent rhythm, thumbs flicking her nipples in sync with your mouth. “God, I could play with these all night,” you say, voice rough with need, and you press her breasts together, marveling at the deep cleavage it creates. You bury your face there, kissing and licking the valley between them, inhaling her scent—clean sweat and something faintly sweet, uniquely her. She squirms, a soft laugh breaking through her moans. “You’re obsessed,” she accuses, but her grip on your hair tightens, urging you on.

“Damn right, I am,” you growl, and you pinch her nipples lightly, rolling them between your fingers until they’re stiff peaks, her breath coming faster now. You tug gently, watching her face—eyes fluttering shut, lips parting in a silent cry—and it’s intoxicating, the way she reacts to every touch. “They’re so sensitive,” you murmur, almost in wonder, and you lower your mouth again, sucking one nipple deep while your hand works the other, squeezing and teasing until she’s trembling, her thighs pressing together as arousal pools lower.

You pull back for a moment, just to look—her tits are flushed, nipples dark and glistening, a faint sheen of sweat making them glow in the dim light. “Fucking gorgeous,” you say, voice hoarse, and you can’t resist giving them one more slow, deliberate lick each, tongue flat and broad, dragging across the peaks as she moans louder, her hands clutching you tighter. Only then do you continue downward, kissing her stomach, the dip of her hips, your lips brushing every exposed inch with the same reverence? You kneel, trailing kisses along her thighs, then her calves, before sliding her panties down, pressing a final worshipful kiss to the tops of her feet as they step free, her body now bare and trembling before you.

You shed your own clothes quickly, your eyes never leaving hers, and step into the jacuzzi first, the warm water enveloping you as you settle against the side. “Come here,” you say softly, holding out your hand. Jimin joins you, her movements graceful despite the steam, and she slides into the water, settling between your legs. Her back presses against your chest, her head resting on your sternum, and you wrap your arms around her, pulling her close. The water laps gently around you both, the heat seeping into your muscles as her hair floats softly against your skin. You reach for the wine, pour two glasses, and hand her one, clinking yours against hers in a silent toast to this stolen moment, the intimacy of her body against yours filling the space with a profound, romantic stillness.

The jacuzzi’s warm water envelops you and Jimin, the gentle jets humming softly, easing you both into a cocoon of relaxation. Steam curls upward in lazy spirals, blending with the faint, fruity scent of red wine perched on the ledge. Jimin nestles perfectly between your legs, her back flush against your chest, her head tucked just below your chin.

You feel her breathing, slow and steady, her chest rising and falling in sync with yours, the world beyond this moment fading away. One arm drapes around her, hand splayed across her soft stomach, while the other traces idle, featherlight circles along her forearm. The silence wraps you like a warm blanket, melting away the stress of your separate lives.

After a long, peaceful stretch, Jimin’s voice cuts through, soft and tinged with melancholy. “I’ll miss this,” she murmurs, her head tilting so her cheek grazes your collarbone. Her words sting, a sharp reminder of her looming departure, and your heart tightens painfully.

You refuse to let the sadness take hold—not now, with her warm, pliant body pressed against you. “Let’s enjoy every single moment we have left,” you say, voice low and resolute, a vow to savor her presence. To banish the gloom, you dip your head, lips brushing the delicate curve of her neck.

At first, you kiss her gently, lips lingering on the sensitive skin below her ear, tasting the faint salt of her skin, warm and slightly damp from the day. She sighs, a soft, contented hum vibrating through her chest. Her body sinks deeper into you as tension ebbs from her shoulders. You trail kisses down the slope where her neck meets her shoulder, each one slow and deliberate, a silent promise. Your hands slide up her sides, brushing the edge of her shirt before slipping beneath, finding her breasts—bare, soft, and warm against your palms. You cup them gently, thumbs grazing her nipples, feeling them stiffen under your touch, velvety and hot. She gasps, a sharp intake of breath, as you roll one nipple between your fingers, the skin puckering into a tight bud. Your lips move lower, kissing the swell of her chest, tasting her sweetness, then close around the other nipple—wet and slick as you suck lightly, tongue flicking over the hardened peak. Her fingers twitch against your arm, a quiet moan slipping out as her body arches into the heat of your hands and mouth.

Your hand on her stomach stirs, creeping downward with agonizing intent. It slips between her legs, the water slicking her skin as your fingers graze the tender insides of her thighs. You tease her, brushing so close to her core but never quite touching, a maddening dance of almosts.

You trace slow, teasing circles around her pussy, skimming the edges of her folds, feeling the heat radiating from her. Her breath hitches, legs parting slightly, inviting you in, her body arching just a fraction toward your hand. You graze her clit with the lightest whisper of a touch, then retreat, leaving her wanting.

You blow a soft stream of air through the water, the bubbles tickling her sensitive skin, and she whimpers, a needy little sound that makes your cock twitch. Her hands grip your thighs beneath the surface, nails digging in as she squirms against you, desperate for more.

“Please,” she gasps, voice trembling, her head tipping back against your chest. Her dark eyes lock onto yours, wide and pleading, glistening with raw need. “I need you—please, stop teasing me, I can’t take it.”

Her desperation fuels you, her breathy plea dripping with want as she writhes, her ass pressing harder against your growing erection. “Touch me, please—I’m begging you,” she whines, her voice cracking, her hips rolling subtly to chase your hand. The sight of her—so undone, so needy—sets your pulse racing.

You prolong the torment, letting your fingers hover near her entrance, brushing her folds with featherlight strokes. “You want it that bad, huh?” you murmur, voice low and teasing, lips grazing her ear. She nods frantically, a soft sob escaping her throat.

“Please, I need your fingers inside me—please, it’s too much,” she begs, her tone raw and shattered, her body trembling with anticipation. Her pussy clenches the air, aching for you, and you can’t resist her any longer.

Finally, you give in, sliding two fingers into her slick, searing heat, curling them deep as your thumb presses firmly against her swollen clit. She moans loudly, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls, her pussy gripping your fingers like a tight, wet glove, pulsing with every move.

“Oh God, yes—that feels so good,” she groans, her voice thick with pleasure, her hips bucking to meet your thrusts. You set a slow, torturous pace at first, dragging your fingers in and out, feeling her walls flutter and squeeze you, her slickness coating your hand.

“Fuck, you’re amazing—so deep,” she pants, her head lolling back, eyes half-lidded as she surrenders to the sensation. You pick up speed, thrusting harder, curling your fingers to hit that sweet spot inside her, and her moans turn to desperate cries.

“It’s so good—don’t stop, please,” she gasps, her hands clutching your thighs tighter, nails biting into your skin. The water sloshes around you, splashing over the edge as her hips grind against your hand, chasing every stroke, every press of your thumb on her clit.

You kiss her neck again, sucking a dark, possessive mark into her skin as you drive her higher. “You feel incredible—so tight around me,” you growl against her ear, reveling in how her pussy clenches even harder at your words.

“Oh fuck, I can’t—feels too good,” she whimpers, her voice breaking as her body tenses, teetering on the edge. You thrust faster, your thumb circling her clit with relentless pressure, and she’s a mess of moans and pleas, her breath ragged.

“Cum for me, baby,” you murmur, voice rough with desire, your lips brushing her earlobe. That’s all it takes—her orgasm slams into her, her body shuddering violently in your arms, her pussy clamping down on your fingers so tight it steals your breath.

“Yes—fuck, I’m cumming!” she cries, her voice shattering as she rides the waves, her walls pulsing wildly, gushing slick heat over your hand. You keep moving, drawing out every tremor, her thighs quaking, her moans turning to soft, broken sobs of ecstasy.

“So good—so fucking good,” she pants, her body limp against you as the aftershocks ripple through her, her pussy still fluttering around your fingers. You slow your pace, easing her down, kissing her shoulder tenderly as she catches her breath.

When the high fades, Jimin turns her head, her lips crashing into yours in a deep, desperate kiss. One hand slides up, tangling in your hair, tugging hard, while the other grips your shoulder, anchoring herself to you.

The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue, her taste mingling with the faint tang of her arousal still on your lips. She pours her lingering pleasure into it, possessive and fierce, and the water laps gently around you, a warm contrast to the fire between you.

As Jimin’s orgasm subsides, her body still trembling in your arms, you feel the overwhelming urge to take her right there in the jacuzzi, to bury yourself inside her and lose yourself in the heat of her. The way her pussy clenched around your fingers, the raw sound of her cries echoing in the steam-filled room, ignites a fire in you that’s hard to ignore. But the intensity of her release is evident—her legs shake uncontrollably, her chest heaving with ragged breaths, and her head lolls against your shoulder, a testament to how powerfully it hit her. You don’t want to overwhelm her, not when she’s still so vulnerable in your embrace, so you temper your desire, choosing instead to cherish her in this moment.

With gentle care, you reach for the soap, lathering your hands to clean her, your fingers gliding over her skin with a tenderness that contrasts with the passion moments ago. You wash the sweat and remnants of her pleasure from her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, each touch a silent promise of love. She sighs softly, leaning into your hands, and you clean yourself too, the warm water rinsing away the evidence of your shared intimacy. Once done, you step out, wrapping her in a fluffy towel before helping her into the oversized hoodie and robe you brought, the fabric swallowing her petite frame. You dress in the sweatpants and t-shirt, the casual comfort grounding you as you guide her upstairs, her hand clasped in yours.

In the living room, you settle onto the couch, pulling her close as you drape a blanket over you both. You queue up her favorite movies—romantic classics she’s mentioned in late-night calls—and the soft glow of the TV casts a warm light across her face. Her head rests on your chest, her breathing slowing as the familiar scenes unfold, and soon her eyelids flutter shut, her body relaxing fully against you in sleep. You watch her for a moment, her peaceful expression a stark contrast to the passion of earlier, and your heart swells with love. Reluctantly, you glance at the clock—training awaits—and with a sigh, you ease out from under her, careful not to wake her. You scribble a quick note—“Went to training. Be back soon. Love you, Jimin”—and leave it on the coffee table, pressing a feather-light kiss to her forehead before heading out.

The day at training drags, your mind drifting to her sleeping form, but when you finally return home, the door creaks open to a sight that stops you in your tracks. Jimin—now awake—rushes toward you, her bare feet padding against the floor, her hair a messy cascade around her face. She throws her arms around your neck, pulling you into a kiss that’s sweet and eager, her lips soft and warm against yours. “Welcome back home, babe,” she murmurs against your mouth, her voice laced with affection, her body pressed close.

The words and her embrace hit you like a wave, a deep warmth spreading through your chest as you hold her tight, your hands resting on her lower back. “I could get used to this,” you say, your voice thick with emotion as you pull back just enough to look into her eyes. “Coming home to you jumping into my arms and kissing me every day—it’s more than I ever dreamed of.” Her smile widens, a blush coloring her cheeks, and she nestles back into you, the promise of more moments like this lingering in the air, a romantic thread binding your fleeting time together.

After stepping through the door and sharing that heartfelt moment with Jimin, you feel the lingering sweat and fatigue from training clinging to you. You excuse yourself for a quick shower, leaving her in the living room with a lingering kiss on her forehead. The hot water washes away the day’s exertion, and you emerge feeling refreshed, slipping into a comfortable pair of joggers and a loose t-shirt. Your mind turns to the rest of the evening—Jimin’s last few hours before she has to leave for her next tour stop—and you decide to cook for her, something simple yet heartfelt to make the most of your time. Homemade pasta with a light tomato sauce comes to mind, paired with a small cake for dessert, a sweet ending to her rest day in England.

You head to the kitchen, Jimin trailing behind you with a curious smile, her oversized hoodie sleeves dangling past her hands. “What’s the plan, chef?” she teases, leaning against the counter as you pull out ingredients—flour, eggs, sugar, and a few ripe tomatoes. “Just some pasta and a little cake,” you reply, rolling up your sleeves. “Thought we’d start with the cake first. Want to help?” Her eyes light up, and she nods eagerly, stepping closer to join you.

You begin mixing the cake batter, measuring out flour and sugar while Jimin cracks the eggs, her movements careful but playful. As you sift the flour into a bowl, she sneaks up beside you, a mischievous glint in her eye. Before you can react, she dips her fingers into the flour bag and flicks a handful onto your face, the white powder dusting your cheeks and nose. “Jimin!” you exclaim, laughing as you wipe your eyes, the flour leaving a streak across your forehead. She giggles, her laughter bright and infectious, and tries to dart away, but you’re quicker, grabbing a handful of flour and tossing it at her. It catches her hair and the front of her hoodie, turning her into a snowy mess.

The kitchen erupts into a full-on food fight, the air filling with clouds of flour as you both lob handfuls at each other, your laughter echoing off the walls. She squeals, ducking behind the counter to grab more, then launches another attack, the powder sticking to her cheeks and eyelashes, making her look like a playful ghost. You chase after her, dodging a particularly wild throw that sends flour scattering across the floor, and finally catch her, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind. Your grip is firm, pinning her arms to her sides, preventing her from throwing any more flour. She squirms, laughing breathlessly, but there’s no escaping your hold, her body pressed against yours as you both catch your breath.

Jimin tilts her head back, looking up at you, and her eyes are alight with happiness, the kind of pure, unfiltered joy that makes your heart ache with love. Flour dusts her face, a smudge on her nose, and a streak across her cheek, but she’s never looked more beautiful. Her gaze softens, the laughter fading into a tender warmth, and you can’t resist. You lean down, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s brimming with passion, the taste of flour mingling with her sweetness. Her lips part under yours, and she melts into the kiss, her body relaxing in your arms as her hands—still dusted with flour—reach up to cup your face, pulling you closer. The kiss deepens, a hungry edge to it as your tongues brush, the mess of the kitchen forgotten in the heat of the moment, the passion a testament to how much you’ll miss her when she’s gone.

The passionate kiss in the flour-dusted kitchen sparks a fire neither of you can tame, the playful food fight fading into a raw, primal hunger. Jimin’s flour-dusted hands slide from your face to your chest, fingers clawing into your shirt as she presses closer. “God, I want you so bad,” she breathes against your lips, her voice trembling with need, her kiss fierce and hungry.

The air thickens with lust, flour scattered on the counter and floor a forgotten mess as desire takes over. You pull back, panting, locking eyes with her—dark, dilated, blazing with want. “Jimin, I need you—right here, right now,” you say, voice husky and thick.

“Yes, please—take me,” she gasps, nodding eagerly, her words a desperate plea. Your hands grip her hips, hoisting her onto the counter, the cool edge biting into her thighs as her legs part wide. “Fuck, hurry,” she urges, her tone needy.

Her oversized hoodie rides up, baring her smooth skin, and you yank it off, tossing it aside. She’s naked beneath, flour smudged across her chest and arms, her breasts heaving. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” you murmur, voice dripping with awe, and she blushes, whispering, “Touch me—please.”

She fumbles with your joggers, fingers shaking, and you help, shoving them down with your boxers. Your cock springs free, hard and throbbing, and she gasps, “Oh God, you’re so big—I need it.” You step between her legs, hands sliding up her thighs, spreading them wider.

Her pussy glistens, wet and ready, and she leans back on her elbows, panting, “Please, don’t make me wait.” You smirk, leaning in to kiss her deep, tongue plunging into her mouth as your hand teases between her legs. “Not yet,” you whisper against her lips, fingers brushing her slick folds.

She moans into the kiss, hips bucking, and you circle her clit with your thumb, light and teasing. “Oh fuck—touch me more, I’m begging you!” she cries, voice quivering, her body trembling under your control. You graze her entrance, barely dipping in, and she whines, “Please, I need your fingers—tease me more and I’ll lose it!”

“You want it that bad?” you taunt, voice low, dragging your fingers along her folds, avoiding her clit. “Yes—fuck, yes, I’m dying for it!” she sobs, her hands gripping the counter, flour puffing around her. “Please, put them in me—I can’t take this!”

You prolong the torture, tracing her pussy’s edges, feeling her drip onto your hand. “Tell me how bad you want it,” you growl, lips brushing her ear. “So fucking bad—I need you inside me, please, I’m begging!” she wails, her hips rolling desperately.

Finally, you slide two fingers into her tight, soaking heat, and she screams, “Yes—oh my God, that’s it!” Her pussy clamps down, hot and slick, and you pump slowly, curling them deep. “Fuck, you feel so good—so deep, don’t stop!” she moans, voice loud and raw.

“Like that, huh?” you rasp, thrusting harder, your thumb teasing her clit in slow circles. “Yes—holy shit, it’s amazing!” she gasps, her head tipping back, flour dusting her hair. “You’re driving me crazy—feels so fucking good!”

Her walls flutter around your fingers, squeezing tight as you pick up the pace. “Oh God, I’m gonna explode—keep going!” she cries, her hips grinding against your hand, her juices coating you. “You’re so good—so fucking perfect inside me!”

You suck a mark into her neck, thrusting relentlessly, and she groans, “Yes—right there, it’s insane!” Her moans fill the kitchen, loud and unrestrained, her breasts bouncing as she writhes. “I can’t—fuck, it’s too good, please don’t stop!”

“Cum for me, Jimin—let me hear you,” you growl, thumb pressing hard on her clit, fingers curling to hit her sweet spot. “Oh fuck—I’m cumming, yes!” she screams, her pussy pulsing wildly, gripping your fingers as her orgasm rips through her, juices soaking your hand.

“So good—so fucking good!” she pants, riding the waves, her voice breaking with each shudder. You keep moving, drawing out every cry, her body shaking, “Oh God, you’re amazing—I can’t stop cumming!”

When she quiets, you pull your fingers out, gripping your cock, guiding it to her dripping entrance. “Ready for me?” you ask, voice rough. “Yes—fuck me, please!” she begs, eyes pleading, and you thrust in slow and deep.

“Oh shit—you’re so big, it’s perfect!” she groans, her pussy stretching tight around you, warm and wet. You both moan, and you grip her hips, starting a steady rhythm. “Goddamn, you’re tight—feels incredible,” you rasp, thrusting deep.

“Harder—please, fuck me harder!” she cries, legs wrapping around your waist, heels digging into your back. You slam into her, the counter creaking, flour puffing into the air. “Yes—like that, don’t stop!” she screams, nails clawing your shoulders.

You lean down, sucking her nipple, tongue flicking the hard peak, and she gasps, “Fuck—right there, it’s so good!” Her pussy tightens, fluttering around your cock, and you growl, “You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?”

“Yes—oh God, make me cum!” she pleads, and you rub her clit hard, thrusting deeper. “I’m there—fuck, I’m cumming!” she wails, her orgasm crashing over her, pussy pulsing, soaking you. “You’re unreal—cum with me!” she begs, and you do, groaning, “Fuck, Jimin!” as you spill inside her, hot and thick.

Panting, you stay connected, her legs still locked around you, her chest pressed to yours. “Holy shit, that was insane,” she whispers, pulling you into a tender kiss. “I love you—so much,” she murmurs, flour streaking her face.

“I love you too,” you reply, brushing a flour-dusted strand from her eyes. The messy kitchen is a testament to your wild, beautiful connection.

As the afterglow of your passionate encounter settles over the kitchen, you and Jimin linger in each other’s arms, the flour-dusted counter a testament to your intimacy. Her breathing steadies against your chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin, and you press a tender kiss to her forehead, savoring the quiet moment. The thought of her leaving soon weighs on you, but you push it aside, wanting to make the most of her remaining time. “How about we go out for dinner?” you suggest, your voice soft but hopeful. “Somewhere nice, just the two of us.” Jimin’s eyes light up, a smile spreading across her face, and she nods eagerly. “That sounds perfect,” she replies, her tone warm, unaware that this decision will cast a shadow over your future.

You both clean up, wiping the flour from your skin and changing into fresh clothes—Jimin in a casual sweater and jeans, her hair pulled into a loose bun, and you in a simple button-up and trousers. The drive to a cozy Italian restaurant is filled with laughter and shared glances, the evening unfolding like a dream. The dimly lit dining room offers a secluded corner table, and you order pasta and wine, feeding each other bites across the table, your hands brushing as you share romantic moments—her leaning in for a quick kiss, you wiping a smudge of sauce from her lip. Unbeknownst to you, paparazzi lurk outside, their camera lens capturing every tender exchange through the window, the flashes unnoticed in the warm ambiance.

The night ends too soon, and early the next morning, you drive Jimin to meet her groupmates at the airport for her flight to the next concert destination. The sky is still dark, the air crisp as you pull up to the terminal, her suitcase in the trunk. You help her out, pulling her into a tight hug, your lips meeting hers in a lingering kiss that tastes of goodbye. “I’ll call you when I land,” she whispers, her eyes shimmering with emotion, and you nod, watching her join Winter, Ningning, and Giselle before they disappear into the terminal. Exhausted, you return home, the house feeling emptier without her, and collapse into bed, drifting into a deep sleep.

Your slumber is shattered hours later by a relentless barrage of notifications—your phone buzzing with messages and calls from your teammates, friends, and family. Groggy, you fumble for the device, the screen lighting up with texts like “Is it true about you and Karina?!” and “Mate, you’re all over the news!” Panic sets in as you open a news app, and there it is—a headline screaming “Manchester United Star Dating K-Pop Idol Karina!” accompanied by those stolen photos of your dinner, your faces clear as you shared that intimate meal.

Your mind spirals into chaos, images flashing of the paparazzi, the public scrutiny, and the potential fallout for Jimin’s career. Your first instinct is to call her, to hear her voice, and figure this out together, but her phone is switched off. You try again, then a third time, the automated message cutting through each attempt, and the silence that follows terrifies you. Your heart pounds, fear gripping you as you wonder how this will affect her, her group, and the fragile love you’ve built, the uncertainty leaving you frozen in your bed.

The weight of the unfolding media storm presses heavily on your shoulders as you head to training, your mind a chaotic whirlwind of worry and guilt. The drive to the training ground, usually a time for mental preparation, is filled with dread, your fingers gripping the steering wheel too tightly, your jaw clenched as you replay the images of those paparazzi photos in your mind. You can’t stop thinking about Jimin—how she must be feeling, whether she’s okay, why she hasn’t called. The silence from her end is a knife twisting in your gut, each unanswered call amplifying your fear that this scandal might have pushed her away for good.

As you pull into the training facility, your worst fears materialize—a swarm of reporters and photographers crowds the entrance, their cameras flashing aggressively as they shout your name. “Are you dating Karina?” “How long have you been together?” “What does this mean for your career?” The barrage of questions hits you like a tidal wave, your heart pounding in your chest as you push through the throng, keeping your head down, your lips pressed into a tight line. The scrutiny is suffocating, the flashing lights blinding, and you feel a raw, exposed vulnerability you’ve never experienced before. Your teammates, already on the pitch, glance over with curious expressions, but you can’t meet their eyes, the shame and anxiety coiling tighter around you.

Inside, you’re summoned to the manager’s office, the familiar space now feeling like a courtroom as you step through the door. Your manager, a stern but fair man with experience handling high-profile players, sits behind his desk, his expression unreadable. You brace yourself, expecting a reprimand, your stomach churning with the fear that this could jeopardize your place on the team. But he leans back in his chair, his tone calm yet firm. “I don’t care what happens off the pitch,” he says, his voice steady. “Your personal life is yours. But I’ll be clear—your performance cannot slip. The media will eat you alive if you let this affect your game. Stay focused.” His words are both a relief and a warning, the pressure to perform now layered with the chaos of your personal life. You nod, muttering a quiet “Understood, sir,” but as you leave his office, the weight of his expectations settles heavily on your already burdened shoulders.

Days crawl by, each one an agonizing stretch of silence from Jimin, and the weight of her absence presses down on you like a suffocating fog. Aespa has already performed in Germany, their tour schedule moving forward without pause, and yet she still hasn’t called you back. The absence of her voice, her laughter, her reassurance—it eats at you, gnawing at your thoughts like a relentless parasite, each unanswered moment reopening a wound you thought had healed. You check your phone obsessively, your fingers trembling as you swipe through notifications, hoping for a message, a missed call, anything, but the blank screen mocks your desperation, a cruel reminder of the void she left behind. Your mind spirals into the darkest corners, conjuring worst-case scenarios that haunt your sleepless nights. What if her management forced her to end things? What if the scandal has damaged her career and reputation, and she blames you? What if she’s decided the pressure is too much, that loving you isn’t worth the risk?

The thought of losing her again, of never feeling her warmth, her touch, sends a sharp pang through your chest, a hollow ache that feels all too familiar. You’ve been here before—when she slipped out of your life the first time after that night in Seoul, leaving nothing but a whispered note and an empty bed. That abandonment carved a deep scar into your heart, the pain of waking to her absence, of not knowing why she left, haunting you for months. You’d spent countless nights wondering if you’d done something wrong, if you’d been too much or not enough, the silence amplifying your insecurities until you buried them deep. Now, as the news of your relationship spreads like wildfire, those old wounds rip open, the fear of abandonment clawing at you with vicious claws. What if this is her leaving again, but this time for good? The idea of her walking away, of choosing her world over you, is a torment that seeps into every corner of your being, your heart aching with an emptiness that no amount of training can distract you from.

You go through the motions at practice, your body moving on autopilot—dribbling, passing, shooting—but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in a loop of memories and fears. You replay every moment of that dinner, the way her eyes sparkled as she laughed, the warmth of her hand brushing yours; every stolen kiss, her lips soft and urgent against yours; every whispered “x,” her voice a melody that tethered you to her. Now, with the headlines screaming your names, those memories feel like fragile glass, on the verge of shattering under the weight of public scrutiny. The uncertainty is a torment, a constant undercurrent of fear that threatens to drown you, each unanswered call a reminder of the first time she vanished, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your broken trust. With each passing day, the hope you cling to feels more fragile, more out of reach, and the pain of her potential abandonment cuts deeper, a raw wound you fear might never heal.

The moment Karina steps into the hotel lobby in Germany with her Aespa members—Winter, Ningning, and Giselle—their phones erupt with a cacophony of notifications, a sudden storm of buzzing and dinging that shatters the quiet exhaustion of their arrival. Her heart sinks as she glances at her screen, the headlines blaring in bold: “Karina of Aespa Spotted with Manchester United Star!” The accompanying photos—her laughing with you over dinner, your hand brushing hers—stare back at her, a public exposure of the private sanctuary she tries to protect. A wave of panic crashes over her, her chest tightening as her breath quickens. Shame burns her cheeks, not for loving you, but for the vulnerability of it all—her career, her group, her carefully curated image, all laid bare for the world to judge. Fear gnaws at her, a cold dread that this might ruin everything she has worked for, that her members might resent her, that SM Entertainment might force her to end it. The weight of their stares—curious, concerned—presses down on her, and tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she clutches her phone, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

Yet, beneath the chaos, a fierce resolve flickers. She loves you—deeply, irrevocably—and the thought of losing you over this feels like losing a part of herself. The stolen moments, the late-night calls, the way you make her feel safe and seen—they are worth fighting for. Her heart aches with longing, a desperate need to hear your voice, to assure you she isn’t walking away, but the situation spirals out of her control before she can act. When SM management summons her to a video call the next day, their expressions stern and unreadable, she takes a deep breath and speaks the truth. “Yes, I’m dating him,” she admits, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “He’s a football player from Manchester United, and I love him. This won’t affect my work or the group—I promise.”

The managers exchange glances, their silence heavy, and after a tense pause, they deliver their verdict: they will discuss it after the tour ends, a week away. Until then, her manager confiscates her phone, a cold, impersonal act that leaves her feeling isolated, her lifeline to you severed. The days blur into performances, her voice carrying through sold-out arenas, but her heart isn’t in it—every note tinges with the ache of your absence.

The final stop of the tour—Paris—passes in a blink, the stage lights blurring into a haze as Jimin pours every ounce of her energy into the performance, her movements sharp and her voice powerful, a defiant declaration that this won’t break her. But her focus narrows to one thing: confronting management. After the concert, everyone returns to South Korea, and in a long, grueling meeting that stretches into the early hours, she stands her ground. “I won’t break up with him,” she says, her voice firm despite the exhaustion etching her features. “This won’t affect Aespa—it’s my personal life, and I’ll manage it. Please, let me keep this.” Hours of debate follow, her arguments met with skepticism, but her passion and commitment to the group eventually sway them. SM relents, agreeing to let the relationship stand, and returns her phone, the weight lifting slightly from her shoulders.

The moment she powers it on, her fingers tremble as she dials your number, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope. When you pick up, the first word that tumbles from her lips is raw, unguarded, and filled with all the love she has held back: “Babe.” The sound of your voice on the other end, even before you can respond, brings tears to her eyes, a floodgate of relief and longing breaking open as she clings to the phone, desperate to bridge the silence that has torn you apart.

The phone rings, shattering the tense silence of your apartment, and your heart leaps into your throat. You’ve been on edge for days, the uncertainty gnawing at you like a relentless beast, and seeing Jimin’s name on the screen sends a jolt of both hope and fear through you. You answer in just one ring, your thumb trembling as you press the button, and her voice—soft, raw, and filled with emotion—comes through. “Babe,” she says, and the single word breaks something inside you, a dam you didn’t even know was there. Your eyes well up instantly, a single tear escaping to trace a hot path down your cheek, the relief of hearing her voice after days of silence overwhelming you. You’ve been so scared, so terrified that she might have decided to end things, that the weight of your dread has been a constant ache in your chest.

“Hm,” you manage, your voice tight and barely above a whisper, not wanting her to hear the quiver in it, the way you’re teetering on the edge of bursting into tears. You swipe at your cheek, trying to steady your breathing, but your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure she can hear it through the phone. Jimin doesn’t hesitate, her words spilling out in a rush, her tone heavy with the weight of everything she’s been through. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t call you sooner,” she starts, her voice trembling slightly. “They took my phone—management, I mean. The photos… the news… it all blew up when we got to Germany. I was so scared, babe. I didn’t know what they’d do, what they’d make me do.”

She tells you everything—the barrage of notifications, the panic that consumed her, the meeting with SM where she laid her heart bare, refusing to let go of you. Your heart thunders in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as you hang on her every word, the rollercoaster of her emotions mirrored in your own. “I told them I love you,” she says, her voice breaking with sincerity. “I told them I wouldn’t break up with you, that this wouldn’t affect the group. They debated for hours, but in the end… they agreed to let us keep this going. For now.” She pauses, her breath shaky, and you can feel the gravity of what’s coming next. “But they said if it affects the group in a hugely negative way… I’d have to break up with you.”

The relief that washes over you is so profound it feels like a physical weight lifting from your shoulders. Your worst fear—that she’d be forced to end things, that you’d lose her—hasn’t come to pass, and the realization makes your chest ache with a mix of gratitude and lingering caution. “Jimin,” you say, your voice finally steadying, though it’s thick with emotion, “I’m so relieved. I was so scared—so scared I’d lose you. I’ve been a mess these past few days, thinking of every worst-case scenario. But hearing this… knowing we can keep going… I’m so happy. We’ll be careful, I promise. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure this doesn’t hurt you or the group.”

She exhales softly, the sound laced with her own relief. “I’m happy too,” she says, her voice softening with love. “I missed you so much. But there’s more—SM is going to accept the rumors tomorrow. They’re releasing a statement confirming our relationship. You should have one prepared too, just to be safe.” Her words carry a mix of resolve and nervousness, and you nod to yourself, already mentally drafting what you’ll say, determined to protect her as much as you can.

The next day, both parties release their statements—SM’s a concise confirmation of your relationship, yours a heartfelt acknowledgment of your love for Jimin while emphasizing your commitment to your career and her privacy. The response is a whirlwind of mixed emotions. Many fans and supporters flood social media with positivity, celebrating your love with heartwarming messages and edits of you both, their acceptance a balm to your nerves. But the online space quickly turns into a battleground as a fierce fanwar erupts between Manchester United fans and Aespa fans, both sides staunchly defending their idols. Manchester United supporters rally behind you, posting messages like, “Our star doesn’t need this K-pop drama—leave him alone to focus on the game!” and “Karina’s just a distraction, he deserves better than her!” Meanwhile, Aespa fans fire back with equal intensity, defending Jimin with comments like, “Karina’s a global icon, your washed-up footballer should be grateful!” and “Don’t drag our queen into your boring sports mess—Karina deserves the world!” The clash escalates, with some United fans writing, “She’s using him to boost her failing career—K-pop idols are all fake!” and Aespa fans retaliating, “Your guy’s a nobody compared to Karina—keep her name out of your mouth!”

But there’s a darker, more vicious side to the reaction—hateful comments aimed directly at Jimin, tearing into her with a cruelty that makes your blood boil. On various platforms, detractors unleash their venom, each message a dagger to your heart and a deeper wound to her spirit. A user named @KpopTruthUnveiled writes, “Karina’s such a disappointment, throwing away her career for some washed-up footballer. She’s a slut who doesn’t care about her fans.” Another, @AntiAespaForever, posts, “She’s pathetic, chasing a guy while her group suffers—Karina’s a selfish idiot!” A particularly vile comment under a news article reads, “Karina should just quit. She’s a disgrace to K-pop, sleeping her way to headlines. Hope her career tanks and she fades into nothing.” The cruelty of these words cuts deep, a bitter reminder of the cost of your love being public, and you can’t help but worry about how Jimin is handling it, imagining the pain she must feel seeing herself reduced to such hateful labels.

The days following the public statements are a turbulent storm of emotions, the internet a battleground of support, fanwars, and vitriol. While many fans rally behind you and Jimin, flooding your social media with messages like “They’re so cute together! Love wins!” and “Protect these two at all costs,” the fanwar between Manchester United and Aespa supporters rages on, adding fuel to the fire. United fans post captions like, “Our lad’s too good for her—she’s just a publicity stunt!” while Aespa fans counter with, “Karina’s a queen, your team’s just jealous of her shine!” The hateful comments targeting Jimin multiply, piling up under every post about your relationship, each one a fresh wound. Another user, @HateKarinaNow, writes, “She’s a talentless fake—using a guy to stay relevant. K-pop doesn’t need her!” The brutality of these attacks makes your stomach churn, a mix of anger and helplessness boiling inside you as you picture Jimin reading them, her heart breaking under the weight of the cruelty, her confidence shaken by the relentless onslaught against her character.

At SM Entertainment, the initial wave of hate catches management off guard, and whispers circulate about whether Karina should lay low for a while to let the storm pass. The pressure mounts as they monitor the negative comments, their concern for Aespa’s image growing with each hateful post. Meanwhile, you’re grappling with your own frustration, the distance between you and Jimin making it harder to shield her from the onslaught. One evening, your phone buzzes with an incoming call from her, and you answer immediately, expecting her usual warmth. But instead, you hear the unmistakable sound of her crying—soft, broken sobs that pierce through you like a knife.

“Jimin, what’s wrong?” you ask, your voice laced with worry, your heart sinking as her cries continue. She doesn’t respond at first, just sniffles, and the silence on her end only heightens your panic. “Babe, please—talk to me. What’s going on?” you press, your tone gentle but firm, desperate to understand.

After a long pause, her voice comes through, trembling and raw. “It’s… it’s the messages,” she confesses, her words punctuated by shaky breaths. “Some of them—they’ve been getting to me. People saying I’m a disappointment, that I’m ruining my career, that I don’t deserve to be in Aespa. They’re calling me horrible things, and I… I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to worry, but it hurts so much.” Her voice breaks again, and the sound of her pain shatters something inside you, a fierce protectiveness surging to the surface.

“Jimin, I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice thick with emotion, your own eyes stinging with tears. “You don’t deserve any of this. Those people—they don’t know you, they don’t know us. I’m not going to let this continue.” The anger in your chest hardens into resolve, and you make a decision right then, your love for her outweighing any fear of backlash. “I’m going to sue everyone who’s been leaving those disgusting comments about you,” you declare, your tone unwavering. “I’ll make sure they face consequences. No one gets to hurt you like this—not while I’m here.”

True to your word, you work with your legal team over the next few days, announcing publicly that you’ll be taking legal action against those responsible for the hateful comments targeting Jimin. The statement, released through your management, is clear and firm: “I will not stand by while my partner is subjected to vile, baseless attacks. Legal action will be pursued against those who have posted defamatory and harmful comments about Karina.” The news spreads like wildfire, and the impact is immediate. The popularity of your relationship skyrockets and fans and even neutral observers rally behind your protective stance. Posts begin to flood in with captions like “This man loves her—look at him fighting for Karina!” and “Respect for standing up for his girl. That’s true love.” The tide turns, and the public begins to see the depth of your care for her, the lengths you’re willing to go to shield her from harm.

Those who were still against your relationship—lurking in the shadows of anonymity—suddenly go silent, unwilling to risk the legal repercussions of their hateful words. The comments sections transform, the venom replaced by admiration and support, with messages like “I was wrong about them—they’re perfect together” and “Karina deserves someone who fights for her like this.” The shift in public perception is a balm to your frayed nerves, and though the scars of the initial hate linger, the knowledge that you’ve protected Jimin, that you’ve shown the world how much you love her, fills you with quiet, resolute pride.

The shift in public perception, fueled by your fierce defense of Jimin, prompts SM Entertainment to seize the moment, leveraging the global spotlight on Karina to elevate Aespa’s international presence. They selected her to represent the group at Paris Fashion Week, partnering with Prada, where she’ll don a stunning ensemble—a floral-patterned dress with a delicate blend of soft peach and green hues, adorned with intricate leaf motifs, paired with a ruffled white collar and cuffs dotted with tiny polka dots. The outfit hugs her figure elegantly, the tied sash accentuating her waist, and her long, dark hair cascades in loose waves, framing her face with natural grace. Unbeknownst to her, you’ve also been invited by a sponsor, keeping it a secret to surprise her, your heart racing with anticipation.

The day of the event arrives, and you navigate the chaotic backstage of the Grand Palais, the air buzzing with the chatter of stylists and the click of cameras. You spot Karina near a mirror, her Prada dress catching the light, her poised demeanor a stark contrast to the flurry around her. When she turns and sees you, her eyes widen, a gasp escaping her lips. “Oh my God, you’re here!” she exclaims, her voice trembling with joy as she rushes toward you. She throws her arms around your neck, her lips finding yours in a fervent kiss, her body pressing against you as if she might never let go. Her hands clutch your jacket, her fingers digging in, and she clings to you, her warmth seeping through the fabric. “I can’t believe you surprised me like this,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear, tears of happiness glistening in her eyes.

“I wouldn’t miss seeing you shine like this,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion as you stroke her back, feeling the delicate ruffles of her dress under your fingers. “You look absolutely breathtaking, Jimin. I’m so proud of you.” She pulls back slightly, her smile radiant, a blush coloring her cheeks, and you guide her toward the front-row seats, your hands brushing as you walk, the connection between you electric.

As the runway show begins, the lights dim, and the first model strides out, but your focus remains on Karina beside you. The conversation flows naturally, a private sanctuary amidst the glamour. “That green in the dress—doesn’t it match my outfit from Paris?” she asks, leaning closer, her shoulder resting against yours as she gestures at a model. “Only if I get to take you out in it later,” you tease with a grin, and she playfully slaps your arm, her laughter bubbling up. “You’re impossible!” she giggles, but her hand finds yours, her fingers lacing with yours, squeezing gently. The audience murmurs approvingly, some snapping photos, captivated by your chemistry. “Look at that pattern—reminds me of a garden,” you comment, and she nods, resting her head on your shoulder for a moment, her hair tickling your neck. “I wish we could do this all the time,” she sighs, her voice laced with longing, and you turn to kiss her temple, murmuring, “We will, I promise—someday.”

The show concludes with a standing ovation, and as the lights brighten, you and Karina are ushered to the press area. Cameras flash as you pose together, her arm looped through yours, her smile dazzling. “One more, please!” a photographer calls, and you tilt your head toward her, sharing a quick, loving glance before the shutter clicks. Sensing the need for privacy, you guide her out a side exit, slipping into a nearby private restaurant you’d researched. The maître d’ leads you to a secluded room, the door clicking shut, muffling the outside world.

Alone, you pull Karina into your arms, your lips crashing into hers in a passionate kiss that’s all heat and yearning. She reciprocates eagerly, her hands sliding up your chest to grip your shoulders, her mouth opening to deepen the kiss, a soft moan escaping her. The taste of her—sweet and intoxicating—ignites a fire in you, and your hands roam her back, feeling the ruffles of her dress, pulling her closer. But the risk of being caught, the fragile balance of your public relationship, pulls you back. “We should stop,” you murmur against her lips, your voice thick with regret, and she nods, her breathing heavy. “You’re right,” she agrees, her fingers lingering on your collar before she steps back, her eyes still smoldering.

You settle at the table, ordering pasta and wine, the romantic ambiance wrapping around you. As you eat, Jimin’s phone buzzes incessantly, the screen lighting up with a flood of messages. She glances at it, laughing as she reads aloud. “Oh my God, listen to this—Winter says, ‘Karina, you and your man are killing it! That dress and his arm around you? Iconic!’” She scrolls further, her smile widening. “Ningning wrote, ‘OMG, you two are the cutest! That shoulder moment had me screaming!’ And Giselle just sent, ‘The fans are losing their minds over these pics—power couple vibes! Slay, girl!’” She looks up at you, her eyes sparkling with amusement and love. “They’re going absolutely crazy over us.”

You laugh, reaching across to take her hand, your thumb brushing over her knuckles. “They’re not wrong you look quite sexy next to me,” you say. She leans forward, kissing you softly, the moment a quiet promise amidst the whirlwind of your public life. The messages keep coming, a testament to the support growing around you. Though the world watches, in this room, it’s just the two of you, savoring every second.

The months following Paris Fashion Week marked a turning point for you and Jimin, a testament to the power you’ve drawn from each other. The legal action against the haters, combined with SM’s strategic embrace of the publicity, propels Aespa to new global heights, their music topping charts worldwide, with Karina’s star shining brighter than ever. Her presence at Fashion Week, bolstered by your surprise appearance, cements her as a fashion icon, her floral Prada dress becoming a viral sensation. At the same time, her performances exude a confidence that fans attribute to your unwavering support. Meanwhile, your career flourishes—Manchester United’s season ends with you scoring a career-high number of goals, your focus sharpened by the love that anchors you, the media dubbing you “the heart on the pitch” inspired by your off-field devotion.

The public scrutiny that once threatened to tear you apart fades into a distant memory, replaced by a narrative of resilience. SM’s decision to accept your relationship, reinforced by your legal stance, silences the naysayers, and the mixed emotions of the fanbase settle into overwhelming support. Fans post captions like “They’ve made each other unstoppable—look at their glow!” and “Karina and her footballer are goals—pure love and strength,” their admiration starkly contrasts the earlier venom. The couple photos from Paris, with Jimin leaning on your shoulder or playfully slapping your arm, become iconic, a symbol of a love that thrives under pressure.

With the tour concluded and the season winding down, you seize every free moment to be with her. During your off-season, you spend most of your time in South Korea, the vibrant streets of Seoul becoming a second home. The first morning after your arrival, you wake in her dorm, the soft light filtering through the curtains as you watch her sleep, her face peaceful, the tiger cub necklace glinting at her throat. When she stirs, her eyes meet yours, and a smile spreads across her face. “You’re here,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion, and you pull her close, kissing her forehead. “Always, when I can be,” you reply, your heart swelling with the reality of her in your arms.

You explore Seoul together—quiet afternoons at hidden cafés where she feeds you tteokbokki, evenings strolling through Namsan Park where you steal kisses under the cherry blossoms, and lazy holidays at her family’s countryside home, where she teaches you to make kimchi, her laughter filling the air. Her groupmates, now your extended family, tease you relentlessly—Winter quipping, “You’re stuck with us now, footballer!” while Ningning adds, “Better keep up with her schedule!”—but their warmth embraces you. In return, you invite her to Manchester during her breaks, showing her the training grounds, taking her to quiet pubs where you share pints and dreams, her hand always in yours.

Your careers soar in tandem—Karina’s next single breaks streaming records, her voice a beacon of empowerment, while you lead Manchester United to a championship, your leadership on the field a reflection of the strength she’s given you. The distance remains a challenge, but you navigate it with video calls late at night, her voice a lifeline, and planned visits that punctuate your schedules. One evening, as you sit on her dorm couch during the off-season, a documentary about your season plays on the TV, and she rests her head on your chest, her fingers tracing the tiger cub pendant. “We’ve made each other so strong,” she murmurs, her voice soft but certain. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Me neither,” you reply, tilting her chin to kiss her, the taste of her lips promising more moments. “We’ve built something powerful, Jimin. And I’ll spend every holiday, every free second, proving it.” The room fills with the quiet hum of your shared future, the chaos of the past resolved, your love a force that propels you both to success, together yet independent, a partnership forged in adversity and destined to endure.

#kpop smut #asks #ask me anything #aespa smut #karina smut #aespa karina #yu jimin #yoo jimin

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honeyhotteoks · 1 year ago

Text

lessons in intimacy (k.ys)

summary: you didn't mean to actually meet the man who's audio porn was single handedly getting you off every night, but you do.

note: this has been a looooong time coming and is dedicated to one of my best friends, grace. 💗 i hope everyone enjoys this chaotic smut fest.... also i've recently discovered that porn is actually illegal to produce or consume in korea? so suspend your disbelief for this fic lol

warnings: camboy!yeosang/barista!yeosang x fem!reader, it's a smut-a-thon barely a plot in sight featuring - nsfw/audio porn, guided masturbation, female masturbation, male masturbation, lots and lots of orgasms, use of dildo, nipple play, one night stand dynamics except they kind of fall for each other, big and i mean big dick yeosang, oral sex (f receiving), gratuitous squirting, fingering, thigh riding/grinding, protected and unprotected sex (do not do this they're being hella dumb), rough sex, maaaaaajor praise play he says good girl more times than i can count, so much use of 'baby', plus pretty girl/babygirl, absolute pleasure soft dom yeosang of our dreams, reader literally passes out from coming you're welcome

pairings: yeosang x reader

genre: smut and more smut, where's the plot???

word count: 14.5K

additional note: yeosang owns a cafe in this fic called ongozisin, it's a real cafe in seoul and you can check out their ig here! the vibes are truly so yeosang i can't even articulate it, so i just wanted to share this for the extra visual!

Paid porn for women has tiers. You stumble headfirst into this realization with your fingers stuffed inside yourself and your body slick with sweat, and there’s nothing that takes you right out of your frantic self care session than a request for your credit card number and a terms of service page.

Your chest is heaving, legs shaking, and you feel your orgasm slip right through your fingers as you skim over his Fansly page. You should have just skipped to another one of his free audios on Pornhub like you always do, but this week was long and stressful and slightly emotionally fraught, and there’s only so many times you can ignore his husky little ad at the end of the audio file inviting you to check out the full, uncut content.

“Jesus,” You breathe, pushing yourself up in the bed and letting your phone drop to the side as you recover your breath.

Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to pay for porn? The internet is full of it, spilling over from every angle with any little thing you can imagine. There’s a reason Rule 34 exists, people are horny and people love attention, so if you can fathom it there’s free porn of it.

And yet, nothing ever, ever gets you there like he does, and you’ve never even seen his face.

You glance down at your phone again and you see his familiar header image, a deeply contrasted black and white header of tangled white sheets, and his username striking across the corner in neon green. fromryu. This is what drew you in initially, the simplicity of it all. You were sick of skimming through all of the men making porn for women with names like ‘TheMasterDominant’, ‘Your_Daddy’, or ‘forherpleasureee’ and then just listening to them groan in your ear and call you a slut for fifteen minutes. That might work for some, but it definitely doesn’t work for you.

Ryu was different, is different. His audios are a mix of scenario based role-plays and straight forward guided masturbation for women, and you’re pretty sure he comes right along with you when you listen, but it’s just not the same.

You’ve fucked yourself to every single one of his free audios. Some of them more than once, some of them several times, if you’re being honest. You’ve always ignored his ads, because he gives so much content away for free you can’t imagine what would be behind a paywall that would get you off harder, until today.

Your brain just couldn’t get there. You’ve heard him chuckle that chuckle before, say that line before, coax you into orgasm with those exact words before, and you need more.

Your credit card is firmly in your hand before you can give it another thought, and with a fluttering stomach you tuck yourself into a robe and back into bed to pick a tier. With a long sip of a fresh glass of wine you lean back in your pillows and read through his welcome page.

His tiers make you smirk, he’s funny.

Third base, full uncut audios and one special audio per month just for subscribers – $4.99/month

Just the tip, uncut audios, one special audio per month, and access to a private discord server where subscribers can make audio request submissions – $9.99/month

Every inch (and more), uncut audios, exclusive audios, access to discord, exclusive video content, and access to a private Snapchat - $24.99/month

In for a penny, in for a pound, you guess.

You click on ‘Every inch (and more)’ and plug in your card numbers before you have a second to rethink your decision. You really hope you don’t get hit with a fraud alert that you have to explain to some poor customer service representative.

The wheel spins, the charge goes through, and suddenly you’re in. Your mouth has never been so dry.

There’s dozens of videos, dozens. For every audio you’ve listened to on Pornhub, there’s a video that goes with it, and for every free piece of content there’s two times as much paid video content. $24.99 was nothing compared to how many hours of content you’re suddenly sifting through.

There’s a common thread across every video though, you can already tell from the thumbnails, Ryu still never shows his face. Almost every thumbnail is the same, a white wall and a charcoal gray couch, and a man wearing oversized black sweatpants and a tight black athletic shirt.

His knees are parted, legs spread open and casual, and his hands rest clasped between them. You swallow thickly at the sight of his arms. He’s built. His hands are so good looking you think idly that he should just be modeling watches or something, it’s ridiculous how nice they are. His skin is tanned, veins snaking up his forearms, and silver rings across several of his long, thick fingers. Can the sight of a man’s hands make you come? Your aching clit throbs.

You skim through the video titles and tags to try and select one and your stomach twists. His videos are even more varied than the free content he posts and organized so well you think you might be in love with him already.

There’s a folder for role play videos, and you skim through that quickly just to see. Neighbor overhears you moaning and comes to check on you, best friend takes your virginity, boss and secretary working late, brother’s best friend slips into your room at a sleepover, step-daddy teaches his babygirl a lesson.

Your cheeks flush hot pink and you settle further into your sheets, backing out of this folder and navigating to your tried and true favorite.

Guided masturbation and encouragement.

There are even more videos in this folder and you skim through any of those ones that say ‘exclusive’ in the title to avoid ones you’ve already heard parts of. The hashtags alone leave you breathless and you have no idea what to choose, every video cleanly tagged with what you’ll need to be able to keep up with his instructions. Hands only, rabbit vibe, hitachi wand, bullet vibe, dildo, butt plug, nipple clamps, lubricant, massage oil, blindfold, wrist restraints, ankle restraints, the list goes on and on.

You select one at almost random with the tags ‘hands and fingers’, ‘dildo’, and ‘optional squirting’.

The screen starts black, and for a second you’re pretty sure something’s wrong, but then you hear him.

“Hi everyone,” Your muscles melt, and you push your noise canceling earbuds deeper into your ears, “I have something a little special today,”

You’ve never heard him talk so casually, almost like a vlogger or something. His voice hasn’t yet shifted into that deep teasing tone that kicks off every free video, and you’re already sold on every dollar you’ve spent when he starts to just chat.

“I got a request from a special subscriber in my discord,” He says, “someone who’s become a friend and who confided in me that she’s never been able to make herself squirt,”

Your breath comes a little more quickly.

“It’s not easy to do, I know,” He says, tenderly, the screen still black, “and I want you all to know that if you’re still struggling after this audio, that’s okay. It takes time, and your body is not a sex toy. There’s not a perfect combination that works for every person with a vagina,”

Your brow quirks at the inclusivity of his language choice and you smile a little, easing yourself down in the bed to keep listening to him.

“But I’m going to do my best to help you,” He continues, “so while I get set up over here, I need you to get your own space ready. Get up out of bed or off the couch, but keep me with you, okay, baby?”

You’re shaking and he hasn’t even said anything sexy yet. You don’t always listen perfectly to instructions, sometimes you skip ahead a bit and get to the good stuff just to get yourself off, but this time it’s different. You tuck your phone in your robe pocket and stand.

“For this session,” You can almost see the smile in his voice and you try to imagine him, “you’ll need a couple of good towels laid out across your space. You’ll need to drink a big glass of water before we get started, and then I want you to find your best dildo, the one that really makes you come hard. The one that fills you up just right, that hits that tender little place you wish I was touching with my fingers,”

He’s going to make you come so hard you see Jesus, you can tell already.

“We need everything to be perfect,” He says, “and for you to be comfortable. Tonight is not the night to test out that new toy, okay? Tonight is for you and me, so go and get your supplies, and I’ll tell you all about my day. I’ll be your favorite little sexy podcast.”

As he starts warmly talking to his audience about his long lazy morning off work, you nearly crumble. You’re really not supposed to be getting a crush on this guy, but here you fucking are. He’s sweet, casual and laughs a little while he talks, and while you gather up the towels and the water and the frankly oversized dildo, you’re smiling.

You hear him sit down and sigh and then his voice shifts, just a little, “Alright, baby, are you ready?”

You sink back back down to sit on your own bed and you wait.

“Just a reminder,” He says, “I will be using female descriptors throughout this video. If you’re uncomfortable with me calling you ‘girl’, like babygirl or good girl, or referring to you as a woman in any way, I am posting the similar content with male descriptors. If you’d prefer to hear baby boy or good boy, check the links below this video, okay?”

You smile again.

“Alright,” He hums, “now, where were we?”

The camera clicks on and you feel the little gasp leave you. You almost forgot.

He leans back on the couch and keeps talking, “That’s right, the lesson. Get settled over the towels, and if you’re wearing anything, it’s time to take it off for me.”

You lay back over the towels and let your robe part open.

“That’s so good,” He croons softly, “god, you’re so pretty, baby,”

Your chest thumps hard.

“Let’s start slow, okay?” His hands smooth over his thighs, “the key here is teasing, and I know how much you like it when I tease you.”

Your hand rests on your own thigh, your other propping up the phone as you watch with rapt attention.

“Touch your pretty thighs for me,” His voice is rich and thick in your ears, “that’s a good girl, there we go, nice and soft. Is your pussy wet? Did I do that to you again, pretty girl?”

You’re barely breathing, eyes fixated on the screen as he strokes his own thigh through his sweatpants, slow and steady.

“Are you aching?” He asks and you can’t help but nod, feeling like suddenly he can see you through the screen.

“Touch just a little,” He murmurs, “but don’t jump ahead. Keep your fingers off your clit, we’re not there yet, sweetheart.”

A little tight sound slips out of you as you follow his instructions.

“Is your sweet slit wet?” He hums, and his hand slides up his thigh and rests over his stomach, “Are you throbbing?”

Fuck.

“Someday, baby,” He sighs and you watch him shift on the couch cushions, “I’ll taste you,”

“Fuck,” You whisper.

“But for now,” He’s smiling, you know it, “you just need to listen to me and do everything I tell you,”

You’re nodding again.

“I promise,” He says, “I’ll take such good care of you baby, if you listen, I promise to make you come.”

Your stomach clenches, core fluttering, and you drift your fingertips up and down your slit, following the way his middle finger is slowly sliding back and forth on his abs.

“Are you listening?” His voice goes husky and your head drops back into the pillows. Next time you’ll need a better way to watch him and listen and touch yourself, but you’re so incredibly desperate at this moment that it really doesn’t matter, you’ll make due.

“You are, aren’t you?” He murmurs, “Good girl,”

Your legs spread a little wider.

He leans forward, you hear the rustling of the fabric and you snap your eyes back to the video to see him leaning forward, hands clasped together loosely, and you’re pretty sure you can see the outline of a bulge in his sweatpants.

“Does it hurt?” He croons, teasing.

You love him like this.

“Take your hand away from your pussy,” He says, just a little more commanding, “right now, baby,”

You pull it back reluctantly.

“Close your eyes for a minute,” He murmurs, “spread your legs for me,”

You comply immediately.

“Tease your nipples,” He sounds a little breathier now and you fight the urge to watch the video, “do whatever feels good, touch your tits exactly the way you like it,”

You roll your nipples, tugging them softly and kneading your breasts with both hands now that you’re not propping up the phone.

“Imagine me with you,” He says, “feel my fingers sliding up your calves, my lips on your inner thigh, you can feel my breath against your sweet cunt, I know you can,”

You’re about to come untouched, that’s the thought that rocks through your mind when your hips jerk on their own, his deep voice nestled right in your ear.

“Look at you,” He muses, “squirming around, so fucking desperate for something inside you,”

Your breath catches.

“You’re so needy,” He continues, “are you making noise for me? Little pants, little moans? Are you trying to be quiet?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth, a soft scold, “Not with me, baby,”

A moan bubbles up out of you.

“Hands off.”

Your eyes open immediately, and you don’t pull your hands away just yet, but you’re frozen still. You’re breathing hard, blush climbing up your chest, and your hips jerk slightly. If he doesn’t let you touch yourself soon, you’re going to lose your mind.

“Good girl,” He says after a moment, “very good,”

You drop your hands, scrambling for the phone so you can see what he’s going to do next.

“Now watch me,” He instructs, holding his palm up to the camera, “take two fingers,” he separates his fingers, keeping his middle and index fingers tucked together, “and when they’re inside curl them just like this.” He crooks his fingers in a come-hither motion, “Just like this,”

You slide your hand down your front, slipping your fingers through your soaked folds, but his voice makes you pause.

“Go slow,” He instructs, “push them in nice and slow for me,”

You follow his instructions.

“There you go,” He sighs softly, “now curl your fingers,”

You watch as he does it in the video and you follow instructions dutifully, your fingers brushing over your spongy g-spot.

“Feel that?” He leans back, and the tent in his sweatpants makes you pant, “That perfect little spot that makes you whine so good for me?”

You nod again, biting down on your lip, desperate to move but waiting.

“When I say,” He slips his fingertips into his sweatpants, teasing you, “fuck your perfect pussy with those fingers,”

Sweat drips down your chest.

His hand disappears into his sweats and he groans, “Now,”

You don’t have to be told twice.

“Harder,” He says, throaty and low, “I know you can,”

A tight sound slips out of you as you work yourself, but you nearly fall apart when you watch him push down the top of his sweats. His cock is huge, there’s no other way to say it. Thick and perfect, aching pink at the head and when he wraps his hand around himself you feel the tense knot of your orgasm rushing back.

“Oh, f-fuck,” You scramble in the sheets, pulsing your fingers in and out just like he told you to.

“Look at you,” He says again, “fucking yourself for me. I bet you’re imagining my fingers, aren’t you? Just like I’m imagining your dripping pussy,”

Pleasure rocks in your gut.

“Use your other hand,” He instructs, “rub that clit for me,”

You drop the phone like it’s hot, and you have to crane your neck to see the video, but it doesn’t matter. He’s given you the perfect permission to do exactly what you need and you have to take it.

“Does that feel good, baby? Yeah? Do you feel like you need to come for me?” His voice gets closer to the microphone and you’re rapidly approaching the edge, “You’re so close, fuck, listen to you,”

“God, oh god,” Your legs are trembling.

“Do you see how hard you make me?” His fist jerks over his cock faster and your mind is unraveling, none of his other audios feel like this, “Do you know how much I want to see you come?”

Pressure drops in your belly.

“Fuck,” He pants, “you’re almost there, I know you want to come for me, but not until I say,”

It’s happening whether he wants it to or not, whether you want it or not, and your fingers bear down harder on your clit, your eyes locking closed, head falling back.

“Hands off,” He’s not teasing anymore, he’s telling, “right now, babygirl, hands off.”

You pull your hands away and it’s possible that nothing has ever felt as bad as this one stolen orgasm. Your hands are shaking, body flushed and slick with sweat, and if any of your neighbors are up they are probably getting an earful.

You lock eyes with the video again and his hands rest on his knees, cock standing tall and at attention, edging with you.

“Get that dildo nice and wet,” He says, and you search your sheets for the silicone cock, “in your mouth pretty girl, imagine that’s my cock between your lips,”

He strokes his hand slowly down his length, smearing a bead of precum down to the base of his shaft as you dip the cock between your lips and take it as far in your mouth as you can.

“It’s time to come,” He soothes, like he knows you’re a whining, quivering mess, “I know you need it,”

The dildo pops free from your mouth and you watch as he lifts the hem of his shirt to expose the smooth plane of his abs, “Fuck yourself with me, sweetheart,”

Pleasure pops through you as you press the toy to your hot channel.

“Nice and fast,” He pleads, thrusting into his fist, “don’t stop this time, not until you come,”

The bubble inside you expands again, pressure everywhere.

“Just trust me,” He whispers in your ear, “don’t stop. I’ve got you, I’m right here, you let go baby. Don’t fight it,”

Your back arches up off the bedding, the muscles in your arm aching as you thrust the toy in and out of yourself, pressing it up again and again into your g-spot.

“Come, baby,” He sounds like he’s begging, and your free hand flies down to grip the sheets, “let go, you come, that’s it, there you go,”

You turn your head, catching sight of him again and the way he works himself over.

“There we go,” He groans sharply, his own release spurting up ropes of cum onto his exposed chest, “can you feel me inside you? Come with me, that’s a good girl, good fucking girl,”

He sounds dizzy, panting himself, you’ve never heard him quite like this and one final thrust sends you spilling over the edge. Your vision whites, body locking up in ecstatic pleasure, and you clap a hand over your lips to stifle the moan that rips out of you.

It takes a minute to come back from that. Your ears ringing, and the dildo slips out of you with a final pulse from your shattering orgasm. He’s talking, you register it, but his voice sounds far away and you realize that you’ve lost your earbuds. You scramble to get them back in, pulling the video up to your eyes.

“-And that’s okay,” He’s saying, his cock tucked away and his shirt back down, “you can try again another time if you didn’t quite get there,”

For a second you’re confused, it was the hardest orgasm of your life, but then you remember this was intended to be a guided masturbation to squirt and you blush, alone in your apartment, at the fact that you didn’t quite get there and he’s talking to you.

“It’s all about the build up,” He explains, “but I’m sure with a little practice we can get you there.”

You’ve never really cared about squirting until now, but he makes it sound like a perfect date and something tells you that you’ll be back here again night after night if he’ll have you.

“Anyway,” He sighs and you hope he’s smiling above the camera, “thank you for spending a little bit of your day with me, I hope I made you feel as good as you made me feel,”

You blush again.

“I’ll see you soon,” He assures, gentle like a lover would, “sleep well, jagiya,”

The video cuts and you blink hard, you’re still smiling.

You are so, so fucked.

After that, Ryu becomes a problem. You wish it was just the videos and the dirty talk and the good orgasms, but it’s more than that. You just like to hear him talk now, the little bits at the beginning about his day are starting to get into your head. And then there’s the Snapchat.

You kind of expected the private Snap to be sexy photos and videos of him in the almost pitch dark huskily saying good morning, but it isn’t. You still have never seen his face, but his videos are casual, friendly, too real for a man you spend every night fantasizing about. He chats about things he’s doing or books he’s reading while he’s cooking, filming just shoulders down so you can watch the muscles in his arms while he chops vegetables. You fall in love with the sound of his voice when he’s just talking, his stretched out s-sounds that only really peek through outside of his constructed scenes. You find yourself missing him a little on days he doesn’t post.

You’ve gotten used to waking up with him, falling asleep with him, checking in on him during the day. His message announcements in Snapchat don’t feel like they’re for everyone, they feel like they’re for you. You know that’s not true of course, you know you’re paying a hefty monthly bill just to feel like this, but you don’t care. It’s been a while, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t just need some company.

It’s a Thursday when everything goes to shit.

You wake up far too late, forgetting to set the alarm on your phone after falling asleep directly after yet another Ryu narrated orgasm, and everything has been off kilter since. You’re scrambling to get to work on time and every little thing is going wrong. Your coffee machine isn’t turning on, the sweater you want to wear is still in the wash, and your umbrella will not open despite the rain that’s ruining what would have been a good hair day.

When you decide to stop into the coffee shop across from your office it’s not even a want, it's a need. You’re already thirty minutes late, why not make it forty-five?

You’ve never come here, not once. You’re used to going to the shop around the block from your apartment, and this place is new. Ongozisin is the kind of place you’d normally take your time in. The space is clearly industrial, concrete walls and flooring made to look unfinished. The aesthetic is still warm though, with natural dark wood furniture and bamboo accents, Joseon era paintings and a juniper bonsai along the back wall.

To the left side of the cafe stands a bay of tall windows and the very modern, very clean point of sale. The line isn’t too long, but you can see that the pace of this place is slower by design, so maybe you’ll just round up and call it an hour late. A door opens to your left and you watch as one of the baristas steps out from a kitchen holding two black plates of colorful, carefully constructed pastries.

The line moves ahead of you, and the person behind you softly clears their throat to jog your attention.

You step closer, only one person ahead of you now.

When you hear his voice you nearly reach for your phone.

“That’s perfect,” It’s Ryu, clear as day. His voice is distinct and deep and here.

Your eyes snap up to the barista behind the counter, your body frozen stock still as you take him in, mind spinning.

“Do you want any cream?” He says to the woman ordering.

Blush lights up your cheeks and all you can think about is the video you watched the night before and his voice in your ear - Do you want my cum inside you, pretty baby?

You should leave. There’s a reason this man is anonymous on the internet, never showing an inch of his face, and Ryu isn’t even his name, it's just what you call him. He never calls himself anything in the videos, never reveals what part of Korea he lives in, never talks about his job. He doesn’t want to be found.

You’re about to turn, run, scramble away, but his voice comes again and this time you realize he’s talking to you. The man, Ryu, smiles, “Good morning, can I get you something?”

You’re frozen.

“Miss?” A little crease between his brows.

“Sorry,” You jump forwards, ignoring the annoyed huff behind you and shaking off as much of this panic as you can, “I don’t know where my head is this morning,”

“That’s alright,” He says warmly, “that’s what I’m here for,”

You can’t say anything, your mind blanks.

His eyes flick over you and then he nods, “You know, coffee? To wake you up?”

“Right!” You nod, “Sorry, yes, an americano please,”

“Iced or hot?” He asks.

Are you feeling hot, babygirl? Do you need to take something off for me?

“Hot,” You say it on a reflex but then you remember yourself, “no sorry, iced, iced please,”

“Okay, sure,” He smiles, “iced,”

You make it through payment without too much more embarrassment, apologizing again, and then you step to the side. Another barista appears, slotting into Ryu’s place so he can turn his attention to the drinks he needs to make and you take the moment to get composed.

He’s handsome, that’s a given. You expected that, but still he looks even better than your imagination conjured up, more real. He looks exactly right for this cafe too, his black hair long enough to brush the base of his neck with half gathered into a ponytail, pieces loose to frame his angular face. He’s dressed smartly too, black oversized trousers and a fitted black t-shirt, slim black boots, and an open jacket in a dramatic modern-hanbok style. You realize you’re staring the minute his eyes hold on yours and they crinkle up as he smiles. He has a birthmark, a smooth light pink flush across his eye and your heart thumps in your chest.

“Long night?” He asks you, passing off a coffee in a mug to the woman who had been ahead of you in line.

He just puts you at ease and you nod, “Something like that,”

“Ah,” He knocks out the round cake of used espresso from the portafilter as he talks, “and you look like you got caught in the rain, don’t you have an umbrella?”

“Broken,” You grimace, “it’s been one of those mornings,”

“Mm,” He nods, focusing on queueing up espresso for your americano, but while the shots pull he turns back to you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?”

You shake your head, “No, first time,”

“Do you like it?” He gestures around with a nod of his head.

“Very much,” You smile, “it’s a great space,”

He smiles again, looking proud, “I’m glad you like it,” he says, “we haven’t been open very long, but so far people have seemed to enjoy it,”

“Oh,” You watch him pour your espresso over ice, “is the cafe yours?”

He nods, “Mine and my friend’s,”

You wish you weren’t late, you wish you were able to stay just a little longer.

“Well,” You tell him honestly, “it’s beautiful here, I’ll have to come in more often, I only work across the street.”

“Ah,” He nods, “I thought you looked familiar,”

Blush creeps up your neck.

“Did you need cream?” He asks and you hope he doesn’t notice the way your pulse quickens at his words, but he nods towards your coffee and you shake your head.

“Thank you,” You take the cup off the bar and step back, “I appreciate it.”

“I hope that helps,” He says, and then he glances behind you at the large round window, “actually, I’m sorry, can you wait one moment?”

“Sure,” You watch him duck out from behind the bar, making a quick beeline for the swinging door that leads back into the kitchen. You have no idea what he could want, there’s no way you’d be recognized by him except as a stranger on the street, and your stomach knots up.

It takes him a moment, but he darts back out, a long black umbrella in his hand, “Take this,”

“I can’t do that,” You wave a hand, “I’m only across the street, but that’s really kind of you,”

“If you’re only across the street then I know where to go to get it back,” He shakes his head, “just take it, it’s raining like crazy out there,”

He presses the handle of the umbrella into your free hand, and your breath catches in your throat, his skin brushing against yours. Your eyes flick over his rings, just the same as always. A signet with a deep black stone, a hammered silver band, a clearly vintage one on his index finger that looks like an old Catholic saint token, the finer details rubbed away with age.

“What time do you close?” You ask, accepting the umbrella.

“Seven,”

“I’ll bring it back after work then,” You tell him, “is that alright?”

He nods, “But if it’s still raining, just keep it. Bring it by tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow,” You nod.

“Mhm,” He nods, something warm in his expression, “this will have to be your new usual spot,”

Is he flirting? You’re wholly and entirely unprepared to deal with that considering the way you moaned his name last night. Something clicks in your brain at that thought though and you nod, “Maybe it will. I’m y/n, by the way,”

“Yeosang,” He smiles, “it’s very nice to meet you.”

Yeosang.

“You too,” You dip your head, “and thank you again for this,”

“Of course,” He says, “I hope this turns your morning around a little,”

You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a voice from the cafe bar that slices cleanly between your conversation, “Yeosang-ah!”

Yeosang glances back and then he sighs, just a little, “I have to go,” he tells you, “but I’ll see you again,”

“See you again,”

He’s back behind the bar before you can blink, focusing on each customer’s order. The man who called his name is grinning, and you wonder idly if he’s the friend who owns the cafe with Yeosang or just a part-timer.

With your stomach fluttering, you push out into the rain to get to work, Yeosang’s name on a loop in your brain for the rest of the day. When you get home, his umbrella resting by the door, you delete his Snapchat from your contacts and unsubscribe from his Fansly account.

Ongozisin becomes a daily ritual.

The money you used to spend on his Fansly now goes straight into the cafe, first thing in the morning before work and a last lingering stop in the evening before you go home.

On busy days you barely get to see him and sometimes you’re left just chatting with Wooyoung, his best friend and business partner. You like him too, you like the atmosphere and their kind warmth, but if you’re being honest you find yourself living for slow days. The days where you’ve timed it just right to have a little talk before the rush of the day or the closing tasks of the evening.

Little by little, Ryu fades from your mind, and the man in front of you is just Yeosang. The guy who runs your favorite coffee shop, the guy who dresses almost otherworldly, who smiles wide but only when you say something truly funny, who sometimes gets lost in his own head while he’s making cappuccinos.

He’s lovely.

Sometimes you think he might be flirting, a little more suavely and charismatic than his business partner who asked if you had a crush on him since you were coming into the cafe so much. Sometimes Yeosang adds a little extra treat to your plate of food or he adds pretty latte art to your cup if you’re staying in the cafe. That might be nothing, but it certainly might be something.

It isn’t until another day of rain, harsh pelting rain, that Yeosang appears at your table.

“We close soon,” He says, and when he sees the brief flash of concern that you’ve overstayed your welcome on your face he shakes his head, “sorry, I meant to ask, how are you getting home tonight?”

“The train,” You glance outside.

His nose crinkles, “You don’t have an umbrella today either,”

“True,” You look down at your belongings, “I didn’t check the weather,”

“If you wait a bit for us to lock up,” He says, “I’d be happy to walk you to the station,”

“Oh,”

“Or if you’re not busy,” He clears his throat softly, “I could walk you to this little restaurant around the corner?”

Flirting, then.

You smile and nod, trying to keep your eagerness tamped down to a normal amount, “Are you asking me out, Yeosang?”

He grins, “I’ve been trying to,”

Your stomach flips pleasantly, “I’ll wait, dinner sounds nice,”

His shoulders sag, a little relief in his expression and he clears away your empty cup as he says, “I’ll be quick,”

You catch Wooyoung slapping his friend's shoulder as he disappears into the back room, and before you know it you’re blushing and sitting across from this man at the restaurant down the block.

Dinner is so smooth it feels surreal. It turns out you both like the same music, and several books too, and you’ve never been on a date with a man who asked you so many questions about yourself and didn’t just talk your ear off. Dinner stretches long too, and you’re strangely grateful it’s a Friday when you finally do check the time. He has to work on Saturday at the cafe, but not until a little later in the morning, and so neither one of you really wants to call it quits.

The after dinner walk turns meandering, and then his hand is brushing against yours, knuckles to knuckles.

You don’t think of him as Ryu until his fingers brush down your back, lips close to your ear when he finally asks you. The way he does makes your body melt - I hope I’m not ruining things by asking, but would you like to come home with me tonight?

You agree before your mind catches up to itself, but every step of the walk to his apartment has your heart picking up speed. You had forgotten on the date how you met him, really met him, and your gut churns.

Do you tell him? Do you lie?

Everytime he grins at you, touches you, tucks his long hair behind his ear and nods, you can’t imagine a one night stand. You could maybe swallow the truth if that’s all this was to you, but it’s not, and so you can’t.

On his block you feel the internal countdown ticking.

“You can change your mind, you know,” He offers, noticing how you’ve gone quiet, and it pulls you straight out of your thoughts.

“Oh,” Your head snaps up, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to change my mind at all, I just got a little lost in thought.”

He nods, this time finding your hand and giving you a squeeze, his steps slowing as you approach his building, “Can I ask what about?”

You nod, returning the soft pulse of his hand in yours before separating your skin from his. His eyes flick down to your hands, and then back up to your eyes.

“I have a bit of a confession,” You swallow hard, “something I think I should tell you before we go upstairs,”

“Okay,” He leans against the stone wall behind him, “is everything alright?”

“I hope so,” You nod, “I just feel like there’s something I should say now, and if it makes you uncomfortable at all, just be honest. I’ll go home, no hard feelings,”

“y/n,” His brows draw together in confusion, “what’s going on?”

You take a deep breath, taking a step back to get a little breathing room, “I recognized you when I came into the cafe that first day,”

“Recognized me?”

“Yeah,” You clear your throat, your chest feeling tight, “for the past few months I’ve been… a subscriber,”

“A subscriber,” He repeats, and for a brief flickering second you wonder to yourself if this man just looks and sounds and feels exactly like Ryu but isn’t, but then his face blanches, “oh,”

“I’m not anymore,” You shake your head, “and clearly you like your privacy, so I didn’t know how to just come out and say it, but if you’re actually interested in me and not just being flirty at the cafe then I just can’t lie to you… I don’t want to start something with a lie,”

He’s quiet, and then his eyes flick down.

It was so, so nice while it lasted.

“I should have told you sooner,” Your stomach flips and you take another step back, “and I completely understand that you’re upset, I’ll just, I won’t say anything to anyone and it was lovely getting to know you, and I’m sorry, I’ll go,”

His head snaps up, “Go? y/n, stop, slow down,”

His hands smooth down your forearms as he jumps forwards, pulling you gently back towards him. Your heart is beating so loud you can practically hear it, “I’m sorry,”

“I’m not upset,” He assures, “can we go inside to talk? I don’t want to do this in the street,”

You nod, letting him lead you through the garden gate and up towards the house, but his words pulse on a loop in your mind. You hope he’s good at letting you down easy because this hurts. You should have known it that first day at the cafe, you should have stayed away and not played with fire.

His house is small, but very nice and despite being sparsely decorated, you like it. You feel trapped in the entryway so unsure of what to do in this space, especially when you recognize the corner of his gray couch.

“Can I get you a drink or something?” He interrupts your thoughts, “I have wine, probably some soju, and a bottle of truly undrinkable Japanese whisky,”

“Undrinkable?” You blink.

“I think it’s supposed to be very good if you like whisky,” He explains, “it was a gift,”

“Ah,” You couldn’t feel more awkward if you tried, “wine, I guess?”

“Okay,” He smiles, a close lipped polite smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, “well, make yourself comfortable, I’ll get us a drink and then we can talk,”

“Sure,” You’re still frozen as he walks away down the hall to what you presume is the kitchen. It takes a minute to unstick yourself, but you make your way to the couch and wait.

He returns with two glasses of red wine and then he sits in the chair opposite you, not on the stretch of couch next to you.

“Sorry,” You take the wine, stomach flip flopping, “I know this isn’t how you thought the night would go,”

“Mm,” He nods, taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know what to say,” You tell him honestly.

He nods, looking anywhere but at you until he finally meets your eyes again, “You’re not a subscriber anymore?”

“No,” You tell him firmly.

“Why?” He asks, and the question hangs between you.

“When I recognized you at the cafe and you were being so nice to me,” You explain, “it occurred to me that something might happen between us, as friends or otherwise, and it just felt wrong to know you as Yeosang and then… engage with your content that is clearly anonymous and meant to be private. I didn’t want to do that without you knowing,”

He nods, setting his glass on the nearby coffee table, “I see,”

“You are keeping it private, right? I feel like you’re careful to not overshare,”

“Yes,” He nods, “no one knows.”

“Then I really am sorry,” You set your own glass aside and lean forwards, “I’m sure you didn’t want to bring your real life as Yeosang and your online life as Ryu together, I just recognized your voice immediately that day in the cafe,”

“As Ryu?” He glances back up at you.

“That’s what I…” You try to parse through it so it doesn’t sound like a parasocial affair, “fromryu, you know? That’s just what I filled in for your name, I guess,”

“Ryusang,” He nods, “it’s the Hanja spelling of Yeosang,”

“Oh,” You soften.

“Why didn’t you mention you knew me before?” He asks, but despite his words nothing in his demeanor is upset, just curious.

You take another large, steadying gulp of wine and nod, “I didn’t really think the cafe was an appropriate place to tell you that I’ve gotten off to your voice before,”

He laughs sharply and looks down, “Okay, that’s fair,”

“Right,” You murmur.

“y/n,” He sounds hesitant and you look back up to him, “can I ask you something?”

“Anything,”

“Did you come out with me tonight because you wanted to go out on a date with the guy from the cafe, or because you wanted to have sex with Ryu?” The question is direct and cutting.

“With you,” You answer quickly, and now you know exactly why he’s putting this distance between you, “you, Yeosang.”

He’s quiet, turning your words over, you can practically see him thinking.

“Yeo,” You murmur, fighting the urge to reach out to him, “if all I wanted was that, I wouldn’t have told you. But I really like you, Yeosang, and I’d like to see more of you and see where this could go, but I completely understand if me knowing this part of you is too much. If you don’t want to go any further with me romantically or as a friend, this can just be a nice date we both had,”

He nods and then says, “I have one more question,”

You wait, your stomach in knots.

“Do you have a problem with what I do?” He asks.

“I mean,” You shake your head, “I was a subscriber, so no,”

“I don’t mean like that,” He clarifies his words, “I mean in terms of a romantic relationship. I like my work, both the cafe and the content, and if we start seeing each other I’m not going to suddenly stop making porn just like I wouldn’t close the cafe.”

“I’m not asking you to,” You shift over on the couch and reach towards him, resting a hand on his forearm.

“I’ve dated a few women,” He explains, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together, “this was not something any of them were comfortable with,”

“Oh,” You nod, but he continues.

“A couple of them thought it might be fun,” He adds, “but when things got more serious they expected me to stop for them,”

“I’m sorry,” You tell him quietly, “I don’t expect anything like that,”

“You don’t now,” He points out, “and neither did they in the beginning.”

You can see the way this has fucked with his head a little, the way he keeps his shoulders stiff and turned away from you as he explains, and you suppose you might react the same way if you were in his shoes.

You chew the inside of your lip as you think about how best to say this to him, but finally you manage it, “Yeosang,” you get his attention, “what you do for work doesn’t change what we do on a date or in bed,”

He turns his head a little, the only indication you have that he’s really listening.

“I have no expectation that you’re some… sex god,” You smile a little, “though my guess is that you’re pretty good at dirty talk,”

A small smile appears on his lips.

“If I didn’t like what you do for work I’d go find another guy,” You continue, “and I’m sorry if the other women you dated weren’t comfortable with it, but I’m not so shy about it. I like what you do, and you’ve helped me plenty, and there’s nothing more flattering than knowing you liked me enough to even bring me upstairs,”

“Don’t sell yourself short there,” He looks up, shaking his head, “when you said yes to dinner I thought I’d be lucky if I got to so much as touch you,”

Your heart quickens in your chest, “You, what?”

He turns his body towards you properly now, “y/n,” he says, “I like you, I’ve liked you since you walked into the cafe soaking wet and exhausted, I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for weeks.”

“I think I’m dreaming,” You breathe, and he grins at your words. You clap a hand over your lips and groan, “Sorry, I didn't mean to say that outloud,”

“It’s honest,” He says, “I like that about you,”

“Well,” Your hands naturally separate as you lean back onto the couch, “then believe me when I tell you that I am fine with your work. All aspects of your work,”

His eyes flick over you, gauging how honest you’re being now, “All aspects?”

You nod again.

“y/n,” His voice softens, “what tier subscriber were you?”

It clicks in your brain that you haven’t really told him everything, all the things you know about him and his work. Little audio videos here and there might be forgivable to some women, but more might be too much.

“The highest,” You tell him, “when I say everything I mean it, the videos, the Snapchat, all of it.”

He seems to relax at that, “And if this does go somewhere,” he gestures between you both, “if we keep seeing each other. If it becomes more than a few dates,”

You nod.

“You’re alright knowing that even if we were dating and going to bed together every night, I spend my free time making people come on the internet for money,” He says it so plainly that you have to blink at him.

You turn his words over and then sigh, “There’s one thing,”

He leans back in his chair, putting a little more distance between you both, obviously braced for your words.

“I just have a question,” You ease him, “just something I should know, I think.”

He nods once, his shoulders tense again.

“Do you ever talk one on one with people?” You feel your cheeks heat, “I know you do, you have the discord, but I mean do you ever do what you do alone with someone?”

He softens, “No, no I don’t,”

“Okay,” You nod, the tense knot in your stomach relaxing, “okay, then,”

“Would that be a boundary for you?” He asks.

“I think so,” You tell him, “it’s different when you’re making a video to upload for anyone and talking to someone, at least to me,”

He nods, and then he moves, shifting from his position on the chair to your side on the couch. The nerves that were knotted deeply inside you start to unfurl, his proximity feeling like a peace offering, like an acceptance of your words.

“Subscribers aren’t lovers,” He says finally, “and some people blur that line with their content, but I don’t.”

“Then, Yeosang,” You take the opportunity to slide yourself sideways a little closer to him, “I am fine with all aspects of your work, more than fine.”

“Will you tell me if that ever changes?” He asks.

“Yes,” You make him this promise, “I like you too, all I want is to be honest with you,”

He nods, his fingers flexing on his thigh as he thinks. Finally, he swallows tightly, his skin flushing a little now that you’re almost pressed together on the couch, and he asks what he’s wanted to ask all night, “y/n,” he turns towards you, “can I kiss you?”

He’s stunning this close, enough to render you speechless, breathless. You manage a single word, “Please,”

He’s on you in a flash, and Yeosang’s lips are warm, soft and plush and as he presses into you and winds his arms around you. Your body relaxes into his instantly, the feeling of his warmth, the scent of him, rich coffee grounds and sugar infused into his skin from his work at the cafe.

His tongue probes your mouth, his breath hot as he sighs. Your body feels alight, hot and feverish and desperate from just a single kiss. You need him inside you yesterday.

When he breaks the kiss, you realize you’re half straddling him. Somewhere in the heat of the moment and the muddled fog you hitched a leg over his and his hands dragged you up against him so you’re chest to chest. When your mouths break apart, you’re still merely inches from each other and panting the same little breath of air.

“y/n,” His hands explore you slowly, moving over your skin like he’s trying to learn you, “normally I would try to keep the kink to a future date, but since you already know all of my deepest, darkest fantasies, maybe we can skip ahead?”

“Yes,” You laugh softly, “definitely,”

“But I am realizing something,” His hands find the curve of your ass, “I’m at a disadvantage here, you’ve seen my videos, but I don’t know anything about what you like.”

“You,” The word bubbles up and you flush red again.

“My voice, I’m sure you like that,” He drops it a little to emphasize the husky bedroom quality of it with a teasing smile on his face, “but what videos do you like? What were your favorites?”

He’s about to ruin you, there’s absolutely no question. Even if he was all talk you’re sure to be coming just from his words alone, but his hands, the way he touches you, there’s no doubt he has the skills to back up everything he’s ever said in the videos too.

“Now I’m a little embarrassed,” You admit, “an hour ago we were on a first date,”

“An hour ago I didn’t know the woman across the table had fucked herself to the thought of me,” He counters softly, “and we can slow down if you want but judging from the wet patch on my thigh I think you want to keep going,”

You jerk your hips immediately, angling to pull them away so you can stop embarrassing yourself all over this man after a single kiss, but his hands lock down hard over your ass and he holds your body firmly against him.

“No, no,” He adjusts his leg so that his thigh is pressed even more firmly against your cunt, “don’t be embarrassed with me,”

“Right,” You blush darker.

“I’ll tell you what I want,” He offers, “would that help?”

You nod quickly.

One of his hands shifts to lovingly stroke up and down your back as he speaks, “I want you to enjoy this more than anything. There is nothing that gets me off harder than making a partner absolutely fall apart for me, and knowing I did that for them, and I think you already know that from my content. That’s real, that’s me.”

You shiver a little and he leans up to kiss you, softer this time.

“I’d like this to be good for you,” He continues, “and honestly I already want to see you again, but in case it’s only one night for you I think we should make it count.”

The night went from nothing to everything so fast your head is spinning but you nod, surging up to kiss him with your hands pressed against his chest for balance. Your core drags along his hard thigh with your momentum forwards and you gasp a little into the kiss, your hips bucking softly on their own at the sudden pleasurable sensation. You feel something stiff and warm pressing into your belly and you feel a rush of sensation between your thighs.

“So,” He kisses you again, leaning away so he can talk to you, “tell me what videos you liked,”

“The um,” You clear your throat softly, “the guided ones,”

He smiles, “Those are your favorites?”

You nod.

“And the roleplay?” He asks.

“Good,” You nod, “everything you do is really good,”

“But the guided ones get you off, hmm?” He squeezes your hips.

You nod again, “You’re very good at what you do,”

“Guided,” He says, almost to himself, before he drags your hips up and back along his thigh, “so you like when I talk you through it?”

You rock your hips on your own this time, picking up on his cues that he wants you to grind on him, “Mm-hmm,”

“Tell me more about what you like,” He keeps one hand planted firmly on your backside, but the other starts to wonder, fingers teasing the skin of your collarbones before he cups your breast through your sweater.

“Y-you’re so comforting,” You manage as you slowly rut your body against his, “even when you’re edging me and telling me what to do, you’re just, I don’t know,”

“Is that right?” He teases softly, his fingers toying with the top button of your closed cardigan.

“Mm,” You sigh, pleasure truly starting to build inside you as you rock your clit lazily against him, “and you understand it takes time for women,”

The button opens.

“You take your time with the build up,” You sigh, finding a better position for your hands against his firm chest while you continue to rock, “and when you talk about what you wish you could do to me if you were there,”

Two more buttons part open and he hums softly, appreciatively, “You like knowing what I want?”

You nod, watching as he makes short work of your other buttons.

“Maybe I should just show you,” He slides the cardigan off your shoulders until it pools around your waist, caught on your elbows, “wouldn’t that be better than just listening?”

“Y-yes,” You sigh, your hips slowing so you can let him take the lead.

He shakes his head, pressing his hand against your ass again to keep you moving, “That’s it,”

You moan softly, fingers gripping his shirt, “Yeosang,”

He chuckles at your needy whine and brushes his fingers between your breasts, stroking up your chest, down and over the wire of your bra, and lower still over the soft flesh of your belly.

“There you go,” He smiles, “I know that feels good,”

You nod, “So good,”

“Jagiya,” His hands slide your bra straps down, letting the soft material of the mesh cups fall and reveal your breasts to his hungry eyes, “look how pretty you are for me,”

You’re close.

“Don’t stop,” He murmurs, shifting under you so that he can sit up further and press his lips to your chest, “I need you to come,”

“Yeo,” You whine, your hips sinking into a quick rolling rhythm that feels so right.

“I need to take my time with you,” He confesses, lips traveling from the center of your chest across the swell of your breasts, “but I don’t think I can,”

“I-I don’t want you to,” You moan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to stay steady, “please,”

“I want to,” He groans, “but, fuck, y/n,”

“Yeo,” You shudder, pleasure snapping up and down your spine, “it’s not one night, it could have never been one night for me,”

He exhales a heavy breath against your skin, hands tightening pleasantly on your rutting hips.

You’re startlingly close to tipping over the edge, the bubble growing closer and closer to bursting, and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly to focus on the sensation of him, “I-I need,”

He grips you harder, “Tell me, baby,”

“I, I,” You stammer, body stumbling towards coming.

“Come on,” He says lowly, “tell me what you need, baby, I’m right here,”

A tight sound bubbles out of your mouth and you figure it out in a second, your hand winding into the back of his hair to direct his head, pushing his mouth until you feel his lips ghost over your pebbled nipple.

“Oh,” He groans, his tongue catching your nipple firmly and sending a shock down your back, “there we go, I’ve got you,”

His tongue flicks over your nipple again, closing his lips over the hardened bud to suck sharply in exactly the way you need to take you right over the edge.

“I’m,” You grip him harder, losing yourself entirely now as you grind against him for your release, “I’m so close,”

“Come,” He pants, latching back onto your breast to keep lavishing the same attention, his arms banding tightly around you to hold your shuddering body close.

Your finger tightens in his hair, he begs you once more to come, and your orgasm knocks into you sideways. You moan sharply, jerking against him as you fall apart, and you feel him start to move.

He presses fast kisses across your chest, his voice soothing, “Oh, there we go,” he sighs as he feels you trembling, “fuck, what a good girl showing me exactly what she needs,”

His words draw a groan from your lips, your head buzzing at his praise.

“Perfect,” He sighs against your chest, “you have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen,”

You shiver, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” His fingers trace a circle around your nipple, and something in the way he’s touching you and the sound of his voice tells you everything. He’s about to tease you, edge you, make you come, and god willing he was about to fuck you. Yeosang flicks his thumb over your nipple and smiles, “Baby, I’m going to turn you over, if you want to slow down or stop at anytime you just tell me,”

“I think I’ll be,” You start to say, and then he maneuvers you quickly in his strong arms, gathering you close so he can turn you over on the couch, leaving you lying flat on your back against the cushions. You squeak and the way he pushes your legs together, quickly undoing the buttons on your trousers and pulling down the zip, and he glances up at the sound to check your eyes but finds nothing but your lazy post-orgasm smile.

As he kneels and strips your trousers off he groans, “God,”

“W-what’s wrong?” You blink, finding his eyes.

“Absolutely nothing,” He smooths his hands up and down your bare legs, “except I’m finding it very difficult not being inside you yet,”

“So come inside me,” You smile.

The corner of his mouth turns up at your words, “Already, baby? It’s only the first date,”

You process your words and roll your eyes, “You know what I meant,”

“I do,” He smiles wider now, “but you need to come again before I fuck you,”

“Not that I’m complaining about you touching me,” You gasp sharply as he hooks his thumbs under the sides of your thong and yanks it away, “but I’ve been daydreaming about your cock for months, so,”

He laughs sharply, tugging his own shirt up and off over his head as he does, “I’m flattered,”

“Shut up,” You press your thighs together and let your head flop back onto the cushions.

“Darling,” Yeosang says, kissing each of your thighs before he starts to slowly open your legs again, “how long has it been since you’ve been with someone?”

“Honestly?” You grimace, “A while,”

“And how long since you’ve had anything bigger than your fingers inside you?” He asks it so plainly, so calmly, while he widens your legs and starts to tip you open, another kiss to your inner thigh.

You shiver in his hands, “N-not that long,”

“Hmm,” He sounds pleased at that, “do you like using toys when you fuck yourself to my voice?”

“Fuck,” You gasp as his finger traces the softest line up and down your slit.

“Is that a yes?” He blows a cool stream of air across your throbbing clit and you jerk in his hands.

“Yes,” You answer quickly.

“What I wouldn’t give to watch that,” He says, kissing your inner thigh again before he continues, “but still, I’m probably bigger than your dildo, be patient with me,”

“Oh, fuck,” You melt as he presses one finger inside your slick channel.

“Relax,” He soothes you, “just let go for me,”

You don’t know how your life is this strange, how you went from listening to this man through your headphones while you touched yourself under the covers alone at home to his fingers sinking inside you. You’ll probably wake up from this dream with sticky thighs. There’s no way this is real.

Those are the thoughts that dizzy you until he pushes two fingers flush into your heat and you moan sharply, your hand gripping down on one of the couch throw pillows. He feels pretty real.

He groans, gently pumping his middle and ring finger just to get you used to the sensation, “Feel good?”

“So good,” You sigh.

“How badly do you need to come, darling?” He asks, continuing the slow and steady thrust of his fingers.

“So badly,” Your voice is whiny, needy, entirely informed by the feverish heat spreading through you.

“Pretty girl,” He hums, “with an even prettier pussy,”

“Oh, god,” You grip the pillows harder, and he’s barely doing anything to you but your legs are already starting to tremble.

“Mmm,” His fingers begin to pulse more firmly and you feel his fingers curl, finding the spongy crook of your g-spot with practiced ease, “and you need my cock inside, don’t you?”

“Ah, yes! Yes,” Pleasure blooms through your body.

“Soon,” He promises.

You moan again as he repositions, continuing the steady drumbeat of his fingers inside you as he reaches around with his opposite hand to separate your lower lips, the pad of his middle finger now alternating between maddening flicks and taps to your clit.

“Ah! Yeo,” Your hips rock, “just like that,”

“Good girl,” He murmurs, “telling me what you like,”

A tight sensation fills your lower belly, a blossoming heat that spreads from your core up through your body in warm waves, “F-faster,”

“Mm,” His thrusting picks up speed instantly, the angle slightly adjusting as he does, “that’s it,”

The angle chance has his curled fingers pumping against your g-spot hard and suddenly the sensation drops low, almost painfully tight and sharp like you’re on the precipice of something.

It occurs to you all at once what he’s trying to do, the way he’s trying to make your body sing, and despite the rolling waves of pleasure and how close you are to your second release, you don’t necessarily want the first time you squirt to be on Yeosang’s floor.

“B-baby,” You whine, the pet name slipping off your tongue, “I’m gonna, I think, oh fuck,”

“Fuck yes,” His fingers flatten down over your clit and he rubs fast, slickly rolling over your firm bud, “let go,”

“I can’t,” You shake your head, sweat breaking out across your brow, “I’ve n-never, oh, fuck, Yeosang!”

“Come,” He commands softly, “that’s it, you come, right here, baby,”

He’s not stopping, and with the way he’s working you there’s no way you could even if you tried. In a snap your body releases hard, a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt pulsing through your slick cunt and your legs jerk, hips snapping up as clear fluid pulses out of you. The sound that leaves your lips is wanton, broken and needy, and your ears are very clearly ringing.

“Oh, fuck,” Yeosang hums, almost to himself, rubbing fast across your soaked slit to help coax every bit of slick from your center, “oh, baby, look at you,”

Your legs try to snap shut at the suddenly sharp overstimulation, but all he does is take that as his cue to stop directly stimulating you and instead drop the warm flat of his tongue over every inch of your glistening pussy. You gasp sharply at the feeling, rolling your head forwards so that you can look down between your legs, and you moan softly at the sight.

He’s buried between your thighs, lazily licking stripes up your inner thighs and over your cunt, but slowly enough that his aim isn’t to draw you into another orgasm, he just wants to taste you. To feel you on his tongue and ease you through your little aftershocks.

“God,” You breathe after a moment, “oh, my god,”

He chuckles, kissing the top of your mound, “Was that your first time?”

You nod, still trying to catch your breath.

He groans a little, palming his hard cock through his trousers to readjust, “That’s an ego boost, I’m not going to lie,”

You manage a laugh despite your dizzy, orgasm fogged brain, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” He strokes your thigh, “if you’re not careful I might get addicted to the way you taste when you come,”

A shudder runs through you, “You can’t just say things like that,”

“It’s not a lie,” He says, “I’d spend a whole night between these thighs if you’ll let me,”

“Mm,” You sigh, reaching down for him and brushing your fingers through his long, dark hair.

“Now?” He cocks his head slightly to the side, “If you want my mouth, you just have to ask,”

You shake your head, slowly starting to push yourself into a sitting position and slide your hips away from him, “Not tonight,”

“What more can I give you tonight?” He murmurs, running his hands up and down your bare thighs, “Anything you want,”

You cup his face, drawing him close to lock your lips on his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into his nose, “Take me to bed, please, Yeosang,”

“Let’s go,” He agrees, extricating himself from your arms so he can stand and offer you a hand up.

You take it, but as you do you realize the wet puddle on the floor in front of the couch and you blush dark red, covering your mouth with your hand, “I’m so sorry,”

“For what?” He blinks at you, and then follows your nervous eyes.

“I didn’t realize,” You start to say but he interrupts you with a hard kiss.

“Relax,” He says, “if we’re lucky you’ll make a mess of my room too,”

“I don’t know how I did it,”

He laughs again, “I do,” he smiles, “now come on, I need to see you in my bed before I combust,”

He tugs your hand, leading you down the hall until you’re in a large master bedroom. Your eyes flick over the details - industrial, warm wood, dark green sheets, soft ambient lighting. You’re about to comment on it, but he flips you back around to face him and captures your mouth in another hungry kiss.

“God,” He backs you up to the edge of the bed, dropping you down and falling over you, “tell me I can have you,”

“You have me,” You pant against his mouth, all thoughts of his lovely interior decor gone in an instant when you feel the hard shaft of his cock nestled between your thighs.

“I swear next time we’ll go slow,” He grinds his hips down, rolling his length up and down your slit, only the thin fabric of his trousers separating you.

“Please,” You buck against him, “I need you right now,”

“Fuck,” His hands are hot, searching, “is that right, darling?”

“Inside me,” Your hands scramble to find his waistband, “please,”

He nods, lips still pressed against yours, and then he leans back just enough to undo his trousers and start to push down his pants and boxer briefs.

Your mouth runs dry immediately. He wasn’t wrong about his size. You have fairly large dildos at home, thick and long and perfect for reaching all the spots you need it to, but Yeosang was bigger, thicker and longer than anything you’ve ever had inside you.

“Condom?” He manages as he shucks off his pants.

You blink, tearing your eyes away from his perfect, aching cock and nod, “We probably should?”

“Right,” He doesn’t push you to make a different choice, he simply searches his nightstand for a moment and produces a foil packet.

He strokes his cock twice while he tears the packet open with his teeth, before watching you beneath him as he rolls the condom smoothly down his length, adjusting it so that it fits perfectly.

You’re trembling with anticipation, you can feel it and so can he.

“y/n,” He murmurs, leaning over you and pressing a hand beneath your back to finally unclip your bra, “I want you to do something for me,”

You nod, sliding the cardigan and bra off your body and pushing them over the edge of the bed.

He grabs a firm looking pillow and folds it in half, “Lift your hips for me,”

You lift up and he slides the pillow right under your backside to leave you propped up and open for him.

“If it doesn’t feel good,” He murmurs as he maneuvers you into the position he wants, “or if I’m hurting you at all, just tell me,”

You nod.

“And I want you to tell me when you’re about to come,” He instructs, “I need to know,”

You nod again, your stomach flipping with desire.

He licks his lips, folding your legs open a little wider and slotting himself over you. He settles with one hand on your raised hip, the other braced on the bed by your head, his knees on the edge of the mattress between your splayed thighs.

His cock finally, finally, nudges at your entrance and you grip down on the sheets below you.

“Mm,” He groans, sinking just an inch or two into your tight heat, “you’re even tighter than I thought,”

He pushes in a little more and you moan at the stretch, “Oh, god,”

“Do I feel that good, babygirl?” He teases, pushing in a little more.

“So good,” You lift your head to watch the way his thick length splits you open.

“I am bigger than your toys, aren’t I?” He rolls his hips this time, rocking himself deeper with every little thrust.

“Y-yes,” You nod, your head dropping back to the mattress.

“Can you take me, baby?” He murmurs low.

“Fuck yes,” Your hips buck up again on their own as he opens you up, nearly fully sheathed inside you.

“Just a little more,” He says, his hand tightening on your hip, “there we go, fuck, that’s it, you’re taking me so beautifully, baby,”

Tears rush to your eyes, not from any kind of discomfort, but just from the overwhelming sensation of him. You’ve never been so full, never been so deliciously stretched and had these parts of you touched, and it rushes a blush to your chest and emotion through your veins.

His fingers brush along your jaw, bringing your eyes to his, “Good tears, or should we stop?”

“If you stop I’ll actually cry,” You laugh, blinking away the hazy sheen in your eyes, “you feel so fucking good,”

“Oh,” He sighs, thrusting gently in and out of you, “what a good, good girl, you are,”

“Jesus,” You shiver beneath him.

“Yeah?” He starts to move now, just a bit more, rocking his cock at a steady pace in and out of your wet core, “You like when I tell you how good you are for me?”

“Yes,” You moan, a shock of hot pleasure spiking up from your core, “please,”

“Such a good girl letting me fuck her perfect pussy on the first date,” His voice has dropped low again, husky and direct, and you babble out a sound of pleasure as he talks, “so warm and wet,”

“Fuck, fuck,” Your eyes roll.

He collapses over you a little more, his desperate lips searching for yours and the angle deepens, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you with every downward thrust of his hips.

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into his warm skin, “Baby,” you pant, “your cock, oh god,”

He hums against your cheek, head falling slack as his lips find your throat, sucking your pulse points and no doubt searing his mark into your tender skin. He pumps his hips harder and you moan under him, cursing again and scrambling to hold him closer.

“Such a dirty mouth,” He nips at your neck, “are you always like this, or is my cock that special?”

All you can manage is a taught moan in response, his cockhead now continuously connecting with your sweet spot over and over and rendering you unable to string a coherent thought together.

He groans at the way your cunt flutters and spasms and he kisses you hard, fingers tangling in your hair, “One of these days I’ll feel you for real,” he pants, “nothing between my cock and your sweet cunt,”

Your back arches, your mind spinning at the thought, “Yeo,” you moan.

“Fuck,” He chokes, “the way you’re squeezing me,”

You make a tight sound, something between a pleasured whine and a sob, and his hips stutter and stop, pressing his cock in as deep as possible as he grips down on whatever parts of you he can, breathing hot and heavy against your skin.

You can’t really move well in this position, but your hips rock in tiny back and forth motions to try and keep the sensation rolling through you. He’s panting into your shoulder, clearly trying to keep himself from coming too soon, and your mind commits to an idea before you have a second to double check yourself.

“Yeo,” You tap his arm, “baby I need to move,”

He pushes off you, his cock sliding out of your soaked core and you leg your legs straighten out, “What’s wrong,”

The words are barely off his tongue before you’re sitting up, grabbing his hand and drawing him back to the bed, pushing him onto his back with a guiding hand to his shoulder. He lets you lead, watching you as you put him where you want him this time, and he smiles, eyes flicking over you appreciatively.

“I need you,” Is all the explanation you can give, and maybe with a stranger this is foolish, borderline stupid, but you know him. He’s not a stranger really, not to you.

With a feverish pulse of need inside you, you shift to straddle his hips, and with quick, sure hands you roll the condom up from the base of his cock and toss it to the side.

“y/n,” He manages, but you’re lifting yourself over him now and his hands fly up to brace your waist, “are you sure?”

“So sure,” You connect his cockhead with your slick hole and drop your hips down fast, taking the whole hard length of him inside you in one smooth motion.

It’s his turn to moan, his head dropping back at the sensation of your wet walls and he grips at you, his hips stuttering beneath you.

“God,” He bucks up into you, “you’re perfect,”

“So are you,” You rock against him, finding the perfect place for your hands on his chest, “you’re so deep,”

He moans again, and when you start to bounce up and down he curses tightly.

“J-just don’t come inside me,” You keep bouncing, a steady fluid motion in your hips that you can tell is driving him crazy, but you have to keep your head at least a little.

“F-fuck,” He groans, his jaw tightening as his eyes flick down to the place your bodies are joined together, “you’re making that kind of difficult,”

“I just wanted to feel you,” Your shaking arms buckle a little and you find yourself flush against his chest while you work his cock.

“Me too,” His hands find your ass again and he starts to direct the pace, “God, I could fuck you forever,”

A moan drops from your mouth, your hands tightening on his chest.

“Don’t stop,” He urges you, and you realize your hips slowed at his words, “you feel so good riding me like that,”

Your thighs are burning already, but you hardly care, every fast shift up and down leaves you closer and closer, “Love you cock,”

“Mm, yeah? Say that again,”

“I,” You curse as a spike of pleasure rolls through you, “fuck, I love your cock,”

“Good girl,” He grips you tight, his hips jutting up to meet you now.

Your pace falters slightly, “Please, please,”

“I’ve got you,” He adjusts just enough to hold you steady as he fucks up into your tight heat, “I’ve got you,”

You moan, dropping your head into his chest and shuddering against him, “Baby, oh fuck,”

“A-are you close, jagi?” He pants, fingers digging into your hips so hard you know you’ll have bruises.

“Don’t stop,” You beg, “please, god, don’t stop,”

He groans, keeping the pace of his thrusts and using his hands on your ass to maneuver you to meet his hips.

“Shit,” You shudder in his arms, your orgasm fast approaching, “I’m coming,”

“Come here,” He shifts you fast, rolling you up and off him and manhandling you up to your feet.

You make a surprised noise at the lack of him inside you when you were getting so close, but you don’t have to worry for very long. Before you can open your mouth he has you standing, facing away from him, and bent over ninety degrees to brace your hands on the bed.

He thrusts back inside you sharply, slamming his hips into yours and leaving you moaning and curling in on yourself, your legs starting to tremble.

“Come on my cock, pretty girl,” He palms your ass before planting his hands on your hips and using the leverage to pull you back into each of his thrusts, “you’re so close,”

Your eyes slam shut, fisting the sheets as you hang on, every sharp push of his cock driving deeper and deeper. You’re going to have bruises, you’re going to be sore, but none of it matters when he’s making you feel this good.

You sob out a moan, collapsing forward into the bedding but he holds you up, “I can’t,”

“Yes, you can,” He pants, his sweat slick skin connecting again and again with yours.

“Fuck,” You groan, “I’m almost, I’m so,”

“Touch your yourself,” He directs, interrupting your pleasured ramblings, “rub your clit for me, baby,”

You slide a hand between your legs, locating your slick bud with ease and rolling your fingers over it quickly.

“Fuck, there you are,” He groans, “that’s right, baby, come on my cock,”

The same new sensation drops in your gut, your legs start to shake and you’re fairly sure that without his sure hands you’d be crumbling.

“That’s it,” He coaxes you up, never once slowing the sharp snaps of his hips, “there you go, that’s my good girl,”

Something unravels in your gut and you come with a shout, folding in on yourself as your legs quake and your mind whites out. Yeosang wraps his arms around you, curling over your back to keep you steady, and his cock slips free so he can stimulate you through your orgasm with his fingers, more liquid pulsing out of you as he fucks you over the edge.

You’re a quivering mess, and he lets you drop into the sheets, pushing you onto your back so he can stand over you, one hand fisting his slick cock.

“I’m coming,” He groans, “w-where?”

Your hands cup your breasts automatically, and you arch up to offer yourself to him, “On me, baby, come all over me,”

Yeosang groans sharply, his hips thrusting into his tight grip as ropes of silvery white cum paint your skin, covering your belly and breasts and dripping down your chest. He’s panting, his skin flushed pink and sweat covering every inch of his toned chest.

It takes you both a moment to recover, both trembling in the same position as you try to regain your breath, but after a few moments he smiles a hazy, satisfied smile and finds your eyes, “You’re so beautiful,”

Suddenly you feel a bit shy, even despite everything you’ve just done together.

“So beautiful,” He sighs again, pushing his hair back out of his face, and then he drops to his knees.

He hushes your soft protests and this time he tastes you slowly, but with intention. After such rough, intense sex, he follows it with the softest, slowest orgasm you’ve ever had. With slow sucks and gentle licks he brings you through a languid rolling wave that softens your limbs and leaves you sleepy and pliant in the sheets.

You drift, falling into sleep too easily for a first date in a sort of stranger’s apartment.

You wake a little later to a warm sensation on your skin, and you blink your eyes open to see Yeosang sitting next you, freshly showered and wearing black sweatpants and a familiar blank tank top. He draws the wet washcloth over your skin and then stops and smiles when he sees your eyes open.

“Hey,” He murmurs.

“Hi,” You reply softly, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,”

He shakes his head, “Don’t be sorry,”

“I think you scrambled my brain a little,” You laugh, covering your face with your hands.

“Hopefully in a good way,” He nudges you.

“Beyond good,” You look up at him, “are you kidding?”

He smiles a little wider, “Good,” he says, “I drew you a bath,”

“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise.

“I thought you might be sore,” He explains, “I know I was a little rough, I hope you’re not feeling it too much,”

You shake your head, “Just a little, but in a good way,”

He nods, “Does the bath sound nice, or would you prefer a shower?”

“Bath is perfect,” You can see that he’s suddenly a little nervous, back to the same man from your date, no trace of Ryu’s husky tones.

“Here,” He offers you his hands to help you up, and guides you towards the connected bathroom suite. It’s large, crisp and clean, and in the corner stands a large spa-like tub filled high with warm water.

“Thank you,” You murmur as he helps you slip into the cocoon of water, the subtle scent of lavender wafting up from the steam.

“Mhm,” He nods, pulling a bamboo stool from the side of the sink and setting it down so he can sit at the edge of the tub and be at eye level with you.

“This is nice,” You murmur, still finding yourself a little shy in the post-orgasm clarity of it all.

He’s quiet for a moment, his fingertips dragging over the surface of the water and then he bites his lip.

Your stomach sinks for a moment, nerves coming back tenfold at the idea that maybe he’d prefer you to go after this, maybe this is all you’d ever have. Maybe he reconsidered what you know about his online persona and maybe he wasn’t willing to take the leap.

“y/n,” He sighs, “this might be forward,”

You look up from the rippling water.

“But what do you think about staying the night? We could order some dessert, maybe keep getting to know each other a little?” He asks.

You can’t fight the smile that blooms over your face, “I thought you might have changed your mind,”

“No,” He reaches into the water to find your hand, twining your fingers together, “not at all.”

“Yeah?” You squeeze his hand.

“I’d be crazy to let this be a one-time thing,” He lifts your hand from the bath and presses a kiss to the back, “I hope you feel the same.”

“I really do,” You twist to the side, leaning over to find his mouth and lock your lips together.

Yeosang cups your cheek, deepening the kiss tenderly, his tongue sweeping against yours, “What are you doing tomorrow night, then?”

“Tomorrow?” You lean back a little.

“Let me take you out again,” He kisses you again, softly this time, “I’m probably supposed to wait a few days, Wooyoung would tell me I seem too eager, but,”

“Who cares about that?” You grin, leaning out of the bath far enough to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, “It’s a date,”

“And Sunday?” His hands slide down your back.

You nuzzle his nose with yours, “I have a date,”

“Oh,” He says, deflating instantly.

“You might know him,” You tease, “he owns this lovely little cafe,”

He laughs, his forehead leaning on yours, “You’re mean,”

“You like me,” You peck his lips.

“I do,” He nods, “I really, really do,”

#honeyhotteoks updates #honeyhotteoks fics #yeosang x reader #kang yeosang #yeosang #ateez #yeosang ff #yeosang fic #yeosang smut

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burningembers91 · 6 months ago

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Not Who I Want to Be - Choi Su Bong (Thanos) x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Thanos is tired of life, until he meets you.

A/N: I am determined to make this man likeable. Redemption story arc incoming!

Warnings: Mentions of abusive father, mentions of drug and alcohol dependency. 18+ only!

Thanos couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent 24 hours sober. He’d either been drunk, high, or both for as long as he could remember. When he was a teenager, it was a way to escape his abusive father, but the pills and drinks eventually became a crutch, one he couldn’t function without.

He still had no idea how he’d become so famous, how his music had managed to become such a hit with so many people. There were songs he didn’t even remember writing, days that were completely lost in a haze of booze and drugs. But somehow, people loved him. He was under no illusion that people loved him for who he was – he knew he was a prick. No, people loved him for his fame, his money, and his seemingly unlimited supply of narcotics.

It didn’t matter to Thanos though; he relished the attention, basked in the flirtatious attention he received from women whose names he never bothered to learn. His friends were nothing more than people desperate for fame, clinging to him in the hope he’d make them as big a name as he was.

People seemed to love his outlandish character. Every time he did something insane, his fans would go crazy for him. So, Thanos slowly became more unhinged, forgetting the little boy he’d once been, the one who’d had big dreams. He spent each night with a different woman, attending every party in Seoul. His penthouse apartment was a constant hive of activity, the people he’d picked up along the way using it as a base to get high.

He didn’t even enjoy music anymore, the words he wrote meant nothing to him. His fans constantly demanded more of him, so he worked like a dog to give them exactly what they wanted. Nothing he wrote made sense; it had no meaning, no context behind the raps. His songs were as empty as his soul; but people were eating up his words like they were gospel.

It was a usual Saturday night ritual for him to attend a club in Seoul. To make an appearance to the crowd, before getting blackout drunk. Tonight, he found himself in the throng of a sweaty crowd, so high off the pills he’d taken before coming out that he was barely clinging to existence. The usual scroungers were there, taking as many free drinks from him as they could get, posing for photos that would instantly be uploaded to Instagram for a few minutes of fame. Girls were clinging to his shirt, their slurred words ricocheting off his ears, melting into the thump thump thump of the base from the speakers to his right. He was dizzy, dehydrated and so, so fucking done with this crowd. He needed to get away, needed to breathe some fresh, sweat-free air.

Pushing himself away from his followers, he stumbled up the steps to the rooftop. It was raining, the wind pushing the droplets sideways into his face. If it was cold, his body didn’t feel the chill. It had been a long time since Thanos had felt anything. The roof was empty, expect for a figure to his left. You were stood huddled under a thin canopy, your arms crossed over your chest. You sipped periodically from a glass, shivering every now and again against the stormy night.

You were the most beautiful thing Thanos had ever seen. You seemed to light up the entire space, despite the wind and rain. Your outfit clung to your figure, accentuating your curves and leaving him breathless. You spotted him staring and offered a small smile. Half walking, half stumbling, Thanos made his way over to you. One good thing about the booze and the drugs, it gave him confidence; and he’d need a bucketful to speak to you.

“Hey girl,” he said, instantly transforming into his overly-macho, too confident persona. “You know who I am?” “No,” you simply said, taking in his tall, lean figure and bright purple hair. “Should I?” “I’m fucking Thanos, baby!” He cried, the wind drowning out his voice, making him seem as small as he felt. “Right… Sorry, doesn’t ring any bells,” you shrugged, downing the last of your drink. “Where would I recognise you from?” “My music,” he told you proudly, spreading arms so you could take him all in. This wasn’t the usual reaction he got. People usually knew he was before he’d even introduced himself, but you, you were just looking blankly back at him. “I’m award winning, senorita!” “Sure,” you smiled, “I’ll uh… I’ll take your word for it.” A clap of thunder stopped your next words, the two of you looking towards to the storm-laden skies. “We should get inside,” you said, “wouldn’t want the famous Thanos to be struck by lightning.”

Following you inside, he couldn’t help but eye your figure as you walked down the stairs. You were nothing like anyone he’d ever seen. Your indifference and unfamiliarity with him were refreshing. You weren’t scrambling to get an autograph or clinging to him in the hopes he’d buy you a drink or take you home for the night. “You here with friends?” He didn’t want the conversation to end, he didn’t want you to leave. He’d probably never see you again if you left now. “Yeah,” you nodded, “it’s my colleagues’ birthday. She really loves this place. You?” Thanos looked around, his eyes scanning the crowd for the people he knew were anything but his friends. “Yeah, baby! It’s Saturday night! It’s party night!” If he wasn’t so off his face, he’d be cringing at the way he was speaking. This wasn’t him; he knew it wasn’t. But he didn’t know how to be any other way. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your evening,” you smiled. He could tell you thought he was a joke; he knew you saw straight through his bullshit. “Wait!” He called after you. “Can I get your number”? You turned and shook your head. “Sorry, Thanos,” you smiled, “I don’t give my number to Marvel villains.” He laughed; not only were you beautiful, you were funny too. “What about your Instagram then?” You thought for a few moments, and finally agreed. Typing your account name into the search bar, you pressed the follow button. “Hey, your accounts private!” Thanos remarked, seeing the request pending written across the screen. “Yeah, it’s to stop all the weirdos from following me. You never know, I might accept. Have a goodnight, Thanos!” And with that, you disappeared into the crowd.

He awoke the next morning, his head pounding and his mouth dry. Some random girl lay next to him in bed, a bottle of vodka tipped on his side and dripping the last of its contents all over his custom-made tile floor. His memory of last night was hazy; he didn’t remember leaving the club or getting home. He didn’t remember going to bed with a stranger, but he remembered you. He remembered the way the strobe lights reflected in your eyes, the way you refused to put up with his shit. He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his apps until he found Instagram. Clicking on your profile, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw you’d accept his follow request.

A message popped up on his notification banner from you. His hands shaking from nerves and withdrawal, he clicked on it. Hey Thanos, it read, I hope you didn’t get blown away in the storm last night. He laughed, harder than he had done in months. Finally, he was excited about his day. He couldn’t wait to reply, couldn’t wait to see where this new conversation could lead him. He jumped out of bed, heading for the shower with his phone clutched in his hand. For the first time in a long time, Thanos was looking forward to the day ahead.

#squid game 2 #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #thanos squid game #thanos x reader #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #t.o.p

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memoiresofaneternaldreamer · 1 month ago

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Till Death Do Us Part | Pt. 2

Pairing: Assassin! Choi Seungcheol x Assassin! F. Reader

Wordcount: 13.8K

Playlist: 'Control' - CHVRN | 'Keep on Breathing' - The Glitch Mob, Tula | 'Fantasies' - Llynks | 'Madness' - Ruelle | 'Gomd' - Sickick

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Oral (M. Receiving) - Slight Edging (M. Receiving) - Dominant! Reader - Dominant! Seungcheol - Rough play: titty slapping, spanking, hair pulling, biting, etc. - PIV - Unprotected intercourse

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

Previous Chapter: Till Death Do Us Part

Mingyu’s safe house—once just a sprawl of mismatched furniture and half-used equipment—is now a makeshift war room. Tables have been dragged together, boxes repurposed into makeshift desks, wires and monitors hooked into power grids and backup batteries. Satellite phones and burner lines hum quietly from one corner. The walls are lined with maps, a printed blueprint of Argos HQ taped alongside Lim’s Seoul office, red strings and pins ready to mark last known locations.

And at the heart of it all: an arsenal.

You and Seungcheol move slowly around the centrepiece—an open metal table now covered in weapons. Rifles. Semi-autos. Silencers. Flashbangs. Knives of every shape and finish. Armoured vests, gloves, scopes, smoke bombs. Clips and magazines neatly sorted by size. The smell of metal and oil clings to everything.

He holds up a new M1911 with a low whistle.

“Wonwoo really stocked you up,” you murmur, brushing your fingers across the matte finish of a karambit.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says, inspecting the sightline. “He’s had a shopping problem ever since Rio. Said it’s cheaper than therapy.”

You smirk faintly and continue checking the gear. Methodical. Quiet. Efficient. Neither of you speaks much, but you don’t need to. There’s a rhythm to it—familiar. Rehearsed. Like slipping back into who you were long before this whole mess started.

Meanwhile, across the room, Reina is hunched over her own setup. She arrived just before sunrise, lugging in two black military-grade cases full of tech. Laptops, signal jammers, USB injectors, three satellite uplinks, and something you’re pretty sure was once a military drone antenna.

She hadn’t knocked—just used the side code to get in. You didn't bother asking her how she knew it.

Mingyu’s been following her around ever since.

“You know,” he says, peering over her shoulder as she boots up her third laptop. “I already had a full system here. Secure grid, scrambled line, full backup redundancy. You didn’t need to drag your entire tech department here.”

Reina doesn’t even look at him. “Yours were outdated.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “Outdated?!” he scoffs. “Excuse you, this setup got us through the Jakarta op.”

“Exactly.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes, but a grin pulls at the edge of his mouth. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” she replies sweetly, “you still dream of me.”

He clears his throat at Reina’s comment and turns back to his cables, ears slightly turning pink.

You and Seungcheol exchange a glance. You don’t comment.

Instead, you turn toward the weaponry again.

“This is yours,” Seungcheol mutters, holding out a matte black Glock with a suppressor. “The grip should fit your hand.”

You take it and weigh it in your palm. “Perfect.”

He checks the mag, then hands you two more. “Loaded with subsonics. Just in case.”

You nod and pocket them. “You keeping the SIG?”

“Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Everything else—body armour, tactical pouches, spare knives—you both split evenly. There’s no talk of splitting up now. Only of surviving. Only of fighting.

A beep cuts through the room. Then another.

Reina taps a few keys on her main laptop. “We’re live.”

The screens fill—one by one—with pixelated faces.

The girls appear on the left monitor: Samira, Bora, Jiwoo. All in different rooms, different countries, some underground. Some clearly on the move. But they’re alive.

The boys fill the right screen: Woozi, Joshua, and Wonwoo.

Hyerim is the last to appear. She’s pale and looks like she hasn’t slept in two days. Woozi, on the screen beside her, still seems reluctant—but he’s here.

Everyone watches you.

You and Seungcheol stand in front of the cameras, side by side. Calm. Focused. The tension in the room is nearly unbearable.

Then Samira lets out a breath. “Holy shit. You’re alive.”

“I didn’t think I’d actually see your face again,” Jiwoo says, trying to smile, though her voice shakes.

“Same here,” Joshua says from the other side. “We’ve been locked down. No signals. No reassurances. Just... radio silence.”

You nod once. “We didn’t know who made it either. Not until now.”

Seungcheol steps forward. “We’re glad you’re here. All of you.”

He pauses, then continues. “Here’s what we know. Argos and Lim & Associates—”

“—have been playing us all along,” you finish. “Feeding each other contracts, setting us up to compete for bigger bounties. Splitting profits while turning us into pawns.”

A wave of muttering breaks out across the feeds.

“They tried to kill us to tie up loose ends,” Seungcheol says. “They failed.”

“But not for lack of trying,” you add grimly. “They’ll keep coming. And you know what that means.”

“It means we’re next,” Bora says softly.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Then Samira speaks. “So what do we do? We scatter? Lay low? Build new identities?”

“Start hitting back?” Woozi suggests. “They want a war; we give them one.”

“We go public,” Jiwoo says. “Leak what we know to the international market. Force their hand. They won’t survive the exposure.”

Everyone talks over each other—ideas flying in every direction, voices rising with panic or adrenaline. Reina tries to corral them. Mingyu scowls and leans toward his mic.

You hold up your hand. “Enough.” Everyone quiets.

You take a step closer to the screen, eyes scanning each and every face—some scared, some angry, some simply tired.

“I know everyone has ideas,” you say. “But we need a plan. We can’t move blindly. Because each and every one of you is now at risk. And I’m telling you right now—I’m not sacrificing a single one of you to end this. Not now. Not ever.”

Silence.

Then Bora speaks, hesitant. “Then... maybe we break up. Cut contact completely. And you two? Go separate. Give yourselves better odds.”

Seungcheol answers before you can. “Mingyu already said the same thing.” He glances at you, then looks directly at the screen. “But it’s not happening.”

You step in, firm. “We’re not running.”

A long silence.

Then Hyerim’s voice cuts through it like a match-striking flame.

“Then let’s figure out a way to end this.”

The war room comes alive.

Monitors hum. Fingers fly across keyboards. Maps are spread across the walls with satellite feeds casting flickering lights over weapons and half-drunk coffee mugs. Mingyu and Reina hover on opposite ends of the room, syncing laptops, pinning strings between photos, placing red dots on global maps, and drawing lines connecting targets, histories, and lies.

It’s like HQ—only grittier.

Samira calls out coordinates from her safehouse in Morocco, eyes glued to her private satellite feed. “Director Oh just pinged in Bucharest. He’s changed IDs three times since the system crash but the credit trail doesn’t lie.”

Joshua’s already working on the second. “Mr. Kwon used one of his shell companies to rent a private jet from Rome three hours ago. Flight plan had a false lead to London but I think he diverted.” His screen blinks. “He’s in Dubai.”

“That’s two,” Seungcheol mutters beside you. He’s standing with his arms folded over his chest, tension in every line of his body. “What about Lim? Or my boss?”

You shake your head, eyes moving across the chaotic network of images and data Reina has laid out. “Too clean. Nothing in her old aliases. Nothing recent.”

“Same for Director Kang,” Woozi chimes in reluctantly. “If he’s off-grid, he’s really off-grid. No comms. No cards. He vanished.”

“They’re ghosts,” Hyerim says, frowning into her screen. “Exactly like they trained us to be.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose. “Then we think like ghosts.”

You push away from the table and begin pacing.

“Madame Lim always had a thing for private residencies in Luxembourg. Kwon once mentioned her ties to an old estate there. Untraceable ownership but still under her maiden alias. She called it her ‘shadow base’.”

“Wait—” Jiwoo perks up from behind her camera. “You mean the one with the mirrored façade?”

You nod slowly. “That’s the one.”

“Kang has that obsession with old nuclear command bunkers,” Seungcheol murmurs beside you. “Always said he’d retire into one. He’s got property in the rural mountains between China and Laos.”

Wonwoo immediately types. “I’ve got a heat signal matching that description. Subterranean. Shielded comms. I’d bet on it.”

“Add it to the board,” you say.

One by one, the map fills in.

Red string now links Director Oh to Bucharest. Kwon to a luxury Dubai apartment. Madame Lim to Luxembourg. Director Kang to a mountain facility on the China-Laos border. Four red Xs appear in real time.

It’s already dark outside. You can see your reflection in the glass. Exhaustion pulls at your features, but no one slows down.

Then Woozi finally says what everyone’s thinking.

“So now what? We found them. What do we do next?”

Seungcheol’s voice is calm. Final.

“We kill them. All of them.”

You look at him, but don’t stop him. You feel the same.

But Hyerim shakes her head. “Killing them is one thing,” she says. “But it doesn’t erase the bounties. What are you gonna do, kill every mercenary that comes after you, too?”

A tense silence. You feel the weight of it settle in your chest.

Then Joshua jumps in. “Can’t we just remove the bounties once they’re dead? Wipe the system?”

Reina cuts him off. “Not that simple. They were posted through a specialised encrypted program. Those bounties require live biometric confirmation from the original posters to cancel.”

“So you’re saying we need to access that program,” Wonwoo says, leaning forward.

Reina nods once. “Not just access. We need them alive, long enough to scan in and delete the data.”

Mingyu groans, tossing a stress ball up and catching it again. “Damn. Who the hell built something like that?”

Silence.

Then Reina mutters quietly, “I did.” All heads turn.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Of course you did.”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath. Just once.

You straighten, moving closer to the table. “Reina—can you track the origin posts? Figure out who initiated the bounties?”

She nods, fingers flying across her keyboard. “Give me a second...”

Everyone waits, watching the screen update line by line.

“Got it.” Her voice sharpens. “Your bounty, Gwisin—was posted by Madame Lim. S.Coups’? Director Kang.”

Seungcheol lets out a breath through his teeth. “Then we kill Oh and Kwon first. Quietly. Cut their links. Secure the network. Then we go for the real kill.”

“We have to be fast,” you add. “Coordinated. No screw-ups. The moment one of them gets wind, they’ll vanish for good or trigger dead-man protocols.”

The team nods.

Then Jiwoo’s voice cuts through the line—softer, but clear.

“Yeah... but even if you manage to find them, somehow disable the bounties and kill them...You two can’t take on every gun in the field already on the way to you. Not alone.”

You glance at Seungcheol, jaw tight. He’s thinking it too.

The silence stretches.

Then Samira speaks.

“What if we give the mercs something else to chase?”

Everyone turns to her.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Samira leans in closer to her camera. “I’ve been tracking Jackal on the side. He’s still alive. Ricardo has him in one of his desert compounds. Hidden, but not unreachable.”

You freeze. Your mind starts spinning.

“Wait,” you say. “Reina, Mingyu—can you check if the original Jackal bounty is still live? The twelve million one?”

They’re already typing.

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s dormant. Was put on hold after you both missed the retrieval.”

Seungcheol speaks then. “Can you reactivate it?”

Reina nods. “That bounty wasn’t encrypted. Global market. I can make it live again.”

Your voice is calm. Calculated. “Then do it. That should drag most mercenaries away from us. Especially if we leak intel about his location.”

Everyone falls silent again.

Then Seungcheol looks up. His voice is low.

“Let’s go to work.”

Bucharest is colder than expected.

You ride in on a black motorcycle, wind snapping at your borrowed jacket, face tucked beneath the visor of a matte helmet. The sun is just beginning to dip past the skyline, turning the haze of the city into a sheet of golden shadow. You keep to the alleys. Avoid open roads. Your fake ID has already been scanned twice, and thanks to Mingyu’s surprisingly competent alias work, no alarms were triggered.

You’ll file that under surprising things you’re not commenting on.

Much like the fact that Reina never left his safe house.

She’s now patching in from his personal terminal.

Jiwoo, however, is in Athens, and operating her own satellite rig.

“Gwisin, target is stationary,” Reina’s voice says in your comms, sharp as ever. “Upper floor of the building at coordinates 46.7691, 23.5899. Minimal guards. Two confirmed exits.”

“Copy that,” you whisper, crouched behind the gun.

You’ve scoped this place earlier—ten hours ago, to be exact. Found your perch on the fifth floor, shattered window perfectly angled toward the balcony where Oh takes his evening smoke. You’ve lined your sniper rifle up and calibrated for wind, trajectory, and velocity.

Now all you need is the target.

“Any movement yet?” you murmur.

Jiwoo responds. “Nothing yet. He’s still inside.”

You wait.

Time passes slowly in moments like these. The only rhythm is your breath, the slow clench and flex of your fingers around the rifle, and the occasional murmured updates from the girls. You watch out for Oh through your scope—his reflection in the window. Reading. Moving papers.

Then—footsteps.

You freeze.

Your breath stills, and your hands lift off the rifle slowly.

The building is supposed to be empty. You were thorough.

You immediately abandon your post, sliding silently back into the darkness behind you. You blend into it, breath stilling, spine flush to the wall.

Jiwoo’s voice crackles in your ear.

“He’s heading to the door. Looks like he’s prepping to move. You’ll have a clear—”

“I’ve got company,” you whisper, tight and low. “Hold your positions. Do not lose track of Oh.”

There’s a pause.

Then Reina says, “Copy. We’re holding.”

You draw your karambit.

Light floods faintly from beneath the hallway door.

Three shadows. Boots. You clock their cadence, their height, their coordination.

The Vasile triplets.

Mercenaries-for-hire. Romanian. Silent hitters. Raised together. Kill together. And now, they think they’re here to kill you.

The first one enters, rifle low. His head turns. That’s all the opening you need. You move like the wind, slicing your karambit clean across his throat. He drops without a sound.

The second shouts, raising his gun, but you’re already behind the nearest wall. You draw the silenced pistol at your hip and shoot once—chest shot. He stumbles, gasps, drops.

The third one charges you—clever, hand-to-hand. You duck his swing and slam your elbow into his ribcage. He knees you in the thigh. Pain pulses through your leg, but you keep your balance. You twist around him and slam your boot into his kneecap. He falls. You follow him to the floor and drive your blade through his neck, slicing upwards.

Silence falls again.

Blood pools quietly between broken cracks of flooring.

Then—

“Gwisin,” Jiwoo’s voice crackles, “Oh’s outside. He’s walking.”

You groan under your breath. “Of course he is.”

You sprint for the window. Your rifle is abandoned. So are the bodies.

You swing your leg out onto the fire escape and slide down the cold metal, the sound of your boots thudding against the wall as you descend. At the base, you toss the ladder down and emerge into an alley, breathing hard.

Your hand slips into your side pocket. A small black GPS device flashes with Oh’s blinking signal.

You speak into the comms. “Jiwoo, Reina—I need a city redirect. Get him into the northeast corner. I’ll meet him there.”

Reina clicks into action. “Hacking local lights now. You’ve got two minutes before I trigger.”

“Give me three,” you respond.

You’re walking fast now, weaving through market streets and narrow alleys, always a shadow. You guide Reina through every junction.

Traffic halts suddenly at your command. Oh is forced off his original path.

He walks. Alone. No security. You smile.

“He’s close,” you murmur. “Jiwoo, clear?”

“Clear,” she answers. “No cameras. No civilians. You’re good.”

You double back through a quieter route, entering the side street from the far end. Oh is still walking, checking his phone; his pace is fast, but he looks distracted.

You drop your eyes, tuck your blade into your sleeve, and walk straight toward him. Thirty steps. Twenty. Ten.

He passes you.

You spin, arm over his shoulder, blade slicing deep and fast across his throat in one clean arc.

His blood sprays silently across the brick walls. He collapses without a sound.

You wipe the blade on your pants, spin it once on your finger, and slip it into your jacket.

“It’s done,” you whisper into your comm.

“Confirmed,” Jiwoo replies after a beat, voice hushed.

Reina exhales. “One down, three to go.”

You walk away without looking back.

The first head has rolled.

Dubai is a city that refuses to sleep.

Glass towers claw at the sky, each one gleaming with its own brand of opulence. Gold trims, velvet ropes, and secrets buried under mirrored floors. For a man who wants to disappear, it’s a living nightmare.

Which is, of course, why Mr. Kwon chose it.

Seungcheol adjusts the cuff of his suit as he walks through the private entrance of Elara, one of Dubai’s most exclusive high-end clubs, his steps confident and deliberate. A different kind of camouflage. He’s not invisible here—not in this white-pressed designer shirt and sleek black jacket. He doesn’t blend in. He owns the room.

“Mingyu?” he murmurs, the comm in his ear catching his voice beneath the music.

“You’re clear. VIP is in the left wing. Same booth as his last visit. And yeah, Kwon’s already six drinks in,” Mingyu answers from the other end, back at their makeshift satellite station in his safe house.

“Woozi?”

“Confirming no other threats have pinged in your area. You’re solo,” comes the clipped reply. Good.

Seungcheol adjusts his stance slightly as he moves toward the main floor. The lights pulse golden. Music throbs under his shoes like a second heartbeat. The crowd is decadent—diamonds and champagne, cleavage and cologne. And in the centre of it all sits Mr. Kwon.

VIP booth. Surrounded by women.

Seungcheol signals a passing waiter and flashes a smile. “Your finest bottle of Boërl & Kroff. Send it to the gentleman in the booth. No note.”

The waiter nods, takes the cash, and slips away. Seconds later, Kwon is laughing and downing champagne straight from the bottle, frothy and bubbling down his chin. The women cheer; one of them straddles his thigh. Seungcheol watches it all unfold from across the room, a quiet predator sipping a scotch he’ll never finish.

You cross his mind unbidden. The rifle in your hands. The quiet precision of your kills. He wonders—Have you done it yet? Are you safe?

He shakes the thought away.

Focus.

Time ticks forward slowly. Kwon grows drunker, heavier-lidded. Then, finally, he rises—stumbling slightly, laughing, waving the women off.

Bathroom break.

Seungcheol downs his drink and follows.

The hallway is dimly lit. Long. Opulent in design but silent. The door to the bathroom swings open, and Seungcheol slips in a few moments later.

Inside, Kwon is already at the sink. Washing his hands like he’s preparing for a goddamn sermon. He’s humming.

When he looks up, he catches Seungcheol’s reflection in the mirror.

The moment of recognition is quick. Seungcheol is quicker.

His arm wraps around Kwon’s neck, cutting off the air, holding tight. Kwon thrashes once, twice, tries to claw at him, tries to scream—but it’s too late. His body slumps, and Seungcheol lowers him to the tile.

“Goodnight,” he mutters coldly.

The second the body hits the floor, Seungcheol straightens his suit, slicks his hair back with one sweep, and checks his reflection in the mirror. His muscles strain again. It’s almost poetic now.

He turns toward the exit. Left leads back to the party. Right leads out.

He turns right.

He only makes it ten feet before a gold chain lashes around his ankle like a striking snake. He hits the floor hard, forearms slamming into tile, the wind knocked from his chest.

The chain yanks.

He rolls—just in time.

A figure charges at him with the elegance of a dancer and the savagery of a cobra. Full force, she lands on top of him.

They wrestle—hands, knees, elbows. She’s fast. Precise. Smiling.

“Hello, darling,” she purrs, her accent unmistakable. “Still breaking hearts?”

“Varsha,” he growls. “Didn’t expect you to come crawling back.”

She slams her fist into his ribs.

He kicks upward, rolling her off. They separate, both springing to their feet at once—Seungcheol doing a clean kick-up, landing squarely in a fighter’s stance.

She twirls the chain in one hand. Her snake bracelet, coiled and ready.

“Heard you were married now,” she says, circling. “Shame.”

“Shame you don’t know when to quit,” he mutters.

They lunge at the same time.

She swings the chain—he ducks, grabs the end mid-air, and yanks.

She flies forward, caught off guard, and he spins her into the wall. Her head cracks against a mirror.

She recovers. Slashes at his face. He blocks with his forearm, the chain cutting into his skin. He counters.

A blade slides from the inside of his sleeve—his last resort.

He plunges it deep into her gut before she can wrench away. Her breath hitches. Blood trickles out of her mouth.

He leans in, twisting the knife once before pulling it out and stabbing it in again.

“Should’ve stayed a one-night stand.” She collapses.

The comms buzz in his ear, and Seungcheol finally registers the noise.

“Hyung—what the hell was that noise?” Woozi demands.

Seungcheol breathes hard, blood dripping from his hand. He wipes the blade on his pants.

“Target’s down,” he says. “And so is the unexpected company.”

“Tell me that wasn’t Varsha?” Mingyu asks, incredulous.

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit.”

Seungcheol crouches beside the body for one second, then stands.

His suit is wrinkled, blood-streaked. His forearm stings. But the mission’s done.

The second head has rolled.

“Director Kwon is confirmed dead,” Reina says, her voice in your earpiece over the static of the line.

You’re crouched on the edge of a building rooftop in Bucharest, the skyline painted grey behind you, your breath cooling in the early evening air.

“Seungcheol did it in a club bathroom—clean choke. No witnesses, no trail,” she continues.

You exhale, tension loosening from your shoulders, the adrenaline of your own mission slowly bleeding out of your system.

“Good,” you reply, voice soft.

“I’ve just updated your travel packet. New alias, new flight plan. Small private jet’s waiting for you twenty clicks out of town. That should land you in Luang Namtha before midnight. From there, quad into the jungle—Seungcheol’s safehouse is mapped.”

“That where we regroup?”

“Yeah. Wonwoo’s sending another weapons crate to the site tomorrow. You’ll need it before you move on Kang.”

“Copy that,” you murmur. “I’ll move soon.”

You’re about to kill the comm when you hear it.

A low voice in the background—Mingyu’s, unmistakably.

“I can’t believe Varsha, of all people, showed up.”

You freeze, head tilting slightly.

“Kind of crazy that she’s still breathing after all these years. Woozi, remember her? That whole mess in Tangier? And now she tried to choke Seungcheol in a Dubai nightclub? Crazy bitch.”

A pause.

Then Mingyu again, voice casual, joking—too joking.

“Guess some flings really don’t take rejection well. But at least Cheol’s still got it, huh?”

Your blood runs cold. Then hot.

Varsha.

You’ve heard the name before. Not often, not clearly—It’s been passed around the underground like an urban legend: exotic, lethal, likes to strangle her targets with some kind of metal chain disguised as jewellery. A merc. A black widow.

And apparently, your husband’s slept with her.

Your jaw clenches.

You hang up the call with Reina before she can hear your tone shift.

It takes hours to get through immigration, over the Laos border, and deeper into the jungle. Your boots are caked in water and mud by the time you reach the last marker—an overgrown path with an old iron sign buried beneath moss and vines. The GPS flashes green in your hand.

Safehouse reached.

Your heartbeat picks up as you walk forward past the thick of the trees. You push through the foliage, parting vines and leaves until you finally see it—an old concrete structure, half-buried in the landscape but clearly maintained.

And standing in front of it, looking far too calm and far too attractive in a grey tactical shirt and jungle-worn cargo pants—Seungcheol.

His eyes light up the second he sees you.

He takes a step forward, and you feel your chest tighten, all that tension from the last few days crumbling in an instant.

God, he’s alive.

He walks right up to you, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you—hard.

It’s frantic, hungry, grateful. All heat and breath and want. You melt into it for a second, eyes fluttering shut, fingers curling into his shirt.

And then—

The name echoes again.

Varsha.

You snap out of it, pushing him back with one hand to his chest.

And then you slap him. Hard.

“Ow—!” he groans, jerking his head. “What the hell was that for?”

You don’t even let him recover.

You shove him again, your words tumbling out like bullets. “Who is Varsha, huh? And how long have you been sleeping with her?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Choi—” You hit his chest. “Who is she? When did you sleep with her? Was it before the wedding or after? The last time you were in Dubai? How long has this been going on?!”

“Okay, wow—” he starts, reaching for you.

You slap his hands away.

“You smug, lying, arrogant—God, you’re unbelievable. You brag to your friends like some frat boy, and then just... what? Hide it from me? Your wife?”

“Babe—”

“No!” You push him again. “Don’t you ‘babe’ me. And don’t touch me. Not after this. I’ll find that bitch and kill her myself. Right after I kill you.”

He tries again, grabbing for your arms.

You swat at him like a feral cat.

“Jesus, okay, stop—” he groans, catching your wrists and holding them in place. “Stop—just—stop hitting me for one second—”

“Why? You can’t take it? Was she better? Did she use the—”

He lets out a laugh then, loud and full-bodied.

And then he pulls you flush against him, hands still locked around your waist, gripping you tight enough you can’t wriggle free.

“You don't have to kill her,” he says, voice rough with amusement. “I already did.”

You freeze.

“...what?”

His mouth quirks. “She came at me in the club. Chained my ankle. Thought she could collect my bounty. I stabbed her. Right through the gut. She’s dead.”

You stare at him, blinking.

He raises an eyebrow. “What? You didn’t think I was out there making out with her, did you?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Look away, completely mortified.

He smirks.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “I’m such an idiot.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just tilts your chin up with one hand, waiting until your eyes meet his again.

And instead of teasing you further, he leans down—close enough that his breath ghosts against your lips.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he murmurs.

You scoff. “I’m not jealous.”

“You literally said you’d kill her.”

“That’s not the same thing—”

He laughs again.

You roll your eyes but don’t move away. Not even when he leans in, brushing his lips over yours with a feather-light touch. Not even when he whispers against your mouth.

“Trust me, baby, you’re the only one I want.”

You sigh, letting your forehead press to his.

“Good,” you whisper back.

And then he kisses you again.

The second Seungcheol’s mouth slants over yours again, something raw and almost reckless rises between you. Whatever apology you didn’t say for your blow-up burns off your tongue as your teeth sink into his lower lip instead. His hissed inhale at the sting makes something low in your stomach coil and thrum.

He pulls you closer like he’s starved. But you’re the one who can’t get enough.

The world narrows to your tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clashing and mouths bruising. You don’t even register the door closing behind you, or your boots tracking mud into the safe house. Seungcheol blindly stumbles back into the small main room, dragging you with him, hands gripping your hips like he needs the grounding.

You hit a wall. A stack of crates topples. Neither of you flinch.

He chuckles against your mouth when it crashes to the floor.

“Careful,” he murmurs, breathless. “You’re gonna wreck the place.”

You bite his bottom lip again. “I don’t care.”

Another kiss. Another half-step, and suddenly, he falls into a chair, dragging you with him.

You straddle his lap without hesitation, your thighs bracketing his hips, and your clothed core presses against the thick, growing bulge in his pants. His hands slide up your sides beneath your shirt, rough and warm, and you grind down on him with purpose. He groans into your mouth at the friction—one hand tightening on your waist while the other fists the hem of your shirt and yanks it up and over your head.

You break the kiss just long enough to let it go, arms flying overhead, before your lips crash back to his. Your hands are already at his belt, clumsily undoing the clasp, fingers fumbling with impatience as his hands work to undo your bra.

His mouth trails from your lips down your neck. “Jesus. You’re—”

“Shut up.”

He laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

You finally get his belt open, unzipping his pants while he kisses along the curve of your jaw and down your collarbone as he pushes your bra straps down. His hips buck slightly when your hand slides inside the waistband of his boxers, brushing against his hard length. You lean back, just enough to push his chest down into the chair.

“Don’t move,” you mutter, fingers splayed on his sternum. “And don’t touch.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at your warning but obliges. You slide off his lap, dropping to your knees between his legs. His eyes darken instantly.

“Baby, what—”

“Shut. Up.”

You slap his hands away when he tries to touch you, and he groans, watching as you reach for his waistband and tug everything down and off—pants, underwear, all at once. His cock springs free, flushed and thick and already hard, bobbing slightly against his abdomen.

You don’t tease. Not yet.

You lean in and envelop him in your mouth.

His strangled groan echoes around the room as your mouth closes over the head of his cock, wet and hot and needy. You drag your tongue slowly along the underside of his shaft, taking your time, then hollow your cheeks and suck him deeper, feeling the stretch in your jaw and the way his body tenses instantly.

“Fuck—” he chokes out, hands fisting the edge of the chair. “Holy shit.”

You bob your head, tongue swirling, alternating suction with slow drags, and soon he’s groaning again, hips jerking subtly up into your mouth before he forces himself to still.

You take your time—too much time.

Your hand joins your ministrations, wrapping around the base of his cock, pumping slowly while your mouth works the head. You stroke in rhythm with your lips, twisting, flicking your tongue, pulling back to suck hard at the tip before going deep again.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, one hand falling into your hair despite your warning.

You let him tug, guide, just enough to make your scalp sting.

He starts panting, the tension in his thighs ratcheting up.

“Baby—shit—I’m close—”

You immediately pull off. He gasps at the sudden loss of contact, body twitching at the near-orgasm, hands still in your hair.

You look at him as you start stroking him again—slow, deliberate, not letting him tip over.

His head thunks back against the chair. “You’re fucking evil.”

You smirk. “And yet, you married me.”

He groans, head turning to the side like he’s trying to focus on anything else. But it doesn’t help. Your hand never stops. But it’s not enough. Not fast enough, not tight enough. Minutes tick by. You go down again.

He jerks up so fast you nearly choke. Your lips wrap around his tip again, and you find a new rhythm—suck, stroke, lick, repeat.

He’s shaking when he groans, “Gonna come—fuck—”

You stop. Again.

“Fucking hell!” he barks, hands flying to the armrests.

You glance up with innocent eyes. “Something wrong, baby?”

“Don’t make me—” He grits his teeth, cheeks flushed and body glistening with sweat. “Do not make me beg.”

You smirk, pumping him once—twice—slowly. He groans, head falling forward. “You’re gonna pay for this—”

“Shut up and take it.”

The third time you take him in your mouth, you don’t wait for the warning.

You edge him again, stopping just as his thighs start to tremble and the base of his spine tenses in that telltale way. You pull off. Again.

A string of saliva connects your mouth to the tip of his cock.

He’s not groaning anymore. He’s whining. Your big, bad assassin husband is actually whining.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, eyes blown wide with desperation. “Please.”

You tilt your head. “Please what?” He glares. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You stroke him just once, and he groans. “Be in control?”

His jaw flexes. He looks at you like he wants to throttle you—or fuck you so hard the walls come down.

You lean in close again, lips brushing the tip.

“You’re punishing me, aren’t you?” he rasps. “For Dubai. For Varsha.”

You lick your lips. “Maybe.”

“You’re a fucking menace.”

“But you love it.”

He laughs through a moan. You smile, letting your tongue flick out—just enough to taste him again. And then, you sit back on your heels. Completely still. You don’t touch him. Don’t kiss him. Don’t move.

He stares at you, furious and hard and on the brink of madness.

You rise slowly to your feet, running your thumb across your bottom lip and gathering the saliva and precum gathered at the corner of your mouth.

You lick it clean, smiling.

You don’t expect him to move that fast.

One second you’re still standing in front of him, pleased with yourself, watching Seungcheol’s cock throb with need between his thighs… and the next, he’s out of the chair.

Before you can so much as flinch or retaliate, you’re airborne.

“Hey—” you yelp as he picks you up, manhandling you like you weigh nothing at all, and throws you across the room. Your back hits the mattress with a heavy oomph, limbs bouncing slightly on the bed as the air is knocked from your lungs.

You manage to suck in a breath before his body crashes down on top of yours, caging you in.

“You think you’re funny?” he growls lowly, his nose brushing yours as he pins your wrists above your head. You grin. “Maybe.”

He kisses you like he wants to eat you alive.

The heat from earlier flares again, but it’s darker now, fiercer. His mouth travels fast—biting down on your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You moan, arching beneath him, and he laughs against your skin.

You feel his hand on your chest before you register the slap—his palm hitting your breast hard enough to sting, then immediately squeezing it after.

“Fuck—” you whimper, legs twitching around his hips.

His mouth closes around your nipple in response—hot, wet, rough—and he sucks hard, alternating with his teeth. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Still feeling bratty?” he mutters against your breast.

He doesn’t give you the time to retort—instead, he grabs your hair, yanking your head back to bare your throat, and bites down on your neck instead. The sharp jolt sends sparks straight between your legs.

Your pants are ripped off you in the next heartbeat—tugged down so roughly they take your panties with them, leaving you sprawled naked and gasping on the bed.

He kisses his way down, leaving a trail of saliva and fire along your ribs, your stomach, and your hipbone.

When his mouth hovers over your soaked heat, your legs tremble. His breath ghosts over your core, and you meet his eyes, dark and ravenous, from between your thighs.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says lowly, voice laced with mocking amusement. “Fingers? Mouth? Or cock?”

You blink, brain fogged with heat.

“What…?”

Seungcheol grins. “Tch. Thought so. Haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already fucked out. You get to choose, baby. But choose wisely.” He leans closer, nose brushing your clit. “You’ll only get one.”

That finally snaps you out of it.

“Cock,” you whisper, voice hoarse and expectant.

He smirks. “Good choice.”

And then your world flips on its axis. Literally.

He grabs your thighs and flips you with a single motion. You shriek in surprise as you land on your stomach. He yanks you onto all fours.

“Cheol—!” you start, but he’s pushing your face into the mattress, his palm heavy against the back of your head.

“Shut up,” he mutters commandingly. “You asked for this.”

You feel his cock behind you—hard, hot, lined up with your weeping entrance—and then he’s inside you in one brutal, punishing thrust.

You cry out into the bedding, your fingers clawing at the sheets as he splits you open.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans behind you, his hands bruising your hips.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust.

He starts pounding into you from behind, hips slamming against your ass with heavy, rhythmic force. The sound is obscene—skin on skin, your wetness, your gasps and his growls filling the tiny space.

You’re moaning, whining, helpless against the onslaught of his body.

Every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs. He spanks your ass hard once—then again—and again, until you let out a sob, only to moan even when his palm lands on you again.

Your core clenches wildly around him.

“Fuck— you’re gripping me like a vice,” he mutters, voice low and ragged. “You like this? Huh, baby? Like being used?”

You can only cry out ‘Yes’ in response.

When your legs begin to shake, he grabs your hair and yanks you upright—your back slamming against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside you.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, keeping his grip tight in your hair as his free hand slides in front of your face.

You do without hesitation. Two fingers slide past your lips—rubbing over your tongue, pressing down against it.

“Suck.”

You moan as you obey, your tongue swirling over his fingers, your mouth hot and desperate, sucking on his digits like you did his cock. When he’s satisfied, he pulls them free and slides them down—between your thighs, right to your clit.

You cry out when his slick fingers start rubbing fast, ruthless circles over your pulsing nub.

“Cheol— oh god—fuck—”

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your ear. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

Your fingers dig into his arm as your orgasm suddenly crashes through you. It’s violent. Wild. And takes you by force. Your body locks, clenches, and trembles as the pressure explodes and pleasure rips through your nerves.

Seungcheol doesn’t stop.

He keeps thrusting, keeps circling your clit, keeps fucking you through it—overstimulation already setting in as you scream into the mattress.

He lets you fall forward again, and you collapse bonelessly, face down into the bed. He doesn’t stop. His hands grab your hips, holding you steady as he chases his own release.

He spanks your ass again, the sounds loud and lewd.

“Shit—fuck—fuck,” he growls, hips stuttering.

And then he spills inside you with a loud, broken groan.

Three more thrusts. Shallow. Slow. Making sure every drop stays buried deep. He finally pulls out, breath catching in his throat.

You’re wrecked. Soaked. Glistening. Barely able to move.

He flops down beside you, dragging your twitching body into his arms. You’re gasping, limbs limp, brain swimming—but a giggle bubbles out anyway.

“That was…” you pant, dazed. “Yeah. I should definitely rile you up more often.”

He groans playfully, burying his face into your neck. “Let’s not.”

The jungle is still sleeping when reality decides to wake you up.

The sharp buzz of his satellite phone on the nightstand and the soft, steady beeping from your GPS tracker lighting up beside the bed wake you both from your slumber. The haze of last night’s sweat-slicked limbs and tangled sheets is still warm on your skin, but the moment is gone as fast as it came. Instinct takes over.

Seungcheol grabs the sat phone and answers without hesitation. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Wonwoo says, gruff and casual as ever. “Shipment’s dropped. It’s in the clearing three clicks northeast of you. Sent the coordinates to your wife’s tracker.”

“She got it,” Seungcheol replies, throwing a quick glance at you as you nod.

“Good. Stay sharp out there,” Wonwoo mutters. “And… don’t die.”

Seungcheol breathes out. “Right back at you, Woo.”

Wonwoo disconnects, and just like that, the warmth of the bed, the afterglow—it all fades. You look at each other for a heartbeat, and then the switch flips.

Game time.

You both get dressed in practised silence. Vests. Gloves. Boots. Every movement is efficient. Clean. Sharp. Two ghosts suiting up for a kill.

Outside, the air is thick with jungle humidity. You follow Seungcheol as he rounds the side of the safe house, stepping over vines and damp earth until he crouches down and yanks off a heavy tarp.

Underneath it—well hidden—is a weathered military-grade jeep.

“Of course, you had this here,” you mutter, lips twitching slightly.

He grins as he gets in. “Had to leave myself a ride.”

You climb into the passenger seat, pulling your GPS forward. “Take the path north, then veer right at the ridge. The drop is just past the waterline clearing.”

The jeep lurches forward, engine snarling low and quiet, and you both fall into the tense stillness of the mission. Every branch that scrapes the side of the jeep, every call of birds overhead, every bump in the road—it all heightens your senses.

It doesn’t take long before you reach the clearing.

Seungcheol kills the engine, and the world goes eerily quiet except for the rustle of wind through leaves. You step out, weapons drawn, scanning your surroundings. Then you see it.

A dark metal crate sits just ahead, nestled in the grass like a gift from the gods.

Seungcheol breaks it open with a crowbar, and your eyes widen.

Wonwoo went off.

Inside the crate lies a small armoury. Sleek, matte-black rifles. Knives with ceramic edges. Ammo in every calibre. Smoke bombs. Blackout tech. Scoped pistols. Infrared sensors. Heat detectors. New comms gear. Suppressors.

“Damn,” you mutter, running your hand across a silencer. “This is better than Christmas.”

You both start suiting up—checking each item before adding it to your loadout. Sights calibrated. Knives balanced. Comms synced.

You’re just about to zip up your tactical vest when something catches your eye at the bottom of the crate.

A flash drive.

You pick it up. Silver casing with black marker on the side: XOXO, Reina.

Your eyebrows lift. “The hell is this?”

Seungcheol is already watching you, so he throws you his sat phone, and you dial Reina. She answers after three rings, sounding distinctly out of breath.

“Yeah—hello?”

You narrow your eyes. “...You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replies too fast. “Totally fine. Just finished working out. What’s up?”

You stare into the jungle. “Got your gift.”

Silence.

Then Reina exhales. “Oh. Right. The drive.” Her voice shifts, businesslike. “That’s a virus I wrote to scramble Kang and Lim’s encrypted program. Once you’re in, it’ll override the signal.”

You glance at Seungcheol. “Define ‘in’.”

“As I mentioned, it uses biometric access,” Reina explains. “Voice, retinal, and fingerprint. The print scan is advanced—it monitors heart rate and body temp. If either spike, a fail-safe activates. It’s basically a dead man’s switch.”

Seungcheol groans behind you. “So… a walk in the park.”

Reina snorts. ��You’ll have to get Kang to unlock the system without triggering any alarms. Once you’re in, insert the flash drive. It’ll spoof the signal to Lim—make it seem like the bounty’s still live on her end, but dead to the global market. She’ll never know.”

You blink. “That’s… impressive.”

“I know,” Reina says smugly.

You start to thank her, then pause—smirking slightly.

“You know,” you say smugly, “Next time, maybe think twice when you decide to “work out” again. And do it preferably after we’ve walked towards possible death.”

More silence.

Then a very quiet, “God, you’re creepy. Can’t hide shit from you.”

You laugh. “You’re not that subtle, Reina.”

“Whatever,” she mutters, but you can hear the faint smile in her voice. “Good luck. Don’t die.”

“Back at you.” You hang up.

When you turn around, Seungcheol’s watching you with a faint smirk.

“What?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just something about a pot and kettle.”

“I didn’t hear you complain last night.”

He chuckles at your statement, but it fades as the moment quiets.

Your eyes meet, and the atmosphere shifts. Reality settles like a weight on your shoulders.

It’s go time.

The sun rides high above the canopy by the time the wheels of the jeep crunch to a stop beneath the thick shadows of the jungle. You and Seungcheol sit in stillness for a moment, the low hum of the engine dying out as he kills the ignition. Birds call in the distance, muffled by the density of the leaves, and the air is heavy with anticipation.

“We’re close,” you murmur, checking your GPS. “About one klick northeast.”

He nods once, scanning the tree line. “We’ll go on foot from here. We park any closer; we risk setting off possible perimeter sensors.”

Without another word, you both exit the vehicle and disappear into the green.

The jungle is unforgiving—thick vines, hanging moss, and humidity clinging to your skin like a second suit. You pull a machete from your belt, and Seungcheol does the same, both of you slashing carefully through the underbrush, keeping your steps measured and soundless. There’s no conversation, just the rhythm of your shared breaths and blades, and the silent language spoken between trained killers.

After a short climb, you reach a ridge. It crests gently above a natural dip in the earth, and below it, spread across a cleared stretch of jungle floor, lies Kang’s compound.

Modern. Sleek. Built like a fortress with luxury trimmings—glass walls, solar panels, and a central structure acting as an office or control centre. It stands out in the wild like a dagger.

You drop to your stomach near the edge of the ridge, dragging your binoculars from your pack. Beside you, Seungcheol pulls out his own gear—infrared heat sensors, a laser rangefinder. You share what you see in low, practised whispers.

“Two snipers. North and southeast towers,” you murmur. “Both posted high, rifles trained toward the outer edge.”

“Got eyes on two more guards. Heavily armed, center-left of the courtyard near the entrance,” he adds. “Looks like they’re protecting the main path in.”

You tap the side of your lens, switching to thermal.

“Seven more, patrolling inside the compound. Standard rotation—seems like they’re on a ten-minute loop. Armed, but not alert.”

“Visual on Kang?”

You scan the second floor of the compound and freeze when you find the shadowed silhouette of a tall man, pacing across what appears to be an office.

“There,” you whisper, nudging Seungcheol. “Tall, wide shoulders. Movement pattern matches. Looks like he’s talking to someone—”

Seungcheol adjusts his lens. “Confirmed. That’s him.”

You nod and reach into your pack again, pulling out the scrambler. You power it on and set the frequency, watching as the blinking green light turns steady blue.

“Alarms scrambled. Cameras looped. We’ll have a twenty-minute window before their system reboots, and he realizes something’s off.”

“Plenty of time,” Seungcheol replies, cocking your rifle and attaching the silencer and balancing it on a tripod.

You both lie flat on the ridge, shoulder to shoulder. You take the snipers. He watches for movement.

“North tower first,” you whisper.

You adjust the sight, take a breath, and squeeze the trigger. The silencer reduces the crack to a faint hiss, and the sniper in the north tower drops like a ragdoll. One down.

You shift slightly. “Southeast tower.”

Another shot. Another body slumps, this time into the rail, his body tumbling quietly over the edge into the brush.

“Clear,” you mutter. “I’ll move. You take east. I’ll go west.”

Seungcheol nods, already sliding down the hill.

You stay behind a moment longer, disassembling your rifle and pocketing the scrambler. Then you’re on your feet, slipping through the trees silently.

You move fast and low.

By the time you reach the outer edge of the compound, Seungcheol has already taken out the two guards near the courtyard. You spot their bodies tucked neatly behind a stone wall, blood blooming silently across their shirts. You nod to yourself and slip around the west side, coming up behind the greenhouse wing. A guard steps out to smoke. You waste no time.

Karambit to his throat. A gurgled gasp. You pull him into the shadows, wipe the blade, and move on.

Another guard rounds the corner, humming to himself. You take him down in two swift moves—elbow to the windpipe, blade to the kidney. He falls in a twitch.

Inside, the compound is eerily silent. The scrambler continues to work wonders—no alarms, no flickers of suspicion from the guards, still unaware they’re being hunted.

You and Seungcheol clear the floors like ghosts. He moves swiftly on the east side, the occasional thud of a body hitting the tile filtering through your comms. You press into the south corridor, slicing through two more men and dragging them into an empty bathroom.

With every guard down, every hallway cleared, the silence grows heavier. Anticipation coils tighter in your gut.

Finally, you reach the top floor.

And just like that—you’re standing at Kang’s office door.

Seungcheol rounds the corner from the other direction, his face slick with sweat, blood spatters on his cheek, but his eyes sharp. He meets your gaze, and you both press flat against either side of the door. You nod once to each other.

Seungcheol opens the door with a silent push, and you toss a smoke bomb inside.

The hiss of the release is immediate, followed by a fast bloom of dense, grey smoke that overtakes the pristine mahogany of his luxury office. The desk disappears, the floor vanishes beneath haze, and you hear the sound of a chair scraping back sharply.

“What the—?!” Kang’s voice barks in confusion.

You slip inside, silent and focused. You can hear Kang’s movements: stumbling, coughing, his shoes thudding heavily against the floor as he tries to orient himself. There’s a crash—he’s knocked something off his desk—and then a shuffle of panic.

Then silence.

Until the feeling of a cold, steely barrel of a gun chamber touches his forehead.

“Don’t move,” Seungcheol says, voice calm, firm, and ice-sharp.

He freezes.

“Seungcheol?” Kang rasps through the smoke.

Your figure melts from the shadows behind him like a ghost. Your karambit is back in your hand, its curved blade cold and gleaming. You press it to the side of Kang’s throat.

He stiffens instantly.

Your voice is quiet and cold, the edge of your breath brushing his ear. “Hello, Kang. Miss us?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes out a rough laugh, half-amused, half-appalled. “You two have really lost your minds.”

He tries to move, but you press the blade a hair deeper. A single drop of blood runs down his neck.

He barks another laugh. “The two biggest targets on the global kill list walk right into my compound. I should be flattered. Or furious.”

Seungcheol says nothing, only pressing the gun harder to his forehead.

“I underestimated you, Seungcheol. I knew you were soft, but this? Playing Bonnie and Clyde with your little wife? How’s it feel, huh? Always in her shadow?”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow. He’s still as stone, but the way his jaw clenches tells you exactly how hard he’s biting back the need to pull the trigger.

Seungcheol finally speaks, voice low, cold. “It feels like I married the only person worth trusting in this goddamn world. And the fact you’re scared of her proves it.”

You smirk.

Leaning closer, you whisper, “Let’s see if we can keep you calm enough to survive the next few minutes, shall we?”

Kang glares. “What do you want?”

“Access,” you say simply. “To your program.”

He scoffs. “You think I’m going to just hand it over?”

You press the karambit harder into the tender skin beneath his jaw, a steady stream of blood oozing from the tip piercing his skin. “No. You’re going to walk us through it. And if you fuck around—if you even flinch the wrong way—you’ll die before the failsafe ever gets a chance to go off.”

Kang huffs through his nose, but walks to the desk with your blade still at his throat. Seungcheol stays close by, his gun never wavering. Kang’s fingers tremble slightly as he wakes up the terminal. The light from the monitor casts strange shadows across his face as he clears his throat and accesses the program.

“Director Kang Hojin,” he states, firm and loud. “Override sequence Omega Black, authorisation Sigma-One-Seven-Delta.”

The system chimes.

Voice scan accepted.

He places his hand on the scanner. Another chime.

Fingerprint accepted.

Then comes the retinal scan. He leans forward towards the webcam. The screen buzzes.

Access denied. Retinal match not found.

Your heart stutters. Seungcheol’s grip on his gun tightens.

Kang lifts his head with a smug look. “Oops.”

You grab his shoulder and force him back down. “Do it again. Don’t blink.”

Kang exhales sharply through his nose and leans forward again. This time, he holds perfectly still.

Retinal scan accepted.

Access granted.

Relief floods you, but you shove it down. No room for error now.

“Bounty logs,” Seungcheol says.

Kang navigates the system with practised fingers, moving through encrypted folders. “Here. This is what you want.”

You reach into your belt and pull out the flash drive. Kang’s eyes flicker to it.

“Plug it in,” Seungcheol says. You do.

The second the drive locks in, the screen flashes. Code scrolls, long strings of green bleeding across black. The virus is doing its job.

“You idiots have no idea what you’ve just done,” Kang growls. “You think Lim won’t find this? You think she didn’t plan for this?”

You say nothing. Seungcheol watches the screen. Progress: 82%.

“Even if you kill me, she’ll never stop. You’re nothing to her. Ants. She’ll make sure the entire world hunts you for sport.”

The progress bar reaches 100%.

Final confirmation: Bounty Deactivated — Market Update Complete.

“You talk too much,” Seungcheol mutters. Then he pulls the trigger.

The bullet hits Kang clean between the eyes. His head snaps back before slumping forward onto the keyboard, blood blooming fast beneath him. The room goes quiet.

You exhale. Slide the flash drive from the port and tuck it back into your belt.

“Let’s go,” Seungcheol says.

You’re two steps toward the door when the monitor flickers red.

On the screen, a new prompt flashes: ALARM ACTIVATED — FAILSAFE INITIATED — DETONATION SEQUENCE: 2:00

“Oh shit,” you whisper.

“Run,” Seungcheol breathes, already grabbing your wrist. “GO!”

Your boots slam against the floor as you both bolt from Kang’s office, weaving past his slumped, lifeless body behind his desk. The halls flash red—emergency lights triggered by the failsafe.

“Where did that come from?!” Seungcheol shouts.

“My scrambler!” you gasp, realisation slamming into you like a truck. “It triggered the reboot. The system finally recognised us.”

01:45.

You skid through the corridor, heart in your throat, legs pumping hard. Down the stairs—two at a time—your boots barely hitting the steps before you’re flying again. You hear Seungcheol right behind you, breath ragged, muttering a string of curses between each inhale.

You nearly slip on the last stair, but Seungcheol grabs your arm and steadies you without stopping. The two of you slam through a side exit and into the open air of the jungle’s edge.

01:02

“Too far,” you choke out. “We parked too far—”

“We’re not making the jeep,” he says, teeth clenched. “Find cover.”

You don’t argue. You veer left, leaping over a fallen tree trunk, ducking under a vine. Your legs burn. The world is loud with your breaths, your pulse in your ears, the scream of your muscles.

00:54

Behind you, the compound hums unnaturally, the kind of silence that feels like something holding its breath. You glance back—just a flash—and see smoke already leaking from the vents on the roof. The timer is real. The end is coming.

“There!” Seungcheol shouts behind you, pointing.

A rock formation, jagged and moss-covered, partially buried under tangled roots. A crevice big enough—maybe.

He speeds up. You do, too.

00:32

You’re panting. Staggering. Tripping over your own feet—but you don’t stop. You can’t.

Then—just as your feet hit the edge of the formation—arms wrap around your waist.

Seungcheol lifts you, spins, and throws the both of you behind the largest boulder.

You crash into the dirt hard, grass in your mouth, Seungcheol’s weight covering you entirely. His arms pin you down, his body a shield.

He curls around you, breath hot against your ear.

“Hold on,” he whispers.

You shut your eyes. You feel his heartbeat.

00:01.

The sky lights orange. Fire screams through the trees. The compound behind you explodes in a catastrophic blast that tears the jungle apart. Glass, steel, smoke and flame shoot into the air like a volcanic eruption.

Debris pelts the ridge. Metal thuds against the boulder you hide behind. The earth shakes.

You cry out once, but it’s swallowed by the roar.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. His arms cage you tighter, shielding every inch of you. His weight grounds you, anchors you to the earth as the fury rages overhead.

Then—

Silence.

Smoke. Crackling. The compound groans as its structure collapses.

Your ears ring. Your skin is coated in ash and dust. You blink slowly, chest heaving.

Seungcheol lifts his head first.

His hair is singed at the edges. There’s a bleeding cut on his arm from fallen debris. But he’s alive.

You roll beneath him slightly, dazed, pupils blown wide as your gaze meets his.

Neither of you speak.

You just reach up with shaking fingers and brush a smear of soot from his cheek.

Then you mouth it:

Thank you.

He lets out a dry chuckle, then shifts beside you, flopping onto his back in the grass with a groan.

The two of you stare up at the sky above. Bits of scorched leaves flutter down like feathers.

The train hums steadily beneath your feet, metal wheels grinding softly against iron tracks as the landscape rolls by in a blur of dusk and shadow. It’s your second train in two days, and the rhythm has become something almost meditative—lulling, even soothing—if not for the weight pressing down on your chest.

Munich was a blur. Quick layover. New platform. A different conductor, different glances, different whispers of German you barely registered through the haze of concentration and caffeine. Now it’s Luxembourg ahead, the final stretch before you disappear into the woods, heading toward a place the rest of the world doesn’t even know exists.

You sit cross-legged on the small fold-out sleeper bunk in your private cabin, flicking through weapons one by one. Cleaning cloths. Fresh rounds. Blade oil. The hum of the train is your only soundtrack.

Across from you, Seungcheol mirrors your movements, his back against the wall, knees up, long fingers reassembling the slide of his pistol with practised ease. It’s not about necessity at this point. Everything’s already ready. It’s about habit. Control. The illusion of it, anyway.

You glance up at him, catching the crease between his brows and the faint tremor in his thumb as he locks the magazine into place. He’s steady. Always has been. But this isn’t like any mission you’ve done before.

He senses your eyes on him and glances up, offering a small, tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You ever gonna stop checking that knife?” he asks.

You twirl the karambit around your fingers. “Not tonight.”

He nods like he understands—and he does. Of course, he does.

There’s a long stretch of silence before he speaks again, this time more carefully. “Can you tell me about her?”

You pause, eyes narrowing slightly. “Lim?”

He nods. “I’ve never met her. Never even seen a photo. Only heard what Reina and Jiwoo said. But if I’m going to walk into her house with a bullet chambered, I want to understand who we’re really facing.”

You sit back, the weight of the knife still warm in your palm. You stare out the window for a beat—at the darkening sky, at the streaks of stars beginning to appear above dense silhouettes of trees and valleys—before you speak.

“She’s brilliant,” you say softly, letting the words form with intention. “And terrifying in the most elegant way imaginable. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t make threats. She makes promises. And she keeps them. Always.”

Seungcheol listens, his jaw tight.

“She recruits people like an art collector would. She studies them. Waits. Makes them feel seen. Then she bends them to her will so subtly they don’t even realize they’ve changed sides. And when she’s done with them… she never gets her hands dirty. You’ll never see it coming.”

You feel his gaze on you, but you keep your eyes on the knife in your hand.

“I watched her take down five agencies from the inside just by turning people against each other. I watched her call a kill order on a pregnant agent because she had doubts about continuing. I saw the body. The husband. The baby didn’t make it.”

You swallow hard.

“She told me once that loyalty was just a leash wrapped in velvet. She said affection was a liability… and love?” You look up now, straight into Seungcheol’s eyes. “Love was a knife people begged to be stabbed with.”

The quiet after your words stretches thin between you, taut and cold. His face is unreadable for a long beat, but his hands are clenched, and you know that fury lives just beneath his skin.

“She gave the order for me to kill you,” you murmur. “When I married you, she knew who you were. She could have given me the order right then and there. But she waited until she was sure of my feelings for you. Until she was sure it would hurt me. She was always ten steps ahead.”

Seungcheol doesn’t flinch, but you see the flicker of pain in his eyes. “And you almost did.”

You nod. “I would’ve. I nearly did. But when I saw your face…” Your voice breaks, just slightly. “I couldn’t do it.”

“So this is it,” he murmurs. “The end of the road.”

You nod slowly. “If we fail, she disappears. The whole web collapses. And people like Reina, Mingyu, Jiwoo, Joshua—they’ll be hunted. You and I?” You give a faint, dry laugh. “We won’t even be worth the cleanup effort. She’ll make an example of us.”

“And if we win?”

You don’t answer him.

Seungcheol leans back against the wall again, exhaling heavily through his nose. “This is the part where I say we can still back out, isn’t it?”

You smile wryly. “That boat in Trinidad still floating?”

He chuckles—a low, humourless sound—but you’re glad to hear it.

“That cabin in the Alps is looking mighty tempting now,” he murmurs, gaze distant. “Just the two of us. Snowed in. No names. No guns.”

You lean your head back against the window, closing your eyes for a second.

He turns toward you again, one corner of his mouth twitching. “We’re idiots.”

“Mm.” You smile. “But we’re in love. That’s worse.”

The silence that follows isn’t tense. It’s… full. Weighty with all the things you aren’t saying, all the possibilities you won’t let yourself dream about right now. Your eyes meet his in the quiet—two people teetering at the edge of something neither of you can control.

No more chances after this.

No more exits.

You sit up slowly, slide the karambit back into your thigh holster, and reach for his hand.

“Till death do us part, right?” you ask, voice steady.

His eyes soften, his fingers tightening around yours like a promise.

“...and probably still after that, too,” he whispers.

The forest is silent. Still. Too still.

You and Seungcheol move like a whisper between the trees, every step calculated, every crunch of damp underbrush softened by instinct and years of experience. The canopy above shivers faintly in the wind, moonlight occasionally slashing through the leaves in silver streaks. Your gear is strapped tight to your body, weapons close. You feel your heartbeat in your throat, steady but forceful. The weight of what’s ahead presses against your ribcage like a warning.

After nearly an hour on foot, there it is.

Lim’s estate.

It rises from the forest, glass and metal shimmering faintly in the dark. But not glass—mirrors. Massive mirrored panels encase the exterior walls, reflecting the surrounding trees and sky so perfectly it makes the entire compound look like a trick of the eye. Almost invisible. Almost unreal.

You crouch down with Seungcheol behind the trunk of a fallen tree, binoculars raised. But they don’t help. The reflections are endless. No windows to see through. No weak spots. You try the thermal sensors, the electromagnetic sweeper, even the pulse radar.

Nothing. Complete blackout.

Seungcheol’s expression hardens beside you. “We’re going in blind.”

You nod once, tension coiling low in your stomach.

At least the scrambler still works. You check the signal and feel a flicker of control return. “No alarms. No cameras,” you murmur.

“But everything else?” he asks.

You meet his gaze. “We’re caught in her web now.”

Just then, movement—a silhouette rounding the west side of the compound. A guard. Walking alone, slow, almost bored. Rifle at his side. Head turning in lazy arcs.

You both recognize it instantly: your window.

You slip over the tree, bodies melting into the foliage. The air feels colder the closer you get to the structure, like something sinister is waiting. You signal. Seungcheol nods, flanking left. You go right.

The guard never sees it coming.

One swift, clean movement—your blade slicing silently, Seungcheol catching the body before it hits the ground. You both drag him into the brush and dart to the wall. A hidden side door. Seungcheol picks the lock, fast and silent, while you cover him.

The door creaks open with a soft hiss.

And then you’re in.

The compound swallows you in darkness. No overhead lights. Just muted emergency bulbs glowing red along the baseboards. The air smells faintly of bleach and expensive perfume.

Together, you move room by room—clinical hallways, offices filled with screens, empty staircases. You kill quickly, efficiently. One by one, the guards fall. They don’t scream. They don’t even know what’s happening until it’s over. You and Seungcheol sweep the entire ground floor, then the first, avoiding the glass-walled atrium and sticking to shadowed corners.

No alarms. No reinforcements. No Lim.

You’re starting to feel a strange sense of unease. Like it’s all too easy.

Then—just as your boot hits the top of the second-floor landing—it happens.

A voice rings out, smooth and cold, echoing through the speakers tucked into every corner.

“Gwisin.” You feel Seungcheol stiffen behind you. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Your body freezes. You’d thought—hoped—you were ahead. But of course not. You warned Seungcheol yourself: she’s always ten steps in front.

The silence that follows is deafening. You look down the hallway. Then, with a mechanical hiss, a door at the end slides open.

A deep, impossible darkness yawns within.

You don’t move. Neither does Seungcheol.

“Come in,” Lim’s voice purrs. “I insist.”

You glance at Seungcheol. His jaw clenches, but he nods once. No turning back now.

You move in sync, every step echoing on the polished black floors. The office is silent, save for your breathing. Then, the door shuts behind you with a hiss of finality, locking you in the dark.

And then—

Bang.

“Agh—!”

The sound of the gunshot is deafening, sharp and shocking in the enclosed space. You scream his name, reaching out, panic clawing at your throat.

“Cheol—!”

He drops beside you, groaning in pain, clutching his leg. You see the blood, dark and hot, pouring from his thigh.

“Stop.” Lim’s voice snaps, sharp now, slicing through the dark like a knife.

“He’s not dead. Yet. But if you take one more step, Gwisin, the next bullet goes through his skull.”

Your hands lift immediately. You straighten slowly, your heart thundering, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Seungcheol grabs your hand as you try to move, fingers slick with blood.

He’s trying to stay conscious. His teeth are clenched, his breathing shallow. But his eyes never leave yours.

“Don’t,” he rasps. “Don’t do this.”

You turn to Lim, face blank. “I’m here,” you say aloud, stepping forward into the dark. “I’ll play your stupid games. Just don’t touch him again.”

The lights flicker to life.

And there she is.

Madame Lim sits in the centre of the room, calm and unbothered, her white suit pristine, her legs crossed as if she were merely waiting for tea. Her hair is swept back, face emotionless, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. A table separates the chair facing hers.

Atop it: a single, silver revolver.

Your stomach drops. Lim smiles slowly.

“You remember how this works.”

You stare at the gun. At the chairs.

And for the first time in a very long time, you feel real, consuming dread curl its claws into your chest.

Russian Roulette.

And you already know—only one of you will be walking away.

Your legs carry you forward, one heavy step after the next, the sound of your boots echoing in the stillness like distant thunder. The pain in your chest doesn’t come from a wound, but it hurts just the same—coiled fury, barely contained. You can feel the heat of Seungcheol’s blood still on your hand, your breath caught somewhere between rage and terror.

The chair is waiting. Empty.

You sit slowly, your knees trembling under the weight of what you’re walking into.

Across from you, Madame Lim lounges in her seat like the queen she’s always pretended to be—composed, elegant, a portrait of detached cruelty. She eyes you with a quiet satisfaction, her red lips curling into something that’s almost… amused.

“Welcome home, darling,” she says smoothly.

You clench your jaw. The mask doesn’t slip.

“I’m here,” you say evenly. “What’s the play?”

Lim’s smirk widens. Slowly, she reaches for the revolver resting on the table between you, her delicate fingers wrapping around the cold metal like it’s a treasured artefact.

She flips it open with a practised snap, turns it so you can see—

One bullet.

She closes the chamber and spins it. The click-click-click of the revolver spinning fills the silence between you, steady and cruel.

Then she sets it down, the handle pointing to the space between you.

“Simple,” she says, voice like silk over broken glass. “We spin the revolver. Whoever the handle lands on takes the first shot. If you win, you get the pleasure of accessing my system, removing your bounty, and tearing my empire apart from the ground up… before you put a bullet through my skull.”

She pauses, lips curling.

“But if I win… I get to watch the life drain from your eyes. I get to see the anguish on Seungcheol’s face when I shoot the love of his life in front of him. Right before I kill him, too. Tragically romantic.”

Your nails dig into your thighs beneath the table, the only outward sign of how close you are to snapping. But your voice remains even.

“You forget I need you alive to access your system. So this is a waste of time. I lose no matter what.”

Lim tuts, rising gracefully from her chair. “Oh no, darling. Quite the contrary.”

She walks toward the far side of the room, the hem of her white suit jacket swaying with each precise step. You glance behind you just once—Seungcheol still lies on the ground, bleeding, pale, but breathing. His eyes find yours, and the look there nearly unravels you.

You turn back to Lim just in time to see her approach her desk and pull out a sleek black laptop.

She returns, sets it down beside the revolver with exaggerated care, and slowly opens it. The screen glows to life. One by one, she performs the biometric logins—retinal, fingerprint, and voice. Just like Kang had.

Then she leans back, smug. “Now, you don’t need me alive anymore.”

You stare at her. And she stares right back, the game finally unfolding, the trap finally sprung.

“Let’s begin,” she says softly.

She takes the revolver, gives it a spin again, and when it stops—

The handle points directly at you.

You inhale deeply, picking it up. The weight of it is intimate and horrifying all at once. One in six. You press it to your temple, finger tightening on the trigger.

Click.

Nothing. Lim smiles, pleased. You slide the revolver across the table.

She picks it up gracefully and points it to her own head, never blinking, never breaking eye contact.

Click.

Still nothing. Your turn again.

You pick it up, ignoring the burn in your lungs, the sweat forming at the back of your neck. Lim is watching you with that same gleaming hunger.

“You always were weak,” she says. “Falling in love. Letting yourself care. You would’ve ruled this world, Gwisin, if you hadn’t gone soft.”

You ignore her. Gun to your temple.

Click.

You breathe out slowly, chest tight. She snatches it next, almost eagerly, her voice rising.

“You should’ve killed him. He was never worth it. Do you know how pathetic you look, crawling around for a man who’d bleed out for you? Do you think he’ll survive this anyway? Or do you just want someone to cry over your corpse?”

Gun raised.

Click.

Still nothing. Now you know. This is it.

If you get the bullet, it’s over. If not—you win.

She leans forward, taunting, her voice a venomous hiss now.

“He’s not going to make it. You’ve already lost, darling. Look at him—pale, dying, weak. Just like your resolve. Like your entire rebellion. You could’ve chosen me. But instead, you’re nothing more than a wife in mourning.”

You cut her off, hand closing around the gun mid-sentence. Her mouth stills, eyes flicking downward as you lift it once more. You don’t speak. You don’t blink. You just pull the trigger.

Click.

Silence. Everything stops. You don’t move. She doesn’t move.

Because that was the fifth shot.

And everyone in the room knows what that means.

The sixth belongs to her.

She smiles—slow, awful, the knowing kind of smile that monsters wear in their final moments.

You gently place the revolver back down, never looking away as you pick up the laptop. You pull the flash drive from your pocket with a trembling hand and plug it in.

Lines of code scroll by. You follow Reina’s instructions to the letter.

The virus deploys.

One by one, every trace of the bounty system begins to dismantle itself. Files corrupt. Names disappear. Targets are wiped clean. You check twice, then a third time. It’s done.

You press one final command, and the entire system shuts down.

No more empires. No more Lim.

Your victory tastes like ash.

You stand slowly, refusing to look at her, and turn toward the man on the floor.

“Cheol…” you whisper, approaching him softly.

That’s when it happens.

“Sorry, darling,” Lim purrs. “Can’t let you win.”

Bang.

You freeze. But the pain never comes.

The thud of a body hitting the floor echoes behind you. And when you turn— She’s there.

Madame Lim.

Shot through the chest.

Seungcheol’s pistol clatters to the ground beside him, his arm falling limp.

He’s panting, eyes fluttering, drained from the blood loss and effort it took to raise the weapon. But he did it. He saved you. Again.

“No— no, no, no, baby, stay with me—”

You scramble to him, sliding to the floor, pressing your hands hard against his thigh. Blood oozes between your fingers. You tear at your shirt, using the fabric to make a quick tourniquet above the wound.

His skin is clammy. Pale.

“Don’t do this to me,” you plead, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare go quiet now, Choi Seungcheol.”

He tries to speak, but no words come out. His eyes close.

“NO!” you scream, pressing harder, doing everything you can to keep him tethered to you. “Stay awake. Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you now.”

You grab your comms, tears streaking down your face.

“Reina! Mingyu! Jiwoo! Anyone!” you cry into the mic. “He’s down—he’s hit! We need extraction now—NOW!”

Static. Then Reina’s voice breaks through, panicked but focused.

“We’re on our way. Hold on. Just hold on.”

You sob, forehead pressed to his as you hold the wound with both hands.

“You promised me,” you whisper. “You said even after death, remember? So don’t you dare let go. Stay. You stay with me.”

The Caribbean sun beats down from a cloudless sky, the wind gentle as it dances through the sails of the boat that floats lazily just off the coast of Trinidad. Seagulls cry in the distance, their wings cutting through the heat as waves lap softly against the hull. The air tastes like salt, and stillness, and peace. For once, the world is quiet.

You lay stretched across a sun-bleached lounge chair on the deck, skin warm, drink sweating in your hand. A lazy breeze rolls over your bare stomach, ruffling your hair. Sunglasses shield your eyes, but you’re not really looking at anything. Just the endless blue horizon.

It’s been six months.

Six months since the compound. Six months since Madame Lim fell. Since you screamed into the comms for someone—anyone—to come and save the man bleeding out in your arms.

And now—this. The boat. His boat.

The one he joked about right before you came up with that ridiculous plan to take on your bosses. The mythical exit plan. A sailboat docked and waiting off the coast of Trinidad for a day that might never come. But it did come.

You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes.

The sun presses hot against your skin. Your breathing slows.

Then— A creak of wood.

Bare feet padding across the deck.

You don’t bother opening your eyes. You know who it is.

Reina’s voice floats out from the cabin, bright and amused. “I swear, this place is turning me into a whole new woman.”

You lift your sunglasses to peer at her. She emerges wearing a bikini that somehow manages to be both functional and designer, two fresh cocktails in her hands.

She walks over and hands you one before plopping down in the chair beside yours with a content sigh.

For a long time, neither of you speaks.

The boat rocks gently, and the sea stretches out in all directions.

Reina swirls her drink, then glances at you. “You know,” she says softly, “Seungcheol was onto something, keeping this boat stashed away.”

You smile, a slow curve of your lips. There’s something bittersweet in it.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “He definitely was.”

The silence between you shifts. Not heavy, not sad. Just full. You both sit with it. With the past. With what you lost. With what you kept.

Then—

“Is that how you talk about me when I’m not around?”

The voice cuts through the stillness like lightning. Familiar. Deep. Teasing.

A shadow moves at the stern of the boat.

Then, emerging from the water with a grin and a sun-drenched gleam in his eyes—

Seungcheol.

Shirtless, drenched, water trailing down his broad chest. His swimming trunks cling to his hips. His hair is dark and wet, pushed back by the sea. His towel is slung casually over one shoulder, and his smile—lazy, wicked, alive—makes your heart skip.

The scar on his leg is visible, faint against his tan skin. He walks with a slight limp still, but he’s upright. Strong. Getting better every day.

You stare, lips parted in a grin that spreads like a sunrise across your face. “You’re supposed to warn a girl before you sneak back on deck.”

He approaches, towel-drying his face, and when he leans over, he kisses you. Softly. Warmly. His lips linger, just long enough to remind you that this—he—is real.

“I heard you talking shit,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You laugh, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. “You heard wrong.”

He slides into the space beside you, pulling your legs gently over his lap, his hand resting casually on your thigh like it belongs there. Because it does.

“When are you coming in for a swim?” he asks, nudging you with a grin. “Water’s perfect.”

“When I feel like it,” you reply, tipping your glass toward him with a lazy clink.

Reina groans. “Ugh. You two are disgusting.”

You and Seungcheol both smirk, not even bothering to deny it.

The three of you laugh, and for a moment, everything is light.

Beep.

A sound breaks from the cabin. Muffled. Sharp. Urgent.

Your heart stutters.

You’re on your feet in an instant. So is Seungcheol. Both of you race below deck, Reina on your heels. You slide into the cabin, heart already pounding in your chest.

There it is.

You recognize it immediately. One of your old encrypted devices, the ones you used when Lim & Associates was still in operation, the one on which your bounties arrived.

You reach for it, hands steady despite the fear unfurling in your gut.

The screen flickers to life. Code scrolls. Then—

A name.

Target: Kim Mingyu.

Alias: Fireball.

Bounty: 3 Million.

Your blood turns to ice.

Seungcheol reads it beside you, lips parting in disbelief. “What…”

Reina appears in the doorway, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

You turn the screen toward her.

She sees the name. And freezes.

“What the hell did that idiot do now?”

A/N: Andddd, it's here! After how much you guys seemed to love part one, I couldn't not write this second part. Hope you all enjoyed the rollercoaster that was Gwisin and S.Coups. Are you ready for the second storyline? 👀💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

447 notes · View notes

ggukvnly · 18 days ago

Text

➷ That Kiss ➹ ║ JJK

✦ synopsis; two best friends fake-date for a wedding, but one unexpected kiss sparks real feelings, jealousy, and a confession that changes everything.

✦ genre; fluff, angst, fake dating, best friends to lovers

✦ pairing; jungkook x reader

✦ word count; 7.5k+.

Part 2

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The wedding invitation arrived on a lazy Thursday evening, exuding an elegance that starkly contrasted with the casual clutter of Y/N's apartment. Crafted from thick, cream cardstock with gold-foiled lettering and sealed with a wax emblem, it resembled something out of a historical drama. Y/N stared at it lying on her hallway floor, juxtaposed against her worn Converse and a half-empty Amazon package containing face masks and a lint roller.

She picked it up, her stomach sinking as she noticed a small handwritten note tucked inside, penned in Eunha's neat handwriting:

Please, you really have to come. It just won't be the same without you. You mean so much to me, and I want to share this happiest moment with you. And yes, bring your boyfriend too—the one with tattoos.

Love, Eunha.

Y/N stared down at the letter in her hands, the soft weight of the cream cardstock somehow heavier than it looked. Her mind began to wander, drifting through memories and tangled thoughts. How had her life led to this strange, almost surreal moment?

She thought about Eunha, her new friend, so vibrant and warm, who had quickly become one of the few people she truly trusted. Their friendship had blossomed fast—two souls unexpectedly connected in the bustle of a busy office.

But then, the weirdness of it all hit her again. Eunha's fiancé was none other than Minjae—her ex-boyfriend.

Minjae. He was her first love—the one who made her heart race with a joy she had never known. They had been so happy once, wrapped in the innocence of first romance, dreaming of endless tomorrows. She had liked him so much, more than she had ever admitted even to herself. But life had other plans. Things hadn't worked out the way they hoped. Minjae had to move to London, and the distance stretched more than just miles between them. The breakup was peaceful, without drama or bitterness, but it still left a hollow ache. Two years had passed since then.

A few months ago, Eunha had transferred to the Seoul office from the London branch. That's where she and Minjae had met—working overseas. They crossed paths, fell in love, and now they were getting married.

When Eunha joined the office, something about her clicked with Y/N instantly. She was warm, easy to talk to, and quickly became someone Y/N genuinely trusted. So when Y/N later found out that Eunha was dating Minjae—her ex—it caught her off guard. The timing, the connection, it was unexpected. A little strange. But she came to terms with it quickly. There were no grudges, no bitterness—just quiet acceptance. And more than that, she was happy for them. Truly. Life moved the way it wanted to.

She had moved on. No matter how much Minjae had once meant to her, those days were memories now, carefully tucked away but never forgotten. It was awkward at first, navigating this new dynamic with Eunha and Minjae intertwined in her life. But Eunha was genuine, kind, and a true friend. And eventually, Y/N found peace in the unexpected triangle fate had drawn.

Y/N was still holding the wedding invitation when her phone buzzed. It was a message from Nari.

Nari: Please tell me you got the invite. Don't even think about skipping it.

Nari wasn't just Y/N's close friend—she was also friends with Eunha and had received an invite to the wedding herself. So it made sense she knew about it.

Y/n smiled softly, about to reply when another message popped.

Nari: Ugh, I have to go back to Busan. My dad's not doing well, so I can't make it to the wedding.

Y/N's heart tightened hearing that, but Nari's teasing tone quickly followed.

Nari: But you? You better be going... and definitely with that tattooed Greek god you keep bragging about.

Y/N groaned into her palms. "I'm an idiot."

Because yes, she had invented a boyfriend—well, not invented. More like borrowed. Jeon Jungkook, her best friend and occasional emotional crutch, just happened to be real. Kind, thoughtful, achingly attractive, and absurdly aware of how girls tripped over their own feet looking at him.

The lie had been a stupid white one. They were at a cozy dinner party, and someone had asked if she was still hung up on Minjae. She wasn't. Not really. But in a moment of panic, she'd said she was dating someone new. When pressed, she'd blurted out: "Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook."

Now she had an invitation in her hand and the beginnings of a full-blown identity crisis.

Before she could spiral, she called Nari.

"You told them you were dating Jungkook?" Nari wheezed from the other end.

"I panicked!"

"You panicked and chose Jungkook? Literal boyfriend material? Sweetheart? Puppy in a leather jacket?"

"I didn't think it would matter. It was months ago. I thought she'd forget."

"She handwrote a note, Y/N. You know what this means, right?"

Y/N sighed. "I have to go."

"And take Jungkook."

Y/N closed her eyes. "I can't ask him. He's probably busy. He has clients. A life."

Nari paused. "...You do remember he once cancelled a date because your ceiling was leaking, right? Showed up in pajamas with a toolkit?"

Y/N laughed softly. "Yeah."

"You're his girl. He'd go to hell if you asked him."

"Please take care of your dad, okay? Keep me updated."

"I will. Have fun with your date, you lucky girl!"

Godhhh. And the call ended.

Baby 🫀: hey, so...

Baby 🫀: remember when I maybe said we were dating to someone

Baby 🫀: and it may have been Eunha

Baby 🫀: and she may have just sent me a wedding invite

Baby 🫀: and also called you "the one with the tattoos"

He replied within ten seconds.

Kook 🐰: i am the one with the tattoos

Kook 🐰: are we going to a wedding??? omg is there cake

Kook 🐰: also how convincing is our relationship

Kook 🐰: on a scale of "holding hands" to "accidental makeout in front of grandma"

Y/N dropped her phone, face flushed. Then picked it up again and called him.

He answered like he’d been waiting for her call.

"Well, well, well," he teased. "If it isn't my fake girlfriend."

"You're not even surprised," she groaned.

"Not even a little." He sounded smug. "You talk about me way too much. This was bound to happen."

She huffed. "Okay. Look. You don't have to say yes, but I need someone to go with me to this wedding. Just for the weekend. I'll pay for the suit. And—"

"Stop." His voice dropped into something warm and gentle. "You don't have to bribe me, Y/N. I'll go."

Her chest eased.

"Really?"

"I would do anything for you Y/n"

Y/N smiled, the knot in her chest unwinding. "Thank you, Kook."

"You don't have to thank me. You know I'm always down to be your emergency contact or fake boyfriend or whatever the hell you need."

He meant it.

She knew that.

Jungkook had always shown up.

When Minjae left for London and Y/N came home crying into a cardigan three sizes too big, it was Jungkook who showed up at her door with takeout in hand and an understanding silence. He let her cry into his hoodie, held her through the worst parts, never pushing, never judging.

They had been best friends since their first year of college. He was the one who quietly became something. He made her laugh when heartbreak threatened to swallow her whole, stayed over when her anxiety spiked in the dead of night, and somehow remembered the exact way she liked her tea: sweet, milky, with just a touch of cinnamon. Through every late-night study session, every celebration, every moment of doubt and every burst of hope, Jungkook was there. The kind of person who was both her best friend and so much more—the one who knew her better than she knew herself and loved her for all her messy, beautiful parts.

God, their friendship was everything—unshakable, comforting, and deeply real.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The sharp buzz of the doorbell sliced through the quiet apartment. Y/N took a steadying breath and crossed to the door. She swung it open—and froze.

There he was.

Jungkook, standing in the dim porch light, looking like a damn movie star caught in the spotlight. His hair was slightly tousled, the dark strands falling just enough to brush his forehead. His eyes—those deep, intense dark eyes—caught hers and held them hostage, sparkling with quiet mischief and something unspoken. He wore a perfectly tailored white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone just enough to reveal the smooth line of his collarbone and the hint of a tattoo peeking from beneath. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing lean, muscular forearms that spoke of strength without effort. His charcoal gray slacks hugged his hips in all the right places, and the way he shifted his weight—casual yet commanding—made Y/N's breath catch.

A slow smirk curved his lips as he caught her staring. "What's wrong? Did I just make you freeze?" His voice was low, teasing, dripping with playful confidence.

Y/N blinked, cheeks flaming. "Am I supposed to be moving?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a gentle tease. "I'm just saying... am I looking that good tonight?"

She swallowed, heart pounding. "Maybe a little."

"Good." He grinned, then softened. "Take your time. I'm in no rush."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Inside, he heard the soft click of her door opening, followed by the quiet pad of her footsteps. Jungkook looked up from where he stood, adjusting his cuff.

And then he froze.

Y/N stepped into the room, and for a second, everything else faded—the ticking clock, the low hum of the city outside, even his own breath. She looked... ethereal. The dress hugged her in all the right places, the fabric shimmering like water under moonlight every time she moved. Her hair was pinned delicately, a few loose strands framing her face in a way that made her look both elegant and soft. The glow on her skin wasn't from makeup—it was something deeper, something luminous that he couldn't name. Her eyes, bright and steady, locked onto his, and suddenly he felt like he was seeing her for the first time.

Not just pretty. Not just beautiful.

She looked unreal.

His throat tightened. "You look..." His voice cracked, and he had to swallow before continuing, softer now. "You look stunning."

And he meant it—every syllable soaked in something he wasn't ready to admit·

Jungkook smiled — genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle just enough to be irresistible.

He reached out and offered his arm.

The sleek black car waited outside, polished to a mirror shine. Jungkook slid into the driver's seat with smooth confidence, tossing the keys to Y/N to unlock the passenger door. As she settled inside, the interior smelled of leather and a hint of his cologne—clean, with a trace of something warm and woody that made her pulse quicken. They didn't speak much as the city lights blurred past the windows. Jungkook finally broke the silence, pulling from his jacket pocket a small folded piece of paper—the wedding manual.

"Read this," he said, his voice low but teasing. "Important stuff: who to greet first, where to stand, when to smile, and when to avoid dancing disasters."

Y/N laughed softly, unfolding the notes and scanning the neat, careful handwriting.

Jungkook caught her eye and winked. "We've got this."

And just like that, the night felt less daunting—and a little more like an adventure they'd face together.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Outside the venue, the soft hum of music drifted into the evening air. Jungkook stood beside Y/N, arm looped through hers.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, inhaling slowly. "Just a little nervous."

He looked at her, calm and steady. "We've got this, alright? Just trust me."

Y/N met his gaze and gave a small, genuine smile. "Yeah. Okay."

They stepped inside, moving together through the crowd with quiet confidence. A few steps in, Y/N spotted them near the floral arch — Minjae and Eunha, side by side under the soft glow of fairy lights.

Jungkook leaned slightly closer and murmured, "You're glowing more than the bride, just so you know."

She gave him a look. "Shut up."

They walked forward together.

Eunha spotted her almost immediately and broke into a wide, genuine smile. "Y/N!"

Before she knew it, she was being pulled into a warm hug.

"You look gorgeous," Eunha beamed, pulling back to take her in. "Like, actually stunning."

"You're the one in a wedding dress," Y/N smiled, eyes soft. "You look beautiful. So happy."

"I am," Eunha said quietly. "And I'm so glad you're here."

Y/N glanced at Minjae — standing just behind her, his expression slightly awkward, but polite.

"Minjae," she said with a nod. "Congratulations. I really wish you both the best. A lot of happiness and peace."

"Thanks," he said, lips twitching slightly into a smile. "That means a lot."

Jungkook, silent until now, stepped just a little closer.

Eunha's eyes flicked toward him and lit up.

"Oh! Jungkook, right?" she said, grinning. "I've seen you before. You've picked Y/N up from work a few times."

Jungkook smiled, just the slightest tilt of his lips. "I have. You have a good memory."

"Hard to forget someone that good-looking in a car like that," she teased. "We all used to peek through the blinds."

Y/N groaned. "Eunha!"

"What? It's true!" Eunha laughed. "You'd come out with that little tote bag, and he'd be leaning on his car like he was in some photoshoot."

Jungkook glanced down at Y/N with a cocked brow, amused. "So you never told me you had fans at your office?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I was trying to protect your ego."

Eunha was grinning from ear to ear. "You two... I honestly didn't see this coming. You guys always said we are 'just best friends,' remember?"

"Yeah, well," Y/N said softly, looking up at Jungkook for a fleeting second. "Fate's weird like that."

"It really is," Eunha agreed. "But I'm glad. You seem... good together."

There was no malice in her voice. No awkwardness lingering. Just a girl who had found her own happiness, and was genuinely happy to see someone she once worked beside finding hers too.

Jungkook held his glass up slightly. "To fate, then."

Y/N laughed. "And good wine."

They clinked glasses and stepped aside as another couple approached to greet the newlyweds.

As Y/N and Jungkook walked toward the open bar, she exhaled softly — like a little weight had been lifted.

"You handled that well," Jungkook murmured beside her, tucking his hand gently against the small of her back.

"I think I've officially leveled up," she whispered. "No tears. No awkward tension. No wine thrown at the groom."

He grinned. "I'm proud of you. Also slightly disappointed. I was kind of rooting for a wine-throwing moment."

"Too bad. You'll have to settle for civil emotional growth."

He looked at her, gaze lingering. "I could get used to that."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The venue was alive with soft laughter, low music, and the occasional clink of glasses. Around them, couples melted into each other—some stealing quick, shy kisses, others lost in slow, lingering embraces. The warmth and closeness in the room built like a tide, rising and pulling everyone closer.

Among the crowd, a few familiar faces from the office watched from a corner — the ones who had been told Jungkook was her boyfriend. They stood in a small circle, eyes darting between her and Jungkook with poorly hidden curiosity. The atmosphere around them buzzed with the intimacy of slow dancing and the growing closeness of every couple swaying to the music. The unspoken rhythm of the night whispered one thing: here, in this moment, it was only natural.

Jungkook's voice broke through the hum, low and steady. "May I have this dance?"

She smiled, heart skipping, and nodded, stepping into his space.

His arms circled around her waist with quiet possessiveness, pulling her closer until their bodies aligned perfectly. She slipped her arms around his neck, feeling the steady beat of his pulse beneath her fingertips. His fingers slid to cradle the back of her neck, thumb brushing softly along her jaw. It was a tender touch, but his eyes burned — dark, desperate, like he was barely holding himself together.

He pulled her in slowly at first, savoring the closeness, like he couldn't believe she was finally here — with him.

His eyes flicked to her mouth.

A pause.

A breath.

A choice.

Then — he dipped his head and kissed her.

It started soft — hesitant, like a question. But the moment it happened, something gave way. Like a dam bursting. Like breath after drowning. The kind of kiss that felt like a secret spilling between them. The kind that didn't feel fake at all.

And neither of them pulled away.

Her hands gripped his jacket, pulling him closer, needing more. Their mouths moved in rhythm — lips parting, pressing, tugging. His tongue brushed against hers, cautious at first, but as she responded, all hesitation vanished. Their tongues tangled, teasing and tasting, until the kiss turned messy and breathless, wet with heat and longing. He tilted his head to the side, deepening it further, groaning softly into her mouth. She answered with a quiet whimper, fingers threading into his hair, tugging — desperate and aching like she'd waited too long for this.

His palm slid to the curve of her waist, the other anchoring her by the small of her back as he pressed her against him fully. The world around them fell away — the music, the lights, the people. All that remained was the shared fire in their veins.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths shallow and lips red and swollen. A thin string of saliva still connected them . It was enough — the kiss said everything, and the night held its breath with them.

As the music faded into softer notes, Y/N and Jungkook finally stepped away from the dance floor, still catching their breath from the heat of that kiss. The reception began to slow and guests started making their exits, Y/N and Jungkook stood from their table, the warmth of their earlier kiss still lingering in the space between them. Without needing to say it, they both knew it was time to leave.

Eunha's eyes lit up when she saw them approaching. "You're heading out?" she asked, pulling Y/N into a quick, affectionate hug.

"Yeah," Y/N smiled. "Thank you again—for everything. It was beautiful."

"I'm so glad you came," Eunha said, her voice low and genuine. "Truly."

Minjae offered a polite nod, his eyes flicking briefly between them. "Have a safe drive."

Jungkook returned the nod with quiet confidence, standing close to Y/N but saying nothing more.

Just before they turned to go, Eunha leaned in with a teasing smile. "And hey... that dance? Let's just say the sparks didn't go unnoticed."

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, cheeks warming. "You're imagining things."

"Mmhmm," Eunha hummed playfully, but she didn't push further. "Goodnight, you two."

"Goodnight," they echoed in unison, then slipped out into the cool evening air, side by side.

Jungkook chuckled softly and linked his arm with Y/N's as they made their way to his car. The evening had settled into a calm hush, the buzz from the reception fading behind them. He opened the door for her, waiting until she was settled before sliding into the driver's seat beside her. The car hummed to life, but inside, it was silent—thick with something unspoken.

Y/N stared ahead, her hands in her lap, the ghost of the kiss still lingering at the edge of her thoughts. It had happened. It was real. But it wasn't supposed to mean anything.

She spoke first, voice calm but too practiced.

"About earlier... the kiss."

Jungkook's hands stilled on the wheel. He didn't look at her, just waited.

Y/N took a quiet breath. "It was nothing. Just pretending, right? Everyone was doing it. We were just blending in."

"Yeah," Jungkook said after a moment, his voice unreadable. "Just blending in."

She gave a small, short laugh. "We did cross a line, maybe... but it was necessary. For the act."

He nodded, but said nothing.

Y/N turned slightly toward him. "We're best friends. I hope it won't change anything between us."

Jungkook's jaw tightened at that. He still didn't meet her eyes. "It won't," he said softly.

"It meant nothing," she repeated, as if saying it again would make it true.

"Yeah," he echoed. "Nothing."

But the silence that followed said otherwise.

He kept his eyes on the road. His grip on the wheel was too firm. And though his voice had stayed steady, something inside him had shifted—just slightly, but enough.

She didn't notice.

Or maybe she pretended not to.

And they drove on, both holding tight to a truth they'd agreed on, even if it didn't feel like one.

They drove in silence for a while, the city lights streaming past like distant stars.

When they arrived at her home, Y/N hesitated at the door.

"Stay a bit?" she asked, heart fluttering.

"Not tonight," he said quietly.

She nodded, watching him drive away with a mix of longing and understanding.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The door clicked shut behind her, and for the first time that evening, everything went still.

She leaned back against the wood, her fingers still tingling where they had touched him. The room was dark, moonlight spilling through the windows in soft, silvery lines. No noise. No people. No music. Just the quiet hum of her apartment — and the kiss still lingering on her lips.

She closed her eyes.

It had been... warm. Breathless. Real.

For a moment, she'd forgotten it was all pretend. For a moment, she'd let herself believe the way his hands held her meant something. The way he looked at her — like she was the only one in the room — that it was more than just part of the act.

But it wasn't.

It couldn't be.

They were best friends. That was all they had ever agreed to be.

She pushed off the door, tossing her clutch onto the table and kicking off her heels with a sigh. As she curled up in bed, her fingers unconsciously brushed her lips. A shiver ran down her spine.

It meant nothing, she told herself.

It was just pretending.

And maybe if she repeated it enough, maybe if she said it in her head like a mantra, she'd believe it too.

She turned off the lamp. But long after the lights went out, the memory of his kiss stayed with her, stubborn and soft and impossible to forget.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He sat in the driver's seat for a while after dropping her off. The street was quiet, the world still — but inside him, everything was loud.

That kiss. Her words. The way she smiled, like nothing had changed.

Like it didn't matter.

He let out a shaky breath, leaning his head back against the seat, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling of the car. His chest felt tight — not the kind of tight that came from nerves or stress, but the kind that sat heavy in your bones. The kind that comes from being punched in the heart.

"It was just pretending."

He scoffed bitterly to himself, shaking his head. Pretending?

Then why did it feel so real?

Why did his hands still remember the way her waist felt under them, the way she leaned into him like she belonged there?

He had kissed her like he meant it — because he did. Maybe not intentionally, maybe not with a plan. But in that moment, he forgot it was all fake. Forgot the lines. Forgot the act.

And now she was acting like it had never happened.

"We're just best friends. I hope it won't change anything."

God, it already had.

He sat there in silence, jaw clenched so hard it ached. His fingers gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing holding him together. He could still feel the ghost of her lips on his. Still see the softness in her eyes, the way she had looked at him — even if just for a second — like he was more than a friend.

Was he wrong? Did he imagine it?

Or had she just decided that pretending was easier than facing what was really there?

The truth stung: she hadn't felt it the way he did.

To her, it was nothing. A necessity. A moment.

To him, it was everything he had been trying to bury.

He exhaled slowly, blinking against the burn behind his eyes. He didn't cry — he never did. But damn, if it didn't feel like something inside him was breaking.

You're so stupid, he told himself. You let it happen. You let yourself believe—even just for a second—that maybe...

He turned the key and drove away, his heart heavier than when the night started.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel like pretending anymore.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A few days after the wedding, Nari had just returned from Busan. Her father was getting better, and now she was eager to catch up with Y/N. They met at their favorite cozy café, where the familiar warmth eased the tension just a little.

"So, how was the wedding?" Nari asked casually, but with a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm and found herself stirring her coffee nervously. "It was... nice."

Nari leaned forward, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Come on, spill the beans. I can tell something happened."

Y/N sighed softly, deciding to just say it. "Okay... Jungkook and I kissed."

Nari's grin widened. "I knew it! How was it?"

Y/N shook her head quickly. "It was nothing. Just pretending, because everyone else was kissing. We didn't want to look out of place. It didn't mean anything."

"We're just best friends," Y/N added firmly. "We can't cross those lines."

There was a brief silence, and then Y/N's voice dropped a little. "But... Jungkook's been kind of distant lately. I don't know why. I think I might've hurt him somehow. But we're just best friends. It shouldn't mean anything to him, right?"

Nari's smile softened. "You never know. Sometimes we get stuck thinking everything from our own side. Maybe you should just talk to him—clear things up. Communication's the key."

Y/N nodded, lost in thought. "Maybe you're right."

⋆˙⟡ Jungkook’s POV ⟡˙⋆

It's been a few days since I started acting distant around Y/N. I hate how I've pulled away, how I barely talk to her the way I used to. I hate that I made things awkward between us. What hurts the most is when she said the kiss meant nothing — that it was just pretending. Like it didn't matter to her at all.

But to me... it did.

That moment echoed in my mind, cutting deeper than I thought possible. I felt exposed and raw, like something important had slipped through my fingers.

I keep telling myself she's just my best friend. And that I'm the one who messed this up. The one who should take responsibility.

So I decided to invite her over for a movie night. No pressure, no expectations — just a chance to be close again, to try and fix what I let slip.

Because no matter what, I still care. More than I'm willing to admit.

Kook 🐰: Movie night at my place. You in?

Baby 🫀 : Depends. Are you actually going to let me pick the movie this time?

Kook 🐰 : Haha, maybe. But only if you promise not to pick a sappy romance.

Baby 🫀 : No promises.

Kook 🐰 : Deal. Come around 7? I'll have popcorn and my dog ready.

Baby 🫀 : The dog or you?

Kook 🐰 : Both, obviously.

Baby 🫀 : You're impossible. See you then.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Y/N's heart fluttered nervously as she climbed the stairs to Jungkook's apartment. The past few days had felt strange — quiet and distant between them — and she couldn't shake the small knot of guilt twisting in her stomach. She knew she hadn't been herself around him lately, and now, finally, it was time to try and mend things. When she opened the door, she hadn't expected to see anyone else.

On the couch sat a woman — elegant and poised, with soft curls framing her face and a warm smile that seemed natural and genuine. She was clearly absorbed in conversation with Jungkook, their heads close together over a laptop resting on the coffee table.

Y/N stepped inside Jungkook's apartment, her eyes meeting his briefly. There was something faint brushing at her heart, but she wasn't sure what it was.

"Hey," Jungkook greeted softly. "Didn't expect you so early."

"Hey," Y/N replied, a small smile on her lips.

Jungkook nodded toward the woman seated on the couch. "This is Hyejin — we've been working together on a project the past few weeks."

Hyejin stood and smiled warmly. Jungkook then turned to Y/N. "And this is my best friend."

Y/N gave a polite nod, feeling a little warmth at the simple introduction.

Y/N glanced between them. "You're busy tonight?"

Jungkook shook his head. "No, just wrapped up."

Hyejin glanced toward the door. "I should get going. I'll just take a cab."

Jungkook's tone softened but was firm. "No, it's alright. Stay for a bit."

Hyejin hesitated, but Jungkook continued, "I already made dinner. Please, have dinner with us."

His eyes briefly shifted to Y/N. "Please," he added quietly.

Hyejin smiled back, relaxing. "Alright, then. Thank you."

What was meant to be a quiet movie night for two quietly shifted into a trio — Jungkook's caring nature balancing his attention between both women, making sure everyone felt welcome.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch, absently scratching behind Jungkook's dog's ears as the movie played. Or at least, it 'should've' been playing. Instead, Hyejin had commandeered the remote, scrolling through options while Jungkook leaned over her shoulder, pointing at titles with an easy familiarity that made Y/N's stomach twist.

"This one's a classic," Hyejin said, tapping a thriller. "You love these, right?"

Jungkook grinned. "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess." She smirked, nudging him with her elbow.

Y/N's fingers stilled in the dog's fur.

Since when did Jungkook like thrillers? He always groaned when she picked them, insisting on comedies or action flicks. But now, here he was, nodding along like Hyejin had cracked some secret code to his tastes.

The movie started, but Y/N couldn't focus. Not when Hyejin laughed a little too loudly at Jungkook's dry commentary. Not when she reached over to steal a handful of popcorn, her fingers brushing his. Halfway through the film, Hyejin's phone buzzed. She excused herself to take the call in the kitchen, leaving Y/N and Jungkook in charged silence.

Y/N stared at the screen, jaw tight. "She's nice."

Jungkook stretched his arms behind his head, oblivious. "Yeah, she's great. Really sharp—her ideas for the project are insane."

"I bet." Y/N's voice was clipped.

That got his attention. He turned, brow furrowing. "You okay?"

"Perfect." She forced a smile. "Just tired."

He studied her for a beat too long before Hyejin returned, sliding back onto the couch—"closer to Jungkook this time."

Y/N stood abruptly. "I should go."

Jungkook blinked. "Now? It's not even—"

Early morning tomorrow, she lied, already grabbing her bag.

Hyejin gave her a sympathetic look. "Oh no, did we pick a bad movie?"

"No, it's not that." Y/N avoided Jungkook's gaze. "Thanks for having me."

She was out the door before he could protest.

Outside, the night air was cool against her flushed skin. She barely made it three steps before her phone buzzed.

Kook 🐰: hey. you left your jacket.

Kook 🐰: also you're a terrible liar. what's wrong?

Y/N stared at the screen, fingers hovering. She could play it off. She should. But the image of Hyejin's effortless charm, Jungkook's easy laughter—it stuck in her chest like a thorn.

Baby 🫀: nothing. just didn't realize you had company.

Kook 🐰: are you jealous?

Her breath hitched.

Baby 🫀: don't flatter yourself.

Kook 🐰: then come back inside.

Kook 🐰: unless you're scared to admit something.

Y/N's pulse roared in her ears.

Jungkook appeared at the door holding Y/N's jacket, but before she could reach for it, his hand gently caught her wrist. His eyes searched hers, calm but firm.

"You're not going anywhere," he said quietly.

Y/N's breath caught. She glanced back toward the living room where the movie credits were rolling on the screen — the night coming to an end, but something unspoken lingering between them.

Jungkook turned toward the kitchen, calling softly, "Hyejin, let me book a cab for you."

Hyejin, already gathering her things, smiled warmly. "Thanks, but it's okay. I can manage."

"No, it's fine," Jungkook insisted, pulling out his phone and quickly ordering a ride. "I want to make sure you get home safe."

Y/N watched him carefully, a little surprised by how naturally he took care of Hyejin, despite their obvious closeness. There was no awkwardness, only a gentle ease.

The door clicked softly behind Hyejin, and suddenly the apartment felt quiet. Y/N and Jungkook settled back onto the couch, the silence no longer charged but soft — an unspoken invitation to start mending the space between them.

Jungkook's voice broke the silence first, low and gentle. "What's wrong?"

Y/N blinked, startled by the question.

He leaned a little closer, eyes searching. "Are you... sad? Because we planned a movie night, but someone else ended up here."

"No," she said quickly, too quickly. "I'm not sad."

But Jungkook wasn't fooled.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, voice softening. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... You know, it's just—she's kind, and she's been such a big help. Hyejin's been with me through so much lately, helping with work, always pushing when I get stuck. I couldn't just tell her to go."

He reached out before she could respond, pulling her gently closer.

They settled side by side on the couch, his arm wrapping around her shoulders naturally, like it belonged there.

"What movie do you want to watch now?" he asked quietly, voice almost a whisper.

Y/N shrugged, leaning her head on his shoulder, the familiar comfort easing the tightness in her chest.

He smiled softly, his warmth seeping into her skin as he reached for the snacks they'd brought.

Together, they watched the screen, the world shrinking down to just this quiet room and the soft glow of the movie. Halfway through, Y/N's eyelids grew heavy. Without a word, Jungkook shifted, gently lifting her in his arms. He carried her to his bed, tucking the blanket around her with careful hands.

He stood beside the bed for a long time after tucking her in. The blanket was pulled gently over her shoulders, her hair fanned out on the pillow, face peaceful in sleep. But inside him, everything was the opposite of peaceful.

He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing through his nose.

Hyejin was a good girl.

Beautiful, bright. Sharp-minded and always composed.

And yeah... she was into him. She hadn't said it out loud, not yet—but it didn't need to be said. The way she lingered sometimes, the soft teasing in her voice, the way her gaze held his just a little longer than necessary. He wasn't blind.

And he hadn't invited her over tonight. That part mattered to him.

He'd planned tonight with Y/N.

He always did, without even realizing it sometimes. The moment the week wore him down, when he couldn't see past the blueprints and deadlines and exhaustion—somewhere in his head, he just wanted to hear her laugh, sit beside her, not talk at all if she didn't want to. But then the meeting had stretched. The project had hit a final snag. Hyejin needed his help with the last-minute presentation, and it had made sense to finish it together. By the time she was there, it had already started. He hadn't meant for it to overlap.

Still... he'd seen the look on Y/N's face when she walked in.

That flicker.

She didn't say anything, not really. She never did. But he could tell.

And now, watching her sleep, that ache only deepened.

Why did it hurt like this?

Girls had shown interest before. Pretty ones. Smart ones. Some had even been bold enough to ask him out directly. But he'd never felt like this—never this confusion, this fear, this pull he couldn't explain.

With Y/N... it was always different.

It wasn't about her being beautiful—though she was. Or talented—or that too.

And now... he was scared.

Scared that he'd crossed a line.

Scared that she'd felt it.

Scared that if he kept letting his feelings grow like this, he'd ruin everything.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, dropping his face into his hands.

"I have to do something," he muttered quietly to himself. "I can't let this—"

He exhaled. "I can't risk our friendship."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Days Later

Jungkook didn't expect to say yes.

When Hyejin asked if he'd like to grab dinner "just the two of us this time," he'd hesitated.

But then he just… agreed.

Maybe he had to move forward. Maybe whatever he felt for her was just one-sided comfort... maybe.

He told himself it was just attraction. Familiarity.

He told himself that he couldn't wait forever for someone who might not feel the same.

Hyejin was kind. Easy to talk to. Funny, too. And she didn't pretend not to care—she showed up with genuine interest in her eyes, and maybe that was what he needed. Something simpler. Something clear. And yet—every night after he came home, he found himself staring at his phone screen. Wondering if he should text her. Wondering if she was thinking about him too.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The engine stuttered—then gave out with a tired sigh.

Y/N sat there, hands still gripping the wheel, staring out at the quiet street. Dusk settled heavy around her, painting the sky in dull streaks of blue and grey. She tried the ignition again. Nothing. The silence in the car felt louder than ever. Her heart beat once. Hard.

She looked down at her phone.

No one else came to mind.

No Nari. No colleagues. No maybes.

Just one name pulsed in her thoughts.

Jungkook.

Because somehow, he was always the one who showed up.

She barely hesitated before tapping his name.

It rang twice.

"Hello?"

His voice. Familiar. Solid.

"Hey... it's me," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

A pause. Then gentler, "Y/N? What's wrong?"

"My car broke down. I'm stuck near that gas station on 9th... the one with the closed café."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Just... stuck." A nervous laugh escaped her lips. "Didn't know who else to call."

"You did the right thing."

She could already hear movement, the shuffle of keys. "I'm coming."

"Jungkook, you don't have to—"

"I want to."

His voice dropped. "Stay where you are."

The call ended, but something about his last words stayed wrapped around her chest.

Headlights swept across the pavement as the car slowed beside her. Y/N straightened from where she leaned against the hood of her stalled vehicle.

The door swung open.

Jeon Jungkook stepped out.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

He looked obscenely good.

Black slacks, button-up rolled at the sleeves, hair styled effortlessly. Clean, confident, composed. The kind of dressed-up that screamed intention.

She swallowed. "Wow. You look..."

"Don't worry about the car," he cut in gently, stepping close, eyes scanning hers. "I'll handle it. Just come with me."

"I—okay," she said, caught off guard. "Are you... going somewhere?"

He didn't answer right away, just gestured toward the passenger side. She got in.

When he slid in beside her, she asked softly, "Is someone waiting for you?"

His fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

"She asked me to have dinner with her."

Y/N glanced at him. "Hyejin?"

He nodded, gaze on the road. "Yeah"

"Oh," she murmured.

A beat passed. The silence buzzed.

Then she asked, quieter still, "Is it a date?"

Jungkook exhaled. "Quite possibly."

She said nothing after that. Neither did he.

The silence felt heavier this time, stretched between them like something fragile. The city lights flickered past the windows, but all she could see was the way he'd dressed up for someone else.

When he pulled up to her building, she unbuckled her seatbelt slowly.

But she didn't get out. Not yet.

"Can I ask something?" she said, barely above a whisper.

He turned to her, patient. "Yeah?"

"She likes you," she said. It wasn't a question.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath. "Yeah. She kind of does."

"She asked you out," she repeated.

He looked at her then—really looked.

"She's a good girl," he said. "And I thought... why not? Maybe I should give it a try."

That hurt more than she expected.

But she only nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, masking the crack in her voice. "Right. Of course. That makes sense."

He didn't say anything.

She opened the door and stepped out, closing it gently behind her.

But his words echoed in her chest, long after he drove away.

"Maybe I should give it a try.

A Few Days Later

She didn't mean to notice it.

Didn't want to.

But she saw them—again.

Jungkook and Hyejin, walking out of the cafe near his office.

He held the door open for her. She laughed at something he said. His eyes softened in that way he never used casually.

Y/N turned away too fast. Her chest burned.

She didn't know what was happening with her.

Or maybe she did. And just didn't want to name it.

She'd seen Jungkook with girls before. Casual dates. Pretty faces, fleeting moments. He'd never made time for them. Never let anyone in.

But this felt... different.

He looked invested.

Not just polite. Not just amused. He looked like someone trying.

Like someone who had chosen to try.

It stung.

God, it stung.

She had no right to feel this way.

She was the one who insisted on labels. "Friends."

She was the one who drew the line after the kiss, who said, "Let's not mess this up."

She was the one who told herself: It's just companionship. No strings. No questions. No feelings.

So why did it feel like something was being ripped from her chest now?

Why did it hurt to see Hyejin lean a little too close?

To watch Jungkook let her?

She shut her eyes.

This wasn't fair.

She was supposed to be okay with this.

But she wasn't.

She hated it.

The quiet ache behind her ribs. The way her thoughts kept looping back. The way her heart clenched when she imagined him texting Hyejin goodnight.

It wasn't just jealousy.

It was loss.

And somewhere in that twisted ache, a cruel little voice whispered:

If you'd said something after the kiss...

If you hadn't been so scared...

Maybe he would've chosen you instead.

She didn't expect to feel it this deeply.

The ache, the sting — the unmistakable pinch in her chest when Nari mentioned that Jungkook wouldn't be coming to their Friday hangout.

"He said he has plans with Hyejin."

That one sentence buzzed inside her skull like a scream. Y/N didn't even realize how long she'd zoned out until her coffee went cold.

She didn't text him. Not for hours. Not that day. Not the next. She couldn't bring herself to look at her phone because every part of her heart felt betrayed by something she had no right to be hurt over.

They were just friends, right?

Right?

So why did it feel like her lungs were caving in?

She ignored his calls. Swiped away his messages. Didn't answer the door once when he knocked on a Saturday night.

She stepped out of her apartment after weeks, the sky was heavy with clouds, the kind of weather that made the air feel thick and quiet. She was headed out to grab some groceries, hoodie pulled tight against the cool breeze.

And then she saw him.

Leaning against his car.

Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. Jaw tight.

As soon as she noticed him, she turned on her heel.

"Don't walk away, Y/N."

His voice—deep and low—cut through the morning chill like a knife.

She froze. Not because he asked her to. But because if she turned around, she might break. And if she broke, she knew he'd see it all.

"What?" she muttered, back still turned. "What do you want?"

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

She scoffed, finally turning. Her eyes flashed with something between anger and heartbreak.

"I'm not avoiding you. I've just been busy."

"Bullshit," Jungkook snapped, stepping forward. "You haven't spoken to me in weeks. What the hell is going on, Y/N?"

She swallowed, crossing her arms — a weak shield against everything she was feeling.

"Nothing's going on. You're the one who's suddenly too busy playing boyfriend."

That hit. He blinked.

"Are you talking about Hyejin?"

"No," she laughed bitterly. "I'm talking about your new ritual of ditching your best friend to take her out."

Jungkook's brows furrowed, tension tightening his shoulders.

"I told you it was a date. I didn't lie."

"And you didn't need to," she snapped. "You don't owe me an explanation."

"Then why are you so damn upset?"

Silence.

He stepped closer, voice quiet now — rough around the edges.

"Y/N... I need to know. Why are you acting like this?"

"I'm not acting like anything."

"Like hell you aren't!" His voice cracked — not in volume, but in emotion. He was trying so hard to stay calm, but the heat beneath his skin was rising. "You ignore me, then throw shade about Hyejin. And you still want to pretend like everything between us meant nothing?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

He didn't wait.

"What do you want me to do, huh?" he asked, stepping closer. His eyes searched hers like he was begging for an answer she couldn't give.

"Should I just stop seeing her? Stop living my life? Because we kissed and then you told me we were just friends?!"

Her breath hitched.

"You said it didn't mean anything."

"I lied"

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loveesiren · 6 months ago

Text

𝖡𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖭𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗆𝖺𝗋𝖾

Thanos x American!reader

a/n: hi my babies! so this is my first thanos (choi su-bong) fic i'm posting. however, i kind of wrote this as an aftermath of a little series i've been working on of them in the games. so, once i am done hating it and editing it, i will posit it! but i hope you guys enjoy this cute lil fluff. i suck at writing fluff tbh but i tried! xx also, t.o.p is my gwiyomiii, my honeyyyy, my angel babyyyyyyyyy! i'm so inlove with him so feel free to send requests!

synopsis: nightmares of the games still haunt Thanos a year later, but luckily Y/n will never leave his side.

warnings: language, fluff, very brief mention of sex if you squint

wc: 1.1k+

You couldn’t sleep. Insomnia had wrapped itself around your mind ever since surviving the games last year, a constant shadow in your otherwise bright new life. You had so much to be grateful for—making it out alive, the money that had saved you in more ways than one, and, of course, Su-Bong. Though, to this day, you still called him T. Your T.

Never in a million years would you have imagined living in a sleek penthouse in downtown Seoul with a man you fell in love with while playing deadly children’s games. Yet here you were, in a world that once seemed as unreachable as a dream: Thanos’ World. And you loved it.

The games had changed Thanos in ways you never thought possible. He quit the drugs, buried his oversized ego, and spent six months holed up in his apartment with only you for company. It was a metamorphosis you never expected but cherished deeply. When he finally emerged from that cocoon of self-reflection, he returned to music—his first true love. But this time, it wasn’t about sex, drugs, and wealth. His lyrics delved into the rawness of his childhood, the pain of his struggles, the weight of his dreams—and you. Always you. You were his muse.

Being with the Thanos, however, was far from simple. Going out with him was an ordeal, a gamble. Fans flocked to him wherever he went, now more than ever, since he’d announced his new album. He once thrived on the chaos, basking in the adoration of women throwing themselves at him and men idolizing him. He was a star, and he reveled in the glow. But now? Now the attention suffocated him. He avoided crowded places as much as he could, especially when you were by his side.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to show you off—God, he did. But the fear gnawed at him. What if something happened to you? What if someone hurt you? You’d already faced your fair share of vitriol when the media leaked that Thanos was dating some American girl. “American bitch,” they’d called you, throwing their venom your way in tabloids and comment sections. But the hate didn’t break you. If anything, it hardened your resolve.

You refused to let him hide away forever. When his anxiety tried to keep him tethered to the penthouse, you were the one who dragged him out into the world. You reminded him of what life outside these walls could offer, even if it wasn’t always kind. And slowly, piece by piece, you were helping him reclaim it.

You glanced over at Thanos, his peaceful face softened by sleep, his arm draped lazily over your bare thighs. Carefully, you lifted his arm and slipped out of bed, moving quietly so as not to disturb him. Padding toward the kitchen, you glanced at the clock: 2:30 a.m. Another sleepless night. You sighed, the weight of endless insomnia pressing down on you.

You set the kettle to boil, deciding tea wouldn’t cut it tonight. The staleness of the room felt suffocating. What you needed was air. Before stepping out to the balcony, you peeked into the bedroom again, reassured by the steady rise and fall of Thanos’ chest.

The view of Seoul stretched before you as you stepped outside. The city pulsed with quiet energy, its lights casting a warm glow against the dark sky. The faint scent of cherry blossoms drifted through the breeze, mingling with the night air and brushing your hair across your face. This view, this life—it was something you’d never take for granted.

Pulling out your phone, you typed a quick message to Se-mi.

y/n: You up?

Minutes passed before your phone buzzed with a reply.

Se-mi: Yeah. Can’t sleep?

y/n: The insomnia is never-ending.

Se-mi: I miss when we all lived together.

Your lips curved into a bittersweet smile. Memories of those first fragile weeks after escaping the games flooded your mind. The four of you—Thanos, Se-mi, Min-su, and you—crammed into your tiny apartment, clinging to each other for sanity. For weeks, you barely left the safety of those walls. Eventually, Thanos invited everyone to move in with him, but Se-mi and Min-su had decided it was time to go back to their families. The games had taught them how precious life was. That, and your shared space wasn’t exactly conducive to privacy—especially with how loud things could get between you and Thanos when you couldn’t keep your hands off of eachother.

y/n: I miss it too. I miss you. Shopping tomorrow?

Se-mi: You know I hate shopping.

y/n: But you love me, and T gave me his black card.

Se-mi: Spoiled brat.

y/n: See you tomorrow 🥰

Se-mi: Can’t wait ✌🏼

You smiled at her response, warmth spreading through you at the thought of reconnecting with your best friend. But the moment of peace was shattered by a sound from inside—faint whimpers carried through the air. Your heart clenched. Setting your tea down, you hurried back to the bedroom.

“T?” you called softly as you stepped inside.

No response. Only the faint cries that sent chills down your spine. You rushed to the bedside table and flicked on the lamp. Thanos was thrashing slightly, tears streaming down his cheeks, his hands grasping desperately at the empty space where you should have been.

“Fuck! NO!” he suddenly screamed, his voice hoarse with panic.

“T!” you gasped, climbing onto the bed and pulling him into your arms. “T, baby…” you murmured, your voice gentle but firm. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

His hand found your shirt, bunching the fabric in his fist as though clinging to reality. He fought against the demons clawing at him, his breaths ragged and uneven. Finally, his eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused at first, until they locked onto yours. His lip quivered as shame filled his expression.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, brushing your thumb tenderly across his cheek to wipe away the tears. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Fuck…” he sighed, his voice trembling as he buried his face in your shirt. His shame was palpable, but you held him tightly, cradling him as though the weight of his nightmares could be eased by your embrace.

“Another nightmare?” you asked softly. He nodded wordlessly, slipping his hand into yours. He hated these moments. Hated the way his past still haunted him, dragging you into his darkness. But you didn’t mind. You’d made a decision long ago: this man was worth every struggle, every sleepless night. Some may say a few days isn’t enough time to know who is your person, but when your life is on the line, time has a way of fast-tracking love.

“M’sorry…” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your chest.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, T,” you reassured him, your fingers running soothingly through his hair. “You know I’ll always be right here.”

“Promise?” His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and vulnerable.

You kissed his forehead, tightening your arms around him. “Promise,” you said, and you meant it with every fiber of your being.

No taglist yet but if you'd like to be added to future fics, let me know! :)

#squid game #thanos x reader #thanos #thanos squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game 2 #choi seunghyun #choi su bong #squid game thanos #player 230 #kpop #kpopidol #t.o.p bigbang #t.o.p #bigbang

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flux1563 · 3 months ago

Text

The Beast Party

Another part of The Best Party

tags : orgy, sex party, squirting, ass and pussy gape, gangbang.

Words : 11245

On a relaxing afternoon, Kim Minju, a former member of the idol group IZONE, and Kim Chaewon, a current member of LE SSERAFIM and also a former IZONE member, were hanging out together in the heart of Seoul. It had become somewhat of a tradition for the two to catch up whenever their busy schedules allowed — a comforting return to familiarity amidst the whirlwind of their separate lives.

Chaewon, true to form, was a whirlwind of energy, her laughter echoing through the cozy café they had chosen for their meetup. A free spirit with a penchant for spontaneity, she launched into vivid tales of her latest adventures, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Her stories, often filled with late-night escapades and unexpected twists, left Minju both amused and slightly horrified. As Chaewon animatedly shared the latest gossip, her hands moved like a silent film starlet narrating a scandalous drama, drawing laughter and wide-eyed reactions from her old friend.

One evening, as the two friends lounged on the couch, surrounded by takeout boxes and forgotten TV shows, Chaewon's latest idea struck like a bolt of lightning. "Remember that wild party we had?" she began, her voice low and mischievous. "What if we went even wilder? Like, really wild. We could go on vacation and throw a beast party!"

Minju's eyes widened, and she sat up straight, a forgotten chopstick slipping from her fingers. "Africa?" she whispered, her mind racing with the possibilities. The continent was a canvas of adventure, a place where their most daring desires could become reality.

Their conversation grew heated, a tangible excitement charging the air. They scoured the internet, eyes glossing over images of vast savannahs and exotic beasts. They weren't just looking for a party, but a once-in-a-lifetime experience that would blow the doors off their mundane lives.

Their excitement grew with each click, and before they knew it, their dreams of a wild African adventure had crystallized into a plan. They'd leave the concrete jungle behind and immerse themselves in a place where the rules were theirs to rewrite. Little did they know, this journey would be the catalyst for a tale of passion and debauchery that would make their previous escapades seem tame.

Minju and Chaewon took a much-needed break from their frenzied preparations and stepped onto the golden sands of a secluded African beach, the sun setting in a fiery blaze behind them.

The villa they'd rented was a modern marvel, nestled in the embrace of lush palm trees, its gleaming white walls and thatched roof whispering of luxurious secrets. Inside, the cool embrace of air conditioning and the scent of tropical flowers greeted them like a soothing balm. They flopped onto the plush couches in the open-plan living area, their laughter bouncing off the high ceilings.

"Can you believe we're actually here?" Minju said, her eyes wide with wonder. "It's like a dream come true."

Chaewon leaned back, a smug smile playing on her lips. "I told you we could make it happen. Now, let's get down to business. We've got a party to plan!"

But Minju's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the fiery sun melted into the sea. "But we need to take a rest first," she murmured, the fatigue of their travels finally catching up to her.

The next day, they prepared themselves for the ultimate beach day, each donning an erotic bikini that screamed of their daring spirits. Minju's was a simple yet elegant black two-piece that accentuated her curves without revealing too much, while Chaewon opted for a flamboyant red number that barely contained her ample assets. The fabric was so skimpy it was practically a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Minju felt a jolt of excitement as she took in Chaewon's reflection. She'd never seen her friend look so... predatory. "You're going to turn heads," she said, her voice thick with desire.

"That's the idea," Chaewon purred, her hands smoothing over her hips. "But we need to make sure everyone's invited. Let's start with the locals. They know how to throw a party like nobody's business."

They spent the next few hours exploring the beach, their eyes peeled for any signs of life. The ocean rolled out before them, a vast, untamed sea that mirrored the wildness they sought. They approached a group of muscular young men playing beach volleyball, their dark skin gleaming with sweat. Chaewon wasted no time, sauntering over with a seductive smile. "Hey, guys," she called out, her voice carrying over the sound of the waves. "You wouldn't happen to know how to throw a party around here, would you?"

The men stopped mid-game, their gazes drawn to the two foreign beauties. The tallest one, a man named Kofi, grinned, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. "We throw the best parties on this coast," he boasted. "But we need more than just us."

Minju and Chaewon exchanged glances, their hearts racing with anticipation. "We want to invite everyone," Minju said. "Make it a week-long celebration. We've got the villa, the drinks, and the stamina. What do you say?"

Kofi's eyes lit up. "Seven days, seven nights of pure madness," he mused, a hint of challenge in his tone. "You're on. But you'd better be ready for what we bring to the table."

The two friends nodded eagerly, their imaginations already running wild with the possibilities. They had eight days to make their wildest fantasies come true, and they were going to use every single moment to its fullest. They returned to the villa, adrenaline pumping through their veins as they set about transforming the serene retreat into a hedonistic playground.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of excitement and preparation. They spent hours on the beach, soaking in the sun's kiss while they discussed party themes and guest lists. They swam in the warm waters, letting the waves crash over them as they laughed and plotted. The local market became their personal treasure trove, as they bought exotic foods and decorations that would make their event the talk of the town.

"This night gonna go wild for us," Chaewon said with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling like the diamond necklace she'd bought from a street vendor. She lounged on a sunbed, sipping a cocktail that was as vibrant as the setting sun. The alcohol had loosened her inhibitions, and she began to dance to the music playing softly from a nearby radio, her body moving in a way that was both sensual and uninhibited.

Minju watched her friend with a mix of admiration and nervousness. She knew Chaewon's power over men, and she hoped that their plan would not only be successful but also safe. They had spread the word far and wide that their villa was open to any man who sought a night of unbridled pleasure, a promise that had sent whispers through the local community like wildfire.

As night descended upon them, the air grew thick with anticipation. The scent of spicy meat sizzling on a makeshift BBQ mingled with the sweet aroma of tropical flowers, creating an intoxicating bouquet that hung heavy over the partygoers. The DJ, a local talent they had discovered in the market, had set up his decks on the beach, the bass thumping through the sand. The lights from the villa cast a warm glow over the gathering, which grew by the minute.

Minju and Chaewon didn't know how many men had responded to their invitation, but as they surveyed the growing crowd, they realized it was more than they had ever dreamed of. Each one was a potential dance partner, a conversationalist, or perhaps even something more. They felt a thrill of excitement, their hearts pounding in their chests like drums echoing the rhythm of the night.

As the party grew wilder, so did their drinking. The cocktails flowed freely, each one more potent than the last, and the two friends threw caution to the wind, letting the alcohol dissolve their inhibitions like sugar in water. Minju giggled as she sipped from a concoction that changed color with every sip, feeling the warmth spread through her body like a lover's embrace. Chaewon, ever the social butterfly, flitted from group to group, her laughter as potent as the drinks she handed out.

The music grew louder, the beats pulsating through the night like the heart of the jungle itself. The sand beneath their feet vibrated with the rhythm, and before long, the two friends found themselves at the center of the makeshift dance floor, their hips swaying to the hypnotic melody. The men watched them with hungry eyes, their gazes lingering on the way their bikinis barely contained their voluptuous forms.

Suddenly, the DJ couldn't resist the siren's call any longer. He abandoned his decks, leaving the music to play on repeat, and strutted over to Minju and Chaewon. His movements were fluid, almost feline, as he slipped between them, wrapping an arm around each of their waists. They laughed in surprise as he began to grind against them, his muscles flexing with the beat. The other partygoers cheered, creating a circle around the trio, egging them on with whistles and claps.

The air grew electric as the music's tempo increased. The men in the crowd, their eyes glazed with lust and alcohol, began to step closer, reaching out to touch the two friends. Minju felt a hand slip beneath the fabric of her bikini top, and she gasped, her body tensing. But instead of fear, she felt a thrill of excitement. This was what they had come for. Chaewon's eyes met hers, and she saw the same hunger reflected in her friend's gaze.

As if on cue, the DJ reached behind him and untied the string of his board shorts, letting them fall to the sand. He stepped back, revealing a cock that was indeed larger than any they had ever seen. It was thick, with a girth that could easily wrap a fist and a length that seemed to stretch on forever. The men in the crowd murmured in awe, their own desires swelling as they took in the sight.

The DJ's confidence grew with every beat of the music, and soon, more men began to follow his lead. They pulled down their swim trunks, exposing themselves to the warm night air. Each cock was a testament to the raw, unbridled lust that pulsed through the gathering. The sight was overwhelming, a veritable smorgasbord of male virility.

But it was the DJ's member that truly stole the show. With a diameter that could easily wrap a hand and a length that defied belief, it stood proudly before them like a monument to carnality. The crowd's murmurs grew into a dull roar, a primal chant that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath their feet.

The sight was both terrifying and thrilling, and Minju felt her pussy throb in response, wet with a need she hadn't realized she had. Chaewon's eyes widened, and she licked her lips, a wicked smile playing on her face as she took in the display before her. "Looks like we're in for a wild ride," she whispered into Minju's ear, the heat of her breath sending shivers down her spine.

Minju could only nod, her eyes still transfixed on the monstrous cock that seemed to have a life of its own, pulsing in time with the music. The DJ took a step closer, and she could feel the heat radiating from him, the promise of pleasure and pain wrapped up in one delicious package. She knew that she'd never be able to handle something so... substantial, but the thought of trying sent a thrill of excitement through her body.

"All of us are naked now," they murmured in unison, their voices a siren's call that echoed through the night. One by one, the partygoers began to shed their clothing, revealing their own desires for the world to see. The beach became a sea of naked flesh, each body a canvas of wanton need.

Minju's eyes were drawn to one man in particular, his cock a testament to the beauty of the African night. It was as big as her forearm, thick and veiny with a girth that had to be at least three inches in diameter. "Look at that," she whispered to Chaewon, her voice a mix of awe and apprehension. "It's like nothing we've ever seen before."

Chaewon followed her gaze, her pupils dilating with excitement. "Twelve inches lengths and three inches diameter, if it's an inch," she murmured, her hand absently reaching down to caress her own clit. The thought of taking such a monstrous member inside her was both terrifying and exhilarating. "I want to feel it," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the music.

Minju felt a tremor of excitement run through her as the man with the colossal cock approached them, his stride confident and predatory. "You'll get it soon, baby," he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to resonate in her very core. His eyes were dark with lust as he looked her over, his cock jutting out before him like a spear.

The other men gathered around, their tongues already out, eager to taste the sweetness that was Minju and Chaewon. They began to lick them, starting at their toes and moving slowly up their legs. The sensation was strange, a mix of tickling and pleasure that made Minju's knees wobble. Chaewon moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head as the men took turns, their tongues dancing over every inch of their skin.

One by one, the men knelt before them, their tongues flicking out to taste the nectar that was their pussies. Minju gasped as the first man's tongue met her clit, sending shockwaves through her body. The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever felt, a symphony of pleasure that had her bucking against the sand. Chaewon's eyes were squeezed shut, her body arched as she rode the waves of pleasure that crashed over her.

Their hands reached out, tentatively at first, to the men surrounding them. They touched, explored, and teased, learning the contours of each cock as if they were sacred artifacts. The men groaned in unison, their hips jerking with every stroke of the girls' soft fingers. The party had become a ritual, a tapestry of desire that wove together the wildness of the jungle with the decadence of civilization.

Minju and Chaewon's tongues danced over the velvety heads of the men's cocks, tasting the salty pre-cum that beaded at their tips. They took turns, each one eager to prove their skill, to show the others what they were capable of. The air was thick with the scent of arousal, a heady perfume that intoxicated them further.

The men groaned in unison, their eyes rolling back in their heads as the two friends worked in tandem, their mouths moving in a rhythm that was as ancient as it was erotic. Chaewon took the lead, her mouth sliding over one cock while her hand stroked another, her movements a symphony of seduction. Minju watched, her own desire spiking as she saw the effect they had on the men.

"Give us all that cock," Chaewon demanded, her voice a sultry purr that sent a shiver down Minju's spine. The words were a declaration of war on their inhibitions, a battle cry for their most primal instincts. The men didn't need any more encouragement. They surged forward, eager to satisfy the hunger in the girls' eyes.

Minju's breath hitched as she felt a cock nudge against her wetness, the tip teasing her swollen clit. It was the DJ, his member so thick it was like a battering ram at her gates. She spread her legs wider, welcoming the intrusion, the anticipation building to a crescendo within her. Chaewon, on the other hand, was surrounded by a group of men, each eager to claim a piece of her for themselves.

The man with the twelve-inch monstrosity didn't waste any time. He grabbed Chaewon's face and forced his cock into her mouth, his grip unyielding. Her eyes watered as she took him in, her throat stretching to accommodate his girth. He began to thrust, the sound of her gagging muffled by the cacophony of the party. Despite the fear and discomfort, she felt a twisted thrill, her body responding to the sheer power and dominance he exuded.

Meanwhile, two more men positioned themselves behind Minju, their cocks standing at attention. She felt the tip of one nudging at her pussy, the other at her ass, both so thick they seemed to be testing the limits of what she could handle. Her heart raced as she looked over at Chaewon, who met her gaze with a look that was a mix of terror and excitement. This was it, the moment of truth.

"Ready?" one of the men murmured in her ear, his breath hot and heavy with desire. Minju nodded, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she braced herself for what was to come. With one swift movement, they entered her, one after the other, filling her completely. She screamed out, the word "fuck" torn from her throat with the force of a tornado. It was more than she'd ever felt, a sensation that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The man with the colossal cock took his position at the back, his grip firm as he guided himself into her tight, unexplored depths. Minju's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt herself stretched to the limits of endurance, her body trembling with the sheer size of him. Chaewon, on her knees beside her, watched with wide eyes, her own mouth full of another man's cock. She could feel her friend's pain, a mirror to her own, and she reached out to grip her hand, a silent offering of solidarity in their shared debauchery.

The two men inside her began to move in unison, their rhythm a brutal dance that had her body jolting with every thrust. She could feel every vein, every pulse of their cocks as they claimed her, their girth stretching her to the point of agony. Her pussy and ass burned, but amidst the pain was a blossoming flower of pleasure, a sweet agony that had her hips rising to meet them, eager for more.

"Aghh, my pussy and ass stretch so much," Minju groaned, her voice a desperate cry that was swallowed by the roar of the party. Her words were a siren's call, drawing more men to her, eager to claim a piece of the exotic beauty before them. They watched with hungry eyes, stroking themselves as they waited for their turn, the sight of her being used so thoroughly only adding to their arousal.

Chaewon's mouth was a cavern of pleasure around the thick shaft in her mouth, her cheeks hollowed with the effort of taking him in. She could feel his cock pulse with every beat of his heart, his excitement growing as he watched his friends claim Minju. The taste of him was musky, a blend of sweat and lust that she found oddly intoxicating. Despite her own discomfort, she felt a thrill run through her, a heady mix of power and submission.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, her body responding to the relentless pounding. She felt her orgasm building, a tsunami that she had no hope of holding back. The man with the colossal cock was a maestro, his strokes deep and sure, hitting a spot inside her that she didn't even know existed. The pressure grew, a tight coil in her belly, until she could bear it no longer.

With a scream that was lost in the din of the party, Minju squirted, the force of her release so intense it drenched the men behind her. Chaewon watched, her eyes glazed with a mix of shock and arousal as her friend's body bucked and writhed in pleasure. The sight of Minju's pussy gushing was a revelation, a display of sexual power that had the men around her stumbling over themselves to get closer.

The man with the massive cock took this as his cue to let go, and with a triumphant roar, he began to pump his seed into Minju's welcoming depths. The sensation of being filled so completely was almost too much for her, and she collapsed onto the sand, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Chaewon felt a wetness spread between her own thighs, the sight of Minju's pleasure triggering a climax of her own. She squirted, her pussy spraying the man who had been fucking her face, her juices mingling with the spit and cum that already coated her features.

As the first round of passion waned, the men withdrew, their cocks slick with the girls' cum and their own. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady mix that seemed to intoxicate everyone present. The men looked down at Minju and Chaewon with a mix of awe and lust, their seed spurting from their pussy and ass, painting the sand with a sticky, white trail. The girls lay there, panting and spent, their bodies limp as ragdolls.

"Our dreams come true, Chaewon," Minju murmured, her voice shaky with the aftermath of her climax.

"I think my pussy keep spasming," Chaewon gasped, her breathing still ragged as she leaned against Minju, their bodies sticky with a mix of sweat and cum. The feeling of the cool sand against her back was a stark contrast to the fiery passion that had just consumed her.

"Mine too," Minju agreed, her voice a hoarse whisper. The man who had just filled her to the brim with his seed looked down at her with a smug smile, his eyes lingering on the gaping O her pussy had become. His friends crowded around, their own cocks still erect and glistening with pre-cum, eager to take their turns.

One by one, they stepped up, each taking a moment to admire the sight before them. They were like animals in heat, each more primal than the last, as they claimed Minju's body with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. She felt their weight upon her, their cocks sliding into her, stretching her until she thought she would split in two.

The men took turns, their grunts and groans mixing with Minju's cries of pleasure. Each round was a new adventure, a new level of depravity that she had never before experienced. She felt her body respond to their every touch, her pussy contracting around their cocks as if it had been made just for this. Chaewon, not to be outdone, was busy taking on two men at once, her mouth and pussy a never-ending source of pleasure for them.

Their juices flowed freely, mingling with the sweat that coated their bodies. The sight of Minju's pussy, stretched and dripping, was too much for the men to resist. They took turns, each one more eager than the last to feel her squirt around them, to be the one to make her body convulse with pleasure. Her moans grew louder with each round, her voice hoarse from the sheer volume of her passion.

The partygoers watched, their own desires stoked by the sight of Minju and Chaewon being taken so thoroughly. The beach had become a carnival of lust, a place where inhibitions were left at the door and every desire was allowed to roam free. The music continued to play, the bass pounding in time with the rhythm of their hips, as if the very earth was in sync with their carnality.

As the night wore on, the men grew more aggressive, their strokes more frenzied. They were like a pack of wild animals, each fighting for dominance, each eager to leave their mark. Minju felt herself become a part of the landscape, her body a battleground for their desires. Yet, through it all, she never once felt less than the queen of the night.

The men took her to the edge and beyond, pushing her to heights she had never dared dream of. Her squirts grew stronger with each round, her body a fountain of pleasure that seemed to have no end. Chaewon, too, was lost in her own world, her eyes glazed with lust as she took on more and more men.

Ten rounds, then eleven, and still they came. Each man took his turn, each one more vigorous than the last. The beach was a blur of limbs and flesh, a tapestry of desire and debauchery that stretched as far as the eye could see. And through it all, Minju and Chaewon remained the center, their bodies a canvas for the men's pleasure.

Their cries grew louder, their bodies weaker, until finally, with a collective roar, the men released their seed. It spurted into Minju, filling her to the brim until she could take no more. She collapsed, her body trembling with the force of her climax, her pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure. Chaewon followed suit, her legs giving out as she was drenched in cum.

As the twelfth round came to an end, the crowd erupted into applause. The men, their cocks now sated, stepped back, their chests heaving with exertion. They had given the girls the experience they had craved, and in return, Minju and Chaewon had given them a night they would never forget.

The two friends lay there, panting and exhausted, their bodies slick with sweat and cum. They looked at each other, the reality of what they had just done setting in. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, a moment that had surpassed any party they had ever thrown in Seoul.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, her body shaking as she felt another round of pleasure build up inside her. She didn't think it was possible, but her pussy was still pulsing, begging for more. Chaewon, equally spent, leaned into her, their bodies sticking together with the remnants of the men's passion.

Their breathing grew shallow, their hearts racing like wild horses as the men continued to worship them. Each new cock brought with it a fresh wave of sensation, a symphony of pain and pleasure that seemed to never end. It was as if their bodies had been taken over by some primal instinct, a hunger that could never be fully satiated.

With each new round, Minju felt herself slipping further into the abyss, her mind a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. The men's grunts and groans grew fainter, the world around them a blur of color and sound. The only thing that remained clear was the feeling of their cocks inside her, a never-ending dance of dominance and submission.

As the night grew darker and the stars twinkled above them, the men grew bolder. They pushed and pulled at her, their hands roaming over every inch of her flesh as if they could never get enough. Her pussy clenched around them, her ass spasming with each thrust, a silent scream of pleasure that echoed through the night.

The girls' moans grew weaker, their bodies no longer able to keep up with the relentless onslaught. Yet even as they reached their breaking points, the men didn't relent. They had become beasts, driven by a lust that seemed to have no end. Minju felt her vision swim, the world going dark at the edges.

Suddenly, with a gasp, she felt it. Her orgasm hit her like a sledgehammer, her body arching off the sand as she squirted once more, the force of it so intense that it sent shockwaves through the very air. Chaewon's eyes rolled back in her head, her own body responding to the symphony of pleasure.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The men stepped back, their cocks still erect but their eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and awe. They had taken the two friends to the very brink of their limits and back again.

Their bodies lay still, their breathing ragged and uneven, as the reality of what they had just done set in. They had given themselves over to the night, to the wildness of Africa, and had come out the other side forever changed.

"I think we should stop, it's been fifteen rounds," one of the men spoke up, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the universe. His words hung in the air, a sobering reminder that even the most hedonistic of nights must come to an end.

Minju's body continued to quiver, her pussy and ass clenching around the two cocks still buried inside her. Her squirts had turned into a constant flow, a river of pleasure that seemed to have no end. She could feel her muscles protesting, begging for respite, but the desire was too strong, too all-consuming to ignore.

Chaewon lay beside her, equally spent, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her own climaxes. Her face was a mask of ecstasy, her eyes glazed over as she too succumbed to the relentless pounding. The men had become a blur of skin and muscle, a never-ending stream of cocks that filled her to the brim.

Finally, with a collective groan that seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth, the men withdrew. The last of them pulled out of Chaewon's pussy, leaving it gaping and swollen, a testament to the night's excesses. Minju felt a pang of jealousy as she watched the cum dribble out of her friend's tight hole, her own desires flaring up once again.

The beach was silent except for the sound of the waves and the heavy breathing of the exhausted partygoers. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a reminder of the carnival of lust that had unfolded before their very eyes. Minju's body was a map of bruises and bites, a roadmap of pleasure that she would wear proudly for days to come.

Her eyes fluttered open, the world coming into focus slowly. Chaewon lay next to her, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath, her face a mask of exhaustion. The men had moved away, leaving them alone in their post-coital bliss. Minju pushed herself up onto her elbows, her body protesting the movement but her spirit unbroken.

Her eyes traveled down to her pussy, still glistening with cum, and she watched in amazement as it spasmed, releasing another stream of fluid into the night air. It was as if her body hadn't gotten the memo that the party was over, the orgasms still coming in waves even when she thought she had nothing left to give. Chaewon's body seemed to echo her own, her pussy clenching and releasing in a silent symphony of pleasure.

"Done for tonight guys, they got faint," one of the men announced, his voice a mix of concern and satisfaction. The crowd of men around them nodded in agreement, their cocks still hard but their eyes filled with a newfound respect for the two friends who had taken them on a journey they would never forget.

Minju and Chaewon were hoisted up by the strong arms of the beach volleyball players and carried back to the villa, their legs limp and their bodies covered in the sticky residue of the night's festivities. The moon cast a soft glow over the path, lighting their way as they stumbled through the door, their hearts racing from both the exertion and the excitement of the evening.

The girls were brought to a grand floor-to-ceiling bathroom, the white marble gleaming in the dim light. They were laid down gently on the cold, hard surface, their bodies shivering from the sudden change in temperature. The men looked down at them with a mix of lust and affection, their own cocks still standing tall despite the hours of use.

Without a word, one of the men stepped forward and positioned himself between Minju's legs, his cock still slick with her juices. He began to piss, the warm stream hitting her swollen clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. Chaewon watched, her own desire flaring up again as she felt the warmth of another man's urine cascade over her. It was a strange, almost tender act, a communion of bodies that transcended the mere physical.

The men took turns, their golden rivers mingling with the cum and sweat that coated the girls. The scent was pungent, a potent mix of sex and bodily fluids that seemed to fill the room. Minju's body reacted involuntarily, her pussy clenching around the warmth, her squirts joining the stream to create a small pool on the marble. Chaewon moaned, her own pussy spasming as the urine hit her sensitive flesh.

The sensation was oddly soothing, a balm to their abused bodies. They lay there, letting the piss wash over them, cleansing them of the night's excesses. It was as if the very essence of the men was being transferred into them, marking them as their own.

When the last man had emptied himself, they stepped back, their eyes never leaving the girls' prone forms. The music from the party outside grew faint, the night air a gentle caress against their skin. The moment hung in the air, a tableau of desire and submission that neither Minju nor Chaewon would ever forget.

With a nod to each other, the beach volleyball players turned on the jet shower, the powerful stream of water hitting the marble floor with a sharp hiss. The spray arced over the girls' bodies, the water a warm embrace that began to wash away the evidence of their night of unbridled passion. The men stepped aside, leaving them to the mercy of the water, their eyes lingering on the two friends as they retreated from the bathroom.

Minju felt the water hit her face, her eyes still squeezed shut from the intensity of her experiences. She let out a soft moan as the warmth began to soothe her, the pressure of the jets massaging her sore muscles. Her pussy, though still pulsing with need, seemed to have finally found a moment of reprieve. Chaewon lay beside her, equally spent, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

The men had been surprisingly gentle in their aftercare, their rough hands tender as they had helped clean the sticky residue from their bodies. They had worked as a team, wiping away the evidence of their passion with a thoroughness that was almost clinical.

As the last of them left the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click, Minju and Chaewon were left alone. The only sound was the steady drip of water from the showerhead, a gentle reminder of the river of fluids that had flowed between them.

Minju's body was a canvas of ecstasy, her pussy and ass gaping open like a pair of surprised O's, a silent testament to the men's unyielding dominance. Chaewon's legs were sprawled out, her own pussy and ass still pulsing with the aftershocks of their shared experience. They lay there, unmoving, their bodies a testament to the unbridled passion they had just endured.

"Wow, their pussies are still gaping," one of the men said to the others, his voice filled with amazement. The rest of the group chuckled, their laughter a mix of disbelief and admiration. They had never seen anything quite so depraved, and yet, there was something undeniably alluring about the two women's vulnerability.

The night had been a blur of pleasure and pain, a symphony of flesh that had left them all reeling. But as the first light of dawn began to peek over the horizon, the reality of what they had done set in. They had pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable, and the aftermath was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Minju and Chaewon lay there, their bodies a tapestry of bruises and bites, their pussies and assholes gaping open like open flowers, begging for more. The cool water from the shower had brought a slight respite, but it was the gentle touch of each other's hands that truly helped to soothe their spirits. They climbed to their feet, their legs wobbly as newborn foals, and stumbled into the massive bathtub that was part of the villa's luxurious bathroom.

The shock of the sperm continuing to ooze out of them was something they had not anticipated. It was as if their bodies were a sponge, soaked in cum and now slowly releasing it back into the world. They giggled to themselves as they slid into the warm embrace of the water, feeling the last remnants of the men's seed slide out of them with a soft plop. The tub filled with a murky white mixture, a silent testament to the marathon of fucking they had just endured.

"Did we go too wild last night?" Chaewon whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Minju chuckled, her body still buzzing from the endless stream of pleasure. "Maybe," she said, her voice equally raspy. "But look at us now. Our pussies are still giving us a standing ovation."

They slid into the tub, the warm water enveloping them like a comforting embrace. It washed over their sore muscles, the jets massaging away the tension of the night. The sperm and piss swirled around their bodies, a bizarre mix that seemed to symbolize the unity they had shared with the men.

As the water grew murkier, Minju reached for the soap, her hand shaking slightly. She began to lather herself up, her movements methodical and precise. Chaewon watched her, a strange sense of awe filling her chest. Despite the pain, she felt a sense of pride at what they had achieved.

They had pushed themselves beyond their limits and come out the other side, forever changed. The soap slid over Minju's bruised skin, bubbles popping as they touched the myriad of bites and scratches that adorned her body. Chaewon followed suit, the foam clinging to her curves as she washed away the remnants of their wild night.

When they could no longer ignore the call of their weary bodies, they stepped out of the tub, the water draining away and revealing their exhausted forms. The plush bathrobes that had been left for them were like a warm embrace, the soft fabric caressing their sensitive skin as they wrapped themselves up in them. Their feet padded softly against the cool marble, leaving wet footprints as they made their way back to the bedroom, the warmth of the robes a stark contrast to the chill of the floor.

The bed was a heavenly sight, the crisp white sheets beckoning to them like a cloud. They collapsed onto it, their bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs. Despite the pain and the stickiness that lingered, they felt a deep sense of satisfaction, a bond that went beyond friendship, forged in the crucible of their shared experience. They lay there for a moment, panting and trembling, their hearts slowly returning to a more normal rhythm.

Then, the knock came.

It was a firm, insistent knock, echoing through the quiet villa, a stark contrast to the symphony of pleasure that had filled it just hours before. Minju's eyes snapped open, her heart racing. Chaewon stirred beside her, a sleepy groan escaping her lips as she too was jolted from the haze of their afterglow. They stared at each other in shock, the reality of their situation crashing down upon them like a tidal wave.

Minju's hand trembled as she reached for the knob. As she pulled the door open, she was met with a sight that was both erotic and intimidating: a sea of naked, aroused men, their eyes hungry with desire.

"We heard it was a week-long party," Kofi, the DJ from the beach, said with a wink. "We didn't want to miss our turn."

Minju and Chaewon shared a look that was half fear, half excitement. They had never intended for things to go this far, but there was something in the air that night, a primal energy that had taken control of everyone involved. With a collective sigh, they allowed their bathrobes to be taken off, their bruised and swollen bodies once again on full display.

The men's eyes were like those of hunters who had just spotted their prey, filled with a mix of awe and greed. They had seen these two women in their most vulnerable state and were eager to claim them once more. The air grew thick with lust as the robes fell away, revealing the two friends' still-dripping pussies and the marks of the previous night's passion.

Minju felt a rush of excitement and fear mingle in her chest. Her body was still raw from the previous night's festivities, but the sight of the men's hard cocks made her stomach flutter. Chaewon, ever the wild one, gave a low, guttural growl, her body visibly responding to the challenge laid before them.

With a grace that seemed almost predatory, the men stepped forward, their bathrobes sliding off their muscular frames to reveal their arousal. The room was filled with the sound of fabric hitting the floor, the gentle thuds echoing in the quiet. Their cocks stood tall and proud, a silent promise of more pleasure to come.

The first man approached Minju, his cock thick and veiny, the head glistening with pre-cum. Without a word, he pushed her onto her back, her legs falling open as if on instinct. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he positioned himself at her entrance. With one swift movement, he plunged into her, filling her up without a moment's hesitation.

"Fuckk, still sore," Chaewon screamed, her voice a mix of pleasure and pain as she was claimed by another man. Her body arched off the bed, her toes curling in ecstasy as he slammed into her, his cock stretching her beyond what she thought possible.

Minju felt a similar wave of sensation as she was taken by Kofi once more, his rhythm relentless and demanding. Despite her exhaustion, she found herself meeting his every thrust, her pussy clenching around him like a vice. Her body had become an instrument of pleasure, a vessel for the men's desires.

The days turned into a blur of sexual excess, each night more intense than the last. The local men took turns with them, their appetites seemingly insatiable. They had become the main attraction of the week-long party, the center of a sexual circus that never stopped. The girls' bodies bore the marks of their encounters, a tapestry of bruises and bites that grew more intricate with each passing hour.

And yet, through it all, there was a strange sense of camaraderie that had developed between them. They had become a team, each one pushing the other to new heights of pleasure, each one eager to explore the depths of their sexuality. They had discovered something within themselves, a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As the week progressed, the men grew more daring in their requests, eager to claim every inch of the two friends. They had become a part of the fabric of the party, a symbol of the unbridled lust that had overtaken the beach villa. The other guests watched with a mix of envy and admiration, their own sexual escapades seemingly tame in comparison to the marathon sessions that Minju and Chaewon endured each night.

The two women had grown to crave the attention, the pain a strange comfort in the sea of pleasure. They had become addicted to the feeling of being used, of being the object of so much desire. And with each new cock that filled them, they grew more confident, more in tune with their own desires.

The days passed in a haze of orgasms and exhaustion, the two friends rarely leaving the bed except to eat or use the bathroom. Their bodies were pushed to the brink, their pussies and assholes gaping and swollen from the constant attention. Yet, they never said no.

On the final night, as the party reached its peak, the men gathered around the bed, their eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and satisfaction. They had saved their best for last, a night that would be talked about for years to come. The girls lay there, their bodies trembling with anticipation, their hearts racing with a mix of fear and excitement.

The last man stepped forward, his cock the largest they had ever seen. Chaewon looked at him with a mix of trepidation and desire, her eyes wide with the knowledge of what was about to happen. Without a word, he positioned himself at her tight, stretched asshole, her pussy already filled to the brim by another man. With one hand, he gripped her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat.

With the other, he pushed into her, the head of his cock stretching her open. She screamed, her body bucking against the intrusion, but he didn't relent. Inch by inch, he filled her, his cock claiming her in a way that was both brutal and beautiful.

Minju watched, her own pussy being pounded by a different man, her body a trembling mass of nerves and pleasure. She felt a strange sense of pride as she watched her friend take the final challenge, her body stretched to its limits.

And as the night grew darker and the music grew louder, the two friends reached new heights of ecstasy, their screams mingling with the crash of the waves outside. They had become legends, the center of a sexual odyssey that had changed them forever.

As the last man pulled out, their bodies lay there, spent and used, their eyes glazed over with a look that was half-defeated, half-triumphant. They had done the unthinkable, and in doing so, had discovered something new about themselves. They had become more than just Minju and Chaewon, the roommates and idol from Seoul. They had become the embodiment of desire itself, a living, breathing testament to the power of sexual freedom.

The partygoers erupted into applause once more, their cheers a cacophony that filled the night air. The two friends looked at each other, their bodies slick with cum and sweat, their spirits unbroken despite the relentless onslaught of the past week. They had become the embodiment of sexual endurance, a spectacle that drew both admiration and envy from the crowd.

The men took turns, each one more eager than the last to claim his piece of the two exhausted women. They approached with a hunger that was almost feral, their cocks hard and insistent. The rhythm of their fucking never changed, a steady beat that had become a part of Minju and Chaewon's existence. The pain was a familiar friend now, a constant companion that they welcomed with each new thrust.

Each man took his time, savoring the feel of their tight, abused pussies, pushing deeper and harder as if trying to conquer some unspoken challenge. Minju felt a strange mix of pride and fear as she took each one, her body adapting to the relentless pace, her mind a haze of sensation. Chaewon lay beside her, her body a mirror image of her own, a symphony of pleasure and pain that seemed to have no end.

The night grew wilder, the air thick with lust and the scent of sex. The men grew more aggressive, their movements more primal as they claimed the two friends in every conceivable way. They were no longer individuals; they were a single entity of desire, a living, breathing representation of the human capacity for pleasure.

And through it all, Minju and Chaewon held on, their bodies stretched to the limit, their minds soaring on the wings of ecstasy. They had become one with the night, with the beach, with the very essence of the party. The line between reality and fantasy had blurred, leaving them in a state of perpetual arousal that seemed to have no end.

The final round approached, the air in the villa electric with anticipation. The men had saved their most extreme desires for last, a crescendo of depravity that would leave the girls forever changed. They had pushed them to their limits, and yet they still hungered for more.

The local DJ, Kofi, took the lead, his eyes burning with a hunger that was almost frightening. He pulled Minju onto all fours, her ass in the air, a silent invitation to the men who waited eagerly. One by one, they took her, filling her pussy and ass with their seed, the sounds of their pleasure a symphony of grunts and groans that seemed to shake the very walls.

Chaewon watched, her own body being used by the others, her eyes never leaving her friend's. There was a connection there, a bond that went beyond friendship, beyond any experience they had ever shared. They were in this together, two souls forever linked by the wildness of the night.

The final man stepped up, his cock the largest of all. With a roar that seemed to shake the very earth, he plunged into Minju's gaping asshole, his thrusts brutal and unyielding. She took it all, her body shaking with each powerful stroke, her eyes never leaving Chaewon's.

The tension in the room grew palpable, the men holding their breath as they watched the two friends reach the peak of their endurance. Chaewon's own climax grew closer, her pussy clenching around the cock that filled her. The room was a blur of skin and sweat, a maelstrom of passion that seemed to have no end.

And as the final man reached his climax, filling Minju with his hot cum, the two friends shared a look that was part triumph, part terror. They had survived the week, their bodies a testament to the power of sexual desire. They had become more than mere mortals, they had become goddesses of lust, worshipped by the men who had sought to conquer them.

As the last of the men withdrew, the two friends collapsed onto the bed, their bodies trembling with exhaustion. They lay there, their breathing shallow and uneven, the room silent but for the sound of the waves outside. The party had reached its climax, and as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over their bruised and spent forms, they knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

The second night of the week-long party had been just as intense as the first. The local men had once again claimed them, their hunger for the two friends seemingly insatiable. As dawn approached, they had been led into the bathroom, their legs shaking with fatigue. The men had taken turns pissing on them, their warm streams washing over their bodies in a strange ritual that had become a nightly occurrence.

But this time, something was different. The men didn't wait for the shower to be turned on, they didn't watch the water cascade over the girls' bodies, washing away the evidence of their lust. Instead, they simply left, their eyes filled with a mix of respect and awe. The urine grew cold on Minju and Chaewon's skin, a stark reminder of the power dynamics that had been established.

Their bodies continued to spasm, their pussies pulsing with each aftershock of pleasure. They had pushed themselves to the brink and come out the other side, their bodies no longer under their control. The men had used them, claimed them in the most primal of ways, and now they were left to bask in the aftermath.

The silence was deafening as they lay there, their breathing the only sound in the cavernous bathroom. The marble was sticky beneath them, the floor a testament to the night's events. They were alone, their hearts racing from the sheer intensity of their experiences. And yet, there was something exhilarating about it all, a sense of freedom that neither had ever felt before.

Their bodies grew still, the tremors of pleasure subsiding as the last of the men's cum oozed out of them. The bruises and bite marks stood out starkly against their skin, a roadmap of their week of excess. But amidst the pain, there was a sense of accomplishment, a knowing that they had tapped into something deep within themselves.

As the last of the men disappeared from view, Minju reached for Chaewon's hand, their fingers entwined in a silent promise. They had been through hell and back together, and their friendship had emerged stronger than ever. They had become warriors of desire, untouchable and unbreakable.

They lay on the cold marble floor, the stickiness of the cum beneath them a constant reminder of the night's events. Despite the discomfort, exhaustion claimed them, their bodies succumbing to the much-needed reprieve of sleep. Chaewon's breath grew deep and even as she drifted off first, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

The sun had barely crested the horizon when they were jolted awake by the acrid scent of urine and the sticky warmth of cum seeping from their overused pussies and assholes. Their eyes snapped open, the harsh reality of the new day assaulting their senses. Minju groaned as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, her body protesting every movement. Chaewon's hand found hers, a silent offering of comfort as they took in the aftermath of their sexual marathon.

"I think... I regret it," Chaewon

murmured, her voice thick with sleep and pain. The words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the wild cries of pleasure that had filled the villa just hours earlier. Chaewon stirred beside her, her eyes opening to meet her friend's gaze.

Minju looked down at her own pussy, still sticky and bruised from the relentless pounding. A small trickle of cum slipped out, a silent answer to Chaewon's question. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "It still feels... full."

They managed to get to their feet, their legs wobbly and unsteady. The floor felt like it was moving beneath them, a gentle reminder of the waves that had crashed against their bodies the night before. Chaewon reached for the shower handle, her hand trembling with the effort. The water came on with a rush, the steam billowing out to fill the room.

"Come on," she said, her voice still thick with the night's pleasures. "Let's clean up."

They stumbled into the shower, the hot water washing over their bruised bodies like a balm. They stood under the stream, letting the warmth soothe their sore muscles and wash away the stickiness of the night. Minju looked at Chaewon, the question in her eyes. "Did your pussy keep squirting a little bit until now?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Chaewon nodded, her eyes closed as the water cascaded over her face. "Mine too," she murmured. "It's like it's not finished with us yet."

They stepped out of the shower, the steam clinging to their skin like a lover's embrace. They wrapped themselves in plush towels, the softness a stark contrast to the rough treatment their bodies had endured. The bedroom beckoned, the bed a sanctuary from the world outside.

And, as if by some unspoken agreement, the villa remained pristine, the evidence of their depraved night erased as if by magic. The sheets were fresh, the floor clean, the air faintly scented with the sweet smell of tropical blooms. It was as if the very walls had absorbed their cries of ecstasy, the room a silent witness to their sexual odyssey.

Minju couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude as she looked around the space, her body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure. "We are lucky," she said to Chaewon, her voice filled with wonder. "The guys always clean up the room for us."

Chaewon nodded, her eyes distant. "It's like we're in some kind of twisted fairy tale," she murmured, her fingers tracing the fresh bruises that adorned her breasts. "But instead of a dragon, we have an endless supply of cock."

They climbed into bed, their exhausted bodies sinking into the plush mattress with a sigh of relief. The clean, crisp sheets enveloped them in a cool embrace, a stark contrast to the sticky mess they had left behind. They lay there, side by side, their hearts beating in sync with the gentle pulse of the ocean outside.

Minju closed her eyes, her mind racing with images of the men's faces, the feel of their cocks inside her, the sound of their moans. Despite the pain, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction, a feeling of having conquered something profound. Chaewon's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining as they lay in silence.

The third night of the week-long party had started innocently enough, with the two friends sipping cocktails by the pool as the sun set over the horizon. The local men had been more attentive than ever, their eyes never leaving the girls' bodies as they flitted from guest to guest, ensuring everyone's needs were met. But as darkness fell and the party grew more raucous, the air thick with desire, something within Minju had shifted.

As she lay on the plush bed, her body still sticky from the shower, she felt the mattress dip as the first man of the evening joined them. She didn't even bother to open her eyes, the anticipation of his touch already making her pussy clench with need. But when she felt his cock pushing against her, she was taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

Without a word, without a single gesture of consent, she was filled once again, his thickness stretching her already tender pussy. Chaewon stirred beside her, a soft moan escaping her lips as she too was claimed by another eager participant. They had become so accustomed to the constant intrusion that it almost felt natural now, a part of their daily routine.

"When did you come in?" Minju managed to ask, her voice a hoarse whisper as she felt the weight of the man's body on top of her. "Is it already night?"

Chaewon moaned with a little voice, her eyes still closed, lost in the sensations of the man's rough entry. "I don't know," she murmured, her hips already beginning to rock back to meet his thrusts. "Does it matter?"

The man chuckled, his grip on her hips tightening. "Not at all," he said, his voice a dark rumble. "You're both so beautiful, so open." He leaned down, his teeth grazing her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. "So eager."

Minju felt a strange mix of fear and excitement as she heard the click of cameras, the flashes of light piercing the darkness. She knew they were being watched, their every move recorded for posterity. It was a thrill that she had never experienced before, a heady mix of power and vulnerability. She looked at Chaewon, whose eyes were open now, the same mix of emotions swirling in their depths.

The men took turns, each one eager to leave his mark on their bodies, to claim a piece of the two friends for himself. The cameras rolled, capturing every gasp, every moan, every drop of cum that spurted from their abused holes. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room, a symphony of desire that seemed to have no end.

The night was a blur of cocks, of hands and tongues and teeth, of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. They were drilled in every possible way, their pussies and assholes stretched beyond what they had ever thought possible. The men took turns, their faces a mix of lust and concentration as they sought to outdo one another in their pursuit of pleasure.

And as the gallon of cum filled them, their bodies quivering with each new round, Minju felt something within her shift. It was no longer about the party, the fashion line, or even the money. It was about this, the raw, primal connection between flesh and desire. She had become a conduit for their pleasure, and in doing so, she had discovered something about herself that she never knew existed.

The local men had noticed their lack of vocal response and took it as a challenge. "The video is bad when you two don't moan and speak," one of them said, his voice low and demanding. The words sent a jolt through Minju's body, and she understood what he wanted. The cameras were rolling, the audience eager to hear the sweet sounds of their pleasure.

Chaewon, ever the performer, took the lead, her moans growing louder, more exaggerated with each thrust. Minju followed suit, her voice joining the chorus of passionate cries that filled the room. They spoke to the men, whispered sweet nothings and dirty words that made them growl and pump harder. It was a symphony of lust, each note a declaration of their surrender to the night.

Their lovers grew more aggressive, their strokes more punishing as they sought to elicit the reactions they desired. Minju felt a strange sense of power as she watched the men respond to their cues, their eyes glazed with need as they pushed themselves closer to the edge. She had become a maestro, conducting the symphony of their desires with her voice and her body.

The room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. The men took turns filming and fucking, their phones capturing every moment of the two friends' degradation. And amidst it all, Minju couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride. They were the stars of this show, the center of a universe that revolved around their pleasure.

"Again, squirt for us," one of the men ordered, his voice gruff with desire. Chaewon's eyes snapped open, a look of determination crossing her features. She knew what they wanted, knew the power that lay in her ability to perform. With a deep breath, she pushed back against her partner, her pussy contracting around his cock as she forced herself to orgasm once more.

The room erupted in cheers as she squirted, the evidence of her pleasure arcing through the air like a fountain. The man filming her let out a groan, his hand shaking with the effort of capturing the perfect shot. Minju felt a thrill run through her at the sight, her own pussy clenching with envy. She had never felt so alive, so in control.

The third night had started with a ferocity that had taken even Minju by surprise. The local men had wasted no time, their cocks already hard and demanding as they claimed the two friends the moment they had settled into the bed. There was no gentle warm-up, no tender kisses or sweet whispers. It was raw, animalistic, and it was exactly what they needed.

Minju's mouth remained open, a silent scream of pleasure escaping her lips as cock after cock filled her to the brim. Each time she came, the cum of the man before spilled out of her mouth, mixing with her own saliva as she gagged and swallowed. Chaewon, equally lost in the haze of pleasure, had her face buried in the pillow, her cries muffled by the fabric.

The party had become a marathon of lust, and the two friends had become its champions. As the night stretched on, their bodies had become a canvas for the local men's desires, painted with sweat and cum. The air was thick with the scent of sex, a potent cocktail that intoxicated them further. They had transcended the limits of pleasure, each new sensation a revelation of their own carnality.

It was almost 3 AM, and yet the party showed no signs of winding down. The local men, fueled by a mix of alcohol and adrenaline, seemed to have an endless supply of energy. They took turns with Minju and Chaewon, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the chase. The girls had become more than just participants; they were the embodiment of desire itself.

As the night grew later, the rhythm of the music grew more primal, the bass thumping through the floorboards like the pulse of a giant beast. The air grew thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady aphrodisiac that only served to drive the men to greater heights of passion. And yet, amidst the chaos, Minju and Chaewon remained the calm center, their bodies accepting each new partner with an almost mechanical grace.

Finally, as the first light of dawn began to seep through the curtains, the men grew satiated. They had taken everything the girls had to offer and then some, leaving them trembling and spent. With a final round of applause, they helped the exhausted duo to their feet, leading them unsteadily back to the bathroom. The cold marble floor was a stark contrast to the heat of the bed, sending a shiver up Minju's spine as she stepped onto it.

Chaewon's legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor, her body still quivering with the aftershocks of her last orgasm. The men chuckled, their eyes gleaming with satisfaction as they stepped over her, heading back to the party. Minju leaned against the vanity, her hand shaking as she reached for the shower handle. The water was cold, almost painfully so, but it was exactly what she needed.

The spray hit her body, the chill making her gasp as it washed away the sticky mess of the night. She looked down, her pussy still gaping, the muscles inside spasming with each aftershock. The sight of her own body, so used and abused, only served to heighten her arousal. Chaewon joined her under the spray, her eyes meeting Minju's in the steamy mirror.

They were a mess, cum dripping from their mouths and down their chins, their breasts red and bruised from the rough handling. Yet there was something undeniably erotic about it all, something that made Minju's heart race even as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.

Chaewon leaned against her, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her own climax. "We can't keep this up,".

Minju nodded, her eyes glazed over with the intensity of the night's events. "We need to rest," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the pounding of the water.

Their legs finally gave out, and they collapsed to the floor, the cool tiles a welcome reprieve from the sticky mess that had been their bed. The water rained down on them, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered in their loins. They leaned against each other, their bodies trembling with the effort of standing.

The men had retreated, their laughter echoing through the villa. "After they faint, they can still keep squirting and shaking" one of them said, his words carrying a mix of amazement and contempt. "Such sluts, the two of you."

#minju smut #chaewon smut

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