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Plush Delusion

BLACKHOLE: Path of Loneliness

Loneliness / Silence / Control / Chaos / Doubt / Youth

Male Reader x IVE's Jang Wonyoung

~16.3k words

A/N: Path one into the blackhole. I'm posting this slightly earlier to gear up for IVE's Second Full Album's release! Enjoy~ The concept for this piece was introduced to me by @okaylikeschaewon a month back, which I found very interesting and wanted to work something with it. It's called Operant Conditioning! If you're interested, you can go read up about it in the link I've attached to the words~ Big thanks to @dotoliwrites for the comments and beta read~

“Oppa!” Wonyoung squeals as she crashes through the door. “Where are you at~”

“Here!”

“Where’s here!? That doesn't give me much to work with…” Wonyoung grumbles. You hear doors click open and shut as you hurriedly stuff and pack up the mess in the room.

“There you are!” Wonyoung says, pushing open the door gently. “Oppa, look! Isn't it cute?” Your face is flushed as you quickly turn your body around, hiding your hands behind. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you deflect. She eyes you up and down, eyes thinning in suspicion. “You're red,” she says.

“I-I was just doing some… exercises! Yeah exercises! You know, jumping jacks and push ups?”

“Sure…” she says. “Anyway, do you see anything different?” Wonyoung stretches her arms out, posing before twirling around.

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

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

“How was practice today?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Wonyoungnie…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You full?” you ask.

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

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

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

She sighs a long, shaky breath.

“Better?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

But they’re silent.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You text back privately:

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

She replies instantly:

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

You sigh.

There's a hole in her heart.

And it’s getting bigger.

***

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

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

And the packages keep on coming.

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

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

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

You don’t say much.

You just watch.

But you notice the pattern.

She spends more time alone — work, practice.

She unboxes them when you’re not around.

She brings a plushie out everyday.

Some days she brings two.

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

She always smiles for the camera.

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

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

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

“You haven't slept?”

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

“Bad day?” you ask softly.

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

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

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

She lets out a shaky laugh.

“I don’t feel incredible.”

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

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

₩280,000.

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

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

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

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

You kiss her temple.

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

She swallows.

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

Her fingers tighten on your shirt.

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

She lets out a broken laugh.

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

You feel her tears soak into your shirt.

“I'm pathetic right?”

You hold her tighter.

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

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

“I do. Wait here.”

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

Her eyes widen. “What… is that?”

“Something to hopefully fill the emptiness in you.”

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

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

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

Wonyoung nods, listening intently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

You kiss her forehead.

“Thank you for trusting me, Wonyoungnie.”

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

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

The machines wait in the corner.

Tomorrow is day one.

***

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

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

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

“I know…” she says, looking down.

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

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

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

You look at her messages and smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes flick up in happiness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods.

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

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

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

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

“Oppa…”

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

She nods frantically.

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

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

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

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

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

“So… how are you doing? All good?”

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

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

She nods and smiles at you.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

<Rare, +R>

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

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

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

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

“Wonyoungnie.”

“Y-yes?”

“You're so beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oppa—ahh—”

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

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

She’s unraveling so beautifully.

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

“P-please—please don’t stop—”

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

That’s when she really starts to shake.

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

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

She breaks with a choked scream.

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

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

You seal your lips around her clit again.

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

Too late.

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

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

It’s faster this time.

Way faster.

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

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

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

She’s wrecked.

Beautifully, perfectly wrecked.

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

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

You kiss her temple.

“Good girl,” you whisper.

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

You hold her tighter.

The couch is soaked.

The rug is soaked.

She doesn’t care.

Neither do you.

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

She’s reaching for you.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come here.”

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

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

“Wonyoungnie.”

“Yes?” Wonyoung asks timidly.

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

“... I did.”

“Show me.”

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

“You're not mad at me right, oppa?”

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

“Do you like them?” you ask.

Wonyoung looks at you and nods hesitantly.

“Tell me what you're feeling now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So... what now?” Wonyoung asks.

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

“Can't I be… exempt today? It's been a really tiring and long day.” Wonyoung sniffs, looking at the coin.

“Rules are rules, Wonyoungnie.”

She looks at the coin silently for a moment and inhales deeply. “I guess… it's my fault and I should face the consequences.”

She turns back to the red machine and slots the coin in. Turning the knob with hesitation, a red capsule ejects from the discharge hole, rolling right between her knees. She picks it up and turns the sphere around.

<Common, +P>

You hear her exhale slightly in small relief after realising that it's only a common. The capsule pops open with her trembling fingers and she reads, “Ten smacks on the palm with a ruler.”

She exhales with a tiny, shaky sound of relief mixed with dread. It's only common. Not the worst card. But her eyes still flick to you, searching for mercy. Even though it’s only ten smacks, it's still ten smacks.

You stand slowly from the floor beside the red machine and walk to the kitchen drawer where you keep the wooden ruler — the one she uses to measure plushie heights for her shelf display. It’s light and smooth, not heavy or cruel. Just enough.

You return and sit on the edge of the couch.

“Come here, Wonyoungnie.”

She crawls forward on her knees, knocking the five figurines until they are scattered around her like fallen soldiers. She’s kneeling between your legs. Her hands rest on her thighs, palms up already, as if she knows the position.

You take her right hand first. Turn it gently so the palm faces up. Her fingers are trembling and cold.

“Look at me.”

She lifts her gaze, her lip quivering.

“This isn’t because I hate you,” you say quietly. “This is because I love you too much to let you keep running from what you really need.”

She nods.

You raise the ruler.

The first smack lands clean across the center of her palm. She gasps with a small, startled sound, and her fingers curl instinctively.

“Count.”

“O-one…”

Second smack. Same spot, but a little harder.

“Two…”

By the fourth her palm is pink and warm. She flinches each time now, but she doesn’t pull away. Tears gather at the corner of her eyes, but she keeps her hand steady.

“F-five…”

Her voice cracks on the number. You pause after six, setting the ruler down beside you. Take her stinging hand in both of yours, thumb rubbing gently over the reddened skin.

“Breathe,” you murmur.

Wonyoung takes in shaky inhales, trembling exhales. You lift her palm to your lips, kissing the center softly, then blowing cool air over the slightly swollen heat. She whimpers softly, but not from pain, it's from your sudden gentleness.

“Four more,” you say. “You can do this.”

She nods.

Seventh smack.

“Seven…”

Eighth.

“Eight…”

Ninth. You smack deliberately harder.

“N-nine…”

Tenth.

The last one lands with a crisp snap.

“Ten…”

She chokes on a sob.

You drop the ruler and pull her forward into your lap in one smooth motion. She collapses against you, burying her in your neck, arms wrapping tight around your shoulders. Her whole body shakes as she cries with small, hiccuping sobs muffled against your shirt.

You hold her close. One hand cradling the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. The other rubbing slow circles on her back.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

She clings harder, nails digging into your back like she’s afraid you’ll let go. You rock her gently back and forth like you're soothing a child, pressing kisses to her temple, her hairline, her ear.

“I’m not mad,” you murmur. “I’m proud of you for telling me. For kneeling. For taking it.”

She makes a tiny, wounded sound. “I failed…”

“You slipped. That’s different.” You pull back to cup her face, thumbs wiping the tear tracks. “Slipping means you’re still learning. Failing would be giving up.”

Her lower lip trembles.

“I don’t want to give up.”

“Then don’t.”

You kiss her forehead, marking her with the moistness of your lips.

Then her cheeks, tasting the salt of her tears.

Then her lips, giving her every ounce of your love. She closes her eyes and leans into every kiss like it’s medicine.

You reach behind you, grab the throw blanket from the couch arm, the one with a Rilakkuma print that's soft and worn from years of use. You wrap it around her shoulders, cocooning her against your chest. She burrows deeper, pressing her cheek over your heartbeat.

You keep rocking her. Minutes pass and her sobs slow to sniffles, then to quiet breathing. You don’t rush her. When she finally speaks, her voice is small and hoarse.

“Oppa… can I sleep in your arms tonight? Even though I messed up?”

You kiss the crown of her head.

“You never have to ask.”

She exhales in relief. You stand carefully with her legs wrapped around your waist, blanket tucked around her, and carry her to the bedroom. Plushies line the shelf, watching silently as you lay her down gently. You slide in beside her and pull her close. She sighs and melts against you.

There's no plushie between you. Just your skins touching each other. Just your heartbeats thumping in sync. She falls asleep like that with her tear-streaked cheeks drying against your shirt, breathing evening out.

You don’t sleep right away, staring at the ceiling, looking at the shelf of smiling figurines. Tonight she chose you, even after she slipped. You press one last kiss to her hair. “Good girl,” you whisper.

She doesn’t stir, but her fingers tighten on your shirt, like she heard. And today, the hole in her heart feels a little smaller.

***

The next three days pass in a gentle, hopeful rhythm, each one lighter than the last.

Tuesday brings a manageable schedule for Wonyoung: group vocal work, choreography tweaks, and a short solo interview. Wonyoung returns home tired but bright-eyed, collapsing sideways across your lap on the couch without a word. She didn't spend recklessly. You guide her to kneel by the green machine and she pulls her reward with trembling excitement.

<Common, +R>

“20-minutes of shoulder massage.”

“Just twenty minutes?” she complains. And the twenty minutes feel like a heartbeat. Fingers dancing across her shoulders, rolling againsg her tight knots, then soothing her aching body. In between her venting about the day’s frustrations and moaning at each motion of your massage, you can see the relief spreading across her face.

Wednesday is quieter with no major solo commitments, just group practice and recording. You surprise her with a blanket fort in the living room: Rilakkuma throw draped over chairs, fairy lights strung across the top, pillows piled inside. Her face lights up. She crawls in, pulls you after her, and curls into your side as Howl’s Moving Castle plays.

<Common, -R>

“Remove plushie ban during movie time + full cuddle under the fort.”

She sighs happily as she nestles closer, fingers laced with yours. Halfway through she whispers, “This is better than any package,” and falls asleep in the glowing fort as you keep her safe and warm.

On Thursday, Wonyoung is slightly busier with a group prep, vocal recording and one solo magazine interview. Wonyoung texts you during a brief break between recording and the interview:

<Wonyoungnie 🩷, 3:12 p.m.> “Saw a new Labubu wave drop while waiting for the next take… almost clicked buy. Closed the app so fast my thumb hurts… TT “Thinking of coming home to you instead.”

You reply immediately:

<You, 3:14 p.m.> “Proud of you for closing it. Come home soon.”

She doesn’t reply again, her interview probably running long, then she has to rush straight to vocal refinement. You feel the familiar pang where she’s fighting, but the day is wearing her down.

She walks in at 10:15 p.m. with her hoodie slipping off one shoulder, hair messy from practice, eyes heavy but still bright when she sees you.

“I almost slipped today…” she whispers as she kneels in front of the machine. “But I kept thinking about coming home to this. To you.” Another click and a whirr and a green capsule rolls out.

“Common again?” she whines, bottom lip jutting out. “Why aren’t I getting rares or epics yet? I want something more exciting…” But she pops the capsule open anyway.

“20-minute kitchen slow dance.”

You’re waiting in the kitchen with a slow ballad playing softly from your phone and she walks straight into your arms without a word.

You and her sway together under the dim light, her head on your shoulder, your hand resting on her lower back. No conversation, just gentle rocking. She sighs against your neck: “I almost slipped today… but I thought of coming home to this.” You kiss her temple and murmur, “That’s why you get this.” She tightens her arms around your neck, whispering, “I just want to stay like this forever.”

You carry her to bed when she starts to doze, and she falls asleep curled against your chest. By Thursday night, hope feels solid again. The slips feel distant, the rewards feel real, and she believes she can keep going. Friday looms ahead, but for now, she’s certain she has this.

***

Thursday bleeds into Friday without mercy.

You wake at 4 a.m. to her still curled against your chest, legs hooked over yours like she’s afraid to let even an inch of space open up. You kiss her forehead. “Last push before the weekend, baby. You’ve got this.”

She nods, sleepy but determined, but the shadows under her eyes are darker than yesterday.

The day is merciless. She told you her schedule last night.

5 a.m. – 8 a.m.: Vocal recording for her upcoming full album.

9 a.m. – 12 p.m.: Solo endorsement shoot for luxury skincare.

1 p.m. – 4 p.m.: Solo magazine cover interview + photoshoot.

5 p.m. – 7.30 p.m.: Solo advertisement filming.

7.30 p.m. onwards: She's free, but because of all her solo activities, she decided to do dance practice alone again.

Throughout the day, not a single text comes, until 6:22 p.m.:

<Wonyoungnie 🩷, 6:22 p.m.> “Still shooting. Almost done. Miss you so much it hurts. Weekend soon… right?”

You reply instantly:

<You, 6:22 p.m.> “Almost there. The weekend is ours. I’m waiting with open arms.”

No reply after that.

She finally stumbles into the practice room at 8:00 p.m. to “make up” for missed group choreography. You know because she sends one last text at 8:02 p.m.:

<Wonyoungnie 🩷, 8:02 p.m.> “Gonna stay a bit longer to fix the mistakes. Don’t wait up… but please wait for me? 🥺”

<You, 9.18 p.m.> “Gambatte! ❤️”

You send a final reply, and wait.

She walks through the door at 10:37 p.m.

You’re sitting on the floor, in between the two machines. She stops in the doorway, paper bag in her hand.

It's a large one, with the Kakao logo printed on the paper bag. She drops to her knees in front of the red machine without being asked — the very same spot she knelt Monday night. The bag spills open beside her. Inside is a Sanrio x Kakao Friends giant plush set. ₩1.2 million.

You frown and think to yourself, wondering how you received no notification of the expenditure, but you keep silent. Her eyes are already red-rimmed and glassy.

“Oppa…”

You move and kneel in front of her, cupping her face gently.

“Tell me.”

The words tumble out, but they're fractured and exhausted. “Today was… too much. Vocal warm-up alone, endorsement shoot alone, interview alone, ad filming alone. Everyone kept saying ‘perfect Wonyoung’ like it’s praise, but it just made me feel… fake. Like if I’m not perfect, I’m nothing. When it was over, the studio was empty. Everyone left. I was alone again.”

She swallows.

“So I went to the practice room again. To fix the mistakes again. I repeated the choreo until my legs gave out again. To try and be ‘perfect Wonyoung’ again. The mirrors just showed me, no one else. No one to say ‘good job.’ No one to hug me when I wanted to cry.”

Her voice breaks.

“I opened the shopping app. Just to look. Just to feel… something. And then I saw the set. Limited. Cute. They looked happy. I thought… if I had them, the weekend would be less empty. I clicked buy before I could stop myself.”

Tears spill.

“I-I even… swapped to another credit card so you wouldn't find out…”

She starts sobbing even harder.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t speak right away.

You just hold her face, thumbs wiping her cheeks.

“Pull,” you say softly.

She nods.

She takes the Ganganji (Yujin) coin from your hand with shaking fingers, slotting it into the red machine. She turns the knob with an agonising slowness, muttering prayers under her breath, hoping that it will be a common pull again.

The ominous red capsule rolls out.

But it looks slightly different.

It's heavy.

It has gold edges.

“Oppa… can I pull another one? Please?” she begs with pleading eyes.

“Read it.”

She pops it open reluctantly and reads the card in a whisper that cracks on the last word.

“48-hour full exile. No contact. No kisses. No cuddles. Separate rooms. Minimal communication. No plushie access.”

Her breath stops and her eyes snap to yours in a wide and panicked state .

“Oppa… no. Not the weekend. That’s… that’s our time. Please—”

Tears flood faster.

She grabs your shirt.

“I won’t do it again. I swear. I’ll return everything. I’ll—”

You cup her face.

“I believe you. But the card doesn’t care about promises. It cares about choices.”

She sobs—broken, exhausted.

You pull her into your arms one last time.

Hold her while she shakes.

Kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—slow, lingering, like you’re memorizing her.

“I love you,” you whisper, “but this isn’t goodbye. This is so you remember that I’m waiting on the other side.”

She clings tightly to you, nails digging in like she’ll never let go, but you pull her up, guiding her to the guest room — the only place exempt from the pastel chaos. She looks back from the doorway and back at you with pleading eyes, hoping that you’ll change your mind, but you don't budge.

“Oppa… please don’t hate me.”

“I could never. So please don’t hate yourself too.”

You help her step inside the room and close the door softly, locking it from the outside, telling yourself that it is not to trap her, but to keep the rule.

The apartment falls silent except for her muffled sobs behind the door.

Plushies stare from the shelf.

10:57 p.m.

The clock ticks.

47:59:24 to go.

Your heart aches.

But you don’t open the guest room door.

Not tonight.

Not tomorrow.

Not until Sunday night.

The weekend stretches ahead, empty and endless.

For both of you.

You stand in the hallway for a long moment, hand still on the knob, listening to her muffled sobs on the other side. They’re soft at first, hiccuping and broken, but they slowly quieten, as if she’s trying to swallow them so you won’t hear how much it hurts.

Eventually you walk back to the living room. The red machine sits in the center like a silent judge. The plushies on the shelf stare, as if they're mocking her failure. The apartment feels too big now, the air too still.

You sit on the couch, staring at the locked guest room door. Your phone buzzes once. It's a single text from her, sent through the wall:

<Wonyoungnie 🩷, 11:01 p.m.> “I’m sorry. I love you. Please don’t hate me. 🥺”

You read it over and over again. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, wanting to type something, anything. But the rule is no contact beyond minimal communication.

So you type nothing.

You set the phone face-down and lean your head back against the cushion.

The clock ticks.

1:03 a.m.

You hear her crying again. You cry too.

Then silence.

Saturday. It's day 1 of Wonyoung’s exile.

You wake at 7 a.m. on the couch with just the empty weight of the couch beside you.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

No alarm. No sleepy murmurs. No small hands reaching for you.

You walk past the guest room door.

No sound from inside.

You reach out to knock, to check if she’s breathing, if she’s okay. But the rule is no contact. You keep walking.

You make coffee, but you take two mugs out of habit, then put one back.

The MINIVE Cherry mug sits back on the counter.

You drink alone.

Mid-morning: You sit on the couch with your laptop, trying to work, but your eyes keep drifting to the guest room door.

You hear faint rustling inside — she’s awake.

Another soft thump — maybe she's sitting on the bed.

Then silence again.

No texts.

The rule allows minimal communication, but you both know it’s better to keep it at zero for now.

Lunchtime: You cook a simple ramyeon, her favorite comfort food, and set a bowl outside her door with a note:

“Eat when you’re ready. I’m here.”

You knock once softly and unlock the door, then walk away. You hear the door crack open seconds later. The bowl disappears, and the door closes again.

In the afternoon, you clean. Not because it needs cleaning, but because you need something to do with your hands. You head back to retrieve the empty bowl from outside the door and wash it. You wipe down the kitchen counter, organize the coffee mugs, fold the Rilakkuma throw she loves.

Every plushie you touch and rearrange feels heavier than it should.

They’re all smiling, but they don’t care that she’s crying behind a locked door.

In the evening, you sit on the couch again. The red machine stares back. You think about opening the guest room door just to hold her, just to say it’s okay. But you cannot.

You hear her moving inside with soft footsteps, then the creak of the bed. Then crying again, quieter, more resigned.

You don’t sleep well at all.

Sunday. It's the second day of her exile.

You wake to silence. There's no sound from the guest room at all and panic flickers in your chest.

You walk to the door, pressing your ear against it.

Nothing.

You knock once.

“Wonyoungnie? You okay?”

No answer.

You knock again.

“Baby? Just say something so I know you’re breathing.”

Silence.

Your heart hammers and you reach for the lock, but you stop. The rule is until Sunday night. You promised yourself. She promised to obey the rules.

And so you walk away. Pace around the living room. Stare at the plushies. They’re all still smiling.

During mid-morning, a note slides under the guest room door and you kneel to pick it up.

It's filled with her small and shaky handwriting.

Oppa,

I’m sorry.

I keep thinking about how empty it is in here.

No plushies. No you.

Just me and the quiet.

I hate it.

I hate that I did this to us.

I miss you so much it hurts.

I won’t buy anything again.

I promise.

Please… don’t hate me.

— Wonyoungnie 🩷

You read it twice, and your throat tightens.

No unnecessary communication, but you slide a reply under the door anyway. This is necessary.

I could never hate you.

I miss you too.

Stay strong.

Sunday night.

I’m waiting.

No reply comes.

In the afternoon, you sit outside her door for an hour, leaning your back against it.

Not speaking.

Just there.

Then you hear her.

Soft footsteps shuffle inside until they move closer towards you. A small creak sounds and you feel the floor sink slightly. Then a gentle thump against the door, right behind your shoulder blades.

She’s probably leaning against it too.

Just like you.

The wood is thin, and you almost feel the faint warmth of her back through it, the tiny tremor that runs into your spine.

You close your eyes and imagine her: knees up, hoodie sleeves over her hands, forehead on her arms, hair hiding her face.

She starts to cry again, louder this time, more broken. Each hiccup travels straight through the door and into your chest.

The same stuttering rhythm. The same ache.

Your throat tightens and tears slip down before you can stop them. You press your palm flat against the wood, right where her shoulder must be. You don't offer any words. Just physical pressure on the thin wood, hoping the pressure would reach her.

Her crying hitches with a sharp, surprised gasp and it quietens for a second.

You hear the soft scrape of fabric as she shifts, and something pressing back against the wood.

Two palms, separated by three centimeters of wood.

She doesn’t speak, but her sobs slow to shaky breaths, and you hear her whisper faintly, “Oppa…”

You swallow hard and let another tear fall.

You stay like that — backs to the same door, hands mirrored, crying quietly on opposite sides — until the hallway light fades from gold to blue.

Neither of you move.

The door keeps you apart.

But right now, it also keeps you together.

Evening: The clock crawls towards the 48-hour mark.

You stand outside the door, your heart pounding the entire time.

10:56:57

10:56:58

10:56:59

10:57:00

You unlock it.

The door opens slowly and she's right there, sitting on the bed, knees tucked into her chest, face buried in her arms.

No makeup, no idol smile.

Just Wonyoung.

She looks up with her eyes wide. They're red, but hopeful.

“Oppa…?”

You step inside.

She launches herself at you, arms around your neck, legs around your waist, clinging like she’ll never ever let go again.

You catch her, arms wrapping around her as well, holding her tight. She cries into your neck with loud and wrenching sobs, discharging all the tears she will be crying for the next few months in advance.

You carry her to the living room couch and sit, letting her curl into your lap.

“I’m here,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

“I thought you’d never open the door…”

“I thought I lost you…”

You kiss her hair.

“You didn’t lose me. You never will.”

She pulls back to look at you.

“I won’t do it again. I swear. The quiet… the emptiness… it was worse than anything. The plushies didn’t help. They just sat there. They didn’t hold me. They didn’t love me.”

You cup her face and say softly, “I know.”

She leans into your hand. “I only want you. Just you.”

You kiss her forehead slowly, deeply, giving her your feelings that's filled with everything you couldn’t say for 48 hours.

She melts against you, and tonight, the hole in her heart feels smaller. It's not gone, but it definitely got smaller.

When you break the kiss, you reach into your pocket, pulling out a Cheez (Liz) coin.

Her eyes widen.

“You survived two days in there,” you say quietly. “No phone shopping. No packages. Just you and the silence. That’s strength. You earned two pulls tonight.”

She stares at the coin in your palm like it's a miracle.

“Really…?”

“Really.”

She takes it with shaking fingers, looking at the green machine. She turns back at you, hesitant if she deserves it at all, but you nod, giving her your affirmation.

“Go on.”

She crawls off your lap and kneels in front of the green machine, the very same spot she’s knelt so many times before. But this time there’s no fear. Just hope.

She slots the Cheez coin in and turns the knob. A capsule rolls out instantly.

<Common, -R>

She pops it open and reads softly.

“Remove tonight’s no-cuddle rule + immediate lap time with forehead kisses.”

She lets out a tiny, disappointed whine, jutting out her bottom lip in that adorable pout you know so well.

“Common again?”

She glances back at you, half-teasing, half-pleading. “I never get anything more than common for my rewards…”

You smile. “Sometimes the small ones are the ones that matter most. Come here.” She scrambles back into your lap immediately and you pull her close. “Besides, did you forget about your rare reward the other day? The one where I ate you out until you came twice?”

She blushes as you tuck her head under your chin, press slow, lingering kisses to her forehead, her temples, the bridge of her nose. She gives a long, contented sigh, melting against you like she’s finally home.

“Better?” you murmur against her hair.

“Much better…”

She nuzzles closer. “But I still want my epic…”

You chuckle softly. “Did you forget, the last time you whined for an epic a few days ago, you got an epic. Although it was one for punishment.”

“Bad luck… I hate it so much.”

“Then use your last coin,” you say, taking out another coin. She looks at the coin: Cherry. Her eyes shine with anticipation.

“Do it. It's your coin, and I reckon that you’ll get what you want.”

She takes the Cherry coin and kneels, slotting it into the machine without hesitation. Hand turning the knob, a second capsule rolls out for the night.

Her eyes light up.

Jackpot.

It's heavy with gold edges, just like the Epic -P punishment she got two nights ago, but this time, it's for a reward.

She freezes for a moment before popping it open with trembling fingers.

She opens her mouth, reading the card in a whisper that turns into a gasp:

<Epic, +R>

“Sex. All night.”

The moment she finishes reading the card, you crash your mouth against hers, kissing her like you're trying to devour her whole. Your tongues tangle immediately with no pretense of gentleness. She opens her mouth wide for you, moaning high in her throat as you lick deep into her mouth. Spit strings between your lips when you pull back for air, only to dive in again harder. You suck on her tongue, bite her bottom lip until she whines, then soothe it with a filthy drag of your own tongue. She tastes like salt and desperation and the faint sweetness of her chapstick, and you chase after every single drop.

Her nails rake down your back hard enough to sting through your shirt, but that's the least of your concern. You pull her up and shove her against the wall beside the darned red machine, pinning your hips against hers, thigh slotting between her legs so she can grind her desperate pussy on it like she’s starving. She takes your invitation without words, giving shameless little rolls, soaking your pants already.

You break the kiss with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your mouths. “You’ve been such a good girl,” you growl, hovering right over her swollen lips. “So fucking desperate to please me. Aren’t you?”

She nods frantically as she stares back into your eyes, pupils blown, spit shining on her chin.

“Yes… yes, oppa… I wanna be so good… I wanna taste you…”

You don’t let her beg more. You push down on her shoulders softly and she drops eagerly, knees hitting the rug with a soft thud, eyes locked on yours the whole way down. She yanks your pants open like she’s been dreaming about this for days. Your cock springs free, thick and leaking, and she actually whimpers at the sight, lips already parted and swollen from the earlier kisses.

She wraps both hands around the base, giving it a few strokes, smearing precum down the shaft. Then she leans in, blowing lightly over your tip.

“Please…” she whispers, licking her lips like she’s starving. “Let me be good for you.”

Her tongue flicks out without permission, giving kitten licks over the slit, lapping up the bead of precum like it’s candy. She moans at the taste and wraps her lips around the head.

It's slow and obscene.

She takes you in inch by inch, dick sucking lips stretching wide, tongue pressed flat to the underside, cheeks hollowing as she sucks. When the tip bumps the back of her throat she gags, but she doesn’t pull off. She breathes hard through her nose and relaxes her throat, forcing herself deeper until her lips kiss your base and her nose brushes your groin.

You let out a loud guttural moan as she hums lightly, threading your fingers into her hair.

“Good girl… fuck, look at you swallowing me whole like that.”

Her throat flutters around you, convulsing, milking, and her spit is already drooling from the corners of her mouth in thick strands. She holds you there for a long second, eyes watering, tears clinging to her lashes, before sliding back up with a slow, wet drag.

She starts bobbing on your cock, taking you in deep, pulling you out. All the while she looks up at your expression, studying which movements make your eyes roll, which angles make you moan harder.

“Am I doing good?” she asks as she pulls off your cock to take a breath.

“So good. So fucking good,” you rasp. She unbuttons her clothes as she breathes, tossing her top aside, exposing her bare tits. She smiles at your praise and dives back in, bobbing again, deeper and faster this time, head moving in a steady rhythm. Every downstroke she gags harder and her throat spasms with spit bubbling at her lips, but she never stops. She loves it.

Her cheeks hollow with each suck, tongue swirling around the head on every upstroke, and she moans around your length, the vibrations shooting straight to your balls.

Spit drips in messy streams down her chin, onto her chest, pooling on her thighs and the rug below. She’s making the filthiest sounds every time she bottoms out — wet glucks, choked gags, greedy slurps.

forcing her nose against you until she can’t breathe.

You take over.

Both hands in her hair now, cradling her skull and you start fucking her face in earnest.

“Such a perfect little cocksleeve,” you praise, “Look at you choking yourself stupid on my dick. You love it, don’t you? Love gagging until you cry. Love making a sloppy fucking mess just to feel full.”

She nods frantically, as much as she can with you filling her, humming her desperate agreement around your shaft. Tears spill freely from her eyes, but her pleading and worshipful eyes never leave yours. She bubbles around you with spit foaming at the corners of her mouth, before sucking them back in with a loud, greedy slurp.

“That’s it… choke on it for me… show me how empty you were without this cock.”

She does it again and again, louder and messier each time, until spit runs in thick strings down her chin, dripping onto her tits.

Her hand flies between her legs, fingers plunging into her cunt, thumb mashing her clit in frantic circles, matching the brutal pace of your thrusts.

She’s soaked.

Slick coats her wrist, dripping down her inner thighs, pooling on the rug in dark, spreading puddles. The wet squelch of her fingers mixes with the gluck-gluck-gluck of her throat every time you bottom out.

“Fuck—look at you,” you groan. “Drooling all over my cock like the good little needy girl you are. You’re making such a pretty mess… but you love it, don’t you? Love being my perfect cocksucker.”

She moans louder, sending vibrations through your entire length and takes you even deeper. Her throat convulses around the head and she gags harder, eyes watering, but she pushes through, holding you there until her lungs burn. Her eyes never leave yours. Pleading. Craving. Obsessing.

She’s crying openly now — not from pain, but from need. Her cheeks are flushed crimson, her spit-shiny lips are stretched wide, and her throat bulges visibly with every deep thrust.

When she finally pulls back, she’s gasping and drooling, and her face a wreck of spit and tears. She looks up at you with pure adoration.

“More,” she rasps. “Please… fuck my throat again. Use me.”

You guide her back down slowly, letting her feel every inch of you stretching her lips, filling her mouth, hitting the back of her throat.

“Fuck yes… that’s my girl. Swallow it all. Stuff that lonely little throat until it hurts.”

Her eyes roll to the back of her head as you push in and out of her throat rhythmically, letting her gag and choke around you while she moans like it’s the best thing she’s ever felt. Spit bubbles and foams with every stroke now, dripping in thick ropes, coating her chin, her neck, her chest.

She’s an utter mess.

You feel your balls tighten and your thighs tense, the pressure coiling tight.

“Gonna cum,” you warn, hips stuttering. “Where do you want it, baby? Tell me.”

She pulls off with a wet, filthy pop and looks up at you with tear-streaked cheeks and spit-glossed lips.

“On my face… please… paint me… make me pretty for you…”

You stroke yourself furiously at her pleas and erupt. Thick, hot ropes lash across her lips, her chin, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, even catching in her eyelashes. Some land on her tongue and she moans, catching it, swirling it around before swallowing with a greedy gulp.

The rest she smears deliberately, dragging your still-spurting cock across her face like a brush, rubbing your cum into her skin in slow, filthy circles, painting herself with you.

When you’re spent she looks up at you, face glazed, lips swollen and dripping, cum streaked from forehead to chin.

She smiles at you in a dazed, proud, and filthy satisfaction as she licks her cum-smeared lips slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

“It’s moisturiser… gonna make my skin glow for you… gonna make me pretty so you’ll never leave…”

You groan — half-laugh, half-lust — and haul her up by the arms. She stumbles into you, legs shaky, face still painted with your cum. You walk backwards and fall into the couch, pulling her with you. She straddles your hips instantly and you kiss her hard, tasting yourself on her tongue, her lips and her cheeks, and she moans like she’s addicted to it.

Her pussy is flushed with a dark pink, slick dripping down her folds, clit swollen and throbbing with need. She reaches for you immediately, fingers wrapping around your still-hard cock, stroking twice before guiding you right to her entrance.

“Please…” she whispers, voice hoarse from gagging on you earlier. “Fuck me. Fill me. I need you inside me so bad.”

She lines you up and sinks onto you with one long, slow thrust. You stretch her open until your hips press against hers and she cries out sharply, back arching into an impossible curve.

Her hot and wet walls flutter around you instantly, gripping like she’s trying to pull you deeper. She’s so tight, so sensitive from everything before that every tiny movement makes her whimper.

You stay buried for a second, letting her adjust, letting her feel how completely you fill her, then grab her waist and pull almost all the way out before slamming her back down. She gasps and her legs snap between your waist, toes digging into your ass to force you deeper.

You start fucking her onto you in earnest, each slam punching a broken moan out of her throat. She reaches up with her hands and clutches your shoulders for leverage, starting to move with you.

“So… deep inside of me—” Wonyoung gasps.

She lifts her hips, plants her feet onto the couch and begins squat-bouncing, rising up until only the head is inside her, then dropping back down hard, taking you to the root every time.

The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room.

Her pussy grips you on every upstroke, refusing to let you go, slick dripping down your shaft, coating your balls, soaking the couch beneath her. Your grip tightens more, helping her slam down harder, meeting her drops with upward thrusts that make her scream.

“That’s it, baby,” you growl. “Ride me like you mean it. Show me how much you need this cock to fill you up.”

She nods frantically, bouncing faster and harder, thighs trembling with the effort. You lean forward, latching your mouth onto one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking the stiff peak while your hips keep slamming up into her.

She sobs your name as her fingers dig into your shoulders so deeply that you’ll probably have marks tomorrow. But it doesn't matter. You switch to the other breast, teeth grazing, sucking until her nipple is red and swollen, then kiss your way up her chest, her neck, until you reach her mouth.

You kiss her messily, tongues tangling, tasting your cum still smeared on her lips, her chin, her cheeks. She moans into your mouth like she’s addicted, grinding down harder, chasing her high. Her bounces grow erratic as her thighs shake, walls fluttering wildly around you.

“Oppa—gonna cum—gonna cum on your cock—”

“Cum for me,” you command against her lips. “Let me feel that tight little pussy milk me. Show me you’re mine.”

She shatters and her whole body convulses, back arching, head thrown back, scream tearing from her throat as her pussy clamps down hard around you.

Hot gushes of squirt spray across your stomach, your thighs, the couch. It's violent, messy, and unstoppable.

She keeps bouncing through it, riding out every pulse, every aftershock, until she’s whimpering, oversensitive, legs quivering uncontrollably.

You wrap your arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other stroking down her spine.

“Good girl,” you whisper. “So fucking good for me.”

You pull out of her slowly, letting her feel every thick inch drag along her sensitive walls. She whines at the emptiness, hips twitching like her pussy is already begging to be filled again.

You flip her around with a rough grip on her hips, turning her so her back faces you. She scrambles into position eagerly, knees planted wide on the couch cushions, feet flat, ass high in the air as she kneels over your lap. Her pussy hovers just above your cock. She looks back over her shoulder with her glassy eyes and cum-streaked face, biting her swollen lip.

“Want you to watch,” she rasps, voice dripping with need. “Want them to watch… how deep you go… how much I fucking take for you…”

She lowers herself slowly, letting just the head kiss her folds. She gasps needily as her thighs tremble, sinking down another inch.

Then another, until she’s fully seated on you, cock buried to the hilt, hips flush against her ass, balls pressed tight to her clit. She lets out a long, filthy moan as her head falls forward, hair spilling across her back.

You grab her hips and start moving her again. She rises up and drops back down hard, taking you in and out of her with purpose. The wet slap of her ass meeting your thighs echoes through the room.

She bounces and bounces, hips rising and falling in perfect rhythm, pussy gripping you on every upstroke, slick dripping down your shaft. You thrust up to meet her drops, slamming deep, making her scream every time your cock punches against her front wall.

“Look at them,” you growl, nodding toward the shelf of plushies and figurines staring silently. “Show those stupid little toys how greedy your cunt really is. Show them how you swallow my cock whole every time you drop like the good little girl you are.”

She nods frantically, moaning nonstop, hips rolling down harder, ass jiggling with every bounce.

“Yes—yes—look… look how fucking deep he is… they can’t do this… only oppa can fill me like this… only oppa owns this pussy…”

You reach your hand forward and palm the bulge in her lower stomach where your cock is pressing hard against her insides, rubbing in slow, firm circles.

The added pressure makes her gasp and her eyes roll back, mouth falling open in a silent scream.

“Feel that…?” you growl filthily. “Feel how deep I am… stretching you… ruining you… prodding right against your fucking cervix…”

“God, I can feel you in my guts…” Wonyoung whines, shivering with every impact.

You thrust up harder, meeting her bounces with brutal force, watching your cock disappear into her over and over, slick glistening on your shaft, dripping down to soak everything.

“Fuck yes,” you snarl as she touches where you're rubbing. “Rub that bulge, baby. Feel how much cock you’re taking. You’re so fucking stretched around me… so full of me… you love being my little cock-drunk girl, don’t you? Love showing these plushies how your cunt milks me like a greedy little sleeve.”

She’s shaking and her thighs are quivering as her ass bounces wildly, but she keeps rubbing that bulge, amplifying every sensation until she’s sobbing.

“Oppa—gonna cum—gonna cum all over your cock again—please—please let me—”

“Cum for me, girl,” you command, voice rough and possessive. “Squirt all over me. Empty all your loneliness out. Show me how much you love being filled. Show them who this lonely dripping cunt belongs to.”

She detonates. Her whole body convulses as her back arches sharply, head thrown back, scream tearing from her throat as her pussy clamps down like a fist.

A violent, explosive gush erupts from her pussy and hot, clear squirt blasts out in forceful jets, spraying across your thighs, the couch cushions, even hitting the rug several feet away in wet splatters.

It doesn’t stop at one pulse. She keeps convulsing, each spasm forcing out another thick, messy stream that soaks you both as you bounce her on you continuously like a cocksleeve. She’s trembling violently, legs barely holding her up as her hips jerk uncontrollably.

“Oppa—fuck fuck fuck—I can't stop cumming—” She’s crying your name but she still grinds down onto you even as she squirts harder, the pressure of her palm on her own bulge making every gush more intense, more violent, more uncontrollable.

The squirt doesn't end as you bounce her on you continuously like a cocksleeve until she’s shaking, until she's squeezing so hard that she forces your cock out from her, until her pussy clenches and releases around nothing, forcing her orgasm to finally die down.

She collapses forward onto the ground with her ass perched in the air. You hold on to her shaking thighs as she squirts one final, weak spurt that drips down her legs before she goes limp. She's utterly wrecked, sobbing with overstimulation and relief.

“Wonyoungnie. I haven't cum yet,” you grunt before reaching out to grab her hips, pulling her back down onto you as you slam her onto you again, chasing your own release through her aftershocks.

Her pussy is still fluttering as you pound into her, milking you greedily. You hook your arms underneath her thighs and bend her legs towards her head, folding her onto you. Her pussy is fully exposed outwards as you pound into her in a sitting Nelson position.

The new angle sets her already sensitive nerves on fire and lets you thrust deeper and faster. “Fuck Wonyoungnie, your pussy feels so god damn tight. I'm going to cum—”

“Cum inside of me please, fill me up oppa—” Wonyoung begs as your hips go into overdrive, slamming up into her like a jackhammer. With a final grunt, you bury yourself deep and cum hard.

Thick, hot pulses flood her, spilling out around your cock as you fill her to the point overflowing. She shudders through another small, broken climax as her walls ripple until she collapses completely.

“Oppa—m-more please—please fuck the loneliness out of me—” Wonyoung chokes, body still shaking from her aftershocks.

You pull out of her and flip her onto her back with a firm grip on her hips, guiding her so her head rests against the arm of the couch and her legs spread wide for you. You kneel on the floor in front of the couch, positioning yourself between her thighs. Before your cum can even leak out of her, you line up and slam back into her with one deep, brutal thrust.

She screams your name as you bury into her, back arching sharply off the couch as her walls clamp down around you like a vise. The wet heat of her envelops you completely, slick and pulsing, every ridge and clench gripping your length like she’s trying to pull you deeper.

She lifts her hips instinctively, offering herself completely, knees bent and feet planted on the edge of the cushion.

You don’t give her time to adjust and start pounding relentlessly, hips snapping forward with punishing force, cock slamming into her over and over. Your balls slap wetly against her ass in a lewd, rhythmic smack and each thrust forces a fresh gush of slick from her cunt.

Her hot juices coats your shaft, making it so slippery as they overflow and flow down her ass crack. The obscene squelching sounds of her pussy swallowing you fills the room, and it's loud and filthy, mixing with her high, desperate moans every time you bottom out.

“So deep—all for me—oppa your cock—all mine—” Wonyoung moans as you keep the rhythm brutal. You pull almost all the way out until only the swollen head stretches her entrance, the cool air kissing her soaked folds for a split second, then slamming back in deep, grinding your pelvis against her clit on every stroke. The unending friction makes her gasp and her clit throbs visibly under the pressure.

“Feel that?” you growl, voice thick with lust. “Feel how fucking deep I am? This lonely little hole was starving for cock, wasn’t it? All those nights hugging plushies, feeling empty inside… but now you’re stuffed full of me. Stretched wide. Ruined for anything else.”

She nods frantically as her tears stream, hips bucking up to meet every punishing thrust.

“Yes—yes—stretching me—filling me—oppa—only you—only your cock can do this—”

You grab her hips tighter, lifting her slightly to angle even deeper. You jam into her with short, brutal strokes, cock bullying against her front wall, hitting that spot over and over until her walls start spasming uncontrollably around you.

The wet, sucking sound of her pussy grows louder with every thrust and her slick coats your shaft and her inner thighs, muscles quivering with every impact.

“Eyes on me, baby. Look at who’s filling you. Look at who you belong to.”

You lean down, latching your mouth onto one nipple and suck hard, tongue flicking the peak while your hips keep driving down into her without mercy. You switch to the other nipple, then grab her hips again, lifting her higher so you can slam even deeper.

“Fuck yes,” you growl. “This cunt was made for my cock. Gripping me so tight… milking me like it never wants to let go. You love being pumped full, don’t you? Love feeling me drill into that empty spot until you can’t think straight.”

“If only you were a good little girl. You could get this cock all day, every day,” you grunt, leaning downwards to whisper in her ears as you piston. “But no. You choose to spend your money on little toys that can only sit there and stare at you uselessly. Why do you even not try and get fucked by my cock daily?”

She’s babbling now, every thrust forcing another whimper from her lips.

“Oppa—gonna cum—gonna cum all over your cock—please—please fill me more—please keep pumping me full—”

You keep thrusting with long, hard pumps now, cock slamming in and out, slick squelching loudly with every plunge.

“You could get a green capsule everyday. You could be such an obedient girl that I could make every capsule epic. You could experience this everyday. But you choose to press that stupid little ‘buy’ button. You choose to swipe that stupid card. You choose them instead of me.”

The couch creaks under the force and her ass lifts slightly off the cushions with each upward snap of your hips.

“Should I let you cum?”

“Yes yes yes—I’ll do my best—from now on—I’ll only choose you—I’ll only want you—please oppa—oppa—let me cum—” Wonyoung shrieks as she nods desperately, trying to seek your permission.

“Then cum for me,” you command. “Clench around me. Milk me. Show me how much you need this dick to feel whole again.”

She shatters. Her whole body convulses — back bowing, scream tearing from her throat — pussy clamping down so hard it steals your breath.

Her fingers fly to her clit, rubbing frantically, drawing out the orgasm until she’s sobbing, walls rippling and fluttering around you in violent spasms.

The sensation of her tight, pulsing cunt milking you relentlessly sends you over the edge.

You bury yourself deep and cum hard. You unload the final pulses of your cum into her, making her whimper through it. Her walls clench and milk every last drop from you until you collapse onto her, breathing ragged.

“Don’t pull out… stay inside… keep me full…” Wonyoung murmurs.

You stay inside her, breathing hard against her neck. She clings onto you, arms and legs wrapped tight around you as she trembles through the aftershocks.

You kiss her forehead, cheeks and lips softly, tasting salt and sweat and love.

She whispers against your mouth, “I’m yours… only yours…”

You hold her tighter. “I know.”

And in that moment your bodies are tangled, hearts racing, plushies forgotten on the shelf. ***

Months pass like an unending storm, continuously hurling challenges towards Wonyoung. Her schedule doesn't let up at all, getting busier and more hectic.

The apartment still smells faintly of vanilla candles and cardboard from old packages, but the deliveries have slowed to a trickle. The shelf of plushies and figurines gathers a thin layer of dust now — not neglected, just… less urgent. She still touches them sometimes, running a finger along a Kuromi ear or straightening a Sonny Angel’s tiny hat, but her hand always drifts back to you afterward, as if remembering where the real warmth lives.

Some days she comes home and melts into your lap without a word. You wrap her up, kiss her temple, murmur “good girl” against her hair while she sighs and melts. No machine needed. No coin. Just the two of you, breathing in sync.

Some nights are harder.

A long solo schedule, a string of “perfect Wonyoung” comments online, an empty practice room at midnight. She’ll stare at her phone, thumb hovering over a shopping app, heart racing with old habit. But she closes it. Every time. She closes it, walks to you instead, and buries her face in your chest until the urge fades.

She doesn’t always win.

There are slips — a small blind-box here, a limited keychain there. When it happens, she tells you immediately — no hiding, no second card. She kneels by the machines, eyes glassy but steady, and takes the pull. The punishments are lighter now, rarer. The rewards feel sweeter. And afterward, she always ends up in your arms, whispering “I’m trying… I’m still trying.”

You never ask if she’s “cured.”

She never promises she is.

Instead she reaches for your hand more often than her phone.

She falls asleep against your chest more nights than not.

She smiles when you call her “good girl,” and the word lands differently now: less like a rule, more like a truth.

The hole in her heart isn’t gone.

It probably never will be completely.

But it’s smaller.

And every day she chooses — sometimes shakily, sometimes fiercely — to fill it with something warmer than plastic and stuffing.

She chooses you.

And that’s enough.