Interlude! : "Jealousy in the Secret Room"

The first rays of golden morning sunlight had barely pierced the heavy blackout curtains of the Twice dormitory, casting long, sharp slivers of light across the hardwood floor. The air was still thick with the quiet, rhythmic breathing of exhausted idols, the scent of expensive lavender sleep-mists, and the lingering chill of the overnight air conditioning. It was a time for rest, a time when the world demanded nothing of them. But there was no time for a slow, groggy awakening. Not today. No time for the first cup of black coffee, no time for a quiet moment of reflection, and certainly no time for a quick wash.

Because today was Tuesday.

And for Minatozaki Sana, Tuesday was not just a day of the week. It was a religion.

She was already awake, her green-brown eyes bright and manic with an energy that bordered on feral. She stood in front of her full-length mirror, adjusting her outfit with trembling, eager hands. She wore a light pink, textured, cropped long-sleeved top, the fabric embossed with small, intricate patterns that clung perfectly to her B-cup breasts. A daring cutout at the center of her chest revealed a tantalizing glimpse of pale cleavage, the skin already flushed with a warm, rising heat. Below, she wore white, loose-fitting sweatpants with a tight elastic waistband that rode low on her hips, showcasing the smooth, toned expanse of her stomach. Her light blonde, shoulder-length hair was styled perfectly straight, framing a face that was practically glowing with what the other members privately referred to as her "nymphe main character syndrome."

She couldn't contain it. She didn't want to.

Sana bounded out of her bedroom, her bare feet padding softly but rapidly against the floorboards. She was a girl possessed, a squirrel vibrating on a frequency of pure, unadulterated lust. She hopped down the hallway, throwing open the door to Momo and Jeongyeon’s shared room.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!" Sana sang out, her voice a sugary, melodic trill that shattered the morning silence. She threw herself onto the foot of Momo’s bed, bouncing the mattress violently. "Do you know what day it is? It’s Tuesday! The absolute best day of the entire week!"

Momo groaned, pulling a pillow over her head, her voice muffled and raspy with sleep. "Sana, please. My whole lower body is still throbbing from yesterday. Give me five more minutes before you start screaming about your sex life."

Sana giggled, a bright, bubbly sound that entirely lacked sympathy. She crawled up the bed, ripping the pillow away from Momo’s face. "Oh, poor Momo! But you didn't break him, did you? I know you didn't. You never do. He’s a machine. And today, that machine belongs entirely to me. My name is on the schedule. By midnight, I won't be able to walk, I won't be able to think, and my mouth is going to be so full of him I won't even be able to sing tomorrow!"

"God, you’re so filthy before breakfast," Jeongyeon muttered from the other bed, her eyes still squeezed shut. "We get it, Sana. You love getting your brains fucked out on Tuesdays. Just let us sleep."

Sana hopped off the bed, her hips giving an involuntary little roll at the thought of what awaited her. "I’m just reminding you to appreciate the day! Tuesdays are magical!"

Her explicit, unfiltered energy continued as she practically danced through the dorm, making sure every single member knew exactly what was on her agenda. But the moment they stepped out of the private sanctuary of their dorm and into the presence of their managers, stylists, and security detail, a switch flipped.

As they walked through the underground parking garage toward their waiting black van, a stylist offered Sana a sleepy smile. "You look energetic today, Sana-ssi."

Sana offered a perfectly constructed, sweet, idol-ready smile, tilting her head innocently. "Oh, I just really love Tuesdays! It’s such a great day! I always feel so refreshed!" Behind her, Nayeon rolled her eyes so hard it physically hurt, exchanging a knowing, exhausted look with Jihyo. They all knew exactly why she was refreshed, but the staff remained blissfully ignorant of the absolute depravity waiting for them in the JYP building.

Once they were safely inside the massive, partitioned VIP van, the heavy privacy screen sliding shut to separate them from the driver and the front-seat managers, the sweet facade instantly dissolved. The back of the van was a luxurious, soundproof bubble of leather and tinted glass, smelling faintly of expensive perfumes and iced Americanos.

Sana draped herself across the plush back seat, kicking her long legs over Tzuyu’s lap, entirely ignoring the maknae's sigh of annoyance.

"I swear," Sana began, fanning her flushed face with her hand, "I could already feel my pussy throbbing the second I put these sweatpants on. Do you think he’s going to make me strip the second I walk through the mirror, or is he going to make me dance for him first?"

"Sana, please, we literally just woke up," Mina murmured softly, resting her forehead against the cool glass of the window.

"I can't help it!" Sana whined playfully, turning her bright, predatory gaze toward Momo. "I know you tried your best yesterday, Momo-chan. I know you tried to drain him dry. But let’s be honest. Nobody drains Y/N. I bet his balls are already heavy again, just waiting to fill my throat. I’m going to milk every last drop out of that beautiful, thick eighteen-centimeter cock until he's begging me to stop."

Momo smirked sleepily, stretching her sore legs. "He never begs, Sana. He just takes. But good luck trying to ruin him. You’re going to need it. He was a beast yesterday. He stretched my Japanese cunt so hard I thought he was going to split me in half."

The blunt, filthy banter hung in the cool, air-conditioned air of the van. The others brushed it off with groans and eye rolls, but deep down, a heavy, secret tension settled over all of them. They were all exactly like Sana behind closed doors; they were all hopelessly, helplessly addicted to the strict, dominant European trainer who had systematically conquered their entire group. The only difference was that Sana simply couldn't keep her mouth shut about it. She thrived on the attention. She had a desperate, clawing need to be the main character of this twisted, beautiful harem.

When they finally arrived at the JYP building, the heavy double doors of the main dance studio swung open to reveal the man himself.

Y/N stood at the front of the room, adjusting the massive sound system. He was a towering monument of strict, unyielding masculinity. At 188 centimeters and 90 kilograms of pure, densely packed muscle, he commanded the room without saying a word. He wore his signature black Adidas training suit, the white stripes emphasizing the broad span of his shoulders and the thick, powerful columns of his legs. His short black hair was styled immaculately, and his dark brown eyes were sharp, alert, and terrifyingly perceptive.

Sana’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart hammered a violent, frantic rhythm against her ribs. She looked at him—strong, fresh, radiating an aura of total control. Momo hadn't broken him. He looked like he could fuck them all right there on the hardwood floor and still have the stamina to run a marathon. A wicked, irrepressible grin spread across her lips, and a soft, breathy chuckle escaped her.

"Good morning, Y/N Oppa," Sana purred, her voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness that completely masked the absolute filth running through her mind.

Y/N turned, his brown eyes locking onto hers. He saw the flush on her chest, the way the light pink cutout of her top framed her cleavage, the way her hips naturally tilted toward him. He knew exactly what she was doing. He knew what day it was.

"Positions, girls. We’re starting from the top of the bridge," Y/N commanded, his voice a low, booming rumble that vibrated through the floorboards and straight up Sana’s thighs.

The dance class was a grueling, sweat-drenched affair. The air in the studio grew heavy and thick, smelling of ozone, heated skin, and the sweet, floral perfumes the girls wore. But for Sana, it wasn't a workout; it was a four-hour foreplay session.

You could always tell it was Tuesday by the way Sana moved. She danced entirely differently. Every pop of her hips, every arch of her spine, every slow, deliberate drag of her hands down her own body was calculated, targeted entirely at the man in the Adidas suit. She was trying to turn him on before it was even her turn. She locked eyes with him through the massive mirror, biting her plush lower lip, letting her chest heave exaggeratedly as she caught her breath. You could practically see the wet heat building between her thighs just from the anticipation of what was coming after class.

And Y/N loved it. He would never admit it to the others, but what he loved most about Sana was this exact, squirrel-like, erratic, highly-charged nature. She was always on the go, a constant, buzzing wire of electricity. Unlike some of the other girls who approached the secret room with a sense of nervous submission or quiet duty, Sana demanded it. She would never, ever skip her Tuesday routine. He had noticed it everywhere—the way she would discreetly rub her thigh against his during van rides, the filthy, lingering eye contact during photoshoots, the way she brazenly flaunted her body just for him.

Finally, the grueling rehearsal came to an end. The girls collapsed onto the floor, panting and chugging water, waving their goodbyes as they slowly filed out of the studio to hit the showers or grab lunch.

Sana didn't leave. She waited until the heavy studio doors clicked shut, locking them inside.

The silence that fell over the massive room was deafening, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning and her own ragged breathing. She turned to the mirror wall, approaching the hidden pressure plate. With a soft, practiced push, the invisible seam gave way, the mirror swinging inward like a vault door.

She stepped into the secret room—the cozy little nest that was Twice’s ultimate downfall.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The sterile, bright lights of the dance studio were replaced by the warm, flickering, golden glow of dozens of expensive candles scattered around the room. The scent of melting vanilla wax, rich amber, and Y/N’s lingering, woodsy cologne was intoxicating. The room was meticulously climate-controlled, a perfect, comfortable temperature that sent a shiver over her sweat-dampened skin. There was the plush velvet sofa, the massive 52-inch TV, the small stocked fridge, and the large, luxurious bed in the corner, covered in dark, ruined silk sheets that held the phantom memories of a hundred orgasms.

And taking up the entirety of the far wall was the masterpiece: the weekly schedule. It was a corkboard shrine to Y/N’s absolute dominance, listing the days each idol was lucky enough to be claimed by him, surrounded by an absolute sea of illicit Polaroids. Photos that would make any fan foam at the mouth and empty their bank accounts. Candids of the world's most famous idols in states of total, explicit debasement—girls in sheer, soaked underwear, naked bodies arched in pleasure, close-ups of dripping pussies and bruised tits, mouths smeared with thick white cum, faces flushed and ruined. It was a visual catalog of his conquests, taken in hotel rooms, dorms, vans, and backstage dressing rooms.

Sana didn't even wait for Y/N to fully enter the room. The moment the secret door closed, sealing them in, she began to strip.

She pulled the light pink textured top over her head, tossing it carelessly onto the velvet sofa. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic waistband of her white sweatpants and shoved them down her legs, kicking them away. Within five seconds, she was standing in the center of the golden-lit room wearing nothing but a matching set of delicate, sheer white lace panties and a tiny, useless bra that barely contained her B-cups.

She walked over to the small fridge, popping open a can of sparkling water. She took a slow, deliberate sip, the cold condensation dripping down her fingers. She turned to face the door.

Y/N was standing there, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He watched her, his dark brown eyes taking in the sight of her standing in her underwear, sipping her drink, and grinning at him with a look of absolute, feral lust, mixed with that trademark, dangerous touch of innocent sweetness.

He uncrossed his arms and pushed off the doorframe. He walked slowly toward her, his heavy footsteps muffled by the thick rug. He moved like a predator closing in on a cornered, willing prey.

As he reached her, Sana didn't hesitate. She dropped the can onto a side table, the metal clattering loudly. She threw her arms around his thick, muscular neck and launched herself upward. She lifted her hips, her 163-centimeter frame suddenly towering over his 188 centimeters as she wrapped her bare legs tightly around his waist.

Y/N caught her effortlessly. His large, strong hands immediately clamped down on her bare, soft ass cheeks, his fingers digging into the flesh through the sheer white lace to steady her weight. He pressed her deeply into his pelvis, letting her feel the hard, thick, unyielding ridge of his erection straining against the fabric of his Adidas pants.

They collided.

Their lips smashed together in a passionate, desperate, wet kiss. It was an explosion of pent-up tension. Sana opened her mouth eagerly, her tongue darting out to meet his, tasting the mint and the dark, earthy musk of his breath. She kissed him like a starving woman, her head tilting, her teeth gently grazing his lower lip. She whimpered into his mouth, her body humming with electrical energy as the heat radiated rapidly between them.

She broke the kiss for just a fraction of a second, her lips hovering millimeters from his, her breath ghosting over his skin.

"I’ve been looking forward to this all week, Oppa," she whispered, her voice a breathless, raspy purr. "But especially since this morning. The moment I woke up, I was already wet for you."

Y/N smiled, a dark, incredibly sexy smirk that made her stomach do a violent flip. He squeezed her ass harder, lifting her slightly higher.

"You’re lucky you’re so cute, squirrel," he growled, his voice a heavy vibration against her chest. "Otherwise, I’d have thrown you out of the studio hours ago for that filthy little mouth of yours. You’re too obvious."

Sana’s green-brown eyes flashed with a wicked, triumphant light. She leaned in, her nose brushing his. "You love my mouth. Don't lie to me."

Before he could answer, she smashed her lips against his again, kissing him with a fervent, bruising intensity. Her hands tangled in his short black hair, pulling gently, anchoring him to her.

Y/N walked slowly to the center of the room, his hands kneading her soft flesh, before he finally let her legs slide down his hips. She landed softly on her bare feet, her body still flush against his, her chest heaving, the small, embossed patterns of her bra scraping against the synthetic fabric of his jacket.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes drifting past his shoulder to the massive bulletin board. The weekly schedule. Her shrine.

Sana stepped away from him, the sudden loss of his body heat making her shiver. She walked over to the wall, her hips swaying with deliberate, exaggerated slowness. She stood in front of the board, bathed in the golden candlelight, posing erotically in just her sheer white underwear. She arched her back, sticking her round ass out slightly, and ran a hand through her light blonde hair, letting it fall messily over one shoulder.

"Oppa," she began, her voice taking on a demanding, whiny tone that she knew drove him crazy. "Take a new picture of me for the wall. The old one is getting boring."

She pointed a manicured finger at a Polaroid pinned near the top. It was a shot taken from Y/N’s point of view, looking down his own torso as Sana rode him relentlessly, her face a flushed mask of pure, sweaty pleasure, her blonde hair flying around her. It was a masterpiece, recorded months ago during the Talk that Talk promotions.

"That one is old," she complained energetically, striking a new pose, her hands sliding down to grip the waistband of her lace panties, pulling them down just a fraction to reveal the smooth, shaved skin of her V-line. "Or… should I take a picture while I’m on my knees sucking your massive cock? With my eyes rolling back?" She giggled, completely lost in her own main character fantasy, posing harder. "Or maybe… you can pull out, cover my face in your hot, thick cum, and I can do my 'shy shy shy' pose while I’m dripping with it? Oh god, it’s so hard to decide! It has to be a perfect, absolutely filthy picture for the wall to show everyone who the queen of Tuesdays is."

Y/N stood a few feet away, a fond, highly amused smirk on his face as he watched his energetic little squirrel perform for him. He reached up, casually unzipping his Adidas jacket, ready to pull his camera from the shelf and give her exactly what she was begging for.

But as Sana continued to pose, adjusting her stance, her gaze swept casually over the massive collection of photos. Group shots, explicit hotel room candids, the famously messy shot of her and Momo swapping his cum from their lips…

Suddenly, her green-brown eyes snagged on something new.

It was pinned near the bottom corner of the board. A fresh, glossy Polaroid. But it wasn't Nayeon. It wasn't Tzuyu. It wasn't any of the nine women who had sworn absolute fealty to the man in the room.

It was a girl with long brown hair and wide, innocent deer eyes. She was kneeling on a cheap dorm bed, her face a dazed, blissful mask of total ruin. Her skin was covered in thick, white, unmistakable streaks of fresh semen. Her eyes were glued shut by his cum, her mouth was smeared with it, and her small hands were held up, forming a pair of cute, aegyo finger hearts right beneath her cum-drenched chin.

Sana stopped breathing.

The playful, erotic energy drained out of the room in a single, violently fast heartbeat. The golden candlelight suddenly felt cold. Sana stepped closer to the board, her hands dropping to her sides, her eyes widening in absolute, horrified shock.

"Who… what is this?" Sana’s voice trembled, the sugary sweetness entirely stripped away, replaced by a sharp, rising panic.

She turned slowly to face Y/N, pointing a shaking finger at the photo. "Y/N. Why is there a picture of Sullyoon on this wall? Sullyoon? The innocent little deer from NMIXX? She’s not Twice! She doesn't belong here!"

Y/N paused, his hands dropping from his jacket zipper. The amused smirk vanished, replaced by a calm, cold, and utterly terrifying stillness. He walked slowly over to the board, his heavy footsteps sounding like a death knell in the quiet room. He looked at the picture of the ruined rookie, a glint of genuine, dark appreciation in his eyes.

"It seems the next generation isn't sleeping on their opportunities, Sana," Y/N said, his voice flat, devoid of the affection he had shown just moments prior. "She did some very active promotion to get my attention last night. I have to admit, I was impressed."

He turned his head slowly, looking down at Sana’s pale, shocked face. "Especially when they realize what they can get when they kneel for a real BWC. She took it like a champion."

Sana felt like the floor was dropping out from under her. The "nymphe main character" illusion shattered into a million jagged pieces. The absolute betrayal and the sudden, overwhelming threat to her perfectly constructed world hit her like a physical blow.

"This is superfluous!" Sana shrieked, her voice echoing shrilly off the mirrored walls, completely losing her composure. She gestured wildly at the board, her chest heaving. "Why did she have to join? Why is she even here? Nine girls should be enough for you! We are Twice! We are the biggest girl group in the world! Are we not enough for your cock, Y/N? Why do you need some child who doesn't even know how to handle you?"

The silence that followed her outburst was heavier than gravity.

Y/N’s dark brown eyes hardened to obsidian. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet by ten degrees. He didn't yell. He didn't raise his voice. He simply took a single, slow step toward her, his towering 188-centimeter frame suddenly feeling like an insurmountable, lethal threat.

"Careful, Sana," he warned, his voice a low, terrifyingly calm whisper that sent ice water through her veins. "You seem to be forgetting your place. You do not question my appetite. You do not question my choices." He leaned down, his face inches from hers, the smell of his cologne suddenly suffocating. "If you find her presence so offensive… if you feel you don't want to share my time… Sullyoon can easily take your place on Tuesdays. I’m sure she would be more than happy to show me how a real, obedient toy behaves on the schedule."

Sana’s entire world came crashing down around her.

Tuesday. Her day. Her identity. The one thing that kept her sane in the relentless, grueling, manufactured world of K-pop. The thought of losing it—of being replaced by a nineteen-year-old rookie who didn't even know how to properly arch her back—was a fate worse than death.

She shook her head violently, the blonde hair whipping around her pale face. She realized, with a sickening, plummeting sensation in her stomach, the catastrophic mistake she had just made. Arguing with him. Questioning his absolute authority. It was the one thing he absolutely, fundamentally hated.

She looked at his cold, unyielding face and the reality of the situation slammed into her. It was glaringly, terrifyingly clear. He didn't need her. With his looks, his dominance, and his massive, legendary cock, he could walk into any dorm in the company and build himself a brand new harem with just a snap of his long fingers.

But Twice… Twice needed him. Sana needed him. Her body physically ached for him. She was entirely, hopelessly dependent on his BWC.

Without a single thought for her pride, Sana threw herself forward. She collapsed onto her bare knees on the thick rug directly in front of him. She reached out, her small hands grabbing desperately at the fabric of his Adidas pants, her knuckles turning white.

The tears came instantly, hot and fast, streaming down her perfectly contoured cheeks, ruining her makeup.

"No! No, please, Oppa! Please!" she begged, her voice cracking, a high-pitched wail of pure desperation. She looked up at him, her chest heaving in her tiny lace bra, the tears blurring her vision. "I didn't mean it! I swear I didn't mean it! I was just jealous! I’m so sorry!"

She pressed her wet face against his hard thighs, sobbing uncontrollably. "No Sana, no life! You know that! No Sana, no life! Without you on Tuesdays, I’ll die! I won't be able to survive! Please, Y/N, please don't take my day away from me!"

Y/N stood perfectly still. He looked down at the hysterical, broken idol groveling at his feet. He gave her a stern, icy look, a look completely devoid of sympathy.

"Not for me," he said coldly.

The brutal, blunt rejection made her cry even harder. The sobs tore from her throat, raw and ugly. She realized, in that moment of absolute despair, that her cute little "shy shy shy" act, her playful teasing, her main character syndrome—none of it would save her. She was entirely powerless. She was just a body in a room, entirely at the mercy of the man who owned it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her tears soaking into his pants, waiting for the final blow. Waiting for him to drag her out of the room and lock the door forever.

But as the seconds ticked by, the heavy, suffocating silence stretched. Y/N looked down at her. She was a pathetic, beautiful sight. The proud, energetic squirrel, reduced to a weeping, trembling mess on her knees in her underwear, begging for his cock as if it were oxygen.

His hard, disciplined heart softened just a fraction. He had broken her pride completely. She seemed to fully understand the rules of the room now, and her hysterical screams had slowly subsided into quiet, hiccuping sobs. The absolute fear of losing him had reprogrammed her perfectly.

But he was a strict master. He couldn't just let an open rebellion slide. He had to teach her a permanent lesson. He had to make it excruciatingly, undeniably clear what would happen if she ever dared to question his harem again. He knew exactly how to do it.

"Stop crying," Y/N commanded, his voice sharp but slightly less icy than before.

Sana gasped, instantly choking back a sob, wiping her wet face with the back of her trembling hands. She looked up at him, her green-brown eyes wide with desperate hope.

"I forgive you for your outburst, Sana," he said slowly, measuring every word. "Because you are my favorite little squirrel, and because you begged so beautifully."

Sana let out a massive, shuddering breath of relief, her shoulders sagging. "Thank you, Oppa. Thank you so much. I promise I’ll be perfect. I’ll do anything you want today."

"Oh, you will do exactly what I want," Y/N replied, a dark, wicked, terrifyingly cruel smile slowly spreading across his face. "But there has to be a punishment for your rebellion, Sana. You need to learn humility."

He reached down, his large fingers gripping her chin, tilting her face up so she was forced to meet his gaze.

"There will be no fucking for you this Tuesday," he decreed, the words dropping like anvils. "At least, not with you."

Sana’s eyes widened in horror. "Oppa… what?"

"To complete this reconciliation, to prove your absolute submission to me, you are going to get off your knees, get dressed, and walk out that door," Y/N instructed, his voice a smooth, venomous purr. "You are going to go into the other studio, find Sullyoon, and bring her to me. Right now."

Sana’s jaw dropped. The cruelty of the demand was staggering. "You… you want me to bring her here? To my room?"

"Yes. So I can fuck her," Y/N confirmed, releasing her chin and stepping back. "And as your punishment, you are going to sit on that velvet couch, and you are going to watch every single second of it. You are going to watch me give your Tuesday load to the new toy."

Sana felt physically sick. The thought of watching another girl—a rookie, no less—taking the cock she had been fantasizing about all week was a torture more profound than anything she could imagine. She opened her mouth to protest, to beg him for any other punishment—a beating, public humiliation, anything but this.

But she stopped. She looked at his face. She knew that if she uttered a single word of defiance, she would lose her Tuesdays forever.

She knew how to appreciate mercy, even when it was wrapped in barbed wire. She swallowed the bile in her throat, her chest heaving as she fought to maintain her composure.

"Yes, Oppa," she whispered, her voice hollow and defeated. "I understand."

She stood up on shaky, trembling legs. She walked to the sofa like a ghost, picking up her white sweatpants and stepping into them. She pulled the pink, textured top over her head, hiding her cleavage, hiding the body that had been denied.

She walked to the mirror door, her hand resting on the invisible seam. She paused, closing her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. It’s only this Tuesday, she reassured herself frantically, her mind spinning. It’s just a lesson. Next week, I’ll be back on top. I am still the queen of Tuesdays. I just have to survive today.

With a heavy heart, she pushed the door open, stepping out into the sterile, bright lights of the dance room, heading down the hallway to fetch the new toy.

Fifteen minutes later, the secret door hissed open once more.

Sana stepped inside, her head bowed, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Right behind her, looking tiny and completely overwhelmed in her oversized grayish-blue hoodie, was Yonna Seol. Sullyoon.

The young rookie looked around the candlelit, luxurious room with wide, terrified deer eyes, her gaze darting from the velvet sofa to the massive bed, and finally landing on Y/N, who was now sitting comfortably on the edge of the mattress, his dark eyes waiting for them.

Sana didn't say a word. She walked to the velvet couch, moving with the stiff, robotic precision of a woman walking to the gallows. She sat down, her hands resting in her lap, her green-brown eyes fixing on the floor, refusing to look at the massive, 188-centimeter man on the bed.

Sullyoon stood awkwardly in the center of the room, looking between the devastated Twice idol on the sofa and the strict, imposing trainer on the bed.

"Come here, Bambi," Y/N commanded, his voice a low, inviting rumble that made the rookie shiver. "Sana brought you here because I have an open slot today. And she wants to see exactly how a good girl earns her place on my wall."

Sana sat perfectly still on the couch, her fingernails digging so hard into her own palms that they nearly drew blood. She forced her head up. She forced her eyes to focus on the bed. She watched as Sullyoon nervously approached him, watched as Y/N’s large hands reached out to pull the rookie by the waist between his muscular thighs.

And as the golden candlelight flickered over them, Sana sat in silence, her heart breaking, knowing with absolute, excruciating certainty that her Tuesday fuck, the climax she had been craving since the sun came up, was now going to belong entirely to the innocent deer from NMIXX.