The door creaked open and you stepped inside, shoulders heavy with the weight of the day.

Reports, pressure, decisions. Endless tension crackling in your bones.

But inside—peace.

The lights were low. The scent of jasmine and warm sugar filled the air. And there she was.

Hungryeon stood in a silky, near-transparent robe, loose around her curves, eyes half-lidded with warmth and purpose.

“Welcome home, Commander,” she said softly, approaching like a dream. “You’ve been working far too hard.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but she simply shushed you with a finger to your lips.

“No orders,” she whispered. “Not tonight.”

She gently guided you to sit on the edge of the bed. Then she knelt—directly between your legs. Her hands moved slowly up your thighs, eyes locked onto yours.

“Stress levels critical,” she murmured playfully, voice like a purr. “I’m initiating emergency relief protocols.”

You swallowed hard. “Hungryeon, I—I just need rest.”

She smiled. “Then let me take care of everything. Your body… your mind… let me soothe it all.”

Her hands slid up to your waist, and she leaned in, her breath hot through the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Let your wife do her job tonight,” she said sweetly. “And I promise you’ll feel very… recharged.”

The mission report could wait.

She had a far more hands-on debriefing planned.