A weary sigh leaves your lips as you rest the back of your head against the trembling glass of the subway. Eight years of college, even more years of brown-nosing just for a sliver of a chance at a promotion, hours of sleep lost from nights working overtime, and where did it land you? A thankless office job that considers you more of a number than a living, breathing human being. After all that, you get to go home to a loveless marriage with a woman you know for a fact is cheating on you with her personal trainer, but you’re too tired to do anything about it. Hooray for you.

You feel the subway slowly creep to a stop. A few more of those and you’ll finally be able to sleep and pretend like you're dead for a couple hours before doing it all over again. A lone girl, maybe 20, walks into the car and takes a seat directly across from you—an odd move considering the entire car is completely empty aside. You try to ignore her, opting to get some shut-eye before you get to your stop, but you can’t deny the shift in the atmosphere from her presence. She’s a pretty young girl, all alone at this time of night. You could do anything to her and no one would even know. You shake your head at the thought. No good can come from a perverted old man like yourself.

“Psst…”

Although, there’s no fault in thinking like that if it stays in your mind. A cute girl like her could easily be taken advantage of. In fact, she’s lucky that you’re here instead of an actual sicko that would try to put their hands all over her.

“Psst… Ahjussi…”

This shitty marriage has got you all pent up. Not like you would have any energy left in you, especially after a day like this. Lucky you. Maybe if you pray hard enough, whatever god is up there will pity you and summon a woman that’ll throw themselves at you. If only life were that easy.

“Ahjussi!”

Your eyes shoot open from the sudden noise. The girl sitting across from you giggles to herself. It isn’t immediately obvious due to her innocent features, but you can tell that she’s hiding something behind that smile. Something sinister, even. How exciting.

“What?” you ask. Her sly smile only grows as she subtly raises her skirt. Little by little, she reveals the supple flesh of her thighs, firm and plump. You know in the back of your mind that this is wrong, that she shouldn’t be exposing herself to an old man like this, but the second you see that little bit of white cotton in between her legs, all common sense flies out the window. 

Suddenly, she lowers her skirt, much to your disappointment. Your emotions must have been obvious as she cackles sweetly, pointing at your face. Embarrassed, you lean back and shut your eyes, hoping she’ll leave you alone for the duration of the ride.

“Ahjussi~” she teases in a sing-songy voice. “Open your eyes~” Like a fool, you follow her orders without a second thought. This time, however, the reward is greater than you could have ever imagined. Her white cotton panties are there in full view for no one else but yourself, drawing you in like a black hole. The girl bites her lip as she traces circles around her crotch, more for you rather than herself. Your cock begins to strain in your pants, begging to be set free.

“Come here,” she says, beckoning you with a single finger. You quickly do as she says and sit next to her. Up close, you can see just how deceivingly innocent she is with her big, round eyes and her thick, pouty lips. Anyone would walk by her and assume she’s a classy and upstanding student, not a little slut teasing random old men in a subway (Not that you mind).

“I’m Hanni. What’s your name?” she asks, gripping the sleeve of your blazer while she plays with herself under her skirt.

“I-I, u-um, m-my name is-”

She brings a finger to your lips, silencing you. “Actually, I don’t really care, I’m just gonna call you daddy,” Hanni giggles. You force yourself to take a deep breath in an attempt to remain composed, but inside, you’re cheering like an addicted gambler finally hitting that sweet, sweet jackpot.

“So Daddy, what are you doing riding the train this late at night?” The lilt she puts on that word is enough to drive you insane, but you try to hold back, not wanting to appear too desperate.

“Uh, y’know, just getting home after a long day of work. Boring office job and all that. Nothing you would find any interest in,’ you sigh. Hanni pouts, looking at you with a sympathetic expression.

“Awww poor daddy, you must be so stressed.” She holds onto your arm, pushing her perky breasts into you. Your wife has never given you so much as a glance in your direction whenever you showed up exhausted from work. She’s probably too busy texting her personal trainer. Hell, she’s probably fucking him right at this very moment. It’s only fair if you get to have some fun for yourself, right?

“Yeah, I suppose I am pretty stressed. On top of that, my wife has been cheating on me with this personal trainer guy she met a couple months ago.” As soon as you mention your wife’s adultery, a hint of a smirk appears on Hanni’s lips.

“Oh no~,” she says, feigning pity. “Maybe I can help you… feel better?” She puts your hand on your chest and inches it downwards, all while maintaining eye contact with you. Her face is close enough for you to feel her breath on your chin, but just far enough for her to escape if you try to kiss her. All you can do is wait as you feel her hand getting closer and closer and closer to your raging erection. Everything fades away but the pumping of your heart and the gentle brown of her eyes. Finally, a guttural groan escapes your mouth as she grasps onto your cock, stroking it through your pants.

Hanni giggles at your expression. “Does that feel good, Daddy? Do you like it when I play with Daddy’s cock?” All you can do is nod as she continues to toy with you, rubbing and squeezing along your shaft. It’s been so long since another person has touched your penis that you almost finish right then and there, but you continue to hold it in with steely determination.

“Daddy’s cock is so big and thick, I don’t know if it’ll fit in my tiny, little mouth.” Hanni leans into your ear, tickling your skin with her breath as she whispers, “Maybe we should find out.”

“Y-yes, god yes,” you practically beg.

“Then tell me what to do,” she says. “I’m your little whore for the night. Treat me like one.” Those filthy words coming out of her pretty mouth is a memory that you will never forget until the day you die.

“Fucking suck my cock, you slut,” you command, a little too enthusiastically. Even in the prime of your relationship, your wife would never let you talk to her like this. To have your commands followed by this cute girl is heart-poundingly exhilarating. You feel like a whole new man.

Hanni fiddles with your belt buckle at a snail’s pace. You try to do it yourself to get the ball rolling, but she swats your hand away.

“Let me do it by myself, Daddy~” she pouts. With a nod, you lean back and let her have her way, succumbing to the desires of her cuteness. If she wanted to, she could easily take over the world with her looks alone.

After unbuckling your belt and unzipping your pants, all that’s left is the fabric of your underwear separating your dick from her glossy lips. Hanni places a few gentle kisses on your bulge, drawing a moan from your belly. Giggling, her fingers hook around the waistband and pull it down at a tantalizingly slow pace, leaving you to wait as your heart threatens to burst from your chest. Finally, your member swings up, almost hitting Hanni in the face. Her jaw drops as she gazes at your length, a look of surprise and a little bit of fear in her eyes.

“Oh shit…” she whispers to herself before shaking her head and putting back the sultry appearance she had before. “I can’t wait to choke on your big, fat cock, Daddy.” Her lips curl into a smirk as she begins to stroke your shaft. Hanni’s hands are much softer than your wife’s, and even more skilled as she cups your balls, applying just enough pressure like a skilled masseuse. You watch with bated breath as she leans forward, eyeing the tip of your cock for a moment before it disappears into her open mouth. The sound of your moan echoes throughout the subway car as Hanni sucks on your tip, slowly taking in more of your length with each bob of her head. Even your wife’s cocksucking skills pale in comparison to hers, you almost feel bad for the guy that she’s fucking.

“Yes, good girl, Hanni. Suck that dick, you fucking slut,” you encourage. You notice her ass sticking up in the air, and thanks to the rumbling of the train and her bobbing motions, her skirt rides up just enough for you to peek at the white panties covering her ass, giving you the bright idea to reel back and her a good, hard spank. She moans into your cock, heightening the sensation. 

“I bet you like that, you little whore.” You yank her up by the hair, forcing her to look at you, saliva covering her mouth and chin. All the inhibitions and common sense you had before are completely gone, leaving nothing behind but animalistic desire.  “Say it. Say that your daddy’s little fucktoy.”

“I’m daddy’s little fucktoy,” she repeats, giggling. Satisfied, you release her hair and sit back, watching as she alternates between deepthroating your shaft and sucking on your balls while she strokes your entire length with her spit. You would happily quit your job and live at the subway instead if it meant you get to have this petite sex doll all to yourself every night.

Suddenly, the train comes to a stop at one of the stations and a man stumbles inside. The two of you scramble to cover up, hiding any semblance that the two of you are doing anything indecent. Much to your dismay, the man sits nearby, making it difficult for even small gestures to go unnoticed. He’s clearly not a student nor is he an office worker, so why the hell would he be riding the subway this late at night!?

“Wait,” Hanni whispers, pointing at the man. “Look.”

Confused, you watch as his body begins to sway with the movements of the train. Upon closer inspection, you notice that his eyes are struggling to stay open and his clothes are disheveled. Clearly, he’s either drunk, faded, or both. Finally, BAM—he knocks out on the seat, completely unconscious.

Hanni stifles as she gives you a knowing look. “He’ll be out for a little while so…” She bends over the seat, shaking her butt at you. “Fuck my little pussy with that cock, Daddy~” she teases, shooting you a wink.

Pounding with excitement, you release your cock and stroke it back to life, while your other hand pulls down her white cotton panties, finally revealing her pinky honeypot just for you. With Hanni’s saliva as lube, you line up your tip with her cunt, teasing her moist folds.

“Are you ready, baby?” she asks.

“I’m so fucking rea—MMPH!” She struggles to stifle a moan as you completely bottom out inside of her, all in one thrust. So slick and so tight, you don't even care about comparing her to your wife anymore. All you want to do is ruin her little pussy and use it as your personal cocksleeve. You sink your fingers into her hips, pulling her into you with each thrust and watching her cute ass jiggle against you.

Fuck that stupid company. Fuck your stupid bitch of a wife. Your entire life you were told what to do, how to act, and what you should look like in order to succeed in life. You followed everyone’s orders to a T, even going above and beyond to obtain that success that was oh so coveted. But look where you are now - eight inches deep into some girl you just met tonight. Fuck the “high-paying job” and fuck the “hot wife”. If this isn’t success, then you don’t know what is.

“O-oh my g-god… Y-you’re so f-fucking h-huge…” Hanni squeaks in between thrusts, desperately trying to control her volume. You’re unsure how much longer you can manage, but it doesn’t matter. Whether she likes it or not, this slut is gonna leave with a gallon of your cum deep inside of her.

Hanni’s body begins to shake violently. “I-I… I’m cumming!” She shrieks wildly.” You pull out of her, watching in astonishment as she squirts all over the seats. And your wife said you could never dream of satisfying a woman - if only she could see this now. 

“H-holy shit…” she says, leaning her head on your shoulder as she gasps for air. “That was… fucking insane.” Both of you laugh as you wait for her to get down from her high. Miraculously, the man didn’t notice her ear-splitting orgasm, still completely out cold.

Suddenly, Hanni straddles your lap, wrapping her arms around your head. “I noticed that you didn’t cum yet, Daddy.” She gyrates your hips, rubbing her wet slit against your tip. You figure she would still be sensitive after the first round, but it’s clear she was built purely to fuck. “Maybe we should change that,” she says, biting her lips.

“Maybe we should,” you smirk. Hanni kisses you as she drops her hips onto your cock, causing her to moan into your mouth. Not wanting to give up dominance completely, you shove your tongue down her throat, filling two of her holes at once. The wet slapping of her bouncing on your cock echoes throughout the car, and at this point, you don’t care if that man wakes up or not. He could be completely conscious and recording you right now, but you still wouldn’t stop plowing this little minx. In fact, you secretly hope that he is recording right now - the whole world should know that this fucktoy named Hanni is yours and yours alone.

You rip open her top, exposing her perky tits. They are on the smaller side, but they’re big enough to jiggle with each bounce and that’s good enough for you. Hanni grabs your head as you latch onto her tits, licking and sucking every inch of her chest. The pressure begins to build in your loins and you know the end is coming soon. Wanting to milk every drop of this experience, you stand up, supporting Hanni by the ass, and begin ramming into her with every ounce of energy you have left. Rather than a 40-something-year-old man, you feel like you’re reborn again into your 20-year-old body. You feel the familiar tightening of Hanni’spussy around your member, and with one final thrust, your body is elevated to Heaven. Shooting rope after rope into her deep cunt, the high is nothing like you’ve ever experienced in your lifetime. Not even your wife- Ah, who cares about her. She’s nothing but dirt under your foot, while Hanni is an angel sent from above.

You gently place her down on the seat before collapsing next to her, shutting your eyes so you can replay this entire experience in your head. Never in your life did you think you would ever get this lucky. The train comes to a halt, and a hand pats your shoulder.

“Sorry Daddy, but this is my stop,” she giggles as she skips towards the open doors. Despite the rough pounding you just gave her, she somehow managed to look presentable in the short time that your eyes were closed. “I’ll see you around, Daddy~”

The last thing you see is her wink before hopping off the train and disappearing into the night. You’re disappointed that you didn’t ask for her contact information before she left, but you’re confident that you’ll cross paths with her again in the future. Surely, whatever god that heard your prayers isn’t that cruel, right?

As you approach your stop, you quickly get yourself sorted, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention from passersby. If your wife asks about any mysterious “stains” on you, you could easily attribute it to being clumsy while drinking. Not that she would care enough to ask anyway. 

Upon exiting the car, a police officer stops you as you approach the stairs.

“Excuse me, sir,” he says. You try to ignore him, hoping that there’s someone behind you that he’s referring to, but unfortunately, nobody else is around. “Sir, I need to talk to you for just a moment.”

“What’s the problem, officer?” You ask, hiding your panic behind a nervous smile. A whirlwind of questions swarm your mind. Is this about Hanni? Did you get caught? Was it that drunk guy that sold you out? Beads of sweat begin to form on your head as the police officer questions you.

“There has been an increase in robberies in the subway recently and I just want to ask if you saw any suspicious individuals lurking around the subway.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that the heat isn’t on you. “Well, no officer, I haven’t seen any suspicious individuals around,” you reply.

“Are you sure?” He asks. “All the victims have described the suspect as being a short Asian girl, about 18 years of age, with big brown eyes and black hair. Does that ring any bells for you?

An alarm blares throughout your head. Surely he’s lying, right? Maybe he’s talking about a different Asian girl. There are probably thousands, no, MILLIONS of people that fit that criteria. Besides, you and Hanni shared a special connection tonight. She’s the answer to everything that ever went wrong in your life, an angel sent from Heaven to cure you of your miseries. Hanni wouldn’t lie to you, right?

For most, Friday nights meant partying. Bad decisions that'll wash over by Monday. Breaking off the shackles of humanity to get more wasted than humanly possibly. For Eunchae and Kyujin, Friday nights are for breaking out their favorite fluffy blanket—the one with the big wolf on it—and snuggling up on Eunchae's balcony underneath an audience of stars. Every Friday without fail, exactly in their assigned spots: Kyujin, the big spoon, and Eunchae, the little one.

Kyujin snuggles closer, nose pressed against the neck of her lover. "Did you get a new perfume?" Her soft voice sends tingles down Eunchae's spine.

"Nah," she responds. "I did get a new shampoo though. The grocery story ran out of what I usually get."

Kyujin takes another whiff. "It's nice. Strawberry?"

Eunchae nods, her brown hair tickling Kyujin's cheek. Another deep inhale, and all of a sudden, strawberries are all Kyujin can think about. Strawberry smoothies, bagels smothered with cream cheese and strawberry jam, those healthy cereals her mother buy with all those dried strawberry pieces. She couldn't get enough of it.

"Do you like it that much?" Eunchae giggles. "I'll buy it for you next time I go grocery shopping."

"No, no, it's just—"She sniffs right on her scalp"—it's just nice. I can't explain it."

"What shampoo do you use?" Eunchae shifts in her arms, and all of a sudden finds herself counting each individual eyelash lining the top of her cat-like eyes (She got to 10 before losing count).

"I don't know," Kyujin whispers into the narrowing space,"it changes every few weeks."

"It's nice," she guesses. It's hard to focus when her eyes are on those soft lips. Every week, Eunchae makes an effort to try and memorize each crease on them. Long, short, short, that one's a bit longer than the first, and she loses track all over again as the thumping in her ears persists. With legs tangled and arms enclosed, the interior of their shared wolf blanket feels like a sauna, both girls trying to outlast the other in the growing heat.

"My tummy feels funny," Eunchae admits. In response, Kyujin runs her hand underneath her shirt like it's a physical issue she can solve, feeling the way Eunchae tenses under her palm.

"Feels fine to me."

"You're stupid," she says, but her face is all smiles as Kyujin goes higher, higher, dragging against the gentle divots of her abs, and stopping at the hem of her sports bra. "Can't even figure out what shampoo to buy."

"What's wrong with a little exploration?" She teases her nail along the elastic, snapping it gently against Eunchae's skin.

"Nothing, really." Eunchae shifts closer, pulling Kyujin's thigh to her waist. "Are we still talking about shampoo?"

"A subject change would be nice." A soft press against her lips later and strawberries are on Kyujin's mind again. "Strawberry lip gloss?"

"That was a coincidence," Eunchae chuckles. "Do you like it?"

"Hmm, I should try it again just to be sure."

The air fills with the pucker of sticky lips and hushed giggles. Kyujin pulls close, and Eunchae lets her, lost in the headiness of being touched in ways only she would know. Beyond this balcony is nothing; irrelevant. Everything they need is right here, underneath the blanket with the wolf on it.

Eunchae whines. "You're gonna make me wake the neighbors again."

Kyujin has her chest pressed against her lover's back, hand trailing down to the waistband of her sweats. "Don't blame me because you can't keep your mouth shut."

"I'm the one that has to deal with them when you leave." Despite her protests, Eunchae spreads her legs, craving sweet release after such a long week. Another whimper escapes her lips as Kyujin invades her most intimate area with her delicate fingers.

She knows exactly what makes Eunchae tick: the sensitivity of her nipples, the speed she likes to be fucked silly, down to the crescendo of her moans as she approaches her climax. Kyujin gets drunk on the scent of strawberries, hands moving with a mind of their own on the body she's loved a thousand times before. All Eunchae can do is submit to the constant stream of dopamine.

"Shit, fuck," she slurs, vocabulary dumbed down to the essentials. She presses back into Kyujin, desperate to be touched, to be loved, to be fucked by her expert fingers. "God, you're so good…"

"I know," Kyujin smirks. If nothing, she takes immense pride in being able to see her like this—like putty in her hands, undone in all the best ways.

Eunchae turns her head. "Kiss me, please, I—" Her lips are claimed in an instant, moans suffocated by Kyujin's tongue. Against the whistling winds, all that can be heard is the hot stickiness of Eunchae's cunt, barely muffled by the blanket. The melody of their lovemaking is a secret only meant for them; whatever the neighbors argue is up for speculation.

Kyujin slows her pumping, down to occasional swipes against her lover's sweet spot. "I'm fucking starving for you," she huffs, trailing kisses on her throat, down to her soft breasts, lower still until she's hidden under the blanket.

Before Eunchae can even complain about the loss of Kyujin's fingers, her sweats are pulled to her ankles, and a tongue slides up her soaked thighs.

"Oh fuck, Kyujin," she moans, barely keeping it together. Without a kiss to keep her silent, she cups a hand over her mouth; it's all for naught as a flick of Kyujin's tongue against her clit turns her into a siren. Her poor neighbors.

Eunchae's words dissolve into vague grunts of "fuck", "yes", and "right there", her voice climbing up the register to that note Kyujin likes. She eats up her girlfriend's pretty heat, chasing that sound that lets her know she's done a good job, ready to drink up every last drop of her honey.

“Ugh, this is so fucking annoying!” Gaeul groans, slamming her fist against the table, the clattering of silverware echoing throughout the apartment. Wonyoung, used to her sudden bursts of anger, doesn’t even look up from her phone. “I already told that old guy from SBS that I’m not interested, yet he keeps spamming my messages!”

“Why did you give him your number in the first place if you’re not interested?” Wonyoung inquires.

Gaeul’s cheeks turn a bright red, her gaze falling nervously to the side. “...You know why.”

“Because you’re horny?” Wonyoung posits, raising her brow.

The older girl’s face falls into her hands in misery, emitting a deep guttural groan that carries the weight of her dissatisfaction. “This is so unfair, how did you guys find boyfriends and I have to slog through all these gross older men and obnoxious boy group members?” Gaeul glances at her with a pout on her lips. “Am I ugly or something?”

Wonyoung sighs, gently holding her groupmate’s hand from across the table. “Of course you’re not ugly, you’re just… unlucky.” Gaeul faceplants into the table, her muffled whimpers eliciting sympathy from the younger girl. “Look, why don’t you just ask out our manager already? I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Gaeul’s face shoots up, tomato red with panic. “W-what are you talking about!? That’s our manager, that’s w-weird!”

Wonyoung scoffs. “And you think touching yourself while moaning his name isn’t weird?”

“H-how did y-”

“These walls are paper thin, just because you play ocean noises in the background doesn’t mean we can’t hear you.”

Gaeul sinks into her chair, covering her face in embarrassment. With a sigh, Wonyoung pulls up a website on her phone and slides it across the table. “Here, a bunch of my friends used this website when they were in your position and they all managed to find a boyfriend within a week.”

The older girl scans the phone, immediately grimacing at the shoddy nature of the website. Aside from an embedded video in the middle of the site and a measly drop down menu titled “Lessons”, it’s essentially barebones. All the text is in Comic Sans for some god awful reason, and whatever moron made this sorry excuse for a website decided to use bright orange over pink. It’s like wrapping a terrible gift in even uglier wrapping paper.

“Wonyoung, this is… grim,” she mutters.

Wonyoung shrugs. “The results speak for themselves.” She takes her phone back and walks towards her room at the end of the hallway. “You better watch those videos. You’re already ruining my beauty sleep, I won’t let you ruin beaches for me too,” she calls out, her bedroom door slamming behind her.

Gaeul leans her head against her palm, contemplating her options. She could ignore Wonyoung’s advice and continue to foolishly look around for dick until her standards drop so low that she ends up sleeping with—God forbid—some washed up 2nd gen idol, or she could learn a thing or two from that hideous website and ask out her hot manager, potentially making things awkward between them for the rest of her career. 

She barely has to think about it before pulling out her phone, pulling up the website in mere seconds. With a deep breath, she presses play on the first video.

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LESSON 1: HOW TO GET A MAN

Being the manager of one of the biggest girl groups in the world leaves you with little energy and even less free time. At first, it was fun. When IVE first debuted, they were nervous yet excited about finally achieving the dreams they’ve worked so hard for, and you wanted to help them out anyway you could, becoming a strong pillar that they can rely on. 

However, after a couple years of idol experience under their belt combined with their very quick rise to stardom, the job that you once loved turned into a complete nightmare, which only worsened once the girls found partners. Just last week, you had to wrestle a camera away from a Dispatch worker after he took photos of Rei sucking off her boyfriend in the middle of a park—all of this at 3 fucking AM. To add salt to the wound, instead of being commended for preventing a potential PR disaster, you got chewed out by your supervisor for not managing them well enough. Sure, let’s ignore the million other times you’ve warned them about doing stupid things in public that they keep ignoring. 

At least not all of them are a handful to deal with since Gaeul doesn’t have a boyfr—

*Ring Ring*

Speak of the devil. You answer your phone.

“Hey Gaeul, what’s up?”

“H-hi, um…” She clears her throat, her nervousness putting you on edge.

“Is something wrong? Are you in trouble?”

“N-no, it’s nothing like that! It’s just, uh… Are you busy tomorrow?”

You scan your desk, cluttered with a messy pile of paperwork. Even at your most productive, it’ll take you the entire week to get through everything alongside the plethora of meetings you’ll have to attend. “Yeah, I’ll probably be busy tomorrow, why?”

“Oh, um… How about Saturday?”

“Gaeul, what is this about?”

“Just…!” She sighs audibly in frustration. “Yes or no?”

Rolling your eyes, you take a quick glance at your calendar. Aside from a note that says “buy groceries”, it seems like your entire weekend is free. “Yes, I’m free on Saturday. What is this—”

“Great! I’ll text you an address. Be there at 5pm sharp. Bye!”

“Wai—”

Gaeul hangs up before you can utter another word, leaving you to wonder what all of this is about and why she sounded so nervous over the phone. Your mind runs through all the potential scenarios this could be. As far as you know, there aren’t any events the girls are performing at and filming for their YouTube show doesn’t start until next week. Could this be a prank they’re pulling on you?

Even as you look up the address she sent you, all you're left with is more questions than answers.

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LESSON 2: HOW TO ACT PROPER ON A DATE

Saturday rolls around after another particularly difficult week of running around protecting IVE’s image. If you’re being honest, you fully expected to pass away from stress alone after Yujin and Liz nearly got caught having a foursome in someone’s pool by Dispatch yet again. At the very least, this photographer didn’t put up nearly as much of a fight as the last one.

As you travel to the far side of the city and stroll up to the fancy restaurant Gaeul all but forced you to come to, you silently pray that this isn’t some weird way of her announcing her new relationship to you. You enter the restaurant, almost immediately receiving a glare of disdain from the host as he scans your casual outfit of a T-shirt and jeans, unbefitting of the atmosphere.

“I’m sorry sir, but we have a strict dress code and we unfortunately cannot seat you with your current outfit,” he says, flashing a condescending smile.

“Actually, sorry if this is weird, but is a woman named Gaeul here?” you ask, ignoring his poor attitude.

He looks down at his podium, scanning through some papers before his expression suddenly shifts into something more genial. “Ah, of course! Right this way, sir.” He leads you down a side hallway that’s hidden away from the main seating area, and brings you to one of many doors. “Ms. Gaeul is right in this room, sir.”

You open the door, your jaw hitting the floor in awe as you scan the intricate decorations that adorn the room. A golden chandelier hangs overhead, illuminating everything in a warm glow, while beautifully realistic paintings of fruit bowls and flower vases hang on the walls. In the center of the room sits a table, draped with a red silk cloth and topped with lit candles that set a sort of romantic mood. Gaeul sits on one end, sporting a black strapless dress that shows off her milky skin and thin figure.

“Hi!” She says, walking to you with outstretched arms. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Hey—O-oh.” You flinch in surprise as she pulls you into a warm embrace, instinctually slotting your arm around her delicate waist. It’s the first hug you’ve shared with one of the members, and your discomfort quickly fades as you sink into her. 

“Have a seat, make yourself comfortable,” she says. You sit across from her, your eyes darting around the room, overwhelmed by the ambience. “You like the view?”

“Yeah, this place is pretty cool, but why did you want me to come here?”

“To surprise you of course!” 

Just then, a procession of servers files through the door, carrying silver platters full of food. With each dish they place, you salivate more and more, your stomach rumbling intensely. By the time the last dish is set, the entire table is filled with various dishes of different smells, colors, and textures, none of it discernible but all of it delicious. The final cherry on top is the bottle of expensive wine that the server pours into your glass. This is it. This is Heaven.

“Since you work so hard for us, I thought it would be fitting to treat you to a nice meal,” Gaeul explains, smiling at you. “You deserve it.

“W-wow, this is just… thank you so much, Gaeul,” You say, still scanning the food in front of you. “I wish you would’ve told me to wear something nicer though. That guy at the front side-eyed me the second I walked in.”

“It’s okay, I think you look sexy in anything you wear,” she giggles, cutting her laughter short with a bite of her lip. For a split second, you swear your heart skips a beat.

Blush grows on your cheeks, taken aback by her sudden compliment. “O-oh, uh, thanks. You look, um, very nice too.”

“Just nice?” She pouts cutely. “I got all dressed up for you and that’s all you’re gonna say?”

The heat in your face deepens as you nervously avert your gaze. You compliment the girls all the time, why do you suddenly feel weird about it now? “You look… very pretty, Gaeul.”

She grins warmly, satisfied by your answer. “Thank you. Now eat up! It’s all for you.”

You spend the next few minutes in pure bliss trying out every single dish, each bite better than the last. Sweet, savory, bitter, earthy, flavor combinations you never even knew existed dance around on your taste buds; pair that with the rich taste of the wine and suddenly, you’re floating on cloud nine.

“How’s the food?” She asks. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Of course I am,” you say, grinning at her. “I’m eating delicious food and drinking expensive wine with a beautiful girl.”

“Oh?” Her brow raises with intrigue, a smirk playing on her glossy lips. “Beautiful? I thought you said I was just pretty?”

“I-I mean yeah, the entire world thinks you’re beautiful,” you stutter, trying to keep your inhibitions in check, a task that’s becoming increasingly difficult with the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed.

“Okay, but what do you think?” Gaeul leans in like a predator backing up its prey into a corner, her light-hearted tone dropping to reveal something more sultry.

You gulp, beads of sweat forming on your head. “W-well, I think you’re a great performer and—”

“That’s not what I meant,” she states, staring intently at you. “Have you ever thought about me? Imagining what you would do to me if we were all alone with no one to bother us, just me and you?” She brings her spoon to her lips, giving it a slow, sensuous lick without ever breaking eye contact.

You shiver as her tongue dances across the silver, desperately wishing it was you instead of the damn spoon. You shouldn’t be having these impure thoughts—though you’d be lying if you said this is the first time you’ve looked at Gaeul this way. You’re her manager, Starship will toss you out in an instant if they suspect that you took the job just to get with the idols. But it’s so hard to think properly with the alcohol flowing through your system and the tightening in your pants.

 Tell her no. Stop her advances immediately before things get out of hand. Yet, you don’t object as Gaeul takes your hand, leading you out of the restaurant. The words start to meld together like goo, all you can make out is an utterance of a “good time” and how you’ve been such a “good boy”. You say a lot of things to her, probably—it’s hard to talk with her tongue shoved in your mouth—but as the taxi takes you to the familiar route towards her apartment, the only clear thought running through your head is how impossible it is to tell this girl “no”. 

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LESSON 3: HOW TO PLEASURE A MAN

Gaeul tosses her phone on her bed, scoffing in disgust. After her conversation with Wonyoung last night, she binge watched the first two lessons, even jotting down notes to remember for later. As much as she would hate to admit it, the questionable looking website is an information goldmine for a desperate soul like hers, it’s a wonder how she hasn’t stumbled upon it before. However, her view of it immediately soured again after watching the third lesson.

“Act submissive? Let him do whatever he wants?” Gaeul questions, reiterating the points made in the video. “What kind of bullshit advice is this? If I’m gonna sleep with someone, I’m not trying to be their little fuck doll or whatever!”

She paces around her room, hands running through her hair over and over again as the thoughts bounce around her frustrated mind. What’s the point in doing all this work trying to get a boyfriend if it only amounts to his pleasure? What about her needs? Is she supposed to be happy being reduced to a glorified cum rag?

Fuck no. A sudden realization hits her like a bolt from the blue—She’s Gaeul from IVE. An icon in one of if not the most popular girl group in the world. Any man should feel lucky that she even gave them the time of day.

With a newfound determination, Gaeul picks up her phone, her finger hovering tentatively over the “Call” button on her manager’s contract. She’ll use what she learned in the first two videos for sure; she’s not dumb enough to completely disregard their teachings. But if—no, when things get to the bedroom, she’ll do things her own way.

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You and Gaeul stumble through the door of the dorm, lips, limbs, and fingers intertwined in a needy ball of lust. Don’t even bother making it to her room, half of your clothes are already off by the time you reach the living room. Palm her toned stomach, savor the taste of her lewd moans dancing off her tongue and onto yours, shiver as her nails graze against your skin. Do all the dirty things you’ve kept hidden in the back of your mind.

Gaeul breaks away, sitting back on the couch as she strips away the rest of her dress, leaving her in a matching set of black undergarments. She spreads her legs, inviting you to fill the space in between.

“Eat me out,” she commands, words unwavering even as the sheen of arousal coating her thighs tells you exactly how badly she needs this. You quickly oblige, practically diving face first into her sweet heat. Discard her soaked panties; to you, they’re just another obstacle keeping you from what you really want.

“Good boy~,” Gaeul moans as you attack her slit with your tongue. You alternate between long, slow licks to flicking your tongue furiously against her clit. She yanks at your hair, forcing you to take a whiff of her sex. Her scent is intoxicating. You don’t even feel the pain anymore; all you can think about is about pleasuring her gorgeous pussy.

“F-fuck yes, lick my pussy, you fucking perv!” she goads you on and you follow her every command like the dog that you are. Her slim thighs wrap around your head, forcing you deeper and deeper into her until it’s physically impossible for you to get any closer. Forget the alcohol, you’re getting drunker on the sweet nectar dripping from her hole.

Fuck her with your fingers as you lap at her clit with a hunger you’ve never felt before. Her guttural moans are like a siren song, drawing you into her. The way her face contorts with pleasure is so alluring. You thought she was attractive already, but fuck this is the kind of beauty that only you are lucky enough to see. No hounding fans, no Dispatch, just you and Gaeul.

She grabs your hair, pulling you away from her heat, much to your dismay. “Take your fucking cock out,” she commands before pushing you back onto the floor. You make quick work of your boxers, but before you can ask for a condom, Gaeul’s already climbing all over you, lining up your painfully erect cock with her slit.

“C-condom—”

She clasps her hand over your mouth, leering at you with a ravenous glare. “I’ve waited too long for this to use a damn condom. You’re just gonna have to pull out or I’m kicking your ass out into the streets, got it?”

You nod, both terrified and turned on by this new side of Gaeul. With her hand still covering your mouth, she slowly impales herself on your rod, her face silently contorting with each inch of you she takes. You move to grab her hips, but she swats your hand away.

“Absolutely fucking not, we’re doing this my way,” she growls. All you can do is submit as she fucks herself onto you at a selfishly slow pace like you’re nothing more than her personal dildo. Your hot breath flows through the miniscule gaps in between her fingers, not even giving you the luxury of a deep breath. You want to get angry, you want to show her who’s boss, but each time she slams her hips down onto you, it’s like she sucks away your will to fight little by little until you're completely left at her mercy.

“Fuck, this is so much better than using my fingers,” she groans, throwing her head back in ecstasy. “I bet you’ve imagined this before, huh? Filling my pussy with your disgusting cock?”

You nod sheepishly. Her words aren’t entirely false; you’ve imagined what it would be like to sleep with some of the girls, but never did you think you would actually get the chance to. Gaeul rocks her hips back and forth, relishing in the way your breath quickens and your eyes twitch with each slam of her petite hips. You feel yourself begin to reach the apex of your climax and urgently tap her thighs to warn her, but all she does is laugh in your face.

“You wanna dump your cum deep into my cunt, don’t you? Impregnate me with your disgusting seed?” she teases. “I’m not on the pill. What are you gonna do?”

Your eyes clamp shut, trying desperately to ignore the building sensation in the pit of your stomach. But with her warm walls making you lose all sense of control, it’s only a matter of time before you inevitably burst inside of her. Right at the last second, you grab Gaeul’s hips and lift her off of you, shooting your cum onto your stomach. Gaeul’s body shakes violently as she reaches her own orgasm, furiously rubbing at her clit as her juices spray all over your torso. Once her messy climax subsides, she scoops a dollop of your semen off of your stomach and licks it, swirling your combined juices in her mouth with a smirk.

“Mmm, tasty,” she says, cupping your chin while her other hand strokes your semi-hard shaft. “You better get it up soon, I’m not done using you.”

“Y-yes…” you mutter, still basking in the high of your orgasm.

Her grip on your face deepens, digging her nails into your cheek. “Yes, who?”

“Yes… mistress,” you utter like the word is commonplace on your tongue. With an amused smirk, Gaeul plants a kiss on your lips, much gentler than you had anticipated.

“You learn quickly. Good boy~” Hearing her say that makes your skin shiver in delight, craving the sensual lilt in her voice. You want her approval. You need her approval. With her, you’re not her manager anymore; you’re her plaything that lives to serve her.

Gaeul bites her lip as she looks down at your cock, already at full mast once again. “Carry me to my room.”

“Yes, mistress,” you answer promptly, scooping her up into your arms. Gaeul nips at your ear as you carry her to her room, trapping yourself inside with the little beast that you’ve worked with for years. The line of morality blurs to the point of disappearing, almost as if it was never there in the first place. It doesn’t matter anymore. All you care about is serving your mistress until she’s completely satisfied.

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Your eyes blink open to sunlight peeking through the window. The mattress feels oddly soft, more so than usual. Maybe it’s finally time to bite the bullet and get a new mattress. A blinding headache keeps you glued to your back, unable to make any sudden movements. Your ceiling fan looks odd too. Has it always been this big?

The door clicks open followed by a few light footsteps. “Good morning!” That’s Gaeul’s voice. Why is that Gaeul’s voice?

Panic begins to ensue as you finally look around the room. This isn’t your room. This isn’t your mattress. That’s not your ceiling fan. And where the hell are your clothes?

“W-what the—”

“Here.” Gaeul hands you a water bottle. “I bet your hangover is killing you right now.”

You quickly cover yourself with a blanket, blushing sheepishly. “G-Gaeul… Why am I here? A-and where are my cloth—” Your jaw drops in shock as you scan her outfit—She’s wearing your t-shirt paired with nothing but black panties.

“W-why are you wearing my shirt!?”

She pouts at you, placing the water bottle on her nightstand. “Do you not remember what happened last night?” She leans in with a smirk. “Because I definitely do.”

Her warmth tickles your ear. It’s an oddly… pleasant feeling, but that’s not important right now. “D-did we…?”

“Have sex?” Gaeul finishes your sentence, sitting down next to you. “Yes, we did. And it was amazing.”

Your face falls into your hands. You could lose your job for this. Hell, you could get blacklisted from the entire industry. No one’s going to want to hire a manager that fucked an idol they were supposed to be managing. This is it. You’re gonna have to flee the country, maybe even change your name. You’ll become a beet farmer on some remote island where your only friend is a seagull and—

“Hey,” Gaeul soothes you, rubbing your back. “You look worried. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I-I should’ve never let this happen, I could lose my job, my apartment, my—”

“You’re not gonna lose your job,” she assures you. “If they fire you, I’ll threaten to leave the group.” You turn to her, confused. “W-what, why?”

“Because…” A light blush grows on her cheeks. “I like you. And you made me feel sooo good last night.”

“U-um…”

“Do you still not remember what happened?” she sighs. You shake your head no. “Hmm… maybe this will help jog your memory.”

With a smirk, Gaeul cups your chin, forcing you to look at her. Her hair is still messy and her face is barren without makeup, yet she still looks so beautiful in front of you. She leans in, giving you that same pleasant feeling as her breath dances on your earlobe.

“Good boy.”

Like a movie, the scenes of last night’s misdeeds play vividly in your mind, reminding you exactly what transpired: The dinner. The taxi ride. The sex. Holy fuck, the sex. You’ve dated submissive girls before, but the way Gaeul dominated you was a whole different experience, nothing you’ve ever felt before. She took away your ability to breathe properly, completely leaving you at her mercy, and you enjoyed it. It felt dirty, but it felt good.

Gaeul chuckles as she notices your erection poking through the blanket. “Did that turn you on?”

“N-no, uh…”

“You’re really gonna be shy about it now? It looked like you were enjoying yourself more than I was last night,” she teases.

The blush on your cheeks deepen. “L-look, I… I’ve never done that kind of thing before. Hell, I’ve never had sex with an idol before. This is all kinda new to me,” you admit.

Gaeul sighs, gazing at the wall in contemplation. “I’ve never done anything like that before either. But I liked it.” She turns to you. “Did you like it?”

“Uh… Yeah. I did.”

“Would you want to keep doing it?”

The threat of losing your job still lingers in your mind. This is all new and potentially dangerous territory, and you have no idea what the future could possibly hold for either of you. But you would be the biggest idiot in the world if you lied to yourself and declined her offer.

“Yeah. I want to keep doing this with you,” you say. With a smile, Gaeul tears away the blanket and excitedly jumps into your lap, her crotch resting on your exposed erection. The thin fabric of her panties is the only thing keeping you separated from her sweet pussy.

“So does that mean you’ll be my boyfriend?” She asks, now grinding her hips against you. Your breath gets thinner as the heat of ecstasy fills up your entire body.

“Y-yes, I would love to be your boyfriend.”

Gaeul grabs your chin, her nails sinking into the flesh of your cheeks. “Yes, who?”

A moan escapes your lips as the pleasure mixes with the pain, leaving you in a state of bliss. “Yes, mistress.”

She smirks at you before taking off your shirt, revealing her perky tits and her petite waist to you. “Good boy. I can’t wait to play with you some more~”

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LESSON 4: HOW TO MAKE IT LAST

The last few weeks have been the most exciting weeks of your life. All the previous stress of working as IVE’s manager practically disappeared now that you were with Gaeul. No more wrestling with Dispatch after one of the members gets caught anymore, all she has to do is assert her dominance as the oldest and the rest of the members will listen to her. If you knew that a cheat sheet was underneath your nose this whole time, you would’ve dated her sooner.

Of course, to avoid any controversy and damage to the group, your relationship was kept a secret from everyone, including the members. However, that didn’t stop her from constantly calling you to fulfill her needs. It doesn’t matter where, when, or how many people are around, if she’s in need of release, you’re on your knees, lapping at her pussy like it’s your last meal. Gaeul is absolutely crazy, but you would be downright insane to tell your mistress “no”.

After a couple of close calls, both of you decided that it would be best to come clean to her members about your relationship. It’s already hard enough trying to keep your hands off of each other; you wouldn't want any of them to walk in on the two of you while your tongue is deep inside your girlfriend. At first, you assumed that Gaeul would simply send a quick text to the girls to alert them, but it seems like she has some other plans in mind as the two of you wait for them in one of Starship’s meeting rooms.

Gaeul moans in delight as you suck on her neck while she grinds against your leg. “Fuck, that feels good, baby,” she coos.

“Not that I’m complaining, but don’t you think it’ll be awkward if they walk in on us like this?” You ask, nipping at her ear.

“I locked the door, so they’ll have to knock before they can come in.” Of course she accounted for that. God, you fucking love her. “Now shut up and get back to sucking.”

“Yes, mistress,” you oblige, sinking your fingers into her ass as you ravage her neck. However, your playtime is cut short as a knock at the door signals the presence of the other girls.

“God dammit,” you groan. “Can we make this quick, babe? I need you so badly.”

Gaeul flashes you a mischievous smirk, giving you a soft parting kiss before climbing out of your lap. “Don’t worry, cutie, we’ll get to have some fun sooner than you think.” You ogle at her hips as she sashays over to the door, unlocking it and smiling brightly at Wonyoung, Yujin, Liz, and Rei as they file through. You try to offer a similar smile, but with the aching in your jeans, you’re barely coherent enough to breathe properly.

“I’m so glad you guys could make it!” Gaeul exclaims, locking the door behind them.

“Of course!” Yujin replies. “You said you had an important announcement, so that means it’s important to us too!”

“Couldn’t you just text us though? And why is our manager here?” Rei asks, eyeing the two of you suspiciously. You nervously avert your gaze, looking towards Gaeul for support.

“Because he’s part of this and I wanted to show you guys something in person,” Gaeul explains. She takes a quick breath before continuing. “So, I’m sure you’re all aware of how much I’ve been complaining about not having a boyfriend, and—”

“Wah! You got a boyfriend!?” Liz exclaims, connecting the dots fairly quickly. “Who is it? Is it that one rookie that was staring at you during recording last week?”

“Ew, no,” she grimaces. “It’s actually someone all of you know very well.” Gaeul suddenly climbs onto your lap, planting a delicate kiss on your cheek. Normally, you would feel pretty nervous about doing something this vulgar in front of others, but her body heat combined with your raging hormones from your interrupted makeout session makes you completely forget about everyone else. A billion people could be watching and you would still let this gorgeous beauty do anything she wants to your body.

The girls applaud at Gaeul’s announcement, except for Wonyoung, who overdramatically rolls her eyes at the news. “You called us in to tell us this? It was so obvious you two were dating, you were practically attached at the hip for the past couple weeks.”

Gaeul chuckles, eyes darkening as she captures you with her gaze. “Actually, there’s something else I wanted to show you guys too.” Much to your dismay, she gets off of you and drags a chair some distance away from you, sitting down. “You see, our manager here is actually a bit of a freak.”

The girls stifle their laughter as they glance at you, causing your cheeks to burn with embarrassment and confusion. “U-um, babe? W-what are you—”

“I could’ve acted like some ‘ditzy little fuck doll’ and let him have his way with me,” Gaeul scoffs, disdain dripping in her tone. “But then I thought ‘Why should I let him have all the fun? Our dear manager is always bossing us around, so why don’t I take charge for once?’ Granted, it was a gamble, but it paid off sooo fucking well. Don’t you agree, baby?”

Your cheeks grow redder by the second as they all look at you expectantly. “I-I mean, yeah, I-I liked it—” Suddenly, a piece of fabric hits you in the face. You examine it in your hands, your eyes growing wide with shock as you realize what it is—Gaeul’s shirt.

The rest of her members cheer at her boldness while your heart pounds against your chest, tracing her silhouette with your hungry gaze. “Crawl,” she commands.

Your eyes dart nervously between her and the rest of the girls, desire and judgment warring in your mind. “B-but—”

“I didn’t say you could speak,” she spits, her eyes narrowing. “Now, be a good boy and fucking crawl.”

A flip switches in your brain as desire wins the war by a landslide. Any hint of embarrassment you once held is now gone, replaced by an overwhelming amount of lust. You fall to your hands and knees, ignoring the hollering from the other girls. To you, they don’t exist anymore. All that matters is satisfying your mistress in any way you can. 

Gaeul harshly grips your hair once you reach her, forcing you to stare into her eyes. The heat from her breath hits your face, driving you mad with want. You swear a glob of drool falls from your lip at the thought of getting to taste her sweet pussy again. 

She drags her thumb over your lips, smirking. “Tell them what you are,” she orders, turning your head towards her members. Wonyoung rests her head against her palm like she’d rather be somewhere else, while Yujin starts recording you with her phone, no doubt to hold it over your head if you inconvenience her later on. Liz stares at you, deeply flustered, yet a hint of jealousy in her eyes, and you notice Rei sneakily trying to touch herself, her face beet red with pent up arousal.

“I am mistress’s plaything. I live to satisfy her and her alone, no matter where or when she asks me to,” you state. Wonyoung mouths an impressed “Oh wow” at Gaeul before glancing at you with a hint of disgust in her eyes.

Your hair is yanked back towards your girlfriend. “Mmm, it’s cute just how pathetic you fucking look. I bet you want your reward now, don’t you?” She teases the hem of her shorts with her other hand, flashing a glimpse of her panties at you. You nod enthusiastically, ignoring the pain in your scalp while you pant like a dog with desperation.

“Y-yes, please. I want you so badly, mistress. I crave the taste of your sweetness,” you beg. She smirks at you before standing up and removing her shorts, leaving just the fabric of her panties to block you from the true prize within like a wrapper on a candy bar. Hastily, you move your hands to the hem of her panties, but she quickly swats them away.

“Use your teeth, you fucking dog,” she spits.

“Yes, mistress.” As you get closer to her heat, her scent wafts through your nose, sending your mind deeper into a frenzy. You bite down onto the hem and jerk your head downwards, quickly uncovering the object of your desire hiding underneath. With her panties hanging from your teeth, you look up at her in search of her approval.

“Damn, I wish my boyfriend was that obedient…” Liz mutters under her breath.

Gaeul gently cups your chin, smiling at you with a palpable desire in her eyes. You love that look. You want her to look at you like that all the time, even if it means humiliating yourself in front of the girl group that you are paid to take care of. You are her pet, her plaything, her good boy that does anything she wants.

“Lick my pussy, baby,” she whispers, commanding yet soft. She bites her lip as she watches your face inch closer and closer to her dripping core, glistening and beautiful. You run your tongue along her slit, gratefully lapping at her juices while your hands caress her slender thighs. Gaeul grinds her hips against your face, pulling at your hair every time you make contact with her clit.

“F-fuck yes!” she moans, forgetting about the audience that she brought along. “J-just like that… Such a good boy… K-keep fucking me with that tongue, oh fuck!”

The sound of her pleasure is your favorite song, but it gets harder to hear as her thighs clamp around your ears. No matter; you’re doing this for her and not for you, after all. Double your efforts to please her, work your fingers into her hole while you flick your tongue against her clit. Don’t worry about the cramping in your tongue or the lack of oxygen in your lungs. All the pain is worth it for your mistress.

You feel her entire body contract as her orgasm overtakes, nearly collapsing on top of you in the process. You do your best to support her body, all while drinking up her nectar like it’s the first drop of rainfall during a long drought. The familiar tanginess hits your tongue, a flavor that you crave more than the fancy dinner she treated you on your first night together.

“H-holy shit…” Gaeul stutters, holding onto your shoulders for support as she catches her breath. “Get on the chair… I-I wanna ride you…”

You notice her legs are still shaking underneath her. “A-are you sur—”

“I said get on the fucking chair!”

You quickly jump to your feet and do as you're told, subtly making sure Gaeul doesn’t fall over before moving from underneath her. She silently scorns you with a furious glare for not immediately following her orders. The rest of the girls watch with bated breath, not used to this side of her.

Gaeul makes quick work of your jeans and your boxers, roughly squeezing your shaft in between her fingers. “Are you gonna keep fucking disobeying me, or are you gonna follow my instructions like a good boy?” she whispers harshly into your ear.

You squirm underneath her grasp, the pain only turning you on even more. “I-I’ll be a good boy, mistress. I s-swear.”

“U-um…” Wonyoung nervously interjects. “Isn’t this a bit much, Gaeul? He looks like he’s in pain.”

Gaeul wraps her other hand around your neck, her palm pushing against your Adam's apple. You moan against her touch, enjoying the lightheadedness. “Don’t you like this, baby? Don’t you love being a good little dog for me?” She teases, slowly stroking your cock.

“Y-yes, I love it so much. I love being my mistress’s dog,” you say, your breath shivering.

Gaeul turns back to Wonyoung. “See? He likes it,” she states simply. Wonyoung concedes and sinks into her chair, continuing to watch the sick and twisted display of affection in front of her with faint but growing interest.

With that out of the way, Gaeul turns back to you and hops into your lap, teasing your tip by dragging it along her wet slit. “Do you want this pussy, baby? Do you want to fill it with your disgusting cock?” 

“Y-yes, mistress. I want you so badly.” Your skin crawls as jolts of electricity shoot through you with each slow drag of her lips. Any ounce of sanity you had left has completely turned into mush at this point. Despite your basest desires, you know better than to thrust into her without her permission. She has you right under her thumb, and any mistake could mean getting squashed without warning.

Her grip on your neck tightens. “Beg for it, bitch.”

“P-please… I-I need it… N-need you…” you manage to choke out, writhing under her grasp. She grins at you, shoving a messy kiss on your lips as she slams her hips down onto you. She rips a moan from deep within your chest as you grant her tongue free reign over yours, earning a hum of satisfaction in response. Her velvety walls grip onto your cock, squeezing any remaining energy you had left. You’re nothing more than a glorified dildo to be used by your merciful mistress.

Gaeul suddenly breaks the kiss, slapping you across the face. Blood rushes to your cheek, now marked red by her hand.

“Gaeul…!” Yujin gasps in shock. “Th-that’s-”

“Do it again!” you plead, silencing her concern. “P-please, mistress. Hit me again.”

Your mistress bites her lip at you, intensifying the gyration of her hips while blessing your cheeks with a frenzy of slaps. You grow dizzy with pain and pleasure, higher than any drug could ever take you. 

“T-take it, you fucking dog!” she moans, continuing her assault on your face as her second orgasm rapidly approaches. You feel your own quickly following suit and tap her thigh to warn her, but Gaeul instead wraps her arms around you, showing no signs of slowing down her hips.

“I-I’m safe today, b-baby,” she whispers into your ear, much more gentle than she usually is. “Y-you can c-cum in me if you want… I f-fucking love you…”

The walls of her gorgeous pussy squeeze your shaft as she squirts onto your cock. You follow her soon after, covering her insides with your cum for the first time ever, clinging onto Gaeul’s delicate body. Your mind floats around in pure ecstasy, a feeling you never want to let go of. Gaeul lazily kisses on your neck as she recovers from her high.

“I… love you… too,” you breathlessly mutter before falling victim to exhaustion and collapsing against the chair. Gaeul climbs off of your lap and collects her discarded clothing off the ground, stumbling with each step.

“Well… that was interesting to say the least,” Yujin says after a long silence, finishing the recording on her phone.

“Send me that video later, that was really hot…” Rei whispers to her.

“Um, is he gonna be okay?” Liz asks. “I’m pretty sure we have a schedule tomorrow.”

Gaeul looks over to your now sleeping form and smiles with adoration. She kisses your reddened cheek, careful not to wake you. “He’ll be fine, I’m pretty sure,” she assures them.

Wonyoung stands up from her seat. “I’m glad you found a good… boytoy, or whatever you call him,” she says, patting Gaeul’s shoulder before leaving the meeting room. The rest of the girls follow suit, leaving Gaeul alone with you as she waits for you to wake up.

After more than a decade of being in this business, there’s only one thing that manages to stir some semblance of excitement within you—and even that comes rarely.

Charity galas, after parties, industry mixers, no matter what name they fall under, they’re all the exact same: playgrounds for the wealthy to become wealthier, louder, more unbearable. You’ve encountered countless fake smiles lined with plastic teeth, babbling on about delusions of grandeur and their excess of material wealth. It’s gaudy. Boring. They say it’s lonely at the top, but you’d much sooner spend an existence in solitude before willingly fraternizing with these insects.

Your attendance at these events is more of an expectation, a message, a reminder of what they could never hope to achieve in their lifetime. Show them what real power looks like. Control. Influence. Tell a person what they want to hear, offer advice like you give a damn what they do with it, and they’ll cling onto your every word like it’s the last lifeline on a sinking ship. 

The flow of information bends to your will. The truth reshapes itself with a flick of your tongue. Life and death is decided by the wave of your hand. This kind of power is only reserved for a god.

And yet, even gods can bleed.

Tonight’s challenge presents itself in the form of long, slender legs pooling out from a tight black dress. Pure, untarnished innocence looms in those eyes like diamonds, beautiful in their rarity. The consideration in her movements, the caution in her glances, down to the rehearsed angle of her smile, it’s obvious what she is—a newbie. A rookie. A pawn. The thrill of a chase may be in its difficulty, but why hunt what is meant to be eaten?

“Good evening,” you hum, careful not to startle her. “Can I interest you in a drink?”

Her eyes widen a hint as if she’s surprised to see you approach. “Thank you, but I shouldn’t drink tonight,” she answers politely.

“Discipline. That’s rare in a place like this.” All it takes is a nod, and the bartender slides your usual choice of poison across the counter and into your hand. “You’re Minji, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct, sir.” Practiced politeness; it’s amusing, really.

“Please, don’t call me ‘sir’. I feel old enough as it is,” you jest, letting the pleasant burn of your drink slide down your throat.

“Of course, my apologies, um…?

You let her know your name, watching for signs of familiarity in her expression. The wide-eyed stare you receive tells you she doesn’t know you, but she will. By tonight, you’ll have her screaming it like it’s gospel on her tongue.

“You and your little group have caused quite a stir. There’s not a news outlet out there that won’t sing your praises.” You offer a grin that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Quite an impressive feat.”

Her lips lilt into a smile, but there’s a restraint behind it—caution. “Thank you,” she responds curtly, eyes wandering around the glittering crowd as if searching for an escape.

“First time?” you ask.

Minji blinks, as if only just remembering you were there, refreshingly ignorant to the kind of power that you possess. A smirk tinges your lips with quiet amusement.

“At an event like this, I mean,” you clarify. “You seem… dazzled.”

“One of the first,” she admits, tone measured. “I suppose I’ll get used to it in time.”

You swirl the last remnants of your drink, letting the silence stretch long enough to make her squirm, before setting the glass down with a muted thud.

“Most people here want something. More power. More money. More influence.” You step in closer, just enough to prod into her personal space. Just enough so that she watches you.

“Tell me, Minji,” your voice lowers to a soft murmur, forcing her to strain her ear against the crowd just to hear your words, “what do you desire?”

She parts her lips, then hesitates. You wait, tilting your head slightly, patiently.

“I don’t believe there’s anything you could give me that I can’t get by myself,” she answers, soft yet steady.

A spark lights inside of you.

“Careful,” you chuckle under your breath. “I wouldn’t be so eager to slap away a helping hand.”

Her lips curl into that same practiced and polite grin, but there’s a flicker behind her lashes, something almost daring. “Maybe.” She tilts her head slightly. “But I’ve learned that not every hand that’s offered is worth taking. Sir.”

She lets that last word linger just a bit too long—mocking, defiant.

Before you can answer, she turns, the sharp clacking of her heels punctuating the conversation. You watch her weave through the crowd without so much as a glance back, each step poised, unafraid. The low murmur of the party envelopes you as you take the last sip of your drink. The bitter taste of defeat may coat your tongue, but this night was far from a waste of time. One thing you learned in your time at the top is that everyone has a breaking point.

You’ve seen her crack. Now all you have to do is wait until she crumbles.

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Rain batters against the windows of your office in a steady, monotonous beat, like a ticking clock growing closer to the inevitable. You lean back in your chair, lazily balancing a tablet in your hand, as another headline flashes across the screen:

 “NJZ Legal Battle with HYBE Heats Up: Idol Group at Risk of Blacklisting.”

You skim through all the articles, the opinion pieces, the viral tweets, all regurgitating the same information—she’s sinking. You’ve heard your fair share of rumors and ghost stories about that company, all the borderline sinful acts that the people inside commit. Every once in a while, a story will come out, but with how big their influence is, it takes only a matter of moments for any hint of their misdeeds to be wiped from existence. The girls may be putting on a valiant effort, but brave smiles and encouraging words aren’t what David used to kill Goliath.

The phone rings against the mahogany wood of your desk. You let it ring twice before picking it up. “Yes?”

“Sir,” your secretary answers, “You have a visitor in the lobby. They’re asking to speak to you in person.”

“You know I don’t accept unscheduled meetings. Send them away.”

“I know, sir, but she insists on meeting you. It seems rather urgent. She mentioned something about ‘needing a helping hand.’”

You freeze at the utterance of those words, an amused smirk growing on your lips. “Send her up.”

You expected a day like this to come, but not so soon. There’s always someone desperate for your help, begging on their knees like sinners praying to God. No amount of effort is worth granting the wishes of worms. Still, you’re not above making exceptions. The one that makes the rules can also break them.

You hear a soft rapping against your door. “Come in,” you command. Minji walks in, her head hung low, completely unlike the fiery young woman you had met all those months ago. What was once a determined lion is nothing but a weeping deer, left at your mercy.

“We finally meet again, Ms. Kim.” You lean forward in your chair, ready to enjoy the show.

“Hello, si—” She shakes her head. “Hello. It’s… good to see you again.” Her eyes don’t quite meet yours, the burden on her shoulders holding her down.

“I heard you needed a ‘helping hand’,” you grin.

“Uh, yes, right…” She sighs heavily, hands clasped together like she needs something to hold onto. “I need your help—”

“Ah!” you exclaim in faux surprise, rising up from your desk to peer out the window, streaked with raindrops. The whole city looks so small from up here. “If I remember correctly, you said something about ‘Not every hand offered is worth taking.’ Why the sudden change of heart?”

You hear her faintly huff in frustration. “My group—my friends—We worked hard to get where we are. Years of our lives spent in practice rooms, unsure of whether or not any of the effort we put in would be worth it. I know people out there think we’re stupid or soft for this, but we’re not ready to give up our dreams yet. We need your help.”

You circle around to the front of the desk, each step slow and deliberate, echoing throughout the wide expanse of your office. “That’s a very touching story, Ms. Kim. I applaud your efforts,” you offer her a slow clap as you lean against your desk, “but this isn’t a charity. It’s a business.”

“I understand,” she mutters. “I have something to offer you.”

You wait.

“And what might that be?” You cross your arms, letting the silence linger. “Hm?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Her gaze stays glued to the marble floor, unmoving. Silent.

You raise a brow. “Cat got your tongue?”

Her fingers tighten around each other, knuckles burning white. Then, a huff of resignation. Her fingers loosen. And she drops to her knees.

The sound of them knocking against the floor is dull, but unmistakable.

Weaker men have fallen to their knees in front of you, groveling at your feet as if the ground you step on is sacred land. They beg for money, for time, for power in exchange for their soul to you. Spineless, the lot of them. But she’s different. Even at her lowest, a fire continues to blaze on inside those black irises. 

You blink once, slowly. The corner of your lip curls upwards.

“I know what kind of man you are,” Minji utters, her words nearly drowned out by the patter of rain. She doesn’t look up at you. “I don’t want your pity.”

A beat of silence. You can almost see the war in her head, dignity and desperation clashing swords. But desperation always wins. 

Minji reaches a hand to the buckle of your belt, shaky yet determined. Then, she adds, just slightly louder:

“Just… help us. Help them. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You let yourself lean back against your desk, palms settling into the wood grains while you jut your hips towards that pretty face. “Looks like we have ourselves a deal.” A sigh drifts from your lungs, satisfied by another victory. “Please, continue what you were doing.”

Minji stares hard at the front of your belt, stone-faced with deliberation. She has no other options. To back out now would mean risking falling out of your good graces. You know that. She knows that.

With a shaky breath, she undoes your belt buckle. “I’m doing this for them,” Minji mutters to herself more than you.

“I’m sure they’ll be proud to know how much you sacrificed for them.” And you mean it.

She lowers the zipper. The sound cuts through the vast emptiness of your office like a blade. One layer of fabric remains between you and her mouth, her hands hovering around your waistband just long enough to register hesitation. A breath, a pull, and your cock is released into the open air.

“I must admit,” you say, a sharp inhale through your teeth, “you’re strong. Admirable, even. But I never pegged you for the type to commit an act such as this.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” she hisses. Her fingers grip the base, too firm, not practiced.

You smirk down at her. “I suppose.” You tuck a stray hair out of her face. She flinches from your touch. “But we’re not here to discuss what I want, are we?”

Minji huffs, warm breath hitting the tip of your cock. You’re right, and she knows it.

She blinks before taking you into her mouth, her jaw adjusting to your size. It takes a moment for her to find a steady rhythm. No flourish, no pretense of seduction—her eyes are squeezed shut, mind empty, simply waiting for all this to be over. Your breath comes out in sharp bursts. Hers doesn’t.

In your lifetime, you’ve had countless women on their knees before you, women more skilled and more experienced than Minji, but none of them have given you the same sense of victory like a hunter finally claiming an elusive trophy. You rest your hand on top of her head, fingers splayed—in this moment, you own her. The thread of her life rests in your palm and only you hold the scissors that determine its length. 

Minji’s pace quickens. You stop her.

“Slower,” you breathe. She corrects herself accordingly.

The soft tissue of her throat contracts and loosens with each pass. Her tongue flattens against the underside of your shaft. Her lips seal around you. Each movement is controlled and functional. She adjusts. 

Breathes. 

Takes. 

Again and again and again.

The rain doesn’t let up outside, the constant pattering against the glass just barely muffling the wet sounds of Minji’s efforts as they echo around your office. You let your eyes shut, inhaling slowly. Time passes by without measure. It moves when you do, and stops when you want. You exhale, a constant stream ghosting past your lips.

The phone rings, once, twice. Minji tenses for a moment, a small crack in her rhythm. You grab the phone and slam it back down into the receiver. No distractions.

It rings again. Her tempo is ruined. She collapses back with a cough, wiping her mouth. You huff, bringing the phone to your ear.

“I’m in the middle of something. This better be important,” you growl.

“My apologies, sir,” your secretary says. “It’s your father. He’s come to see you, sir.”

You glance down at Minji, round eyes welling with tears that refuse to fall. A fire still burns brightly within her. 

“I’ll be down in a moment.” You place the phone back in its receiver and adjust yourself. “I’m afraid we will have to end things prematurely.” 

Minji stands up before you, defiant and upright. “Will you still uphold your end of the deal?” Her voice is louder, more confident compared to when she first arrived.

“Of course,” you utter, crossing your arms.

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. Then, I guess we’re done here.”

“Wait.” You hold your hand up, stopping her before she can leave. “This… unfortunate interruption does change things.”

Her eyes widen. “What do you mea—”

“Do you want to win, Ms. Kim?”

“Yes.” Her answer comes out quick, no hesitation. “More than anything. I need to win. For my friends.”

You smirk, grabbing a pen and a sticky note from your desk. “Good. Then you should have no problem,” you scribble down an address onto the note, “meeting me at this location on Saturday at 10:30pm.”

She gingerly takes the note from you, eyes scanning the note over and over again, before shooting up at you with realization. “But—”

“Of course, you’re welcome to decline my offer.” You take a step towards her. She steels herself. “I can personally guarantee you that your efforts today won’t go unrewarded. You can leave out those doors and never see my face again.”

The distance between you and her shortens. Your reflection in her irises becomes crystal clear.

“But,” you whisper, “if you truly want to destroy that company and all that it stands for, you’ll heed my advice.”

Her pupils quiver, but the flame in them only burns brighter than ever, strong and unwavering. “Fine.”

 Seconds pass. Your eyes state locked onto hers, neither of you willing to be the first to move or blink. The wounded deer still dares to look its hunter in the eye, even with its throat firmly trapped in your maw. You blink, letting her win. Give her a small taste of victory and she’ll come back begging for more.

With a flourish of her long black hair, Minji exits your office, shutting the door behind her with a slam that echoes throughout the room. Silence encapsulates you, offering a moment of solitude. You exhale, adjusting your sleeves, before grabbing your phone and dialing a familiar number. It rings once before a voice picks up.

“Mr. Lee,” you greet smoothly, making your way to the double doors that lead outside your office. “I have a story for you. I want it sent out immediately.”

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Minji steps out into the rain, a constant assault against her umbrella. Clutching the note in her pocket, her mind wages a war within itself; thoughts, doubts, worries, a constant whirlwind that makes the storm around her look like a spring shower.

Was this the right thing to do? Is there even a right thing to do? Her mind draws blank; in this industry, there’s only profits and losses, numbers and advantages, kill or be killed. She became a reluctant player in a game much bigger than herself.

Clutching her sore jaw, she reminds herself who she’s doing this for. The girls she spent her youth with, laughing, crying, and training together. Sleepless nights spent in windowless rooms, talking about their dreams and fears; clinging by their fingertips to uncertainties and false promises made by adults that only ever cared about themselves. A flame burns on in her stomach, determined and awake.

All she ever wanted to do was make music.

Something in the skyline catches her eye: a square of light that cuts through the hazy gray. She thinks nothing of it at first, brushing it off as another flashy ad, but then the words become clear. A headline. A repayment. A sign that all her efforts weren’t for naught.

“Anonymous Sources Reveal 'Unfair Labor Conditions' at HYBE Amid Ongoing NJZ Contract Dispute.”

In the grand scheme of things, it’s not much—a push in the right direction, sure, but that company will no doubt fight back with ten times the force—and yet, a sense of relief washes over Minji .

Her steps grow faster, more certain. She knows what she has to do. She knows who she’s doing this for; not just for her, not just for her friends, but for the people struggling through the same thing. She’ll become a beacon, a martyr. Or just another stubborn girl that refuses to go quietly.

But before that—

It’s just one night with another rotten man. One night. And then this nightmare will be over.

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You swirl the contents of your glass against the jet black marble countertop, something smoky and alive. The light overhead—low, golden, and warm—catches the amber liquid as it spins, casting long, warped reflections across the polished surface.

Behind you, the suite stretches wide and open, a vast space for the sinners before you to commit their obscenities with ease. Gold trim lines every edge and corner, a sharp contrast to the dark furniture that’s more form over function; sculptures rather than amenities. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the city below like a painting—the people, nothing but incoherent swatches of gray; streetlights, dots of citrine against an indigo sky. The muted hum of nightlife is too far below you to reach your ears.

The air smells faintly of leather, tobacco, and whatever cheap cleaner they use to mask the lives of those who came before. A folded newspaper sits untouched on the glass coffee table. A single armchair is turned slightly towards the window like whoever sat their last vanished without a trace. You haven’t sat in it.

To most, this room screams the epitome of the high life. But you know what it is: Opulent. Gaudy. Empty.

You take another sip and check your watch. She’s a minute and a half late.

Then, footsteps. A soft echo in the hallway. A knock at your door.

“Come in.”

One of your men steps in; behind him, the heroine of tonight’s evening.

“Ms. Kim,” you mutter. “I almost thought you wouldn’t make it.”

She nods, a subtle jerk of the head, curt acknowledgment. A professional, all-black look drapes her figure. Her blouse high-necked, her skirt just modest enough—tasteful and presentable.

“I hope the ride here wasn’t too much trouble.” Your eyes scan her long, toned legs; the only real luxury is the image of her staying burned in your mind like a brand. “Just a simple security measure, I’m sure you understand.”

“It was fine,” she states, words coming out composed and certain. Her arms are pressed firmly against her sides. Her back, upright and proper. You almost smirk. Gone is the wounded deer that came crawling to your feet; in front of you stands a lion, scarred yet defiant, with nothing left to lose.

“Good.” You pour another shot into your glass, the sound of flowing liquid cutting through the overwhelming emptiness of the room. “A drink?” you offer, “To take the edge off.”

“No. Thank you.”

“Straight to business then.” You down the rest of your drink, setting your glass down with a thud that reverberates throughout the empty space. “Shall we?”

You lead her to the queen-sized bed sitting on the far edge of the room. Silk sheets of gold and black shimmer underneath the lights, untouched, unwrinkled; a blank canvas for you to commit sins of your own. The mattress gives way as you seat yourself against its edge, Minji standing before you with all the composure of someone ready to die for their cause.

The room stands still for a moment as you wait for her to make her move. You’d resign yourself to gazing at her faultless figure for the night if your own base desires didn’t gnaw at the back of your head.

“Well?” Your index finger taps impatiently against the sheets.

“There are no cameras here?” she asks, eyes tracing over every ornament in the room.

You shake your head, truthfully. “I have no use for blackmail, Ms. Kim.” 

She breathes in, then out—a hint of unease apparent in her stance. But before her own apprehension gets the better of her, Minji’s hands work on the buttons of her top, fluid, robotic, lacking the pretense of desire or intimacy. Every angle of her movements speaks to how quickly she wants this transaction to be done with.

You watch silently as she undresses, more out of courtesy than any innate desire. Let her set the tone, for now, before your own human nature comes to light. Cloth gives way, slowly revealing delicate patterns of lace clinging to her skin, as black as the outfit she’s taking off.

“Lingerie,” you observe. “A welcome surprise.”

Minji says nothing.

The dim lights paint her face in soft shadows, obscuring her true vulnerabilities. And yet, she stands tall, arms pressed against her side with only the faintest hint of trembling. Many women have bared themselves for you, more willing, more daring, but none have intrigued you quite as much as the one standing before you.

Minji’s feet pad silently against the carpet, more and more of her face revealed by the light as she nears. Her gaze doesn’t waver; her breath remains measured; every step as purposeful and determined and challenging as your first encounter with her.

She stops just shy of you, close enough to force you to look at her. “Condom,” she all but commands.

“Of course.” 

You take the square piece of foil out of your pocket and present it to her. She inspects it for a moment.

Inhale. 

Her knees land softly onto the carpeted floor. 

Exhale.

The harsh sound of a zipper cuts through the air.

Her fingers wrap around your flesh, pulling a sigh from your lungs. Steady, is the best way to describe it—in rhythm, in grip; each pass slow and methodical. Not for your satisfaction. Just a means to an end.

Minji squeezes her eyes shut, brows furrowed almost angrily. You’ve never received a handjob quite like this, so lustless and transactional; yet, new experiences are difficult to come by at your age. Just sit and watch.

“What are you thinking of, Ms. Kim?” you ask, if only to fill the dull silence.

She breathes through her nose. “Anything but this.”

You grin. “Care to elaborate?”

Her eyes shoot open, sharp as daggers. A weaker man would have trembled.

Without a word, Minji tugs the condom around your hardened length and straddles your lap, her heat hovering precariously over your cock. “I’m thinking about how I never have to see your face again,” she hisses before sinking down onto you with a harsh grunt.

Your breath gets ripped from your lungs at the sudden shift in warmth and pressure, sending you reeling in a way you haven’t felt in years.

“I’m thinking about my friends,” she continues, biting back each moan, ”and how all of this is for them.” The onslaught of pleasure hits you in waves as Minji forcefully rides your member, not sparing a single moment of mercy. To the people below you, you are a king, a god, a symbol of unimaginable power that none of them could ever hope to reach—and yet, here, in these four walls made of sin, Minji holds complete control over you.

“I’m thinking about—mmmfuck…” 

Her words slur as she begins to lose control of her own body, falling deeper into the throes of hedonism. With each roll of her hips, you can feel her anger, her resolve, her hatred seep into your skin.

Hatred for the company that promised her a dream, only to serve her a nightmare.

Hatred for the judging eyes and spiteful words of faceless strangers.

Hatred for you, especially, for being the only who can put an end to this Hell.

You almost lose yourself in the haze of wrathful fucking, relinquishing control to this once starry-eyed rookie. Almost.

“Stop.” You grab her waist, porcelain skin turning red underneath your grip.

“What?!” Minji barks, tears brimming in her eyes. “Isn’t this what you fucking wanted?!”

Seconds pass of tense silence, your throbbing cock still buried in her heat. If looks could kill, she would’ve burned you with her glare alone by now. And yet, you can’t help but smirk.

“Ms. Kim,” you utter,” while I do appreciate your vigor, I’m not quite ready to end the night just yet.”

She huffs a heated breath. “Frankly, sir, I couldn’t give less of a damn about the wants of an old, disgusting man.”

“Perhaps—but might I remind you of what’s on the line here?”

Minji curses you out with her eyes, but underneath the scorn, you can see the wheels turning as she remembers why she’s here in the first place.

“Fine,” she hisses. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Gladly.”

With a swift motion, you place Minji on her back, her lithe figure shadowed by your body. You start with slow, deep thrusts to set the pace. Minji’s eyes stare off to the side, distant and uninterested, yet semblances of her own human nature materialize on her face—the bite of her lip. The red of her cheeks. The irregularity of her breathing. Try as she might, not even she can fight back her own human desires.

Your hand slides down to her waist, thumb pressing beside her navel for leverage. You can feel yourself growing undone with each stroke, each act of debauchery against this once model of innocence. Eventually, you forget all about the transaction, the status, the conflict—all you can feel is the high of pure and utter fucking.

Minji’s stifled whimpers soon devolve into unfiltered moans that echo around the room, mixing with your own grunts of effort. The slick of her cunt takes you, squeezes you, owns you as you chase your release. Palm her delicate breasts. Pull her feet by your ears. Keep pumping until your own legs are on fire. Do whatever it takes to make you feel alive.

A building in your loins reminds you of your own humanity, but you don’t stop fucking Minji’s sweet heat. Her face contorts with pleasure beneath you, all attempts at fighting back now dashed as she succumbs to the feeling. Soon, there’s nothing left to do but give in, drown in the pristine grip around your member, flooding the silicone with your seed instead of her velvet cunt like you desire. Relish that high for a fleeting moment before exhaustion takes its toll on your aging body and pushes you back into the silk sheets.

Nothing but a pair of uneven breathing fills the stale air, tainted with the metallic musk of sex. Minji is the first to recover, quickly grabbing her clothes and escaping to the restroom. A dull headache pounds at your skull, and you let it—there’s a bittersweet pain in knowing that this will be the last time you ever feel this excited.

Minji comes out of the restroom, fully dressed and not a hair out of place, as if she was untouched, unbroken. You sit up, your own sore muscles making it a difficult task. “Gone so soon?” you smirk, if only to break the silence.

“I did my end of the deal, now it’s time to do yours,” she curtly utters before heading straight to the door. With a hand on the doorknob, she looks back at you, that fire everpresent. “I never want to see your face again. And if you try to touch the girls, I will personally make sure that the rest of your pathetic life is spent in Hell.”

“GOD! FUCKING! DAMMIT!” Kazuha punctuates each word with a slam of her fist against the claw machine. If the fire in her eyes was real, it would no doubt reduce the entire arcade to smithereens.

“Kazuha, please… We were supposed to close up an hour ago…” you yawn, eyes barely cracked open. All you get in response is a furious glare from your coworker before she shoves another quarter into the machine. If it weren’t for the fact that her anger, for all its fire, only makes her as scary as a grumpy little puppy, you’d be a little more inclined to push her along.

“Shut up! We’re not leaving until I win that teddy bear!”

“But we have the keys, we can just open the—”

“NO!” she screams. “I have to win it! It’s about the principle!”

As if she has any principles. 

You let out a long, tired groan as your body sinks to the black light carpet lining the floors. Had you been paired with any of your other coworkers, you would’ve been more than comfortable leaving already—in fact, you would’ve already been closed up an hour ago, when you’re supposed to. But, since there is clearly no God up there, you’re stuck with Kazuha, the absolute worst closer in existence. Leaving now would all but guarantee your unemployment.

“Fuck, I was sooooo close that time!” Kazuha drives her fist into the glass panel of the machine, the resulting thud echoing throughout the empty arcade. She stares daggers at the teddy bear she’s dropped a million times at this point, the heat from her breath fogging up the glass. For reasons unbeknownst to you, Kazuha has been obsessed with that specific bear for the past week, with its stupid little overalls and its stupid little farmer’s hat. No matter what line of reasoning you give her—”You are losing money at this point,” “We have an entire box of those bears in the back.”—she’ll just snap at you and go on and on about getting it “the old fashioned way.” 

Before you can even react, she drops to her knees and wiggles her lithe body into the prize chute. Normally, you’d be worried about her potentially damaging store property, but your brain short circuits at the sight of her ass in those tight jeans.

“K-Kazuha!?” you exclaim. “What the hell!?”

“I’m getting that damn bear one way or another!” 

A series of metallic thuds can be heard from inside the machine, her unusual obsession with that damn bear nearly causing the machine to topple over. You can only watch in utter disbelief as her arm peeks through the top of the prize chute, nowhere near the toy she’s been hunting for. If only there was a simpler, less exhausting way for her to get that damn toy…

“I think I can almost— ah… shit…” Despite her voice being muffled by the machine, you can very clearly hear the distinct tone of regret that often follows her random bouts of rage. “Hey bud, uh… can you help me out here?”

You groan, rubbing your eyes. “I already told you, just use the key—” 

“N-no, it’s not that, um… I’m, uh… stuck…”

“...what?”

Kazuha squirms like a fish out of water as she tries to free herself from the prize chute, but with her shoulders stuck squarely against the sides, all of her efforts are for naught. An incredulous chuckle escapes your lips as you watch the ridiculous scene in front of you, a pair of slim legs poking out of the machine illuminated by trashy dim lighting—had you happened upon her like this with no prior knowledge, you’d think it was a set up to a bad porn video.

“So, um, can you help me out here?” she pleads, all the anger drained from her voice. With a sigh, you reluctantly kneel behind her, frustrated but not entirely unhappy about the direction tonight is going—it’s not everyday that you get to freely ogle at her assets like this.

If Kazuha is good for anything, it’s being eye candy. Aside from the middle schoolers keeping this dingy arcade in business, a good handful of your patrons are college boys trying to chat her up and the occasional newly-divorced single father spending “quality time” with his kid. Her temper doesn’t allow any of them to get close without a few scratches, but it seems some of these weirdos like a challenge, always coming back week after week under the guise of breaking their DDR high score or some other lame excuse.

You firmly grip Kazuha’s waist, silently thanking the inventor of skinny jeans, and pull on her with all the strength you can muster. Despite all her squirming and the honest effort you put in, her body shows no signs of budging. You could laugh if this wasn’t cutting into your valuable sleep time.

“Dammit. Hold on, Kazuha, maybe if I try—” As Kazuha continues to try and shimmy her way out, you notice a small pink remote slip from her pocket. It’s a simple remote, only having a couple buttons on it, but all of the text is in Japanese, making it impossible for you to know what its use is. “Uh, what is this remote for?”

“What remote?” 

“This pink one that fell out of your pocket.”

“WHAT!?” Panic seeps through her voice as she desperately thrashes her legs around, kicking your hand and sending the remote careening into the air. “W-whatever you do, don’t push the—MMPH!”

It’s almost comical just how quickly Hell breaks loose in the blink of an eye—as soon as the remote hits the wall, Kazuha’s slender legs start to writhe erratically, her movements less like she’s trying to get out and more like she’s being electrocuted by Zeus himself. A flurry of slurred expletives and harsh grunts can be heard, barely contained within the metal walls of the machine. At first glance, you’d think she’d be in pain or experiencing some kind of claustrophobia-induced panic attack, but as you pick on the unmistakable sound of buzzing coming from in between her legs, it all starts to paint a rather filthy picture.

“Turn it—fuck!—Turn it off already!” she commands, barely keeping it together. You shake your head out of your daze and reach for the pink remote, pressing another button at random—although, with how great that went last time, perhaps you should’ve taken a second to think this through.

“W-wrong button, y-you—augh!—dickhead!” The buzzing in between her legs grows louder and her movements more frantic, more erotic even. She squeezes her legs together in some last ditch effort to mitigate the damage, but the growing wet spot on the front of her jeans tells you all you need to know about how she’s truly feeling.

“Oops. Did I mention that I can’t read Japanese?” you chuckle in amusement as you watch the pure insanity unfold in front of you.

“Top right! B-button on the fucking top right!”

As much as you would love to keep her like this all night as payback for making you stare at work for this late, you decide to show some mercy, her body going limp as soon as you hit the off button. You lean back against the wall and let out a long sigh, the absurdity of the night not lost on you. Time seems to slow down for a while, the distant beeping of the arcade machines and Kazuha’s occasional shaky breath keeping you company as you try to gather your thoughts. After all that, there’s no way in hell the two of you can just go back to being regular ol’ coworkers.

“...What the hell, man.” you mutter after a long silence.

“I DON’T WANNA HEAR IT!” she barks, somehow still having energy left in the tank to berate you. “I work five days a week dealing with sticky-fingered little shits and perverted old men for minimum fucking wage! God forbid I try to make it a little more fucking bearable!”

You let out a soft chuckle at her expense. “Y’know, most people just go to work high instead of doing all… that.”

“Eat a dick,” she fires back, rising back up on her shaky knees. Her tone is sharp, but there’s less bite to it now; you swear you can even hear a hint of playfulness in it. Enjoyment. There’s a brief silence. Not wholly uncomfortable, but just enough to make your skin crawl. Like the calm before the storm.

Then, muffled yet crystal clear:

“So, are you gonna do me or what?”

You didn’t think tonight could get any weirder, but boy, you were wrong by a long shot. “...what?”

“Hey, don’t pretend you don’t stare at my ass every time we work together. You probably jerked off to this exact scenario last night, you perv.”

You scoff at her. “I-I’m not a perv—Whatever, fuck this, I’m going home.”

“Hold on, you’re seriously gonna pass on an opportunity to fuck me?!” she asks, seemingly offended that someone would decline her so easily.

You barely take two steps towards the door before stopping and seriously thinking about her proposition—you could either go home and salvage as much sleep as you can, or you can bang your hot, albeit ill-tempered, coworker in this position you’ve only seen in dirty videos… seemingly for free? No repercussions whatsoever? 

“Why me anyways?” you ask, your gaze shooting back and forth between the door and Kazuha’s tight ass.

“The only other people we work with are two girls and the walking bag of loose skin that owns the place,” she explains. “Unless those girls have a strap, you're the only one with decent dick around here.”

You sigh, shamefully sinking to your knees behind her. “I don’t even have a condom,” you say as if you’re not one zipper pull away from satiating your filthiest desires.

“I’m on the pill, you pussy.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“You really think I would risk birthing one of those little demons?” she argues.

By all means, this is a terrible idea. Kazuha is simply bad decisions personified, fucking her would certainly lead to more shit you’ll have to deal with down the line. But then again… the damage is already done, isn’t it?

With all caution thrown out the window, you undo her jeans and peel them off of her, revealing the toned, creamy flesh of her ass hiding underneath and a pair of pink panties drenched in her arousal. “Jesus Christ…” you mutter in awe (Although, if He were real, he’d probably be very disappointed in the decisions you’re about to make).

 Kazuha wiggles her hips at you, almost like she knows how much you’re gawking at her. “How’s the real thing compare to your fantasies?” she teases you.

You caress your hands up her supple thighs, the gentle pressure of your fingers creating perfectly round dimples in her skin. Her ass, free from the confines of her jeans, sinks into your touch, soft yet firm at the same time. “Much better. Sooooooo much better,” you say as you massage Kazuha in your hands.

“Quit messing around and fuck me already, we don’t have all night,” she complains.

“Didn’t take you for the needy type,” you chuckle, pulling at the waistband of her panties.

She scoffs. “As if. You should be the one thanking me for giving you this opportunity.”

A pink vibrator is tucked snugly in her pussy, sticky with her juices. You tug on it slightly, causing Kazuha’s body to shiver with pleasure. “Yeah, sure, thanks, whatever.” Without warning, you yank the vibrator out of her, causing a yelp to echo around the claw machine.

“Y-you fucker,” she breathes shakily. With a quick unzip, you’re already poking your length against her entrance, teasing her quivering cunt with your tip.

There’s a moment where you pause to survey the scene in front of you, dick in hand, Kazuha’s naked lower half just waiting for you to enter her. Like gazing over the edge of a cliff, you wonder if this is the right decision or just plain reckless, your mind teetering over the edge of right and wro—Ah, who cares, pussy is pussy.

You plunge into her honey pot, the sensation of her tightness unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Kazuha pushes her hips into you as much as she can, begging you to go deeper, harder, rougher. Muffled grunts of pleasure rattle the claw machine around, if you weren’t so drunk on lust, you’d worry that the machine might topple onto you with how wild you’re going.

“Oh god, you’re so big!” she huffs, words you’ve only ever heard in your dreams.

“Yeah?” You grow bolder, giving her ass a firm slap that makes her squeal. “You like my big cock?”

“Don’t push it.”

You scoff. Even as she’s getting railed from behind, Kazuha is still Kazuha. 

Your fingers sink into that dainty, slutty waist, pulling her into you with each lust-fueled thrust, her ass jiggling beautifully as it meets your waist. With half her body inside the machine, you can only imagine what she looks like as she takes you from behind, eyes rolled back into her head, sweat dripping down her chin, those plump fuckable lips fixated into a permanent “O”. However, even through the mess of moans and cursing, Kazuha still manages to have something to say.”

“Is this seriously the best you can do?” she hisses at you between breaths. “All that size, and for what?”

“Ugh, do you ever shut up?” you groan, slapping her ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“Maybe if you give something worth shutting up for,” she snaps, purposefully tightening around your length. You slow down your thrusts, not wanting to finish too quickly—as annoying as she is, she’s also the only good fuck you’ve had in a while. You wanna savor it.

Noticing this, she pounces at the opportunity to mock you. “Aww, you ran out of steam already? You need a water break, bitch boy?”

That fucking does it. Your gaze shoots to the side, spotting the discarded pink vibrator, still glistening with Kazuha’s juices. You fiddle with the remote, putting it at its highest setting, and pressing the vibrator against her clit without warning.

Kazuha jerks around like she’s been electrocuted. “Fuuuuuuck!” she screams, her voice reaching octaves only dogs can hear.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say with a smirk, picking up the pace and ramming your cock into harder, deeper. “Is this too much for you? Do you need a water break?”

The vibrator buzzes mercilessly against her clit, your thrusts growing rougher, almost angrier as you let out all your frustrations on her dripping cunt. The mechanical groan of the claw machine as it shakes from Kazuha’s movements combines with the lewd slapping of skin-on-skin to paint a rather obscene picture of questionable decisions.

“Where’d all that fire go, huh?” you huff, pushing the vibrator even deeper against her clit. All she can respond with is an aggressive punch to the wall of the machine and a gasp that sounds vaguely like a fuck you, but it’s hard to tell with all the incoherent babbling coming from her lips.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you taunt her, hips on fire from ramming into her.

“F-f-fuck… y-you—AGH!” Her body tenses, her back arches, and she lets out a strangled cry that the claw machine fails to muffle—Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if the neighborhood down the block heard her orgasm. Even as her legs give out, you continue to hold her up, still thrusting, still pushing the vibrator against her overstimulated clit, and still enjoying this walking volcano being reduced to a puddle of desperate whimpers.

“P-please… stop…” she manages to croak out.

Finally, you show her some mercy, tossing the vibrator aside and adjusting your pace to slow yet deep thrusts. She trembles underneath you, too wrecked, too overwhelmed to produce much more than a faint coo. “Aw, look at you. It’s kinda cute seeing you like this,” you tease. 

Even as you slow down, she still pulses around your length, and fuck, even with most of her fire quelled, it’s like her body is built to constantly crave pleasure. You grip her hips, knuckles glowing white, and bury yourself deep into her dripping, fucked-out core, shooting everything you have as your own high reaches you. As the last drop of your seed leaks from your tip, you collapse backwards, the weight of an entire shift and an intense impromptu fuck session pushing you deep into the black light carpet. The only sound left is the hum of the arcade machines and tangled puffs of heavy breathing.

While you’re left on the ground, exhausted yet satisfied, Kazuha manages to easily slip out of the prize chute and stumble to her feet, much to your surprise. “W-what the fuck… How… When—”

“After you shut off the vibrator, I figured I could angle my shoulders to the side and get out pretty easily,” she utters like it's no big deal.

You stare at her in a daze. “Then why the hell didn’t you—”

“This was fun. Let’s do this again,” she interrupts without so much as a glance in your direction. And then, as if nothing happened, she readjusts her jeans, grabs the maintenance keys from the prize counter, and unlocks the claw machine, nabbing the teddy bear that she’s been obsessed with for the past week. All that time, money, and effort, completely thrown out the window in the blink of an eye.

A bubbling feeling of rage builds in your chest, but even if you had the energy to let it out, Kazuha is already walking towards the exit, tossing the keys squarely onto your chest.

Amongst the monotonous drone of the harsh fluorescent lights and the mysterious smell emanating from the bathrooms, it’s hard not to feel a little pessimistic about life. It would be so easy to air out your long list of grievances to anyone that’ll listen, but complaining to the kind of people this place attracts—late night travelers who’d struggle putting two and two together— is always more trouble than it’s worth.

“Welcome to 7/11!” 

The ring of the entrance chime followed by the soft yet enthusiastic voice of your coworker is a constant that you have yet to get used to, even after a whole three weeks of hearing it nonstop. You told Eunha plenty of times before that she doesn’t have to greet the customers, yet she continues to do so anyway, something about “responsibility” and “upholding the company’s image”—as if the company’s image isn’t rotisserie hot dogs and gallon-sized slushies. 

At best, she’ll get a polite nod, at worst, they scoff and act as if a simple gesture is the worst thing that’s ever happened to them. Her greetings might be more suited to the morning crowd, but she insists that she’s not much of a morning person. You don’t exactly care enough to verify her statements, so you’re content with her keeping you company during the night shift.

“Let me know if you need help with anything!” Eunha calls out to the customer as he aimlessly wanders through the aisles. You’ve grown accustomed to the late night visits from these kinds of people, guys in their early 20’s who seem either too drunk and/or faded to respond properly; hopefully, he’ll just quietly pay for his things and leave without any trouble.

“Yo,” he utters, carelessly dropping a single beer can and a box of large condoms onto the counter. You give him a curt nod, trying not to make a face as the violent stench of weed attacks your nostrils. Figures.

“$7.50.”

“Hey bro, do you know if that chick over there has a boyfriend?” He looks over at Eunha as she stocks the shelves, baggy eyes tracing her body through a half-lidded gaze. You simply shrug. Whatever she does outside of work is none of your business.

The man chuckles to himself, grabbing his things off the counter. “Watch this.” He saunters over to her and engages in a conversation that you can’t quite make out. Even as you try to distract yourself with other work, you can’t help but tense up slightly, stealing glances towards your coworker. 

Eunha puts on her signature smile, nodding her head to everything he’s saying. Occasionally she’ll laugh, more so out of politeness than anything. If you would have to describe her with one word, “polite” would probably be enough. Maybe overly so, but hey, who’re you to judge her of all people about small talk?

Then, you notice a small crack in her expression. The corners of her lips drop ever so slightly. Her eyes widen just a smidge. Now he’s walking towards her, backing her up into a corner, like a predator stalking its prey. 

You’ve learned not to stick your nose into other people’s business; even the simple act of lending an ear has cost you time and energy that ultimately led you to getting kicked to the curb the second you’re no longer of use. It’s exhausting. You’d do anything to forget that kind of pain, even if it means your existence is a bit lonelier. And yet, despite your better judgment, you grab a spare broom and begin sweeping towards the problem, stepping in between them right as Eunha’s back hits one of the fridges.

“Excuse me,” you mutter, your eyes never leaving the ground.

“Bro, what the fuck are you—”

“I’m trying to do my job,” you state, jerking your neck to glare at him. The man scoffs in annoyance before stomping towards the exit, grumbling incoherently while he knocks a couple chip bags off the shelves.

“Thanks,” Eunha says, breathing a sigh of relief. “He kept asking for my number and wouldn’t stop after I said ‘no’. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”

You shrug, continuing to sweep the rest of the store. In hindsight, there might not have been a need for you to intervene in the first place; Eunha is a grown woman that can probably take care of herself, and what kind of damage could a guy like that do anyways? Yet, despite everything, you still chose to play the hero. What’s done is done.

As you go back to your place by the register, you notice Eunha beaming brighter than ever before despite no one else being around.

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Eunha groans, face planting into the counter. “I’m bored.”

“You could deep clean the coffee machine,” you suggest, eliciting an even louder groan from her.

You think about telling her to switch to the afternoon shift, but refrain from it in the end, figuring she probably has her own reasons for wanting to work this late. You chose the night shift out of necessity more than anything. Countless sleepless nights led you to the conclusion that you might as well get some compensation for your suffering.

Eunha’s face suddenly lights up as she goes over to the fridges and grabs two beer cans. “We should drink!” she says.

“Those are for the customers,” you state.

“I’ll pay for them, dummy. Besides, there’s literally nothing else to do. No one has stopped by for hours.”

You stare at her pleading face, slightly impressed by how well she manages to pull off “puppy-dog eyes”. You don’t consider yourself much of a drinker—going down that road only left you with an unbearable sickness that made “taking the edge off” not even worth it—but a hunch in the back of your mind tells you to go for it anyways. Maybe “puppy-dog eyes” actually do work; maybe the boredom’s gotten to you too.

“Woohoo!” she cheers. “Let’s go sit out front! I wanna look at the stars.” Eunha grabs the cans and a large bag of chips from the shelf before running out of the store with the excitement of a kid in a candy store. With a sigh, you follow behind her.

Your breath catches in your throat as the outside chill hits you like a speeding train, sending an unpleasant shiver through your spine that makes you regret even considering this stupid idea. You turn to retreat back to the warmth of the store, but a brief glimpse of Eunha waving you down with such genuine enthusiasm pulls you in, and before you can even think to stop yourself, you’re already grabbing the beer can from her outstretched hand. 

“Isn’t it beautiful tonight?” she comments, gazing up at the stars above. It’s… nice. Better than the harsh fluorescent lights of the store, for sure.

“Yeah,” you utter, taking a swig from your can. You grimace at the bitterness, a reminder of why you stopped in the first place.

“Woah pal, I don’t need to hear your life story,” she quips, chuckling at her own joke. “Isn’t this better than being stuck in that smelly old store all night?”

You shrug. “It’s… alright, I guess.”

She stares at you for a while, studying your expression with a focused squint.

“...What?” you mutter, suddenly feeling self-conscious under her gaze.

“Nothing, sorry.” She shakes her head, her gaze falling to the unopened beer in her hands. A tense moment passes before she finally clicks it open and takes a small sip, wincing as she swallows the bitter liquid. “Um, do you… hate me or something?”

You turn to her in confusion. “Hate” isn’t a word you associate with Eunha. Truly, you don’t think anyone could hate someone like her. Maybe you get a little irked by her inability to set up the shelves properly, but nobody’s perfect, least of all you. In fact, you don’t have any strong feelings about her one way or another. She’s just your coworker. 

Just that. 

Nothing else.

“No, not at all,” you reply.

A small grin forms on Eunha’s lips. “That’s good. I was worried that maybe I did something and that’s why you never talk to me.”

Huh? “I talk to you.”

“Yeah, no, I mean, like, really talking. Not just about work and stuff,” she explains. “We’ve been working together for, like, months and I barely know anything about you!”

“It’s barely been three weeks,” you correct her, earning a dramatic eye roll. “Do you really need to know anything about me to work here?”

Eunha grimaces at your answer. “I guess not, but it would be nice to know if I’m working with a serial killer or not.” She takes another small sip from her can, tension seeping into the frigid air between you two.

“I’m not a serial killer,” you state.

“Well, I wouldn’t know that if you didn’t tell me.”

“I could be lying.”

She turns to you, studying your expression with an intense focus. “Hmm… I don’t think you’re lying.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow at her.

She shrugs. “For starters, aren’t most serial killers supposed to be charming to lure in their victims and stuff? No offense, but you’re the least charming person I’ve ever met.”

“Better than being a serial killer I guess.”

She chuckles to herself, dissolving any lingering tension in the air. “So you have a sense of humor. That’s good to know.”

“I guess I do.”

Eunha lifts her can towards you, flashing you a warm smile that wards away the bitter winds. You watch as the corners of her lips curl at a certain angle, her eyes squinting ever so slightly to make room to smile even wider. How impossibly white and symmetrical her teeth are, as if god or whoever is up there took their time creating her. In hindsight, she’s probably perfect for this job - kind, inviting, instantly putting you at ease with a single glance. A smile seems so natural on her, it feels like the sky would fall if it disappeared from her face for even a moment.

“Hello?” She waves her hand in front of your face. “My arm is getting tired here, are you gonna cheers me or not?”

You shake your head. “Right. Sorry.” You clink your can against hers before bringing it to your lips. The bitter taste of alcohol is nonexistent at this point, replaced by subtle yet present undertones of sweetness. You peek through the top of the can, confirming that it’s still the same old cheap beer it was mere seconds ago. Yet, for now, it’s just a little more bearable.

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To put it lightly, this fucking sucks.

The shadows dance and jeer at you from your ceiling as if to celebrate your misfortune. All you can do is watch the show play out as you barely cling to life. An earlier Google search of your symptoms tells you that it’s just “a common cold”, but you’d swear Death itself has a personal vendetta with you, cursing you with rusty lungs and cinder blocks for limbs. Regretfully, you retrieve your phone from your nightstand, sending Eunha a text that you aren’t able to make it to work tonight.

A sudden weight jumping onto your chest causes you to drop your phone onto the floor. Two yellow marbles coldly stare at you through the darkness, silently judging your poor condition.

“Y-Yokai, please… I can’t b-breathe…” With weak hands, you try to gently push your cat off of your chest, but it’s no use. Every time you try to get close, the little beast nips at your fingers. 

This is it. This is how you die. You never believed in the superstition about black cats, but perhaps you should’ve heeded its warning. Maybe this is his way of telling you that he never liked you in the first place, in spite of all you’ve done for him as his caretaker. Years from now, when someone finally notices that you’re missing, they’ll find your corpse with Yokai resting right on top, like he’s gloating about outliving you. You shut your eyes, quickly accepting your fate. On the brightside, maybe you’ll finally get some sleep for once.

A knock on your front door causes him to jump off your chest to inspect the noise. You silently thank the stranger at your front door as your lungs finally fill with air. As far as you’re concerned, they just saved your life.

WIth a blanket wrapped around you, you struggle against your headache and stumble towards the door. The person on the other side makes you wonder if you should add hallucinations to your list of symptoms.

“Hi!” Eunha beams at you, a plastic bag in her hands. “I brought you some stuff to help with your cold!”

“H-huh?” You stand there in shock, a million questions floating through your head. “What about the store?”

She shrugs. “I closed it for a bit. I’m sure the two customers that would’ve shown up tonight will live.”

Never in a million years did you expect anyone, aside from the occasional delivery man, to show up to your doorstep, let alone with the purpose of providing you aid. It’s… nice. You’re probably better off with a good night’s rest, but god knows you’ll never get one.

“Are you gonna invite me in? It’s rude to keep a woman waiting, y’know,” she teases.

“R-right.” You step aside, allowing her into your apartment that hasn’t seen another human soul the entire time you’ve lived in it. As luck would have it, another person arrives on the one day that you’re unable to clean anything. “Sorry about the mess.”

“It’s alright—Oh!” Yokai leaps from the shadows, stopping just a few feet in front of her to inspect the stranger entering his home. “Hi there! Oh my gosh, you’re so cute!”

Eunha kneels down to his level and offers her hand towards him. Taking the invitation, Yokai approaches her with cautious yet curious steps, his eyes dilated and ready. After a seemingly tense moment, his pupils soften as he presses his small face into her palms, accepting her enthusiastic pets.

“I can’t believe you never told me about your cat!” she playfully berates you. “What’s its name?”

“His name is Yokai,” you answer, collapsing haphazardly onto the couch. “Found him on the street when I first moved here.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “You named your cat after Japanese demons?”

You shrug. “It seemed fitting at the time.”

Eunha chuckles, giving him one last pet before placing the bag on the table. “I brought you some cold meds, green tea, and a can of chicken soup. Is it alright if I use your kitchen to heat up the soup?”

You wave her off. “Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”

She rolls her eyes at you, grabbing the can and walking over to the kitchen in defiance. “If I didn’t want to do this, I would’ve just dropped it off and left.”

With barely any energy left to argue, you resign yourself to resting your head against the armrest, listening to the clanging of metal and the creaking of wood as Eunha searches your cabinets for a pot. Three flickers followed by the gentle poof of the stovetop bring you back to simpler times when your mother would cook meals for you as a kid. That comforting feeling of knowing that everything would end up okay even if the current times are tough. 

A feeling you haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope isn’t something you like to cling onto; you know at this point that hoping for something as supposedly inevitable as sleep is a waste of time. Some nights you’ll get lucky, the stars will align and you’ll fade into bliss as soon as your head hits the pillow, but those nights are so few and far between that they might as well be nothing but coincidences. It was much harder during the earlier days. Countless checkups, thousands of desperate Google searches and Reddit posts, downing melatonin like the next gummy could solve all your problems.

And yet, as the savory scent of chicken soup lingers closer, you can feel your eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Eunha says, nudging you gently. “The soup is gonna get cold if you don’t eat it now.”

“Right.” You sit up, finding yourself mere inches from her bright smile, the steam from the soup wafting in between you two. She brings a spoonful of the warming liquid to your lips, blowing on it first to cool it down.

“Open wide,” she says.

“I can feed myself.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Humor me for a sec. Besides, when’s the next time a pretty girl like me is gonna spoon feed you soup?”

You stifle a chuckle at her shamelessness, reluctantly parting your lips. The saltiness washes over your tastebuds, warming your entire body as the liquid slides down your throat. It’s the same cheap chicken soup you’ve eaten before when money was scarce, yet something about it feels different; like it’s healing your heart, not your stomach. Perhaps your illness is messing with your tastebuds, but whatever the reason, it tastes way better than it normally would.

“See, was that so hard?” Eunha teases. A buzz from her pocket interrupts her from giving you a second spoonful. “Sorry, I need to take this real quick, it’s my boyfriend.”

So she does have a boyfriend. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” you say, retrieving the bowl from her. She gives you an appreciative grin before walking over to the kitchen and answering the call.

Whatever goes on in Eunha’s personal life is her business, not yours. Yet, you can’t exactly stop your ears from catching onto glimpses of words, attempting to decipher some kind of meaning through the fog. None of it is coherent, but her disappointed sighs and harsh whispers don’t exactly paint a pretty picture—certainly not one you expect from a loving couple.

After a brief moment, Eunha walks back into the living room, her expression noticeably darker than before. The smile that she usually dons is jarringly absent and her eyes are glossy, as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Sorry, um… I have to go,” she mutters, unable to meet your eyes. “I have to pick up my boyfriend, he’s, uh… been drinking again.”

You can’t help but feel worried at her sudden downtrodden look, unfamiliar on her face. “That’s alright. Will you be okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll be fine.” She tries to put on a reassuring smile, but the look of dread dripping from her eyes and the lack of soul in her expression only leaves you more anxious than before. “He gets like this sometimes. It’s… nothing, really.”

An unfamiliar feeling grows in the pit of your stomach, an urge to provide some ounce of comfort. But this isn’t your place to intervene; that’s what you keep telling yourself, at least.

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow then? Or whenever you feel better.” Eunha quickly gathers her things and heads towards the door, but Yokai jumps in front of her.

“Bye, Yokai. I hope this isn’t the only time I see you,” she says, offering him a few gentle pets. Right before she disappears behind the door, Eunha looks back at you, holding an expression you can’t quite read. The door shuts with an audible click, and the vast emptiness of your apartment envelopes you once again.

Suffice to say, you don’t get much sleep that night.

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“So…” Eunha tilts her head to give you a better look. “What do you think?”

You shrug. “It’s… pink.”

Her lips curl into a pout, unsatisfied with your answer. “This is the first time you’ve seen me dye my hair and that’s all you can say?”

It’s another quiet night at the store, somehow quieter than usual. These late night chats with Eunha have become a sort of tradition between you two, a tradition you’ve grown decently fond of these past few weeks. Nowadays, she doesn’t even bother with the alcohol, instead simply asking you if you want to watch the stars with her. The chilly nights are still a bit bothersome, but the company more than makes up for it at this point. 

Conversations mostly consist of listening to her talk about things in her personal life, her school, her friends, and occasionally, her boyfriend. Sometimes she’ll ask questions about your own life. You try your best to answer, but frankly, you don’t consider there to be anything worth noting. She’ll pry a bit, but respects your choice to be quiet about these things. A gesture that you’ve come to appreciate.

“What am I supposed to say?” you ask her.

“Anything,” she says. “Whatever’s on your mind. I just wanna know what your opinion is.”

“But it’s your hair, why should my opinion matter?”

“Maybe it doesn’t, but that doesn’t make me any less curious.” She shifts herself towards you, giving you a good view of her new look. “So, tell me. What do you think?”

A loaded question for sure. You know better than to be too honest about these kinds of things, but you also know that she won’t be satisfied unless you put effort towards a real, honest answer. You lean in to better analyze her features, tracing every single detail of not just her hair but the visage that it crowns.

She’s cute, you think. You know. The bright pink of her hair brings out the porcelain of her skin, giving her the appearance of a doll, well crafted and loved by its creator. Every single feature is perfectly and meticulously placed, down to the spacing of her eyelashes and the angle of her nose. It’s no surprise the amount of stories she has about getting hit on in random places. Maybe if you had a bit more confidence and a bit less sense, you would’ve ended up like one of those stories. But you know better than to indulge those kinds of thoughts, especially one about a coworker.

“It looks… nice,” you utter after a moment of thinking.

Eunha softly chuckles to herself. “I guess that’s about as good of an answer I’m gonna get from you.” She leans back against her palms, releasing a deep breath into the night. “You’re pretty fun to talk to.”

You raise an eyebrow at her. 99% of your conversations consist of her talking while you listen and offer the occasional nod. She might as well be speaking to a brick wall with a conscience.

“I’m serious,” she says, laughing at your expression. “Y’know, a lot of girls like a guy that can listen as well as you do.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Her lips quiver in hesitation before speaking again. “Do you… have a girlfriend?”

You shake your head no.

“Boyfriend? Partner? I don’t judge.”

No again.

“Hmm…” She nods, her mind falling into deep thought. “That’s surprising.”

“Is it?” you argue. “If I remember correctly, you said I was ‘the least charming person you’ve ever met’.”

“That was a joke!” she exclaims. “I’m sure there’s someone out there that thinks you’re charming.”

You shrug, letting your gaze float to the stars in contemplation. You’ve had your fair share of relationships in the past, good and bad. You thought you would spend the rest of your life with the last girl, but as fate would have it, that just wasn’t in the cards for either of you. The days spent lazing in each other’s arms suddenly turned into nights where being in the same room was unbearable, and the minor quirks you once adored became the topic of all your shouting matches that punctuated the end of your relationship.

So now you’re here, working at a convenience store during the ungodly hours of the night and going home to a cat that likely wants you dead.

“That’s a possibility,” you say, not wanting to sound too nihilistic.

“Come on, give yourself some credit.” Eunha pats your shoulder supportively. “I’ve seen how some of the female customers look at you.”

You can’t help but grimace at her words. “They’re not really… my type.”

“Then what is your type?” she asks, eyes wide with intrigue.

Another loaded question, one that you honestly don’t know the answer to. Or perhaps, an answer that you don’t want to materialize, for fear of the can of worms it would open, so you take the easy way out.

“I don’t know. I’m not really interested in dating right now.”

“That’s lame, dating is… Well, it should be fun,” she says. A glimpse of something hides beneath her expression, nigh imperceptible if it wasn’t for that brief glint in her eyes. “I’m going to a club with my friends this weekend for my birthday, you should come! Maybe I can set you up with one of them.”

“No, absolutely not,” you adamantly refuse. A club is the last place you would ever want to go to on a weekend. Bumping against sweaty strangers in a cramped space while bass boosted garbage spews from the speakers isn’t your idea of fun.

“Please, it’s for my birthday!” she begs. “It’ll be fun, I swear!”

“Eunha.”

She clasps her hands together, pouting her lip and flashing you those large puppy eyes. “Please~”

You don’t consider yourself to be spineless or a pushover; the exact opposite, in fact. The less you do for others, the less issues you’ll have going forward.

But it is really, really difficult to say no whenever she gives you that face.

You sigh, averting your gaze to hide the blush creeping against your cheeks. “...What does your friend look like?”

Eunha squeals in delight, fishing her phone from her pocket. “Here.”

She hands you her phone, displaying a photo of a woman around your age. Long, wavy hair cascades perfectly down her shoulders, framing her delicate features, while a dress made of fiery purples and reds clings to her slim frame, giving her an air of class and maturity. A woman that’s, to put it bluntly, way out of your league.

“Her name is Yuju,” Eunha explains. “She’s really into music, and she takes pole dancing classes on the weekends. Pretty hot, eh?” 

“I suppose,” you say. “You think she’ll find me ‘charming’?”

“Ye—Hmm… I guess we’ll find out.”

Not reassuring in the slightest. You’ve gone and doomed yourself to a weekend of brushing backsides with the worst people you can imagine, people who have no regard for personal space or public perception, all for a woman you don’t know.

Well, not a woman you don’t know. It’s for Eunha’s birthday, after all. Her and those damn eyes.

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Eunha is good company. You like having her around, even if you’ll never admit that to her. She’s good—decent at her job, and in between the stench of hot dogs and the occasional rude customer, there’s comfort in knowing that there’s someone like her on this godforsaken planet.

You can’t say the same about her friends.

“Hey~!”

“OMG, you’re so tall!”

“Eunha, your friend is so handsome!”

Skip the pleasantries entirely, you’d rather be anywhere but here right now. They don’t even try to hide their early signs of intoxication as they sway to the muffled beats leaking through the walls of the club and onto the streets outside. Eunha, seemingly sensing your discomfort, stays by your side.

“They can be a handful at times, but they’re nice,” Eunha says.

“Eh… What about her?” You discreetly gesture towards one of her friends that’s been sending you death threats through a not-so-subtle glare the second you arrived.

“Oh, that’s SinB. She’s, uh… She’s friendly once you get to know her.” Eunha gives you a small yet reassuring grin, which honestly does little to comfort you. You appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The line creeps ever closer towards the entrance of the club, signified by the trashy music growing louder with each step. Just a peek through the door and you’re already grimacing at the thought of having to spend a single second in this wretched haven of hedonism.

“Which one is Yuju?” you ask, trying to get your mind off of the impending dread building in your stomach.

“She’s running a little late, stuck in traffic.” Eunha smirks at you, waggling her eyebrows. “You excited to meet her in person?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I guess?”

She rolls her eyes at you. “Word of advice, try not to be too much of an emotionless robot in front of her.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the bass blasting from the speakers drowns out anything you try to say. Not like you can even think of a proper argument with how overwhelming everything is. 

As you follow Eunha deeper into the club, you instantly regret not making up some lame excuse at the last minute and bolting. You can barely take two steps without bumping into anyone, a task made more difficult with the lack of proper lighting and the disorienting stench of some unknown substance floating around. The smell emanating from the hot dog machine at work is more favorable to this.

“Here you go, girl!” one of Eunha’s friends exclaims, gesturing towards a seating area sectioned off with velvet rope. On the table sits a light up centerpiece reading “Happy Birthday, Eunha!” surrounded by an abundance of expensive-looking alcohol. Her friend must be loaded because there’s no way Eunha could afford any of this with a convenience store salary. Consequently, your present for her pales in comparison to this kind of extravagance.

“Oh my god!” Eunha squeals, hopping with excitement, “Thank you so much, this is insane!”

The way her face lights up with happiness almost makes coming here worth it. So, you do your best to endure, downing shot after shot with everyone else while trashy music bleeds into your brain. Eunha steals glances at you from the far end of the booth, offering an apologetic look as her rowdier friends bombard you with incoherent words and shot glasses overflowing with poison. You meet each look with a smile and a simple wave, yet it’s becoming an increasingly herculean task to not let the lingering burn of alcohol in your throat manifest itself onto your visage.

A woman with long wavy hair approaches Eunha, and the two pull each other into a giddy embrace, exchanging words and excited giggles. You can’t quite make out their conversation—not like you’re trying to eavesdrop—but with the way Eunha is pointing at you and the vaguely familiar silhouette of the other woman, you’d have to guess that she’s probably Yuju.

“Hello!” she hollers, her voice straining against the distorted thump of the speakers. “Are you Eunha’s friend?”

“Yeah.”

Yuju extends her hand towards you, sporting a polite grin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

In any other scenario, maybe you could’ve had a decent conversation with her. Hell, maybe you could’ve even fallen in love with her. You’re not blind; she’s certainly an attractive woman. But in a place like this, where you’re constantly fighting the urge to up and leave, it’s impossible to try and form any kind of connection. And you genuinely try. More for Eunha’s sake than yours, but the attempt is still there.

Halfway through the barely discernible wall of words, you feel a pressure on your thigh. It creeps upwards slowly, inch by inch, stopping just shy of your crotch. Yuju bites her lip at you, her eyes half-lidded and heavy with seduction, leaning in until you can feel the heat from her breath against your ear. Thus far, you’ve been guessing her words and trying to formulate a response based on what you could lip read. But what she whispers into your ear rings true, like the whole world went silent just so you could hear her.

“Let’s cut the bullshit already and get to the fun part. I haven’t had dick in so long, I just need to feel you inside me.”

The rush of adrenaline sparked from her words alone leaves you reeling as you feel yourself being tugged around by this woman you just met, struggling to keep balance in the sea of faceless strangers. The sounds, the sights, the fucking everything about this place melts reality like goo seeping through your fingers, where the only constant is the fire in your windpipe and the sign for the women’s bathroom growing larger with each step.

This kind of spontaneity is probably good for someone like you. These days, you barely make an effort to make friends as it is, the thought of going out and actively trying to date didn’t even cross your mind until recently.  It’s not like the thought of having sex with Yuju doesn’t excite you a little, you are human after all. With all the bleak memories you have from your last relationship, maybe it’s time that you let it go and let something good happen to you for once.

But is this good? You’re about to have sex with a woman you just met, in the bathroom of a club of all places. Exciting, sure, but good? You don’t even have a condom on your person, and judging by her current state, it doesn’t seem like Yuju has one either. All you have is your wallet and Eunha’s gift.

Eunha.

By some act of divine intervention or your own instincts, your eyes snap to the middle of the dance floor. Through the sea of drunken silhouettes, you see Eunha, frozen against the continuous wave of moving bodies. Her smile is gone. There’s a man there, slowly encroaching on her. Maybe they’re just talking. Her friends are around, surely they can protect her if she’s in any danger.

But they’re not there. Most are still at the booth, inhaling bottle after bottle without a second thought, while one pulls you towards the bathroom, too horny to consider the consequences of her own actions. 

The man touches Eunha’s shoulder. She tries to swat him away, but he’s bigger than her. Much bigger. Like a vicious wolf cornering a poor rabbit.

Without another moment of hesitation, you break free from Yuju’s grasp, shoving your way through the crowd with complete disregard for everyone except Eunha. Most people will think you’re the biggest idiot for throwing away an opportunity with a woman like Yuju, but you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you choose meaningless sex over the safety of your only friend.

You grab the man’s wrist, pulling Eunha behind you. “Get away from her,” you growl.

“Fuck off.” He tries to shove you aside, but you stand firm, refusing to budge in the slightest. You’re probably—no, definitely—a fool for trying to stand up to a guy built like a fridge. The scrawny guy at the store is nothing compared to this giant meathead. But as you feel Eunha cling onto the back of your jacket, her hands trembling in fear, you know that you’ll stand before the wolf time and time again to protect the poor rabbit.

Before things can get even more heated, you grab Eunha and make a dash towards the exit, knocking over a few people in the process. Even so, you don’t stop running until the cool air of the outside bites at your cheeks.

“Shit,” you pant, leaning against the wall of a neighboring building to catch your breath. “Are you ok—”

Eunha wraps her arms around you, pressing her face into your chest. Every breath she takes quivers like the last leaf on a dying tree, desecrated by a furious storm. All you can do is hold her, trying to provide some ounce of comfort as she sobs in your arms.

The world is cruel to you, a fact you came to terms with long ago. It’s stolen many of the things you held dear, leaving you to cling to the pieces left behind and try to rebuild your life out of nothing. You built walls, avoided people entirely, did everything you could do so you never have to feel that kind of pain again. And after all that, you’re left to simply exist. Survive. Not ‘live’ in the way people somehow wake up with the sun and breathe in the dawn of a new day with hope in their hearts. Just be.

And then Eunha came into your life, walking into the doors of the convenience store with her bubbly smile and boundless energy. All the time you’ve worked alongside her, listening to her greet every single customer with such enthusiasm, enduring her brutally honest criticisms of your personality, succumbing to her demands every time she flashes those damn eyes at you, she’s made you look at life differently, whether you liked it or not. She didn’t even have to chip away at your walls at all—you tore them down yourself and built a grand entrance into your soul just for her. Because you wanted to. Because you like the way she smiles like nothing bad could ever happen, you like how she manages to find the good in everything and everyone, and you like that she still wants to talk to you despite your brick wall of a personality.

To see her like this, breaking down in your arms, on her birthday of all days, is nothing short of soul crushing.

“Thank you for that,” Eunha murmurs, her voice tiny and fragile. “Um, can we go?”

“Sure,” you reply in a calming tone. “Where to?”

“Anywhere but here.”

The two of you wander the streets in silence, nothing but the muffled hum of faraway chatter and the occasional car passing by to keep you company. She stays deathly quiet, a state you’ve never seen her in. With everything that just happened, you don’t blame her, but you can’t help but feel chills at her solemn expression. It’s like the sun’s gone dark, leaving the whole world in a forever winter.

You pass by a 7/11, not thinking much of it, but Eunha stops underneath its glowing sign. “...You wanna drink?” she asks, giving you a small yet hopeful smile.

Alcohol is probably the last thing either of you need at the moment, yet you find yourself nodding anyway. It’s hard saying no to that face.

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Time ticks by at a pace more glacial than the frigid winds buffeting you as Eunha chugs down her second can of cheap beer, crumpling it in her hands as if to release all her pent up emotions inside. On a normal day, you would’ve found it a little funny, maybe even cute, to think that the living embodiment of a summer day has inner turmoil that she can only externalize through the crushing of an aluminum can. But on tonight of all nights, the shrill crunch becomes a harsh reminder that life’s cruelty shows no mercy.

“Are you okay?” you utter, unable to move your gaze from the ground. Of course it’s a stupid question—who would be okay after almost getting assaulted?—but, it’s a start, if anything.

“Um… I don’t know.” Her despondent voice is punctuated by the metallic crash of aluminum against concrete. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”

“I have time.”

Eunha inhales deeply, letting the chilling winds of the night fill her lungs, before breathing it back out into the elements. “No. I’m not okay, and I haven’t been for a long time. I know, it sounds a bit dramatic, but it’s just…” she sighs, “It’s just how I feel.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic at all,” you reassure her, earning an appreciative grin in response.

“Um… God, I really don’t know where to start with this,” she says, her face falling into her hands. “School has been kicking my ass lately, which isn’t that big of an issue in the shitstorm that is my life, but it’s there. Last week, one of my professors chewed me out for accidentally submitting the wrong file for an assignment, so I spent the entire day just crying in bed.” A small laugh leaves her nose at the fact, void of any humor.

“And then my friends. They’re great and I love them with all my heart, but they can be such a handful.” With each word, she sinks deeper and deeper into herself as the burden she’s been silently carrying threatens to end her. “Sowon—the tall one that paid for the table—she has a reputation for sleeping around campus, which is fine, I’m not gonna tell her what she can and can’t do with her own body. But her life is filled with so much drama, and I end up having to play therapist for her, and it just gets so exhausting.”

You nod in understanding, keeping silent as she spills out her grievances. It’s not a pleasant sight, but pain rarely is. This image that she’s built up for herself as this happy-go-lucky fairy of a person, the image that you’ve consumed without question because doing otherwise would be like the sky falling around you, tears itself down to reveal the ugly truth underneath: That she’s human. And all humans suffer, even the ones that you wish didn’t.

“You remember the night I came into work with my hair dyed?” she asks after a long pause, her gaze fixated on the crumpled can below. “I broke up with my boyfriend that morning. I just… couldn’t handle all the hurt and neglect anymore, so I left.”

The revelation comes as a shock to you, even if all the signs were there in hindsight. “I’m sorry to hear that,” you offer, nervously fidgeting with the tiny box in your pocket.

“Y’know, he always hated when I dyed my hair. Said I looked like a slut whenever I did it.” The word sounds so crass against her gentle voice, like a grisly wound on unblemished skin. You feel an unfamiliar anger boiling inside of you at the notion that someone would even think to hurt her.

“And with how things turned out tonight, maybe he was right—”

“Hey,” you lightly interject. “I don’t think you look like… that at all.”

Her dejection cracks a little, giving way to a small smile accompanied by the faint hum of a chuckle. “Thanks. Maybe if that other guy thought the same as you, I wouldn’t feel like this.”

With a deep breath, you retrieve the small box from your pocket and hand it to her. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Eunha takes the box from your hand, her brow raised in curiosity.

“Your birthday present. It’s not much, but… yeah. It’s not much.”

Tentatively, she opens it up, revealing a necklace with a rabbit pendant hanging from it. Her face lights up, and for a moment, you forget that she was ever sad in the first place. A newfound sense of determination wells within you, and something that you’ve kept hidden deep inside finally comes to light: you would do anything to protect that smile.

“This is so cute, I love it!” she remarks, fiddling with the chain as she tries and fails to put it on. “Uh, a little help?”

“Sure.” You take the necklace from her, and as she pulls up her hair to reveal the delicate skin of her neck, your hands begin to tremor nervously, making it nearly impossible to secure the necklace.

“Is everything alright back there?” she teases. “I can feel you shaking.”

“Y-yeah, no, it’s fine.” The stutter in your voice dashes any attempts at trying to sound natural. It’s a simple act, putting a necklace around your friend, but something about it feels so intimate, like the first hint of warmth after a long and arduous storm. Once you finally secure the clasp in place, a breath you didn’t know you were holding empties from your lungs.

“Thanks,” she says, admiring the rabbit pendant. “Thanks for everything, really.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“But you did something,” she reasons, her voice lilting with an air of melancholy, “You did a lot more than anyone else ever did for me.”

Eunha’s eyes wander upwards to the stars, the same ones you’ve spent nearly every night under, listening to her talk about everything and nothing all at once. Tiny blips of light a billion miles away, the only witnesses to your midnight conversations about the mundanities of life. To them, your little exchange of words seems small and meaningless, but to you, these talks with her mean everything.

“I’ll make sure to pay you back one day,” Eunha utters.

There’s no need. Your existence is more than enough.

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In a past life, you used to curse how consistently time seems to move without regard for anything else. After one of the worst nights of your life, how dare the sun have the audacity to rise up in the morning like your whole world hasn’t just collapsed? The lights peaking through your blinds felt like a big “fuck you” from the world. Everyone struggles, get over yourself, you lazy prick. Before you realized it, the negativity took up every corner of your mind, constant noise rattling around your head every second of your existence, bleeding into the nights that seemed endless as you could do nothing but stare at the ceiling.

But nowadays, those thoughts seem so long ago, like a vague memory. Maybe it hasn’t gotten easier to sleep, but it’s quieter now. Peaceful, even. It barely even occurred to you how much time has passed since then until a certain coworker of yours decides to remind you.

“Happy birthday!” Eunha pops up from behind the counter, donning a dingy party hat and holding a cupcake with a single lit candle embedded in it.

“H-huh? W-what—”

“Make a wish!” She pushes the cupcake in your face, a potential fire hazard if your hair was just an inch longer. Confused by the sudden onslaught, all you can do is stand there like an idiot, eyes tracing over the silly hat adorning her rosy head. It’s cute though.

“It’s your birthday, right?” Eunha pouts, reading your confused expression. “Or did the calendar lie to me?”

You pause for a moment, running the numbers in your head as you try to remember how much time has passed. “Right,” you utter, not quite meeting her eyes. “Yeah, it’s my birthday.” Without another word, you grab a broom and begin sweeping as a couple approaches the store, hoping their impending presence will get your mind off the topic. With how life has been going these past few years, it’s getting harder and harder to find a reason to celebrate.

Was. 

The gentle chime of the entrance rings throughout the store, yet Eunha’s cheerful greeting that usually follows is hauntingly absent, you nearly greet the customers yourself just to fill the unusual silence. Before you can check to see if she’s alright, you’re interrupted by a male voice.

“Hey, you know where the beers are?” the guy asks. You silently gesture towards the fridges, taking the opportunity to eye the couple. The girl seems generally unremarkable, not unlike the usual customer at this hour, but something about the guy feels oddly familiar, despite his face not matching anyone in your recent memory. Something about the way he drapes his arm carelessly over the girl like she’s an accessory rather than a person, or the way he doesn’t even bother to look through the tiny store for more than two seconds before asking for the answer just pisses you off. 

“Thanks, pal,” he says, clapping your shoulder in a way that feels anything but friendly as he passes by. Out of all the expletives, middle fingers, and death threats that have been thrown your way by people far worse than this guy, none of them have managed to strike such an anger-inducing chord with you as that simple pat on your shoulder. But why?

You look over at the counter to check on Eunha, only to find a lone cupcake and a party hat peeking out from behind it. “Are you alright?” you ask, brows furrowed as you peer over the counter at her. All you receive in response is a panicked look and a harsh “Shhh!”.

“Hey pal, can you ring me— Eunha?” The two of them lock eyes in some weird staring contest, while you and his girlfriend or whoever she is are left completely out of the loop. You glance back and forth between them, trying to gain some semblance of understanding in their eyes for what feels like an eternity, until it finally clicks in your head.

The hint of familiarity despite never meeting him and the abundance of bad vibes he exudes all make sense — he’s Eunha’s ex-boyfriend.

You hastily scan his pack of beers and his box of condoms. “$20.55.”

“Why don’t you go wait outside for me, babe?” you hear him whisper to his new girl, unashamedly staring at her backside as she saunters out of the store. Eunha sighs, standing up from her hiding spot and leaving the party hat to dangle sadly in between her fingertips.

“So,” he continues, not even sparing you a single glance, “You’re still working in this shit hole?”

“Yup,” she replies, gaze glued to the floor. “Gotta pay rent somehow.”

He scoffs. “If you just come back to me—”

“I’m sorry, what the fuck?” You freeze at her sudden outburst, not used to this side of her. “Are you seriously asking me to come crawling back to you after everything you fucking did!?”

“Look, babe—”

“Don’t fucking ‘babe’ me, you asshole!” Her breath starts to get heavier as tears well up in her eyes and her fingers turn white around the dainty string of the party hat. “And don’t you have a new girlfriend anyway!? What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“What, you mean her?” His head flings back in a guttural laugh at the insinuation that he would find himself in a committed relationship with his “new girl”. Hell, if things weren’t so tense, you would be laughing at that idea too. “She’s just who I’m banging for tonight since you fucking left!”

“For fuck’s sake,” she groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just pay for your shit and leave. Please.”

He scoffs. “Quit being a fucking bitch and—”

“If you leave now, I’ll let you have everything for free,” you interject, each breath heavy and quivering with anger. For the first time since this whole altercation, he acknowledges your presence and simply scoffs, eyeing the two of you back and forth. With a smirk, he grabs his things off the counter and backs away, chuckling to himself like there’s some kind of inside joke that neither you nor Eunha are a part of. As the door chime rings to signal his exit, you hear the huff of a harsh syllable underneath his breath that turns the next few moments into a vague blur.

“Slut.”

You’ve never considered yourself to be particularly athletic—average at best, but still decent enough to not be picked last during childhood games. Yet, as you grab the cupcake from the counter and haphazardly chuck it through the air, you swear that Shohei Ohtani himself would’ve been impressed at the accuracy of your pitch as it arcs perfectly and splatters against the back of that asshole’s head. You freeze in disbelief of your own actions, barely registering the pink frosting-covered look of rage stomping towards you.

Eunha pulls you out of the doorway and quickly locks the door before pulling you into the break room, away from the view of the windows. Banging glass and muffled expletives are soon replaced by the monotonous whir of the fluorescents as she shuts the door behind her.

“Oh my god, are you insane?!” Eunha exclaims, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

“I-I, uh… I don’t know. Probably.” A breathy chuckle escapes your lips. And then another one. Soon, you’re keeling over the floor in laughter, replaying the impact of the cupcake over and over in your head.

A second chorus of laughter mixes with yours in a symphony of hysterics as Eunha joins you on the floor. Your head starts to ache and your stomach grows sore, but the first bout of genuine joy you feel after years of nothing but cold isolation overpowers any kind of pain. 

Being here, in this moment with her, is the best birthday gift you’ve ever received.

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚✩࿐

Even after the clock passes midnight and your birthday officially ends, Eunha still insists on doing something to celebrate. That sweet piece of payback against her ex was more than enough for you, but as always, it’s hard to say no when her eyes light up with so much excitement.

You wait in the solitude of your living room, with nothing but Yokai to pass the time. He purrs contently on your lap, being oddly well-behaved for once. Maybe he knows Eunha is coming and is in a better mood than usual. Are black cats telepathic?

As if on cue, he jumps off your lap and scurries towards the front door, a millisecond before a barrage of knocks and a muffled “Ayo!” sound off from the other side. It doesn’t take a genius to know who the owner of that voice is.

“Surprise!” Eunha exclaims, balancing a store-bought cake and a champagne bottle in her arms. 

“I’m not sure if it counts as a surprise if I know that you’re coming,” you joke, taking the contents from her arms.

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say, birthday boy.” Yokai impatiently nuzzles his head against Eunha’s leg, practically begging for her attention. “Well, hello again, cutie! Did you miss me?”

He purrs in response to getting showered by Eunha’s affection. You place the cake on the dining table and peer curiously at the champagne bottle, only to find the words “Sparkling Apple Cider” written in fancy gold lettering.

“Apple Cider?” you question.

“Yeah,” Eunha responds. “Did you want actual champagne or…?”

“No no, this is great.” You flash her a reassuring grin, which she returns in kind, punctuated by the cute swell of her cheeks.

“Phew, I’m glad. I thought I read you wrong for a second.” She plops comfortably onto your couch like she’s been to your apartment a thousand times before, Yokai swiftly taking his place onto her lap. “So, what do you usually do for your birthday?”

“Nothing, really,” you sheepishly admit. “If it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have remembered it was today.”

“Whaaat? That’s no fun.”

“Yeah, well…”

You trail off as the ghosts of your past come back to haunt you. Each year, the faces around the table seemed to become fewer and fewer until it was just you and the cat. Eventually, you just stopped bothering with it. It’s just another day, indiscernible from every other one. Sure, you could go on about why no one bothered to contact you, but It’s not like you’re completely blameless—why didn’t you reach out? Every night spent with your eyes forcibly pried open, you basically had all the time in the world to one, single message to anyone. And yet, you didn’t.

It’s your fault alone that things ended up this way.

You feel a soft pair of hands suddenly wrap around yours, forcibly pulling you out of the black hole in your mind that threatened to envelop you.

“Why don’t we make this one extra special then?” Without waiting for you to answer, Eunha pulls you towards the kitchen and pushes you down into a chair.

“What are you doing?” you ask, confused yet charmed by her usual antics.

“Just wait a sec,” she says, rummaging through your cupboards like a mouse looking for cheese. You watch in amused silence as she searches through every nook and cranny for… whatever it is that she needs. You can’t quite wrap your head around why she’s going through all of this effort, in the dead of night, for you of all people. You’re just her coworker in a dingy little convenience store.

Although, it’s hard not to feel insanely lucky when she turns to you with that impossibly bright smile that only you get the luxury of seeing.

“Okay, here we go!” Eunha exclaims, taking the plastic lid off of the cake and fiddling with a single match.

You tilt your head curiously. “Is that a—”

“I forgot to get candles and this is all that you have, alright?” she playfully snaps at you. Finally, once the match is lit, she places it gingerly in the center of the cake. “Make a wish, birthday boy!”

As you gaze into the small, singular flame before you, it dawns on you that you have no idea what to wish for. Money? A bigger house? The ability to have a good night’s sleep? Blowing out a silly little candle isn’t going to magically change your life overnight, no matter what the occasion is.

But as you look past the flame, you see Eunha gleaming back at you, waiting with bated breath for you to make that wish. The passion, the excitement, the hope swirling around in just her eyes alone sends a wave of warmth throughout your body that seeps deep into the fibers of your bones. A wish finally forms inside of your head.

You blow out the match, extinguishing the flame and letting your wish float into the air along with the smoke.

“Woohoo!” Eunha cheers. “What did you wish for?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you suddenly feel sheepish under her gaze. “I-I, uh—”

“Wait, don’t tell me!” she frantically interjects. “I forgot, if you say your wish out loud, it won’t come true!”

A chuckle brushes past your lips. If there’s even a tiny chance that what she said is true, then you’ll gladly take a vow of silence just to keep your wish close to your heart.

Eunha cuts two generous slices of cakes for the both of you while you pour the sparkling cider into mismatched mugs - the only drinkware you have that even comes remotely close to fitting the occasion. Your apartment becomes enveloped in a comfortable silence, save for Yokai’s content purring on the couch and an occasional “Mmm” from Eunha in-between mouthfuls.

As you peer to the side, you notice a small glob of frosting on the corner of her lips. “You have a little something here,” you chuckle, gesturing to the area. She tries to wipe it off, but somehow completely misses the mark.

“No, it’s still there,” you say, unable to hold back a smirk at her failed attempt. Without thinking, you reach out and gently wipe the frosting from the corner of her mouth with your thumb. The soft warmth of her cheek sends a jolt through your body, and only then do you realize just how close you are. Her eyes widen slightly in surprise, but she doesn’t pull away. For a moment, time seems to stand still as you gaze into the deep obsidian of her irises, your thumb still lingering on her lips.

Eunha’s cheeks flush a rosy pink that mimics her hair, and you quickly retract your hand, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Um, got it,” you mutter, avoiding her gaze.

“Thanks,” she says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

The air between you feels charged, as if closing the distance even a little bit would shock you. You steal a glance at her and find her doing the same, quickly turning away after a mere whisper of eye contact. For that split second, you notice her eyes shimmering with an emotion that you can’t quite place. The silence stretches on, growing heavier with unspoken words.

Eunha breaks the tension first with a soft chuckle. “So, uh, how was your birthday? Sorry I couldn’t do much more than this.”

“N-no, it’s fine. I thought it was great, actually,” you admit, a small grin tugging at your lips.

“Yeah?” she says, beaming at you. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

She stands up and begins to gather her things. “I should probably head home now. It’s getting—well, I guess it’s already late.”

A pang of disappointment hits your chest. “Right.”

Each step feels like you’re wearing cinder blocks as you walk her to the front door. Yokai perks up from his spot at the couch, mimicking your own feelings of panic as Eunha nears the exit. Why are you acting like this? You’ll see her at work tomorrow. Despite your attempts at rationalizing, the growing urge to stop her is becoming harder and harder to ignore.

As she takes a step outside of your apartment, she turns to you. For a moment, she simply gazes into your eyes. You can’t quite read them—it’s hard when you’re too distracted by how unbelievably pretty they are—but it feels like she’s waiting. Waiting for you to say something, maybe? With the thumping of your heart growing louder in your ears, the ability to focus suddenly becomes an uphill battle.

“I, uh, I had fun tonight.”

You take a breath. “Y-yeah, me too.”

“I guess I’ll see you at work then?” Her voice lilts up, as if she’s asking a question. A loaded question, even. An answer sits on the tip of your tongue, desperately waiting to be heard by her ears. Just a couple words, and yet it feels like overlooking a cliff with no end in sight. A free fall into new, terrifying territory.

But, as you’ve learned time and time again, it’s hard saying no to that face.

“A-actually,” you begin, your voice almost getting caught in your throat, “it’s late and it might be unsafe tonight, so… I was wondering… do you want to stay the night?”

If you had more than just pure adrenaline pushing you forward, you could’ve probably used a better choice of words. Something smoother and less uncertain. Something more charming, as Eunha would put it. But all of these thoughts sink to the back of your mind when you’re suddenly attacked by the softest lips you’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Like muscle memory, your hands wrap around Eunha’s delicate waist, gently pushing her into the door until it shuts with an audible click. 

All the second guessing, the worrying, the negativity, everything is completely thrown out the window as you sink into her lips. You let yourself get lost in her touch, pulling her close to you like she’s your matching puzzle piece. In the midst of needy touching and sharp breaths, a wave of calmness washes over you. Like all of this is meant to be.

“W-wait…” Eunha gently pushes you off of her, worry filling her expression.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Do you not want thi—”

“I do want this. I want you, more than you could ever imagine, but I just…” she sighs, her grip on your shoulders weakening slightly. “I really like working at the store and talking to you every night and feeling like my life isn’t a constant trainwreck. I need that consistency in my life. If we do this, no matter what happens tonight, I need you to promise me that nothing will change between us.”

She looks up at you with desperate, pleading eyes. You know, probably more than anyone, just how much pain she holds inside, invisible to the outside world. The two of you are alike in that way. The only difference is that she kept on trying to live despite her scars, while you stopped trying because of them.

“I’m not a perfect person by any means,” you start softly, gently caressing her cheek. “Before I met you, I felt like I was barely even human. I was just a body without a soul, wandering aimlessly. But then, you changed all that.”

Eunha sinks her face into your hand, peering at you with those damn eyes. You’ve seen them light up like fireworks during her highest highs and pour like a perilous storm during her lowest lows, but you’ve never once seen them completely empty, void of any emotion. For once, you feel hope that things can get better, and she is the living, breathing reason why.

“Whenever I’m with you, nights don’t feel as cold and the stars seem to shine brighter than I thought was possible,” you continue. “Breathing becomes easier and I laugh harder than I ever have before. Life doesn’t just become bearable—it becomes enjoyable. And that’s all because of you.”

As your words linger in the gap between lips, you feel the haze that clouded your mind for so long finally lift, making way for light to shine through. A pure, warming light with pink hair and porcelain skin and cheeks like puffed up marshmallows.

“I take back everything I said before,” Eunha says with a smirk. “That was the most charming thing I’ve ever heard.”

Before you even have time to roll your eyes, she’s kissing you again with a newfound passion. You’re quick to follow her lead, running your hands over the curves she’s been hiding underneath her work uniform and taking mental notes of the spots that produce a cute moan. Each sensation feels like a spark of lightning being shot through your veins, driving your every movement. You want—no, need to please this woman, show her exactly just how much she means to you.

With all the adrenaline in your system, you end up pinning Eunha against the front door with an audible thud. “Someone’s eager to get things going,” she teases, short-breathed and rosy-cheeked.

“How can I not be when you’re so—”

“MRRAAOOOUWWWW!!!” Yokai cries out, his yellow eyes full of judgement as he looks at your crude display of affection from the couch. Attention whore.

Eunha chuckles. “Maybe we should—”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” 

You take her hand and practically drag her to the privacy of your bedroom, her excited giggles trailing behind you. As soon as the door shuts behind you, Eunha is already laying on your bed, resting comfortably as if it were her own.

“Got room for one more?” you quip.

“If it’s you, definitely.”

With an easy smile, you make your way towards her, fingers grazing up her thighs to her toned stomach and around the sensuous curve of her bosom before resting right next to her head. The moonlight peaking through the window illuminates her eyes, allowing you to see the passion and the neediness aimed directly at you.

“You’re so beautif—mmf!“

Eunha suddenly claps her hand over your mouth. “Listen, you’re very cute, but I desperately need you to take my clothes off. Now please.”

You waste no more time, diving into the crook of her neck and producing a yelp from her throat as you pepper it with kisses. Excitedly, your hands slip under her shirt to massage her full breasts. You’d be lying if you said you never imagined it would be like to cup her breasts, but actually getting to feel them in your hand is a different sensation entirely. So soft yet so firm, and perfectly bouncy. By the noises she’s making, it’s safe to assume that she’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

Eunha reaches down and strokes the outline of your cock through your jeans, her movements fueled by a primal lust. “Oh my god, I can already tell you’re so much bigger than my ex. Please, I need you inside me right fucking now,” she begs, already fidgeting with your belt.

You chuckle, not used to her lovely voice spewing out such heinous demands. Whatever the princess wants, she’ll get.

Loose clothing begins to decorate your room while a symphony of pleasurable cries and wrinkling fabric accompanies the scene. Moonlight casts shadows on your walls, depicting the beautiful act of debauchery taking place. This room, which only harbors memories of dreadfully sleepless nights, becomes a haven for you and Eunha to begin something new and wonderful.

“Can’t believe I almost let Yuju have all of this for herself,” she giggles, eyeing your length as it nears her dripping sweetness. 

You lean down to briefly take her lips in yours, running your hands over her now unclothed body, bare in all its glory. “I don’t wanna think about any woman other than you right now,” you say in a low, growly tone.

“Mmm, good answer.” Eunha abruptly wraps her legs around your waist. “Now fuck me, birthday boy.”

Your cock drags against her folds, lubricating it with her juices. You feel her shiver underneath you as you lightly graze against her clit. She’s so beautiful. Completely exposed and vulnerable, all for you. With a single movement of your hips, you enter her honeypot, the two of you sharing a moan as the tip slides in. 

“Shit,” you groan, drawing in a heavy breath, “We forgot a condom—”

“We work at a convenience store, we can just get a Plan B tomorrow!!” Eunha snaps before donning an apologetic look. “Sorry, I just mean—”

You interrupt her with a peck on the lips, smirking at her. “I know what you meant. I’ll shut up now.”

Pure instinct takes over as you begin to buck your hips into her, years of pent up energy and the desire to make her feel loved fueling each thrust. The crescendo of her voice every time your bodies meet is a tune like no other, and you do everything in your power just to hear that noise again and again and again and again. Sink your fingers into the meaty flesh of her thighs, lap at her perky tits, pin her arms over her head so her only choice is to succumb to the overwhelming sensation of lust.

“Perfect” doesn’t even begin to properly describe Eunha. From her bubblegum optimism that managed to melt your cold heart to the velvety tightness of her pussy as she takes you in so fucking well, there aren’t enough words in existence to explain just how much she means to you. So instead, you do your best to deliver the message through every movement. The fire in your pelvis as you fuck her heat, the soreness of your tongue as you worship every inch of her body, everything you do is testament into making sure she knows just how much you mean to her.

Love her in a way that her ex could never do.

Love her until all the pain and suffering she went through is forgotten.

Love her the way you’ve been unknowingly aching for her since the moment you laid eyes on her. Repay her for all that she’s done just by existing.

“K-keep going! Just like that!” she groans, the grip of her pussy tightening with each second. You do as she says, fucking her at the pace that she likes and hitting every spot that produces that oh-so-pretty noise from her lips. With how amazing she feels, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the building feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“Eunha…”

She grabs your face, forcing you to look at hers. “Inside me, baby. Please. I need to feel you. I want to feel you.” She peers at you with those eyes, glimmering with the light of a full moon, and pleads for you to stay inside her. How silly. Why would you beg when I would give you the whole world at the drop of a hat?

In one final thrust, you climax in her arms, wave after wave of pleasure rushing through you. Eunha shoves her face into the crook of your neck, a guttural moan escaping her lips as she experiences her own orgasm. Months of working alongside her and getting to know her, culminating into a beautiful moment of release for the both of you—and this is only the beginning.

“H-holy… shit…” Eunha pants, tracing lazy circles on your shoulder. “That was… better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Are you saying you’ve imagined this before?” you tease.

“What, you think I’m gonna work with someone that’s as sweet and as awkwardly-cute as you and not occasionally think about fucking him?” she retorts with a smirk. 

Bae always taps her thigh whenever she’s itching to ask you something, her fingers playing a silent melody against the fabric of her gray sweats. You never told her this; you like it too much. There’s a simple, unbridled kind of joy at having this sort of upper hand over her—or, rather, every other guy that claims to know her.

After finishing Debussy’s Clair de Lune on her leg, you feel a shift in the mattress as she turns to you. Without looking up from your phone, you can already tell that she has that glint in her eye: the kind of glint that turns you into putty in her hands, malleable and easy.

“Mind if I sleep over?”

“No.” You’re lying.

“C’mon,” Bae pouts, nudging your arm.

“You slept over two days ago. I want the bed to myself tonight.” Your pants are up in flames.

With the dramatics of an off-broadway show, she collapses back onto your mattress, limbs splayed out as if you hit her with your car. You stifle a grin, not wanting to add fuel to her fire, but it’s no use—she could keep up the act all night if you let her.

“I can’t believe you want me dead—”

“Not what I said—”

“It was implied!” She swings a leg over your calf, staking claim over you with her cold toes. Your phone is tossed aside at this point; discarded to whatever crevice of your bed it fell through, a problem for the you of tomorrow that inevitably fell for the charm of the boba-eyed beauty staring at you like a sad cat in the rain.

“It’s dangerous for a girl to be out this late, all alone and defenseless,” she says, slender fingers trailing your chest for a second too long, yet not long enough.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“And contribute to the rising level of greenhouse gas emissions? No thank you, sir.” She pokes your chest, her lips just one impulse away from you. “Tsk tsk, and I thought you were more environmentally conscious. How disappointing.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” And yet, you smile until your cheeks ache, entranced by this silly game of cat and mouse you always seem to find yourself in.

“And you’re being mean.” Bae scoots into your side, and you let her, wrapping an arm around her slim waist like it’s where she belongs. “So what’s it gonna be? Hm?” Her nose is upturned at you, all smug and superior, and it takes all your self-control to not immediately cover her face in gentle kisses.

“Bae, please—”

“Yes or no?”

“C’mon—”

“It’s a simple question.”

“I just want to sleep by myself tonight—”

“Then why is your hand on my ass?” Her smile is all teeth as she shimmies herself into your palm. Honest to God, you have no idea how it got there—but there’s no way in Hell you’re moving it away.

“Because I’m a huge pervert that you shouldn’t be spending the night with,” you answer, some lousy last-ditch attempt at getting her to leave.

“Mmm, maybe I’m into perverts,” she purrs, biting her soft lip salaciously. For a moment, you’re jealous it’s not your lip between her teeth.

“Jesus, that’s one of the grossest things you’ve ever said,” you chuckle.

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“I live here, Bae.”

“No, I meant—” in one swift motion, she straddles your lap, cupping your face in her hands until she’s all you can see, “—here. You’re still here.” 

Every inch of your vision becomes occupied by this brash, annoying, crude, funny, adorable, beautiful girl. The only girl you’d ever drive an hour and a half away for in the dead of night because her car broke down. The only girl who endures all your nerdy rants about your new favorite TV shows. The only girl you want to wake up to in the morning.

“Hey,” you whisper in the space between lips.

“Hi.” Bae smiles, and your chest tightens, your heart growing larger than your body can handle.

“This is fun. I like this.”

Her arms slide around your neck, nose brushing against yours. You let your eyes flutter shut, content in feeling the warmth of her—her body. Her breath. Her essence. Just her.

“Why tell me to leave if you’re having so much ‘fun’ then?”

“Because I’m a liar. A huge, stupid liar.”

“The stupid part is right.” Her face presses into the crook of your neck. You inhale sharply with each pass of breath that graces your skin. “I mean, who would be dumb enough to reject a fun night with a hot girl?”

“I’ve been lying about other things,” you admit, like a sin. Her body tenses up against you.

“About… what?” Her voice grows serious—scared.

“Nothing bad, just…” You hold her close, like the next few words could take her away from you. “...Remember when you said you wanted to keep things casual?”

“...Yeah?”

“I-I… I, um…” You stand at a precipice, overlooking a bottomless chasm of uncertainty. The cat’s out of the bag now. The beans are spilled; the genie’s out the bottle; there’s no going back after this. “I want to—”

Bae presses a kiss to your lips, tender and soft and everything you could ever ask for. Her fingers thread your hair, tugging each handful in the way only she knows you like. You grip the edge of her top like a lifeline, ready to give your all to this girl—every cell in your body, every fiber of your being, all you want in life is to be hers and hers alone.

She pulls away, a mere inch of space between you, as if any farther would be too much.

“That was rude,” you say, a small smirk on your lips. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“You’re so stupid.” You can barely process the rolling of her eyes before she plants a playful peck on your nose. “And so cute.”

“Does this mean you feel the same way? I mean, about wanting to make all this… real?”

A sigh ghosts past her lips, a small dagger to your heart. “You know how I feel about relationships.”

You grit your teeth to hide your disappointment. She never talks about what happened before you, and you never asked—figured if it was important enough, she would bring it up on her own. But, for a little while, it felt nice to think that there was a chance for something more, no matter how small it is. 

“I know, I know,” you sigh. “I just thought—”

“I’m willing to try.”

Like a song from the Heavens, you feel yourself levitate at those four words. “R-really? You mean it?”

She chuckles, warm puffs of her hitting your chin. “God, you’re so cute.” Bae pulls you in for another kiss that ends too soon—an eternity too soon. You’d live in the seam of her lips if you could. “I’m gonna suck at this.”

“I know.”

“I’m gonna make mistakes.”

“I am too.”

“I might hurt you.”

“Possibly.”

“And you still wanna do this?”

You cup her face, thumb tracing over the gentle swell of her cheek. Bae is so… much. So delicate, yet so tough. So impulsive, yet so thoughtful. So confident, yet so anxious. One big, beautiful contradiction.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” you admit, like it’s gospel and you’re her devout follower.

“You’re too sweet to me.” Her expression cracks for a moment, the fear poking out from underneath. “What if I make you hate me?”

“I could never—”

“You don’t know that—”

“I do.” Truer words have never been spoken from your tongue. “I don’t think I could ever hate you. There’s not a single cell in my body that’s capable of hating you.” She sinks into your touch, her cheek flush against your fingers, and you’re gone—falling off the edge into whatever this thing could be. “Bae, I… I love—

“No!” Bae slaps a hand over your mouth, eyes wide in panic like finishing your thought would set her ablaze. In an instant, her walls are back up before you can properly grasp the worry in her eyes. “Not yet. I’m, uh, not ready.”

“Sorry,” you utter against her palm. “Too soon?”

“A little?” She pulls her hand away with a heavy sigh. “I’m already messing up, aren’t I?” 

“Hey, it’s okay, I should be the one apologizing—”

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong, I’m just—”

You silence her worries with a kiss, gentle, hopeful, the start of something new. Whatever ghosts hang around her, you want to be the one by her side when she faces them. But, for now, you just want her to forget about everything and simply feel good. To feel loved in ways words alone can’t convey.

You roll her onto her back, taking one last look at those beautiful eyes—your girlfriend’s eyes—before trailing kisses down her neck, each one hungrier than the last.

“You sure know how to shut me up,” she breathes, fingers entangled in your hair. You feel her tense up and come undone beneath you with each movement—so sensitive. The straps of her top fall off her shoulder and give way to the swell of her breasts, perfect handfuls in your palm.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” you murmur into her skin like an open secret.

Bae giggles. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time.”

Her breath quivers as you take her breast into your mouth, worshipping her with your tongue like you’re reciting a prayer; the taste of her so familiar, yet addicting all the same. Each flick against her sensitive mounds leaves her trembling, clawing, whimpering, anything to show you how much she needs this—how much she needs you, even if she’s afraid to say it. You let your eyes shut and your mind fall empty, wholly intent on pleasuring the work of art laying before you.

“Just like that, baby,” she coos, palming the growing bulge in your sweats. Limbs tangle, words drip, each movement with the cohesion of dancers and the grace of two insatiable fools. Bae pulls your shirt off like it’s a sin to be clothed, branding your chest so everyone knows you belong to her. You let her; all you’ve ever wanted was to be hers.

She admires her handiwork, tracing her finger against the marks like it’s a game of connect the dots. “I hope you weren’t planning on going to the beach anytime soon,” she teases, teeth bared in a wide grin.

“Are you kidding? I’m getting each of these tattooed as soon as possible,” you quip.

Bae grabs your face and, for a moment, the two of you laugh, forgetting that your one pants tug away from sensual bliss. The puff of her cheeks, the way her hair is sticking up, those precious eyes looking back at you like you’re the most important person in the world, you want to remember every single detail of this night—bookmark it in your memory and make sure every night with this girl ends like this.

You feel a hand grip the hem of your sweatpants, eager yet patient. “You gonna keep staring or finally give me what I want?” she asks, brow raised.

“I’m fine either way.”

She rolls your eyes at you, a smile dancing on her lips. “You’re ridiculous.” Her hand snakes deeper into your pants, grasping your throbbing shaft and drawing a moan from your lips. “Now please will you fuck me?”

You break out into a grin. “It’s hard to say no when you ask so nicely.” You press your lips into hers as she fishes your cock out of its fabric prison, fingers wrapped around you possessively. As her thumb grazes the sensitive part of your tip, a moan escapes your lips and her tongue fills the resulting void; each lick, each stroke making your mind slowly come undone.

In the midst of your Bae-fueled haze, you find yourself with your back pressed into your mattress and the girl of your dreams looming over you, no more pesky barriers in the way of her sweet honey pot. It’s mesmerizing how her pink lips glisten with her arousal.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” you say, practically drooling as your hands caress her toned thighs.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that tonight, bud,” she teases. “One more time and I’m gonna start to think you’re in lov—” Her smile falters, giving way to a rosy hue blooming on her cheeks. “I meant, um…”

“God,” you chuckle, pulling her body flush on top of yours, “you’re such a loser.”

She pouts. “Well, you wanted me—so here I am.”

Bae rests her forehead on top of yours as she sinks slowly onto your cock, inch by inch disappearing into her velvety sweetness. Hot gasps mingle in the narrow space between your lips, eyes locked in a staring contest neither of you are willing to lose, all while she moves her hips at an agonizingly slow pace.

“Fuck, baby…” she whispers. Her teeth sink into your bottom lip, hurting you in all the ways that feel right, before soothing it immediately with the pad of her tongue. There’s a simple joy in letting her set the pace, letting her use you anyway she wants for tonight—a friend, a lover, a piece of meat, you’d become anything for this girl.

In the measured rocking of Bae’s body, there’s no expectation of performance, no external reasoning for fucking other than the want, the need to be as close as humanely possible; chest against chest, limbs entangled in limbs, every atom rubbing together to produce a warmth you’ve only ever imagined. Maybe she’ll wake up tomorrow morning to realize that she doesn’t want this, that she’s not ready for anything more than casual—you’ll support her in her decisions like you always have, silently dealing with the pain of having everything you’ve ever wanted ripped away in an instant—but for tonight, buried in the space between her thighs, you’ll love her.

Love her openly; unabashedly; truthfully.

You roll her onto her back, watching her come undone with each thrust. “Oh shit,” she gasps, eyes gleaming at you with intrigue, “You’re working extra hard tonight, huh?”

“Want me to stop?”

 “You better fucking not—MMPH!”

You give her what she desires, making her lose control of her own body as she succumbs to your ceaseless pounding—back arching off the mattress, face contorting with pleasure, fingers whiteknuckling your sheets. The bed creaks with the force of your movements, mingling with the beautifully filthy chorus of her whines; the octave of her voice continues to crescendo as she approaches her climax.

You lean down to her ear, panting heavily against her cheek. “Where do you want me to—”

“Inside.” Bae’s arms snake around your neck. “Fucking cum inside me please.”

Everything around you fades, mind and body only focused on pleasuring the women underneath you. The cacophony of pure and utter lovemaking rings through your ears, driving each thrust deeper and deeper into her deserving cunt, chasing her orgasm just as much as your own. Her nails dig into your shoulders. Your legs burn with exhaustion. And yet, you’ve never felt better, deep within the girl you’ve loved for years.

All your efforts culminate to a blissful ending as Bae’s slick walls milk you for all your worth. She clings onto you for dear life as her own orgasm washes over her, face nestled into the crook of your neck, almost as if it was perfectly sculpted for her. Long after the both of you come down from your highs, neither of you are willing to move from your entwined state like a statute symbolizing the purest form of connection.

“Mmm,” Bae finally manages to croak out.

“You okay?”

“Better than okay.” Her lips form into a small satisfied grin. “Wayyyyy better.”

You chuckle softly. “I’m glad I met your expectations.”

She drapes her leg possessively over your hip, hugging you tight like a koala to a tree. “Above and beyond, as always.” 

The gentle hum of the ceiling fan fills the silence for a while, accompanied by the occasional shuffling of fabric or the soft release of lips against skin. No single word exists to even begin describing the feelings swelling up in your chest. Elation. Euphoria. Paradise. Cloud fucking nine. Maybe a word will be born in the near future to truly encapsulate this feeling, or maybe that word will never exist at all; all that matters to you is the Now—in your own little pocket of the universe, cuddling the most amazing girl to ever exist.

“Got any plans for tomorrow?” she murmurs, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

“Definitely need to do laundry.” You glance at the stains of lovemaking all over your sheets.

 “Sorry.” She’s not.

“Don’t be. If I was a grosser man, I wouldn’t even bother washing them.”

“Ewww,” she chuckles.

There’s a subtle beauty in the way her chest rises and falls with heavy breath as the rest of her body poses still like a statue. Clothes damp with sweat, hair disheveled, and yet, she still somehow manages to be the sexiest person you’ve ever seen as she glares at you with those steely, determined eyes from the front of the camera.

“That’s a wrap!” As soon as those words leave your mouth, Yeonjung’s idol facade collapses to the ground, along with the rest of her body.

“Let me do it again,” she huffs, each word struggling against her breath. “I messed up that one part again. I can do it better this time, I—“

“Yeah, no.”

“What?” Her dedication to her craft is commendable, to say the least. 

“You’re exhausted, I’m exhausted, it’s 2AM, let me go home please.”

“But—”

“Nope.” You’re already halfway done packing up your camera before she can utter another word. “Amongst the billions of takes you made me record, I’m sure there’s a good one in there.”

Yeonjung crawls to you, barely enough energy to cling onto your pant leg. “Please, just one more!”

“Yeonjung, look at yourself!” you point out as you help her to her feet. The clack of her heels echoes throughout the dance studio, a sound that will likely haunt you for the next couple of nights. “You need to go home and shower. You stink.”

She pouts at you, gripping onto your shoulder for balance. “Hey!”

As exhausting as the last five hours have been, you feel lucky every time you get to spend alone time with her. Amongst the hundreds of trainees you’ve seen come and go through the company, you’re certain that her debut is all but guaranteed. Even if she only put in half as much effort as she is now, she would still be the best trainee the company has by far. Yeonjung is perfect—you just wish she would see that too. 

“The CEO said he wants to speak with me tomorrow,” she says as she plops onto a bench by one of the walls. The sound of clattering heels is followed by a sigh of relief as she tosses them aside.

“Really? That’s great!” you exclaim.

She shakes her head, a look of worry donning on her. “I don’t know. I have a feeling he might be kicking me out.

“Hey, come on,” you soothe, scooting closer until you can feel the heat emanating from her body. “Look how much effort you put into tonight for a minute long choreo. You really think he’s gonna kick you out after this?”

“I’ve been stressed lately, maybe that’s showing in my performance. My last monthly evaluation was the worst I’ve ever done.”

“You ranked third out of everyone!”

“Yeah, but I—”

“I know, I know.” You pat her back reassuringly. “You usually get first, so you’re upset that your rank dropped and now you’re all worried.”

All Yeonjung can do is pout as you take the words right out of her mouth.

“I’m sure it’s nothing bad, don’t worry about it.” Your hand graces her thigh, tracing patterns on the denim of her tight jeans. She shivers underneath your touch, a knowing grin growing on her lips.

“But I can’t help but worry about it,” she says, her eyes glued to your hand.

“Then let me help you forget about it, hm?” You whisper into her ear before peppering her sensitive neck with kisses. The musk of all her effort wafts into your nostrils, getting you high on her pheromones.

“S-stop…” Her mouth says one thing, but the way her fingers cling desperately to your shoulder and the way her eyes flutter shut in ecstasy convey a completely different message. “You said t-that… I stink…”

“I didn’t say I hated it.”

That’s enough permission for her to straddle your lap, encapsulating you in her scent. “You have some strange fetishes, camera boy,” she chuckles, that silly little nickname rolling off her tongue like it’s something clever.

“It’s not a fetish,” you correct her, brushing a clinging hair off her forehead, nails gently dragging against the perfect skin of her cheek. 

“It’s just you.”

It barely registers in your mind, the speed of how quickly her tongue invades your mouth. Yeonjung has always been a sucker for sappy sentimental one-liners and it’s hard not to feel happy when a pretty girl is clawing the jacket off your shoulders like you’re her doll that she can just strip at will. With how much stress she’s under daily, you’re more than content with sitting back and letting her take control.

A pair of T-shirts and a black bra hit the wall behind you, becoming a mere afterthought as Yeonjung pulls your face into her sweaty breasts. You inhale deeply, letting her essence fill your lungs, before dragging your tongue all over her beautiful mounds, recompense for the last couple hours of filming she made you endure.

“Are you sure… you don’t have some kind of sweat fetish?” she asks in between moans. All you can do is chuckle against her skin, too focused on savoring her taste to make a quip. Her fingers comb through your hair, pulling every time you flick at her nipple or squeeze her perfect ass through those tight jeans. You don’t consider yourself to be a masochist, but that split second of fire in your scalp has become a sign that you’re doing something right.

“Fuck, you’re good at that,” she breathes. Hours could be spent mapping out her entire body with just your tongue alone, tasting every nook and cranny, noting which spots make her purr, but with the tacit hunger in which she grinds her heat against you, it’s only a matter of time before lust wins over any ounce of self-control.

“I’m good at other things too.” The first thing you utter after a while of concentrated licking has her climbing off of your lap and planting her hands against the wall, begging you to take her pants off and fuck her silly with that look in her eyes alone. You run your hand up the back of her thigh while kissing the soft skin of her back, making sure to worship every inch of her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Yeonjung,” you grunt as you fiddle with the button of her jeans.

She chuckles lightly, pushing her hips into your crotch. “I bet you say that to all the girls you fuck.”

“I do.” You peel her jeans off, the aromatic musk of her sex hitting you like a bullet train. “Because you’re the only girl for me.”

“How sappy, camera boy—MMPH!”

The sweet melody of her moans mixes with the unmistakable slapping of skin against skin. If you weren’t so sure that the entire building is empty at this hour, you would make an effort to be a little quieter, maybe even a little gentler to her, but with the way she’s been teasing you all night by flaunting her perfect ass and making you record all those takes, knowing it would rile you up, it’s only fair that you get to have your fun.

Dig your fingers into the curve of her hips, whisper into her ear about how good she feels, fuck her in the way that she deserves. Someone like her only comes around once every billion years, and you’re prepared to show her how special she is night after night after night.

“H-harder, baby,” she coos, scratching her nails against the walls. “I’m so close.”

You feel her tighten around your length, and you do everything you can to send her into sweet bliss—tease her clit, massage her perky breasts, pound into her until your legs start to burn. Nothing else matters at this moment except Yeonjung. Not you, not the CEO, not the other trainees, just her and that incredible body she has. All your hard work pays off as she begins to tremble in delight and her moans are reduced to a mere choke. You capture her in your arms before she falls, letting her rest within the safety of your embrace.

“You…” she begins, panting heavily, “...are way too good to me.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be good to you?”

“I… don’t know.” She reaches up and traces circles on your cheek, leaving a tinge of electricity in its wake. “Maybe because I made you stay here to record a dance video for me.” 

“That’s my job.”

“Is this your job too?” She bites her lip knowingly.

You shrug, grinning at her. “It has its perks.”