from Iris

And now? Now your mother's saying something entirely different.

“You’re not young anymore. Time to get attached. When am I going to get my grandchild?”

The words land like a quiet slap every time she calls. She doesn't say it meanly. She says it tiredly, worriedly, like she's watching sand slip through an hourglass she can't flip back over. You've always wanted to argue back and say that it was her who conditioned your mindset, but she's not wrong. Is it wrong to take things slow?

You still don’t know the answer.

There's no wrong in taking it easy and going with the flow. You're doing fine right now, in fact, you're much better off than you expected. A good job, stable life, a nice apartment that you own.

The only thing missing is a partner — and you’re in no rush to find one.

But tonight you're not thinking about your mother.

Tonight you're thinking about how you ended up here.

Your friends tricked you into this group blind date.

“Low pressure,” they said.

“Just come hang out. Free food. You might meet someone nice.”

They didn’t mention there would be eight people, half of them already half-drunk, and that “nice” apparently meant “loud.”

The restaurant is one of those trendy spots with neon signs and overpriced cocktails. The table is long and narrow, voices overlapping like the stack of messy papers on your office desk.

Your friends are in full playboy mode, leaning in, flashing grins, tossing flirty one-liners at the girls across from them.

The girls laugh in response, some genuine, some polite.

And you? You sit near the end quiet, sipping your water, nod when spoken to, answer in short sentences.

You’re not rude. You’re just… not performing.

Across from you is Liz. She’s the loudest one here, but not in an obnoxious way. She’s the one who ordered the spiciest ramen on the menu “because why not,” then immediately regrets it and downs three glasses of milk while laughing at herself.

“Okay okay okay,” she announces, slamming the empty milk glass down. “New game. Drink if it’s false. Never have I ever eaten instant ramen for breakfast.”

A common thing that everyone has done. Everyone on the table groans and drinks. You raise your glass of beer reluctantlyp.

“Losers! I win!” Liz laughs sniggers goofily, hands tapping on each other like an otter.

One of your friends, the loudest playboy, leans towards her with a smirk.

“Never have I ever kissed someone on the first date.”

Liz drinks dramatically, along with the rest that chugs their share down.

“Oh~ You've kissed before?” your friend asks with his eyebrows raised.

“Duh. Life’s too short.”

The table erupts in cheers and teasing, all nodding as they reminisce.

She grins, then glances at you.

“You didn’t drink,” she says, pointing. “First-date kiss virgin?”

You shrug. “Haven’t had the right first date yet.”

Her eyes light up.

“Ooh, mysterious. I like that. Have you even kissed before?”

You shake your head and shrug.

“He’s always like this,” your friend says. “Quiet guy. Girls love it until they realize he’s actually boring.”

Liz tilts her head at him.

“Or maybe he’s just waiting for someone interesting enough to talk to.”

Your friend blinks at the attention Liz is giving you and the table quiets for half a second.

Then Liz bursts out laughing.

“I’m kidding! Kidding! Don’t look so offended.”

But she’s still looking at you, longer this time. You almost feel as if she's boring a hole into your heart with her gaze.

The rest of dinner is chaos: more games, more drinks, more stories. Just the usual as to how a usual group blind date or any drinking party would go. Liz keeps pulling everyone in, making the shy girl next to her talk, challenging your friend to a chopstick-eating contest (he loses), telling a ridiculous story about the time she tried to “taste the rainbow” with illegal spicy candy and ended up in the ER.

Every now and then she glances at you again.

It's not a flirty glance. Just… curious.

When the bill comes and the group starts splitting up, she lingers.

Outside, the night air is cool. Neon glows from the restaurant spills onto the sidewalk. Your friends are already walking ahead, some exchanging numbers, others wobbling drunkenly. You spot your friend talking to Liz by the side, most likely asking for her number, but you see her shaking her head.

Rejected.

Your friend looks at you and smiles sheepishly, before walking away into the fading light.

Liz falls into step beside you as you head towards the train station.

“Hey,” she says. “You were pretty quiet in there.”

You shrug. “Not much of a talker.”

She grins unapologetically. “I noticed. It was kinda hot, actually.”

You blink.

She laughs at your expression — not mean, just delighted.

“Okay, fine. That sounded weird. But seriously. Everyone else was trying so hard to be funny or cool or whatever. You were just… cool. It was nice.”

She stops walking. So do you.

The street is noisy with cars, distant music, and salarymen spilling out of bars, but right here it feels like a bubble.

She rocks on her heels, looking at the ground before blurting: “Let’s go on a date.”

You open your mouth, then close it.

She rushes on before you can speak.

“I promise I won’t make you ride the scariest rollercoaster… maybe. Just one date. If it’s boring we never speak again. Deal?”

She sticks out her pinky.

You stare at it.

Now you're thinking about your mother.

Her voice echoes in your head — the new one, not the old one.

“You’re not young anymore. Time to get attached. When am I going to get my grandchild?”

You look at Liz. Her eyes are bright, cheeks a little pink from the cold, and alcohol (or maybe her nerves?), hair messy from all the laughing and exaggerated movements the entire night.

“Just to see,” you sigh, raising your pinky up.

Her face lights up and she squeals. “Yes!” She hooks her pinky around yours, shaking it vigorously. “Tomorrow! I already have an idea~”

She takes your phone which you graciously unlock to allow her to input her number, before bouncing once on her toes. She makes a small spin and runs to catch up with her friends, yelling over her shoulder with a wide smile.

“Don’t ghost me, mysterious quiet guy!”

You stand there for a second, pinky still outstretched, mind still dazed from the turn of events.

Then you smile.

You have a date.

***

<Liz 🌀, 08:17> GOOD MORNING MYSTERIOUS QUIET GUY!!

<Liz 🌀, 08:17> Ready for round 1? Meet me at 6 sharp. Wear comfy shoes and bring your brave faceeee~

You should have known better. Liz blasted you with messages the next morning… and somehow, you already feel the pull.

You stare at the messages for a whole minute and 28 seconds, thumb hovering. She's pretty, but she's lively, a bit too much in fact.

But your mother’s voice creeps in again.

Not young anymore… Grandchild… When…

You sigh and move your thumbs.

<You, 08:20> Okay

A simple, short and curt reply.

Her message comes immediately after.

<Liz 🌀, 08.20> What? That's it? Just an ‘Okay’?

<Liz 🌀, 08.20> Geez you're not even trying, but you're so god damn cool. Didn't even bother to ask where huh?

You panic a little at your blunder and try to send a reply, but it's a little too late. Right as you press send, her message comes in before yours.

<Liz 🌀, 08.20> Seoul Station, Exit 15

<You, 08:21> Where?

You rub your temple once, half-exasperated, half-amused.

<Liz 🌀, 08:21> Ahahahahaha

<Liz 🌀, 08:21> You're so slow lmao

<You, 08:21> …

<Liz 🌀, 08.21> Anyway, see you later~

You look at the messages and sigh. Your fingers move and tap into her contact that she saved. Thumbs dancing, she’s now known as: “Whirlwind 🌀”.

Bubbly, lively and energetic.

Nothing like you.

Nothing like how you imagined your first date to be.

But you're smiling.

The day passes by in a blur and once the work day is done, you're already on the way to the agreed upon meet up location.

You arrive at Seoul Station Exit 15 at 5.55 p.m. The crowd is thick with salarymen like you rushing home, students in uniforms, tourists with maps, but you spot her instantly.

Liz is leaning against a pillar, one foot propped up, scrolling her phone with one hand while the other waves a tiny red flag she definitely bought from a street vendor just for this moment. Does she even know what a red flag means? It's as though she's advertising herself as one. When she sees you she squeals, and it's an actual squeal, runs over, nearly tripping on her own shoelaces.

“You’re early!” she exclaims, eyes wide. “Like, actually early! I thought you’d be the type to show up at 6:01 just to be safe.”

You shrug. “I don’t like being late.”

“That's so responsible. I love it,” she beams at you. “Okay, come on!” she grabs your wrist (not your hand — your wrist, like she's leading a puppy on a walk) and starts pulling you toward the escalators.

“Where are we going?”

“Devil Tteokbokki Challenge!” she announces like it’s a national holiday. “It’s only two stops away. You ready to cry?”

You’re already regretting saying yes, but you don’t pull away.

The Devil Tteokbokki place is small and fluorescent-lit, but it’s packed with patrons. But these aren't the main things to worry about. What you’re worried about is the heavy smell of fire and regret that's choking the air.

There’s a giant red devil head on the wall with a speech bubble: “No time limit. If you finish Hell Level, free photo on the Wall of Victory! Otherwise, Wall of Shame!”

Liz signs the waiver without reading it.

You though, read it carefully.

She doesn't wait and orders Hell Level for both of you.

“You sure?” you ask again.

“We’re in this together,” she grins. “Teamwork makes the dream work!”

“...” you stare at her, before setting down the wavier. “Yea…”

The bowls arrive, and they're bright red and steaming, looking like the boiling pot of punishment in whatever level of hell that you can't remember — not that remembering it would save you.

Liz doesn't wait and takes one bite, eyes going wide then immediately starts fanning her mouth, mouthing breathy cavemen ooh ooh ahh ahh noises in an attempt to expel the hotness in her mouth.

“Sheesh, it burnt my tongue…” she wheezes, trying to cool it down in her mouth. “I forgot it was just out of the pot.”

You look at her antics, grinning a little.

“It's not that bad though?” you say, savouring the first piece. Sure, it's spicy, but it's well rounded and sweet at the start, followed by a nice umami in the middle, then—oh fuck.

cough cough cough

You're fucking choking from the sharp spiciness. Liz is in no better shape, choking on the lingering spiciness of the sauce.

cough cough cough

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god—” Liz cries, cheeks and nose red from the capsaicin invading her pain receptors.

You're already drinking your glass of milk, hoping that it will help with reducing the pain, but Liz has already downed hers, before obnoxiously snatching and drinking the remaining of yours.

Apparently the extra half glass of milk helped, and she's now laughing so hard at your plight that she almost falls off her chair. You look at her teary eyed, fire unextinguished in your mouth. You cough and try to reach for water, but your eyes water further.

“You’re crying! Oh my god, you’re crying again!”

You manage a weak glare through the tears.

She hands you her glass of warm water, still giggling.

“Here, hero. Warm water is more effective than cold water.”

You take it from her and drink. The burn fades ever so slowly.

She wipes her eyes, still smiling.

“You’re cute when you suffer.”

You roll your eyes at her, but you’re smiling too. Just a single bite and you’ve already drank two glasses of fluid. How many bites are there left? You wonder to yourself and count. 32. 32 more bites. And that means 64 glasses of fluid. How the hell are you going to finish the challenge?

Not to mention, the rules state that you have to finish every single drop of sauce as well. And that'll probably add another 64 glasses of fluid onto your belly. Assuming that each glass is 500 ml, then what, you’ll be filled with 64 litres of water. At this rate, you’ll be a walking watermelon by the end of the challenge.

“Earth to you!” Liz waves at your face, nudging you. “Eat!” she says, popping another piece hesitantly into her mouth, before downing another two glasses of water — no more milk, the milk ain't free. You try your best too, but ultimately, you both barely finish a third of the bowl before surrendering.

The owner takes a polaroid of you two, red-faced, teary, holding up the half-eaten bowls like trophies.

Liz insists on sticking it on the Wall of Shame herself.

“Team Whirlwind & Quiet Guy!” she declares, writing it in marker. You stand behind her, arms crossed, trying not to look proud, but damn, her handwriting is pretty. You get another two pieces of the polaroid photo, which the owner had kindly taken extra for you both as keepsake.

You take the photo and glance at it for a second, appreciating her goofy smile beside your forced one. You never did realise, but she has a dimple on her left cheek when she smiles, and it makes your heart skip a beat and the corner of your mouth curves slightly. Before she can catch any hint of it, you take out your wallet and keep it, making sure that none of the edges are folded when you slide it into the slot. And Liz? She clasps it behind her transparent phone case’s cover at the back of her phone.

How long do dates last? You have no clue. But it's definitely not an hour and twelve minutes because she is already dragging you to the next stop, a bar a few blocks away.

The sign outside reads “Date Challenge Night: Win unlimited drinks + limited-edition dart board! Lose = goofy outfit + Losers Wall photo.”

Liz’s eyes light up like fireworks.

“This is fate,” she says, dragging you inside.

The challenge is simple — a standard dart game, but instead of the usual subtraction of numbers from 501 from every hit, it is a combined score of 520 times two, which is 1040. Because apparently 520 means ‘I love you’ in Chinese, and since it is a game meant for couples, it's double the intended target. You two have to take turns throwing a dart that looks like a swordfish (you have no idea why, perhaps an inspiration from some anime or sorts).

She lines up her first throw like a pro with her tongue out and eyes narrowed, then launches. The dart arcs beautifully… straight into the wall three feet above the board.

And of course you both lose spectacularly, despite her bragging about being a high school dart champion in her neighborhood. You swear that at least 20% of her throws ended up with fates that took a magnificent modest arc to land on either right on the ground or hit the high ceiling wall.

You make a mental note to never let Liz convince you to be a target on a knife throwing stunt — you doubt that it will happen, but who knows what will happen with her.

As losers again, yes again, you both end up in matching inflatable dinosaur costumes that are bright green and ridiculous, with tiny useless arms. How did T-rexes even earn their title of apex predators or King of the Dinosaurs?

The bartender takes the polaroid (does everyone own a polaroid nowadays?) and snaps a photo.

Liz poses dramatically with her arms up, roaring.

And of course you stand there, deadpan.

She laughs so hard she almost falls over.

“Losers Wall forever!” she cheers.

They hang the photo right next to the dart board prize neither of you won. And of course, courtesy of the bartender, you both get new pictures to add to your collection, to which you both slide into your wallet and behind her phone.

You're then dragged to the bar counter and Liz orders two cocktails — something bright blue and probably dangerous.

“Alcohol content?” you ask.

“18,” the bartender replies.

You pick your glass up and swirl it slightly, trying to get some of the volatile alcohol to evaporate, before sipping slowly.

She downs half of hers in one go. You cock your eyebrow, visibly impressed.

Then she leans across the table, eyes sparkling.

“Okay. Truth or dare.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Again?”

“Truth or dare,” she repeats, grinning.

You sigh.

“Truth.”

She thinks for a second.

“What’s your idea of a perfect date?”

You answer honestly.

“Quiet dinner. Walk after. Maybe a movie. No costumes. No challenges.”

She tilts her head.

“That sounds… nice.”

She drinks, not because she lost, but just because.

“My turn. Dare me.”

You hesitate.

She leans closer.

“Come on. Dare me.”

“Tell me your name,” you say quietly.

“Pshhh. Lame. Isn't Liz enough?”

“Name,” you say again curtly, insisting that she tells you.

“Fine. I’m Jiwon. Kim Jiwon, my mother’s daughter.” She murmurs, batting her eyelids at you coquettishly. “Liz isn't exactly my name name. My friends just call me that because there's a running joke that I look German, and so they gave me a name.”

“Oh?”

“Elizabeth Helga Muller. Hence Liz for short.”

You let out a small snort in amusement.

“Your turn! Truth or Dare! C'mon choose dare~” she bounces on the high chair slightly.

“Truth.”

“Ugh. You're such a coward,” she whines. “Fine. You know, yesterday when I asked about the kiss on a first date, is that true?”

“Yea. Do I look like someone who lies for a profession?”

“Maybe? Liars don't write that they're one on their foreheads.”

“Fair enough,” you mumble, taking in a deep breath before sighing. “This is my first date actually. So yes, I haven't kissed anyone on a first date before because I haven't had any dates before.”

“Wait, for real? So you're not a ‘first-date-kiss-virgin’, but a ‘0-date-virgin’? Geez~” she giggles, tapping her two middle fingers together with that same otter clap again. And god, she's so cute when she does that.

“So… does that mean I get to be your first first-date kiss?” she teases softly, eyes lingering on yours, face inching closer to you.

Your breath hitches in slight panic and you turn away, swirling your glass of cocktail again.

“Y-your turn! Truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

Her answer comes immediately.

You glance around — bar lights flashing, people laughing.

“Sing something,” you say quietly.

She blinks.

Then she grins.

“Here? In front of everyone?”

You shrug. “You wanted a dare.”

She laughs loudly and then stands up on the chair, clapping her hands to gather everyone's attention. The bar quiets a little.

“Ahem ahem,” she clears her throat, pointing to the band in the center. “Please play Love Wins All by IU.”

Once the guitarist starts strumming, she starts to sing. And you're mesmerised. Her voice is breathy and angelic, but it also carries a solid and strong base to it.

People cheer. Someone films it.

When the song ends, she bows dramatically, then jumps down and grabs your hand.

“Your turn.”

You shake your head.

“I’m good.”

“Fine. But you owe me,” she pouts, but her eyes are soft. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Why do I even bother asking…” she mumbles, before pausing to think for a second.

“Do you think I’m too much?”

You pause.

She’s still smiling, but there’s something softer behind it as she waits patiently for your reply.

You shrug and answer honestly.

“You’re… a lot. But I don’t mind.”

Her smile widens and her dimple deepens.

“Good answer.”

Then she downs the rest of her drink.

“Dare me.”

You hesitate.

She leans closer.

“Come on. Dare me.”

You glance out into the night sky, glancing at the flashing arcade lights, people laughing, and the city glittering below.

“Kiss me,” you say quietly.

She blinks, then she grins again.

“Here? In front of everyone?”

You shrug. “You wanted a dare.”

“It’s alright if you don't want to—”

She chuckles then grabs your collar, pulling you across the table, and kisses you.

It’s messy.

It’s enthusiastic.

It tastes like blue cocktail and adrenaline.

People whoop and whistle.

You both stay there, lips locked onto each other for a long moment, before she pulls back, cheeks pink, eyes shining.

“Best dare ever.”

“Yeah.”

She grabs your hand again.

“Come on. One more stop.”

The last stop — you hope — is a tiny karaoke booth in a basement arcade. When the door swings open, the lights inside are dim with a fake leather couch sitting against a wall, and a small table with two half-empty water bottles from the previous group.

“So what are we singing?” you say, already reaching for the control panel to select songs.

Liz locks the door behind you, and dims the overhead light to a soft pink glow, then turns to you with a nervous-excited grin.

“You’re so dense,” she says, grinning at you. “No singing tonight. Just… this.”

She pushes you onto the couch and kisses you right there and then. Your mind freezes. She's clearly tipsy from the cocktail earlier but fuck, she's also clearly conscious about it.

That's two kisses on your first date. Now you won't lose any truth or dare challenges.

Liz cups your face and leans in even more, tongue digging in as she sucks on yours, like she's starving for you. You reciprocate and hold on to her hips, holding her tight, gently biting on her lower lips as you kiss her back needily.

The wet smacking of your lips against each other fills the room. Her hands slide under your shirt and her fingers trace your skin. She whimpers into your mouth as you go deeper and harder, robbing and stealing the oxygen from her until you pull back slightly.

“You okay?”

She nods, eyes glassy and drunk with your taste.

“I want… more.”

You hesitate, but she senses it.

“Please,” she whispers. “I want to try… everything. With you.”

You look at her. She’s flushed, breathing fast, and her hands are trembling slightly.

“Okay.”

She smiles in relief.

Then she drops to her knees and settles between your thighs, right here, in the karaoke booth. She looks up at you with wide and eager eyes.

“Can I…?”

You hesitate a little, worrying about the public state of events.

“I want to… try more. With you.”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“You sure?”

She nods frantically. “I’ve never… done this before. Not to mention, we're in a public place.” Her voice drops even lower. “I’m scared I’ll mess it up. But I want to. Please?”

You swallow hard. “We can go slow,” you say quietly. “I’ll guide you. If it’s too much, we stop. Okay?”

“Okay.” She nods again, eyes shining with relief and excitement. The air in the booth is warm as she steadies herself against your thighs, the carpet rough under her shins, the booth’s fake leather creaking slightly.

Her hand flies to your belt, undoing it. Her fingers are clumsy from the alcohol, and she's giggling nervously from her fumble.

“Sorry… first time doing this in a karaoke booth.”

You smile despite the pounding in your chest, reaching down and stroking her cheek with your thumb.

“You’re okay. Take your time.”

She finally succeeds in freeing you and your already painfully hard cock.

Her eyes go wide.

“You’re… really big.”

She swallows visibly, nervousness flickering across her face.

“I’ve… never taken anything this big before. I don’t know if I can. None of my toys were this… big.”

Your hand stays gentle on her cheek.

“We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she says quickly, determined. “I just… don’t know how. Teach me? Please?”

Your breath catches.

“Okay.”

She licks her lips across her upper lips in anticipation then leans in. Her tongue flicks the tip of your cock experimentally, tasting you with feather-light laps.

You hiss, hips twitching forward involuntarily.

“Like that?” she pulls back, eyes flicking up to you in satisfaction.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Just like that. Slow… and swirl around the head.”

She follows your instruction, tongue circling the ridge slow and curious, tasting every inch. It’s messy and uncoordinated, but it feels god damn good. Saliva is already pooling at the corners of her mouth while her tongue moves, flowing in thin streams across the sides of her tongue onto your tip. Then she takes the head between her lips, making sure you stretch them wide, cheeks hollowing slightly as she sucks.

She tries to push further but gags almost immediately, throat fluttering. She pulls off with a wet pop and coughs once, eyes already starting to water.

“Sorry—still learning.”

You stroke her hair gently.

“You’re doing good. Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat.”

She nods, determined to do better, then goes back down. She goes deeper this time, taking you in inch by inch, lips stretched wide, tongue pressing flat against the underside. Her breathing is loud through her nose, sending hot little puffs against your skin.

She gags again, tears pricking her eyes, but she holds it there, throat working around you in tiny swallows. You feel her tongue explore around your shaft, sliding along the vein, circling the head when she pulls back halfway. Her hands grip your thighs, nails digging in slightly, anchoring herself as she tries to take you more.

She moans around you muffled, the vibration ripping up your spine, making you groan involuntarily.

“Am I’m good?” she pulls off and whispers, voice utterly wrecked.

“You’re so good,” you grunt. “So perfect. Look at you… taking me so well.”

Her eyes flutter from your praise and a soft whimper escapes her.

“More?”

You nod.

“More. Slow… just like that.”

She dives back in, bobbing now. It's clumsy but eager, and she tries to take more of you inside her each time. Her throat flutters and gags with tears spilling down her cheeks, but she doesn’t stop.

glk glk glk

She pulls off every few strokes, gasping for air, strings of spit hanging between her lips and your cock. “Look at me,” she pants. “Please… look at me while I do this.”

You can't even look away even if you tried. Her pupils are blown and her eyes are glassy, and her mascara is starting to run in short black tracks as she tears more and more.

She looks wrecked.

She looks beautiful.

She takes you deep again, nose almost brushing your pelvis this time, throat convulsing around you. You feel the coil tighten within you, and it's fast and almost painful.

She senses it and pulls off, stroking you fast and hard. Her slick hand glides over the spit and pre-cum around your cock. Each slide brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Hey. Look at this.” She whispers and grins, showing you her signature dimple again. “This is your third kiss on your first date.” Right as she says that, she latches her lips onto your cockhead and smooches it, sucking hard while she pumps you with both of her hands. Her tongue swirls and flicks your head while her lips wrap around it, saliva flowing down to lubricate your cock while she pumps and milks you.

“Cum for me,” she whispers. “Please. I want to taste you. I want… all of it. Let me make you feel good.”

She looks up, eyes locked on yours, tears streaming, mascara running, but she doesn’t break contact.

“I’m yours,” she mumbles around you.

The words hit harder than the vibration.

You break. Groaning, your hips buck into her mouth, spilling hot and thick across her tongue. She swallows everything you're expelling greedily and messily, some leaking from the corners of her mouth. She keeps you in the entire time, tongue flicking the underside, milking every last pulse.

When you’re entirely spent, she pulls off slowly. Her lips are swollen and glossed, chin glistening with saliva, and her eyes are shining with tears and pride. She licks her lips to catch the stray drops with her tongue.

“You taste good,” she says softly.

Then she giggles in sudden nervousness, as if the embarrassment only appeared now.

“That was… intense,” you say, pulling her up onto the couch beside you. You tilt her chin and kiss her deeply, tasting yourself on her tongue. She melts into you, clinging onto you, arms tight around your neck. You hold her there, breathing hard, cock still out but spent, heart hammering against hers.

Later, back at your place — yes, she insisted on staying over at your place because she feels tipsy — she falls asleep curled against your chest.

You stare at the ceiling.

You think you're in love with her.

***

“Will that get me a pass on the ride?” you say, frowning in exasperation.

“You think?” she giggles, arm hooked into yours.

The week after the karaoke booth feels like the world tilted slightly off-axis. Jiwon doesn’t slow down. Instead, she speeds up even more. Yes, you're calling her Jiwon now. You insisted on it after the karaoke night despite her playful reluctance, because you wanted to mean something to her beyond the nickname. She rolled her eyes… but smiled the whole time.

On Monday afternoon she texts you a single photo with a roller coaster loop-de-loop at Lotte World, neon lights streaking behind it like comet tails.

<Jiwon 🌀, 2:14 p.m.> Tonight. 7 pm. Lotte World. Bring your scream face~

<Jiwon 🌀, 2:14 p.m.> Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand the whole time

You stare at the message for an hour. Okay, maybe not an hour. But your phone screen with that message on it remained on your desk while you worked, and your eyes kept flicking to it for an hour.

You’ve never been a roller coaster person, but you still reply with an “Okay”. No questions. No hesitation. You’re already learning that with Jiwon, hesitation just delays the inevitable.

You meet her at the entrance at 6:55 p.m. — five minutes early, because old habits die hard. She’s bouncing on her toes in the ticket line, wearing a cropped hoodie, denim shorts, and sneakers that look like they’ve seen a thousand adventures. When she spots you she squeals and runs over, nearly tripping on her own shoelaces.

“You’re early again!” she exclaims. “Responsible guy strikes once more!”

“Were all your dates always late? I don't like to keep people waiting, especially you.”

“That’s so… sweet,” her smile softens.

She grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the gate. “Come on! The line for Atlantis is already long!” Atlantis is the big one, the indoor/outdoor coaster with the massive loop and the drop into darkness. Rumour says, okay maybe not rumours, Naver says that as “one of the scariest rides at Lotte World, it features steep drops, sharp turns, and a 2,198-foot, 1.5-minute, 3.8 G-force experience”. Whatever that means, it means you're fucked.

The queue is a snake of teenagers and tourists. Jiwon chatters the whole time, bouncing from foot to foot, pointing at the track, telling you about the time she rode it with friends and “almost threw up but it was worth it.”

And you? You listen quietly, nodding occasionally. Half your mind is focused on her quirky talk, but the other half is focused on the shortening queue and your impending doom. She glances at you every few minutes, like she’s checking if your soul is still there.

When you finally reach the front she grips your hand tight.

“You ready?”

You look at her and her eyes are bright, cheeks pink from excitement, hair already messy from the wind machines in line.

“Yeah,” you say, sucking in a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

The ride starts slow, climbing the lift hill with the reminiscent click-click-click that you hear every time you watch Final Destination — why the fuck are you remembering that now.

Liz squeezes your hand harder. “I’m not scared,” she says, voice higher than usual. You don’t answer, because that's obviously a lie that she's telling herself, but you hope that line will give you both strength to overcome—

The drop comes mid thought. She screams loud and delighted, hand gripping your arm so hard her nails leave marks onto your skin. Well, it hurts, but at least the pain helps you focus and keeps your mind from reeling. The loop flips you upside down and your world inverts, and her scream turns into laughter.

When the ride ends she’s laughing breathlessly, hair wild from the wind.

“That was amazing! Your face was so calm the whole time. How are you not scared?”

“I-I trust the machine,” you lie blatantly.

She laughs harder, but she leans in to kiss your cheek.

“My brave quiet guy—hurk—bleagh—”

Jiwon bends to the side and starts to gag, the spinning from the rollercoaster ride finally starting to kick in. Her knees start to wobble and you lunge forward to catch her before she falls, supporting her as you help her to the side.

“You okay? Take it easy,” you pat on her back concerned, taking a grape flavoured sweet out from your pocket. Here, suck on this. It’ll help you feel slightly better.

“You… brought that for me?”

“Mhmm. I knew one of us would gag, and sweets will definitely help with calming your churning stomach.”

“Gee thanks~” she says, popping the sweet into her mouth. “You're so sweet, like this sweet,” she blushes.

“You sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine, it's not the first time I'm gagging anyway. Remember? I was just gagging on your cock last week.”

“...”

She chuckles and wraps her arms around your neck.

The next thing you know, she's gagging on your cock in your car at the parking lot. You drove today because you didn't intend to drink. Well, that's the least of your concern, because right now, her mouth feels so god damn warm and wet around you.

“Car sex?” she whispered earlier when closing the car door, eyes sparkling. “It’s risky, it’s hot, it’s new!”

You hesitated and glanced around.

The lot is dark with few cars left, and the security cameras are probably too far to matter.

She senses your pause.

“Please?” she whined softly. “Just this once. With you.”

“Okay.”

glk glk glk glk

Jiwon’s taking your entire cock without restraint right now, body bent onto you as she sits right beside you. Her throat is stretching much more easily around you as compared to last week — you don't bother to ask why, but perhaps she has been practicing at home — and your cock is spearing her throat much deeper than before. Each bob of her head onto your cock makes you groan louder and harder, and you gather her hair into a bunch to the side to let her throat fuck you without restraint.

glk glk glk glk glk

“Bwah—” she lifts herself off your cock to catch a breath, before turning to smile at you. Her make up is slightly messed up and her lipstick is smudged, and gosh right now, she looks so fucking sexy.

“Your cock… it tastes so fucking good…”

She dives back down and bobs even harder and faster, desperate to claim every moan that comes out of your mouth, desperate to claim every drop of pre-cum leaking from your slit.

Each bob brings you closer and closer to the edge, and you don't know what it is, but her throat feels heavenly. Is that why she is so good at singing? Every thrust into her oral cavity has her throat muscles quivering and massaging your shaft, melting your mind into an euphoric pleasure.

“J-Jiwon—”

“Mhmm?” she pulls off, grinning at you. “I got better right?” She holds the base of your cock and lightly slaps it on her cheek, before giving your tip a few kitten licks. She then lets your cock go and climbs onto you, straddling you. Her hoodie is pushed up and her shorts are already shoved down to her ankles.

She’s needily rocking against your cock with her clothed pussy, whimpering. “Please… I need you inside… now…”

“Y-yea, condom—” you grunt, trying to take the packet that you’ve kept in your pocket since like forever — just in case you ever got laid on a date, which is apparently happening right now.

“No condom, please…” she begs.

“No Jiwon, I won't do it unless we use a condom,” you say firmly.

She looks into your eyes, desperate for your rawness, but your eyes tell a different story.

“Fine. One day I’ll get your raw cock in my pussy, and you’ll regret fucking me with one.”

You tear open the packet, hands steady despite the adrenaline still buzzing in your veins. She watches you with dark eyes, lips parted, then helps you roll it on, fingers trembling slightly.

She lifts her hips slightly and grabs your cock with one hand. With the other, she pulls her panties to the side, exposing her already dripping folds and lowers herself onto you, sliding you in slowly and carefully.

The heat of her swallows you whole.

She gasps at the fullness, head falling back against the headrest, hands braced on your shoulders. Her walls flutter around you instantly, slick and tight, still pulsing from the adrenaline high of the ride.

“Fuck—” she breathes. “So full… you’re so deep already…”

Your hands find her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, steadying her as she starts to move.

She doesn’t ease into it.

She bounces.

Earnestly.

Desperately.

Every downward slam makes her breasts jiggle under the cropped hoodie, makes the car rock on its suspension, makes wet slapping sounds fill the small space between you. You thrust up to meet her, but it's controlled at first, matching her rhythm. And god forbid you, because you want to go faster.

She moans loudly and unrestrained, head thrown back so far that she's bumping lightly on the car’s ceiling with every rise.

“Yes—yes—fuck me like that—”

Her dirty talk spills out in broken gasps, voice still hoarse and wrecked from screaming on the coaster and now from this.

“Harder—please—make me feel it—make me feel you—”

You grip her hips tighter and pull her down harder on every bounce. The newfound angle lets you hit deep, deeper than the toys she’s used to and she keens every time your pelvis grinds against her clit. You slide both hands upwards from her hips, snaking under her hoodie, pushing the fabric up until her breasts spill free. You reach behind and unhook her bra, tugging it upwards to her wrists only to hook and tie them again.

Her wrists are now bound.

Back to her tits. They're soft and warm and stiff, dark nipples begging for attention. The size is perfect, resting right in your palms as you cup them both, rolling and kneading as she grinds and rocks her hips on you. You lean forward and take one into your mouth, tongue swirling round, lips sucking hard. Her back arches violently and a choked cry rips out of her.

“Oh god—yes—suck them—please—”

You switch to the other, teeth grazing lightly as your tongue flicks the peak. She rides you faster, hips snapping down, walls clenching every time you apply that soft, gentle suction.

The car is rocking harder now as its springs creak, windows completely fogged from your body heat and passion.

Her moans turn into high, frantic whimpers.

“I’m—close—fuck—I’m gonna—”

You thrust up harder, driving into her relentlessly on every downstroke. Jiwon shatters and cums with a scream, whole body seizing, walls clamping down so tight you almost lose it right there.

Warmth floods around the condom and she squirts onto you, a sudden gush that soaks your lap, the seat and her shorts.

She’s shaking from the sensation and her thighs are trembling, but she's already moving again. Tears streak down her cheeks from the intensity, but her hips snap down harder and faster more urgently, as if she's forcing herself onto you to chase the aftershocks of her first orgasm, while trying to pull you into one with her.

The car rocks violently now. The suspension springs are groaning under the force and the windows are completely fogged over, the outside world reduced to nothing but blurry neon smears. These are the least of your concerns, because right now, only Jiwon is in your eyes.

You thrust up to meet her drops, and they're no longer gentle, no longer measured.

Your hands move back and clamp onto her hips, fingers digging harder into her soft flesh, guiding her rhythm while also anchoring her so she can bounce even harder.

“Fuck—yes—right there—” she gasps.

Taking one hand off her hips, you reach upwards to grab her bound wrists, leaning forward to lick the sweat that’s beading off her collarbone. Peppering her neck with kisses, you move downwards and latch your mouth onto one nipple again, sucking hard and fast, making her arch violently.

“Suck harder—please—bite—fuck—”

Your teeth close around the peak as her hips smack wetly onto you, tongue flicking rapidly on her nipples. Your hand slides from her hips, between your bodies to find her swollen clit. Your thumb rubs in tight, fast circles, matching the brutal pace of her bouncing.

She’s riding you like she’s trying to break you, or break herself, hips slamming down so hard the sound of skin on skin is obscene, wet, echoing in the confined space.

The car smells like the sex of her thick and musky arousal, mixed with cherry lip gloss, your sweat, the faint rubber of the condom, and the lingering adrenaline from the coaster that's still clinging to both of you.

Her walls are fluttering again, and her orgasm is already climbing, clenching around you in erratic pulses.

“I’m—gonna—again—fuck—I can’t—”

You thrust up harder, driving deep on every bounce. She screams and her body seizes. The second orgasm hits her like a freight train and she squirts again, even harder this time. The hot gush soaks your lap, dripping down your balls.

She’s sobbing now, pleasure so sharp it looks like she's hurting.

But you don’t stop.

You can’t stop.

She's crying for you not to stop.

You’re chasing your own high now, hips snapping up, fucking into her through her spasms. Her walls are still fluttering, milking you and the overstimulation makes her voice break into high, keening whimpers.

“Too much—too much—oh god—don’t stop—don’t stop—”

You suck harder on her nipple, teeth closing as your thumb presses mercilessly on her clit.

Her third orgasm crashes almost immediately, sharper, shorter, and more violent than the last. Her back arches so sharply her head slams and hits against the roof, a choked sob ripping out of her. Her walls clamp down on you like a vise, pulling you over the edge.

You groan against her breast, hips bucking one last time as you unload hard into the condom.

Pulse after pulse of white, thick cum bursts out of your slit, heat flooding the latex. The sensation is so intense it makes your vision white out for a second.

Your grip on her wrists loosens and she collapses forward, chest heaving against yours, arms wrapped around your neck like she’ll never let go. Both of you are shaking and breathing in harsh, ragged gasps.

The car is a sauna. Windows opaque, air thick with the scent of sex, salt from both of your cum and sweat.

She trembles in your arms, shaking in aftershocks that's still running through her. She's crying with small, hiccupping sobs against your neck. You rub your hands in slow circles on her back gently, kissing her temple, her cheek, the corner of her eye where tears still cling.

“You okay?” you murmur.

She nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah… just… wow.”

You stay like that for a long minute, letting her calm down, breathing together. Eventually she lifts her head. Her eyes are still glassy from the waning pleasure pain, but she's still smiling.

“That was… a lot.”

“Yeah.”

She giggles weakly then nuzzles into your neck.

“Best second-date souvenir ever,” she whispers.

You smile into her hair and carry her to the front passenger seat, driving her home. She falls asleep in the passenger seat, hand still curled around yours above the gear stick.

You glance at her sleeping face when you stop at a traffic light. She's peacefully sleeping now and you feel that same tightness in your chest.

You love her joy.

You love her chaos.

But you’re starting to wonder how long she can keep running at this speed before she crashes, because you know that constantly surging ahead means an inevitable burnout.

You don’t say anything.

Not yet.

***

Every week is a new and fresh date. Just like a whirlwind that gets stronger during intense temperature increments, her passion and infatuation with you grows stronger.

The weekend after the roller coaster feels like the whirlwind is spinning faster.

Jiwon texts you on Friday night with a single photo of a creepy clown mask from Nightmare Valley Horror Park’s website. Its red lips are stretched in an evil grin with void black eyes.

<Jiwon 🌀, 9:37 p.m.> Tomorrow. 9 pm. Nightmare Valley. Bring your scream face again 🎃

<Jiwon 🌀, 9:37 p.m.> I’ll hide behind you the whole time (promise I won’t bite… maybe 😈)

You stare at the message and your mind begins to shake. You’ve never been to a horror park. God you hate horror stuff. Why would you pay to be scared? But you already know the answer.

<You, 9:45 p.m.> Okay. See you there.

<Jiwon 🌀, 9:46 p.m.> 👻 ❤️ Woooooooo~

<Jiwon 🌀, 9:46 p.m.> Eheheheheheh~

You sigh in defeat, but there’s a tiny smile tugging at your mouth. You’re getting used to this.

Saturday evening arrives humid and heavy with the kind of air that clings to your skin. You park your car and meet her at the entrance. She’s dressed for the occasion: a black mesh crop top with a large red glittery star emblazoned across the chest. Ripped black jeans hug her legs, ending in chunky sneakers, and her long blonde hair is pulled into high twin ponytails, each tied with a massive red ribbon that bounces with every excited step she takes.

“Wow, you… look like a doll,” you stammer, gawking at her cute yet chic outfit.

“Pretty right? I tried to take a little inspiration from Harley Quinn, but I didn't want to look so… weird, so I settled with something more toned down!”

“Really? Elizabeth Helga Muller, toned down?” you look at her, raising an eyebrow in doubt.

She chortles a laughter and throws her arms around your neck. “I thought you would chicken out, but here you are~ My reliable guy.”

She grabs your hand and laces her fingers around yours, dragging you through the ticket gate.

The park is already dark. She said she purposely chose this timing to avoid the crowd and queuing, but it only served to make the whole park quieter and spookier. Fog machines pump white clouds across the paths, red emergency lights pulse like heartbeats, and distant screams echo from the haunted house.

The ball of energy beside you bounces on her toes. “First the big one. Haunted Manor. Then the mirror maze. Ready?”

You nod.

She squeezes your hand tighter.

“I’m brave,” she says and nods, huffing out a short breath before puffing up her chest. “Totally brave.”

You don’t comment.

The Haunted Manor line short, just a few teenagers in front of you giggling nervously and a couple behind you whispering bets on who’ll scream first. Jiwon chatters the whole time while waiting for your turn, pointing at the fake blood on the walls, telling you about the time she watched a horror movie alone and slept with the lights on for a week.

You listen quietly, nodding occasionally.

She glances at you every few minutes, checking if you’re still there. “Don't tell me you're scared of ghosts?” she mocks.

“Uhhh… aren't you?”

“Duh? Obviously not?”

“Then why are you teasing me?”

“Because it's fun to see you flustered, expressionless man~”

You poke her dimple when she laughs.

When you finally reach the front she grips your hand so hard her knuckles go white.

“You ready?”

You look at her. Her cheeks are pink from excitement, but her hands are sweaty from nerves, hair already frizzing from the fog.

“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s go.”

The door opens and darkness swallows you both. Inside it’s pitch black with only strobe lights and red emergency strips. Actors lunge from corners. Zombies, clowns, bloody nurses. Jiwon screams loudly and hides behind you every time something jumps out. Her feet freezes every few steps and she clings on to your arm, giggling between shrieks.

“I’m not scared,” she insists, but her voice shakes in betrayal. “Totally not scared.”

A zombie actor lunges from the side this time and she yelps, burying her face in your back. You keep walking calmly, guiding her forward.

She peeks out from behind you then laughs.

“You’re so steady. How are you not screaming?”

“I trust the actors won’t actually eat us.”

She laughs harder, but clings tighter.

“But. You have no idea, but my ass is clenched so tightly right now,” you declare with a sharp breath drawn.

She laughs even harder, hand covering her mouth in amusement.

When you both finally reach the exit, she’s breathless with her hair wild from all the ducking and jumpscares, but her eyes are bright with relief.

“That was amazing! You were like a human shield.”

“Anytime,” you smile.

She gives you a quick peck on your cheek.

“My hero.”

The Haunted Manor exit spits you both back into the humid night air, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline and the faint smell of fake fog clinging to your clothes. Jiwon’s hand is still in yours, fingers laced tight, but her grip is a little looser now. After all, the haunted house is over. She glances at you sideways, eyes still bright, but there’s a tiny tremor in her smile.

“Mirror maze next?” she asks.

You nod. She takes it as her cue and pulls you towards the glowing neon sign that reads: Lost Forever – Enter at Your Own Risk.

The entrance is quieter than the manor, fewer people, no long queue. She pays for both tickets (she insisted) then turns to you with a mischievous grin.

“I’m gonna get lost on purpose,” she whispers. “You have to come find me. And when you do…”

She trails off, eyes flicking toward the dark mouth of the maze.

Your stomach flips.

She doesn’t wait for an answer and leads you inside. The moment the door closes behind you, the world shrinks into reflections and echoes.

The maze is a labyrinth of floor-to-ceiling mirrors with cold glass on every side, endless Jiwons and endless yous stretching into infinity in every direction. The lighting is low and shifting with blue and purple strobes that make the reflections flicker like multiple versions of you both are breathing at slightly different speeds.

Every step echoes with soft thuds and clicks on mirrored floor, the sound multiplied a hundred times over in accordance to the reflections.

All of a sudden, Jiwon lets go of your hand and surges away.

“Catch me~” she sing-songs, her voice bouncing off the glass in overlapping layers. She darts left and disappears, pigtails swinging, red ribbons flashing in the strobes of light.

You shake your head and follow calmly, turning corners, listening for her giggles. She’s fast, but not subtle. You hear her laugh, then a soft “oops” as she bumps into a mirror.

“Wrong way!”

Another giggle. She's closer now.

You turn right, then left, then another left.

The reflections make it disorienting. Every mirror shows a different Jiwon, one laughing, one biting her lip, one looking back over her shoulder with wide eyes. You swore you saw one where her face is laced with fear and panic.

You keep walking.

Eventually you find her.

She’s in a small dead-end nook with three mirrors boxing her in, infinite Jiwons staring back from every angle. She’s breathing fast and her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with excitement and something darker. She sees you in the mirror first and smiles with her dimple flashing.

“Found me.”

You step into the nook, boots soft on the mirrored floor.

“Let's go,” you say, reaching your hand out to her. But she turns and presses her back against the cool glass, pulling you in by the front of your shirt. The mirror is cold against her spine, and you feel her shiver through the fabric.

“Kiss me,” she whispers.

You lean forward and taste the faint cherry gloss still on her lips, the salt of her skin, the adrenaline still buzzing through both of you from the haunted house. Her hands slide across your shirt, fingers tracing your sides, then higher, nails grazing your ribs.

She moans softly into your mouth, hips pressing forward, grinding against you through denim. The mirrors multiply every movement of the infinite Jiwons arching into infinite versions of you, infinite hands sliding across infinite shirts, infinite mouths opening in silent gasps.

You pull back just enough to speak.

“Here?”

She nods, lips parted, eyes dark with want.

“Here. In the mirrors. I want to watch myself… while you…” she trails off, but her hands are already tugging at the waistband of her pants. “Eat me.”

You glance around. The maze is quiet with distant laughter and screams from the other minimal visitors, and no footsteps are close.

You nod.

“Okay, but we have to be quick.”

She smiles and guides your hand between her legs. You push her pants down and slide her panties aside, fingers finding her already slick, swollen, pulsing with heat. She gasps into your touch, hips jerking forward, and the mirrors show it from every angle. Her mouth falls open, head tilting back against the glass, thighs parting wider, your hand disappearing between them.

You kneel and spread her legs wider. Jiwon's back arches against the mirror, hands tangling in your hair. You lean in and press your tongue flat on her wetness, tasting her.

She exhales with a loud broken moan, head falling back against the glass with a soft thud. The sound echoes and reverberates around the mirrors, multiplied by every reflection, each reflection moaning at slightly different delays.

“Look at me,” she whispers. “In the mirrors. Look at us.”

You glance up.

The reflections are endless. Jiwon multiplied forever, face flushed, mouth open, eyes glassy. Your head is nested between her thighs, her fingers tight in your hair, her breasts rising and falling under. Your senses are overwhelmed and going into overdrive from the infinite versions of her trembling, infinite versions of you licking.

Every mirror shows a different detail: one catches the way her thighs shake, another the way her back arches against the glass, a third the tears already forming at the corners of her eyes from the intensity, a fourth the way her lips part in a silent scream when your tongue circles her clit, a fifth the way her fingers tighten in your hair so hard her knuckles turn white, a sixth the way her hips buck forward involuntarily, chasing your tongue.

She watches herself moaning and trembling.

“Oh god… look at me… look at how I’m shaking… look at my face—oh fuck—I look so… desperate… so needy…”

You lick harder, tongue circling her clit, fingers sliding inside, curling up to find that spot that makes her gasp.

Her reflections react in waves. One Jiwon arches, another sobs, a third bites her lip so hard it turns white, a fourth’s hands tighten in your hair so hard her knuckles turn white, a fifth’s thighs tremble violently, a sixth’s back bows so sharply her shoulders slam against the glass.

The sensory overload makes her nerves go on overdrive and she cums fast, crying out as her walls flutter around your fingers. She shakes as a gush of wetness coats your tongue and chin, some sprinkling onto the mirror floor beneath.

Her reflection shows everything. Head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream, tears streaming, thighs trembling violently around your head, infinite Jiwons cumming at once.

She looks wrecked.

She looks beautiful.

But she begs you not to stop.

“More,” she breathes. “Please… I want to see myself cum again.”

You add a second finger inside her, thrusting slowly, tongue flicking her clit in tight circles.

She watches the mirrors, eyes locked on her own reflection, moaning louder.

“Fuck—look at me—look at how I’m shaking—look at my face—oh god I’m so wet—look at my pussy taking your fingers—”

Her voice cracks with every pump, thighs clamping around your head. Her second orgasm hits harder and faster, her back bowing so sharply her shoulders slam against the glass, a choked sob ripping out.

She squirts and sends a fresh wave of hot liquid that coats your chin, dripping down your neck, pooling on the carpet.

The mirrors fog slightly from her heavy breathing, her reflections blurring at the edges, making the scene look dreamlike, surreal. She grabs on to your head tightly, holding you in place, refusing to let you go. She doesn't say anything other than a few whimpers, but you take it as her cue to not stop.

And so you lap and lick and finger and thrust into her, until her third orgasm crashes almost immediately. Her legs buckle from the weakness and you catch her hips, keeping her upright, licking her through it until she’s trembling, oversensitive, whimpering.

“Please… enough… I can’t—”

You finally pull back and kiss the inside of her thigh tenderly, then stand. She collapses against you, arms around your neck, breathing ragged.

“That was… intense.”

You kiss her slowly and let her taste herself on your tongue.

“Thank you.”

You rub slow circles on her back.

“Anytime.”

She giggle then nuzzles into your neck.

“I like watching myself with you.”

You smile into her hair.

“I like watching you too.”

On the way out she’s quiet, clinging to your arm, smiling.

But her smile looks forced.

***

“Jiwon…”

“I’m terrified,” she whispers.

“Then why are we here?” you whisper back.

“I’m scared shitless of heights but I wanna do it.”

“...”

“Puh-lease?”

You keep quiet and squeeze her hand harder.

The instructor straps her in, harness tight around her chest and thighs, ankle cuffs clipped to the cord.

She stands at the edge with her toes curled over the lip as the wind whips her ponytail. She peers down and looks at the river far below.

Her knees are visibly shaking.

She looks back at you with trembling eyes.

“I love you,” she says suddenly.

Your heart stutters.

“I love you too,” you say.

She smiles and then turns forward, arms wrapped tightly around you as you get strapped too.

“Can we opt out now?” you plead.

“No.”

“Pleas—”

“3… 2… 1… BUNGEE!”

She jumps and pulls you along with her.

Her scream rips through the air as you both fall together, body plummeting towards the water. You grip her so hard that your knuckles turn white.

When the cord stretches to the maximum, it bounces back upwards, not before recoiling and you both fall downwards again. The cycle repeats for a few more times until your screams turn into laughter, then sobs, then laughter then sobs again.

When they pull you both back up she’s crying and laughing at the same time, but she's shaking so hard her teeth’s chattering.

You hope that she'd enjoyed herself out there, but she collapses into your arms the second she’s unclipped, face buried in your chest, sobbing openly.

“I did it,” she whispers. “I did it.”

You hold her tight, hand stroking her back.

“I’m proud of you.”

You sigh and wonder when she’ll actually stop forcing herself, because the more you spend time with her, the more you know that she doesn't want to do any of this.

The rooftop bar gathering is later that evening. The same place as before, same group of friends.

The sun has already set with city lights glittering below, music pulsing softly.

Jiwon is quieter than usual, still flushed and recovering mentally from the jump, clinging to your arm more than normal.

Her friends are loud and drunk, talking about sex like it’s a competition. And by now, the news of you and Jiwon dating is already known by all.

“Vanilla is so mid,” one girl says, rolling her eyes. “You gotta level up or you’ll bore him.”

Another laughs. “My ex used handcuffs and it was insane. Try bondage — trust me.”

Jiwon laughs along, but her smile is tight. You sense the force in her laughter. She glances at you nervously then changes the subject.

“Anyway! Who wants another round?”

The conversation moves on.

But you notice.

Her hand on your arm is shaking slightly.

After the group leaves — hugging, promising to meet again soon — she leans against you on the rooftop edge. The wind is cooler now, city lights reflecting in her eyes.

She’s quiet. Unusually quiet.

You hold her hand tight.

She doesn’t speak for a long minute.

Then:

“I want to try something really intense next time.”

You look at her.

“Like what?”

She swallows, eyes flicking away.

“I want to see… how many times I can cum. Like… really push it.”

You feel the tightness in your chest again, sharper this time.

“You sure?”

She nods and smiles, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

You don’t answer right away.

You just hold her hand tighter.

She yawns, and quickly tries to cover it, but you see the way her eyelids droop a little, the way her shoulders sag when she thinks you’re not looking.

***

The days after the rooftop bar feel like walking on cracking ice.

Jiwon keeps smiling and keeps texting and keeps planning, but the cracks are showing.

Her messages come slower and her emojis fewer. She yawns in the middle of voice notes and laughs too quickly to cover it.

You notice everything, but you say nothing.

Friday night she sends only one message:

<Jiwon 🌀, 8:14 p.m.> Tomorrow. My place. 8 pm.

<Jiwon 🌀, 8:14 p.m.> The thing I talked about on the roof. Really push it. Please?

There’s no emojis. No playful tone. Just quiet.

You stare at the screen until it goes dark from the automatic time out of five minutes.

You type back an “Okay”.

She replies almost instantly.

<Jiwon 🌀, 8:20 p.m.> Thank you. I love you.

The words feel heavier than ever.

You arrive at 7:52 p.m., eight minutes early.

She opens the door wearing only an oversized hoodie with no shorts, bare legs, bare feet. Her hair is loose and unbrushed, eyes shadowed with exhaustion she’s trying to hide behind a smile.

“You came,” she says softly.

“I said I would.”

She pulls you inside and locks the door, leaning against it for a long second like she’s reconsidering what is about to happen.

The living room is lit with only the main ceiling light on, dimmed into a soft dull glow. The coffee table has the familiar setup of soft pink bondage tape, the bullet vibrator, lube, and the Hitachi wand she didn't use the last time.

But there’s something new.

A full-length mirror propped against the wall — the one from her bedroom — angled so the couch is fully reflected.

She sees you staring.

“I thought… it would be hot. To watch.”

Her voice is small.

You nod.

She fidgets, fingers twisting the her shirt.

Wrists and ankles again. And… the vibrator. A lot of it.

She looks up, eyes searching yours.

“I want to see… how many times I can cum. Like… really push it. Until I can’t anymore.”

Your stomach drops. You’ve done light bondage before at her request, but this feels like walking into a storm you can already see coming.

You hesitate much longer than the previous time and she notices.

“If you don’t want to—”

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly. “But red means stop. Immediately. No hesitation. Promise me.”

She nods fast, too fast.

“Red. Yea. I promise.”

She sits on the couch.

You kneel between her legs, trembling slightly. You start with her wrists, pulling them to the side, wrapping the tape slowly and carefully around the arm rests, leaving it still loose enough so that she can slip free if she needs to.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

“Tighter.”

You adjust and pull the tape until she nods, breathing shallowly.

“Yeah… tight… but good.”

You move to her ankles, securing them to the couch legs, spreading her thighs just enough.

She tests the restraints and wiggles, trying to break free. She's fastened tight.

“Feels… safe. With you.” She smiles softly.

“Good girl.” You kiss her forehead.

She whimpers from it, already wet.

You shift the couch until the mirror directly is in her line of sight. She looks at her reflection: Kim Jiwon bound and waiting to be worked, and she shivers from the positive (?) anticipation.

“Turn the light up a little,” she whispers. “I want to see everything.”

The walk to the switch and turn the knob, adjusting the variable resistor until the room brightens to show her bounded body in full view. You start with your fingers, drawing slow circles on her clit before thrusting gently inside. She moans and rocks her hips, eyes locked on the mirror.

“Look at me,” she breathes. “Look how wet I am already…”

You add the small bullet vibrator, pressing it to her clit on low. She gasps immediately, back arching on the couch as she tries to reach for something, but her hands are bound tight.

“Oh god… that’s… so good…”

You keep it steady, watching her face in the mirror, watching her dissolve in pleasure. Her first orgasm comes fast, and she's shaking through it, crying out your name as her walls flutter around your fingers, sending a small gush that soaks your hand.

She pants as her orgasm dies down. “More… please… I can take more…”

You edge her next, bringing her close, not before pulling the vibrator away. She whines from the loss of sensation, hips chasing after you, but she can't move.

“Please… don’t stop… I need it… I’m not boring… I’m fun… right?”

Her voice cracks on the last word that's filled with desperate self-reassurance. You stay silent throughout and bring her close again, and again, and again, and again, edging her four times in total.

Each time she chants frantically.

“I can take it… I want it… keep going… tell me I’m good… please say I’m good…”

You press the vibrator back onto her pussy and turn it up one notch. She cums right there and then, walls clamping around the small bullet as she sends another gush of wetness that soaks the couch.

You don't stop.

You turn the vibrator up to the maximum, pressing it firmly. Her third orgasm builds quickly. She’s crying out loud right now as her body jerks on the couch, pussy squeezing and clenching with convulsions that rolls through her for nearly thirty seconds.

By the fourth, you have added the Hitachi to her clit, the intense vibrations sending her into a full minute of continuous spasms.

“M-more—I can take—it—”

The vibrators are all on maximum intensity at this point and they remain fixed onto her sensitive pussy.

Fifth orgasm. She’s sobbing now, pleasure turning sharp, body locking up for a duration you can't count. Her thighs quivering uncontrollably, mirrors showing every twitch multiplied.

“Please… more… I can take it… I’m not done… I’m fun… right? Tell me I’m fun…”

Sixth: she’s babbling “too much… too good… please… keep going… don’t let me be boring…”, orgasm dragging on for over two minutes with full-body convulsions, sweat pouring, skin blotching red from the panting.

Seventh: her thighs clamp around your hand, liquid flowing freely from her eyes and pussy right now. Her voice is hoarse and the reflections in the mirror shows her head thrashing side to side.

“We green?”

“Yes—yes—fuck don't you dare stop—I need to prove—fuck cumming—”

She's cumming for the eighth time. She's already limp on the couch, voice cracking into near-silent gasp, body jerking in slow, exhausted pulses.

On the ninth her voice breaks completely. “I can’t… I can’t… it hurts… but don’t stop… I’m not boring… please…” Her orgasm stretches past long minutes, and she's shaking with full-body tremors, tears soaking the couch, reflections blurring into a smeared chaos of flushed skin and black mascara rivers.

On the tenth, she’s barely coherent, shaking violently, tears and sweat soaking everything. She’s choking on her own whimpers, mirror magnifying every shudder infinitely.

Your hand is trembling, wondering if you should stop despite her not using the safe word. Your heart wants to stop, but you know that you should keep going, because she trusts you.

She’s right at the edge of the eleventh and her hips are thrashing, walls fluttering wildly, body locked in pre-orgasm tension. Her reflection in the mirror shows a final, fractured version of herself — mouth open in a silent scream, eyes wide with panic — and something in her gaze finally breaks.

“RED!”

The word rips out of her, shattering the room.

You stop instantly, pulling the vibrators off and throw them to the side, hands pressing gently on her face, thumb rubbing across her cheeks. You continue to untie her wrists and ankles quickly, but also carefully at the same time. Her entire body is trembling in microspasms, to the point that it feels like she's shivering from extreme cold.

Once done, you carry her into your arms and sit on the couch, holding her tight as she curls into you. Her tears flow freely as you shush her, body still spasming with leftover aftershocks. You rock her slowly, hands patting softly on her back.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve stopped earlier.”

She shakes her head while her face is buried in your chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

“No… it’s not you. It’s me.”

She cries even harder, body shaking with the force of it. You stroke her hair slowly, whispering soft reassurances that everything is fine now. She clings onto you like she’s afraid to let go.

The room is quiet now, with only her hiccupping breaths and the faint hum of the vibrator forgotten on the floor.

You don’t move.

You just hold her, rubbing gently on her wrists.

Your heart breaks.

Her wrists are red from the tape faint lines where she pulled and struggled against, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“I… I lied to myself,” she whispers. “I kept saying I wanted it. I kept saying it was fun. That I needed to… to keep up. To not be boring. To not regret anything when I’m older.”

Fresh tears spill at the confession.

“It’s nice when I do things together with you, but I never wanted any of it. Not really.”

She swallows.

“I was scared. Scared that if I slowed down… if I just wanted normal things… you’d get bored. Or I’d wake up one day and hate myself for wasting my youth. For not trying everything.”

You kiss and cup her face, thumbs wiping the unabating tear tracks.

“You’re not wasting anything.”

She shakes her head again.

“My mom… she never let me do anything. Said I was too young. Too unsafe. So I grew up thinking… if I didn’t grab every chance, I’d end up like her. Regretting everything.”

She sniffles in between the sobs.

“And my aunt… she did the opposite. Took every risk. Traveled everywhere. Started her business young. Now she’s a millionaire… but she’s alone. No family. No partner. She calls me sometimes and says ‘don’t waste your youth like I did by playing it safe’… but she’s miserable. She’s so fucking miserable.”

Jiwon’s shoulders shake.

“I didn’t want to end up like either of them. So I just… kept pushing. Kept saying yes. Kept thinking ‘one more thing, one more thing, then I’ll be okay’. But I’m not okay. I’m exhausted. I’m so fucking exhausted.”

She buries her face again, crying into your neck.

“I don’t want to try anymore. I just want… you. I want to wake up with you and not have to prove anything. I want to be boring with you. I want to be safe with you.”

You hold her tighter, heart aching painfully.

“I was doing it for you,” you say quietly. “All of it. The dom stuff. The roles. The pushing. I thought that’s what you needed. But I never wanted it either. I just wanted you. I love you exactly like this.”

“Look at me. You were drawn to me because I'm ‘boring and quiet’ right? So why don't you do the same for yourself and be yourself? If you can accept me for how and who I am, why don't you do the same and let people accept you for who you actually are and want to be?”

She lifts her head, searching yours.

“You mean that?”

“I mean it.”

Fresh tears spill again, but these are different.

They are tears of relief.

“I love you, Jiwon-ah. So you don't have to force yourself to do things that you don't want to.”

She nods shakily.

“I love you too.”

She lifts her head and kisses you, tasting salt and tears and cherry gloss.

You kiss her back gently, hands cradling her face.

“Make love to me,” she whispers. “No games. No restraints. Just us.”

“Okay.”

You carry her to the bed and set her down carefully, undressing her, pulling her oversized t-shirt off. You kiss every inch of her skin that's revealed. She reciprocates and undresses you as well, fingers tracing birth marks, moles, lines, memorising you like she's afraid she'll forget.

You stand in between her legs at first, sliding the latex on before laying down on top of her and sliding inside her. You push in slowly until you're embedded deep, eyes locked on hers throughout. She gasps softly, legs wrapping around you.

Her pussy is still quivering and sensitive from the overstimulation earlier, but she's smiling contentedly now.

No begging.

No commands.

Just feeling.

You move together slowly, hands clasped, foreheads touching. She moans with every movement, fingers digging into your back.

“You feel so good,” she whispers. “So right… so safe…”

You kiss her while you thrust, tongues sliding, breaths mingling.

“Can we… without anything?” she asks softly. “I trust you. I want to feel all of you. Just us.”

You hesitate, heart pounding against your ribs.

“You sure?”

She nods with certainty.

“I’m sure.”

You nod and unsheath briefly, pulling the latex off before sliding back in bare. The difference is immediate. It's hotter, closer, more intimate. She whimpers at the sensation, hips rocking up to meet you. You move slowly, feeling every flutter, every ripple. You feel every rib of her wall that you couldn't due to the thin rubber before, and now you feel like you're completing her; her completing you.

She doesn't last long, cumming first with soft, shuddering cries, walls fluttering around you in a quiet, trembling release that rolls through her like a wave.

But this time, she's not crying. She's not in pain. She's crying in pleasure.

The way she's melting under you sends you to the edge too. A few more thrusts and you follow, spilling inside her with a quiet groan as you kiss into her lips, sending pulse after pulse of warmth that fills her.

She clenches softly around you — not hard, not desperate — just holding you there, like she’s finally letting herself keep something instead of chasing the next thing.

She clings onto you tightly, tears on her cheeks.

But they’re happy tears.

You hold her after, arms wrapped around her, bodies tangled.

She falls asleep smiling, and she's peaceful, breathing soft and even for the first time in weeks. Her exhaustion is different this time round.

You stroke her hair.

This.

This is what you both needed.

Normalcy.

***

A few months later, the kitchen smells like garlic and soy sauce on a lazy Sunday evening.

Jiwon perches on the counter, legs swinging, stealing bites from the wok while you stir. She’s in your old t-shirt, hair in a loose bun with no makeup on.

You flip the vegetables; she watches quietly, chin in her hand.

Then, she asks softly:

“Am I boring?”

You don’t look away from the pan.

“Do you think this is boring?”

You gesture with the ladle in your hand at the steaming rice cooker, the open window, her bare feet dangling, the sauce smudge on your cheek that she hasn’t wiped off yet.

She follows your hand with her eyes, then looks back at you.

Her lips part to say a joke or two, but she stops.

Then she turns her head and really looks again.

At the chipped nail polish on her toes, the crooked apron she helped to tie, the ordinary Sunday unfolding around you both.

Her eyes soften.

The corner of her mouth curves.

That dimple appears.

She smiles.

She just smiles.

No words.

No need for any.

You lean in and kiss the dimple, then her lips, tasting her and the taste of home.

You lift off and turn back to the pan.

“Pass me the sesame oil, boring girl.”

“Ah, that was fun!” Kazuha exhales, stretching out on the couch. She wiggles a little, trying to free herself from the soft pile of pillows that had slowly swallowed her over the past hour. She turns around, her legs still folded beside you, and gives you a lazy smile with her cheek pressed against the back of the sofa.

“I’m feeling tired,” she sighs, “but I’m not really sleepy.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna go to sleep yet,” you answer, patting your pockets for the remote before standing to go look for it.

“You still have the snacks, right?” she asks, tapping your knee with her foot.

“Of course, it’s not like I can eat all of that alone.”

“Mmmh, maybe you could,” Kazuha grins.  

“Way to go, calling me fat.”

“I didn’t say that!” she protests immediately, sitting up straighter.

“It was implied,” you reply, and stand up.

“Are you offended? No, don’t go!” she groans dramatically, reaching an arm toward you.

You chuckle. “I’m not offended. I’m going to the kitchen to get something to drink.”

You laugh. “I’m not offended. Just going to get something to drink.”

“Alright,” she says, letting herself fall backward into the couch cushions again.

You pause at the doorway. “Hey, why don’t you get into your pyjama?”

Kazuha blinks, then nods. “Yeah, I should. Can I use your shower? I still haven’t cleaned.”

“Yep, that’s fine. Go ahead,” you say. “I’ll change here.”

“Okay,” she hums, stretching once more before slowly sliding off the couch.

You’re opening the fridge while you hear Kazuha fidgeting around with her overnight bag, followed by the soft sound of her footsteps echoing down the hallway. You grab the orange juice and pour yourself a glass.

The sleepover hadn’t been planned long in advance. You had just casually joked with her, saying you should have a sleepover sometimes since you were such good friends, except this time you both actually followed through. Kazuha had seemed a little nervous at first, hesitating at your door with her bag slung over her shoulder, cheeks pink, and fidgeting fingers. But the moment the two of you sat down, started talking, and put on a movie, she just went along with it.

You change into your pyjamas, if that’s the right term—a loose shirt and soft loung pants—and drop back onto the couch, letting your body sink into the cushions. While waiting for Kazuha to finish her shower, you grab the remote and flip the TV on a random channel just to not keep the room too quiet.

You stretch out, one warm tucked under your head, the other resting lazily across your stomach. It doesn’t take long for you to start dozing off, but you don’t want to fight it and let your eyelids softly rest on your pupils.

You don’t hear the bathroom door click open, and neither the soft footsteps padding down the hallway. 

Kazuha just came out of the shower and was walking towards the living room. Her steps slow down when she sees your silhouette. From her angle, she can’t see your face, but the light from the screen illuminated your figure just enough for her to get a good look at all the important parts: the way your hair fell across your face, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing. A bit of your collarbone was peeking out of your baggy shirt, the fabric loose around your midsection—there was too much skin.

She feels her breath quicken. Her hands quickly move to her chest, and she tries to collect herself. There’s something about seeing you so relaxed, so unguarded, that made her feel all weird inside.

That sharp jawline, the thin fabrics on top of your skin—your skin—her mind starts flashing pictures of what it might look like underneath. The veins on your hands and forearms, your waist, and her eyes are glued to you.

‘What are you thinking, Kazuha?’ she tells herself. Her cheeks flush and her face gets warm, but then the feeling lowers down, to her chest, down to her stomach, and then… between her legs.

That’s when Kazuha starts sweating. 

She can feel it harden under her and stretch the fabric. ‘No, no, no, no, no, fuck, not right now,’ she swears silently and tries her best to think of something else. No help. You’re right in front of her, how could she think of something else?

Her hands go to cover her crotch, but it doesn’t help at all and instead keeps growing.

Kazuha is so caught up in her own mind that she doesn’t realize you’re already up and staring her from the couch, and when her hands go to her sides, you get a very good glimpse of it—her bulge.

Your eyes are wide open and your mouth slightly agape.

Kazuha’s face is frozen, though her eyes are twitching. Her mouth is open, but no sound comes out. The color drains from her skin in an instant, leaving her face pale and cold. She can’t breathe; instead, she just stares at you, utterly exposed. You weren’t supposed to see that. No, anyone but you.

“I—is that…?” you stutter. The words come out of their own, and you suddenly feel embarrassed at your forwardness. 

Kazuha tries to hide herself, though it is too late. Her knees give out and she collapses on the floor, knees folding together, her head bowed down. 

“Yeah. That… is a bulge.”

“Sorry,” that’s all you can say.

“I… Fuck,” Kazuha starts. She’s almost on the brink of her tears and can’t look you in the eyes. You can’t blame her. “I’ve been hiding it and… I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

You don’t know what to say and instead keep staring at her, knowing it probably makes things worse, but feeling helpless in the lack of options. You sit more upright on the couch and rub the back of your neck. 

“You have a penis,” you say.

“Yeah, I have a dick,” Kazuha repeats bluntly. She’s tired of running around it. You’ve seen it, and it’s probably the last time you’ll talk to her. She just wants to get it over with. 

“But you’re…”

“I’m a woman, yes, just… with a dick.”

“Kazuha, I didn’t know…”

Kazuha looks defeated. Her shoulders slump lifelessly together with her hands, resting on her lap. “No one knows about this,” she murmurs. She takes a shaky breath, lifting her eyes just enough for you to see the shame in her face. “Promise to keep it a secret? Please.”

Her usual playful tone is gone. Her voice feels rough, filled with remorse. Now it’s angry, angry with herself. “I know it’s gross, and weird, just—”

“I don’t think it’s weird.”

Kazuha’s head snaps up at that. Her eyes widen in pure surprise. She doesn’t finish her sentence. There are a couple of words that try to slip out from her quivering lips, but then she quiets down. She had already prepared herself for judgment and didn’t know what to do with acceptance. 

The relief is too sudden, too confusing.

“It’s fine, really,” you say. “I don’t mind it.”

A breath escapes her. It chokes her. Then she starts laughing. She can’t fully process what her nerves are telling her, but your words ring out in her head. “What— what do you mean you don’t mind it?”

“Yeah, I don’t… I don’t think it’s weird.”

“B-but, I got a boner, looking at you,” she says. “I’m a girl. With a dick. And… fuck… I guess I couldn’t contain myself when I saw you,” she laughs. “I—I tried to hide it. I didn’t want to ruin this. You’re just—really handsome and… caring and sweet, and funny. Kind.”

“It’s okay, Kazuha, calm down, I’m not grossed out or anything.”

Kazuha looks at you incredulously.

You come down from the couch and sit on the floor in front of her. The wood underneath you feels cool but not cold; either way, it didn’t matter, as Kazuha was your focus right now. You scoot closer to her, but leave her enough space so she doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

You quickly try to think of something, but can’t think of anything, and say the first thing that comes out. “A-as a matter of fact, I like you. As a girl. Yeah. I had a crush on you, and this thing that you have doesn’t change anything.”

“I—I don’t understand. Why?”

“It’s just a penis,” you say and sigh. You raise your shoulders and give her a sheepish smile. “I don’t mind it. And it… You got hard because of me, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Kazuha whispers, looking down. Her shame settled down and was now replaced with embarrassment as you remind her of her earlier boner. “Thank you.” 

You both quiet down and continue to stare at the floor. Then you tentatively attempt, “Can I… see it?”

“You wanna see it?” she asks, bewildered. Kazuha laughs nervously, covering her mouth. “Was the boner not enough?”

“Can I?”

Kazuha thinks for a moment before looking at you with resolution. “Fine, on one condition, though. I wanna see yours too.”

“That’s fair,” you agree and scoot closer to her. 

Your hands come down to your pants, they grab the waistbands and stop. You look up and see Kazuha in the same position, with her hands on the laces, muscles frozen. You stare at each other and laugh. 

Both Kazuha were tense. It only made sense. You take a deep breath and give her a good look.

“Do you really wanna do this?” Kazuha asks.

“Yeah, I do,” you answer, and she nods happily. The realization of what’s about to happen gradually sets in, and the blood starts to flow lower down in your body. You can feel your penis start to grow under your pants and sigh in relief. You really don’t want to show her your soft version.

Your hands come down once more, and this time you pull both your pants and underwear down, letting your penis spring free. Raising your eyes, you’re left speechless at the sight of Kazuha’s cock.

Sure, she did warn you she had one, but you didn’t think you’d see it for real. 

It wasn’t small.

It might have been about the same size as yours. You notice the way her head is swollen, leaning slightly to the left. It’s veiny and thick. It’s beautiful. 

Kazuha sits there with both of her hands covering her face. You reach out and gently peel them off her, revealing her slightly red cheeks. She’s blushing so much that you wonder how there’s any blood left to keep her penis hard.

“It’s cute,” you say.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I do,” you chuckle.

“I—I like yours too.”

Your hand cups her cheek and brushes it with your thumb. You offer her a comforting smile, and Kazuha seems to calm down. Her heart is beating faster than ever. She’s showing her biggest secret to the most important person in her life. She had imagined countless scenarios before, but none of them were anywhere close to this one.

“It’s shaved,” you say, observing her perfectly smooth member.

“Yeah, I thought it would make it more… feminine.”

“It’s very pretty,” you chuckle.

Kazuha is happy.

She smiles shyly while her eyes keep darting up and down between your rock-hard penis and your face. 

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, and Kazuha doesn’t hesitate.

Her hand comes behind your neck and pulls you in. It starts with a simple pick, pressed firmly against your lips. The adrenaline rushes to her head, and she realizes that it won’t be enough. A small whine escapes from her throat as you pull away, and she pulls you back for a longer kiss.

She feels all of you on her lips, but it’s not enough. Suddenly, she can’t even hold herself upright as she wants to pull you impossibly closer. 

Each time you try to pull away for air, she lets out a high-pitched noise, almost offended at your movement and continues to kiss the side of your face. There’s not a single moment where her lips are detached from your face. 

The kiss becomes wetter and more desperate, both of you becoming more frantic. Her nose bumps harshly against yours as you both tilt your heads from one side and then to the other.

Kazuha makes the softest and cutest noises when your hands climb down from her shoulders to her waist. You feel around the thin skins covering her hard abdomen. Your thumb trail the lines of her obliques and the groove between her abs.

You can feel your member becoming even harder. You had been dreaming of her abs day and night and now they were right between your fingers.

Kazuha is already whimpering for you, her hips twitching uncontrollably and her cock aching with desperation, leaking precum from her tip.

You leave her only a small warning, “I’ll touch you now, Zuha,” and finally slide your hand down to her penis. 

Kazuha starts to fall apart. You circle your thumb over the tip, wrapping the rest of your fingers around her thick length. You want to take it slow, tease her properly. You gather the precum and spread it around to make her slicker between your hands.

She wants to see what you’re doing to her. She wants to know why she’s trembling so hard, why her mind is becoming so dazed, but you stop her from looking down and kiss her again.

Your hand wraps her whole cock now, tightening your grip as you start jerking her off. Gosh, her skin is so hot, she could almost melt your hand off. 

“F-fuck, please…” she whines. “Can I touch you, too? Please?”

“Go ahead,” you say. 

Kazuha wraps her delicate fingers around your throbbing penis. She starts to stroke you slowly, and you respond by dragging your palm over the head of her needy cock. Kazuha is a mess for you, whiny and pathetic.

She keeps twitching up into your hand and can’t no longer focus on your penis. It’s fine, you don’t mind. You just squeeze her tighter and stroke her faster. 

“I—I’m gonna cum,” she gasps, her thighs shaking, and her abs flexing hard. She greets her teeth and finally cums. Thick and messy spurts come all over your hands as she keeps moeaning your name.

You slow down your hand and accompany her orgasm through it.

Kazuha is almost sobbing, as the climax washes over her. She’s so pretty, so cute, so ruined. “You… you, sorry, I… I made a mess,” she breaths.

“Don’t worry,” you say. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”

You stare at your hands covered with her cum. It looks familiar, but at the same time, you know it wasn’t yours. Then, you raise it closer to your face.

“Wait—don’t do it—” Kazuha starts, but it’s too late.

You start licking her cum off your palm. Her semen is sweet and sour, slightly fruity with a hint of bitterness. It doesn’t have a very pronounced taste, and there’s hardly any smell. What strikes you the most it’s the texture: slimy, almost like egg whites. 

But it turns you on so much, knowing it is Kazuha’s. You don’t break eye contact until you have completely cleaned your hand, and Kazuha is left a blushing mess.

“Do you believe me now?” you say.

“I do but… You really didn’t have to do that,” she replies. Kazuha is speechless and overwhelmed, but she’s so so so happy. Her hand instinctively covers her face, trying to hide the biggest grin that’s plastered on her mouth. It’s the first time she has ever felt somebody else’s hands on her, and the fact that it is sending her to the moon.

“Hey, but…” Kazuha starts, breathing heavily, “You haven’t cum yet.”

Kazuha grabs your hand and gets closer to your face. “It’s okay if you aren’t into it, but would you want to fuck me? In the ass?”

You gulp. “Yeah.”

Both of you get up from the floor and go to the couch, which is the closest surface to you. Kazuha quickly takes her shirt off, and you’re left staring at her small breasts.

She feels a bit self-conscious under your intense gaze and covers herself. “What, is it weird?”

“No, you’re beautiful, Kazuha,” you say quickly before pushing her on the couch. She lets out a surprised yelp as your lips seal around her hardened nipple. You softly suck one breast while your hand comes to fondle the other one.

Kazuha moans as you greedily taste her skin. Her hands come behind your head as she carefully brushes your hair. You give the same attention to Kazuha’s other breast, flicking and swirling your tongue around her areolae. All the while, your hands roam around her body, stroking and caressing every line and curve.

You don’t want to get too lost in her body, though you could have continued for hours. You both know what you want.

“Kazuha, can you turn around on your knees?” you ask her softly.

She nods and, with shaky legs, carefully gets onto the couch, with her knees on the cushion and her hands on the backrest, glancing back at you over her shoulder with a nervous smile. She gives her hips a slight wiggle, showing you her toned underside. 

"Uhm, do you like it?" she asks shyly. She reaches back and spreads her cheeks apart, revealing the tight entrance of her asshole nestled between them. It winks and twitches slightly in the cool air.

“Of course I do,” you say.

You kneel behind Kazuha's raised hips, your face now level with her ass. The sight of her tight, pink asshole winking at you, framed by her soft cheeks, makes your mouth water with anticipation. You lean in closer, inhaling deeply to take in the heady, musky scent that clings to her skin.

Starting at the base of her spine, you press your lips against her back, trailing a path of kisses down each side of her ass and then to the top of her crack. Kazuha shudders and gasps at the unfamiliar sensation, her body already so sensitive and responsive after cumming so hard.

Reaching the top of her crevice, you pause for a moment, looking up at Kazuha to gauge her reaction. She looks back at you, her eyes filled with nothing but lust. 

You press your face between her cheeks, your nose and mouth comfortably settled in her ass. You extend your tongue and slowly glide it up the length of Kazuha's asshole, starting from the bottom, teasing her balls and making your way to the top. 

She gasps and jerks at the initial touch of your tongue. It’s wet, it’s warm—it’s a new feeling. Her fingers dig into the couch. You can taste the saltiness of her skin and sweat, and the distinct, musky flavor that is unmistakably Kazuha.

You keep licking her ass, lapping around her ridged circle while your hands softly massage her cheeks. Kazuha keeps moaning, letting her head fall to the couch and only focusing on the feeling of you rimming her. Occasionally, your hand comes down to her soft cock, giving it a few gentle strokes.

“I have some lube in my bag,” Kazuha says suddenly.

You stop and stare at her. “Oh? Why do you have lube? Were you hoping for this to happen?”

“Well, I… I always hoped, but I didn’t think it would actually lead to this,” Kazuha murmurs. Her cheeks are flushed again. She blushes so easily, it’s adorable.

“You’re such a slut,” you say as you reach down to the beg. Kazuha can only groan, but she doesn’t object you; she knows you’re right.

After grabbing the bottle of lube, you pour a generous amount onto your fingers. You toss it aside and look back at Kazuha's ass, glistening with your saliva and twitching with anticipation.

Kazuha gasped as she felt your fingers touch her tightly clenched hole, a shiver running down her spine. You took your time, circling the entrance with a gentle, massaging pressure until you could feel it begin to relax.

Her cock is already back in shape. As you work a single finger slowly into Kazuha's ass, you use your other hand, coated in lube, to wrap around Kazuha's throbbing girlcock, stroking it in time with the deliberate thrusts of your finger. Kazuha let out a strangled moan, her hips bucking involuntarily into your touch.

"Ohhh!" Kazuha gasped, her voice high and breathy. "That feels...ahhh...so good!" Her asshole clenched and fluttered around the invading finger, trying to draw it deeper into her. 

You don’t feel a lot of resistance and add a second finger, to which Kazuha responds with even louder moans. 

“You’ve been playing with your ass a lot, didn’t you?” you ask her.

“I… I wanted to feel like a girl,” she says shyly. "I do play with my penis too, but you know..."

“Did you think about me when you played with yourself?”

“All the time,” she whines, her eyes fluttering shut while you wiggle your fingers inside of her rectum.

“You’re so cute,” you say, and she groans.

Unable to hold back any longer, you grab Kazuha's hips firmly, your fingers sinking into the sides of her ass. You align the swollen tip of your throbbing cock against her tight entrance. You can feel it fluttering and clenching under your touch, already wet with all the lube.

You still pour a good amount of lube onto your cock and work it in, just to be sure.

Kazuha glances back at you with her feverish eyes, her breath caught in her throat as she prepares to feel you inside. She gives a small nod, and you proceed.

With your hands firmly placed on her hips, you slowly push forward, feeling your cock head pop past the tight ring of muscle guarding Kazuha's most intimate entrance. She cries out, a mix of pain and pleasure escaping her throat as she feels you stretching her hole around your thick, hard cock.

You pause for a moment when your length had disappeared completely into her, letting Kazuha adjust to the intense sensation. Her penis keeps twitching and leaking under her, empathetic with the neighboring pleasure.

Sensing her need, you pull back and begin to push forward again, inch by inch, your cock sinking deeper into the tight, gripping heat of Kazuha's ass. She whimpers and moans, her fingers clawing at the sheets beneath her as she feels you claiming her, filling her, stretching her.

You keep savoring her ass, letting come out and back inside. With your cock buried deep in her passage, she releases a feral moan. Her body shudders and quakes, overwhelmed by the sheer size and girth of you inside her.

You take a moment to simply get in the feeling of her silken walls gripping your cock, the way her body molds to the shape of your penis. You can feel her heart pounding, her breath coming in sharp, as she adjusts to the intense sensation of being so completely filled.

“Does it hurt?” you ask her.

Kazuha shakes her head. “No, it feels so good.”

“You’re doing so well,” you tell her, “good girl.”

At those words, you feel her tightening around you. That’s what she wanted to hear—she was a girl, your girl.

Kazuha needily pushes back to you, desperately asking you start fucking her. You oblige and build up a steady, rhythm, your hips rocking back and forth as you fuck Kazuha's tight ass. Each thrust drives your thick cock deeper into her, stretching her walls to accommodate your shape. 

The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, mingling with Kazuha's desperate moans and whimpers, and her wet ass’ squelching sounds.

“Your ass feels so good, Kazuha!” 

“Fuck you’re stretching me so good!”

You want to make her feel even better. You want to break her entrance and make her cum.

Your hips rock her harder, fucking her hard and fast, pushing her head into the backrest. Kazuha’s moans turn into cries.

Her walls suck you in greedily, each fold and groove in her rectum wrapping you so well. You could already feel that you were getting closer, you didn’t cum yet afterall.

You reach out to stroke Kazuha's throbbing girlcock in time with your deep, claiming thrusts into his ass, but that seems to send her too close to the edge.

Kazuha suddenly gasps out a desperate plea. "Wait! I...I want to feel you on top of me. I want to see your face when I...when we..." She trailed off, gazing back at you over her shoulder.

You pause, your hips still buried deep in Kazuha's heat. You could feel the way her muscles flexed and clenched around you, as if trying to hold her inside him.

It takes every ounce of willpower and effort to pull out but you want to make her happy. Your cock slips out of Kazuha's stretched hole with a gush of her fluids and lube combined.

Kazuha lets out a small whimper at the loss, her body feeling suddenly empty and aching for your touch. 

She flips over onto her back, and Kazuha finds herself staring up at you, her chest heaving and her face red with passion.

You position yourself between her spread thighs, your hips locking against her own as you lean down to capture his lips in a soft kiss. 

Kazuha moans into your mouth, her hands coming up to grip your shoulders, fingernails digging into her skin.

Breaking the kiss, you sit back and guide your erection back into Kazuha's twitching hole. You rub the swollen head teasingly along her asshole before slowly sinking into her rectum, penetrating Kazuha with all your might.

"Ohhh, fuck, it’s so good," Kazuha gasped as she felt you filling her up once more, your cock spreading her open and reaching even deeper than before thanks to the new position.

“I know I can’t…” she pants. “But please breed me. Cum into me, please.”

You start to move, rolling your hips in a slow, sensual grind that has Kazuha seeing stars. 

Motivated by her words, you pick up the pace of your thrusts. You could feel your climax building rapidly as you pistoned into Kazuha. Her cockdrunk expression and her lovely eyes push you closer to the edge.

With a final, deep thrust, you bury yourself to the hilt inside her and grit your teeth as her orgasm crashes over her, clenching you unbelievably tight.

"Kazuha! I'm...I'm coming!" you cry out. Your cock jerks and throbs inside Kazuha as you flood her insides with your hot, thick seed.

Kazuha lets out a scream of ecstasy, her back arching off the bed as she feels you pouring inside of her. 

"Yes, yes, YES!" Kazuha shouts, her girlcock erupting and sending thick ropes of cum splattering across his stomach. Her ass clenches and spasms around your throbbing shaft, milking you for every last drop.

You stay locked together like that, collapsing on top of Kazuha, both of you panting and trembling. Kazuha could feel your heart racing against her own chest.

"Thank you," Kazuha whispered, reaching up to cup your face tenderly. "For taking me… I love you."

You smile softly, turning your head to press a gentle kiss to Kazuha's palm. "I love you too," you murmur. "It felt incredible."

Feeling the adrenaline leaving your body, so does your strength, and you fall back beside her on the couch that was now a complete mess. You can still see your cum slowly dripping out of her gaping asshole down to the cushions. 

Your lungs are burning, you gave your everything to properly pleasure her, and there’s nothing left in your muscles: you’re completely spent. So is Kazuha, who’s already starting to fall asleep. 

You take a deep breath and turn your head towards her. “So… uhm, do you want to be my girlfriend?”

Kazuha blinks and takes a second to register your words. Then her expression melts into the brightest smile. “Yeah,” she says, nodding quickly, “yeah, I do.”

Something loosens inside you, and you can’t help smiling back. “Then… I’ll be your boyfriend.”

Kazuha sits up, grabs your face, and kisses you warmly. 

“Please say it again,” she murmurs, her forehead resting lightly against yours.

“I’ll be your boyfriend.”

She bites back a grin. “Again.”

You laugh under your breath. “I’m your boyfriend, Kazuha.”

“And, I’m…?”

“You’re my girlfriend.”

“First of all, c'mere,” you stretch your arms out wide in invitation. She smiles and falls into your embrace, melting against you instantly. “Missed you,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around her tight.

“Missed you too…” Wonyoung murmurs, trembling slightly in your arms. You grab on to her fragile shoulders and break the hug, looking into her eyes.

“How was practice today?”

“Long. The choreographer kept changing the counts. My legs are jelly.” Her eyes are laced with exhaustion, but they’re still dazzling bright. “But I’m home now.”

You smile and cup her cheeks, rubbing your thumb lightly under her languid eyes. “Come on, shower first, then fill your belly up. Everything else comes after.” Her tired expression lights at your words like you just offered her the moon.

“You're the best, Oppa~ But look what I got today!” She turns her body and shows you her bag. “Limited-edition Cinnamoroll keychain! Look at the little bow on his ear!” She holds it up like a trophy, the keychain swaying side to side. “There were only 300 sets online. I managed to snag the last one in my cart. If I was any later, I would've missed it.”

You reach out to lift the keychain, flipping it upside down and back, the chain clinking against the zipper of her bag from the movement. The small price tag that Wonyoung didn't remove hangs off to the side. ₩499,000.

“It’s cute,” you say, trying to look as neutral as possible. It is really cute. “Cinnamoroll is adorable. It's round and fluffy, and the small strawberry it's holding on to is so squishy.”

She looks at you happily, taking in all the praises that you're giving the keychain. “Right, right? I’ve been eyeing this since forever, and they finally released it~”

“But Wonyoungnie…”

“I know, I know,” she says quickly, taking her bag back. “I’ll stop. I promise. It’s just… practice was so hard the past few days, and the dorm and practice rooms felt empty after everyone left, and I’ve been practicing extra alone, and I saw it on the app and—”she trails off, looking down at the keychain.

“I thought it would make me feel better,” she finishes softly.

You tilt her chin up. “You don’t have to explain,” you say gently. “I just… I worry. The trip we keep pushing back. The funds aren't progressing… We’re building something together, baby.”

“I’m… sorry.” Her eyes droop down, glimmering with a slight glassiness.

You pull her into your arms again, rubbing against the back of her head softly. “No sorrys tonight. Go shower, I’ve cooked dinner. We’ll cuddle all night. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Wonyoung nods against your chest, sniffling a little. “Okay.” She disappears into the bathroom and you hear the water start. You head out of the room and stand at the door, taking in the pastel chaos around you.

Giant Cinnamoroll on the couch. Kuromi keychains dangling from her bag. A small mountain of blind-box figures on the shelf — Sonny Angel, Labubu, Pop Mart. The shelf is overflowing. The coffee table has a Rilakkuma throw blanket she bought last week. The bedroom dresser is half hidden under pastel stationery sets and tiny plush keychains.

It’s cute. It’s her. Wonyoung wouldn't be Wonyoung without them.

But it’s also approximately ₩10 million in the last three months. You sigh and walk towards the kitchen, taking out two Hello Kitty bowls. You turn off the stove and carry the pot to the dining table, setting it on the light yellow Pom Pom Purin silicone trivet. You retrieve another two sets of rice bowls and utensils from the same Hello Kitty dining set and fill the rice bowl with steaming hot rice from the rice cooker — graffiti-ed with numerous Tsum Tsum stickers.

Just as you're done, you set the kettle to boil some water, before squeezing some honey into a MINIVE Cherry mug.

“What's for dinner?” Wonyoung asks as she exits the bathroom, dabbing her hair dry. “Beef stew,” you say, pouring the hot water into the mug before stirring to make some warm honey water. You hold out the mug, passing it to Wonyoung as she settles into the dining table’s chair. She sips on the honey water as you scoop out a portion of beef stew, making sure to give her loads of flavourful and tender beef apart from the potato and carrot chunks.

“So…” you say, scooping your own share. “So, how's your day? Why are you doing overtime, and alone, at that?”

“Mmm. I gotta do my best. Comeback season is upon us, so we need to make sure we're maintaining the momentum.” Wonyoung says, scooping a piece of beef into her bowl to get some rice before putting it into her mouth. “It’s our second full album after all, and DIVEs are especially excited and hopeful. We wouldn't want to serve something disappointing.”

“How about the others? They're not doing overtime either?” you ask.

“They are, it's just me staying even later to practice more,” she says, savouring the hearty stew. “Y’know, I’m THE Jang Wonyoung. I can't afford to make any mistakes or screw anything up.” Her voice softens slightly. She puts down her spoon and turns to the side, reaching out to grab the Rilakkuma plushie sitting on a chair by the side. She places it right on her lap, hugging it tight as she continues to eat.

You just stay there, listening to her complaints as dinner continues: how her day went, and how she was tortured by their dance instructor (Yujin) to repeat the same moves for half a day. “Isn't it ridiculous? I mean, it's not Yujinnie’s fault that we don't have any dedicated dance instructor, but sometimes she's just too harsh during practices.”

You pick up the empty bowls on the table as Wonyoung stuffs the last piece of beef in the pot into her mouth and turn to the sink. “Well, she's the leader of the group, so she's technically carrying the burden of you six.” You squeeze some detergent onto the sponge, scrubbing the sauce stains off the bowls. “You do have to give it to her. It's been what, four years? Maintaining this degree of dedication even though she's not a professional instructor?”

“I know… It's just, I sometimes blame myself for being unable to do well, and we six have to repeat something until I get it right. And that’s why I stay to work harder and try harder.” Wonyoung says, sinking her chin into the Rilakkuma plushie’s shoulder as she looks at your back. “I don't like being a burden.”

You turn on the tap and rinse the soapy foam off the bowls, exposing and cleaning Hello Kitty’s face on the plate. “I know, Wonyoungnie…” She rambles on what happened for the rest of the day as you finish washing the dishes.

“You full?” you ask.

“Yep,” she says, rubbing her palm in circles on her small belly.

“Then it's time for cuddles~” you murmur and smile, drying your hands on the handtowel. You walk towards her and reach out to grab her hand gently, guiding her to the couch.

She climbs onto the couch and crawls into your lap without asking, burying her face in your neck. In her arms is the plushie from the earlier, and another larger Rilakkuma plushie, both squashed underneath her arms. You wrap your arms around her and rub slow circles on her back.

She sighs a long, shaky breath.

“Better?” you ask.

“Much better,” she mumbles. “You’re warmer than any plushie.”

You kiss the top of her head. “That’s because I stay.”

She nods and snuggles closer. You turn on the TV, switching to some romance drama that she likes. Seemingly turned on by the romance show’s kissing scene, she turns to smooch your cheek. But her eyes linger — it looks hungry and almost desperate — as if she's chasing the feeling the drama promises: someone who stays. A switch flips. She dives right into your lips. The next thing you know, she's straddling your hips, undressing and taking you into her. She grinds and bounces on you until she orgasms, to which you grunt and release into her as well.

Wonyoung collapses onto you, hugging you tight as you rub her shoulder with your free palm, tapping her back rhythmically until she falls asleep. You’re still buried in her, cheek pressed to your chest, breathing slow and even.

You don’t move. You just hold her there and stare at the shelf of plushies across the room. They’re all smiling.

But they’re silent.

You don’t reach for a plushie to fill the space. You don’t need to. She’s already holding the only thing that truly keeps the quiet away.

You take a deep breath and reach for the remote, turning off the TV, before gently carrying her to the room in bridal style. You lay beside her, fingers playing with her bangs as you slowly drift off to sleep as well.

***

Her alarm rings at 4 a.m., its piercing sound shooting through your ears. “Wonyoungnie, it's time to wake up…” you mumble as you try to wake her, struggling to open your eyes as well.

You turn to look at her, but she's just laying there, dead as a log. In her arms are three massively large MINIVE plushies, each representing one of her group members: Dal-E (Gaeul) squashed around her right arm, Erang-E (Leeseo) tucked underneath her left, and Ganganji (Yujin) right to her chest, its face smushed onto Wonyoung’s small face. Right behind her head is Naori (Rei), Cheez (Liz) and Cherry (herself). She's wholly surrounded by her plushies that you can't even see her face.

“Wonyoungnie, if you aren't gonna wake up, I’m going to eat all the Dubai chocolate that I made…”

“No!” Wonyoung shouts, eyes darting open in an instant, “Oppa… you can't do this to me!” She whines, yawning as she sits up.

“You have vocal training at 7. No time to waste sweetie, you wouldn't want your effort to be wasted right?”

She climbs off the bed with a grumble, heading to the bathroom to wash up. Just as you were about to join her in the bathroom, your phone buzzes.

<Motion has been detected.>

<Parcel has been identified.>

“Wonyoungnie! Did you order anything?” You ask, heading out to collect the parcel.

“It’s here, it's here!” Wonyoung squeals, running out with her toothbrush in hand, mouth full of foamy toothpaste.

You bring the parcel in and turn around, only to have it snatched by Wonyoung. You frown and grab onto her shoulders and say firmly, “Wonyoung.”

“Mmm?” She hums, eyes still stuck to the parcel.

“Finish brushing your teeth. You're spitting toothpaste everywhere.” You grab the parcel, snatching it back. “Now. Or I’ll open it on behalf of you.”

“Nooo! I wanna unbox it!” Wonyoung panics, running back to the room. You set the parcel down on the table and look at it silently, a million thoughts going through your mind.

In less than a minute, Wonyoung rushes back out, face washed, mouth fresh. “Gimmie gimmie! I’ve been waiting for it for so long!” She takes the pen knife and slices the parcel open, fishing out a black vacuumed bag. She squeals as she cuts the bag open, the vacuum releasing with a hiss. The bag expands and a soft white plushie contorts out of the bag.

“Look! It's sooo cute~” Wonyoung screams, pulling a large Hello Kitty plushie out. She turns and presents it to you, before pushing it close to her chest, hugging it tight. “It's cute right?”

“Yea, it’s… cute,” you say, but your voice softens slightly. “But, don't you have like three other Hello Kitty plushies in the corner there already?”

“Yes, but this is different. They only made like ten, so I absolutely have to get it!” She rushes to the room and comes back with a small paper bag. “I’m gonna show them to the girls later~”

You look at her and take a deep breath before murmuring. “Let's eat, Wonyoungnie.”

After breakfast, she rushes off to practice with the plushie in the paper bag, leaving you alone at home. You turn and look around, taking in the pastel chaos of the house again, only to sigh and head off to work.

As the day passes and meetings with shareholders drag, you're constantly looking at your phone, replying to her unending string of messages throughout the whole morning. It's always: ‘What are you doing?’, ‘Did you miss me?’, ‘I miss you so much…’, among numerous other messages. Then you finally get some peace in the afternoon, where she has a scheduled event.

Focusing on signing off deals for approval, you drown in work, trying to get as much done as possible. Soon your phone buzzes again, and it's another notification. But this time it's not a message from Wonyoung. It's a notification from her Bubble. You’ve subscribed to her since Wonyoung’s an idol and you wanted to keep up with her interactions with fans.

<Jang Wonyoung, 15:20> “My comfort squad is growing ❤️ Thank you for always being there when I need someone to talk to~”

Attached to the bottom of the Bubble message is a photo of her holding her new limited edition Cinnamoroll keychain she showed you yesterday, smiling that perfect idol smile.

You stare at the photo. It's a perfect idol smile, but you know that smile. It's a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

You put your phone back down and dive back into work. Your phone buzzes again about two hours later. It's another bubble notification.

<Jang Wonyoung, 17:40> “Another addition to the family~ Look at the tomato the Hello Kitty is holding on to, it's so cute ❤️ I love hugging my toys when no one else can~”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you look at the image of her smiling that same smile again as she cuddles with the Hello Kitty plushie delivered this morning. Your mind can't help but think of the pile of plushies behind her when she sleeps, of the numerous keychains that hang off her bags, of the uncountable soft toys and figurines that’s overflowing off the display shelves.

You text back privately:

<You, 17:42> “Come home soon. I miss you.”

She replies instantly:

<Wonyoungnie 🩷, 17:42> “Miss you more… Bringing home dinner. And maybe one more little friend…”

You sigh.

There's a hole in her heart.

And it’s getting bigger.

***

The next few days come and go in a routine that feels almost normal, until it doesn't. Wonyoung’s schedules ramp up. Vocal training. Recording sessions. Dance practices. Solo schedules. Photoshoots. More vocal training. More dance practice. Ambassador events. Fan messages. Yet more vocal training. Repeat.

She wakes up earlier each day, comes home later each night, eyes heavy, smile tired but still bright when she sees you.

And the packages keep on coming.

They're small ones at first: a ₩480,000 Sonny Angel mini-figure (“It’s the autumn maple leaf version, oppa! So pretty!”), a ¥320,000 pastel mechanical keyboard with duck keycaps (“I thought it would make late-night lyric writing more fun…”). She unboxes them on the couch while you cook supper, squealing and showing you every detail, hugging each new arrival like it's a new companion.

And every time she falls asleep curled against you, she’s holding one of the new ones, face buried in the soft fur, arms wrapped tight like it’s the only thing keeping the quiet at bay.

Then the packages become bigger: a ₩700,000 MyMelody soft toy (“Look at it oppa! It’s so soft and comfy~ I’m gonna hug it to sleep!”), a ₩3.2 million life-sized Kuromi figurine that's as tall as you (“Oppa oppa! It looks so cool~”) that you had to rush back in the middle of work to oversee the package delivery.

You don’t say much.

You just watch.

But you notice the pattern.

She spends more time alone — work, practice.

She unboxes them when you’re not around.

She brings a plushie out everyday.

Some days she brings two.

She posts about them on Bubble with perfect idol captions (“My family of babies are growing~ 🩷”).

She always smiles for the camera.

But when she’s with you, the smile softens into something smaller, needier. She clings harder. Talks less about schedules and more about missing you.

One night she comes home at 1 a.m., hair damp from rain, hoodie soaked, carrying a small paper bag. You’re still awake on the couch, working on your laptop, trying to force your drooping eyes to stay open until Wonyoung comes back.

She doesn’t say anything at first. She just kicks off her shoes, drops her bag, walks straight to you, and climbs into your lap like it’s the only place she belongs.

“You haven't slept?”

You set the laptop aside and took out her soaked hoodie, wrapping your arms around her. She’s trembling, but it’s not from the cold.

“Bad day?” you ask softly.

She nods against your neck. “Recording… I kept messing up the high notes. Everyone was staring from the other side of the glass… I felt so… isolated… so small.”

You rub slow circles on her back, the other patting her shoulder softly.

“You’re not small. You’re incredible.”

She lets out a shaky laugh.

“I don’t feel incredible.”

“You don’t have to feel it. I’ll feel it for you until you can.” You tilt her chin up and kiss her forehead. “You've been working so hard. And everyone around you knows it. So don't feel isolated or small.”

She closes her eyes and nods. Then she reaches into the paper bag, pulling out a tiny Labubu blind-box figure. “I… got this during lunch. From the convenience store near the company. It was the last one.”

₩280,000.

You look at the figure and then back at her. She’s already hugging it to her chest. “I know you're probably disappointed in me, but I thought… if I had something new to look at when I got home, I wouldn’t feel so empty.”

You don't say anything. You just stay there, looking at her while she hugs the plushie. After a long moment, you whisper, “Wonyoungnie… Do you feel less empty right now?”

She pauses at your question, then looks at the Labubu. Then at you. “No,” she admits in a tiny voice. “I just feel… emptier.”

You pull her in again for another hug, squishing the figurine right between your chests. You stay there, hugging her, holding her, letting her breathe.

You kiss her temple.

Her eyes are glassy now as she looks up at you. Her mouth opens, and a cracked voice comes out. “I’m always doing things alone now. Solo shoots, solo interviews, solo brand events… Everyone turns away after the cameras turn off. And I’m left standing there smiling, but inside I feel… invisible. Like I’m not even in the room with them.”

She swallows.

“And then I go back to the practice rooms or the dorm and I try to make up for it. I stay longer, I repeat the moves until my legs give out, because if I’m not perfect, they’ll think I’m slacking. They’ll think I’m only here because of my face. So I practice alone. I stay late alone. And every time I finish, the room is empty again.”

Her fingers tighten on your shirt.

“I’m doing well — I know I am. The evaluations say so. The fans say so. But… it’s like there’s this invisible wall. People put me in a different class. ‘Jang Wonyoung can’t struggle. Jang Wonyoung can’t be tired. Jang Wonyoung can’t be lonely.’ So I smile harder. And when no one’s watching… I buy things. Because at least the packages show up. At least they don’t leave me.”

She lets out a broken laugh.

“But they just sit there. They just exist. And I’m still alone.”

You feel her tears soak into your shirt.

“I'm pathetic right?”

You hold her tighter.

“Then let’s stop pretending the plushies are fixing it.”

“I don’t know how… I’ve tried suppressing my urges, but the next thing I know, I’ve already made payment and the item is already in hand. I really don't know what to do…”

“I do. Wait here.”

You stand up and walk to the room, leaving Wonyoung on the couch. You stand right on the edge of the bed and do a partial squat, digging your fingers under the mattress. With a grunt, you lift the mattress up. The hydraulic hinges on both sides of the bed exhale as they take away some of the muscular burden of the heavy lift, exposing the storage compartment beneath. You bend down and reach in, carrying out two mini gacha machines, one red, one green.

Her eyes widen. “What… is that?”

“Something to hopefully fill the emptiness in you.”

You spend the next hour on the rug explaining simply to Wonyoung. Her plushies and figurines littered around the house observe silently, as though they are acting as witnesses to a trial.

“I came across an interesting concept the other day, something called Operant Conditioning. It’s supposedly effective for breaking habits,” you say.

“I won't go into the details as it's quite complicated and complex, but I’ve simplified and tried to make it interesting,” you continue explaining. “Essentially, I’ve divided it into two main categories, Rewards and Punishments. And hence you see the two different gacha machines — the green one for rewards, the red one for punishments. Following?”

Wonyoung nods, listening intently.

“You get rewards when you choose to go a day without spending unnecessarily. Otherwise, you get punished for every uncontrolled expenditure.”

“P-punished? What kind of punishments?” Wonyoung looks at you, eyes wavering a little from worry.

You unlock the padlocks on each of the gacha machines’ and lift their lids up, fishing out a red and green capsule from the red and green machines respectively.

“There are two sub categories, positive and negative, which will be marked as the plus and minus signs. So in essence, there will be four labels: +R, -R, +P, -P. Pluses and minuses just means the giving or removing something.” You pass the capsules to her and say, “Open them, look at what's written on the small card inside.”

She takes the green one from you that's labelled <Common, +R>, prying it open with a small pop sound.

“5-minute cuddle + forehead kisses + praise,” Wonyoung reads off the small card inside. Her cheeks flush as she completes the sentence and she lifts her head to look at you. “So I get cuddles and forehead kisses and praises given to me because it’s a plus. What about that?”

You pass the red capsule in your hand to her, labelled <Common, +P>. “10 hand spanks + 30 minutes corner time, no cuddles.” Her eyes widen and she looks up to you in a panic.

“There are rarer cards,” you say quietly. “Stronger rewards. Stronger reminders. You’ll discover them as we go.”

She swallows. “And if I… mess up really badly?”

You meet her gaze. “Then we’ll have to use the big ones. But only if we need them. I don’t want to get there. I want you to feel safe with me, not scared.”

“Okay.”

“Basically, good behavior gets rewarded and something nice happens. Slipping gets a reminder and something not-so-nice happens. The green machine gives rewards, the red one gives reminders.”

You kiss her forehead.

“Thank you for trusting me, Wonyoungnie.”

She leans into you. “I’m scared that I can’t break this… I’m scared that if I don’t stop you’ll get tired of me and leave and then I’ll be all alone again and I don’t want to be alone anymore. I just want to feel close to you again,” she whispers. “Without needing another package.”

You hold her until she falls asleep, the Kuromi still in her arms. But this time, her grip on you is tighter.

The machines wait in the corner.

Tomorrow is day one.

***

You spend the morning talking to Wonyoung, setting up the entire process so that it’ll be as smooth as possible. She links her cards and banking apps to your phone so that you can track any spending she does. Then you push the two machines right to the middle of the living room’s wall, the one that's filled with her plushies and figurines.

You both stand in the center of the room, looking at it. “Wow… I really went overboard, huh?” she mumbles, half-laughing, half-guilty.

“It's basically an empire of cute chaos that's surrounding the machines,” you smile and turn towards her. “I'm not saying it's wrong to buy cute stuff that you like, Wonyoungnie, it's just that you're trying to fill a hole thinking that it's curbing your loneliness, but it's not. And it's getting to the point where it's getting out of hand, and I fear that you may fall into addiction.”

“I know…” she says, looking down.

“Today’s the first day, so let's start on the right foot, okay? Go kill your practices, baby~” you say, ruffling her hair. She turns to grab a plushie to bring out like she always do, but you stop her. “One more thing. No plushie hugging or interaction at all until this whole thing is over, okay?”

“Mkay~” she replies, lowering her hands down in slight disappointment. She turns to peck you on your cheek before leaving the house.

Friday passes quietly as you work peacefully in the office, receiving text updates from Wonyoung every hour: “Oppa I didn't buy the Hello Kitty pen! But it looks so nice 😞”, “Oppa I'm having lunch right now~ I saw this Pom Pom Purin sling bag on sale, but I didn't get it… 🥲”, “Oppa, I miss you so much… but my schedule ends early today! I’ll cook dinner tonight~ ❤️”

You look at her messages and smile.

When you reach home, she's in the kitchen preparing dinner. Strung all over the table are several opened takeaway boxes, one with its label reading ‘Pilaf Rice’, another labelled ‘Roasted Capsicum’. You set your bag down and walk towards Wonyoung. “Wonyoungnie, smells good~”

She’s standing by the stove, grilling two pieces of store-bought pre-marinated chicken thighs. Hair bunned with a cute Pororo apron tied around her waist, she’s holding tongs in one hand, and a pan lid in the other (shielding her face from the splattering of hot oil).

“Hehe Wonyoungnie~ Give it to me. Go prep the rest of the stuff.” You reach out and grab the pan and tongs from her, taking her place before flipping the chicken. As the chicken sizzles on the pan, she hums and sets the table, clearing all the opened packages. She plates out the microwaved rice and vegetables on her Hello Kitty plates, setting the cutlery to the side.

You poke the temperature probe into the center of the chicken, checking it's core temperature. Once it hits the minimum temperature, you take the pan off the stove and lay the pieces of juicy chicken thighs right beside the rice and vegetables. “Let's eat~”

You both pick up the cutlery, digging in. As the mouthfuls of food disappears, Wonyoung shares about what happened the entire day, repeating all the times where she held herself back from buying something (the exact same things that she texted you the entire day earlier). You listen intently, even though she's repeating the same stories from her texts, because every time she says “I didn't buy it,” it's a small victory that's worth celebrating.

Not long later, you're both done with dinner, washing and cleaning up the dishes together. “Oppa, I get a pull from the green gacha right?” Wonyoung looks at you with nervous yet excited eyes. “I've been a good girl so I get rewarded right?”

You turn off the tap and wipe the last plate dry, setting it to the rack. You dry your hands and turn towards her, reaching out to pat her head. “Yes, my love.”

“Come,” you say, guiding her to the machines. You reach into your pocket and fish out a box of custom-made coins (engraved on them are pictures of each MINIVE character), handing one to her. “Go on. You deserve it.”

“Ehhh, I got my MINIVE mascot as my first coin~” Wonyoung giggles, walking to the green machine and kneels down. The plushies are arranged around like an audience, observing her every move. She takes a deep breath and pops the Cherry coin into the slot, before turning the knob right beside it. With a click and whirr, a capsule pops out of the ejection hole. She picks up the ball and turns it around, searching for the text on it.

<Common +R>

She pops the capsule open and reads the card in it softly: “10-minute cuddle session + forehead kisses + praise.”

Her eyes flick up in happiness.

You smile and sit on the couch, opening your arms. She squeals and crawls into your lap immediately. You wrap your arms around her and tuck her head under your chin.

“Good girl, Wonyoungnie,” you murmur against her hair. “First day clean. I’m so proud of you.”

You press slow kisses to her forehead, her temples, the bridge of her nose and she sighs in contentment.

The timer beeps after ten minutes, and you release your grasp around her.

She looks at you in disappointment and pouts, “Already?”

“Save the rest for tomorrow,” you say, kissing her one last time. “Be good, and the next pull might be bigger.”

She nods.

That night she falls asleep in your arms, no plushie needed.

The second day begins and it’s Saturday. It’s a rare moment for Wonyoung as she has no schedules, and you both can get a full day together.

You spend the morning cooking breakfast, flipping blueberry pancakes. She sits on the counter, swinging her legs, sipping her favourite low-fat milk from her Cherry mug.

In the afternoon you both have a movie/drama marathon on the couch. She picks a romance drama — the same one from earlier in the week. Halfway through a kissing scene, she turns to you with hungry eyes.

“Oppa…”

You pause the TV. She straddles your lap. The Common +R card from last night is still fresh in her mind. Wonyoung tries to lean forward to kiss you, but you grab her shoulders and stop her. You whisper, “Nothing happens until you pull the gacha tonight. Do your best.”

She nods frantically.

The rest of the day she’s glued to you — helping cook, stealing kisses, sitting in your lap while you read emails.

Once dinner is done, she looks at you with her impatient yet endearing eyes. She bounces on her toes, palm out, head tilting side to side like a curious puppy. “I did good today too, right? Coin please~”

“Yep, you've been so good.” You pass her another coin — Dal-E (Gaeul) this time — and she snatches it, skipping towards the green machine. She kneels without hesitation and pops the coin in, turning the knob like she's done it for the millionth time. The capsule pops out and this time, it’s another common +R pull.

“20-minute hand-holding walk around the apartment + ‘You're my favorite person’ whispered,” Wonyoung reads off the card.

“Eheheh~ I love handholding. It’s so… lewd,” she giggles. She grabs your hand and pulls you towards the door. The next thing you know, her fingers are entwined around yours as you both stroll through the park surrounding the apartment.

“So… how are you doing? All good?”

“Honestly, it isn't as bad as I thought. I get to spend time with you, and I get nice surprises from the machine as a bonus… it seems really manageable!”

“Wonyoungnie… you know, you're such a sweet girl and I can't bear to see you being sad,” you say, gripping her hands tighter. “So make sure to do your best and get rid of this bad habit, okay?”

She nods and smiles at you.

You both continue strolling down the path, walking in circles around the park, taking in the sight of the starry sky and breathing in the cool night air. You both settle down on a bench and she rests her head on your shoulders, and you rub her head with your hand, carressing her gently, whispering that she's your favourite person in the entire universe. And you mean every single word you say.

Twenty minutes soon passes and your timer rings. “Come, let's head back in and sleep,” you say as you stand up, releasing your hand from hers. Wonyoung pouts and the removed contact, but she nods and follows along.

***

It's day 3, Sunday, and it's another day off for Wonyoung. You take her out on a rare café date and she orders a hot chamomile infused latte with extra whipped cream. You? A totally contrasting order of hot ginger tea with turmeric extract. She shows you photos on her phone, scrolling through a plethora of screenshots of newly released plushies that she didn't buy.

“Look at this Inuyasha Pop Mart figurine set! They all look so cute and cool at the same time. Kyaaa Sesshoumara looks so cold as always, even if he's cute,” Wonyoung squeals, tilting the phone towards you. “I really wanted to get it… but I closed the app.”

You squeeze her hand under the table. “Good girl.”

She blushes. Back home, you both just lay on the couch, watching some sci-fi movie together as she cuddles in your arms, head on your chest.

The moment dinner has been consumed, she pops up right into your face, peering at you with her wide, shiny eyes. She doesn't say anything.

You chuckle and pass her a Erang-E (Leeseo) coin and she flashes to the green machine again, kneeling and slotting the coin in one smooth motion. Knob twisted once and twice, and another green capsule rolls out.

<Rare, +R>

“Oppa oppa! It's a rare! I got a rare one!” She giggles excitedly, showing it to you. She pops the capsule open and reads it, “P-pussy—what?”

“Go on, continue reading it. Don't stop,” you smile, seeing her face flush crimson.

“Y-yea… Pussy eating until you cum twice.”

Right as Wonyoung completes the sentence, you surge towards her and lift her up, throwing her onto the couch. She lands with a small yelp, surprised by your roughness, but her expression is filled with anticipation. You tower over her, placing your hands on both sides of her head, looking deep into her eyes.

“Wonyoungnie.”

“Y-yes?”

“You're so beautiful.”

She covers her face shyly from your praise, embarrassed to look into your eyes.

“Look at me,” you say, “Don't you look away, because this is what happens when you're good.”

Wonyoung parts her fingers reluctantly, her eyes peeping at you through the gap. You lean closer to her, breathing down the nape of her neck whispering, “This is your reward.” You peel off her hoodie to expose her soft breasts, taking your time to kiss and taste every inch of her skin as you make your way down her neck, over her soft breasts, down her toned yet smooth waist. Each kiss draws a soft moan, and each inch you make across her makes her back arch further. Your lips reach the hem of her shorts and you grab on to it, sliding them off her.

Her shorts pool to the floor and you settle between her thighs, hands firm on her knees to keep her spread wide. Wonyoung’s breath hitches the moment your lips brush the inside of her thigh softly. She’s already glistening, pink folds swollen and slick, the scent of her arousal filling the air between you. The first slow lap of your tongue drags from her entrance to her clit and she melts instantly.

A high, trembling mewl spills from her lips and her hips jerk upward like she can’t help it, chasing the wet heat of your mouth. You press your tongue flat, licking broad and unhurried, savouring the way her thighs quiver on both sides of your head.

“Oppa—ahh—”

Her fingers dive into your hair, clutching tight, holding on like you’re the only thing anchoring her. Every slow circle around her clit draws another shaky whimper, every gentle suck makes her back bow off the couch.

You keep the rhythm steady at first, drawing long, patient strokes that let her feel every inch of your tongue. She’s mewling nonstop now, purring little broken sounds that rise in pitch each time you flick directly over the sensitive bud. Her legs tremble violently and you can feel the fine shaking in her thighs against your cheeks.

She’s unraveling so beautifully.

You slide your tongue lower, dipping inside her just enough to taste how wet she is, then drag back up to suck her clit again. The suction makes her gasp sharply and her grip in your hair tightens until it stings.

“P-please—please don’t stop—”

Who are you to stop? You hum against her, the vibration ripping another desperate mewl from her throat. Her hips start rolling in tiny, helpless circles instinctively, grinding against your mouth like she can’t get close enough. You let her ride your tongue for a few seconds before pinning her hips back down with both hands, taking back control.

That’s when she really starts to shake.

Her whole body trembles — thighs, stomach, arms — like every single one of her nerves are lit up and sparking. Her mewls turn into high, stuttering cries and her breathing breaks into ragged little sobs.

You feel her orgasm building fast. Her walls flutter against your tongue, clit throbbing under your lips. You double down, sucking harder, flicking faster, relentless as you present her award.

She breaks with a choked scream.

Her thighs clamp around your head, fingers yanking your hair as she comes undone, and her back arches so sharply you think she might snap. Wetness floods your mouth, her hips jerking in wild little spasms while she sobs your name over and over.

You don’t stop. You keep licking, slower now, gentler, guiding her through the aftershocks until her trembling starts to ease. But you don’t pull away.

You seal your lips around her clit again.

Her eyes snap open. “Oppa—wait—I just—ahh—!”

Too late.

She’s still sensitive, still twitching, and you know exactly how to push her over the edge again. You suck softly, tongue flicking her swollen clit in tiny, rapid strokes. Her body jerks like it’s been shocked and fresh mewls spill out, higher and more desperate than before.

She grabs your head with both hands now, hips bucking helplessly against your mouth. The shaking returns twice as intense, legs quivering uncontrollably, stomach clenching, breath coming in frantic little gasps.

It’s faster this time.

Way faster.

Her second orgasm races up like a wave she can’t outrun, and you're making that wave accelerate faster. She tries to warn you—“Oppa—gonna—gonna—” but her words fracture into a long, keening cry and she bursts again.

Another hot gush floods your mouth, your chin, and your neck as she squirts hard, harder than she expected. She shakes violently as pulse after pulse soaks your face, dripping down your throat, drenching the couch cushion beneath her and the rug below.

Her thighs lock around your ears, fingers twist painfully in your hair, and her whole body convulses like she’s being electrocuted. You keep your mouth on her through it all, tongue soft and steady, drinking every drop until her orgasm dies down. When she finally collapses back, she's entirely limp, gasping, tears of bliss streaking her cheeks, and you pull away just enough to kiss the inside of her shaking thigh.

She’s wrecked.

Beautifully, perfectly wrecked.

You crawl up her body, gather her close, and press your soaked face into the crook of her neck.

She shudders one last time, arms wrapping weakly around you, clinging like she’ll never let go.

You kiss her temple.

“Good girl,” you whisper.

She makes a tiny, broken sound against your skin, like she’s trying to say thank you but can’t find the words.

You hold her tighter.

The couch is soaked.

The rug is soaked.

She doesn’t care.

Neither do you.

All that matters is she’s in your arms, trembling, sated, and safe. And for the first time in a long time, she isn’t reaching for a plushie.

She’s reaching for you.

***

Her alarm rings at 4 a.m. the next morning, way before the sun rises, and you rouse her awake. She’s surrounded by her plushies, but she's wrapped tightly around your arm, treating it as her bolster. The weekend's over and she rushes to freshen up, bracing for the hectic day ahead.

Your day at work goes on smoothly, albeit without any updates from Wonyoung. She did tell you she will be very busy today, so the lack of messages and bugging from her didn't surprise you. You’re having a late lunch as a meeting dragged way past its initial two hour time slot and you text Wonyoung as you munch on a microwaved gimbap roll:

<Wonyoungnie 🩷, 3:42 p.m.> How are you doing today? Did you have lunch?

You sit there and continue chewing, waiting for a reply, but nothing comes. She's probably busy, you think. The next thing you know, a notification comes in.

<₩300,000 has been charged to Jang Wonyoung’s credit card ending with the number 1792. Please call us immediately if you did not make this transaction.>

Your breath hitches at the text. It seems like she relapsed. You think about the possible punishments that may happen and sigh. Looks like your heart will ache tonight.

The rest of your work day passes on without any hiccups, but your mood is utterly ruined. You head back home after work, stomach growling, but you skip dinner. No appetite. You just sit on the ground beside the red machine, waiting silently until Wonyoung comes home.

The clock ticks and seconds pass. The door clicks open. It's 2.07 a.m.

Wonyoung pokes her head into the house and sees you sitting there. Her eyes are red rimmed, as though she has been crying for some time. In her hand is a paper bag, probably what she bought impulsively earlier.

“Come here.”

She scrambles in, dropping to her knees in front of you without being asked, paper bag clutched like evidence. She starts explaining as to how she had a solo photoshoot at 7 a.m. where she was all alone in the studio, the staff treating her like “the star”, but there was no real conversation. Then she had an endorsement event at 10 a.m., smiling for cameras, and she had no one to share her exhaustion with. Then she had a filming for an ad at 2 p.m. where each take was so long as the director kept pushing her for a ‘perfect Wonyoung’.

“... Because I had so many solo schedules throughout the day, I had to make up for it and practice alone, and so I was in the empty dance studio all the way till 1 a.m., repeating choreography until my legs were shaking. I-I—”

“Wonyoungnie.”

“Yes?” Wonyoung asks timidly.

“So did you buy anything?” you ask softly.

“... I did.”

“Show me.”

She takes small boxes of unopened figurines from the paper bag, setting it to the floor right beside her knees. Five of them in total from the Fairy Tail anime series. “Natsu, Ezra, Lucy, Wendy, and Happy. They look really nice. Come, let's open them together.”

“You're not mad at me right, oppa?”

You turn to retrieve a small cutter from the side silently and slit the boxes open. Sliding them to Wonyoung, she opens the boxes with trembling hands and puts each figurine carefully on the floor, like little soldiers she summoned to stand with her in the confession

“Do you like them?” you ask.

Wonyoung looks at you and nods hesitantly.

“Tell me what you're feeling now.”

“I-I-I’m disappointed with myself… disappointed that I failed to control—”

“Not that, Wonyoungnie, I know you're disappointed with yourself. I want to know what you were feeling when you bought them today.”

“... I felt super lonely. I didn't have anyone to talk to. I didn't have any plushie to hug. I… I didn't have you beside me.” Wonyoung looks at you, tears welling in her eyes. “I felt so isolated.”

“I didn't know it was so difficult. I thought… I thought that because I managed to pass the last three days clean, that it would be a piece of cake. But it was just an illusion… I had you the whole time during those few days, and we weren't busy at all…”

Wonyoung starts sobbing, facing down as tears streak down her cheeks. You reach forward to palm her cheeks, wiping her tears off with your thumb. “Are you going to give up?” you ask.

“N-no! I’m just… disappointed in myself.”

“It's alright to feel disappointed. That means that you are still willing to change.”

“So... what now?” Wonyoung asks.

You reach into your pocket and take something out. Opening her hands softly, you gently place a Naori (Rei) coin in her palms.

“Can't I be… exempt today? It's been a really tiring and long day.” Wonyoung sniffs, looking at the coin.

“Rules are rules, Wonyoungnie.”

She looks at the coin silently for a moment and inhales deeply. “I guess… it's my fault and I should face the consequences.”

She turns back to the red machine and slots the coin in. Turning the knob with hesitation, a red capsule ejects from the discharge hole, rolling right between her knees. She picks it up and turns the sphere around.

<Common, +P>

You hear her exhale slightly in small relief after realising that it's only a common. The capsule pops open with her trembling fingers and she reads, “Ten smacks on the palm with a ruler.”

She exhales with a tiny, shaky sound of relief mixed with dread. It's only common. Not the worst card. But her eyes still flick to you, searching for mercy. Even though it’s only ten smacks, it's still ten smacks.

You stand slowly from the floor beside the red machine and walk to the kitchen drawer where you keep the wooden ruler — the one she uses to measure plushie heights for her shelf display. It’s light and smooth, not heavy or cruel. Just enough.

You return and sit on the edge of the couch.

“Come here, Wonyoungnie.”

She crawls forward on her knees, knocking the five figurines until they are scattered around her like fallen soldiers. She’s kneeling between your legs. Her hands rest on her thighs, palms up already, as if she knows the position.

You take her right hand first. Turn it gently so the palm faces up. Her fingers are trembling and cold.

“Look at me.”

She lifts her gaze, her lip quivering.

“This isn’t because I hate you,” you say quietly. “This is because I love you too much to let you keep running from what you really need.”

She nods.

You raise the ruler.

The first smack lands clean across the center of her palm. She gasps with a small, startled sound, and her fingers curl instinctively.

“Count.”

“O-one…”

Second smack. Same spot, but a little harder.

“Two…”

By the fourth her palm is pink and warm. She flinches each time now, but she doesn’t pull away. Tears gather at the corner of her eyes, but she keeps her hand steady.

“F-five…”

Her voice cracks on the number. You pause after six, setting the ruler down beside you. Take her stinging hand in both of yours, thumb rubbing gently over the reddened skin.

“Breathe,” you murmur.

Wonyoung takes in shaky inhales, trembling exhales. You lift her palm to your lips, kissing the center softly, then blowing cool air over the slightly swollen heat. She whimpers softly, but not from pain, it's from your sudden gentleness.

“Four more,” you say. “You can do this.”

She nods.

Seventh smack.

“Seven…”

Eighth.

“Eight…”

Ninth. You smack deliberately harder.

“N-nine…”

Tenth.

The last one lands with a crisp snap.

“Ten…”

She chokes on a sob.

You drop the ruler and pull her forward into your lap in one smooth motion. She collapses against you, burying her in your neck, arms wrapping tight around your shoulders. Her whole body shakes as she cries with small, hiccuping sobs muffled against your shirt.

You hold her close. One hand cradling the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. The other rubbing slow circles on her back.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

She clings harder, nails digging into your back like she’s afraid you’ll let go. You rock her gently back and forth like you're soothing a child, pressing kisses to her temple, her hairline, her ear.

“I’m not mad,” you murmur. “I’m proud of you for telling me. For kneeling. For taking it.”

She makes a tiny, wounded sound. “I failed…”

“You slipped. That’s different.” You pull back to cup her face, thumbs wiping the tear tracks. “Slipping means you’re still learning. Failing would be giving up.”

Her lower lip trembles.

“I don’t want to give up.”

“Then don’t.”

You kiss her forehead, marking her with the moistness of your lips.

Then her cheeks, tasting the salt of her tears.

Then her lips, giving her every ounce of your love. She closes her eyes and leans into every kiss like it’s medicine.

You reach behind you, grab the throw blanket from the couch arm, the one with a Rilakkuma print that's soft and worn from years of use. You wrap it around her shoulders, cocooning her against your chest. She burrows deeper, pressing her cheek over your heartbeat.

You keep rocking her. Minutes pass and her sobs slow to sniffles, then to quiet breathing. You don’t rush her. When she finally speaks, her voice is small and hoarse.

“Oppa… can I sleep in your arms tonight? Even though I messed up?”

You kiss the crown of her head.

“You never have to ask.”

She exhales in relief. You stand carefully with her legs wrapped around your waist, blanket tucked around her, and carry her to the bedroom. Plushies line the shelf, watching silently as you lay her down gently. You slide in beside her and pull her close. She sighs and melts against you.

There's no plushie between you. Just your skins touching each other. Just your heartbeats thumping in sync. She falls asleep like that with her tear-streaked cheeks drying against your shirt, breathing evening out.

You don’t sleep right away, staring at the ceiling, looking at the shelf of smiling figurines. Tonight she chose you, even after she slipped. You press one last kiss to her hair. “Good girl,” you whisper.

She doesn’t stir, but her fingers tighten on your shirt, like she heard. And today, the hole in her heart feels a little smaller.

***

The next three days pass in a gentle, hopeful rhythm, each one lighter than the last.

Tuesday brings a manageable schedule for Wonyoung: group vocal work, choreography tweaks, and a short solo interview. Wonyoung returns home tired but bright-eyed, collapsing sideways across your lap on the couch without a word. She didn't spend recklessly. You guide her to kneel by the green machine and she pulls her reward with trembling excitement.

<Common, +R>

“20-minutes of shoulder massage.”

“Just twenty minutes?” she complains. And the twenty minutes feel like a heartbeat. Fingers dancing across her shoulders, rolling againsg her tight knots, then soothing her aching body. In between her venting about the day’s frustrations and moaning at each motion of your massage, you can see the relief spreading across her face.

Wednesday is quieter with no major solo commitments, just group practice and recording. You surprise her with a blanket fort in the living room: Rilakkuma throw draped over chairs, fairy lights strung across the top, pillows piled inside. Her face lights up. She crawls in, pulls you after her, and curls into your side as Howl’s Moving Castle plays.

<Common, -R>

“Remove plushie ban during movie time + full cuddle under the fort.”

She sighs happily as she nestles closer, fingers laced with yours. Halfway through she whispers, “This is better than any package,” and falls asleep in the glowing fort as you keep her safe and warm.

On Thursday, Wonyoung is slightly busier with a group prep, vocal recording and one solo magazine interview. Wonyoung texts you during a brief break between recording and the interview:

<Wonyoungnie 🩷, 3:12 p.m.> “Saw a new Labubu wave drop while waiting for the next take… almost clicked buy. Closed the app so fast my thumb hurts… TT “Thinking of coming home to you instead.”

You reply immediately:

<You, 3:14 p.m.> “Proud of you for closing it. Come home soon.”

She doesn’t reply again, her interview probably running long, then she has to rush straight to vocal refinement. You feel the familiar pang where she’s fighting, but the day is wearing her down.

She walks in at 10:15 p.m. with her hoodie slipping off one shoulder, hair messy from practice, eyes heavy but still bright when she sees you.

“I almost slipped today…” she whispers as she kneels in front of the machine. “But I kept thinking about coming home to this. To you.” Another click and a whirr and a green capsule rolls out.

<Common +R>

“Common again?” she whines, bottom lip jutting out. “Why aren’t I getting rares or epics yet? I want something more exciting…” But she pops the capsule open anyway.

“20-minute kitchen slow dance.”

You’re waiting in the kitchen with a slow ballad playing softly from your phone and she walks straight into your arms without a word.

You and her sway together under the dim light, her head on your shoulder, your hand resting on her lower back. No conversation, just gentle rocking. She sighs against your neck: “I almost slipped today… but I thought of coming home to this.” You kiss her temple and murmur, “That’s why you get this.” She tightens her arms around your neck, whispering, “I just want to stay like this forever.”

You carry her to bed when she starts to doze, and she falls asleep curled against your chest. By Thursday night, hope feels solid again. The slips feel distant, the rewards feel real, and she believes she can keep going. Friday looms ahead, but for now, she’s certain she has this.

***

Thursday bleeds into Friday without mercy.

You wake at 4 a.m. to her still curled against your chest, legs hooked over yours like she’s afraid to let even an inch of space open up. You kiss her forehead. “Last push before the weekend, baby. You’ve got this.”

She nods, sleepy but determined, but the shadows under her eyes are darker than yesterday.

The day is merciless. She told you her schedule last night.

5 a.m. – 8 a.m.: Vocal recording for her upcoming full album.

9 a.m. – 12 p.m.: Solo endorsement shoot for luxury skincare.

1 p.m. – 4 p.m.: Solo magazine cover interview + photoshoot.

5 p.m. – 7.30 p.m.: Solo advertisement filming.

7.30 p.m. onwards: She's free, but because of all her solo activities, she decided to do dance practice alone again.

Throughout the day, not a single text comes, until 6:22 p.m.:

<Wonyoungnie 🩷, 6:22 p.m.> “Still shooting. Almost done. Miss you so much it hurts. Weekend soon… right?”

You reply instantly:

<You, 6:22 p.m.> “Almost there. The weekend is ours. I’m waiting with open arms.”

No reply after that.

She finally stumbles into the practice room at 8:00 p.m. to “make up” for missed group choreography. You know because she sends one last text at 8:02 p.m.:

<Wonyoungnie 🩷, 8:02 p.m.> “Gonna stay a bit longer to fix the mistakes. Don’t wait up… but please wait for me? 🥺”

<You, 9.18 p.m.> “Gambatte! ❤️”

You send a final reply, and wait.

She walks through the door at 10:37 p.m.

You’re sitting on the floor, in between the two machines. She stops in the doorway, paper bag in her hand.

It's a large one, with the Kakao logo printed on the paper bag. She drops to her knees in front of the red machine without being asked — the very same spot she knelt Monday night. The bag spills open beside her. Inside is a Sanrio x Kakao Friends giant plush set. ₩1.2 million.

You frown and think to yourself, wondering how you received no notification of the expenditure, but you keep silent. Her eyes are already red-rimmed and glassy.

“Oppa…”

You move and kneel in front of her, cupping her face gently.

“Tell me.”

The words tumble out, but they're fractured and exhausted. “Today was… too much. Vocal warm-up alone, endorsement shoot alone, interview alone, ad filming alone. Everyone kept saying ‘perfect Wonyoung’ like it’s praise, but it just made me feel… fake. Like if I’m not perfect, I’m nothing. When it was over, the studio was empty. Everyone left. I was alone again.”

She swallows.

“So I went to the practice room again. To fix the mistakes again. I repeated the choreo until my legs gave out again. To try and be ‘perfect Wonyoung’ again. The mirrors just showed me, no one else. No one to say ‘good job.’ No one to hug me when I wanted to cry.”

Her voice breaks.

“I opened the shopping app. Just to look. Just to feel… something. And then I saw the set. Limited. Cute. They looked happy. I thought… if I had them, the weekend would be less empty. I clicked buy before I could stop myself.”

Tears spill.

“I-I even… swapped to another credit card so you wouldn't find out…”

She starts sobbing even harder.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t speak right away.

You just hold her face, thumbs wiping her cheeks.

“Pull,” you say softly.

She nods.

She takes the Ganganji (Yujin) coin from your hand with shaking fingers, slotting it into the red machine. She turns the knob with an agonising slowness, muttering prayers under her breath, hoping that it will be a common pull again.

The ominous red capsule rolls out.

But it looks slightly different.

It's heavy.

It has gold edges.

<Jackpot -P>

“Oppa… can I pull another one? Please?” she begs with pleading eyes.

“Read it.”

She pops it open reluctantly and reads the card in a whisper that cracks on the last word.

“48-hour full exile. No contact. No kisses. No cuddles. Separate rooms. Minimal communication. No plushie access.”

Her breath stops and her eyes snap to yours in a wide and panicked state .

“Oppa… no. Not the weekend. That’s… that’s our time. Please—”

Tears flood faster.

She grabs your shirt.

“I won’t do it again. I swear. I’ll return everything. I’ll—”

You cup her face.

“I believe you. But the card doesn’t care about promises. It cares about choices.”

She sobs—broken, exhausted.

You pull her into your arms one last time.

Hold her while she shakes.

Kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—slow, lingering, like you’re memorizing her.

“I love you,” you whisper, “but this isn’t goodbye. This is so you remember that I’m waiting on the other side.”

She clings tightly to you, nails digging in like she’ll never let go, but you pull her up, guiding her to the guest room — the only place exempt from the pastel chaos. She looks back from the doorway and back at you with pleading eyes, hoping that you’ll change your mind, but you don't budge.

“Oppa… please don’t hate me.”

“I could never. So please don’t hate yourself too.”

You help her step inside the room and close the door softly, locking it from the outside, telling yourself that it is not to trap her, but to keep the rule.

The apartment falls silent except for her muffled sobs behind the door.

Plushies stare from the shelf.

10:57 p.m.

The clock ticks.

47:59:24 to go.

Your heart aches.

But you don’t open the guest room door.

Not tonight.

Not tomorrow.

Not until Sunday night.

The weekend stretches ahead, empty and endless.

For both of you.

You stand in the hallway for a long moment, hand still on the knob, listening to her muffled sobs on the other side. They’re soft at first, hiccuping and broken, but they slowly quieten, as if she’s trying to swallow them so you won’t hear how much it hurts.

Eventually you walk back to the living room. The red machine sits in the center like a silent judge. The plushies on the shelf stare, as if they're mocking her failure. The apartment feels too big now, the air too still.

You sit on the couch, staring at the locked guest room door. Your phone buzzes once. It's a single text from her, sent through the wall:

<Wonyoungnie 🩷, 11:01 p.m.> “I’m sorry. I love you. Please don’t hate me. 🥺”

You read it over and over again. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, wanting to type something, anything. But the rule is no contact beyond minimal communication.

So you type nothing.

You set the phone face-down and lean your head back against the cushion.

The clock ticks.

1:03 a.m.

You hear her crying again. You cry too.

Then silence.

Saturday. It's day 1 of Wonyoung’s exile.

You wake at 7 a.m. on the couch with just the empty weight of the couch beside you.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

No alarm. No sleepy murmurs. No small hands reaching for you.

You walk past the guest room door.

No sound from inside.

You reach out to knock, to check if she’s breathing, if she’s okay. But the rule is no contact. You keep walking.

You make coffee, but you take two mugs out of habit, then put one back.

The MINIVE Cherry mug sits back on the counter.

You drink alone.

Mid-morning: You sit on the couch with your laptop, trying to work, but your eyes keep drifting to the guest room door.

You hear faint rustling inside — she’s awake.

Another soft thump — maybe she's sitting on the bed.

Then silence again.

No texts.

The rule allows minimal communication, but you both know it’s better to keep it at zero for now.

Lunchtime: You cook a simple ramyeon, her favorite comfort food, and set a bowl outside her door with a note:

“Eat when you’re ready. I’m here.”

You knock once softly and unlock the door, then walk away. You hear the door crack open seconds later. The bowl disappears, and the door closes again.

In the afternoon, you clean. Not because it needs cleaning, but because you need something to do with your hands. You head back to retrieve the empty bowl from outside the door and wash it. You wipe down the kitchen counter, organize the coffee mugs, fold the Rilakkuma throw she loves.

Every plushie you touch and rearrange feels heavier than it should.

They’re all smiling, but they don’t care that she’s crying behind a locked door.

In the evening, you sit on the couch again. The red machine stares back. You think about opening the guest room door just to hold her, just to say it’s okay. But you cannot.

You hear her moving inside with soft footsteps, then the creak of the bed. Then crying again, quieter, more resigned.

You don’t sleep well at all.

Sunday. It's the second day of her exile.

You wake to silence. There's no sound from the guest room at all and panic flickers in your chest.

You walk to the door, pressing your ear against it.

Nothing.

You knock once.

“Wonyoungnie? You okay?”

No answer.

You knock again.

“Baby? Just say something so I know you’re breathing.”

Silence.

Your heart hammers and you reach for the lock, but you stop. The rule is until Sunday night. You promised yourself. She promised to obey the rules.

And so you walk away. Pace around the living room. Stare at the plushies. They’re all still smiling.

During mid-morning, a note slides under the guest room door and you kneel to pick it up.

It's filled with her small and shaky handwriting.

Oppa,

I’m sorry.

I keep thinking about how empty it is in here.

No plushies. No you.

Just me and the quiet.

I hate it.

I hate that I did this to us.

I miss you so much it hurts.

I won’t buy anything again.

I promise.

Please… don’t hate me.

— Wonyoungnie 🩷

You read it twice, and your throat tightens.

No unnecessary communication, but you slide a reply under the door anyway. This is necessary.

I could never hate you.

I miss you too.

Stay strong.

Sunday night.

I’m waiting.

No reply comes.

In the afternoon, you sit outside her door for an hour, leaning your back against it.

Not speaking.

Just there.

Then you hear her.

Soft footsteps shuffle inside until they move closer towards you. A small creak sounds and you feel the floor sink slightly. Then a gentle thump against the door, right behind your shoulder blades.

She’s probably leaning against it too.

Just like you.

The wood is thin, and you almost feel the faint warmth of her back through it, the tiny tremor that runs into your spine.

You close your eyes and imagine her: knees up, hoodie sleeves over her hands, forehead on her arms, hair hiding her face.

She starts to cry again, louder this time, more broken. Each hiccup travels straight through the door and into your chest.

The same stuttering rhythm. The same ache.

Your throat tightens and tears slip down before you can stop them. You press your palm flat against the wood, right where her shoulder must be. You don't offer any words. Just physical pressure on the thin wood, hoping the pressure would reach her.

Her crying hitches with a sharp, surprised gasp and it quietens for a second.

You hear the soft scrape of fabric as she shifts, and something pressing back against the wood.

Two palms, separated by three centimeters of wood.

She doesn’t speak, but her sobs slow to shaky breaths, and you hear her whisper faintly, “Oppa…”

You swallow hard and let another tear fall.

You stay like that — backs to the same door, hands mirrored, crying quietly on opposite sides — until the hallway light fades from gold to blue.

Neither of you move.

The door keeps you apart.

But right now, it also keeps you together.

Evening: The clock crawls towards the 48-hour mark.

You stand outside the door, your heart pounding the entire time.

10:56:57

10:56:58

10:56:59

10:57:00

You unlock it.

The door opens slowly and she's right there, sitting on the bed, knees tucked into her chest, face buried in her arms.

No makeup, no idol smile.

Just Wonyoung.

She looks up with her eyes wide. They're red, but hopeful.

“Oppa…?”

You step inside.

She launches herself at you, arms around your neck, legs around your waist, clinging like she’ll never ever let go again.

You catch her, arms wrapping around her as well, holding her tight. She cries into your neck with loud and wrenching sobs, discharging all the tears she will be crying for the next few months in advance.

You carry her to the living room couch and sit, letting her curl into your lap.

“I’m here,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

“I thought you’d never open the door…”

“I thought I lost you…”

You kiss her hair.

“You didn’t lose me. You never will.”

She pulls back to look at you.

“I won’t do it again. I swear. The quiet… the emptiness… it was worse than anything. The plushies didn’t help. They just sat there. They didn’t hold me. They didn’t love me.”

You cup her face and say softly, “I know.”

She leans into your hand. “I only want you. Just you.”

You kiss her forehead slowly, deeply, giving her your feelings that's filled with everything you couldn’t say for 48 hours.

She melts against you, and tonight, the hole in her heart feels smaller. It's not gone, but it definitely got smaller.

When you break the kiss, you reach into your pocket, pulling out a Cheez (Liz) coin.

Her eyes widen.

“You survived two days in there,” you say quietly. “No phone shopping. No packages. Just you and the silence. That’s strength. You earned two pulls tonight.”

She stares at the coin in your palm like it's a miracle.

“Really…?”

“Really.”

She takes it with shaking fingers, looking at the green machine. She turns back at you, hesitant if she deserves it at all, but you nod, giving her your affirmation.

“Go on.”

She crawls off your lap and kneels in front of the green machine, the very same spot she’s knelt so many times before. But this time there’s no fear. Just hope.

She slots the Cheez coin in and turns the knob. A capsule rolls out instantly.

<Common, -R>

She pops it open and reads softly.

“Remove tonight’s no-cuddle rule + immediate lap time with forehead kisses.”

She lets out a tiny, disappointed whine, jutting out her bottom lip in that adorable pout you know so well.

“Common again?”

She glances back at you, half-teasing, half-pleading. “I never get anything more than common for my rewards…”

You smile. “Sometimes the small ones are the ones that matter most. Come here.” She scrambles back into your lap immediately and you pull her close. “Besides, did you forget about your rare reward the other day? The one where I ate you out until you came twice?”

She blushes as you tuck her head under your chin, press slow, lingering kisses to her forehead, her temples, the bridge of her nose. She gives a long, contented sigh, melting against you like she’s finally home.

“Better?” you murmur against her hair.

“Much better…”

She nuzzles closer. “But I still want my epic…”

You chuckle softly. “Did you forget, the last time you whined for an epic a few days ago, you got an epic. Although it was one for punishment.”

“Bad luck… I hate it so much.”

“Then use your last coin,” you say, taking out another coin. She looks at the coin: Cherry. Her eyes shine with anticipation.

“Do it. It's your coin, and I reckon that you’ll get what you want.”

She takes the Cherry coin and kneels, slotting it into the machine without hesitation. Hand turning the knob, a second capsule rolls out for the night.

Her eyes light up.

Jackpot.

It's heavy with gold edges, just like the Epic -P punishment she got two nights ago, but this time, it's for a reward.

She freezes for a moment before popping it open with trembling fingers.

She opens her mouth, reading the card in a whisper that turns into a gasp:

<Epic, +R>

“Sex. All night.”

The moment she finishes reading the card, you crash your mouth against hers, kissing her like you're trying to devour her whole. Your tongues tangle immediately with no pretense of gentleness. She opens her mouth wide for you, moaning high in her throat as you lick deep into her mouth. Spit strings between your lips when you pull back for air, only to dive in again harder. You suck on her tongue, bite her bottom lip until she whines, then soothe it with a filthy drag of your own tongue. She tastes like salt and desperation and the faint sweetness of her chapstick, and you chase after every single drop.

Her nails rake down your back hard enough to sting through your shirt, but that's the least of your concern. You pull her up and shove her against the wall beside the darned red machine, pinning your hips against hers, thigh slotting between her legs so she can grind her desperate pussy on it like she’s starving. She takes your invitation without words, giving shameless little rolls, soaking your pants already.

You break the kiss with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your mouths. “You’ve been such a good girl,” you growl, hovering right over her swollen lips. “So fucking desperate to please me. Aren’t you?”

She nods frantically as she stares back into your eyes, pupils blown, spit shining on her chin.

“Yes… yes, oppa… I wanna be so good… I wanna taste you…”

You don’t let her beg more. You push down on her shoulders softly and she drops eagerly, knees hitting the rug with a soft thud, eyes locked on yours the whole way down. She yanks your pants open like she’s been dreaming about this for days. Your cock springs free, thick and leaking, and she actually whimpers at the sight, lips already parted and swollen from the earlier kisses.

She wraps both hands around the base, giving it a few strokes, smearing precum down the shaft. Then she leans in, blowing lightly over your tip.

“Please…” she whispers, licking her lips like she’s starving. “Let me be good for you.”

Her tongue flicks out without permission, giving kitten licks over the slit, lapping up the bead of precum like it’s candy. She moans at the taste and wraps her lips around the head.

It's slow and obscene.

She takes you in inch by inch, dick sucking lips stretching wide, tongue pressed flat to the underside, cheeks hollowing as she sucks. When the tip bumps the back of her throat she gags, but she doesn’t pull off. She breathes hard through her nose and relaxes her throat, forcing herself deeper until her lips kiss your base and her nose brushes your groin.

You let out a loud guttural moan as she hums lightly, threading your fingers into her hair.

“Good girl… fuck, look at you swallowing me whole like that.”

Her throat flutters around you, convulsing, milking, and her spit is already drooling from the corners of her mouth in thick strands. She holds you there for a long second, eyes watering, tears clinging to her lashes, before sliding back up with a slow, wet drag.

She starts bobbing on your cock, taking you in deep, pulling you out. All the while she looks up at your expression, studying which movements make your eyes roll, which angles make you moan harder.

“Am I doing good?” she asks as she pulls off your cock to take a breath.

“So good. So fucking good,” you rasp. She unbuttons her clothes as she breathes, tossing her top aside, exposing her bare tits. She smiles at your praise and dives back in, bobbing again, deeper and faster this time, head moving in a steady rhythm. Every downstroke she gags harder and her throat spasms with spit bubbling at her lips, but she never stops. She loves it.

Her cheeks hollow with each suck, tongue swirling around the head on every upstroke, and she moans around your length, the vibrations shooting straight to your balls.

Spit drips in messy streams down her chin, onto her chest, pooling on her thighs and the rug below. She’s making the filthiest sounds every time she bottoms out — wet glucks, choked gags, greedy slurps.

forcing her nose against you until she can’t breathe.

You take over.

Both hands in her hair now, cradling her skull and you start fucking her face in earnest.

“Such a perfect little cocksleeve,” you praise, “Look at you choking yourself stupid on my dick. You love it, don’t you? Love gagging until you cry. Love making a sloppy fucking mess just to feel full.”

She nods frantically, as much as she can with you filling her, humming her desperate agreement around your shaft. Tears spill freely from her eyes, but her pleading and worshipful eyes never leave yours. She bubbles around you with spit foaming at the corners of her mouth, before sucking them back in with a loud, greedy slurp.

“That’s it… choke on it for me… show me how empty you were without this cock.”

She does it again and again, louder and messier each time, until spit runs in thick strings down her chin, dripping onto her tits.

Her hand flies between her legs, fingers plunging into her cunt, thumb mashing her clit in frantic circles, matching the brutal pace of your thrusts.

She’s soaked.

Slick coats her wrist, dripping down her inner thighs, pooling on the rug in dark, spreading puddles. The wet squelch of her fingers mixes with the gluck-gluck-gluck of her throat every time you bottom out.

“Fuck—look at you,” you groan. “Drooling all over my cock like the good little needy girl you are. You’re making such a pretty mess… but you love it, don’t you? Love being my perfect cocksucker.”

She moans louder, sending vibrations through your entire length and takes you even deeper. Her throat convulses around the head and she gags harder, eyes watering, but she pushes through, holding you there until her lungs burn. Her eyes never leave yours. Pleading. Craving. Obsessing.

She’s crying openly now — not from pain, but from need. Her cheeks are flushed crimson, her spit-shiny lips are stretched wide, and her throat bulges visibly with every deep thrust.

When she finally pulls back, she’s gasping and drooling, and her face a wreck of spit and tears. She looks up at you with pure adoration.

“More,” she rasps. “Please… fuck my throat again. Use me.”

You guide her back down slowly, letting her feel every inch of you stretching her lips, filling her mouth, hitting the back of her throat.

“Fuck yes… that’s my girl. Swallow it all. Stuff that lonely little throat until it hurts.”

Her eyes roll to the back of her head as you push in and out of her throat rhythmically, letting her gag and choke around you while she moans like it’s the best thing she’s ever felt. Spit bubbles and foams with every stroke now, dripping in thick ropes, coating her chin, her neck, her chest.

She’s an utter mess.

You feel your balls tighten and your thighs tense, the pressure coiling tight.

“Gonna cum,” you warn, hips stuttering. “Where do you want it, baby? Tell me.”

She pulls off with a wet, filthy pop and looks up at you with tear-streaked cheeks and spit-glossed lips.

“On my face… please… paint me… make me pretty for you…”

You stroke yourself furiously at her pleas and erupt. Thick, hot ropes lash across her lips, her chin, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, even catching in her eyelashes. Some land on her tongue and she moans, catching it, swirling it around before swallowing with a greedy gulp.

The rest she smears deliberately, dragging your still-spurting cock across her face like a brush, rubbing your cum into her skin in slow, filthy circles, painting herself with you.

When you’re spent she looks up at you, face glazed, lips swollen and dripping, cum streaked from forehead to chin.

She smiles at you in a dazed, proud, and filthy satisfaction as she licks her cum-smeared lips slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

“It’s moisturiser… gonna make my skin glow for you… gonna make me pretty so you’ll never leave…”

You groan — half-laugh, half-lust — and haul her up by the arms. She stumbles into you, legs shaky, face still painted with your cum. You walk backwards and fall into the couch, pulling her with you. She straddles your hips instantly and you kiss her hard, tasting yourself on her tongue, her lips and her cheeks, and she moans like she’s addicted to it.

Her pussy is flushed with a dark pink, slick dripping down her folds, clit swollen and throbbing with need. She reaches for you immediately, fingers wrapping around your still-hard cock, stroking twice before guiding you right to her entrance.

“Please…” she whispers, voice hoarse from gagging on you earlier. “Fuck me. Fill me. I need you inside me so bad.”

She lines you up and sinks onto you with one long, slow thrust. You stretch her open until your hips press against hers and she cries out sharply, back arching into an impossible curve.

Her hot and wet walls flutter around you instantly, gripping like she’s trying to pull you deeper. She’s so tight, so sensitive from everything before that every tiny movement makes her whimper.

You stay buried for a second, letting her adjust, letting her feel how completely you fill her, then grab her waist and pull almost all the way out before slamming her back down. She gasps and her legs snap between your waist, toes digging into your ass to force you deeper.

You start fucking her onto you in earnest, each slam punching a broken moan out of her throat. She reaches up with her hands and clutches your shoulders for leverage, starting to move with you.

“So… deep inside of me—” Wonyoung gasps.

She lifts her hips, plants her feet onto the couch and begins squat-bouncing, rising up until only the head is inside her, then dropping back down hard, taking you to the root every time.

The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room.

Her pussy grips you on every upstroke, refusing to let you go, slick dripping down your shaft, coating your balls, soaking the couch beneath her. Your grip tightens more, helping her slam down harder, meeting her drops with upward thrusts that make her scream.

“That’s it, baby,” you growl. “Ride me like you mean it. Show me how much you need this cock to fill you up.”

She nods frantically, bouncing faster and harder, thighs trembling with the effort. You lean forward, latching your mouth onto one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking the stiff peak while your hips keep slamming up into her.

She sobs your name as her fingers dig into your shoulders so deeply that you’ll probably have marks tomorrow. But it doesn't matter. You switch to the other breast, teeth grazing, sucking until her nipple is red and swollen, then kiss your way up her chest, her neck, until you reach her mouth.

You kiss her messily, tongues tangling, tasting your cum still smeared on her lips, her chin, her cheeks. She moans into your mouth like she’s addicted, grinding down harder, chasing her high. Her bounces grow erratic as her thighs shake, walls fluttering wildly around you.

“Oppa—gonna cum—gonna cum on your cock—”

“Cum for me,” you command against her lips. “Let me feel that tight little pussy milk me. Show me you’re mine.”

She shatters and her whole body convulses, back arching, head thrown back, scream tearing from her throat as her pussy clamps down hard around you.

Hot gushes of squirt spray across your stomach, your thighs, the couch. It's violent, messy, and unstoppable.

She keeps bouncing through it, riding out every pulse, every aftershock, until she’s whimpering, oversensitive, legs quivering uncontrollably.

You wrap your arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other stroking down her spine.

“Good girl,” you whisper. “So fucking good for me.”

You pull out of her slowly, letting her feel every thick inch drag along her sensitive walls. She whines at the emptiness, hips twitching like her pussy is already begging to be filled again.

You flip her around with a rough grip on her hips, turning her so her back faces you. She scrambles into position eagerly, knees planted wide on the couch cushions, feet flat, ass high in the air as she kneels over your lap. Her pussy hovers just above your cock. She looks back over her shoulder with her glassy eyes and cum-streaked face, biting her swollen lip.

“Want you to watch,” she rasps, voice dripping with need. “Want them to watch… how deep you go… how much I fucking take for you…”

She lowers herself slowly, letting just the head kiss her folds. She gasps needily as her thighs tremble, sinking down another inch.

Then another, until she’s fully seated on you, cock buried to the hilt, hips flush against her ass, balls pressed tight to her clit. She lets out a long, filthy moan as her head falls forward, hair spilling across her back.

You grab her hips and start moving her again. She rises up and drops back down hard, taking you in and out of her with purpose. The wet slap of her ass meeting your thighs echoes through the room.

She bounces and bounces, hips rising and falling in perfect rhythm, pussy gripping you on every upstroke, slick dripping down your shaft. You thrust up to meet her drops, slamming deep, making her scream every time your cock punches against her front wall.

“Look at them,” you growl, nodding toward the shelf of plushies and figurines staring silently. “Show those stupid little toys how greedy your cunt really is. Show them how you swallow my cock whole every time you drop like the good little girl you are.”

She nods frantically, moaning nonstop, hips rolling down harder, ass jiggling with every bounce.

“Yes—yes—look… look how fucking deep he is… they can’t do this… only oppa can fill me like this… only oppa owns this pussy…”

You reach your hand forward and palm the bulge in her lower stomach where your cock is pressing hard against her insides, rubbing in slow, firm circles.

The added pressure makes her gasp and her eyes roll back, mouth falling open in a silent scream.

“Feel that…?” you growl filthily. “Feel how deep I am… stretching you… ruining you… prodding right against your fucking cervix…”

“God, I can feel you in my guts…” Wonyoung whines, shivering with every impact.

You thrust up harder, meeting her bounces with brutal force, watching your cock disappear into her over and over, slick glistening on your shaft, dripping down to soak everything.

“Fuck yes,” you snarl as she touches where you're rubbing. “Rub that bulge, baby. Feel how much cock you’re taking. You’re so fucking stretched around me… so full of me… you love being my little cock-drunk girl, don’t you? Love showing these plushies how your cunt milks me like a greedy little sleeve.”

She’s shaking and her thighs are quivering as her ass bounces wildly, but she keeps rubbing that bulge, amplifying every sensation until she’s sobbing.

“Oppa—gonna cum—gonna cum all over your cock again—please—please let me—”

“Cum for me, girl,” you command, voice rough and possessive. “Squirt all over me. Empty all your loneliness out. Show me how much you love being filled. Show them who this lonely dripping cunt belongs to.”

She detonates. Her whole body convulses as her back arches sharply, head thrown back, scream tearing from her throat as her pussy clamps down like a fist.

A violent, explosive gush erupts from her pussy and hot, clear squirt blasts out in forceful jets, spraying across your thighs, the couch cushions, even hitting the rug several feet away in wet splatters.

It doesn’t stop at one pulse. She keeps convulsing, each spasm forcing out another thick, messy stream that soaks you both as you bounce her on you continuously like a cocksleeve. She’s trembling violently, legs barely holding her up as her hips jerk uncontrollably.

“Oppa—fuck fuck fuck—I can't stop cumming—” She’s crying your name but she still grinds down onto you even as she squirts harder, the pressure of her palm on her own bulge making every gush more intense, more violent, more uncontrollable.

The squirt doesn't end as you bounce her on you continuously like a cocksleeve until she’s shaking, until she's squeezing so hard that she forces your cock out from her, until her pussy clenches and releases around nothing, forcing her orgasm to finally die down.

She collapses forward onto the ground with her ass perched in the air. You hold on to her shaking thighs as she squirts one final, weak spurt that drips down her legs before she goes limp. She's utterly wrecked, sobbing with overstimulation and relief.

“Wonyoungnie. I haven't cum yet,” you grunt before reaching out to grab her hips, pulling her back down onto you as you slam her onto you again, chasing your own release through her aftershocks.

Her pussy is still fluttering as you pound into her, milking you greedily. You hook your arms underneath her thighs and bend her legs towards her head, folding her onto you. Her pussy is fully exposed outwards as you pound into her in a sitting Nelson position.

The new angle sets her already sensitive nerves on fire and lets you thrust deeper and faster. “Fuck Wonyoungnie, your pussy feels so god damn tight. I'm going to cum—”

“Cum inside of me please, fill me up oppa—” Wonyoung begs as your hips go into overdrive, slamming up into her like a jackhammer. With a final grunt, you bury yourself deep and cum hard.

Thick, hot pulses flood her, spilling out around your cock as you fill her to the point overflowing. She shudders through another small, broken climax as her walls ripple until she collapses completely.

“Oppa—m-more please—please fuck the loneliness out of me—” Wonyoung chokes, body still shaking from her aftershocks.

You pull out of her and flip her onto her back with a firm grip on her hips, guiding her so her head rests against the arm of the couch and her legs spread wide for you. You kneel on the floor in front of the couch, positioning yourself between her thighs. Before your cum can even leak out of her, you line up and slam back into her with one deep, brutal thrust.

She screams your name as you bury into her, back arching sharply off the couch as her walls clamp down around you like a vise. The wet heat of her envelops you completely, slick and pulsing, every ridge and clench gripping your length like she’s trying to pull you deeper.

She lifts her hips instinctively, offering herself completely, knees bent and feet planted on the edge of the cushion.

You don’t give her time to adjust and start pounding relentlessly, hips snapping forward with punishing force, cock slamming into her over and over. Your balls slap wetly against her ass in a lewd, rhythmic smack and each thrust forces a fresh gush of slick from her cunt.

Her hot juices coats your shaft, making it so slippery as they overflow and flow down her ass crack. The obscene squelching sounds of her pussy swallowing you fills the room, and it's loud and filthy, mixing with her high, desperate moans every time you bottom out.

“So deep—all for me—oppa your cock—all mine—” Wonyoung moans as you keep the rhythm brutal. You pull almost all the way out until only the swollen head stretches her entrance, the cool air kissing her soaked folds for a split second, then slamming back in deep, grinding your pelvis against her clit on every stroke. The unending friction makes her gasp and her clit throbs visibly under the pressure.

“Feel that?” you growl, voice thick with lust. “Feel how fucking deep I am? This lonely little hole was starving for cock, wasn’t it? All those nights hugging plushies, feeling empty inside… but now you’re stuffed full of me. Stretched wide. Ruined for anything else.”

She nods frantically as her tears stream, hips bucking up to meet every punishing thrust.

“Yes—yes—stretching me—filling me—oppa—only you—only your cock can do this—”

You grab her hips tighter, lifting her slightly to angle even deeper. You jam into her with short, brutal strokes, cock bullying against her front wall, hitting that spot over and over until her walls start spasming uncontrollably around you.

The wet, sucking sound of her pussy grows louder with every thrust and her slick coats your shaft and her inner thighs, muscles quivering with every impact.

“Eyes on me, baby. Look at who’s filling you. Look at who you belong to.”

You lean down, latching your mouth onto one nipple and suck hard, tongue flicking the peak while your hips keep driving down into her without mercy. You switch to the other nipple, then grab her hips again, lifting her higher so you can slam even deeper.

“Fuck yes,” you growl. “This cunt was made for my cock. Gripping me so tight… milking me like it never wants to let go. You love being pumped full, don’t you? Love feeling me drill into that empty spot until you can’t think straight.”

“If only you were a good little girl. You could get this cock all day, every day,” you grunt, leaning downwards to whisper in her ears as you piston. “But no. You choose to spend your money on little toys that can only sit there and stare at you uselessly. Why do you even not try and get fucked by my cock daily?”

She’s babbling now, every thrust forcing another whimper from her lips.

“Oppa—gonna cum—gonna cum all over your cock—please—please fill me more—please keep pumping me full—”

You keep thrusting with long, hard pumps now, cock slamming in and out, slick squelching loudly with every plunge.

“You could get a green capsule everyday. You could be such an obedient girl that I could make every capsule epic. You could experience this everyday. But you choose to press that stupid little ‘buy’ button. You choose to swipe that stupid card. You choose them instead of me.”

The couch creaks under the force and her ass lifts slightly off the cushions with each upward snap of your hips.

“Should I let you cum?”

“Yes yes yes—I’ll do my best—from now on—I’ll only choose you—I’ll only want you—please oppa—oppa—let me cum—” Wonyoung shrieks as she nods desperately, trying to seek your permission.

“Then cum for me,” you command. “Clench around me. Milk me. Show me how much you need this dick to feel whole again.”

She shatters. Her whole body convulses — back bowing, scream tearing from her throat — pussy clamping down so hard it steals your breath.

Her fingers fly to her clit, rubbing frantically, drawing out the orgasm until she’s sobbing, walls rippling and fluttering around you in violent spasms.

The sensation of her tight, pulsing cunt milking you relentlessly sends you over the edge.

You bury yourself deep and cum hard. You unload the final pulses of your cum into her, making her whimper through it. Her walls clench and milk every last drop from you until you collapse onto her, breathing ragged.

“Don’t pull out… stay inside… keep me full…” Wonyoung murmurs.

You stay inside her, breathing hard against her neck. She clings onto you, arms and legs wrapped tight around you as she trembles through the aftershocks.

You kiss her forehead, cheeks and lips softly, tasting salt and sweat and love.

She whispers against your mouth, “I’m yours… only yours…”

You hold her tighter. “I know.”

And in that moment your bodies are tangled, hearts racing, plushies forgotten on the shelf. ***

Months pass like an unending storm, continuously hurling challenges towards Wonyoung. Her schedule doesn't let up at all, getting busier and more hectic.

The apartment still smells faintly of vanilla candles and cardboard from old packages, but the deliveries have slowed to a trickle. The shelf of plushies and figurines gathers a thin layer of dust now — not neglected, just… less urgent. She still touches them sometimes, running a finger along a Kuromi ear or straightening a Sonny Angel’s tiny hat, but her hand always drifts back to you afterward, as if remembering where the real warmth lives.

Some days she comes home and melts into your lap without a word. You wrap her up, kiss her temple, murmur “good girl” against her hair while she sighs and melts. No machine needed. No coin. Just the two of you, breathing in sync.

Some nights are harder.

A long solo schedule, a string of “perfect Wonyoung” comments online, an empty practice room at midnight. She’ll stare at her phone, thumb hovering over a shopping app, heart racing with old habit. But she closes it. Every time. She closes it, walks to you instead, and buries her face in your chest until the urge fades.

She doesn’t always win.

There are slips — a small blind-box here, a limited keychain there. When it happens, she tells you immediately — no hiding, no second card. She kneels by the machines, eyes glassy but steady, and takes the pull. The punishments are lighter now, rarer. The rewards feel sweeter. And afterward, she always ends up in your arms, whispering “I’m trying… I’m still trying.”

You never ask if she’s “cured.”

She never promises she is.

Instead she reaches for your hand more often than her phone.

She falls asleep against your chest more nights than not.

She smiles when you call her “good girl,” and the word lands differently now: less like a rule, more like a truth.

The hole in her heart isn’t gone.

It probably never will be completely.

But it’s smaller.

And every day she chooses — sometimes shakily, sometimes fiercely — to fill it with something warmer than plastic and stuffing.

She chooses you.