#joohyun x reader

[w1w2]

Let Me In

Irene x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 5k

Synopsis: Behind the spotlight and polished smiles, one of Red Velvet’s members begins to struggle under the weight of unseen pressure. In the quiet of their shared space, love becomes both a question and an answer.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The apartment was quiet when they walked in, just the soft hum of the refrigerator, the faint tick of the wall clock, and the low click of the door shutting behind them. No lights turned on, no music, no casual joke thrown over a shoulder.

A stillness settled over the space like a heavy blanket, thick and unmoving.

Y/N didn’t say a word.

She moved on autopilot, bag sliding off her shoulder with a dull thud against the wall, her sneakers kicked off carelessly, one landing sideways, the other left crooked and half blocking the hallway. Her posture screamed exhaustion, but not the kind that sleep could fix, her shoulders drooped like something invisible was weighing her down.

She paused for a moment in place, hands hanging uselessly by her sides, eyes staring somewhere vague, somewhere far.

Then came the words, low and distant. 

“I’m gonna shower.” No inflection, no emotion. Just words tossed out like an afterthought.

She didn’t wait for a response, she didn’t look at Irene. She turned and walked down the hallway, towel already pulled from the door hook, bare feet ghosting over the wooden floor.

Normally, she’d linger. Say something dumb just to get a smile. Pull Irene’s hand, tease her, pretend she forgot something just so Irene would follow. On bad days, she’d still do the bare minimum, flop on the couch, fake a dramatic sigh, and wait for Irene to press a kiss to her temple.

But Tonight? Nothing, not even a glance back.

Irene didn’t move, she stood frozen in the entryway, fingers curled loosely around the strap of her purse, watching the place where Y/N had just been. The silence stretched, long and cold.

She tried to write it off “Long day, she’s tired, maybe she’s just overwhelmed.” But none of those excuses landed.They didn’t sit right.

Her gut twisted, a quiet ache starting to bloom in the space between her ribs. Not panic, no, not yet. Just that first drop in the stomach, the one that comes when someone you love starts closing a door you didn’t even know was there.

Something was wrong, and Irene could feel it in her bones.

The signs had been showing all day, subtle but steady, if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss them. But Irene had been paying attention.

At dinner, Y/N sat wedged between Wendy and Joy, her plate nearly untouched. She picked at her food, nudging rice around with her chopsticks like it was part of some quiet ritual. Three bites, maybe four, a small piece of meat, barely chewed before she swallowed and reached for her water like it was something bitter. She smiled when Joy teased her, laughed when Seulgi dropped her chopsticks and muttered a curse under her breath. But it didn’t reach her eyes, her eyes were tired.

Irene watched it all from across the table, close enough to notice, far enough that Y/N probably thought she wouldn’t.

When the others got distracted in conversation, Irene stayed watching. Her gaze landed on Y/N’s fingers, how they clenched around her napkin every time her phone buzzed on the table. She never picked it up right away, stared at the screen for a second, shoulders tight, jaw set.

Eventually, she gave in. One swipe to check the lock screen, one flash of something in her expression, Irene didn’t know what to call it. 

Pain? Disappointment? Something sharp. Too sharp for someone so soft.

Then the screen went black. The phone slipped back into her bag like it had burned her, and the mask came right back on.

Y/N made another effort at a smile when Wendy asked her a question, answered with that gentle lilt in her voice that always made people lean in. But her fingers stayed clenched in her lap the rest of the meal. She even laughed again when Joy pulled out some weird inside joke, but Irene could see the strain behind it. That split second where her smile faltered, just long enough to be real.

It was muscle memory at this point, pretending everything was fine, but Irene knew better.

Y/N was slipping.

And now, hours later, Irene could still feel the echo of that dinner, the weight of it sitting with her like a bruise that hadn’t quite faded.

Irene moved toward their bedroom, dropping her purse on the dresser with a soft thump before sinking onto the edge of the bed. She didn’t turn on the main light, just clicked on the small lamp by her side of the bed. A warm glow pooled softly across the room, barely chasing the shadows off the walls.

She pulled her knees up and folded her arms around them, chin resting lightly on top. Her eyes stayed fixed on the bathroom door across the hall, slightly ajar, a faint mist curling out around the frame.

The water ran steady in the background.

She waited.

It wasn’t impatience, it was a quiet kind of hoping. Maybe Y/N would come out and say something, maybe she’d crawl into bed and let herself be held. Maybe she’d fold into Irene the way she always did when her walls cracked just enough.

But that didn’t happen.

Eventually, the water shut off. A pause. Then the soft rhythm of movement, towel rustling, the creak of the cabinet, the tap of skincare bottles being shuffled around.

A few minutes later, the door eased open with a click. Y/N padded into the bedroom, wrapped in her oversized towel, damp hair clinging to her neck. She didn’t look at Irene, just moved toward the closet, pulled out a hoodie, and tugged it over her head before slipping into a pair of shorts.

Her silence stretched the whole time, thick enough to chew on.

Irene watched her carefully, picking up on every shift, the way she avoided eye contact, the slight tremble in her fingers as she brushed her hair back, how she tugged the hoodie sleeves over her hands like she wanted to disappear inside them.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Irene said softly, finally breaking the silence.

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, not enough to be obvious, but just long enough for Irene to notice. Her back remained turned, her movements paused mid motion as if considering how much to say.

Then she spoke, casual and even, too practiced to be real. “Just tired.”

Irene let the words sit in the air for a moment before answering, her voice still soft but edged with something firmer, something that quietly refused to be brushed off. “You sure?”

Y/N’s hands stilled again, her fingers mid-way through gathering her damp hair into a loose bun. She didn’t look back. Didn’t meet Irene’s eyes.

“Yeah, Joohyun. I’m fine.”

And that name. Joohyun. landed like a stone in Irene’s chest. Not Hyun, not babe, not even unnie that Y/N used when she wanted to be spoiled.

Just Joohyun. 

Flat. Formal. Careful.

The kind of name someone used when they were pulling away, even if they were trying not to show it.

Irene didn’t respond right away. She just watched Y/N quietly retreat to the far side of the bed, lifting the covers, slipping under them without a word.

The days started to blur.

Wake up, schedule, perform, smile, collapse, repeat.

It wasn’t anything unusual on the surface, Red Velvet had been through busier times, but something in the rhythm had changed, and Irene could feel it like a draft sneaking through a cracked window. Not loud, not obvious. Just steady, cold.

Y/N wasn’t just tired anymore. She was somewhere else entirely.

She started coming home later than usual, ten minutes at first, then thirty, then over an hour. She never said where she’d been, and Irene didn’t always ask. Not because she didn’t care, but because she could already guess the answer.

Irene would be waiting in the living room most nights, curled up on the couch with the TV on low, the glow flickering across her face. Sometimes she’d make tea, just in case Y/N wanted some. Sometimes she’d scroll through her phone, pretending not to be watching the door.

And then Y/N would walk in.

“Sorry, lost track of time,” she’d mutter, tossing her keys into the bowl by the door like she hadn’t been avoiding the apartment for hours.

She didn’t sit beside Irene, didn’t steal a sip of her tea, didn’t collapse into her lap like she always used to after long days.

No hug, no kiss, no “I missed you.” She’d just head straight to the bedroom, shoulders stiff, head down.

The door never slammed, never locked. Just closed, quietly. That almost made it worse. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t even annoyance. It was distance wrapped in politeness, like she didn’t want to bother Irene with whatever she was carrying.

It was the kind of closed door that said she needed space.

And Irene? She heard it.

She sat there most nights in that silence, trying not to feel like a stranger in her own home. Trying not to take it personally, trying to understand without overstepping. But the ache in her chest was starting to feel permanent.

Irene tried.

She didn’t storm the walls, she didn’t pry. She just showed up, in small, steady ways. She’d bring Y/N tea before bed. Offer to run her a bath. Ask if she wanted to watch something, go for a walk, eat out somewhere lowkey.

Sometimes Y/N would agree. But lately, more often than not, it was just a shake of the head, a quiet smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and another “Maybe next time.”

So Irene started asking differently, trying to find cracks in the silence without pushing too hard.

“Are you okay?” she asked one night, her voice casual but weighted with quiet concern.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied without missing a beat, her tone light, practiced, a reflex more than a response.

Another day, Irene tried again, softer this time. “Do you want to talk? Just us?”

“I’m fine, really,” Y/N said, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

They weren’t harsh answers. If anything, they were soft, too soft. Like Y/N was trying to wrap her detachment in kindness so it wouldn’t hurt as much, like she was trying to protect Irene from her own unraveling.

But the thing about loving someone is, you know when they’re not okay, even if they say they are with the sweetest voice they can manage.

And Y/N’s voice was sweet, but it was full of cracks.

She stopped making eye contact when Irene asked those questions. She started walking past her with a hand on her arm or a kiss on the cheek, brief, like punctuation, not affection. She’d say she was tired, that she had a headache. Say she needed a few minutes alone, and those minutes always turned into hours.

“I’m just tired.” “Don’t worry about it.” “I can handle it.”

At first, Irene let it slide. Maybe she really was tired, maybe a little space would help.

But it kept happening, and each time Y/N said those things, Irene heard the real meaning behind them a little more clearly.

“I’m just tired.” mean “I don’t have the energy to talk about what’s hurting.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” was the synonym of “You shouldn’t have to carry this too.”

Irene never blamed her. She just wanted to wrap her in her arms, tell her she didn’t have to fight invisible battles with her fists clenched in the dark. But every time she got close, Y/N would gently pull away, never rude, never cold, just distant. Careful, too careful.

And Irene didn’t know how to break through that without shattering something. So she stayed quiet. 

For now.

It was a Thursday night, and the apartment felt colder than usual.

Y/N had gone to bed early again, another quiet “I think I’ll just lie down” said halfway through Irene asking if she wanted to order takeout. She hadn’t even touched the dinner Irene made, only pushed the rice around and mumbled something about a headache.

Now the bedroom door was closed, not slammed, just closed.

Irene sat alone on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, the untouched food still on the coffee table in front of her. Some drama played quietly on the TV, but she wasn’t watching, not really. She kept checking the hallway like Y/N might change her mind, come back out, maybe curl up beside her and say what was really going on. But the silence stayed.

Her phone buzzed once on the armrest.

Then again.

Irene glanced down. A couple of notifications, nothing urgent, but one of them had her name. A tagged post. A fan account. Something about Red Velvet’s most recent appearance.

She didn’t usually check those things this late, but her thumb moved on its own. Curious Or maybe just hoping for something to make the silence less heavy.

She tapped in, and wished she hadn’t.

Y/N was trending, but not in celebration, not in the fun, “queen of duality” kind of way.

The comments hit like a slap.

“She’s not Red Velvet material. SM should’ve never added her.”

“She doesn’t fit. It’s like she’s from a different group.”

“Can someone tell her she’s not the main character?”

“Why does she talk so much? Always trying to be the center.”

Irene scrolled, each word heavier than the last. Her throat tightened, her stomach twisted.

She put the phone down slowly, like it might shatter if she moved too fast. It slipped from her fingers and landed beside her on the couch with a dull, final thud.

The TV played on, but she couldn’t hear it anymore. Just noise, just static behind the sound of her own heartbeat, thudding harder now in her chest, in her throat. Irene stared at the screen, the faint reflection of her own face staring back at her, soft in the glow, but tired. Her eyes looked hollow, jaw clenched, shoulders tense in a way they hadn’t been even during the most brutal training days.

She blinked slowly, once, twice.

There was no anger in her, no. She wasn’t mad at Y/N, not even a little. But she was hurting, because she saw it now. All of it.

The closed doors, the rushed excuses, the fake smiles, the way Y/N had started using her real name like a wall between them. The way she said “I’m fine” like it was a line she’d rehearsed, not a truth she believed.

And all the while, she'd been breaking, quietly. 

Alone.

The girl Irene loved more than anything was crumbling right behind a door just a few steps away and pretending she wasn’t.

That was what broke Irene’s heart the most. Not the comments, not the silence. But the fact that Y/N thought she had to go through it alone. That she couldn’t come undone in front of her, that she didn’t feel safe leaning into her anymore.

Irene inhaled, shaky and shallow. This couldn’t keep going like this, something had to give. She wasn’t going to wait any longer.

The hallway felt longer than usual as Irene made her way down it, every step sinking with the weight in her chest. It wasn’t just the dim lighting or the late hour, it was the stillness. The kind that made your ears ring, the kind that followed hurt left unspoken.

She stopped in front of their bedroom door and rested her hand on the knob. It wasn’t locked, it never was. But something about turning it felt like asking permission.

The soft glow from the bedside lamp spilled out beneath the door, warm and golden, the kind of light meant to be comforting. But through the silence, it only felt… sad. Like a light left on for someone who forgot how to come home.

She exhaled slowly.

Then she turned the handle, the door opened without a sound, and the room greeted her with more silence.

Y/N was on the bed, facing the wall. Blankets curled around her. One arm tucked beneath her head, the other draped over the edge of the bed. Her back rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, too slow, too steady.

Irene’s heart ached.

She knew what pretend sleep looked like, knew the difference between the softness of peace and the stillness of someone just trying to disappear.

Irene stepped inside, her footsteps quiet against the floorboards. She closed the door gently behind her with a soft click, sealing the silence in with them. Then she moved toward the bed, sitting down on the edge with care, leaving enough space so it wouldn’t feel like pressure.

Her eyes stayed fixed on Y/N’s back. The curve of her spine beneath the hoodie, the way her fingers were curled into the blanket like she needed something to hold onto.

Irene didn’t speak right away. She just sat there, close enough to reach her, but far enough to let her decide. She folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them, thumbs absently tracing the edge of her sleeve. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, and her thoughts were louder.

This wasn’t a moment to fill with words, not yet.

So she let the silence settle between them, not to create distance, but to offer something that had been missing. A quiet, open space where Y/N could choose to let her in.

The quiet had stretched long enough that it began to hum in Irene’s ears, vibrating with everything that hadn’t been said. The weight of it pressed against her ribs, made the air feel thinner.

She glanced at Y/N’s back again, took in the way her shoulder blades sat high and stiff, how her knuckles had turned pale from gripping the edge of the blanket too tightly. It wasn’t rest, it was restraint. The kind that comes when you're trying so hard not to break.

Irene shifted slightly, folding one leg beneath her on the bed. Her voice, when it came, was soft but steady.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said, barely louder than a whisper. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Still, Y/N didn’t move. Her body didn’t tense or relax. It just stayed, like she was trying to disappear into the mattress, like staying still was her last form of defense.

But Irene saw the truth anyway. She always had.

Her eyes dropped to Y/N’s hands again, clenched into the bedding like it was anchoring her in place. Like if she let go, the dam would break.

Irene swallowed.

“I know you think you have to be strong all the time,” she said, slower this time. Her voice dipped into something deeper.

“But not with me, not here.”

There was a beat. A hitch in Y/N’s breathing, then a soft, bitter exhale.

Irene barely caught the words when they came.

“I said I’m fine, Joohyun.”

And there it was. Not the words themselves, but how she said them, tired, guarded, laced with something between guilt and grief. As if admitting anything else would make her weak. As if “fine” was a wall that could hold everything together.

That name again.

No sweetness, no softness. Just the distance tucked inside her full name, like a subtle push meant to keep Irene at arm’s length. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t cruelty. But it was careful. And that hurt in a way Irene couldn’t describe, because it wasn’t rejection, it was fear disguised as strength.

She could’ve pulled back, could’ve let it go.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she leaned in, just slightly. Her voice didn’t rise, it didn’t sharpen, it trembled with love, with worry, with the ache of watching someone you adore fall apart piece by piece.

“Then why do you look like the world’s crushing you?”

The words settled into the room like dust, and for a moment, neither of them breathed.

Y/N didn’t answer, but something shifted.

Her shoulders drew in tighter, her spine curling inward like she was trying to fold into herself. Her fingers had loosened from the blanket, just barely, but her hands now lay still, open, like she’d run out of strength to hold on.

The silence between them was no longer gentle. It was suffocating. And Irene knew, this wasn’t the time for more space, this wasn’t something Y/N could carry alone, no matter how badly she wanted to.

Irene shifted slowly, deliberately, like she was moving through water. She leaned forward, closing the distance between them inch by inch until her chest was just barely brushing against Y/N’s back.

And then, quietly, gently, she wrapped her arms around her.

Not tight, not urgent. Just there.

Her hands slid beneath Y/N’s arms and found her waist, settling like they belonged there. Her head tucked into the curve between Y/N’s shoulder blades, the scent of her shampoo still clinging to her damp hair. Irene breathed her in like it was the only thing grounding her.

She fit there, perfectly, like she'd done it a thousand times. Like her body knew this shape before her mind did.

Y/N’s breath hitched the second Irene touched her. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but Irene felt it. The subtle shift, the crack forming in the stillness. The tension in Y/N’s spine wasn’t gone, but it wavered. Her back rose unevenly beneath Irene’s cheek, like she was trying to keep control and losing that grip with every second Irene held her.

Her voice came out low, nearly a whisper, full of quiet truth.

“I see you, Y/N.”

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead lightly against the soft cotton of Y/N’s hoodie.

“Even when you try to hide.”

Her arms tightened, not enough to suffocate, just enough to hold. To remind her she wasn’t alone. Her fingers curled gently into the fabric, grounding herself in the warmth of Y/N’s body.

“I’m right here,” Irene whispered. “Please, talk to me.”

At first, it was stillness.

One breath, then another.

Irene thought for a moment she might’ve asked too much. Pushed too far, but then she felt it, so faint it could’ve been imagined.

A tremble.

Y/N inhaled sharply, and her breath collapsed mid way through like a wave breaking against rock. She exhaled with a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, not yet, but it was close, too close.

The sound tore out of her, a single, shattered breath that cracked open into a sob she couldn’t contain. Her body jolted in Irene’s arms, shoulders shaking violently as the dam finally gave way. Her fingers scrambled for something to hold onto before she turned around in a blur of movement, burying herself in Irene without a word.

There was no hesitation.

Her arms wrapped around Irene tight, almost crushing, like she needed to be held together by force. Like she didn’t trust herself to stay in one piece unless Irene was holding her there. Her face pressed into the crook of Irene’s neck, hot tears seeping into her skin. Her breath came in ragged sobs, one after another, pouring out everything she’d been trying to swallow for days.

“I just,” she gasped, voice broken and small, “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Irene didn’t flinch, didn’t speak right away. She just held her, anchored her. One hand cradled the back of Y/N’s head, fingers threading gently through her hair. The other rubbed slow circles into her back, steady, rhythmic, grounding. Her own eyes stung, but she blinked them clear. Y/N needed her strong right now. Present.

“You’re not,” she whispered, brushing her lips against her temple. 

“You never are.”She tightened her arms just slightly. “Not to me.”

The sobs faded slowly, like a storm rolling off into the distance. Y/N’s breathing was still uneven, but steadier now, less like she was falling apart, more like she was starting to come back to herself.

They lay curled into each other under the blanket, bodies tangled naturally, as if the only way either of them could sleep was like this.

Irene stayed close, never letting go. One hand rubbed slow, gentle circles on Y/N’s back, her thumb brushing along the fabric of her hoodie, up and down in a rhythm that matched her heartbeat. The other was laced with Y/N’s fingers, their hands nestled between them.

When Irene finally spoke, her voice was a whisper, like something sacred. 

“Let them talk.”

Y/N blinked against her shoulder, eyes red and heavy.

“They don’t know you,” Irene said. “They don’t get to define you.”

She leaned in, pressed a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, then the bridge of her nose, then her cheek, each one slow, unhurried. Each one saying I love you, I’ve got you, I’m here.

“You’re mine,” she murmured into her skin. “You’re ours, you’re more than enough.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, the sound small but real. “You’re kinda cheesy, unnie.”

Irene grinned against her cheek. “You love it.”

“I do,” Y/N admitted, voice still a little hoarse. “A lot.”

They shifted slightly, adjusting into an even tighter hold. Y/N’s head tucked beneath Irene’s chin now, her hand curled loosely at Irene’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall. The safety of it.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” Irene whispered, words soft as breath. “Ever. Not even a little.”

Y/N didn’t answer, but the way she pressed her face closer said enough. She breathed in deep and let it go, like she hadn’t been able to do that in days.

Then Irene added, “And if I ever catch you reading those comments again, I’m throwing your phone in the toilet.”

Y/N let out a tired, half-snorted laugh. “You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would, with a smile.”

Y/N smiled back, eyes still wet, but finally peaceful. “You’d cry after.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” Irene muttered, brushing her thumb under Y/N’s eye. “But the point stands.”

They shared a few more soft kisses, no urgency, no need. A kiss to Y/N’s forehead, one to the tip of her nose, a lingering one to her lips that didn’t ask for anything but closeness.

Eventually, Y/N’s breathing slowed even more, the tension finally ebbing out of her limbs. She blinked a few times, heavier with each one, until her eyes fluttered shut for good. Her hand stayed in Irene’s. And for the first time in days, she looked like she might sleep without a weight on her chest.

Irene stayed awake a little longer, just watching her. Watching the calm settle on her face like a prayer answered.

“Mine,” she whispered again.

Then she closed her eyes, and let the peace hold them both.

Morning arrived gently, without fanfare or noise, just a slow bloom of light pressing through the curtains and spilling into the room like a soft promise. It was the kind of light that didn’t demand anything, that let you wake on your own terms, no harsh edges, no urgency.

Irene stirred first.

For a moment, she stayed still, her body still curled protectively around Y/N’s. Her arm was tucked under the younger girl’s head, slightly numb but unmoving, while the other rested at her waist. Their legs were tangled beneath the sheets, the covers pushed down in their sleep, revealing the faint warmth of skin and fabric where comfort had finally settled in.

Y/N hadn’t moved much, and for the first time in what felt like days, her face was completely at peace, no furrowed brows, no clenched jaw, no tightness behind her eyes. Just the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of sleep, her lips parted slightly, her body soft and unguarded in a way that made Irene’s chest ache with quiet relief.

She didn’t want to get up. Part of her could’ve stayed like that forever, just holding, watching, breathing in the fragile stillness of their shared safety.

Eventually, she eased out of bed, careful not to wake her. She padded barefoot through the apartment, grabbing a blanket from the edge of the bed to wrap around her shoulders as she moved. The air was cool, the kind that nipped at your skin before the day fully warmed, and she welcomed it, something crisp and real after the storm of the last few days.

In the kitchen, she moved slowly, deliberately, letting the silence fill the space as she started breakfast. Nothing complicated. Just something warm, something familiar, soft scrambled eggs, a little rice, toast with too much butter, and a sliced apple the way Y/N liked, peeled and fanned out neatly.

Irene didn’t need her to say thank you, she just needed her to wake up to something kind.

It wasn’t long before she heard the quiet shuffling of feet behind her. She didn’t turn right away. She didn’t have to. Y/N wrapped her arms around her waist from behind, pressing her face into Irene’s shoulder, still half asleep and warm from bed. Her hoodie sleeves swallowed her hands, and her voice came out soft, raspy from sleep and last night’s tears.

“Morning,” she whispered, like the word itself might break the stillness between them.

Irene turned in her arms and met her gaze, tired eyes, a swollen face from crying, messy hair, and somehow still the most beautiful thing Irene had ever seen. She reached up, cupped Y/N’s cheek, and leaned in to kiss her slowly, deliberately, like a quiet reassurance.

“Hey, baby,” she murmured against her lips, voice low with affection. “Did you sleep okay?”

Y/N nodded, barely. “Yeah, better than I have in a while.”

They didn’t say anything else for a moment. They just stood there, holding each other, letting the warmth between them say everything that didn’t need to be repeated. There was nothing grand about the way they fit together, no cinematic swell of music, no dramatic line, just quiet familiarity, like coming home after being gone for too long.

“Thank you,” Y/N said finally, her voice barely above a breath, as if she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it. “For last night, for staying.”

Irene pulled her closer, fingers brushing lightly through the ends of her hair. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m always going to stay, you don’t have to earn that.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry again, not from sadness, but from the strange, overwhelming relief of being fully seen and still chosen.

They sat down to eat together at the small table, knees brushing beneath it, their bodies still close enough to touch but not needing to cling anymore. There was a kind of stillness between them now that didn’t feel empty. It felt safe.

Halfway through breakfast, Irene glanced up and said, completely serious, “By the way, I meant what I said. If I ever see you scrolling through those comments again, I will drop your phone in the sink.”

Y/N laughed, a real one this time, messy and warm and a little nasal from crying too much the night before. “You’re bluffing.”

“Try me,” Irene said, smirking, but her voice was still soft, still loving.

Y/N reached across the table and laced their fingers together. “You’re dramatic.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” Y/N said, smiling without hesitation now. “God, I really do.”

When they finished eating, they lingered at the table longer than they needed to, fingers still linked. Y/N didn’t look at her phone once. She didn’t check notifications, she didn’t apologize.

She didn’t have to.

And later, when she lay back down on the couch with her head in Irene’s lap and her eyes fluttering closed again, Irene leaned down and kissed her temple, whispering,

“You’re not a burden. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

Y/N didn’t answer, she didn’t need to. She just held Irene’s hand a little tighter, her breathing even and slow, finally unafraid of being held.

[rosiehrs]

YOU DON'T KNOW MY NAME

# 46. cowabunga

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[lovelyjoyous]

stepmom irene sneaking into your room in the middle of the night and wake you up to have sex with her

Stepmom!Irene X fem!Reader

Warnings! Mens and minors dni, scissoring, cunnilingus, stepcest, mommy kinky, more? Lmk.

Joohyun left her room with light steps, crossing the hallway cautiously and silently.

When she reached your room, she opened the door gently, quickly closing it behind her and locking it with her. Her eyes fell on your body lying on the bed.

The mattress sank slightly on your side, a hand running down your back and waist while a pair of lips planted kisses on your naked shoulder.

“Hey, wake up.” she whispered.

The hand ran down your thighs while the kisses went up to your jaw. The soft voice continued calling you, until you partially woke up.

“Hmm?” you barely opened your eyes. “What?”

“Wake up, honey.”

“Is it morning already?” a soft laugh reached your ears.

“No… I just…” she pulled away a little. “I need you.”

Your pussy was caressed over the thin fabric of her panties, a sigh left your lips.

“Mommy.”

Joohyun smiled when she heard the “nickname” you gave her. Other people thought it was cute, you liked her so much that you called her mommy, little do they know the real reason.

You finally opened your eyes, now seeing the image of Joohyun on top of you, with her legs on either side of your hips.

“We are alone?”

“Don’t make noise.”

You could even argue, but from the moment her nightgown hit the floor, no other thought came to your head. Your body almost automatically sat up, searching for the woman.

Joohyun put her arms around your shoulders, smiling gently at you. You tried to search for her lips, but she pulled away.

“No time for that, let me be quick.”

Your body was pushed back onto the bed, barely feeling when your panties were removed.

Joohyun fit between your legs, her heat quickly joining yours. A slow back and forth movement started the night.

You bit your lip, Joohyun threw her head back at the contact, neither of you had the courage to make a sound.

The friction intensified more and more, the lubrication spreading, your juices mixing with each other.

Your hands searched for something to hold, finding Joohyun's thighs and the sheet.

"Oh baby, that feels so good." She whispered, her voice trembling with pleasure.

Your hips lifted, seeking more contact, your back arching each time your clitoris was stimulated.

"Oh god yes, I'm cumming." She announced softly, leaning against your abdomen.

You felt some of the warm liquid mix with your arousal, Joohyun's legs trembling slightly on top of you.

Joohyun pulled away, looking at your pussy as if she would move forward at any moment. Then she knelt down, hot breath hitting you.

“Just cum in my mouth and then I’ll let you go back to sleep, okay baby?”

You nodded repeatedly, opening your mouth in a silent moan as soon as you felt the woman’s warm mouth in contact with your intimacy.

Your hands flew to her long hair, pulling the strands to relieve the pleasure. Your body trembled with the sensation from a few seconds ago and now Joohyun’s tongue sliding all over your pussy, as if tasting a new flavor.

“Mommy… This feels so good.” you murmured.

Bitting your lips to contain your moans, legs shaking because you felt so good in Joohyun’s mouth, as if you could spend your life with her there, between your legs.

The tongue entered your gelatinous and warm walls, caressing in spots that made you roll your eyes. When it wasn’t inside you, the tongue played with your clitoris until it was too much and your sighs became too loud.

You reached your orgasm within minutes, shaking your hips into Joohyun’s mouth until she calmed you down.

Every drop you released was wiped clean, until there was nothing left and your panties were put back on.

“You did great, baby.”

A kiss was planted on your forehead, you sighed as you closed your eyes.

“Thank you…” you murmured as you felt sleep overtake you. “It was good… So good.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

You heard a sigh, the weight lifted off the bed, your body becoming more comfortable again.

“Me too, baby.”

[seullovesme]

jealousy drabble with irene pretty please? 🥹

jealousy w/ bae irene

pairing ⥬ irene x reader

warnings ⥬ irene is clingy and possessive, reader is oblivious

jealousy series

irene is not shy when it comes to expressing her jealousy, i mean, the girl is an open book! spare another girl a small glance and she’s clinging to you. maybe it sprouts from her extreme competitiveness because she can’t handle the thought of someone else getting too comfortable with what’s hers, so she makes sure that it will never happen!

the barista was definitely doing nothing but providing good customer service, but irene couldn’t help that death stare she gave her. clearly this worker was trying to start something when she gave you a smile, right? irene’s arm snaked around yours as you went to pay for the drinks, an action you didn’t pay much attention to since she was always touchy, but it was not just because she liked physical contact. the smug look was picked up by the employee, who nervously chuckled and quivered at how scary your short girlfriend was. the girl held out a receipt with your order number to you, but irene quickly snatched it, spinning the piece of paper to find any secret messages. you thanked the worker and led the bae to a small table, completely oblivious to her jealous tendencies.

the other times when you actually noticed was when you were hanging out in a group setting. she didn’t care how well you knew them, too close and she was livid. it never reached the kind of anger that made her lash out, but it got close. the girl your friends added to the friend group was almost a victim to her wrath after she flirted with you, but to be fair, she was unaware of your relationship. if she knew your girlfriend could turn into the terminator, then she would have never done so. you could’ve sworn that the moment irene heard you tell her that she even attempted to make a move, she got red in the face and puffed her chest like a cartoon character. she made sure to come to the next meet up, making her presence known. not a single second was spent separated as she held onto you the entirety of the day, her small hands gripping your arm. the girl was intimidated by irene’s persistence and kept her distance. you can still remember how irene looked like she had won a battle, but you didn’t have it in you to tell her it was totally one-sided because the girl had already apologized for possibly disrespecting your relationship by flirting. you knew she meant no harm. plus, it got you a super clingy bunny. a win is a win.

[daemour]

Pairing: heiress! Bae Joohyun x gn! Reader

Genre: Angst, light fluff, mentioned arranged marriage

Warnings: arguing, some manipulation, suggestive content (13+)

Summary: When faced with a marriage she doesn't want, Joohyun decides to take matters into her own hands

Word Count: 713

Tipsy drabbles are back with a vengeance! Hope you guys enjoy it <3 its a short one hehe

-

“Miss Joohyun,” you practically sprint after your friend and employee, the soon-to-be wife of the business mogul Beomjun Kim. “Whatever is the matter?”

Joohyun spins around, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed in a perfect display of discontent. In this moment, you’re struck with her ethereal beauty once more. Having worked with her for almost half your life, you’re rarely caught off-guard by it. But at this moment, she looks ready to strike you down, like the queen she is supposed to be.

“‘Whatever is the matter’, you ask? The matter is that I have no choice in my future. No chance at finding my own love!” Joohyun’s eyes flash. “And that, that pig is going to be my husband? He has no clue how to run his business, much less the combined efforts of both our families. And yet, my parents decided to have him be the one for me to marry?”

Your eyes widen at the blatant disrespect Joohyun has displayed, your eyes darting around to make sure no one else is within earshot. “Miss Joohyun! You know he’s already part of the board of your father’s company! You can’t say such things.”

Joohyun scoffs. “I’d much rather die than be with him for the rest of my life.” She stalks forward, reaching out to grab your hands. “(Y/N), you’ve got to understand me. You can’t possibly want me to be married to that thug either.”

Your mouth opens and closes as you stare at her. “I–” Joohyun blinks at you, the epitome of innocence although you both know that’s far from the truth. In the many years you and your family have served the Bae family, you’ve grown fond of the young woman who grew up alongside you. And she has found company in you as well. But her feelings surely do not match yours. “I’d rather you found someone you genuinely cared for, Miss Joohyun. But I cannot sway your parents’ decisions.”

Joohyun’s eyebrow raises. “I’m not asking you to. Lord knows their decisions will never change. But there is something we can do.” She leans in, her breath fanning over you and everything in you stiffens. “Run away with me.”

You blink once, twice. “What?” It comes out as a whisper, and Joohyun chuckles at the look on your face.

“Run away with me, (Y/N). Come on. Ever since we got older, we’ve hardly had time to spend with each other. I don’t want to marry Beomjun, and you can’t possibly want to work for my family for the rest of your life. It’s mutually beneficial.”

A frown pulls at the corner of your lips. “But I can’t possibly upend my life like that. My family would be devastated. I want to go with you, but I can’t bring myself to.”

Joohyun’s facial expression changes. Not to disappointment, or anger, but something else you can’t place. Something akin to a cat getting ready to pounce. “(Y/N),” she hums, leaning in just a tad more, and your breath catches in your throat. “Couldn’t you come with me, because I want you there?”

And before you can protest any more, Joohyun leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips. Your eyes squeeze shut. It’s what you’ve dreamt of at night when no one is away but your shallow breaths as you sneak a hand down your pyjama pants. A daydream you find yourself in as you clean the kitchen, imagining her slender arms wrapping around your waist as she presses kisses below your ear.

Deep in your mind, you know she doesn’t love you, not in the way she’s promising. The daughter of a business mogul, Joohyun is an expert in manipulating feelings. But maybe you’re so far gone, that if she wants you to believe she loves you, you’ll let yourself fall.

“If you want me, you can have me,” you murmur, and Joohyun’s face brightens at your quiet defeat. The sight of it makes a warmth bloom in your gut and you let a smile grace your face although your brain is screaming for you to pull back.

Living in a lie is worth it as long as she looks at you. Even if it’s not the way you look at her.

[seullovesme]

sigh. 🤕

believe me

requested: no

group: red velvet

pairing: irene x fem!reader

genre: angst

contents: coworkers!au, flirt!reader, soulmate!au, realizations too late, irene just can’t believe that someone loves her, no happy endings again!!

warnings: none

synopsis: Irene’s insecurities always get in the way of her believing that people love her. Even despite all your attempts to get her to believe you and save you, it might be too late.

a/n: ok so in this au, you choose your own soulmate and tie your strings together; if you succeed before your deadline, the strings turn golden and you’re connected forever. if you fail, the string just disappears, and you basically get no chance to have a soulmate :))

word count: 4.0k

You knew that staring was rude, and yet, you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from Joohyun’s face. In your defense, it was quite rare to see such a peaceful expression from her, a small smile gleaming under the dim yellow lights of the kitchen— just watching her was enough to make you smile too.

Obviously, your fondness disappeared when she reached over and flicked your forehead. “Do I pay you to stalk me, or to work?”

Keep reading

[jupiterpilgrim]

New Skin

Irene Bae x male reader

word count: 15K

commissioned fic

It’s mid-afternoon, that point where productivity takes a nosedive and the clock hands seem to wade through treacle. You push back from your desk, time to stretch the legs. And, coincidentally, time to see if Irene Bae actually finished inputting those quarterly projection figures. That’s the official reason, anyway. The one you’d type into a time-tracking app if this place were that anal.

Unofficially? You just want to talk to her.

Irene. She’s been with the company for three or four months now. Casual contract, data entry, the kind of gig that’s meant to be a revolving door. But she’s stuck around. And in that time, she’s cultivated an air of almost complete invisibility. She’s a whisper in the office cacophony, a muted color in a palette of forced corporate brightness. She does her work, meticulously, flawlessly. Never complains, never participates in the break-room bitching sessions or the awkward birthday cake celebrations. Most people probably don’t even know her real name.

But you do. Bae Joohyun. You’d seen it on her initial paperwork. Irene’s the name she goes by here.

She speaks to you. Not much, never initiating, but she responds. There's a politeness there, a guarded stillness that never tips into outright rudeness, which is more than some of the other office drones manage. Maybe it’s because you’re her supervisor, a rung or two up the ladder. Maybe it’s because you’ve made a point of being… well, not a dick. Friendly, even. You try to be, anyway. God knows this place needs a bit less soul-crushing bureaucracy and a bit more basic human decency.

You weave through the maze of cubicles, a landscape of grey fabric and flickering screens. The usual suspects are in their pens: Wendy from accounts scrolling through what definitely isn’t work-related, Seulgi from marketing on yet another clearly personal call, her explanations pitched low and urgent. You offer a vague nod if anyone catches your eye, but your trajectory is set. Irene’s little nook is at the far end, slightly more isolated than the others, a small mercy in this open-plan purgatory.

As you round the last partition, you see her. And fuck, she looks… good. Really good. It’s nothing outrageous, nothing that would breach the unwritten dress code. She’s wearing a simple black top, some kind of soft, clinging material, with three-quarter sleeves. It’s understated, like everything about her, but it hugs the lean lines of her petite frame in a way that makes you notice the toned strength beneath. Her black hair, usually just neatly tied back or falling straight, has a slight wave today, like she maybe didn’t have time to fully straighten it, and it catches the shitty office light, making it gleam. Her head is bent, focused on her screen, one slender hand guiding a mouse, the other resting near the keyboard. Even the line of her neck, exposed where her hair parts, seems delicate, smooth.

You pause for a beat, a couple of feet from her desk, just taking her in. It’s not a leering thing, not really. More like… appreciation. Like noticing a rare, quiet bird in a flock of pigeons. There's a subtle tension around her, even in repose, like a coiled spring. You’ve always sensed it.

You clear your throat, just a little, not wanting to startle her. "Hey, Irene."

She looks up, and for a split second, before the usual mask of polite reserve slides perfectly into place, you see something else. A flicker of… surprise? No, not quite. Vulnerability, maybe? It’s gone before you can properly catalog it. Her dark eyes meet yours, large and surprisingly intense in her small face. No smile, not usually, but the tightening around her eyes isn't hostile.

"Oh. Hi," she replies. Her speaking manner is soft, not quite a whisper, but definitely low, like she’s conserving energy, or maybe just doesn’t want her syllables to travel too far.

"Just doing the rounds," you say, leaning a casual shoulder against the fabric wall of her cubicle. Trying for breezy. "Making sure everyone’s still alive after that marathon budget meeting this morning." You didn’t actually ask her to be in that meeting; her role doesn't require it. Just making conversation.

A tiny, almost imperceptible dip of her chin. "It sounded… long."

"You have no idea. I think a part of my soul shriveled up and died in there." You give a mock shudder. "Anyway, I was wondering how you were getting on with those quarterly figures. The ones for the Anderson account?"

She swivels slightly in her chair, her movements economical and precise. Her gaze drops to her monitor, then back to you. "I finished them about an hour ago. They should be in the shared drive, under 'Q3 Projections - Final'."

Of course, she did. Meticulous. You knew she would be. "Ah, brilliant. Knew I could count on you." You make a mental note to actually check them later, just for form's sake. "No problems with the source data? Sometimes marketing sends it through looking like a dog’s breakfast."

"There were a few inconsistencies in the initial dataset from last Tuesday, but I cross-referenced them with the updated figures from yesterday morning. It should be accurate now."

See? Smart. Doesn’t just blindly input. She actually thinks. Most of the temps just plough through, garbage in, garbage out. You find yourself smiling, a genuine one. "That’s great, Irene. Seriously. Saves me a headache later."

Her eyes flick down, then back up. Is that a hint of… satisfaction? Hard to tell with her. She’s a masterclass in neutral. "I just try to make sure it’s done correctly."

"And you do," you affirm, pushing off the wall slightly, taking a half-step closer, more into her personal space than you usually would, but keeping it open. "So, uh, besides saving the company from numerical chaos, what else is on the agenda for you today? Any exciting plans for… data collation?"

She considers the question, or at least appears to. Her fingers tap once, very lightly, on her desk. The nails are bare, neatly trimmed. No polish. "I have the backlog from the Henderson merger to sort through. It’s… substantial."

"Sounds thrilling," you say, and this time, you think you see the corner of her mouth twitch. A ghost of a smile. Progress. "Well, don't let it swallow you whole. If you hit any major roadblocks, or if the sheer tedium becomes a threat to your sanity, you know where I am."

"Thank you," she says, and her gaze lingers on yours for a fraction of a second longer than usual. There’s an odd sort of directness in her eyes when she properly meets your look, like she’s assessing something deep inside you. It’s unnerving and intriguing as hell. "I appreciate that."

"No worries." You linger for another moment, searching for something else to say, some way to keep this fragile thread of interaction going. You notice a small, potted succulent on the corner of her otherwise bare desk. It’s a tiny, unassuming thing, but it’s green and alive. "New plant?"

She glances at it. "Oh. Um. Yes. My… neighbor was moving and couldn’t take it."

"It’s… resilient looking," you offer, which is a stupid thing to say about a plant, but it’s out there now.

A tiny, almost inaudible huff of air escapes her. It might have been a laugh. It really might have been. "It’s supposed to be hard to kill. That’s what she said."

"Always a good quality in an office plant," you agree. "Or an office worker, for that matter. Well, I’ll let you get back to the thrilling Henderson merger files. Thanks again."

"You’re welcome," she says, her attention already starting to drift back towards her screen, the brief opening in her defenses slowly closing up. But it was there. A little crack.

You find yourself reluctant to leave, to let the usual office drone silence settle back over her. The way that black top clings just so to the curve of her back as she turns slightly, the faint, clean scent that you can only catch when you’re this close (something like fresh laundry and maybe a hint of a very subtle, floral soap). It’s doing things to your concentration that have absolutely nothing to do with quarterly projections. You know you should probably just go, get back to your own mountain of work, but there's a pull, a quiet magnetism she exudes that makes you want to just… stay. See if another tiny piece of the real Irene Bae might surface if you wait long enough, patiently enough.

That faint, almost-laugh, the tiny, fleeting opening… it’s enough. It’s more than enough. Now or never, idiot. Before the professional shell hardens completely again, before she retreats back into that fortress of polite distance.

"So," you begin, trying to make it sound like the most casual afterthought in the world, even as a different, less casual thought hammers in your head, don't fuck this up. "Seeing as it's Monday, and Mondays officially suck by universal decree… I was thinking of grabbing a drink after work. You know, just to sort of… defiantly kickstart the week. Would you, uh, be interested in joining? In case you don't have any other more interesting plan. No big deal if you have, totally get it."

There, it’s out. You hold your breath without meaning to.

Irene’s gaze, which had started to drift back to her monitor, snaps back to you. For a moment, her face is perfectly, utterly blank. Not surprised, not annoyed, just… still. Like a photograph. Then, a slow blink. She looks down at her neatly folded hands in her lap, then back up at you.

"That’s… very kind of you," she says. "But I think I’ll have to pass. I have a few things I need to finish up here."

A polite decline. Of course. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, managing a smile that you hope looks understanding and not like you just got gently punched in the gut. "Hey, no problem at all. Totally understand. Rain check for another lifetime, maybe?" you add, trying to keep it light, to show her it’s genuinely okay.

A tiny, almost imperceptible softening around her eyes. "Maybe." She offers that. "I’ll send through that Henderson merger summary report by end of day."

"Sounds good," you nod, already backing away, giving her space. "Don’t let it bury you alive. And, uh, thanks again for the Anderson stuff."

"You’re welcome."

And just like that, she turns back to her screen, the brief window of interaction decisively closed. You walk away, a familiar mix of mild disappointment and a strange sort of respect for her unbreachable composure settling in. Well, you tried. Can’t say you didn’t try.

The rest of the afternoon crawls by. You actually do your work, or at least a passable imitation of it. Around five-thirty, an email pings into your inbox. Subject: Henderson Merger Summary - Irene Bae. You click it open. The report is attached, and even a cursory glance tells you it’s immaculate. Clear, concise, all the key data points highlighted, potential issues flagged with brief, intelligent notes. Fucking hell, she’s good. Way too good for a casual data entry gig. You fire off a quick reply: "This is perfect, Irene. Seriously, amazing work. Thanks!"

No reply to that. You didn’t expect one.

By six, the office is starting to empty out. The symphony of keyboards has dwindled to a few sporadic taps. You grab your bag, sling your jacket over your shoulder, and head for the elevators. As one slides open with a soft hydraulic sigh, you step in, pressing the button for the ground floor. Just as the doors are about to close, a hand darts out, stopping them.

Irene.

She slips inside, her movements quick and economical as always. She’s got a small, plain handbag over her shoulder, and she looks… tired. There are faint shadows under her eyes that weren’t as noticeable in the brighter office lights. The doors close, encasing you both in the small, brushed-steel box. An awkward silence immediately descends. This is always the worst part of accidental shared elevator rides.

"Hey," you manage, because the silence is starting to feel like a physical weight. "That report you sent? Seriously, top-notch. You made my evening a lot easier."

She looks up at you, a brief flicker in her dark eyes. "I’m glad it was helpful."

Her reply is soft, barely disturbing the canned muzak seeping from a hidden speaker. The silence stretches again, punctuated only by the quiet hum of the elevator descending. One floor. Two. You can feel the seconds ticking by. You want to say something else, anything, but the words just don’t come. Don’t be that guy, you tell yourself. Don’t be the slightly-too-eager supervisor cornering the quiet girl in an elevator.

She probably just wants to get home. Respect that.

The doors slide open onto the ground floor lobby. Freedom.

"Well, have a good night, Irene," you say, stepping out, already turning towards the exit. "See you tomorrow."

You’re halfway to the main glass doors when you hear it.

"You asked… if I had plans."

Her words are so quiet you almost miss them, almost think you imagined them against the backdrop of distant traffic noise and the lobby’s echoing emptiness. You stop. Turn around slowly. Irene is standing just outside the elevator, her bag clutched in front of her, looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher.

"Yeah," you say, walking back towards her. "I did."

"I don’t," she states. Just like that. No preamble, no explanation for the earlier refusal. Just: "I don’t have plans."

Holy shit. Your brain seems to short-circuit for a second. Okay. Okay, asshole, she just threw you a goddamn lifeline. Don't drown. You swallow, trying to regain some semblance of composure, to make your next words sound casual and not like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.

"Oh. Well, in that case," you begin, a slow smile spreading across your face, "the offer for that drink still stands. To, you know, combat the general Monday-ness of things. I know this great little bar not too far from here, actually. Good music, not too loud, and they make a mean old-fashioned, if you’re into that sort of thing." You pause, holding her gaze. "What do you say?"

She looks at you, properly looks, for what feels like a full minute. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a terrifying second, you think she’s going to say no again. Then, the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod. "Okay."

"Okay?" you echo, a grin breaking free. "Yeah, okay. Brilliant. My car’s just in the parkade across the street."

The walk to your car is filled with a slightly giddy, slightly surreal silence. You keep stealing glances at her. Irene Bae, willingly accompanying you somewhere. It feels… momentous. You unlock the car, a slightly battered but reliable sedan, and open the passenger door for her. She murmurs a "thank you" and slides in.

Once you’re both in and you’ve navigated out of the dimly lit parkade into the early evening traffic, the atmosphere in the car feels charged, but not uncomfortably so. It’s the buzz of something new, unexpected.

"So," she says, breaking the silence first, her gaze on the passing cityscape, a blur of office lights and neon signs. "This job. Is it… what you always wanted to do?"

You laugh, a short, surprised sound. "Managing quarterly reports and navigating inter-departmental squabbles? Not exactly the dream I had when I was, like, ten." You glance at her. "It’s alright, though. Pays the bills. I’ve kind of gotten used to it, you know? Found a rhythm. Got a decent team, for the most part. People I actually don’t mind seeing every day. That’s something, right?"

"It is," she agrees, turning her head slightly to look at you. "You’re good at it."

That surprises you. "You think so?"

"Yes," she says, with a quiet certainty that makes you sit up a little straighter. "You don’t… take advantage. Of your position." Her eyes flick to the road, then back to you. "You treat everyone like they matter. Even the casuals." There's a faint emphasis on the last word, a shadow in her tone that makes you wonder.

"Well, that’s just… basic decency, isn’t it?" you say, a little embarrassed by the praise. "Nothing to write home about. Everyone’s just trying to get through their day."

"Not everyone sees it that way," Irene counters, her words flat, devoid of inflection, but carrying a weight nonetheless. "I’ve worked in places… with terrible superiors."

"Ah, the petty tyrants of middle management," you sigh, shaking your head. "People with miserable, unhappy lives who get a tiny sliver of power and suddenly think they’re Genghis Khan in a polyester suit. They try to feel better by making everyone else feel smaller. It’s pitiful, really. Because at the end of the day, they’re still just employees. Same as anyone else. One major screw-up, one too many complaints, and they’re out on their ass just like the next person." You glance at her. "Hope you didn’t have to deal with too many of those."

She doesn’t answer directly, just looks out her window again. "It happens."

A beat of silence. You change the subject, not wanting to dwell on whatever bad experiences she’s clearly had. "So, do you live around here? Or am I kidnapping you to the other side of the city for this drink?"

"No, I live pretty close by, actually. Just a few blocks from the office."

"Oh, good," you say. "Well, after we’ve thoroughly deflated Monday’s ego with a beverage or two, I can drop you off, if you like. Save you the walk."

She turns to you again, and this time, the smile is a little more definite, reaching her eyes. "Thank you. I’d like that."

The bar is that classic thing: dimly lit, exposed brick, a long mahogany counter gleaming under strategically placed spotlights and indie rock plays at a conversational level. It’s busy enough to have a buzz, but not so packed you can’t find a quiet corner. You spot a small, empty table tucked away near a bookshelf filled with mismatched paperbacks. Perfect.

You lead her over, pulling out one of the sturdy wooden chairs for her. "Best seat in the house," you announce with a mock flourish.

She slides into the chair, her handbag placed neatly on her lap. "It’s nice," she says, looking around, taking it all in. "I like it."

"Glad it meets with your approval," you grin. "Now, the crucial question: what are you drinking?"

Her eyes scan the chalkboards behind the bar listing craft beers and cocktails. "Um. Maybe a… gin and tonic? If they have a good gin."

"Consider it done." You head to the counter, weaving through a few small groups. You order her G&T, specifying a decent small-batch gin you know they carry, and an old-fashioned for yourself. Waiting for the bartender to work his magic, you glance back at Irene. She’s watching the other patrons, her expression unreadable but not, you think, uncomfortable. She looks small and almost delicate in the low light, yet there’s that core of resilience you always sense in her.

Drinks secured, you carry them carefully back to the table. You set her tall, clinking glass in front of her and place your own squat tumbler down. Sliding into the chair opposite, you make sure you’re facing her directly. This feels good. Really good.

You pick up your glass. "Well," you say, raising it slightly.

Irene mirrors your action, her dark eyes questioning yours over the rim of her glass. "What are we toasting to?" she asks

A grin spreads across your face. "To new beginnings," you start, then amend it. "No, scratch that. To Monday nights that don’t suck. And, more importantly," you meet her gaze directly, "to the best goddamn casual worker this company has ever had the dumb luck to hire."

A beat of silence. Then, something remarkable happens. Irene laughs. It’s not a loud laugh, not a boisterous one. It’s a soft, breathy sound, genuine and utterly unexpected, crinkling the corners of her eyes and making her whole face light up for a precious, unguarded moment. "Oh my god," she says, still chuckling, shaking her head slightly. "Thank you." She clinks her glass against yours. "I’ll drink to that.”

That shared laugh, her unexpected, genuine amusement: it’s like a key turning in a rusty lock. The air between you shifts, losing some of its earlier, fragile tension, replaced by something warmer, more… possible. You take a slow sip of your old-fashioned, the sharp bite of whiskey and bitters a pleasant counterpoint to the sweetness of the moment. Her gin and tonic is already a little lower in its tall glass, the ice clinking softly as she sets it down.

"So," you begin, leaning back a fraction, trying to project casual interest rather than the full-blown interrogation your curiosity is screaming for. "Aside from being a spreadsheet wizard and a savior of Monday nights, what else does Irene Bae get up to?”

"Nothing too extraordinary. I like to read. And I walk a lot. Explore the city."

"Reading, huh? Anything good lately?" You try to keep your follow-up equally light. You’re intensely aware that every question is a potential landmine. Too personal, too probing, and she might just vanish back into that shell.

"I just finished a collection of short stories," she offers, her words measured. "Modern gothic. Quite dark."

"Sounds… cheerful," you remark, raising an eyebrow. "Matches the general Monday vibe, I guess." Your internal monologue is whirring: Modern gothic. Dark. Okay, that’s… interesting. Not exactly chick-lit. Adds another layer to the enigma.

She gives a tiny shrug, a graceful, minimal movement. "I find it interesting." She takes a delicate sip of her drink, her eyes watching you over the rim. Then, before you can formulate another carefully casual question, she flips it. "What about you? When you’re not cracking the whip at the office or rescuing Mondays, what’s your grand passion?"

The question, coming from her, feels like a small gift. You lean forward, genuinely pleased to share, to keep the conversational ball rolling. "Ha, 'cracking the whip.' If only. Mostly I just try to keep the ship from hitting the nearest iceberg." You grin. "Passions? Let’s see. I’m a bit of a film nerd. Old movies, foreign films, anything that isn’t a superhero sequel, basically. And I attempt to play guitar – emphasis on 'attempt.' My neighbors probably hate me."

"A film nerd?" A flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "Any particular director or era you favor?"

"Oh, man, where to start?" You launch into a slightly-too-enthusiastic explanation of your love for classic film noir, the French New Wave, the oddball genius of Kurosawa. You talk about the satisfaction of finally tracking down a rare print, the joy of watching a masterpiece on a big screen, even if it’s just at the local art-house cinema. You’re aware you’re probably rambling a bit, but she’s listening. Or at least, she appears to be. She’s still, her gaze fixed on you, not interrupting, just… absorbing. It’s more attention than she’s ever given you in the office.

You eventually wind down, a little breathless, feeling slightly foolish for your impromptu lecture. "Sorry," you say, laughing a bit. "Probably more than you ever wanted to know about black and white cinematography."

"No, it’s… interesting," she says, and you think she actually means it. Or maybe she’s just incredibly polite. "You’re passionate about it. It’s clear."

"Yeah, I guess I am." You take another swallow of your drink. The warmth of the whiskey spreads through your chest, mingling with the unexpected warmth of this conversation. "So, you said you walk a lot. Any favorite spots in the city? Hidden gems I should know about?"

"I haven't found any particularly interesting places yet. But, uh, I went to a historic library this month and the place is really pretty. I think that's a start."

"Sounds interesting. The city’s definitely got a lot to offer if you just wander. I keep meaning to do more of that myself, but, you know, life. Work."

"It can be hard to find the time," she agrees, her gaze returning to yours. Her expression is neutral, but her eyes are observant, constantly gauging. You have the distinct feeling you’re being carefully evaluated. "Do you… enjoy living here? In this city?"

"Yeah, I do, actually," you reply honestly. "It’s not where I grew up, but I’ve been here long enough that it feels like home. There’s always something going on, good food, decent music scene. And it’s big enough that you can disappear if you want to, but small enough that you still run into people you know. What about you? Are you originally from here?"

Another brief hesitation. "No. Not originally." She offers no more than that. Another door, gently closed. You’re learning the rhythm of it: she’ll answer the direct question, but volunteer nothing extra about herself.

"Well, no need to thank me for revealing the best gin in the city," you joke, gesturing to her glass.

A tiny smile again. "This place is cool. And the gin is really good."

"Well, I know you are a reserved person, but I’m honored you made an exception for my 'kickstart the week' initiative."

"It was…" she pauses, as if searching for the right word, "...a good suggestion."

The conversation flows like that for a while longer, a gentle ebb and flow of questions and answers. You learn that she prefers tea to coffee, that she finds crowded places overwhelming, that she once had a cat but doesn’t currently. Each piece of information is tiny, almost inconsequential on its own, but you hoard them like precious gems. In return, you tell her about your disastrous attempts at cooking, a funny story about your college roommate that happened years ago, your undying loyalty to a consistently terrible local sports team. You’re careful to keep it light, to match her level of disclosure, but inside, you’re buzzing. You’re actually talking to Irene Bae, and she’s… talking back. It feels like a minor miracle.

Her drink is nearly empty, and yours isn't far behind. The initial energy of the bar has mellowed into a comfortable, late-evening hum. You catch the bartender’s eye, you lift two fingers, then tap your chest and mouth "non-alcoholic beer for me this time." He nods, already reaching for a specific bottle from the cooler. Driving Irene home safely is suddenly a very high priority.

When he brings the drinks, a fresh, fragrant G&T for her, and a dark, malty-looking non-alcoholic brew for you, Irene is watching you, that quiet, considering look in her eyes again.

"So, about the work,” you start, “are you actually, you know, enjoying your time at the company? Aside from my brilliant supervisory skills, of course."

"It’s… okay," she says, which from Irene is practically a glowing endorsement. "I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, since I’m usually… quiet."

"Hey, quiet is fine," you interject quickly. "You’re always polite, you do incredible work, and you haven’t tried to set fire to the servers yet. Honestly, that puts you in the top percentile of casuals we’ve had." You mean it. "Seriously though, as long as you’re not miserable, that’s what matters."

"I’m not miserable," she confirms. "It’s… structured. Predictable. I appreciate that."

"Good." You nod, relieved. "So, what’s the plan then? Your current contract is up in, what, another month or so? Any thoughts on what you’ll do next? Back to the exciting world of job hunting?" You try to keep it light, but there’s an underlying purpose to your question now.

She looks down into her drink, swirling the ice with a long, slender finger. The small gesture somehow seems incredibly thoughtful. "I haven’t really thought that far ahead," she admits. "Find another job, I suppose. That’s usually how it goes."

This is it. Your opening. Your heart gives a little thump. "Well," you begin, trying to sound casual, like this is just a random thought that popped into your head. "About that. There’s actually been some talk… about your role."

Her head comes up, eyes narrowed slightly in question.

"The thing is, Irene," you lean forward a fraction, "you’re kind of indispensable. And some of us, higher up the food chain, have noticed that." You take a breath. "So, I was wondering… how would you feel about making your position full-time? Permanent contract, benefits, the whole shebang."

She stares at you, her expression unreadable. Surprise, definitely. Maybe a hint of suspicion? "You… can do that?"

"Not me, personally," you clarify quickly. "This isn't me pulling strings as your dashingly handsome supervisor." You shoot her a quick grin, which she doesn’t return, her focus entirely on your words. "The decision actually came from the big boss, old Henderson himself, after seeing the quarterly summaries and the work you did on that merger data. He was… impressed. He asked me to sound you out, see if you’d be interested. I was planning on talking to you about it sometime this week, but, well, now seems as good a time as any, right?"

Irene is silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on some distant point over your shoulder. You can almost see the gears turning in her head. Finally, she looks back at you. "I… I’d have to think about it."

"Of course," you say immediately. "No pressure at all. Seriously. Take your time. But," you can't help adding, "it would be really great to have you on board properly. As a, you know, full-fledged contract worker."

She cocks her head, a tiny, bird-like movement. "Why?"

The question is so direct, so simple, it throws you for a second. "Why?" you echo. You hesitate, searching for the right words. The real reasons are a tangled mess of professional admiration and a rapidly growing personal affection that feels way too soon, too intense to articulate. "Well, because… because you’re an excellent professional, Irene," you land on, hoping it sounds convincing. "You’re efficient, you’re meticulous, your attention to detail is incredible. You make my job easier, and you make the whole team look good."

She shakes her head slowly, a faint frown touching her lips. "What I do… it’s no big deal. Data entry, report summaries. There are plenty of people out there who can do the same thing."

You lean forward, a mock-serious expression on your face. "Actually, Irene, I don't like you just doing your job," you say, letting the pause hang for a split second before a grin breaks through. "Because what you do isn't just 'your job.' It's exceptional. And no, not 'several out there' can do it like you." You soften your expression, meeting her gaze earnestly. "Besides, everyone at the company genuinely appreciates you, and your work."

A beat of silence. Then, Irene laughs again, that soft, breathy sound that does ridiculous things to your insides. Her eyes, though, are sparkling with a teasing light you’ve never seen before. "Oh really?" she says, a playful lilt in her quiet words. "Is it everyone? Or is it… just you?"

Heat floods your face. You can feel the blush creeping up your neck. You look away, flustered, trying to come up with a clever retort, but your brain has apparently short-circuited. Shit. You’re usually better at this.

Seeing your reaction, her expression softens. "Hey," she says, her words a soft balm. "I’m just joking." She reaches out, just for a second, and her cool fingertips brush the back of your hand where it rests on the table. "Don’t look so terrified."

You manage a shaky laugh, looking back at her. Her eyes are kind. More than kind.

"And for the record," she continues, her gaze holding yours. "I appreciate that you like my work. You're very kind.”

Irene’s gaze is steady on yours, a hint of that earlier blush still dusting her cheekbones, but her expression is open, almost serene. That tiny, brave nod she gives is more articulate than a thousand words.

"Alright," you manage, letting out a shaky laugh. "Okay. That’s… that’s really good to hear, Irene. So," you venture, your smile softening, "does this mean you’re going to accept my incredibly generous, Henderson-approved proposal to become a permanent fixture of corporate excellence?"

She chuckles. It’s amazing how quickly she seems to be shedding layers of that formidable reserve, at least with you, in this moment. "I said I’d think about it," she reminds you, a playful glint back in her eyes. "No need to rush such a life-altering decision, right?"

"Right, right, of course," you concede, still grinning like an idiot. "Strategic deliberation. I respect that."

And just like that, the initial fear peak passes, settling into a comfortable, warm plateau. You talk. For hours, it seems. The second round of drinks arrives, your non-alcoholic beer surprisingly satisfying, her gin and tonic still her companion. The conversation meanders easily now, a stark contrast to the careful, step-by-step navigation of your earlier interactions. You touch on office matters: the ridiculousness of certain company policies, the upcoming (and dreaded) office move to a new floor, the latest gossip about which department head is feuding with another (which Irene, surprisingly, seems to have a few wry, understated observations about).

Then you drift to side things. You talk more about films you both like, discovering a shared appreciation for a particular cult sci-fi series from the 90s that you’re both shocked the other has even heard of. She mentions, very briefly, a passion for minimalist photography, focusing on urban decay and overlooked details, and you make a mental note to ask her more about it another time, when it feels right. You tell her about your disastrous attempt to learn coding during lockdown, which ended with you accidentally wiping your own hard drive. She doesn’t laugh uproariously, but her shoulders shake a little, and her eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that makes you smile unconsciously.

Time seems to dissolve. The bar gradually empties. You’re both leaning in slightly over the small table, the rest of the world faded into a pleasant, out-of-focus backdrop. It’s only when you catch a glimpse of the clock behind the bar, nudging past midnight, that you realize how long you’ve been here.

"Whoa," you say, genuinely surprised. "Look at the time." You glance at Irene. She does look a little tired now, the earlier animation softened by a gentle weariness around her eyes, though her expression is still content. "I should probably get you home. You must be exhausted."

She stifles a small yawn, then nods. "Probably a good idea. Mondays, even good ones, take their toll."

When the bartender brings the bill, Irene immediately reaches for her handbag. "Let me get my share," she says, her tone matter-of-fact.

You wave your hand dismissively. "Nope. Not a chance. My treat. I did invite you to defiantly kickstart the week, remember?"

"But we had four or five rounds," she protests mildly. "And you offered me a job. The least I can do is pay for my own gin."

"Consider it a pre-emptive signing bonus discussion fee," you counter, already pulling out your card. "Seriously, Irene. It’s on me. Please."

She hesitates for a moment, then a small, appreciative smile touches her lips. "Okay. Thank you. That’s… very chivalrous."

"I have my moments," you say, winking, as you settle the bill.

In the car, the city lights painting fleeting stripes across the dashboard, Irene gives you her address; a street in a quiet, older residential area not far from the office, just as she’d said.

"So," you ask, as you navigate the familiar streets, "you live alone?" It’s a casual question, but your heart beats a little faster waiting for the answer.

"Yes," she replies, looking out at the passing buildings. "For a few years now." She turns her head. "You?"

"Same here," you say. "Just me and my old movie collection. The second part probably justifies the first."

She gives a soft chuckle at that.

You pull up outside a well-maintained older apartment building, with a small, neat garden out front. It looks… peaceful. Like her.

"Well, here we are," you say, putting the car in park.

Irene turns in her seat to face you more fully. "Thank you," she says, her gaze direct and sincere. "For the invitation, for the drinks. It was… a really nice chat. I enjoyed it."

"Me too, Irene," you reply, your own sincerity matching hers. "Thanks for your company. It was a lot of fun. Definitely the best Monday I’ve had in a long time."

"Good night, then," she says softly. Her hand hovers near the door handle. For a wild second, you wonder if you should lean in, if this is the moment for a goodbye kiss, but something in her stillness, a lingering hint of that old reserve, tells you not yet. Don’t push it. Not now.

"Good night, Irene," you echo. "Get some rest."

She nods, gives you one last small smile, and then she’s out of the car, a fleeting figure disappearing into the building’s warmly lit entryway. You wait until you see the lobby door close behind her before pulling away, a wide, goofy grin plastered on your face that doesn’t fade the entire drive home.

—

From that night on, something undeniably shifts. Your bond with Irene, forged in the dim light of that quiet bar, begins to progress in subtle but significant ways. In the office, she still maintains her discreet presence, never drawing undue attention to herself. But with you, things are different. She seeks out your gaze more often across the expanse of cubicles, a small, almost imperceptible smile usually accompanying it. When you approach her desk, she looks up immediately, the guardedness you were so used to now noticeably lessened, replaced by a welcoming warmth in her dark eyes.

She talks to you more, too. Not just about work, though she’s still impeccably professional. She’ll share a wry observation about a particularly mind-numbing office memo, or ask your opinion on a new software rollout. Sometimes, she even initiates the conversation, a quiet "Got a minute?" when she has a genuine query or, increasingly, just something she wants to share. And jokes (Irene actually makes jokes). They’re subtle, dry, delivered with that understated wit you’re quickly coming to adore, but they’re there, little sparks of humor that light up your interactions.

It makes you ridiculously happy, this gradual unfolding. Every shared glance, every quiet conversation, every fleeting smile feels like a victory, a testament to the connection you’re building. You find yourself looking forward to seeing her each day with an eagerness that’s entirely new. There’s no denying it, not anymore. You’re liking Irene Bae more and more, and the thought of where this all might be heading fills you with a buoyant, thrilling anticipation.

The week has been a blur of spreadsheets that all look the same and meetings that could have been emails. Standard. You do your usual wander through the office tundra, a flimsy excuse to stretch your legs and make sure the drones haven't revolted. You offer the requisite nods, the "how’s it goings," the feigned interest in weekend plans that involve either mind-numbing DIY or equally mind-numbing children's soccer games. But really, your internal compass is pointing one way: Irene’s desk.

She’s there, a small, still point in the surrounding office chaos. Head down, focused. God, she’s beautiful. It’s not even a conscious thought anymore, just an accepted fact, like gravity or the office coffee being terrible. Today she’s wearing a cream-colored sweater, soft and slightly oversized, that makes her look even more delicate. Her dark hair is clipped back loosely, a few stray strands feathering her cheek. As you approach, she senses you, looking up. And this time, there’s no hesitation, no fractional delay before her polite mask clicks into place. This time, a small, subtle smile touches her lips almost instantly. It’s a tiny thing, barely a curve, but on Irene, it’s like a goddamn sunrise. Your chest does that stupid warm lurch it’s been doing a lot lately.

"Morning, Irene," you say, leaning against the partition of her cubicle, trying to match her quiet energy. "Or, well, almost afternoon, I guess."

"Good morning," she replies, her words soft, but the smile lingers in her eyes. That’s new. And definitely not unwelcome.

"Just checking in. How’s that… uh… creative asset compilation for the new campaign coming along? The one I dumped on you yesterday with zero notice?" You’d asked her to pull together a bunch of visual elements and a draft for some new ad copy. A bit outside her usual data-entry scope, but you had a hunch she’d be good at it.

"Almost done," she confirms, gesturing vaguely at her screen. "Just finalizing the font choices for the header. It should be ready by three."

"No rush at all, you’re a miracle worker as it is." You glance at her screen, trying to seem interested in fonts, but your attention snags on the small, almost hidden detail on her desk – a tiny, exquisitely wrapped parcel, no bigger than a matchbox, tied with a simple silver ribbon. It wasn't there yesterday. "So," you continue, keeping your tone light, "anything exciting happen since I last graced your cubicle with my overwhelming presence?"

Her gaze flickers to the small parcel, then back to you, and the subtle smile widens just a fraction. "Actually," she says, her fingers brushing the ribbon lightly, "I received what you sent."

Ah. So she got it. This week was her birthday. You’d thought about organizing something, a small surprise with a few of the nicer people on the team. But then you’d pictured Irene, the center of attention, forced smiles, awkward small talk… and you’d nixed the idea. She wasn’t the surprise party type. So, you’d sent a small, carefully chosen gift to her apartment instead (you still had her address from that night at the bar). A collection of short stories by an author she mentioned being a fan of and, apparently, she didn't have this book yet, which is a new release.

"Oh yeah?" you ask, feigning mild surprise. "Well, I hope I didn't choose something boring. Choosing gifts isn't really something I'm very talented at."

A soft chuckle escapes her. "No, it was… lovely. Thank you. You really didn't need to bother, though."

"Hey, what are supervisors for if not to occasionally bother their best employees with unsolicited tokens of appreciation?" you say, grinning. "Glad you liked it." You pause, then decide to take the plunge. "So, listen. Friday today. End of a massively busy week. Any chance I could tempt you with another round of drinks? All on me, of course.”

She looks up, and for a moment, you see that familiar flicker of hesitation, the slight tensing around her eyes. She bites her lip, her gaze dropping to the desk. "I don't know…" she begins, her words very quiet. "Don't you think… people in the office might find it a bit strange? Just you and me, going out for drinks together again?"

Her concern is valid. You’re her supervisor. And while this office isn't exactly a hotbed of malicious gossip, people notice things. But the thought of not seeing her outside these four grey walls, especially after the progress you’ve made, feels… deflating.

You shrug. "Let them think whatever they want. Honestly, Irene, who cares? It's just a couple of colleagues grabbing a drink after a long week. Besides," you add, leaning in a fraction, lowering your tone slightly, "no one here is interesting enough to be a dedicated gossip columnist. They’re too busy worrying about their own TPS reports. You don't need to worry about it."

She looks at you for a long moment. You can see the internal debate warring in her eyes. Then, slowly, a small, almost shy smile. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I’d like that."

—

Lunchtime. You’re at your desk, staring blankly at a spreadsheet that’s threatening to induce a coma, when a small shadow falls over your keyboard. You look up, surprised.

It’s Irene. She’s holding a small, clear plastic container, tied with a simple piece of kitchen twine. Inside, you can see a neat stack of perfectly round, golden-brown cookies. Homemade. No doubt about it.

"Hi," she says, a little shyly, holding out the container. "I, uh… I made these last night. For you. As a thank you. For the… for the other day. And the gift."

You’re genuinely speechless for a second. Irene Bae baked you cookies. You take the container, your fingers brushing hers. "Irene, wow. You… you really didn’t have to do this."

"I wanted to," she says, that faint blush back on her cheeks. "They’re just chocolate chip. Nothing fancy." She pauses, then adds, with a tiny, playful smirk, "Don’t get spoiled."

"Too late," you say, already prying the lid off. The smell of warm butter and melted chocolate hits you. "These look incredible. Seriously." You take one, biting into it. It’s perfect: soft and chewy in the middle, slightly crisp around the edges. "Holy shit, Irene, these are… you’re a wizard."

"They’re just cookies."

"No, these are not 'just cookies'," you insist, taking another enthusiastic bite. "These are edible drops of pure happiness. You’re wasted on data entry, you know that? You should open a bakery."

"One business is enough for now," she says, but she looks genuinely pleased by your reaction. She lingers by your desk for a moment, not quite meeting your eye, but not leaving either. "How’s… how’s your day going? You look a little tired."

It’s true. The past few days have been a relentless onslaught of urgent requests, looming deadlines, and a particularly tedious software integration project that’s been fighting you every step of the way. You probably look like you’ve been wrestling a badger.

"Yeah, it’s been a bit of a beast," you admit, rubbing your eyes. "Lots of fires to put out. Trying to get the specs finalized for the Q4 roll-out, plus Henderson is breathing down my neck about those new compliance protocols. Standard corporate fun and games." You try for a light tone. "But I’m fine. Just need about seventeen more cups of coffee."

Her expression softens with something that looks a lot like genuine concern. "Don’t try to do too much," she says. "You’ll burn yourself out."

"Words of wisdom from the cookie queen," you say, smiling at her. "I’ll try to take it easy. Especially since," you add, your grin widening, "I’m really looking forward to those drinks later."

You expect her to just nod, to give one of her polite, non-committal responses. But instead, her eyes meet yours, and there’s a surprising warmth, a definite spark in their depths. "Me too," she says, her words clear and, to your utter astonishment, tinged with what sounds like genuine anticipation.

—

The end-of-day exodus is in full swing, the usual shuffle of tired bodies and the clatter of keyboards being powered down. You catch Irene’s eye as she’s gathering her things, and that subtle smile, the one that’s becoming less of a rarity when you’re around, touches her lips. She does look tired, a faint weariness around her dark eyes, but it doesn’t diminish the quiet prettiness that always seems to cling to her. If anything, the slight vulnerability makes her even more striking.

You meet her by the elevators, a silent agreement passing between you. No need for forced office goodbyes today.

"Ready to officially declare war on the work week?" you ask as you both step out into the cool evening air. The city is already starting to glitter, streetlights blinking on against the fading daylight.

She glances up at you, noticing you're not heading towards the parkade. "No car today?"

"Nope," you say, hands in your pockets as you start walking. "Figured if we're going for drinks, actual drinks, then driving is counterproductive to the whole 'getting drunk and forgetting responsibilities' vibe. Thought we’d walk."

Irene falls into step beside you, her pace surprisingly brisk for someone who looked so weary moments ago. "Didn't you come to work by car today? But… I could have said no to the invitation. You would have walked for nothing."

You shoot her a sideways grin. "Nah. I had a pretty good feeling you’d say yes."

"Very presumptuous of you," she murmurs, but there’s no bite to it, only amusement.

The walk to the bar is easy, the conversation flowing more naturally than it ever has in the sterile confines of the office. You talk like coworkers, at first. The new coffee machine in the breakroom, which everyone agrees is a downgrade despite its fancy chrome exterior. The inexplicable disappearance of all the good pens from the supply closet.

"Seriously," you say, shaking your head as you navigate a cracked paving stone, "it’s like there’s a pen gremlin. I bought a pack of twelve on Monday. By Wednesday, they were all gone."

Irene actually chuckles at that. "It’s Henderson. I saw him pocket one of mine yesterday when he thought I wasn’t looking."

"No way!" you exclaim, genuinely shocked. "The CEO? Stealing pens? That’s… actually kind of hilarious."

"He has very specific preferences for blue ink," she says, her tone dry, and you both laugh.

It’s like this, small talk, office anecdotes. Nothing too deep, nothing too personal, but it’s comfortable. You notice the way she walks, with a quiet grace, her gaze often drifting to the small details of the cityscape around you; an interesting piece of graffiti, an old, weathered doorway, the way the light hits a particular window. She doesn’t say much about what she sees, but you get the feeling she’s absorbing it all.

The bar is the same familiar spot, a haven of dim lights and good music. You find your preferred corner table, and Irene slides into the chair you pull out for her with a small, appreciative nod.

"Same again?" you ask, already knowing her answer.

"Gin and tonic, please," she confirms.

You head to the bar, ordering her drink and another of those surprisingly decent dark ales for yourself.

When you return, she’s watching the crowd, a faint smile on her lips. You set the drinks down, the tall glass of her G&T clinking softly against your bottle. You slide into the chair opposite her, the small table creating a sense of comfortable intimacy.

"Alright," you say, picking up your bottle and raising it slightly. "First round."

She lifts her glass, her dark eyes meeting yours. "To what, exactly, are we dedicating this particular round of defiance against the universe?"

You grin. "To surviving another week of corporate warfare. To Fridays. And," you pause, your gaze softening, "to the fact that the mystery of the stolen pens was finally solved, thanks to your important intel."

"You’re welcome. Happy to assist in the fight against executive kleptomania." She clinks her glass against your bottle. "Cheers."

You both take a sip, a comfortable silence settling between you for a moment. The bar’s atmosphere wraps around you, the low murmur of other conversations, the distant clatter from the kitchen, the bluesy track oozing from the speakers. It feels… right.

"So," you begin, after a while, setting your bottle down. "That whole full-time contract thing. Still mulling it over?"

Irene takes a slow sip of her G&T, her eyes thoughtful. "I am," she admits. "It’s… a big decision. More responsibility. More… permanence."

"No pressure," you reiterate. "The offer stands. But Henderson was genuinely impressed. You’ve made a good mark."

"It’s just… data," she says, looking down into her glass. "It’s not like I’m revolutionizing the industry."

"Hey," you say, leaning forward slightly. "Don’t sell yourself short. You have a knack for seeing patterns, for making sense of chaos. That’s a rare skill. And honestly, the way you transformed that Henderson merger data from an absolute clusterfuck into something coherent? That was art, Irene. Pure, unadulterated, spreadsheet art."

She looks up, and there’s a faint blush on her cheeks, but also a flicker of something else (pride, maybe?) "You really think so?"

"I know so." You pause, then decide to just go for it. "Look, I’m not going to bullshit you. The main reason Henderson wants you on full-time is because you’re damn good at what you do. But for me?" You meet her gaze, holding it. "I just… I really like having you around the office, Irene. You make the place better."

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, her lips parting slightly. The blush deepens. She looks away, down at her glass, then back at you, a complex mix of emotions playing across her usually composed features. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it, takes another sip of her drink.

She finally sets her glass down with a soft click, her fingers tracing the condensation. "That’s… a really nice thing to say," she says.

Your smile widens at her quiet admission, the sincerity in her dark eyes hitting you with a pleasant warmth. "Well, 'nice' is a good start," you say, your own words softer now. "I was aiming for at least 'not actively terrible,' so I’m calling this a win."

She gives a small, almost shy laugh, her gaze dropping to the G&T she’s cradling. The ice cubes shift and clink as she swirls the glass. "You set a low bar for yourself."

"Hey, gotta manage expectations," you retort, grinning. "Especially on a Friday when the main goal is to de-stress, not to impress." You take another sip of your non-alcoholic beer. It’s not bad, actually. Almost makes you feel like a responsible adult.

The conversation flows easily after that, the topics meandering from the absurdities of office life to more general things. She listens with an unreadable but attentive expression as you recount a particularly disastrous client presentation you had to salvage earlier in the year, even managing a small, sympathetic grimace when you get to the part about the projector dying mid-PowerPoint. Hours seem to melt away, marked only by the gradual lowering of the liquid in your glasses and the comfortable rhythm of your shared talk.

It’s Irene who eventually steers the conversation into more personal territory, and it’s so unexpected it almost makes you choke on your beer. She’s been quieter for a few moments, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. Then, she looks up, her dark eyes meeting yours with a new sort of intensity.

"So," she begins, her words careful, measured, "you mentioned your friends at the office. The ones you started with."

"Yeah?" you prompt, curious where this is going.

"Is it… just friendships? Or is there anyone… more specific?" Her gaze is direct, unwavering, and you realize she’s not just making small talk. This is deliberate. She’s plucking up the courage, right here, right now.

You try to keep your expression neutral, but you can feel a faint heat rising in your own cheeks. "More specific how?"

"You know," she says, a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug. "A girlfriend? Someone you’re seeing?" Then, her eyes flick to a point just past your shoulder, a subtle shift. "Like… Seulgi? You two seem… very close."

Ah. Seulgi. You should have seen that coming. Seulgi is vibrant, outgoing, and yes, you two are close. You share a lot of inside jokes, grab lunch together sometimes, and there’s an easy camaraderie between you that probably looks like more than it is to an outside observer. Especially an observant one like Irene.

You lean back in your chair, considering how to answer. Honesty seems like the best policy here, especially with the way Irene is watching you. "Seulgi and I…" you begin, then pause, choosing your words. "Yeah, we’re close. But it’s not… like that. Not anymore, anyway."

Irene’s eyebrows lift slightly. "Anymore?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Might as well just lay it out. "Look, years ago, when we both first started at Henderson Corp, fresh out of uni, barely knew which way was up… yeah, Seulgi and I had a thing. An affair, I guess you’d call it. It was intense, for a while. But it was a long time ago. We were young, stupid, figuring things out." You meet her gaze. "It burned out pretty quick. Honestly, we realized we were much better as friends. And that’s what we are now. Good friends. Nothing more, I promise."

She absorbs this, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, "Aren’t… relationships between employees frowned upon? At the company?"

"Officially?" you shrug. "There’s no explicit rule against it, as long as it doesn't involve a direct reporting line, which ours didn’t, even back then. Henderson’s surprisingly old-school about some things, but pretty laissez-faire about others. Unofficially, the policy is basically: keep it professional at work, don’t let it affect your performance, and for God’s sake, no dramatic breakups in the middle of the quarterly budget cycle." You take a sip of your beer. "What you do on your own time, outside the office walls, is generally considered your own business. As long as you’re not an idiot about it and it doesn’t spill into work, they tend to look the other way."

Irene nods slowly, processing that. "So… it’s okay?"

"Yeah, mostly. Just gotta be smart, maintain professionalism when you're on the clock. Everything’s fine. Honestly, there are probably more office romances brewing in that place than anyone realizes." You grin. "Henderson Corp: Where Careers and Questionable Life Choices Collide."

She gives a small, hesitant smile at that. The conversation drifts a little after that, back to safer, more general topics. You order another round, she sticks to her G&T, you get another non-alcoholic ale. The bar is thinning out now, the Friday night energy mellowing into a late-evening calm. Irene seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen her. She’s leaning back in her chair, one arm resting on the table, her earlier tension almost entirely gone. She even initiates a couple of topics, asking about a book you mentioned earlier, a small, thoughtful question about one of the characters.

It’s as you’re describing a particularly ridiculous plot twist that she starts to chuckle. Not a full laugh, but a series of soft, breathy huffs of amusement, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"What?" you ask, grinning. "Too unbelievable?"

"No, it’s not the book," she says, shaking her head, her smile widening. "It’s you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," she confirms, and there’s a definite warmth in her gaze now. "You’re… you’re actually quite funny." She pauses, as if surprised by her own admission. "It’s… rare. For me to find men funny."

You blink, then let out a surprised laugh yourself. "Is that a compliment, Bae Joohyun?" you tease, using her full name for the first time, enjoying the way a slight blush rises on her cheeks.

She rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn’t fade. "Don’t let it go to your head."

"Too late," you say, your grin spreading wider. "I’m officially adding 'surprisingly humorous to discerning women' to my resume." You lean forward, your elbows on the table, the atmosphere between you feeling lighter, more charged than ever. The drinks, the late hour, her unexpected praise… it’s all coalescing into something…

promising.

"So, Irene Bae, now that we’ve established this mutual… "liking"," you drawl the word out, enjoying the faint blush that returns to her cheeks, "does this improve the odds of you accepting Henderson’s most gracious offer of permanent employment?"

She picks up her G&T, takes a thoughtful sip. "Still thinking," she says, her eyes sparkling over the rim of the glass. "Wouldn't want to seem too eager, would I?"

"Heaven forbid," you agree, playing along. "Strategic ambiguity. Very professional."

The conversation continues, hours evaporate. The bar staff are starting to wipe down distant tables, the music has shifted to something even more mellow, and the crowd has thinned to a few lingering couples and solitary drinkers. Irene glances at the small, elegant watch on her slender wrist.

"Wow, it’s… getting pretty late," she says, her words carrying a hint of surprise, as if she hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed.

You nod, a reluctant sigh escaping you. The beer has settled into a comfortable warmth in your system, your limbs loose, your head pleasantly fuzzy. "Yeah, you’re right." You pause, looking at her, at the soft way the low light catches her dark hair, the way her eyes seem even deeper, more expressive in the intimate gloom. "Damn shame. I wish this night wouldn't end."

She meets your gaze, her smile soft, questioning. "Oh yeah? Why’s that?"

The alcohol has definitely loosened your tongue, stripped away a few layers of your usual caution. "Because I like being around you, Irene," you confess, the words coming out easily, honestly. "Your presence… I don’t know. It’s kind of hypnotic." You give a small, self-deprecating laugh. "And now I’m going to go home and just… keep thinking about you."

"You… think about me?" she asks.

"Yeah," you admit, feeling your own cheeks warm a little. "A lot, actually."

She’s silent for a moment, then, very slowly, her hand reaches across the small table, her cool fingertips brushing against yours. It’s a feather-light touch, barely there, but it sends a jolt straight up your arm. "What… what do you think about?"

"Everything," you say, your gaze locked on hers, feeling a bit drunk on more than just the beer now. "The way you concentrate when you’re working. The way you have that tiny little frown when you’re figuring something out. The way your hair falls across your cheek when you’re not looking." You shake your head, a small, dazed smile on your face. "Lately, Irene, you’re pretty much the only thing on my mind."

Her fingers intertwine with yours, a soft, hesitant pressure. Her dark eyes are searching yours, and you can see a storm of emotions in their depths. "Lately," she confesses, "I’ve… I’ve been thinking about you too."

"Yeah? What do you think about me, Irene Bae?"

She takes a shaky breath, her gaze dropping to your joined hands, then lifting back to your eyes, bold and vulnerable all at once. "I think about… what it would be like… if you kissed me."

The world around you just… stops. Your brain stutters, reboots. You lose focus on the bar, the music, everything but her face, her eyes, the feel of her hand in yours. She thinks about you kissing her. That’s it. That’s all the fucking permission you need.

Before you can second-guess it, before the moment can break, you’re moving. You lean across the small table, your other hand coming up to cup her cheek, your thumb stroking her soft skin. And then you kiss her.

It’s insane, the moment your lips meet. Her lips are soft, yielding, tasting faintly of gin and lime. She gasps softly into your mouth, then kisses you back, her initial hesitation melting away into a surprising, eager passion. Her tongue, tentative at first, then bolder, meets yours. It’s not a polite, end-of-the-date kiss. It’s hungry, searching, like you’ve both been starving for this without even knowing it. Your fingers tighten in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathless.

When you finally break apart, gasping for air, your foreheads are resting against each other. Her eyes are closed, her lips swollen and glistening.

"Don’t let the night end here, Irene," you whisper. "Please."

She opens her eyes, her gaze dark, hazy with desire. "Okay," she breathes. "My apartment."

You’re on your feet in a second, fumbling for your wallet, the earlier weariness completely gone, replaced by a thrumming, urgent energy. Irene is already sliding out of the booth, her movements a little unsteady but graceful nonetheless. You throw some cash on the table (way more than enough to cover the bill) and then you’re out, into the cool night air.

You’re definitely tipsy, the world having a pleasant, fuzzy edge. Irene stumbles slightly as you step onto the uneven sidewalk, and you instinctively reach out, your arm going around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leans into you, her body warm against yours, her head resting against your arm. She’s giggling, a light, infectious sound that makes you laugh too, a stupid, happy, drunken sound. You walk like that, a tangled, giggling mess, your steps uneven but your direction certain.

Her apartment.

—

The elevator ride up to her floor is a blur of stolen kisses and breathless laughter. You’re pressed against the cool metal wall, her hands in your hair, your mouths searching, hungry. Every time the elevator dings at a floor, you pull apart, slightly dazed, only to crash back together the moment the doors close.

She fumbles with her keys at her apartment door, still kissing you, her body pressed flush against yours in the narrow hallway. Finally, the lock clicks. She pushes the door open, stumbling inside, pulling you with her. Her bag hits the floor with a soft thud. And then, before you can even register your surroundings, she jumps, her legs wrapping around your waist, her mouth finding yours again in a bruising, desperate kiss. You catch her instinctively, your hands splaying across her ass, lifting her, holding her tight against you as you kick the door shut.

She pulls back for a moment, her chest heaving, and a wide, triumphant smile spreads across her face when she sees yours. "You’ve got my lipstick all over you," she says, her words a delighted slur, as she reaches up to smudge a pink streak on your cheek with her thumb.

You glance around then, taking in her apartment for the first time. It’s small, neat, surprisingly minimalist but with touches of warmth: a stack of books on a low shelf, a soft throw draped over a simple armchair, a couple of framed black and white photographs on the wall. "Nice place," you manage.

Her eyes sparkle. "Did you come here to look at my apartment, or do something else?" she teases, her hips giving a suggestive little squirm against yours.

"Definitely something else," you growl, taking your "revenge" by burying your face in her neck, your lips finding the soft skin just below her ear, nibbling gently.

She yelps, a surprised, delighted sound, then dissolves into giggles, her body squirming in your arms. "Hey! That tickles!"

"Bedroom," you murmur against her skin. "Show me the way."

She points vaguely down a short hallway, still giggling, and you carry her, your mouths finding each other again, kissing deeply as you navigate the unfamiliar space. You find the door, push it open, and then you’re gently depositing her onto the bed, following her down, never breaking the kiss.

The world narrows to the feel of her beneath you, the taste of her, the soft sounds she’s making. After a moment, you pull away, reluctantly. "Clothes," you manage, your breath ragged. "Need these off."

You roll off her and stand, your fingers already working at the buttons of your shirt. Irene watches you, her eyes dark and hungry, as she sits up and reaches for the hem of her own sweater. It comes off in one smooth motion, revealing the delicate black lace of her bra, her pale skin almost luminous in the dim light filtering in from the hallway. Her petite body is, as you’ve always known, perfectly toned, every line and curve an invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, her fingers going to the clasp of her bra next.

The cotton of your shirt feels like a restriction, a barrier. Your fingers, clumsy with a mixture of alcohol and adrenaline, work at the buttons, fumbling them free one by one. It hits the floor. Shoes next, kicked off with impatient shoves of your heels, then the belt buckle clinks as you undo it, the leather sliding free. Your pants join the shirt in a heap on the floorboards. You’re standing there in just your boxers, the air of her bedroom suddenly cooler on your skin, or maybe that’s just the fever pitch of your own blood.

Then it’s her turn. Her hands go to the delicate clasp of her black lace bra. It gives way easily, and she shrugs the straps down her pale arms, letting the flimsy garment fall. Her breasts are revealed, small, yes, but perfectly shaped, round and perky, with pale pink nipples already pebble-hard in the cool air, or perhaps from anticipation. They’re exquisite. You’ve imagined them, of course, in fleeting, guilty moments, but the reality is so much fucking better. Then, she reaches for her shoes. She kicks them off one by one, the soft thud against the wooden floor loud in the charged silence. Finally, her hands go to the waistband of her pants, a simple black one that clung to her hips. It slides down her legs with a soft rustle, pooling around her ankles, leaving her standing before you in nothing but a pair of sheer black panties. They’re scandalously tiny, doing very little to hide the curve of her ass.

You feel like you can’t breathe.

You’re on her in a second, moving without conscious thought, your body acting on pure, undeniable instinct. You climb onto the bed, settling over her, your weight pressing her into the soft mattress. Your mouth finds hers again, but this kiss is different from the one at the bar. It’s rougher, needier, your tongue plunging, seeking, demanding. She meets your intensity, her own hunger flaring.

Your kisses trail down her jaw, her neck, your lips and teeth mapping the sensitive skin there. She arches into you, a soft whimper escaping her. You reach her breasts, your mouth closing over one hard nipple. She moans instantly, her fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tight. You suck, hard, your tongue laving the peak, then flicking, teasing. Her whole body shudders.

"Fuck… yes…" she gasps, her hips starting to buck beneath you. "They’re… so sensitive…"

You grin against her skin, moving to the other breast, giving it the same relentless attention. You squeeze and suck, feeling the delicate flesh swell in your mouth, the nipple hard against your tongue. The skin around it is already turning a delicious shade of pink, flushed and slightly raw from your attention. Her moans are getting louder, less inhibited, open-mouthed gasps of pure pleasure.

Her hands, which were gripping your hair, slide down your back, then lower, her fingers finding the thick, insistent ridge of your cock straining against your underwear. She squeezes, a playful, testing pressure, and a low growl rumbles in your chest. She feels you, hard and ready, and a wicked little smile dances on her lips, visible even as she throws her head back, lost in the sensations you’re creating.

Then, just as you’re about to lose yourself completely in the taste and feel of her breasts, she moves. With surprising strength, her hands are on your shoulders, pushing, guiding.

"My turn," she breathes

She pulls you, making you lie back against the pillows. You watch, dazed, as she straddles your hips, her gaze fixed on your groin. Her movements are slow, deliberate, almost torturous. Her fingers hook into the waistband of your boxers.

"Been waiting for this," she murmurs.

She pulls your underwear down, agonizingly slowly, inch by inch, her knuckles brushing against your straining erection with every downward tug. The fabric slides past your hips, down your thighs, until your cock springs free, thick, veined, and brutally hard, slick with pre-cum.

She just stares at it for a long moment, her dark eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. A genuine, almost awestruck smile spreads across her face. It’s the smile of someone who has just been presented with their favorite fucking meal.

She reaches out, her small hand surprisingly confident as it wraps around your shaft. It’s a perfect fit, her fingers cool against your heated skin. "Jesus," she breathes, her thumb stroking the thick, prominent vein that runs along the length. "It really has been a while since I’ve had sex." Her gaze lifts to yours, burning with an intensity that steals your breath. "You have no idea," she says, "how much this cock, your cock, is everything I want right now."

Before you can even process the raw honesty of her words, she leans down. Her tongue, pink and wet, flicks out, lapping delicately at the bead of pre-cum glistening on the slit of your tip. Then, she takes a mouthful of her own saliva (you see her gather it) and lets it dribble slowly onto your shaft, her fingers working quickly to spread the slickness all the way down, coating you, preparing you.

And finally, her mouth descends.

The moment her lips close around the head of your cock, you fucking groan, your hips bucking involuntarily. Her mouth is hot, wet, impossibly soft. She starts working you immediately, no hesitation, no awkwardness. Her lips create a perfect seal, her tongue swirling, lapping, teasing, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks with a practiced, almost reverent skill. This isn't the tentative exploration of a novice. This is the confident, devastating expertise of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

Holy shit. Irene Bae is a fucking professional.

You can feel the muscles in her throat working, a gentle, rhythmic pulse that’s already threatening to undo you. And her eyes. Fuck, her eyes. They’re locked on yours, wide, dark, and glittering with a deadly combination of intense focus and raw, unadulterated lust. There’s a challenge in them, a silent dare. Think you can handle this? they seem to say. Think you can last?

"Fuck, Irene…" you groan, your hips giving an involuntary jerk. "That’s… holy shit…"

A low hum vibrates from her throat against your shaft, a sound of pure, animalistic satisfaction. She pulls back just enough for the head of your cock to pop free with a wet, obscene sound, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of your slickness.

"You like that, baby?" she murmurs. "Like the way my mouth feels wrapped around your big, thick dick?"

"Yes… God, yes…" you pant, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you. "It’s… you’re amazing, Irene. Fuck, you’re so good at this."

Her smile is a predatory flash against your skin before she takes you in again, deeper this time. Her tongue is a relentless engine of pleasure, lapping, swirling, flicking against every sensitive nerve. She knows exactly where to press, where to tease, how to vary the pressure and speed to keep you right on that knife-edge of unbearable pleasure. It’s not just her mouth, either. Her hands are working you too, one wrapped firmly around the base of your shaft, pumping in rhythm with her sucking, the other gently cupping your balls, her fingers tracing lazy, teasing circles.

"Mmmm, you taste so fucking good," she says, her words slightly muffled but no less potent. She breaks suction for a moment, her hot breath ghosting over your hypersensitive skin. "I love the way you get so hard for me, the way your cock just throbs in my mouth." She punctuates the statement by taking just the swollen head between her lips and sucking, hard, focusing all her attention there, her tongue doing that insane swirling thing that makes your vision blur.

"Shit, Irene… don’t stop…" you gasp out, your voice rough, pleading. "Please, don’t stop…"

Her head bobs faster, a satisfied, almost guttural sound coming from her throat. "Oh, I’m not stopping, baby," she promises, her eyes blazing into yours. "I want to hear you moan for me. I want to hear you fucking beg." She sucks harder, her lips pulling, teasing. "Moan for me, supervisor. Let me hear how much you love your little casual worker sucking your dick."

The sheer audacity of her words, the way she so effortlessly flips the script, calling you out, it’s fucking electrifying. A raw, broken groan tears from your throat. "Fuck… yes… Irene… please… feels so good…"

"That’s it, baby," she purrs, her mouth still working you relentlessly. "Louder. I want to hear every filthy sound you make when I’m sucking you like this. I want to know I’m driving you absolutely fucking insane."

And you are. You’re losing it. Her mouth is a goddamn weapon, and she’s wielding it with devastating precision. She shifts her attention, her lips sliding down your shaft, her tongue laving a hot, wet path until she reaches your balls. You tense, anticipating, and then her mouth closes over one, warm and wet, and you fucking cry out.

"Oh my god… Irene… fuck…"

She sucks, gently at first, then with increasing hunger, her tongue rolling, massaging. Your balls are heavy, aching, and her mouth on them is an entirely new level of torture and bliss. She leaves them absolutely soaked, glistening with her spit when she finally moves back up your shaft.

"You like that, huh?" she breathes, her lips brushing against the underside of your cock, right where the skin is thinnest, most sensitive. "Your balls taste just as good as your cock. So salty… so fucking you."

Her tongue flicks out, targeting your frenulum with an accuracy that makes your entire body jolt. She plays with it, licking, teasing, nipping ever so gently with her teeth before sucking that sensitive ridge into her mouth. You’re bucking against her now, completely lost, your own moans a constant, ragged soundtrack to her ministrations.

"Fuck… Irene… please… I can’t… I’m so close…" you plead, your voice a shredded mess.

Her only answer is to work faster, harder. Her hand is a blur on your shaft, slick with spit and your own pre-cum, while her mouth continues its relentless assault. She takes you as deep as her little mouth can manage, her throat working, a series of soft, choked gagging sounds escaping her that are, perversely, driving you even wilder. She’s not just sucking your cock; she’s fucking devouring it, worshipping it.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" she asks, pulling back for a split second, her eyes wide and dark, pupils blown. Saliva strings from her lips to the head of your cock. "I want it. I want your hot load all over my tongue. I want to swallow every last drop. Please, baby, give it to me. Begging you."

That’s it. Her words, the sight of her, so beautiful, so depraved, kneeling before you, mouth open, waiting for your release…it shatters your last shred of control.

"Irene!" Your shout as your orgasm rips through you. Your hips slam upwards, your back arching off the bed. Hot, thick ropes of cum shoot from your cock, hitting the back of her throat. She doesn't flinch. She takes it all, her throat working, swallowing, her eyes locked on yours, a triumphant, ecstatic glint in their depths. You keep pumping, jet after jet, emptying yourself into her waiting mouth. The sensation is blinding, overwhelming. You’re vaguely aware of your eyes rolling back in your head, your body trembling uncontrollably. It feels like you’re cumming for an eternity, each pulse a fresh wave of unbearable pleasure.

When the last viscous glob finally spurts out, you collapse back against the pillows, panting, drenched in sweat, utterly fucking spent. You’re in heaven. Or hell. Or some glorious, filthy place in between.

Irene stays there for a moment, gently sucking the last drops from your now twitching, softened cock. Then, slowly, reverently, she pulls away, her lips making a wet sound. She licks her own lips, savoring the taste, a small, incredibly satisfied smile playing on her features.

"Holy… fucking… shit, Irene." You shake your head, still trying to process the sheer intensity of what just happened. "That was… That was, without a fucking doubt, the best blowjob of my entire life."

Her smile widens, a genuine, radiant thing that makes her eyes sparkle. The exhaustion is there, but beneath it, there's a deep, purring satisfaction. She leans forward, pressing a soft, sticky kiss to the now-sensitive head of your cock.

"Good," she murmurs. "That’s what I like to hear." Then she looks up at you. "I aim to please, supervisor. Especially when the benefits are… this rewarding.”

You manage to prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at her. She’s still kneeling between your legs, that pleased, cat-who-got-the-cream smirk playing on her lips, now glistening with your cum.

"Irene," you rasp. "Where in the ever-loving fuck did you learn to do that?”

She lets out a low, throaty chuckle, the sound vibrating deep in her chest. She reaches up, wiping a stray smudge of your load from the corner of her mouth with a delicate finger, then slowly, deliberately, licks it clean, her eyes never leaving yours. The gesture alone is enough to make your semi-flaccid cock give a hopeful twitch.

"Every woman has her secrets, supervisor," she purrs. "Maybe one day I'll tell you some of them." Then, before you can even process that delicious, infuriating coyness, she’s moving. climbing onto you with a fluid grace. Her petite, pale body straddles your chest, her knees bracketing your shoulders. She leans down, her dark hair curtaining your face. "Besides," she whispers, her lips brushing against yours, "who said anything about being done?"

Her mouth finds yours, a slow, deep kiss that tastes of you, of her, of pure, unadulterated lust. While her lips work their magic, her body begins a slow, deliberate crawl down yours. Kisses are pressed against your jaw, your throat, lingering on the pulse point there until you can feel your heart hammering in response. She moves lower, her tongue flicking out to trace the line of your collarbone, then lower still, across your pecs.

When she reaches your right nipple, she pauses. Her gaze, hot and knowing, flicks up to meet yours for a fraction of a second before her mouth closes over it. Your breath hitches. You weren't expecting that. Her tongue swirls around the already sensitive peak, rough and wet, then she starts to suck, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling the nub into her mouth, her teeth grazing it ever so lightly.

"Nghh… Irene…" A surprised, helpless moan escapes you. Fuck, that feels good. Way better than it has any right to.

"Sensitive here, are we?" she murmurs against your skin. "I thought so."

She continues her assault, licking, sucking, her lips working your nipple like it’s the head of another cock. And all the while, one of her small, deceptively strong hands snakes down your torso, past your navel, her fingers tracing teasing patterns on your lower abdomen. You feel the heat of her palm as it hovers, then finally settles, over the base of your now rapidly re-hardening cock.

"Oh, look at that," she says. "Not so spent after all, are you, big boy?"

Her hand closes around you. Even through the haze of pleasure radiating from your nipple, you can feel the change. Your cock, which had been softening, content in its post-orgasmic haze, now surges back to life, thickening, lengthening, pressing urgently against her grip. She starts to stroke you, slow, deliberate movements, her fingers slick with the remnants of your earlier release and her own gathering wetness.

"The night is far from over, supervisor," she whispers, her mouth leaving your nipple to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses towards the other one. "I know you can give me more. Much more." She punctuates the last word by taking your other nipple into her mouth, sucking on it with a greedy, demanding pressure that mirrors the rhythmic pull of her hand on your shaft. "And you will give it to me."

And she’s right. Fuck, she’s absolutely, undeniably right. Your cock is already granite-hard again, throbbing in her skilled grip, every nerve ending in your body screaming for more of her, more of this. The lingering exhaustion is a distant memory, burned away by this fresh, potent wave of desire she’s so effortlessly conjured. The slight ache in your balls is back, but it’s a good ache now, a heavy, needy throb that promises another explosive release if she keeps this up.

Her hand on your reawakened cock is a brand, her touch electric. The soft, rhythmic stroking, combined with the devastating assault on your nipple, is a one-two punch of pure, unadulterated sensation. Your breath hitches, your hips giving a small, involuntary buck.

"That’s it, baby," Irene purrs against your chest, her lips still teasing your other nipple, her words a hot, damp caress. "Feel that? Already getting hard for me again. You just can’t get enough, can you?"

"Fuck… no…" you manage to groan out, your eyes fluttering. "Not… not when you do that…"

"Mmmm, I know," she hums, a smug, satisfied sound. "The night is far from over, supervisor.” Your cock is already iron-hard again, throbbing with a renewed, almost painful urgency against her skilled fingers.

With a lithe movement that takes your breath away, Irene shifts, disentangling herself from your chest and sliding down your body. She straddles your hips, her petite frame settling over you, and the sight of her poised above you: dark hair tousled, lips swollen from your kisses, her small, perky breasts bare and flushed, nipples still pebble-hard; is enough to make your vision swim. She reaches down, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her sheer black panties.

"You like these, baby?" she teases. "Thought you might."

She doesn't wait for an answer. With a slow, deliberate tug, she pulls them aside, hooking the flimsy fabric around one hip, exposing her pussy to you. It’s perfect. Pink, glistening, the inner lips slightly swollen and already dewy with her arousal. The dark thatch of hair above is neatly trimmed.

"Ready to feel me again?" she whispers, her gaze locked on yours.

Before you can form a coherent word, she’s lowering herself onto you.

The way she takes your cock is a revelation. There’s no hesitation, no tentative exploration. She knows her body, she knows yours, and she sinks down with a practiced, almost arrogant ease, her hips rolling, her inner muscles clenching around you, milking you from the first fucking inch. A guttural groan rips from your throat as she takes you deeper, her tight, wet heat a scalding brand.

"Fuck, Irene… so tight…"

"Mmmm, you love how tight my little pussy is, don't you?" she moans, her head falling back, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance as she starts to bounce. "Love the way it squeezes your big, thick cock?"

"Yes… God, yes…"

Her rhythm is insane. She starts riding you with a skill that leaves you breathless, her hips a blur of motion, bouncing, grinding, rotating in ways that hit every goddamn nerve. She’s not just fucking you; she’s performing, a symphony of sensual movement designed to drive you absolutely wild. Her small breasts jiggle with every thrust, the pink nipples bouncing hypnotically. You can see the way her pussy lips stretch, glistening, around the base of your shaft as she lifts herself up, only to slam back down, taking you to the hilt.

"Look at me, baby," she pants, her eyes finding yours again. "I want you to watch me ride your cock. I want you to see how much I fucking love it."

You can’t look away if you tried. The sight of her, so beautiful, so utterly consumed by pleasure, her body moving on yours with such raw, uninhibited abandon, is seared into your brain.

"You’re… incredible…" you gasp out.

"I know," she says, a smug, breathless laugh escaping her. Then her expression shifts, darkens. "But you’re getting distracted." Her free hand snakes out, unbelievably fast, her fingers wrapping around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to demand your absolute attention. "You close your eyes on me again, supervisor, and I’ll make you regret it. Got it?"

The sudden pressure, her fingers cool against your heated skin, the sheer dominance in her gaze... Your cock gives a hard, convulsive throb inside her. "Fuck… yes… Irene…"

"Good boy." Her grip loosens slightly, but her hand stays there, a possessive brand. "Now, look at me. I want to see that pretty face of yours when I make you feel good. I want to see every fucking expression." She punctuates the command by grinding down, hard, her hips rotating in a slow, torturous circle that makes you cry out.

You reach up, your hands finding her breasts, squeezing them, needing to touch her, to feel her. They’re soft, full in your palms, the nipples like hard little pebbles against your skin. "Fuck, your tits are perfect, Irene…"

She moans, leaning forward, pressing them against your chest as she kisses you, a deep, filthy, open-mouthed kiss, her tongue tangling with yours. "Mmmm, you like them, baby?" she whispers against your lips, her hips still moving, still squeezing. "You can play with them all you want… as long as you keep fucking me with that big, thick cock of yours—God, it’s so good—It fills me up so perfectly!”

You can see it then, when she leans back slightly, her stomach tight, the unmistakable bulge of your cock pressing against her lower abdomen, a clear testament to just how deeply you’re buried inside her, how perfectly her petite frame is taking every inch of you. It’s a brutally hot visual, a stark reminder of your size against her smallness, and the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.

"Jesus, Irene… I can see it… You’re so fucking tight…"

"I know," she pants. "Now make me cum, supervisor. Fuck me until I can’t see straight. I want your load. Give it to me."

This isn't the Irene from the office, the quiet, mysterious woman who barely met your eye. This is someone else entirely: a wild, insatiable creature of pure, unadulterated lust. And fuck, you love this Irene. You love every goddamn demanding, filthy, beautiful inch of her.

She rides you harder now, faster, her moans turning into raw, broken cries. Her body is slick with sweat, her muscles trembling with the effort, but she doesn’t slow down. She’s chasing it, that shattering release, and she’s dragging you right along with her. Her pussy pulses around your cock, squeezing, milking, each contraction an exquisite torture.

"I’m… I’m gonna cum…" she screams, her voice cracking, her back arching as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave.

Her body seizes, her walls clenching around your shaft in a series of violent, unbearable spasms. She’s crying out your name, her head thrown back, her entire being consumed by the pleasure. It’s beautiful, watching her shatter like this, so completely undone, so utterly yours.

But she doesn’t stop. Even as the aftershocks of her orgasm ripple through her, her hips keep moving, a desperate, frantic grinding, her pussy still milking your aching cock.

"Fuck, Irene… I’m close…" you gasp out, your own release clawing at you. "I’m gonna cum…"

The moment the words leave your mouth, she’s moving. With a surprising agility, she pulls off your cock with a wet, sucking sound, her own body still trembling. Before you can even register what’s happening, she’s scrambling off the bed, dropping to her knees in front of you, her flushed face upturned, her dark eyes blazing with a renewed, almost manic hunger.

"Give it to me, baby," she pants. "I want it all over my face. Drench me. Make me your fucking whore."

Your brain short-circuits. Her words, the sight of her kneeling there, so eager, so fucking filthy, it’s too much. You get out of bed, standing in front of her. You grab your cock, your hand slick and shaking, and start stroking, hard and fast.

"Look at me, Irene," you growl. "Open that pretty little mouth for me."

She does, her tongue flicking out in anticipation. You stroke faster, your balls tight, your vision blurring. One more stroke… two…

"FUCK!"

With a guttural roar, you explode. Thick, heavy ropes of your cum shoot from your cock, spurt after spurt, splattering across her face. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t turn away. She takes it all, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the hot, sticky load coats her cheeks, her forehead, her chin. A thick glob lands on her lips, and her tongue darts out, instinctively licking it away, a soft, pleased moan escaping her. You keep cumming, more than you thought possible, drenching her, covering her, marking her as yours.

When the last pulse finally subsides, you’re left panting, your body trembling, your cock still twitching in your hand. Irene stays there, kneeling, your cum dripping from her face, her hair stuck to her slick skin. She looks utterly debauched. Utterly fucking beautiful.

She opens her eyes, her dark gaze meeting yours. There’s no shame there, no disgust. Only a wild, exhilarated pleasure. She slowly brings a hand up to her cheek, her fingers tracing through the thick, creamy mess, then brings them to her lips, sucking your cum from her skin with a delighted, almost reverent expression. Receiving your load like this, being painted with it, clearly turns her on as much as it does you. It feels fucking amazing, this raw, shared depravity.

You can't resist. You lean forward, your own body still thrumming with the aftershocks of release, and dip your thumb into the thickest patch of your load still clinging to her cheek. You bring your slick finger to her lips.

"Taste good, Irene?" you murmur.

Without a word, her eyes still locked on yours, she parts her lips and takes your thumb into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, hot and wet, sucking sensually, cleaning every last trace of you from your skin.

You let out a long, slow sigh, your whole body going lax. "That was… Jesus, Irene. That was fucking amazing."

She releases your thumb with a soft, wet sound, a tiny, almost smug smile playing on her lips. "It was, wasn't it?" she agrees, her usual quietness now laced with a husky, satisfied confidence. "Best Friday night I’ve had in… well, a very long time." She pushes herself up, her movements fluid and graceful despite the intensity of what just happened. "I should probably… shower now."

"Yeah," you manage, watching her. "Good idea."

She disappears into the en-suite, and you hear the distant hiss of the shower starting. You lie there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, your mind a blissful, empty buzz. Eventually, you push yourself up. You should probably leave, give her space. It’s the decent thing to do, right? Even if every fiber of your being wants to crawl back into that bed and wait for her.

By the time she pads back into the bedroom, you’re mostly dressed – pants on, shirt half-buttoned. She’s wrapped in a fluffy white towel that looks ridiculously large on her petite frame, her dark hair damp and clinging to her neck, her face scrubbed clean and glowing. She stops when she sees you, her brow furrowing slightly.

"You’re… leaving?" Her words are soft, a hint of something unreadable in them.

"Yeah," you say, trying for casual, even though your limbs feel heavy, your head still pleasantly swimming from the beer and everything else. "Figured I shouldn’t bother you. It’s late."

She walks closer, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell the fresh, clean scent of soap and her skin. "You’re still a little drunk, aren’t you?" she observes, her gaze steady.

You shrug, a sheepish grin touching your lips. "Maybe a little. The beer was good. The company was… distracting."

"You can stay," she says. "It’s no problem. You shouldn't be walking around like that.”

You look at her, surprised. "You sure? I don’t want to impose."

"I’m sure," she replies. "The bed’s big enough."

And just like that, the decision is made. You reverse the process, now unbuttoning your shirt and taking off your pants. Irene takes off her towel, drys her hair, and puts on comfortable pajamas. You both slide into her bed, the sheets cool against your skin. She keeps a respectable distance at first, lying on her side facing away from you. You lie on your back, staring up into the darkness, your mind replaying the night’s events.

"That was…" you begin, "quite a night."

She shifts slightly, turning her head on the pillow to look towards you, though you can barely make out her features in the dark. "It was," she agrees, her reply just as soft. "It’s been a long time since I… since I had a night that good."

"Me too," you admit. The silence stretches for a moment, comfortable, intimate. "So, this whole 'not going out much' thing," you venture, remembering her earlier comment at the bar. "Are you, like, super strict with your routine? Or is it just a general aversion to humanity?"

"A bit of both, maybe." She pauses. "But it’s also… more than that." Her words are hesitant now. "I just… I ended up depriving myself of some things. For a long time. For my own good, I thought."

"Things like… fun? Or just human contact in general?" you ask gently, trying to understand.

"Things like… letting go," she says, her meaning still veiled. "Being… open."

You process that for a moment. "Well," you say, trying to inject some lightness, "I hope, as your newly appointed (and incredibly charming) supervisor, I can attempt to bring a little more… spice? Unpredictability? Into your carefully curated life. Supervisors can be cool too, you know. It’s not all spreadsheets and passive-aggressive emails."

She gives a weak, tired chuckle. "You’re cool," she concedes.

Silence again. This one’s heavier, but it’s not uncomfortable. It wraps around you both like the comforter you’re only half under. Her presence is warm and grounding, even with the distance she’s keeping between your bodies.

And just when your mind starts fuzzing at the edges, drifting toward sleep, you hear it.

“…hey.”

Your eyes flutter, but you don’t answer immediately.

She tries again. “Hey. You awake?”

You manage a half-conscious “Hmm?”

“I… I need to tell you something,” she says, her tone suddenly different. Strained. Fragile. “And I don’t think I’ll get another chance like this.”

You roll your head a little, but you’re already falling. You’re trying to stay up, your body fighting it, but there’s alcohol in your blood and pillows under your skull and her voice sounds like a lullaby even when it’s trembling.

“It’s kind of awful,” she says. “I mean: I think it is. Most people would think it is. I don’t even know why I’m bringing it up. I guess… it’s easier when I can’t see your face.” Her voice catches. She swallows. “And I’m drunk,” she adds bitterly. “That helps. Brave little idiot version of me that only comes out after gin and zero lighting.”

You want to say something, your brain claws for words, but you’re slipping. The room is tilting, your breath slowing, mouth too heavy to open.

“I don’t want this to blow up,” she goes on, like she’s already sure it will. “But you’re… nice. Too nice. And I think it’s going to matter eventually. So maybe it’s better you know now.”

She turns, the sheets rustling. Her breath’s close. She's watching you.

“I used to do porn,” she says into the dark. “I know it’s horrible. But, God, I liked it. Not just the attention, not just the money. I liked the sex. I was… addicted. Like, actually. Probably still am. I think I’m a… I don’t know. A nympho? That sounds dramatic. But it’s true. And I’m terrified you’re gonna look at me differently if you ever find out. Like it’ll be all you see. Like I’m… stained.”

A sharp breath.

“You probably will look at me differently. If not now, then later. And that’ll kill me. Because I think I actually like you. And you’re the first person in forever who makes me feel like I don’t have to hide.”

Her hand reaches out under the blankets, not to touch you, just to rest nearby.

“I’m still not sure if I’m ashamed because I regret it… or because I liked some of it too much. Isn’t that worse?” She exhales. “I tried to cut it all off. Cold turkey. Quit the industry. Quit everything. No sex. No relationships. No late nights. No bars. No letting anyone get close. I started hiding from everything I wanted. Because I had to. My last relationship was a disaster. Everything fell apart. I wanted to be invisible again. Safe. And I thought if I worked a boring job, wore boring clothes, kept my mouth shut, nobody would see me. Nobody would want me.” She pauses. The next words are like admitting a sin:

“And then you saw me.”

“You were kind to me. Just… kind. That’s all it took. And I started feeling again. I tried to fight it. I told myself you were just being nice. That it wasn’t anything. But every time you smiled, or made some dumb joke, or talked to me like I mattered… I couldn’t stop it.” She sounds exhausted. Hollow. “You’re the first person I’ve wanted to kiss in years. The first one I’ve wanted to touch. The first one I’ve let into my bed. And I hate that I like you. I hate that it scares me. Because I’m not… good.”

Her voice breaks, just a little.

“I’m not someone who deserves soft things. Or quiet moments. Or this stupid, beautiful night.” Another deep breath, followed by a silent bitter laugh. “And you’re asleep. Of course you’re asleep.”

She waits. Hopes, irrationally, for some murmur of understanding, some unconscious twitch of your hand to say you’re still with her. But there’s nothing. Nothing. Your chest rises, falls. Silent. Peaceful. Asleep.

Another rustle of sheets as she rolls back onto her side, facing away again.

“Maybe that’s better,” she whispers. “Maybe if you knew, you’d leave. Or worse… maybe you’d stay for the wrong reasons. I just wanted you to know. Even if you never hear it.”

She tugs the comforter up to her shoulders, folds in on herself, and presses her forehead to the pillow, eyes closed, breath warm against the sheet. And then she whispers one last thing. So quiet it almost doesn’t exist:

“Please... don’t hate me.”

—

The days that follow are not what you expected. Not at all. After that night, after the intensity, the confessions, the shared intimacy, you thought you’d climbed a new step with Irene, reached a new layer. You imagined easier smiles in the office, maybe even her initiating a coffee break, a casual lunchtime chat. You pictured the comfortable progression from Friday night drinks to something… more.

Instead, it’s like you’re back at square one. Worse, even.

Irene is a ghost again, but this time, her politeness is tinged with an almost painful discomfort. She still does her work, still impeccably, but she avoids your gaze. Your attempts at casual conversation are met with short, clipped answers. The easy banter, the shared laughter from that night at the bar; it’s all gone, replaced by a strained, awkward formality.

You try, of course you try. You invite her to your apartment to watch that terrible sci-fi series you’d bonded over. "Sorry, I have plans," she’d murmured, not looking at you. You suggest grabbing a quick drink after work, just like before. "I can’t, I’m busy." Even a casual, "Hey, fancy grabbing lunch in the park? Sun’s actually out for once," is met with a polite, "Thank you, but I brought my own."

Each refusal is a small, sharp sting. Always polite. Always with a hint of something that looks like regret, or discomfort, in her eyes. But always a refusal.

You know what this means, or at least, you think you do. She regretted that night. Of course she did. She was drunk. You were too. Maybe she was feeling lonely, vulnerable, and just got carried away by the alcohol and the moment. You probably came on too strong, misread the signals, pushed too hard, too fast. And now you’ve messed it up, scared her off, ruined whatever fragile connection you were starting to build. The thought settles in your gut like a cold, heavy stone. You fucking idiot.

Weeks bleed into each other. The distance between you and Irene solidifies, an invisible wall of her polite deflections and your own frustrated, confused silence. You stop trying so hard. What’s the point?

Then, the email from HR lands in your inbox. A reminder: Irene Bae’s casual contract is due to expire at the end of next week. Department heads need to submit any recommendations for extension or permanent placement by close of business Friday.

Your office feels colder than usual when you call her in. You keep your expression neutral, professional, as she walks in and sits in the chair opposite your desk. She doesn’t meet your eye, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over your left shoulder.

"Irene," you begin, your own words sounding unduly formal. "Thanks for coming in. As you know, your current contract is… coming to an end." You pause, waiting for some reaction, any reaction. Nothing. She just sits there, perfectly still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "HR needs a final decision regarding the full-time offer we discussed. This is… well, this is pretty much your last chance to decide." You try to keep the disappointment, the faint, stupid hope, out of your delivery. "So, I need to ask. What conclusion have you reached?"

She takes a slow, deliberate breath. Her gaze is still averted, focused on the framed print of some abstract cityscape hanging on your wall. When she finally speaks, her reply is short and cold.

"I… I’m going to have to decline the offer.”

You look at her. She’s still not meeting your eye, her gaze resolutely fixed on that abstract cityscape print on your wall as if it holds the answers to the universe. Her hands are clasped so tightly in her lap, her knuckles are white. You know. Of course, you fucking know. It’s not about the job, not really. It’s about that night. It’s about you.

"Irene," you begin, your carefully constructed professional composure starting to fray at the edges. You try to keep your delivery even, reasonable. "That… that doesn’t make a lot of sense, professionally speaking. This isn't just a casual offer. It’s a permanent position. Full benefits package, paid time off, a significant salary increase from your current rate. Henderson genuinely likes your work; he specifically mentioned your efficiency with the merger data. This office… it’s a good environment. People respect you here. There's clear potential for promotion down the line, further salary increases. Turning this down… frankly, it’s not a rational career move for someone with your skills."

You’re laying it on a bit thick, the corporate spiel, but you need her to see, to understand that you’re trying to offer her something good, something stable. Something she deserves.

Still, she doesn’t look at you. "I understand the terms, and I appreciate the opportunity." Her words are precise, almost robotic.

"Then what is it?" you press, a note of frustration creeping in despite your best efforts. "Because it sounds like you’re about to walk away from a genuinely great opportunity for no good reason." You lean forward, resting your elbows on your desk. "Irene… I know why you want to turn this down."

Her head snaps up at that, her dark eyes finally, belatedly, meeting yours. "No," she says, her reply sharper than usual, cutting through her quiet demeanor. "You don’t know."

"I think I do," you insist, your gaze holding hers. "It’s because of what happened between us, isn’t it? That night. After the bar."

Her expression shutters again, becoming unreadable, guarded.

"Look," you continue, softening your approach, trying to sound reassuring, "if that’s what this is about… if you’re sorry it happened, or if you felt pressured, or if you’re just uncomfortable now… it’s okay. I get it. I swear, I won’t pressure you, I won’t bother you at work. We can just… go back to how things were. Professional. I respect you, Irene. Your decision, whatever it is." You’re laying your cards on the table, trying to give her an out, trying to make this easier for her, even if it twists something in your own heart.

"It’s not because of you."

Not because of you? Then what the hell is it? "Then what?" you ask, genuinely bewildered now. "What’s the reason, Irene? Because I’m not seeing it."

She sighs, a tiny, almost inaudible sound. "It’s… complicated." She pushes her chair back slightly, her hands gripping the armrests. "I should probably just… go." She starts to get up, a clear intention to flee in her movements.

"No." The word is out before you can stop it, sharper, more commanding than you intended. You’re on your feet too, moving around your desk, stopping her before she can reach the door, positioning yourself between her and her escape route.

She freezes, her eyes wide, trapped.

"Irene, wait," you start, “okay, look. I’m sorry. For… for what I did. For that night. We were both drunk, I know that. And if you’re uncomfortable now because of it, if I made you feel… pressured, or weirded you out, then I am truly sorry. That was never my intention. I just… I thought you liked me too. I guess I misinterpreted things." God, you sound like a desperate idiot.

"I do like you," she says. "I told you that. At the bar."

"Yeah, but…" you trail off, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "I thought you were just… drunk. Saying things. I didn’t think…"

"That’s the problem," she cuts in. "Liking you. That’s the problem." She finally looks up at you. "If I stay here… in this job… in the same environment as you… things will… they’ll develop." Her gaze is pleading, desperate. "And I know how it will end."

You stare at her, completely lost. "Develop? End? I… I’m confused, Irene. Is it so bad? Liking me?"

A sad, hollow little laugh escapes her, a sound that tears at something inside you. It’s devoid of any humor, filled only with a deep, weary pain. "Oh, you have no idea. It’s not about whether liking you is bad." She looks up, her dark eyes swimming with unshed tears. "It’s that I’m afraid. I’m afraid of liking you."

"But… it’s mutual, Irene," you say, stepping closer, wanting to reach out, to comfort her, but holding back, unsure. "I like you. A lot. I… I thought that was obvious. The way I act around you, the way I talk to you…"

"I know," she whispers, a single tear finally escaping, tracing a path down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. "I know you do. You… you treat me so well. Better than I deserve."

"Don’t say that."

"But it’s true!" Her words gain a desperate edge. "And that’s why I’m afraid! I’m afraid you’ll… you’ll be disappointed in me. Like any other guy would be. Eventually."

"That won’t happen, Irene," you assure her, your conviction absolute, even if you don’t fully understand the depths of her fear. "Not with me."

Her gaze searches yours, desperate for reassurance, for a guarantee you can’t possibly give, not without knowing what demons she’s fighting. "How?" she breathes. "How can you be so sure?"

"You just… you have to trust me.”

She sighs then, a long, shuddering exhalation that seems to carry the weight of years. Her shoulders slump, her head lowers. "I… I have a past," she says. "A past that I’m… I’m not proud of."

"It’s okay," you say gently. "Everyone has things in their past they’re not proud of, Irene. That doesn’t define who you are now."

She shakes her head, still not looking at you. "No, this is… this is different." She takes another shaky breath. "When I was younger… much younger… I… I was a porn star." The words come out in a rushed, choked whisper, as if saying them aloud might shatter her. "For three years."

Porn star. Irene? Your quiet, meticulous, reserved Irene? Your brain struggles to reconcile the image with the woman standing before you, so vulnerable, so afraid.

"I… I almost told you," she continues, her words tumbling out now, as if a dam has broken. "That night, at my apartment… when we were in bed. When I was drunk and feeling… brave. But you were already asleep. And I just… I gave up. Maybe, I thought, maybe it was better that way. Better for you not to know."

She finally lifts her head, her eyes raw, pleading. "My last relationship… it was four years. And it ended the moment he found out about it. He didn’t just leave. He… he leaked it. To my work, to everyone I knew. As revenge. Because he felt… betrayed, I guess." Her words are choked with remembered pain. "I had to leave. My job, my apartment, everything. I was… traumatized. Completely exposed." She shudders. "That’s why I only work as a casual worker now. I’m terrified of staying in one place too long. Terrified that eventually… someone will find out. That it will all happen again."

She looks at you then, her face pale, her eyes wide with a terrible, naked fear. "So now you know… Do you… do you think I’m disgusting now? Do you think I’m a whore?"

You listen, your own expression carefully neutral, though inside, a storm of emotions is raging: shock, yes, but overwhelmingly, a deep, aching empathy for what she must have endured. Disgusting? Whore? The words feel alien, obscene when applied to the woman in front of you.

You step closer, very slowly, and gently, calmly, you reach out and take her trembling hands in yours. Her skin is cold.

"No, Irene," you say, your gaze holding hers, willing her to believe you. "No, I don't think you're disgusting. And I sure as hell don't think you're a whore." You give her hands a gentle squeeze. "I am no one to judge you. No one. And what you went through… at your old work, with your ex… Jesus, Irene, I am so incredibly sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine the trauma of feeling exposed like that, of having your life and your privacy violated so brutally."

She stares at you, her lips parted, her dark eyes wide with a dawning, incredulous surprise. It’s as if she was braced for a blow, and instead, you offered her… understanding.

"The job offer," you continue, your tone unwavering, "it still stands, Irene. Henderson wants you because you’re brilliant. I want you here because this team, this office, is better with you in it. That hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed that."

"You’re… you’re serious?"

"Deadly serious," you affirm. "The contract is yours if you want it. No questions asked, no judgments made." You pause, then take another step closer, your grip on her hands tightening just a fraction. "And more importantly, Irene…" Your words are softer now, laced with all the unspoken emotion that’s been building between you for weeks. "I still want to keep… seeing you. Dating you. Whatever this is that we’re starting." You search her eyes. "If… if you still want to, of course. After all this."

For a long, breathless moment, she just looks at you, her expression a maelstrom of shock, relief, and a fragile, burgeoning hope. Then, slowly, wordlessly, she steps forward, closing the small distance between you. Her hands leave yours, sliding up your arms, to your shoulders, and then she’s rising on her tiptoes, her face lifting to yours.

Her lips meet yours, soft, hesitant at first, then deepening with a desperate, grateful intensity. It’s not like the hungry, alcohol-fueled kisses from before. This is something else entirely. It’s a kiss of acceptance, of relief, of a future that suddenly feels possible again. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are shining, her cheeks wet, but she’s smiling. A real smile. Radiant.

"Yes," she whispers, but the words come out clear as day. "Yes to both.”

—

Two months have passed since the night Irene told you her secret. You hadn’t pressured her for details after that. You figured she’d share more when she was ready. And maybe you’re dying to know, because there’s a whole life behind those eyes you’re only just beginning to uncover, but you’ve kept quiet. The important thing is simple: Irene’s here, now, with you. Not a passing contract worker anymore, but a full-time part of the company, of your team, of your life. She’s taken root, quietly but firmly, in your space.

And the sex? If anything, it’s only gotten wilder, like with the weight of her secret off her chest, she’s finally able to let go in ways you hadn’t seen before. The shy smiles, the slow, calculated movements…still there, sure, but now layered with something hungrier, less reserved, like she’s reclaiming something with every time you push her over the edge. You love it. Love her.

Which brings you to today. Your birthday. You didn’t tell anyone at work, not even Seulgi, who usually insists on dragging your ass out for overpriced cocktails every year. No thank you. You didn’t want a party. All you wanted was your day off, the luxury of doing absolutely nothing with Irene. You arranged to meet her at 6:00 PM at your apartment, which left your afternoon free. You went for a run in the park, as you usually do, and for some reason, the day feels brighter; maybe because it’s your birthday, or maybe because you know you’ll be seeing Irene in just a few hours. The air was cool, but the city was beautiful, glinting in that late afternoon gold.

By the time you got home, you were sticky with sweat, a faint sheen from the walk making your shirt cling to your back. You opened the door expecting the familiar sprawl of your apartment (the faintly messy pile of laundry on the chair, the open laptop on the coffee table), but instead, you stopped dead.

She was standing there, barefoot on your rug, a modest little cake perched on the kitchen counter, a couple of small, wrapped boxes beside it, the faint scent of chocolate and flour in the air.

“Irene… what the fuck…” You blink, stunned, taking it in: the simple but unmistakable gesture. She’s dressed so casually it almost undoes you: black tank top, thin and loose enough that you can see the faint outline of her nipples beneath, and tiny gray cotton shorts that barely cover the tops of her thighs. Her hair’s pulled back, but messier than usual, strands framing her face. She looks so effortlessly gorgeous it pisses you off a little, how she always does this without even trying.

“You… you didn’t have to,” you say, still standing in the doorway, key half out of your hand. “Seriously.”

She shrugs, but her lips curl up, pleased. “It was a pleasure,” she says, walking toward you, her bare feet making no sound against the floor. “You deserve it.”

You exhale, feeling something tight release in your chest. She’s already so close now, tilting her head up to kiss you. You bend down automatically, catching her mouth in yours, slow and grateful. She tastes like the chocolate she must’ve sampled from the cake.

You pull back, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower. I’m disgusting after that walk.”

She smirks, and her hand snakes out, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “But you look hot like that.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “It’ll be quick.”

She lets you go with a small, satisfied hum, and you head to the bathroom, stripping as you go. Under the hot spray, you let your muscles relax, your mind drifting. This week’s been a nightmare: training a bunch of new hires who couldn’t give a shit about what you say, their apathy bleeding into your own work, your inbox piling up, everything a fucking mess. You rinse your hair, scrubbing shampoo out, and call out loud enough for her to hear in the other room.

“I swear to god, babe, this week’s been brutal. I’ve been babysitting these useless newbies, none of them care, none of them listen—” You towel off roughly, stepping out, water still dripping down your chest. “—and I still have to keep up with all my own shit. It’s like I’m doing two jobs.”

You walk into the bedroom, still talking as you rub the towel over your head. “I should’ve just told Henderson to shove it and let them sink.”

And then you stop mid-sentence.

She’s standing there.

Naked.

Not a single stitch of clothing, just her flawless, toned petite frame, the faintest sheen of lotion on her smooth skin, her black hair loose now, falling around her shoulders. And her nipples (your breath catches) her nipples are each dabbed with a smear of dark, glossy chocolate, the scent of cocoa rich and unmistakable from where you stand.

She tilts her head, eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “Do you really want to talk about work? And by the way, I don’t think you’ll be needing clothes right now.”

You’re frozen, towel hanging loose around your hips, your cock already stirring in response to the sight of her.

She steps closer, one slow, deliberate stride at a time, her bare feet silent against the hardwood. Her fingers ghost over the edge of your towel, teasing, tugging, and with a practiced flick, she pulls it free. Your cock springs up, hard and ready, and she smiles like she expected nothing less.

“You didn’t really think cake and presents were your only gifts, did you?” she murmurs, eyes dropping to your length appreciatively.

Before you can answer, she pushes you gently but firmly backward, making you sit on the bed. You fall back onto the mattress, legs spread, leaning on your elbows, watching her climb up, her knees on either side of your thighs.

“It’s time for your second gift,” she says.

She shifts forward, and her small, perfect breasts are suddenly right there in front of you, chocolate gleaming on her tight little nipples.

You groan, sitting up and catching one of her nipples in your mouth without hesitation. You suck hard, your tongue circling the hard peak to clean away the bittersweet smear of chocolate. She lets out a soft, sharp gasp, her fingers immediately threading through your damp hair, gripping the strands, holding your head firmly in place. You take that as an invitation.

You drag your tongue over every last trace of the chocolate, lapping at her skin, feeling the delicate flesh swell and tighten even more under your attention. The taste is insane; dark, rich chocolate melting into the salty, warm taste of her skin. Once the first nipple is clean, glistening, and pink from the friction of your tongue, you move to the other. This time you start with your teeth, grazing them ever so gently over the hardened bud.

She shivers violently, a full-body tremor, her hips giving a small, involuntary buck against the mattress. "Fuck… yes…" she pants. "Right there… don't stop."

"You like that?" you murmur against her breast, your hot breath making her shiver again. "Like it when I bite?"

"I… fuck, yes," she admits, her hands tightening their grip in your hair, almost pulling. "Bite it harder."

You do, clamping your teeth down just enough to make her gasp again, a sharp, pained-pleasured sound that makes your cock throb. Then you soothe the faint mark with your tongue, lapping at her, sucking her deep into your mouth until her moans become a steady, breathless rhythm.

"Fuck," you breathe, finally pulling back to look at her, your lips wet and dark with chocolate. "You taste so fucking good."

She smirks. "I know," she purrs. "I was hoping you'd think so." She leans forward, her clean, hard nipples brushing against your lips. "They're all yours tonight, supervisor. A birthday present. You can do whatever you want to them."

"Anything?" you ask.

"Anything," she confirms, her eyes glinting. "Suck them, bite them, cover them in your cum… Just make them feel good. Make them feel used."

That's all the permission you need. You dive back in, taking her left nipple into your mouth again, but this time your assault is rougher, needier. You suck hard, creating a powerful suction, pulling at the flesh, your tongue a relentless engine against the peak. She cries out, a raw, open-mouthed sound, her body instinctively pressing closer against yours.

"God, you're so fucking sensitive," you mutter against her skin, loving the way her body reacts to your every touch. "I love how your nipples get so hard for me, how they just stand at attention, begging for my mouth."

"They are," she gasps, her hips starting to writhe. "They've been aching for you… for weeks… every time you look at me in the office…"

You pull away from her breast just enough to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses up her chest, over her collarbone, until you reach her mouth. You capture her lips in a deep, filthy kiss. Your tongue, slick with her taste and melted chocolate, plunges past her teeth, and she meets it eagerly, her own tongue wrestling with yours. You let her taste herself on you, the sweetness of the chocolate mingling with the salt of her skin.

When you finally break the kiss, you're both panting, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. "See?" you breathe. "I told you you taste good."

Irene licks her swollen lips, a dazed, utterly debauched look in her eyes. "Fuck," she whispers. "You're right." Her gaze drops from your eyes to your mouth, then back up again. "You know what else tastes good?” she asks, cupping the back of your head and guiding you down, down until your shoulders hit the mattress again. Then she moves, her thighs sliding up, one smooth motion as she positions herself right over your face, her pussy bare and slick, already dripping for you.

You barely manage a breath before she lowers herself onto you, her inner thighs framing your face, her weight pressing you down in the best possible way.

“This will be more delicious than the cake,” you say, voice muffled against her.

Irene smiles down at you lazily, like a queen about to settle onto her throne. Her hands find the headboard above your head, bracing herself, and then, finally, she lowers herself onto your mouth, her warmth enveloping you, her thighs tightening around the sides of your head.

The first contact is enough to make your cock twitch against your stomach. You slide your hands up the backs of her thighs, fingertips tracing the toned, soft muscle there, and then up further to her ass, gripping it firmly as you pull her closer, burying your face in her cunt. She’s soaked already, the slickness smearing across your lips and chin as you flatten your tongue and drag it slowly from the very base of her slit all the way up to her clit, savoring every second.

She lets out a sharp gasp, her hips twitching forward instinctively.

“Shit…” she breathes, looking down at you, her expression already beginning to shift from teasing control to raw need.

But for now, she’s still in charge. She rocks her hips forward just a little, her pussy sliding wetly over your mouth and nose, smearing you with her arousal. You keep your tongue out, letting her use your face however she wants, just occasionally giving her little flicks against her clit to remind her how eager you are.

“You love this, don’t you?” she says, her tone soft but with that dangerous little edge that always drives you crazy. Her fingers tangle in your damp hair, holding your head still as she starts to move her hips in slow, deliberate circles against your mouth. “Love being under me… letting me use you…”

You can’t answer (she’s not giving you space to) but your moan is deep and guttural, vibrating against her slick folds as you slide your tongue back up to her clit and start circling it in slow, agonizingly steady motions.

“Mmm, fuck…” she exhales, head falling back slightly, her chest rising and falling with quickening breaths.

She’s setting the pace. You know better than to rush her. Your hands stay planted firmly on her ass, kneading the flesh as she rides your face, her hips rolling smoothly, confidently. The heat of her grows with every pass of her pussy over your tongue, her slick spreading across your cheeks and chin, and every time you flick the tip of your tongue against her clit just a little harder, she gasps and rocks her hips more forcefully.

“You always… eat me so fucking good…” she mutters, her voice breaking into a breathy moan as you latch your lips around her clit and start sucking gently, your tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud.

Her thighs tense around your head, the muscles flexing beautifully as she grinds down harder, chasing more friction. The more you give, the more she takes, rolling her hips with more intensity, dragging her soaked slit all over your face, smearing herself on you like she owns you (and she does).

Right now, she does.

“Don’t stop,” she hisses through gritted teeth, her fingers gripping your hair tighter, anchoring herself as she starts to lose some of that controlled rhythm, her movements becoming more desperate, more erratic.

You moan into her, the sound vibrating directly against her clit, and she cries out, a sharp, needy sound that makes your cock throb with how much you want her. But this is her moment. You flatten your tongue again, letting her grind against it, letting her slide herself up and down at her own pace, her pussy getting wetter, creamier, with every second.

“Fuck… fuck, you’re making me so wet…” she gasps, looking down at you, her dark hair sticking to her temples now as her body starts to glisten with sweat.

She lifts herself slightly, just to reposition, then slams her hips down against your mouth again, harder this time, her pussy mashing against your tongue and nose. You slide one hand from her ass to her lower back, steadying her, encouraging her to keep going, to use you just like this.

You can feel the shift now. The subtle change in her moans, from teasing and playful to raw, involuntary noises she can’t hold back. Her thighs begin to shake slightly on either side of your head as she rides your face, her slick coating your lips and chin, the taste of her getting thicker, sweeter, more intoxicating.

“I’m so fucking close…” she whimpers, her voice cracking with how hard she’s working herself against your mouth.

You respond by tightening your grip on her ass, pulling her down harder, guiding her against your tongue as you focus all your energy on relentless, steady strokes against her clit. She gasps, her whole body shuddering above you, her head dropping forward so her hair hangs in her face.

“God… yes… just like that… don’t you fucking dare stop…” she growls, grinding her pussy against your face with wild, desperate circles now, her control all but gone.

The wet sounds of her pussy dragging over your lips fill the room, slick and obscene, her arousal practically dripping onto your chest now as she rides you, using your face like her own personal toy. You keep your tongue out, letting her smear herself all over you, letting her control everything, loving how small but powerful she is, how easily she can overwhelm you with just her hips and her need.

“Shit… shit…” she pants, her thighs clamping tighter around your head, her fingers gripping the headboard so hard her knuckles go white.

You feel it, the way her pussy clenches, her body going rigid above you as she slams her hips down one final time and cries out, a long, shuddering moan that echoes off the walls. Her whole body quakes as she cums, her pussy gushing over your mouth, slick and creamy, her arousal spilling down your chin and onto your chest as she grinds out every last wave of her orgasm against your face.

You don’t stop. You keep your tongue moving gently, lapping up everything she gives you, licking around her swollen clit and savoring the taste of her cum as she rides out the aftershocks.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she collapses forward, her body draping over yours, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and slick with sweat. Her thighs tremble as she slowly lifts herself off your face, and you look up at her, lips and chin gleaming with her wetness, your eyes glazed with pure, feral hunger.

She smiles weakly, her breathing still ragged. “Happy birthday…” she whispers, voice hoarse but full of smug satisfaction.

You grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Best fucking birthday ever.”

She laughs softly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting herself on your lips, her tongue slipping into your mouth with a slow, deliberate slide.

And then she pulls back, biting your lower lip gently, her eyes still dark with want.

“But we’re not done,” she says as her hand trails down your chest and wraps around your cock, already throbbing and slick with precum. “That was just your first gift…”

You groan, tilting your head back, already ready for whatever she has planned next as she shifts her weight and starts to slide down your body.

You laugh breathlessly, wiping the last traces of her slick from your chin with the back of your hand, still riding that high from having her grind out her orgasm on your face. “Jesus,” you exhale, your chest heaving. “That’s already the best fucking birthday I’ve had in years.”

She chuckles, low and throaty, still catching her breath. Then she leans in, presses a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth, and whispers, “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

That pulls a grin out of you immediately. You squeeze her ass, your fingers digging into the soft but firm flesh, pulling her closer as you smirk. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

She pulls back just far enough to give you that look: mischievous, calculated, playful. Her lips tilt up in a smirk, then she bites the inside of her cheek and says, almost sing-song, “Wait here.”

Then she’s sliding off you, her bare feet hitting the floor with that soft, soundless grace that only she seems to have. You watch her as she pads out of the room, completely naked, that tight little body moving with unhurried confidence, her hips swaying just enough to make your already rock-hard cock give another desperate throb.

From the bedroom, you hear the faint sound of a zipper, metal teeth rasping open. A pause. Then some soft rustling. Your heart picks up, your curiosity burning, trying to piece together what the hell she’s planning. And then, her footsteps again, crossing the hall, getting closer.

She comes back into the room, eyes glinting, and tosses something at you. You catch it on instinct.

It’s a small bottle.

You turn it over in your hand, read the label.

Lube.

Your brows shoot up and you look at her, grinning in disbelief. “What the hell do you plan on doing with this?”

She climbs back onto the bed, crawling up slowly, deliberately, like a predator stalking prey, her eyes locked on yours, her knees spreading on either side of your hips until she’s hovering right above you.

“You’re the one who’s gonna do it.”

You blink, your brain still processing, the words sticking in your throat for a second. “Wait… what?”

She leans down, her lips grazing yours as she whispers, “Because it’s your birthday…” she kisses you, slow and soft, then pulls back, “…and because you’re such a great supervisor…” another kiss, deeper this time, “…you get the privilege of fucking my ass today.”

Your whole body tightens instantly, your cock jerking so hard it practically aches. You stare at her, eyes wide, like she’s just handed you the keys to some secret vault you didn’t even know existed. “Are you… are you serious?”

She sits back on her heels, all casual, like she didn’t just offer you the dirtiest birthday present imaginable. “Of course I’m serious.”

Then she reaches behind her, drags her fingers slowly down the curve of her own ass, giving one cheek a light slap, making it jiggle just enough to send your pulse into overdrive.

“It’s been a long time since I took it in the ass…” she says, almost absentmindedly, her voice that same casual, almost shy tone she uses when discussing quarterly reports, like this is just another item on her to-do list. Then she looks right at you, her eyes dark and steady, “…and I kind of love anal.”

Your jaw slackens a bit, your mind racing with images, with questions, with raw, hungry need.

She grins at your reaction, shrugging one bare shoulder. “Makes sense, right?” she adds, almost teasing. “Former porn star. Guessing I’ve done it… more times than I can count. It's part of the job.” Then her voice drops just a little more, breathier, more vulnerable. “But… it’s been years since I’ve had a real dick back there. Just… toys. Dildos.”

Your cock twitches violently at that, thick and hard, standing straight up against your stomach. You groan, dragging your palm slowly along your length, almost needing to ground yourself with the sensation. “Fuck, Irene…” you mutter, shaking your head. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“But you like it… don’t you?”

“Like?” you laugh quietly, breathless. “This is… this is the best fucking gift.”

She smiles, pleased with herself, then crawls forward a little more, turns, and gets onto all fours right in front of you. That perfect little ass of hers tilted up, back arched so her cheeks spread just slightly, giving you the clearest possible view of her tight, pink little asshole. Your throat goes dry.

She glances back over her shoulder at you, smirking. “Well… supervisor… you gonna get started?”

Your heart is hammering out of your chest. “Damn right.”

You pop open the bottle of lube, the faint plastic crack of the cap clicking free, and squeeze out a generous amount into your palm. It’s cool and slick, coating your fingers easily as you rub them together, warming it up a little.

Without wasting any more time, you slide closer to her, one hand gripping her hip, the other bringing the lube to her ass. You let the first cold drop fall right onto her tight little hole, watching as she shivers at the sudden temperature shock.

“Ohhh… fuck,” she breathes out, her back arching deeper as her hands grip the sheets.

You smear the lube over her asshole with slow, steady circles, massaging it in, spreading it across the perfect crease of her ass, making sure it’s slick and glistening all over. Her cheeks are shining now, slippery under your fingers, and that tight little star is all slicked up, glistening and ready.

The more you work the lube in, the more she relaxes, her breaths coming deeper, slower.

“You’re loving this,” you murmur, running your thumb gently along the rim of her hole, teasing her.

She looks back at you, biting her lower lip, her eyes half-lidded with arousal. “You have no idea…”

You apply a little more pressure with your thumb, testing her, and she pushes back slightly, welcoming it, her body already opening up for you.

“Mmm… that’s it,” you say under your breath, gripping one cheek and spreading her wider, admiring the way her asshole puckers and flexes, slick and inviting.

The contrast between the shy, composed Irene everyone knows at the office, and the filthy, unashamed woman kneeling naked in front of you now, offering you her ass like it’s the most natural thing in the world… it’s fucking intoxicating. You love this about her. That duality. That quiet power.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the small of her back, your hand still massaging circles around her entrance, feeling her pulse there, steady and hot. She shivers again, but it’s not from the cold now; it’s pure anticipation.

“You sure about this?” you ask.

She laughs, breathless. “Don’t make me beg…”

You grin, sliding your lubed fingers lower, brushing her slick pussy briefly, just enough to make her moan softly, before bringing your hand back up to her ass. You add a little more lube to your fingers, making sure it’s dripping, then slowly, carefully, you press the tip of your index finger against her tight, pink hole.

Her breath hitches. Her whole body tenses as you apply steady pressure. The tiny muscle fights you for a second, a stubborn little ring, before it finally gives way with a soft squelch. You slide your finger in, just to the first knuckle. She groans, a low, guttural sound that’s half pain, half pure bliss.

"Fuck…" she breathes out, her hips twitching. "Okay… okay, that’s… mmm."

You wait, letting her adjust to the feeling of being filled, your finger still and warm inside her. Then, you start to move it, a slow, gentle circling motion. Her asshole clenches around you, tight and hot.

"Easy, baby," you murmur. "Just relax for me. Let me open you up."

She exhales, a long, shuddering breath, and you feel her body soften, her tight muscle relaxing just a fraction around your finger. You push in a little deeper, hooking your finger slightly, massaging her from the inside.

"Oh, god… that feels…" she trails off. She pushes back against your hand, wanting more. You continue the slow, steady rhythm, and she lets out a soft, contented sigh. "It's… it's so nice," she whispers. "To be able to do this again."

You keep moving your finger, feeling her pulse against the tip. "Do what, baby? Take a finger up your ass?" you tease gently.

She lets out a wet little laugh. "That too. But… just this. All of it. The sex… being filthy…" Her voice drops, becoming more serious. "But feeling… safe. Feeling protected while I do it. Knowing you’re not going to… hurt me at the end. Or judge me." Her hips rock back, pressing her ass more firmly onto your hand. "God, I’m so happy you didn’t give up on me. That you insisted on staying."

You slide your finger out slowly, coat it with more lube, then add a second finger to the first. You press them both against her entrance. She gasps as you work them in together, stretching her, filling her more completely.

"I would never lose a woman like you, Irene," you say. "You're the most beautiful, intelligent, fucking amazing woman I've ever met. Past, present, all of it. You're perfect."

She shudders as your fingers begin to move inside her again, a slow scissoring motion that makes her moan, a high, keening sound this time. She looks back over her shoulder, her face flushed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Fuck… that’s…" she bites her lip, a shy blush creeping up her neck despite the raw vulgarity of the situation. "That’s… really nice of you to say, but… maybe we can leave the love talk for later?" she gasps out between moans. "Talking about these things while you have your fingers in my ass isn't exactly… the best time."

You bark out a laugh, the tension breaking. "You're right. My bad." You lean in and bite her ass cheek playfully. "Sorry for trying to be romantic while I finger-fuck you."

"It's okay, baby," she giggles, her whole body relaxing into your touch now. "Just… focus on the finger-fucking part for now."

"Whatever you want, boss," you say, grinning. You add a third finger, and she cries out, her ass clenching hard around you, starting a slow, relentless rhythm, pumping in and out of her tight little hole. The lube makes a wet, slapping sound with every thrust of your hand, a filthy soundtrack to her ragged moans. Her ass cheeks are spread wide, giving you a perfect, obscene view of her pink, stretched muscle gripping your fingers. You watch, fascinated, as she completely melts under your touch, her body surrendering to the pleasure.

"Fuck, Irene… look at you," you growl. You rotate your fingers inside her, feeling her stretch wider around them. She cries out, a sharp, high-pitched sound. "You're taking my whole hand like a champ. Just imagine how good this is gonna feel when it's my thick cock stretching you out instead."

"Mmmm… don't… don't stop," she pleads, her words broken by gasps as she pushes her ass back onto your violating fingers, meeting the pressure.

"Oh, I'm not stopping," you promise, your pace quickening slightly. You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear. "I think I'm gonna get addicted to this. To your perfect ass. I'm going to want to fuck it every single day." You thrust your fingers deeper, imitating a hard fuck. "How's that sound, baby? Waking up every morning with my cock already buried deep inside your ass, filling you up before you've even had your coffee."

Her response is a raw, guttural moan that vibrates through her entire body. Her hips begin to grind against your hand in wild, needy circles. "Yes… fuck… keep talking," she pants. "Tell me more… tell me what you're gonna do to my ass…"

You glance down between her thighs and your own cock gives a hard throb. A glistening, clear trail of her arousal is dripping from her soaking wet pussy, running down the inside of her thigh and pooling on the sheets. She's not even touching herself, but the thought of you fucking her ass is making her cunt gush.

"Look at that," you murmur, your free hand reaching down to trace the slick path of her juices. "You're so fucking wet for this, aren't you? So horny just thinking about my cock in your ass that your pussy is weeping for it." You dip your thumb into her slickness and bring it back up to her asshole, smearing her own cunt juice around the rim of her hole, mixing it with the lube. "Let's make it even messier."

"Please…" she whimpers, completely gone. "Please, just… fuck me… I need it…"

You pull your fingers out of her with a loud, wet sound. Her asshole, stretched and glistening, puckers greedily, empty for only a second. You can see how ready she is, how open you've made her.

You draw your hand back.

The sound of your palm connecting with her ass cheek is sharp and loud, echoing in the quiet room. A perfect, red handprint blossoms on her pale skin. She yelps, a shocked, ecstatic sound, her whole body jolting. She looks back at you over her shoulder, her eyes wide, dazed, and full of pure, unadulterated need. Her chest is heaving, her lips are parted, and her ass is red, abused, and beautifully, perfectly ready for you.

The lube glistens like syrup under the low light, a sheen coating the delicate wrinkle of her pink asshole, smeared slick between the cleft of her cheeks and dripping slowly toward the tight seal of her pussy. She keeps herself open for you, kneeling deep into the mattress, arms stretched forward, arching her back like a fucking exhibit. She’s panting, her head down, black hair spilled over her shoulder blades in wild, careless strands.

You trace the tip of your cock along the seam of her hole, barely nudging the outer ring, and she makes a noise: sharp, needy, almost angry.

“Don’t tease me,” Irene growls, hips pushing back against you, practically punching your cock with the weight of her ass. “Put it in. Now.”

You obey. You press forward slowly, resisting the urge to just bury yourself to the hilt and fuck like an animal. Her hole yields just a little, then grips you, impossibly snug, sucking you in with a hot, slick resistance that makes your whole body twitch.

“Oh fuck,” you mutter under your breath, biting down on a curse as the ring of muscle clamps around your head, slow and greedy, dragging every millimeter into her. “Jesus, you’re… tight.”

“I know,” she smirks into the pillow, biting down on her bottom lip as she breathes through the stretch. Her tone is breathless but taunting. “I haven’t been used in a while. Not properly. Not like this.”

You ease in another inch. Then another. Her asshole flutters and clamps, adjusting around your girth like it’s testing you.

“That’s it,” Irene whispers, then harder: “Keep going. All the way. Don’t you dare stop until your balls are fucking pressed against me.”

You grit your teeth, rocking your hips gently forward, both hands gripping her sides to keep steady. Inch by inch you sink into her, the resistance melting into slick pressure. She moans, a raw, throaty sound full of pain twisted with hunger. Her whole body shudders as the last inch disappears into her heat.

When your pelvis finally nestles flush against the swell of her ass, your balls brushing her dripping cunt, she exhales hard; like she’s just been filled with something holy.

“Goddamn,” you breathe, locked inside her, unmoving for a second, overwhelmed by the feel of it. “You’re gonna break me.”

“No,” she says, lifting her head just enough to look back at you. “You’re gonna break me. Keep moving, or I’ll sit on your face until you pass out.”

You pull back slow, dragging yourself out until just the thick head is left buried inside, then push back in with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes her whine low in her throat.

“That’s it,” Irene murmurs. “Nice and deep. I want to feel every inch. I want to feel it in my fucking stomach.”

You start to move, slow and steady, your cock plunging deep into the hot grip of her ass and pulling out again, over and over, building a rhythm. Her moans rise in pitch, sharp and cut with whimpers, but her ass keeps pushing back onto you, meeting every thrust with a greedy snap of her hips.

“Faster,” she snarls. “Don’t be gentle. I don’t want gentle.”

You pound into her harder, the slap of your skin against her ass echoing in the room, obscene and constant. Her back arches deeper, the curve of her spine a perfect invitation, and you drive in deeper still, your hands spreading her cheeks to watch your cock disappear again and again into that slick, stretched hole.

“Fuck yes,” she gasps. “That’s it. That’s your hole. Say it.”

Your brain is on fire, body wound tight, but you nod, fucking her faster, harder. “My hole. All mine. Fuck—so good, Irene.”

“Tell me what I am,” she spits, grinding her ass against you mid-thrust. “Tell me what you’re fucking.”

You groan, barely coherent. “My whore. My nympho slut. My fucking anal-obsessed goddess.”

“That’s right,” she laughs, low and mean, pleasure twisting her words. “I’m your filthy bitch. Keep filling me. I want you so deep I can’t walk tomorrow.”

You grip her hips and slam into her, cock buried to the base every time, her ass stretched wide around you. Her pussy is a mess now, slick and twitching, untouched and throbbing with every shockwave of your rhythm.

“Harder,” she snarls. “I want to feel your cock rearranging my guts.”

"Alright, ma'am," you growl.

You give her exactly what she's begging for. Your hips become pistons, slamming into her with a brutal, relentless force. All your strength is channeled into your cock, driving it into her ass again and again, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding echoes in the room, obscene and glorious. You grip her hips so hard you know you'll leave bruises, using them as handles to anchor her as you pound into her without mercy.

Her moans shatter, turning into raw, animal cries of pain and ecstasy. She pushes back against you with every brutal thrust, her body a taut bow of pure sensation. You watch your cock disappear into her tight, glistening hole, the muscles of her ass clenching desperately around you. Her untouched pussy is a mess below, dripping her slick onto the bed with every jarring impact. She's so fucking hot, so insatiable.

"Tell me again what a filthy whore I am!" she snarls, voice cracking. "Tell me how much you love fucking my tight ass!"

"You're my perfect little anal slut," you pant, the words ripped from your throat as you continue your assault. "You take this cock so fucking good. Your ass was made for this. Made to be stretched, used, and filled by me."

"It was," she sobs, the words half-lost in a scream of pleasure. "It's yours! My ass is your fucking property! Now wreck it! Wreck me!"

Her body starts to tremble, fine tremors at first that grow into violent, uncontrollable shudders. Her asshole, which was already impossibly tight, clenches down on your cock like a vise, spasming, milking you with an intensity that almost makes you lose control. She's close. So fucking close.

"That's it, baby," you groan, feeling her body start to come apart around you. "You feel that? You're going to cum for me. You're going to cum all over my cock from your ass."

"I am… fuck… I'm… oh god…"

Her head whips back, a choked, guttural scream tearing from her lips as her orgasm hits her like a lightning strike. Her entire body locks up, her back arching so high her knees lift off the bed. Her asshole spasms violently around your shaft, a series of deep, rhythmic pulses that feel like she's trying to suck your cock clean out of your body. She’s coming, harder than you’ve ever seen anyone come, purely from the brutal, relentless fucking you’re giving her ass.

"FUUUUCK!" she screams as she shatters. Her body convulses around you, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through her. She's sobbing, drool trailing from the corner of her open mouth, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation. You don't stop, slamming into her through it, dragging her along the edge of that climax until she’s twitching, sobbing, her thighs soaked, everything between her legs shaking from overstimulation. Her asshole clenches over and over, like it’s trying to keep your cock inside her permanently. The sound of your name on her lips turns into a whimper, a plea.

And then she collapses.

She goes limp under you, body gone soft, her face buried into the mattress, hair plastered to her neck with sweat. You slow just enough not to hurt her more, but you're still buried in her, and she’s still trembling like something in her got snapped and rearranged.

You reach down, cup one hot, twitching cheek in your palm, fingers sinking into the softness, then you slap her ass. She jerks violently, crying out again, a fresh gush of wetness from her untouched cunt.

Irene’s panting like a dog, but she lifts her head slowly, pushing herself up on shaky elbows. Her asshole is raw and red, clenching around nothing now that you’ve pulled out, and your cock stands slick and flushed, aching to go again.

You run a hand down her back, smearing sweat, and watch her shiver under your touch, still catching her breath. She looks over her shoulder, eyes dark and dazed, lips parted.

“What now?” she asks, still high on it, a smirk tugging at the edge of her fucked-out expression.

You crawl over the mattress, slow and deliberate, the mattress dipping under your weight until you’re hovering above her. You reach out, brush her damp hair away from her cheek, and tilt her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours; you lean in and kiss her.

It’s not rushed. Not forceful. Just the soft press of your lips on hers, a quiet connection that feels startlingly out of place after how violently you’d just been inside her. But it fits. Her lips part easily, kissing you back, slow and sweet, her moan caught between you like breath being passed from one lung to another.

When you pull back, your thumb stroking gently over her cheekbone, you speak low and close.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She blinks once, then laughs; a little stunned, a little disbelieving, the sound raspy and full of heat. She shifts onto her side, hair falling in her face, her lips tugged up into a crooked grin. “Jesus,” she murmurs. “That’s a hell of a romantic thing to say after you fucked my ass like it owed you rent.”

You laugh too, forehead pressed to hers, eyes shut for a second. “I mean it.”

“Yeah?” she whispers, her palm sliding up your chest, nails dragging faintly across skin. “You always get all poetic when I let you wreck my holes?”

“I’m discovering new talents,” you say, and kiss her again, deeper this time, longer, your tongue meeting hers slow and deliberate, savoring her like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. Her fingers find your hair, tangling in it, keeping you there until she finally pulls back, panting softly, her lips swollen and wet.

You straighten, letting your hand glide down her bare side, palm trailing over the curve of her hip. “Come on,” you murmur, fingers nudging at her.

She doesn’t move.

Instead, she stretches lazily, catlike, then rolls onto her back, arms above her head, bare chest rising and falling. “Make me,” she says, grinning like a brat, teeth flashing beneath the curtain of black hair stuck to her cheek. “If you want me up so bad, you better earn it.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re in that mood again?” you mutter, and before she can blink, you lunge, grabbing her under the thighs, flipping her off the bed in one fluid motion. She shrieks, half-laughing, half-startled as your arms lock around her, her bare ass landing square in your hands.

“Hey!” she gasps, but she’s laughing, eyes bright. “Assault!”

“You asked for it,” you growl against her throat, kissing her hard, biting the skin there just enough to make her squirm.

Still holding her up, you reposition your grip—one hand under her ass, the other around her back. Her legs wrap around your waist like it’s instinct. She clings to your shoulders, breath hitching as your cock brushes against her inner thigh, then her slick, drenched cunt.

You drag the tip along her folds, once, twice.

She gasps. “Fuck, fuck, I’m—” she starts, but your head nudges inside, the slickness between her legs so intense it practically sucks you in.

“Sensitive,” she finishes, her whole body jolting.

You groan as you push deeper, her pussy hot and swollen and soaked from everything that came before. She’s not just wet—she’s drenched, her folds clinging to your cock like velvet, the entrance spasming as you ease in inch by slow inch. Her breath stutters out of her mouth in broken moans, arms tightening around your neck, her nails biting into your skin.

“Irene—fuck—you’re soaking,” you hiss, your lips brushing her ear.

“I know,” she moans, her words thick with need. “It’s from before…I came so hard… ahh, god, don’t stop, don’t—”

You don’t.

You fuck her slowly in the air, each thrust smooth and deep, her weight light in your arms but heavy on your cock. Her pussy clenches with every movement, already overstimulated and begging for more. Her head falls back, exposing the line of her throat, mouth open in helpless pleasure as you move inside her.

Her moans get louder, warmer, wetter, her body rocking with every motion, the slap of skin against skin muted by the softness of her thighs wrapped tight around you.

“You like that?” you whisper, kissing her collarbone, trailing your tongue between the swell of her breasts. “You like getting fucked right after I ruined your ass?”

She nods frantically, face flushed, lips parted. “Y-yes, I—fuck, yes, I need this, don’t stop, I’m so close already.”

You kiss her, swallowing her cries, letting her whimper into your mouth as you keep thrusting up into her, slow and deep, filling her again and again until her cunt spasms, her whole body clinging to yours like she’s afraid to fall. Her moans melt into kisses, breathy, broken, desperate, like she’s trying to stay anchored through her own bliss.

And you just keep holding her, hips rolling, fucking her deeper… slower… not letting her come down yet.

Your arms are burning with the effort, but you don't care. The feeling of her wrapped around you, your cock buried deep inside her slick, hot cunt, is worth everything. Her body is a dead weight of pure pleasure, clinging to you, her head thrown back as you continue the slow, relentless rhythm. Each thrust is deliberate, deep, a lazy roll of your hips that slides you all the way in until your pelvis presses against her, then draws you almost all the way out before sinking back down.

She whimpers into your mouth every time you pull back, a desperate, needy sound. "Please..." she breathes against your lips, her own hips trying to buck, to rush the pace, to find the friction she so clearly craves.

"Shhh," you murmur, capturing her mouth in another long, slow kiss. "Just feel this, baby. Let me love you." You fuck her with an infuriating gentleness, your movements tender, almost reverent. It's the exact opposite of what her body is screaming for, and you both know it.

That’s the fucking point.

"You're... torturing me," she pants, her nails digging into the muscles of your shoulders. Her pussy is so wet it's practically frictionless, dripping down onto your thighs, but it clenches around your cock with a desperate, pulsing grip.

"Am I?" you whisper, your lips tracing a path down her throat to her collarbone. You continue the slow, deep strokes, ignoring her plea. "I'm just loving you, Irene. Showing you how much you mean to me. How perfect you feel." You thrust upwards, slowly, filling her completely, and hold yourself there for a moment, letting her feel every thick inch. She moans, a long, frustrated wail.

"No... please... I need it harder," she begs, voice cracking. She starts to writhe in your arms, trying to grind her hips against you, to create her own rhythm. "Fuck me... please, just fuck me properly."

You chuckle softly against her skin, a low, dark sound. "But I like this," you say, resuming the agonizingly slow pace. "I like feeling you squeeze me. I like hearing you beg." You kiss her again, a deep, possessive kiss that smothers her protests. You can feel the frantic, thrumming energy building in her, the pleasure coiling into a tight, unbearable knot of pure need.

Her body is trembling now, her skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. "You're an asshole," she gasps, her voice a mix of fury and arousal. "You know what I want... you know what I need, and you're just... playing with me."

"I am," you agree easily, your hips still rolling in that same, maddeningly slow rhythm. "And you love it. Look at you. You're soaked. Shaking. Completely coming apart just from me being inside you."

"Then make me come!" she cries out, her control finally snapping. "For fuck's sake, stop making love to me and just FUCK ME! Fuck me hard! Use me like I'm a toy, like I'm just a fucking fleshlight you own! I need it! Please, I need you to ruin me!”

You kiss her neck gently, your lips brushing her skin in a gesture of pure affection that completely contradicts the filthy words she just screamed.

"A fleshlight?" you murmur against her ear, your voice a soft, teasing caress. "Is that all you think you are to me, Irene? Just a set of holes to use?" You slide almost all the way out of her, making her gasp and instinctively clench her pussy around the thick head of your cock, trying to keep you inside. Then you push back in, slowly, deeply, until you bottom out against her cervix. "That doesn't sound very romantic."

"I don't want romantic right now!" she cries. Her body writhes in your arms. "I want to be used! I'm just a cunt for you! A tight, wet hole for your big dick! Please, I'm begging you, just pound me! Pound my cunt until I'm stupid! Forget my name! Forget everything but how good it feels to fuck me!"

"Are you sure?" you ask, your voice still infuriatingly calm and gentle. You continue the slow, deep fucking, each stroke a deliberate act of torture. "Because I love making love to you, Irene. I love holding you like this. Feeling your heart beat against mine."

"Fuck my heart!" she sobs. "Fuck my heart and fuck my brain! Just fuck my pussy! Please! I'll do anything! I'll be your good little whore, I promise! Just stop teasing me! I can't take it anymore! I'm going to come just from this, and I'll fucking hate you for it!"

You stop moving.

For one torturous second, you are completely still inside her. She whimpers, her body frozen in anticipation. "Alright," you growl. "If you're going to beg for it like a good little whore, then I guess I have to give you what you want."

"Yes..." she breathes.

Your grip tightens, fingers digging into the meat of her ass as you slam her down onto your cock harder, rougher, the sound of her soaked cunt getting louder, wetter. The wet smack of flesh on flesh fills the room, and she yelps, then laughs through it, her eyes wild, her smile twisted with too much pleasure.

“God, yes—fuck me, use me—don’t stop—don’t you dare—”

You do exactly what she demands.

You use her.

You fuck her like she’s a doll made just to take cock, just to squeeze and stretch and be filled until her mind breaks and drips out of her pussy. You slam into her over and over, brutal rhythm, zero mercy. Her nails are digging into your shoulders, her forehead pressed to yours, moaning every breath into your mouth as her body takes the full force of your thrusts.

“Fucking hell,” you growl, gritting your teeth as her pussy tightens and pulses around your cock, “you’re taking it like a fucking slut, Irene.”

“I am,” she pants, the words shuddering out of her, “I’m your fucking slut—I’m your toy—make me fucking cum, I want it, I want it, please!”

You feel the change before you see it. The muscles inside her pussy, already clenched tight around you, suddenly begin to flutter, then seize, locking down on your shaft like a superheated vise. Her eyes, which were squeezed shut, fly open wide, not with pleasure, but with pure, unadulterated shock.

"Oh... oh my god... I'm..."

A sharp, strangled cry rips out of her as the first gush erupts from her cunt. It’s not just wetness; it's a hot, violent spray that shoots out, soaking your stomach and thighs, splashing on the floor below you. It’s a shocking, uncontrollable release, and her entire body locks up, trembling in your arms as she comes so hard she can’t breathe, can’t think.

You don't stop. You don't even slow down.

The sight, the sound, the feeling of her completely letting go like this makes you lose control. You keep slamming into her, your cock driving through the gushing fluid, making it splash and spray with every thrust. The fucking is louder now, wetter, a constant, obscene slapping sound. Another powerful torrent shoots from her, then another, seemingly endless. Her pussy is a broken faucet, gushing warm, clear fluid that runs in rivers down your legs, pooling on the floor.

"Aaahhh—fuck—it's still coming!" she screams. "I can't stop it—what's happening?! Fuck, fuck, don't you dare stop!"

Her legs, locked around your waist, are trembling so violently she can barely hold on. Her entire body jerks with every stroke, completely helpless in your grip. You fuck her through the flood, your own vision blurring, your body on fire. You watch her face, see her mind completely erased by pleasure, her eyes rolled back, her mouth wide open in a silent, unending scream.

You only slow when the last pulses drain from her, the violent gushes finally slowing to a warm, steady trickle down her thighs. Her limbs go limp, her body slumping against you, completely boneless and spent. She collapses against your chest, shivering and dazed, her entire body buzzing in the aftermath.

With a groan, you stumble back with her still in your arms and half-fall, half-sit on the edge of the bed. She’s still on your lap, your cock buried deep inside her wrecked, dripping pussy. Her arms curl weakly around your neck and she buries her face in the crook of your shoulder, her breath coming in shallow, trembling gasps.

You hold her tight, your own heart hammering against your ribs. Your hands slide slowly up and down her back, a soothing, grounding motion. You kiss her hair, her temple, the shell of her ear, whispering her name over and over.

Finally, you tilt her chin up to kiss her. Her lips are soft, wet, and slow to respond, her body still floating, completely fucked-out. She moans weakly into your mouth, a sound of pure, exhausted bliss.

When she pulls back, her eyes are barely open, her long lashes wet with tears and sweat.

"Mmm," she sighs, nuzzling her cheek against yours. Her gaze drifts down, looking at the mess. Your bodies are gleaming, the floor is soaked, and the air is thick with the clean, musky scent of her release. "Your cock is magic," she whispers. "That was… Jesus Christ. I don't even squirt. Like, ever. I think I've maybe done it once in my entire life, and it was nothing… nothing like that."

You chuckle, your forehead pressing against hers. "Well, I guess your pussy just really, really likes me."

"I guess so," she murmurs, a lazy, dazed smile spreading across her face. "Or maybe you just finally fucked me hard enough to break me.” Then her hand slips between the two of you, down to your lap. Her fingers wrap around your shaft, still rock hard, still throbbing inside her. “Are you close?”

You nod, your breath hitching. “Yeah.”

Her smile changes—still soft, but wicked underneath.

“Good.”

Then she pushes you back, palms on your chest, making you fall flat onto the bed with a surprised grunt. She rolls her hips as she pulls off your cock, the slick noise of her body separating from yours obscene, strands of wetness sticking to your shaft.

She straddles you like she owns you; knees braced on either side of your hips, sweat-slick thighs trembling but determined, ass flexing as she angles herself just right. You’re flat on your back, heart thundering in your chest, cock twitching and red and glistening with her slick, twitching against your stomach until she grips it with one hand, lines the head up with the soaked, glistening pucker of her asshole, and then sinks.

Your breath catches in your throat as her ass envelops you again, tight and hot, that familiar pressure building immediately as she sinks down with a slow, sinful twist of her hips. The tip slides in, and she moans, a low, guttural sound of pleasure and defiance, her back arching, hair sticking to her damp face. Her hole stretches around you perfectly, so perfectly it borders on painful, but she keeps going, inch by inch, until her full weight settles against your hips and you’re buried to the base.

You groan, your fingers digging into the sheets as her ass clenches around your cock like a fist. She lifts her head, licking her lips, eyes half-lidded with bliss.

“Still so fucking hard,” she murmurs. “You love my ass, don’t you?”

You nod, helpless.

“I could ride this cock all night,” she whispers, then smiles wickedly. “And I just might.”

She starts to move.

No slow buildup, no gentle grind: she fucks you, bouncing on your cock with reckless rhythm, ass clapping against your thighs, wet, loud, filthy. You groan through gritted teeth, hands finding her waist to keep yourself grounded, but it’s impossible to keep up with her. She’s wild. Even after cumming twice, even after being reduced to a trembling, soaking mess; she’s still fucking insatiable. Every drop of strength she has is poured into fucking herself on your cock like a nymphomaniac possessed.

“Oh my god,” you groan, hips thrusting up instinctively to meet her. “Irene—Irene, I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

“I know you’re close,” she gasps, riding you harder. “I can feel it. Your cock’s throbbing like it’s about to explode. Come on. Don’t hold back.”

She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, and slaps your face (not soft). Your head rocks to the side, the sting immediate, and your cock jerks hard inside her.

“Cum,” she hisses, breath hot against your mouth. “Fucking fill me. Cum in my ass. Do it.”

Your hands clamp onto her hips, pulling her down with every thrust, using her body like a goddamn toy, because that’s what she wants—her words, not yours. She’s a toy, a whore, a filthy little anal slut who wants nothing more than to milk the last fucking drop out of you.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” she pants, her nails dragging down your chest. “I know you do. I can feel it. You’re right there. Do it—cum inside my ass.”

Your brain goes blank. There’s no air, no words, just pleasure, pure and blistering, like you’ve been set on fire from the inside out. Your whole body seizes, hips jerking up into her as the orgasm slams into you like a bomb.

“Fuuuck—” you groan, head thrown back, every muscle tightening.

You cum. Hot, thick spurts of seed shoot deep into her tight little ass, each pulse more intense than the last, her body milking you with every squeeze, every rhythmic clench. It pours out of you, heavy and helpless, so much it feels like your balls are emptying themselves completely into her. She moans low and deep as she feels it, still grinding, slow now, purposeful, drawing out every spurt like she’s harvesting it.

“Fuck yes,” she groans, eyes fluttering shut. “So hot inside me… I can feel it—all of it. So warm. So fucking full.”

You can't stop moaning, your voice a pathetic, broken thing in the quiet of the bedroom. Your orgasm has left you hollowed out, your body trembling and weak, but she’s still moving. Her hips continue their slow, tight circles, grinding your now hypersensitive cock against the walls of her asshole. Every tiny movement sends a jolt of raw, overstimulated friction through you that’s almost painful. Your semi-flaccid cock twitches again, spasming weakly, squeezing out another dribble of cum into the hot, slick grip of her ass. The wet, squelching sound is obscene.

“Jesus,” you whisper. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, your whole body tense. “Irene—I can’t—please, stop…”

She just laughs. It’s not her usual soft, sweet chuckle. This is a low, throaty, cruel sound that vibrates down through her body and into yours. She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, her sweat-slick hair falling around her face like a dark curtain. Her eyes are glittering with a wild, sadistic light.

“Stop?” she purrs, her hips not pausing their relentless, grinding motion. “Oh, baby. We’re not stopping. We’re just getting started.” She grinds down harder, a deliberate, punishing circle that makes you cry out. “Remember earlier? When I was begging you to fuck me harder, and you just kept going slow? When you were teasing me, making me wait, making me plead for it?”

You nod weakly, your eyes squeezed shut.

“Well,” she says. “Payback’s a bitch. This is my revenge. Now it’s your turn to beg. It’s your turn to lie there and take it, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much you want me to stop. You don’t get to move. You don’t get to pull out. You just take it. Understood?”

“Irene… please… I’m empty,” you plead, your hips instinctively trying to squirm away from the relentless pressure.

Her hands shoot out, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your head. Her grip is surprisingly strong. “I said, don’t move,” she hisses. “And you are not empty. I know you, baby. I know your body. There’s always more. And I’m going to milk every last fucking drop out of you before I’m done.”

With your arms pinned, you’re completely at her mercy. She speeds up, just slightly. The slow, torturous grind transitions into a purposeful, steady rhythm. The wet, sloppy sounds of your cum lubricating her fucking get louder. She’s using your own release against you, turning it into a slick coating for her relentless ride.

“That’s it,” she moans, her own pleasure building again. “Feels so good, riding you when you’re this sensitive. I can feel your cock twitching inside my ass with every fucking squeeze. You love it, don’t you? Even though it hurts. You love being my toy.”

“It’s too much, babe…” you groan, your head thrashing on the pillow. Your cock, against all odds, is hardening again inside her, engorging with trapped blood, the sensitivity becoming an unbearable, burning ache.

“Too much? Oh, no. This isn’t even close to too much,” she taunts, her pace quickening even more. She starts bouncing on you, her ass slapping against your thighs, each impact sending a shockwave of sensation straight to your overstimulated nerves. “I’m not stopping until I cum again. And you’re going to be hard and buried inside my ass for that whole ride. You’re going to fill me up again while I’m screaming.”

She’s a fucking demon, a beautiful, insatiable nympho riding you into oblivion. She can feel you getting hard again, feel your body’s unwilling response. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.

“Oh, look at that,” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now. “Getting hard again for me. Such a good boy. You can’t help it, can you? Your cock just wants to please me. It just wants to be milked by my greedy little asshole.”

Her words are a death sentence to your self-control. Your body is already screaming, a raw nerve of overstimulation, but her filthy promises send a fresh wave of heat through you. You’re actually hardening again, impossibly, painfully, inside the slick, tight grip of her ass.

“You’re on the edge again, aren’t you?” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now, a brutal, merciless bouncing on your raw cock. “I can feel it. Your cock is twitching inside my ass, getting ready to shoot for me again. Good. I want it. I want your hot load coating my insides. I want to feel you pump every last drop into my greedy little hole.”

“Irene… please… I can’t…” you plead.

“Shhh. You don’t get a say in this. You don’t decide when you’re done. I do. I’m going to milk your balls dry, and you’re going to lie here and take it like the good little toy you are. I want to feel you come apart inside me. I want to feel you lose your fucking mind.”

She feels the tell-tale tremor run through you. She knows. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.

“Oh, yes… right there…” she hisses, her pace becoming even more punishing. “You’re going to give it to me now. You’re going to fill your whore’s ass up again. Fucking beg me for it. Beg me to let you cum.”

“Please,” you sob, the word ripped from a place beyond your control. “Please, Irene… let me cum… please…”

“That’s it,” she purrs. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

She lets go of your wrists, braces her hands on your shoulders, and with a final, guttural cry of her own, she sits down on you. Hard.

The sudden, overwhelming pressure is blinding. It forces the air from your lungs in a choked scream. Your body goes rigid, your back arching violently off the bed as the second orgasm rips through you with a force that feels like it’s tearing you apart. It's a complete system overload, a raw, involuntary expulsion that is pure, agonizing bliss.

Hot, thick ropes of your cum shoot deep inside her again, flooding her, filling the space that was already slick with your first release. You’re screaming, incoherent, your mind completely blanked out by the intensity.

As you flood her, a sound tears from her throat; not a taunt, but a raw, shocked scream of her own. Her whole body locks up, seizing around you. Her ass muscles spasm violently, a deep, powerful clenching that milks you even harder, drawing out every last drop of your release. The sheer force of you coming inside her, filling her so completely, has pushed her over her own edge.

“OH FUCK!” she screams, voice cracking as her own orgasm hits her suddenly. She’s coming apart on top of you, her body convulsing, her mind wiped clean. You feel her climax in the way her inner walls flutter and pulse around your still-erupting cock. She’s coming from your cum, from the feeling of being brutally, completely filled.

She rides out the violent waves, her body still moving on instinct, until the last shuddering tremor racks through both of you. Finally, with a long, shuddering sigh, she collapses, her body a dead weight on top of yours, her face buried in the crook of your neck. You’re both panting, drenched in sweat, completely and utterly broken. Her ass is still wrapped snugly around your now-softening cock, your combined releases making a warm, sticky mess between you.

For a long time, the only sound in the room is your ragged, shared breathing. You stroke her hair, your fingers trembling slightly, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks. She feels impossibly warm, impossibly real, molded against you.

You let the silence stretch, letting the intensity fade into a soft, warm quiet. You feel her press a weak, open-mouthed kiss against your throat.

“I love you, Irene,” you whisper. It's the first time you've told her that. It feels like the only true thing in the universe right now.

You feel her tense for a second, then melt against you even more. She lifts her head, her face a beautiful wreck. Her eyes are hazy, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. She looks at you, and the raw, unadulterated love in her gaze steals your breath all over again.

“I love you too,” she whispers back. She leans down and kisses you.

She pulls back, resting her forehead against yours. “Jesus,” she breathes, a shaky laugh escaping her. “No one’s ever… done that to me before.”

“Done what?” you murmur, your thumb stroking her cheek.

“That,” she says, her gaze soft and vulnerable. “Made me feel so… completely dominated. So used and broken. And then… made me feel so completely loved, all in the same breath. I didn't know that was possible.” She nuzzles her face into your chest. “I trust you so much. I can be… all of this… this filthy, needy thing… and I know you won't leave. I know you’ll still be here to hold me after. You are the first person to understand me completely."

You wrap your arms tighter around her. “I’m never leaving,” you say. “You can be whatever you want with me, Irene. Dominant, submissive, a fucking demon, an angel. It doesn’t matter. I’ll still be here. I’ll still love you.”

She sighs, a sound of pure, contented relief. “Good,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering shut. “Because I think you broke my ass. You’re going to have to carry me to the shower.”

You chuckle, kissing the top of her head. “Deal.”

—

An hour later, after a long, hot shower that washed away the sweat and cum but left the buzzing, bone-deep satisfaction, you're both on the couch, tangled together in a thick blanket. The apartment is quiet and dark, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp. You take the cake that Irene prepared and put it on the coffee table.

It's a rich, dark chocolate cake, with a glossy ganache frosting that’s a little uneven on the sides, a testament to the fact that she made it herself. A few simple, elegant chocolate shavings are scattered on top. It looks cute and real. You find a few candles in a drawer and stick them in the center.

"Alright, birthday boy," she murmurs. "Make a wish."

You look from the flickering candles to her face, her skin glowing in the warm light, her eyes soft and heavy-lidded with exhaustion and love. "Already got it," you say quietly.

You lean forward, and blow the candles out in a single, gentle puff. The wicks glow red for a moment before extinguishing, leaving thin trails of smoke curling in the air. You cut a large, messy slice and hold the fork up to her lips. She parts them, taking the bite, and her eyes flutter shut. A low, genuine moan of pure bliss rumbles in her chest.

“Holy shit,” she sighs as she chews slowly. “Okay. This is what I needed all along.”

You laugh, taking a bite yourself. "What, not the two hours of borderline-abusive anal sex?"

She nudges you with her shoulder, swallowing. “Okay, both,” she concedes, her lips quirking into a grin. “But this is a very, very close second. I can’t believe the cake actually turned out good. I had to whip it up in a rush before you got back from your walk.”

"This is honestly the best chocolate cake I've ever had," you say, meaning it. You pause, a wicked grin spreading across your face. "But... I think I still prefer the taste of it on your tits."

Her laugh is sudden and bright, a beautiful, airy sound. A faint blush colors her cheeks, and she hides her face in your shoulder for a second. "Oh my god, you're an idiot," she murmurs into your t-shirt, but she’s still shaking with laughter. “In my head it was an incredibly erotic idea.”

She leans her head against your shoulder, tucking her legs up under the blanket, and you both eat the cake in comfortable silence for a few minutes, sharing the fork.

“I really like this,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?” you ask, nudging her gently with your head. “What part?”

She sighs, a sound of deep, bone-deep contentment. “All of it. The chaos from earlier. The quiet now. You.” She pauses, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the blanket over your thigh. “Just… this. Sitting on a couch, eating cake. It feels so… normal. I haven’t felt normal in a very long time. I think I forgot what it was like.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and sincere. “For years, I just felt like this… lonely creature. Hiding. Just trying to get through the day without anyone really seeing me. It’s so nice to not feel like that anymore. To just be… here. With you. And for it to be this easy.”

You put the plate down and turn, wrapping your arms fully around her, pulling her into your lap. You kiss her forehead, holding her close. “This is your new normal, Irene,” you whisper into her hair. “You’re not a lonely creature. You’re my amazing, brilliant girlfriend who makes killer chocolate cake and who I get to come home to. You’re not alone anymore.”

She burrows her face into your neck, holding you tight. You feel a wetness on your skin and realize she’s crying, but it’s a quiet, happy, cleansing cry.

After a moment, she pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, a watery but radiant smile on her face. She leans in, kisses you softly, deeply.

“Happy birthday,” she whispers again against your lips. “This was a really good day.”

—

It’s deep into the night by the time you make it to bed. The room’s completely dark except for the faint glow of the city filtering in through the slats in the blinds. Irene’s lying on her side, bare under the sheets, one leg tangled with yours, her fingers lazily drawing circles on your chest.

“Can I tell you something?”

You turn to face her. “Always.”

She takes a breath. “It’s… about my past. The… stuff I used to do.”

You nod, gently brushing her hair back from her face. “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”

“No. I want to.” Her hand presses against your sternum, anchoring herself. “I just haven’t really… said this out loud in a long time. But I think it's time to tell you the whole story.”

You wait.

“I got into porn when I was twenty-one,” she says, slowly, like each word needs to be chosen carefully. “I was drowning in student loans. I’d dropped out after two years of college because I couldn’t keep up financially, and I was so fucking angry; at myself, at my parents, at the system. I was doing retail. I was behind on rent. I was living in a place with mold on the walls, sharing a mattress with someone I didn’t even like.”

You nod, your hand finding hers under the blanket and squeezing it.

“People think porn is this glamorous, expensive thing you fall into because you’re greedy or slutty or broken. But it wasn’t like that. It was desperation. And curiosity. And yeah, maybe a little recklessness too.” She chuckles, but it’s dry. “I found an ad on the internet. It was a new adult film studio that was gaining popularity. I think it no longer exists today, but it was becoming well-known at the time. The ad didn't say much, just ‘professional shoot, high pay, women 18–30.’ And I thought… fuck it. What else am I gonna do?”

A new adult film production company

Your thumb runs along her knuckles slowly. She continues.

“I wasn’t scared, really. I was more scared of being broke forever. I’d always been… into sex. A lot. Like, way more than anyone I knew. Masturbating three times a day since I was a teenager. Hookups that made my friends call me names behind my back. But porn? It felt like a way to finally own that part of myself. Monetize it. Flip the script.”

She shifts, her cheek brushing your chest. Her voice steadies, but it’s raw.

“The first shoot was awkward as hell. I cried afterward. Not because I hated it. I didn’t. I liked it. I liked the power of it, the thrill of being watched, of giving someone a fantasy and being in control of how far I’d take it. After spending 1 week filming the scenes, I came home with two thousand dollars in a brown envelope and the weirdest feeling that I’d just started something I couldn’t undo.”

The way she talks—it’s not rehearsed. It’s not for pity. It’s like she’s finally giving herself permission to speak it out loud.

“And from there it just… grew. I filmed more. I used different names. I met people who pulled me in deeper. Some were great, honestly. Some were predators. But the money came fast. I paid off my college debt in under a year. Got a better place. Better food. Clothes. And I was fucking constantly. It was like being high.”

She pauses. Her fingers clutch yours tighter.

“I got addicted. Not to the money. Not even to the attention. To the sex. To the permission. Like I was finally allowed to be as filthy as I’d always been inside. And people were clapping for it. Commenting. Downloading. Jerking off to me. I became this thing. A brand. A body.”

You feel her exhale. Her voice cracks at the edges.

“Eventually I couldn’t tell where Irene the girl ended and Irene the performer began. I’d be doing grocery shopping and people would stare at me and I’d wonder if they recognized me. Or if I was just imagining it. I stopped dating. Who the hell wants to date a girl who’s had fifty dicks on camera? I started pulling back. Told myself I’d film one last scene. Then another. Then another… Eventually I met a guy, he was nice. And I thought maybe this was my chance to leave that world and live a normal life. I had no idea what was yet to come.”

Her voice fades for a second, and you hear her swallow.

"My relationship fell apart when he discovered everything. I had every intention of telling him the truth—I swear I didn’t mean to deceive him—but it was such a difficult thing to bring up. I was trying to find the right moment, building up the courage. By then, I had already left the adult film industry and was working a regular job, trying to move on with my life. But I waited too long, and somehow, he found out. I still don’t know how it happened. Maybe one of his friends stumbled across something and told him, or perhaps he came across one of my old videos online. It doesn’t really matter now. After that, my world unraveled. He told everyone: our friends, even people at the company where I worked. The shame and judgment were overwhelming. So, I just… vanished. I cut ties completely. Deleted all my social media accounts, changed my phone number, and moved to a new city to start over.”

You can feel her heartbeat through her chest, thudding softly against yours.

“And since then, I’ve been alone. Not just physically. I mean… alone. I didn’t touch anyone. I didn’t let anyone touch me. I thought if I deprived myself long enough, I’d stop wanting it. That I’d be better. Cleaner. Deserving of a different life.”

She lifts her head, finally. She looks at you like she’s terrified. And yet still determined.

“Then you came along. And for the first time in years, I wanted to want again. Not just for the release. But for the way you looked at me. The way you talked to me, saw me. You didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared. You didn’t treat me like I was made of broken parts.”

You move your hand to her cheek and stroke it gently.

“I was scared I’d fall back into old habits. That if I let myself be touched again, I’d become… her. That insatiable thing. The one who always needed more. But it’s different with you. I don’t feel empty after. I don’t feel used.”

She exhales, her lips trembling. “I feel… real. Like I can breathe again. Like I’m allowed to be who I am. And still be loved.” Then quieter. “You don’t think I’m sick, do you?”

Your response is immediate. Fierce.

“No. Not even close.”

Her lip trembles. “I’ve done things that would probably make you run if I told you. Stuff I can’t take back. And I still want sex. I’ll probably always crave it too much. I’m still trying to balance it. Be healthy. Not lose myself in it again. But it’s hard. It’s messy. I feel like damaged goods, sometimes.”

You cup her face in both hands, pressing your forehead to hers.

“You are not damaged. You’re not sick. You’re brave. You’re human. And you’ve survived more than most people even think about. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. And you have a right to want. To need. To feel.”

She lets out a sound like a sob, but it turns into a laugh, wet and breathless.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “No one’s ever said that to me. Not like that. I don’t think anyone’s ever seen me like this. Not even me.”

You pull her close, so close there’s no air left between you.

“You deserve to be loved, Irene. Every inch. Every version. Every mood. You deserve it.”

She stays curled against your chest, her breath soft and steady now, her body wrapped around yours like she’s trying to memorize the shape of safety.

“I was such a bitch when I started,” she says.

“You were not.”

“I kind of was.” She laughs quietly, her nose brushing against your jaw. “I didn’t talk to anyone. I barely made eye contact with you the first two weeks.”

“You were reserved,” you correct her gently. “Not rude.”

“I was terrified,” she admits. “Not of you, just… of everything. I had the feeling that I was constantly being watched. I thought I’d last maybe a month before someone recognized me. Before the whispers started.”

You nod, stroking her spine slowly with your fingertips.

“I almost quit the second week,” she confesses. “I wrote the email. Had my resignation drafted and everything. I thought it’d be easier to just run. That’s always been my thing—run when it starts to feel like people care too much.”

You tilt your head, nudging her nose with yours.

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” she says, a small smile forming at the corner of her lips. “You wouldn’t let me.”

You smirk. “That makes me sound controlling.”

She giggles, quiet and real, the kind of laugh she only gives you when it’s just the two of you in the dark like this.

“No, you were just… kind. And persistent. You kept checking in. Bringing me coffee even when I wouldn’t talk to you. Including me in conversations even when I’d pretend I was busy.” You shrug like it was nothing. Because to you, it was nothing. The bare minimum. But to her? It’s clearly more. “I don’t think I would’ve stayed if it wasn’t for you,” she says, voice dipping lower again. “You didn’t push. You didn’t ask too much. You just… let me be, while still reminding me I wasn’t invisible.”

Her fingers skim your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over the corner of your mouth. “So yeah. Thank you. For being patient. For not giving up on me before you even knew what I was hiding.”

You meet her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I didn’t know what you were hiding, but I knew you were worth knowing. That was enough.” She looks like she’s about to protest again, maybe deflect or crack a joke, but you don’t let her. “And for the record,” you add, leaning in just a little, your lips grazing hers, “you being here tonight? With me? That’s the best birthday present I could’ve asked for.”

Her eyes flutter shut for a second like she’s letting it soak in. Then she leans forward and kisses you, slow and unsure at first, but then deeper, warmer, like her body’s catching up to what her heart’s just now starting to believe. Her fingers wind into your hair, her chest pressing to yours, and her lips stay against you for long moments, whispering wordless thank-yous between every soft drag of her mouth.

—

Everything is fine. For months, everything is fucking perfect.

The revelation of Irene’s past, that raw, terrifying confession in the dark of your bedroom, didn’t break you. It bonded you. A routine settles in, easy and comfortable. She keeps the apartment, a permanent fixture now, her quiet confidence growing day by day. She starts talking to people more, a small smile here, a shared joke there. She’s still Irene, reserved, observant, but the wall of fear has been dismantled, brick by brick. She’s a common face in your life now, an essential one. Her toothbrush is in your bathroom holder. Your hoodie is her favorite thing to sleep in. You trade nights at each other’s apartments, building a small, shared world of takeout, inside jokes, and lazy Sunday mornings.

And the sex. Fuck, the sex. Knowing her history, knowing the deep well of experience she draws from, only makes it hotter. It’s not just a physical act; it’s a form of communication, a place where she can be completely, uninhibitedly herself. And you… you’re falling in love with her. It’s not a sudden realization, but a slow, creeping certainty that settles in your bones. You’re in love with every part of her—the quiet office worker, the demanding lover, the brave woman who is learning to trust again. Everything is fine.

Until today.

The office is quiet. It’s break time on a Monday. Half the staff are outside or in the break room. You’re just walking back to your desk after refilling your water bottle when you see it. A huddle. Four, maybe five guys from the junior sales and IT teams, clustered around a workstation at the far end of the open-plan space. Their backs are to you, their shoulders hunched together, their focus absolute.

You hear murmurs, low and conspiratorial. A snicker.

"…Jesus, look at her take that…"

"No way that’s really her…"

"God, I’d pay good money…"

A familiar, unpleasant prickle goes up your spine. You start walking over, your curiosity piqued. Probably just watching some stupid viral video or a sports highlight. You come up behind them, peering over the shoulder of some fresh-faced IT kid.

And then you see it. Your heart stops. Literally fucking stops. The blood in your veins turns to ice.

On the monitor, displayed for anyone to see, is a porn video. The image is sharp, clear, and utterly undeniable. It’s her. It’s Irene. Younger, yes, but unmistakably her. She’s on her knees, her mouth wrapped around some guy’s cock, her eyes looking straight into the camera with a practiced, dead-eyed expression that is so alien from the woman you know it makes you physically sick.

You freeze. For one, long, terrible second, your brain cannot compute. The two realities: Irene, your Irene - the woman who makes you laugh and brings you cookies, and this woman on the screen, a sexual commodity - violently collide, and your mind just… shorts out.

You don’t even think. You move. You shove your way through the huddle of gawking men, their surprised yelps barely registering.

"Who the fuck put this on?" you scream, your words ripping through the quiet office, echoing off the partitions.

Your eyes land on the person in the chair. It’s fucking Kyle. A newbie from the sales team, barely twenty-two, a smirking, entitled little shit you’ve disliked from day one, the kind of kid who thinks sexual harassment policies are just a suggestion.

You grab him by the collar of his preppy polo shirt before he can even react, hauling him out of the chair, slamming him back against the cubicle wall. His feet scramble for purchase.

"Was this you?" you roar, your face inches from his, your knuckles white where you’re gripping his shirt. "Did you do this?”

His smug little face has dissolved into pure, slack-jawed terror. "Whoa, man, chill out! I-It wasn’t just me!" he stammers, his eyes wide, darting between you and the screen where Irene is now taking the guy’s cock deeper down her throat.

"I’m going to ask you one more fucking time," you snarl, giving him a hard shake. "Did. you. put. this. on?"

"N-no! I mean, yes, but—but Kevin recognized her!" he squeaks, pointing a trembling finger at another terrified-looking newbie cowering nearby. "He said he’d seen one of her movies before, and we didn’t believe him, so we just… we just looked it up to see if it was true! It was just a joke!"

"'A joke'?" you repeat. "You think this is a fucking JOKE? You had no right. No fucking right!" You draw your fist back, every ounce of rage in your body screaming at you to smash it into his stupid, terrified face, to wipe that pathetic excuse off the planet.

"Hey! What the hell is going on over here?"

The commotion has drawn a crowd. Park Sooyoung from HR is there, her face a mask of stern disapproval. Seulgi from accounts is peering over a cubicle wall. And then, among the new faces trickling in from the break room, drawn by your shouting, you see her.

Irene.

She stops, a cup of tea in her hand, a look of mild curiosity on her face. Then she follows everyone’s gaze. First to you, holding Kyle pinned against the wall. Then to the huddle of now-terrified men. And finally… to the monitor.

Time slows down. You watch as her eyes land on the screen, as they widen, as she processes the grainy, moving image of her younger self. You see the exact moment of recognition. You see the color drain from her face, leaving it a sickly, ashen grey. You see her mouth fall open in a silent, horrified expression. You see her worst fear, the trauma she’s been running from for years, realized in the most brutal, public way imaginable. And it breaks your fucking heart. The rage in you evaporates, replaced by a cold, sickening horror that mirrors her own.

Her cup slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor, splashing hot tea across the grey carpet. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes are still glued to the screen, her body frozen. Then, a choked, strangled sound escapes her lips. She turns, her face a mask of such absolute, bone-deep horror that it will be seared into your memory forever, and she runs.

"Irene!"

You let go of Kyle, shoving him away so hard he stumbles and falls. You push past Wendy, past the stunned onlookers, your entire being focused on getting to her. But she’s already at her desk, her movements frantic, clumsy. She snatches her handbag, her hands shaking so badly she can barely hold it.

"Irene, wait!" you call out, but she’s not listening. She’s a cornered animal, driven only by the instinct to escape. She bolts, running for the elevators, her footsteps echoing in the now-silent, watching office.

You lunge, your body moving on pure instinct, throwing yourself through the gap just as the polished steel doors of the elevator begin to slide shut. You land inside with a heavy thud, the doors closing behind you, sealing you both in the small, descending box. The world outside: the shocked faces, the murmuring, the obscene image still frozen on that monitor, is gone. It’s just you and her.

And she’s broken.

Irene doesn’t just stumble; she collapses. Her body gives out completely, her legs folding beneath her as she hits the floor in a heap. A raw, animal sound of pure agony is torn from her throat, a sound that has nothing to do with the quiet, composed woman you know. She curls into a fetal position on the cold, sterile floor, her hands clawing at her hair, her whole body shaking with violent, uncontrollable tremors.

"No… no, no, no…" she gasps, her words dissolving into ragged, hyperventilating breaths.

This isn't just crying. This is a panic attack, full-blown and terrifying. You’re on the floor with her in an instant, you gather her into your arms, pulling her trembling body against your chest, trying to shield her from a horror that’s already inside her head.

"Irene, hey, I’m here. I’ve got you," you murmur. You hug her tight, trying to use your own body to still her shaking. "Breathe, baby. Just try to breathe with me."

"I knew it," she whines, her face buried in your shirt. "Oh god, I knew this would happen… I was so stupid… so fucking stupid to think I could just… leave it behind…" Her words are punctuated by desperate, panicked gasps for air. "It’s never going to stop. It’s always going to find me. It’ll never fucking stop haunting me…"

"Shh, shh, no, that’s not true," you insist, your heart fracturing at the sheer, raw despair in her words. You gently take her face in your hands, forcing her to look away from the floor, to look at you. Her eyes are wild, unfocused, her beautiful face streaked with tears and twisted in a mask of pure terror. "Irene. Hey. Look at me." Your tone is firm but gentle, trying to cut through the noise in her head. "Look at me. I’m right here. You see me?"

Her gaze flickers, struggles to focus on yours. She gives a tiny, shuddering nod.

"Good," you say, your thumbs stroking her tear-soaked cheeks. "You are not alone in this. Do you hear me? I am not leaving you. Not now, not ever. We… we can get through this. Together. But I need you to be strong right now, Irene. I need you to just hold on for me. Can you do that?"

"I can’t…" she chokes out, a fresh wave of sobs shaking her. "I can’t go back there. I can’t face them. I can’t…"

"You don’t have to," you say immediately. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do." And then, the words, the most honest, urgent truth you possess, just… come out. A desperate anchor thrown into the storm of her panic. "I love you, Irene."

Her frantic, panicked breathing stutters. Her wide, terrified eyes blink, the wildness in them receding for just a second, replaced by a look of stunned, utter disbelief. She stares at you as if she’s never seen you before.

"I love you," you repeat. "And because I love you, I will fight for you. I will protect you. Those fuckers who did this? They will be punished. They will be gone from that office before the sun comes up tomorrow, I fucking swear it. I will talk to Henderson. I will talk to HR. I will talk to every single person in that office and I will explain exactly what happened; that a couple of immature, pathetic little shits violated your privacy and humiliated you, and that they don’t represent what our company stands for."

You lean closer, your forehead pressing against hers. "Remember what I said? That it’s a good office, with good people? That is still true, Irene. The people who did this… they are the exception. They are newbies who don’t fucking belong there. You do. You belong there."

Her breathing is starting to even out, her gaze still fixed on yours, clinging to your words.

"You don’t have to be silent," you continue. "You don’t have to hide. I can be your voice, if you want me to. I will scream for you until my own throat is raw. All I ask… all I need from you right now… is that you don’t run away. Not from this. And not from me."

For a long moment, she just looks at you, the tears still flowing silently down her face, but the raw panic has subsided. Then, with a shuddering cry that’s more relief than pain, she collapses forward, her arms wrapping around your neck, clinging to you as if you’re the only solid thing in a world that has just disintegrated around her.

"I love you too," she whispers, her words muffled against your shoulder, choked with sobs. "God, I love you so much."

A huge, shaky smile breaks across your face, even as your own eyes start to burn. You hug her back, hard, burying your face in her hair, breathing in her scent. "That’s great," you whisper, laughing a little through the sheer, overwhelming emotion of it all. "That’s… that’s all that matters." You pull back, looking into her eyes again. "We can do this, Irene. Together."

She looks at you, her face a mess, her body still trembling, but for the first time since this nightmare started, there’s a flicker of her old strength, her resilience, in her eyes. She nods, a small, jerky movement. "Yes," she says. "Okay. Yes. I can… I can try."

Just then, a soft chime rings through the small space, and the elevator doors slide open with a gentle whoosh, revealing the brightly lit, indifferent emptiness of the ground floor lobby.

—

The hours that followed your escape in the elevator were a blur of cold, focused fury. While Irene was safely behind the locked door of your apartment, you went to war. You didn’t just want to find out what happened; you wanted names, you wanted details, and you wanted blood. Leveraging your supervisor credentials and a couple of quiet, pointed conversations with reliable sources (people you knew weren’t part of the office’s smirking underbelly) the whole pathetic story spilled out.

It was exactly as the terrified little shit Kyle had stammered. A rookie named Kevin, a recent transfer from another branch, had recognized Irene. He’d apparently bragged to his new friend Kyle that he’d jerked off to one of her films back in college. Kyle, ever the skeptic and dickhead, had called bullshit. So, on a slow Monday afternoon, they looked her up. When they found the videos, confirming Kevin’s claim, their pathetic little minds were blown. They couldn’t just keep it to themselves. They had to prove their discovery, gathering a small, willing audience of other bored, morally bankrupt juniors to gawk at their coworker’s past, laid bare on a company monitor.

The ugliest part, the detail that made you want to find them and break their fucking hands, came from Park Sooyoung in HR, who had pulled one of the other witnesses aside. Just before you’d walked in, Kyle had allegedly joked to the group that maybe he should make Irene a "proposal" (a bit of quid pro quo). She could fuck him, and in exchange, he’d keep her secret from spreading to the rest of the company. He claimed, when confronted, that it was "just banter." You classified it as attempted blackmail and gross misconduct of the highest order.

Their expulsion was swift and brutal. You, Sooyoung, and Henderson, the big boss himself, had them in a conference room before they could even clock out. By the time they were escorted out by security, their careers at Henderson Corp were over, and the big boss promised you he’d be making a few calls. Thanks to his contacts, those two little shits were going to have a very, very difficult time finding another job in this industry, in this city, ever again.

Now, the next morning, you stand at the head of the main conference room. Your entire team is here, seated around the long, polished table. And so is Irene. She’s sitting between Wendy and another woman from her department, a silent, formidable wall of female support flanking her. She looks pale, exhausted, her eyes slightly puffy, but she’s here. She showed up. The sheer, breathtaking courage of that simple act makes you look at the people in the room with renewed determination.

You clear your throat, and the room falls silent. Everyone’s eyes are on you.

"Good morning, everyone," you begin, your tone calm, level, professional. You let your gaze travel around the room, meeting the eyes of each person there. "I’ve called this meeting because I need to address the incident that occurred in our workspace yesterday afternoon. I’m not going to go into the explicit details, because frankly, they are irrelevant. What is relevant, what is critical for every single one of us to understand, is what that incident represents."

You pause, letting the weight of your words sink in.

"Yesterday, a member of our team had her fundamental right to privacy violated in the most egregious way possible. She was exposed, without her consent, to a small group of employees in an act that constitutes severe, targeted harassment." You can feel the anger, still simmering just below the surface, but you keep it leashed, transforming it into cold, hard authority. "Let me be absolutely, unequivocally clear: this type of behavior is not just unacceptable within this company; it is antithetical to everything we stand for. This is a zero-tolerance policy issue. The individuals responsible for perpetrating this act, for creating what is legally defined as a hostile work environment, have already been terminated. Their access has been revoked, and they will not be returning."

A few people shift uncomfortably in their seats. Good. Let them be uncomfortable.

"We are all human beings here," you continue, your tone shifting slightly, becoming more personal, more human. "We come to this office every day from different walks of life. We all have experiences, we all have histories, we all have traumas and triumphs and pasts that are entirely our own. And no one—no one—in this room, or in this company, has the right to excavate another person’s history and put it on public display for their own amusement or judgment. The moment we start believing we have that right is the moment we lose our own humanity."

Your eyes find Irene’s across the room. She looks up, meeting your gaze. You give her a small, almost imperceptible smile, one meant only for her.

"I am incredibly proud, and frankly, humbled," you say as you continue to look at her, "that our coworker chose to walk back into this office today. That she chose to stay with this team, even after what happened. That choice shows an incredible amount of trust in us. In all of us." You look around the room again, at your team. "It shows that she believes this incident was an anomaly. That she believes the rest of us are better than that. And I hope, I expect, that every single one of you will spend every day proving to her that she is absolutely right to place her trust in us once more."

"We have an obligation to maintain not just a physically safe workspace, but a psychologically safe one. And what happened yesterday was a profound breach of that psychological safety. It will not happen again." You take a deep breath. "Irene, what you did today, just by being here, took more courage than most people will have to show in their entire careers. You are facing this with your head held high, and you have the full, unwavering support of this company’s leadership, and of your team." You start clapping, a slow, deliberate sound in the quiet room. "I’d like to ask for a round of applause for Irene."

For a split second, there’s silence. Then, Sarah, sitting next to Irene, starts clapping loudly. Then another person, and another, until the entire room erupts in a wave of sustained, genuine applause. It’s not polite, corporate clapping; it’s loud, it’s heartfelt. The women beside Irene grab her hands, squeezing them tight, hugging her shoulder. You see a single, fresh tear roll down Irene’s cheek, but this time, she’s smiling through it, a watery, overwhelmed, but real smile.

You let the applause continue for a long moment, a testament to her, a cleansing of the ugliness from yesterday. When it finally dies down, you clap your hands together once, a sharp, decisive sound that brings the focus back to you.

"Alright," you say, your tone shifting back to that of a no-nonsense supervisor. "Thank you for your attention. The matter is dealt with. Let’s get back to work. We have deadlines to meet, and no one is slacking off on my watch."

A few nervous chuckles ripple through the room as people start to stand, the tension finally broken. You wait as the last person files out of the conference room. You inhale and exhale slowly your shoulders slumping slightly. It’s over. The worst is over.

Then, you hear the soft scrape of a chair. It’s Irene. She didn’t leave with the others. She pushes herself to her feet and slowly walks towards you, navigating the maze of chairs.

"That was a great speech," she says.

You manage a tired grin, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Well, I have to live up to my fancy supervisor title sometimes, right? Can’t just be about chasing you for reports and stealing your pens."

Her smile widens. "Henderson steals the pens, not you."

"Right." You look at her, and she looks, even at this delicate moment, the most beautiful woman in the world. "How are you doing? For real."

She considers the question for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "I’ll be fine," she says. "Tired. A little… wrung out. But I’ll be fine."

"Do you think you can work today?" you ask gently. "Because if you want to go home, you just say the word. I’ll handle everything here."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I want to stay. I need to stay." She meets your eyes, and there’s a flicker of her newfound fire in them. "I’m done running."

"Okay," you nod. "Okay. But you take it easy." You pause, then a thought strikes you, a desire to anchor this new beginning with something normal, something just for you two. "Hey. You wanna… you wanna go out to dinner tonight? After work? A proper place, with tablecloths and everything. No dive bars."

"Wow, look at you," she teases. "We’re evolving. No more getting me drunk at a bar. Now it’s romantic dinners?"

"Well, now that you've said you love me—twice—I figure I don’t have to get you drunk anymore to trick you into liking me. Saves me some money."

She chuckles again, reaching out and patting your shoulder lightly. "You’re an idiot." Her expression softens, her eyes searching yours. "Hey… can I kiss you?"

You glance instinctively towards the glass door of the conference room, a conditioned reflex. "As long as it’s quick," you whisper back, your heart starting to hammer again for a much, much better reason.

She rises up on her tiptoes, her hands coming to rest on your chest, and presses her lips to yours. It starts as a quick, sweet thank you, but neither of you can hold back. It deepens, fast, her mouth opening against yours, your arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against you. It’s a long, full, passionate kiss, filled with all the terror and relief and love of the last twenty-four hours. It’s a victory.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathless, she reaches up with her thumb and gently wipes the corner of your mouth. "My lipstick," she murmurs. She looks you right in the eye, her own gaze clear and steady. "I love you," she says again, not as a desperate confession in a falling elevator, but as a simple, solid statement of fact.

"I love you too, Irene," you reply.

She rests her forehead against yours for a moment, a comfortable, contended sigh escaping her. "I’m happy to be here," she says softly. "I like it here."

You smile, a teasing glint in your eye. "I hope that’s because of me, and not just because of the significant salary increase and comprehensive benefits package."

"Mmm, it’s mostly because of the salary, to be honest," she says, deadpan. "But you’re nice too, I guess."

"Alright, you," you say, reaching out to playfully nudge her. "We better get going before someone walks in and finds us. Back to pretending we’re just professional coworkers."

"Okay, boss," she says. As you both turn to leave, she gives your ass a sharp, surprising slap.

You yelp, jumping in surprise and turning to look at her with wide, laughing eyes. "Hey! That’s harassment!"

She just winks, her smile turning wicked. "Not my fault you have such a nice ass."

You shake your head, still laughing, a feeling of pure, unadulterated joy bubbling up inside you. "Well, it seems like you’re not that shy, mysterious woman from a few months ago anymore."

She steps closer, looping her arm through yours, leaning her head on your shoulder as you walk towards the door together.

"You’re right," she says, and that confidence of hers that you love so much is back. "I’m not." She looks up at you, her eyes full of love and fire and endless possibilities. "Now, I’m your woman.”

[kole-cooler]

Armistice

Irene x m!reader

16k words

It's another wonderful day at work.

You're elbows deep in debugging some absolute spaghetti code left behind by whichever poor soul had this project before you landed here and basically started speedrunning corporate success. Honestly, it's kinda fun, like untangling a really stubborn knot, and you're making headway faster than anyone expected. Again. Which is probably why the person sitting directly opposite you looks like she's plotting your slow, painful demise via a thousand papercuts.

Bae Joohyun. Irene. Whatever. The talented Senior Analyst is glaring holes into her monitor, fingers typing methodically for minutes on end. You've learned to mostly tune out the low-level hum of animosity radiating from her cubicle. Ever since you arrived, the office has become a silent battlefield defined by your special talent for poking her buttons and her exquisite ways of retaliating - it's a private war, just you and her, and if you're honest, which you usually are, (internally at least), you kinda dig having her undivided, furious attention focused right on you. But it's a completely harmless dynamic, of course, mostly fought with weaponized sighs and strategically 'misplaced' documents, so there are no actual injuries... for now.

The scent of mediocre office coffee hits your nose before she even rounds the corner of your sad little grey cubicle wall. You look up, genuinely surprised for a second. Irene is standing there, holding two steaming paper cups like some kind of caffeine-bearing angel of death. She almost never initiates contact unless it's work-related and unavoidable, and even then, it's usually clipped and bordering on hostile.

She thrusts one of the cups towards you, avoiding direct eye contact. Her expression is... carefully neutral.

Red flag number one.

"Here."

Just one word. Wow. Must have taken Herculean effort. Still, coffee is coffee, and you were just thinking about getting some. Maybe she's trying to bury the hatchet? Unlikely, but hey, stranger things have happened. Like you getting promoted twice in six months while she’s been diligently treading water in the same spot for five years.

Okay, maybe not that strange.

"Whoa, thanks, Joohyun," you say, making a point of using her actual name because you know it bugs her when people she doesn't like do it. You take the cup, your fingers brushing hers for a millisecond. Static electricity? Or just wishful thinking? Her hand snatches back like you burned her. Definitely wishful thinking. "Didn't know you cared."

She finally looks at you, a flicker of something unreadable in those dark eyes before it's gone, replaced by practiced indifference.

"Just grabbed an extra."

She turns away before you can reply, retreating back to the relative safety of her own desk. Okay. Weird, but free coffee. You shrug and take a generous gulp, ready for that sweet, sweet caffeine hit to power you through the rest of this coding nightmare...

Motherfucker.

The liquid hitting your tongue is less ‘morning pick-me-up’ and more ‘battery acid mixed with Satan’s ass sweat’. It's unbelievably bitter, acrid, like someone brewed coffee using dirt and pure spite. You choke, sputtering, barely managing not to spray it all over your keyboard. Your eyes water instantly.

Did someone actually try to poison you?

Across the way, a small sound escapes Irene. A choked-off giggle. You whip your head up, eyes narrowed, just in time to see her shoulders shaking slightly. Her head is bowed, but you can see the corners of her mouth twitching violently. Oh, you know that look.

She lifts her head, biting her lip, but the laughter spills out anyway – a bright, surprisingly melodic sound that’s completely at odds with the usual storm cloud hovering over her.

"Oh my god! Oh my god, I am so sorry!"

She’s failing miserably at sounding sincere, gasping for air between laughs.

"That must be mine! I got black, no sugar, extra shot–" she waves her own cup, "–this must be yours. Sorry!"

She pushes her chair back and practically skips over, grabbing the toxic sludge from your hand and replacing it with the cup she was holding. She’s still grinning, a wide, mischievous smile that completely transforms her face. It makes her look pretty, almost playful. And yeah, still really fucking cute. Annoyingly cute.

You take the new cup warily, sniffing it first. Smells like actual coffee this time. Maybe some kind of latte? You take a tentative sip. Ah, bliss. Sweet, creamy, actually palatable. You look back at her, raising an eyebrow.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Her eyes go wide in mock innocence, but the smile doesn't fade. If anything, it gets wider.

"What? No! Why would I do that? It was an honest mistake."

She leans against the flimsy wall of your cubicle, crossing her arms. The pose pushes her chest out slightly against the simple blouse she’s wearing. You pointedly drag your eyes away from that area and back to her face. Liar.

"Because you're an evil, coffee-sabotaging psychopath, Bae Joohyun. That's why."

The use of her full name again makes her smile flicker for a split second, but she recovers quickly.

"I am not a psychopath," she insists, though the laughter dancing in her eyes totally undermines the statement. "It was an accident. Clumsy me."

"Uh-huh. Clumsy you who just happened to give me the cup that tastes like burnt charcoal?"

"Maybe you just have unrefined taste?" she shoots back, tilting her head. "Mine is an acquired taste. Sophisticated."

"Sophisticated?" you scoff, taking another, much more satisfying sip of the latte she apparently bought for you. Wait. Did she actually buy this for you? Or was this also part of the 'accident'? "Sophisticated like licking a nine-volt battery?"

She laughs again, properly this time. It’s weird hearing it directed at you without malice. Mostly.

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," she winks, then pushes off the wall. "Enjoy your correct coffee. Try not to spill it, newbie."

She saunters back to her desk, leaving you slightly bewildered and weirdly charmed. Okay, so she's a menace. A petty, coffee-tampering menace. But the smile? The laugh? That was... something. You can't help the small smile that tugs at your own lips as you watch her settle back down, immediately plastering her 'focused professional' face back on, though you think you see her hide another small smile behind her hand.

The next few hours pass in a state of low-grade trench warfare, which is pretty much standard operating procedure for you two. You ‘accidentally’ CC her on an email chain praising your team’s recent (mostly your) accomplishments. She ‘helpfully’ points out a typo in a report you finished ages ago, sending it back with track changes highlighting the single incorrect comma. You change her desktop background to an aggressively cheerful cartoon sloth. She retaliates by ‘accidentally’ dropping a heavy binder near your foot that makes you jump.

It’s childish. It’s ridiculous. It’s also, somehow, the most entertaining part of your workday. You find yourself glancing over at her more than strictly necessary, catching her doing the same. There’s a weird energy crackling in the air between your cubicles today, different from the usual simmering resentment. It’s lighter, almost... fun. She meets your eyes once, a challenge glinting in hers, and you just grin back, provocative.

The fragile détente is broken by the intercom buzzing to life. It’s Mr. Choi, the division head. Your boss. Her boss. The big boss.

"Ms. Bae, could you come to my office, please?"

The shift is instantaneous. Irene straightens up, the playful irritation wiped clean from her features, replaced by cool, efficient professionalism. She smooths down her skirt – a perfectly tailored pencil skirt today, you note distractedly – and stands, grabbing a notepad and pen. She gives you one quick, unreadable glance as she walks past your cubicle, heading towards the corner offices.

Right, so Irene vanishes into the mahogany-lined sanctum of Mr. Choi, leaving you to your devices and the lingering taste of non-poisonous latte. You try to focus back on the code, but your ears are practically straining towards the boss’s closed door. What’s going on in there? Is she getting chewed out? Promoted? Fired and replaced by a more efficient coffee machine? The possibilities are endless, and infinitely more interesting than Javascript errors.

A few minutes crawl by, each one stretching like taffy. Wendy from Accounting sighs loud enough to register on the Richter scale. Someone microwaves fish again – seriously, who does that? You’re just about to give up hope and dive back into the digital trenches when the intercom crackles again, this time, calling your name.

Okay, now things are officially Interesting with a capital I. You quickly save your work, smooth down your clothes (whatever suitably cool-but-casual thing you threw on this morning), and head towards the corner office, a little bounce in your step. Maybe you’re getting praised again. Maybe they’re announcing your joint promotion and Irene will have an aneurysm right there on the expensive carpet. Win-win, really.

You rap lightly on the heavy doorframe.

"Come in!" Choi’s voice booms.

You push the door open and step inside. Yep, there she is. Irene’s standing rigidly beside one of the guest chairs, posture ramrod straight, hands clasped tightly behind her back. Her face is a carefully constructed mask of neutrality, but you can see the tension in her jaw, the slight flare of her nostrils. She refuses to look at you, her gaze fixed somewhere over Choi’s left shoulder. Mr. Choi himself is beaming behind his ridiculously oversized desk, radiating the kind of forced corporate bonhomie that usually means someone’s about to get screwed over.

"Ah, here you are, thanks for joining us! Close the door, have a seat."

You flash a quick, confident smile, closing the door and taking the plush leather chair opposite Irene’s stiff form. She still doesn’t acknowledge you.

Choi leans forward, steepling his fingers. "So, I’ve just been discussing an exciting opportunity with Ms. Bae, and I wanted to loop you in."

He launches into it. Apparently, there's this potentially lucrative partnership with an older, established company – Ishikawa Tech or something equally generic-sounding. They're big on tradition, nostalgia, all that crap. Means they want to sign the final contracts in person, shake hands, maybe sacrifice a goat, who knows. The meeting point? Some coastal city known for its seafood and slightly depressing beaches. Not exactly Paris, but hey, it’s not here.

"It's a significant deal," Choi continues, his eyes flicking between you and Irene. "Requires a delicate touch. Which is why I want our best on it." He nods towards Irene. "Ms. Bae has meticulously handled the groundwork, knows the Ishikawa team inside out. Naturally, she’ll be taking the lead on finalizing everything."

Irene gives a stiff, almost imperceptible nod. You can practically feel the 'but' coming.

"However," Choi adds, turning his beaming smile onto you, "this company is also very interested in our recent innovations.”

Oh boy, here it comes.

"You've shown exceptional drive and talent since joining us," Choi continues, laying it on thick. "But client-facing negotiation, especially with... traditionalists like Ishikawa, is a different beast. So, you'll be accompanying Ms. Bae."

He gestures towards Irene, who visibly flinches.

"She'll show you the ropes, guide you through the process. Think of it as a mentorship field trip."

Mentorship field trip. Brilliant. You fight the urge to laugh out loud. This is golden. Annoying Irene and getting a paid trip out of town? Sign you the fuck up.

"That sounds fantastic, Mr. Choi!" you say, injecting maximum enthusiasm into your voice. You turn to Irene, putting on your most earnest 'eager student' face. "Wow, Irene, thanks for taking me under your wing. I'm really looking forward to learning from your experience."

You see her knuckles whiten where her hands are clasped behind her back. Her mask cracks just enough for you to see the fury simmering beneath.

"Mr. Choi," Irene begins, her voice dangerously low and tight, yet somehow still retaining that soft, almost breathy quality she can’t seem to shake, even when she’s furious. It's a bizarre contrast. "With all due respect, I appreciate the confidence, but I really don't think that's necessary."

"Oh?" Choi raises an eyebrow, his smile tightening fractionally.

"This negotiation is at a critical stage," Irene presses on, finally looking at Choi directly, though she still pointedly ignores you. "It requires focus and familiarity with the nuances of the Ishikawa account, which I possess. Bringing someone... new... into the dynamic at this point could potentially jeopardise the deal. It seems inefficient."

Translation: She doesn't want you anywhere near her important project, and definitely not cramping her style on a trip.

"Efficiency is important, Ms. Bae, but so is growth," Choi counters smoothly. "And teamwork." He leans back, his expression turning serious. "Look, let's be frank. We have several key leadership positions opening up next quarter. I'm looking for individuals who not only excel in their roles but can also collaborate, mentor, and lead effectively."

He pauses, letting the implication hang in the air. Oh, he’s good.

"This trip," he continues, his gaze sweeping over both of you, "is more than just signing a contract. It's a test. Can our seasoned veterans work constructively with our rising stars? Can you two," he gestures between you, "function as a team to achieve a critical objective?"

Irene's lips thin into a white line. She knows exactly where this is going.

"Because frankly," Choi adds, his voice dropping slightly, becoming steelier, "if showcasing teamwork is going to be an issue... if you're opposed to this collaborative approach, Ms. Bae... then perhaps I need to reconsider who takes the lead on this trip altogether. Maybe someone else is better suited to represent the company's future direction."

Checkmate. The threat hangs there, unspoken but crystal clear: Play ball with the newbie, or kiss your chance at climbing out of middle-management purgatory goodbye. You watch Irene wrestle with it. Her pride is practically screaming, but the ambition, the years of grinding away hoping for a break just like this? That’s a powerful motivator too. You see the exact moment her ambition wins. Her shoulders slump, just fractionally.

"...No, sir," she says, the words sounding like they're physically painful to utter. "That won't be an issue. I understand the importance of teamwork. We'll make it work."

Choi beams again, all trace of steeliness gone. "Excellent! That's what I like to hear. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?" He chuckles at his own terrible joke. Irene does not. "Okay then! The trip is scheduled for next week. Flights, hotel, itinerary – my assistant will email you all the details by end of day tomorrow. Good work, both of you. Dismissed."

You stand up, practically buzzing. Irene pushes herself away from the wall like she's moving underwater. You walk out together, the silence stretching awkwardly between you in the corridor. You can't resist:

"Well," you say cheerfully, bumping her shoulder lightly. "This should be fun, huh? Team building!"

Irene stops dead, whirling around to face you. If looks could kill, you’d be a pile of ash on the industrial carpet. Her dark eyes are blazing, her pale cheeks are flushed with anger, and her perfectly shaped lips are pressed so tightly together they’ve almost disappeared. She looks like she wants to rip your throat out. And yet… that voice. When she finally speaks, it's incredibly smooth, but vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage.

"Fun," Irene grits out. She prepares to say something else, but gives up halfway. "Just… stay out of my way."

And with that, she turns on her heel and practically stomps back towards her cubicle, leaving you standing there in the hallway, a wide grin spreading across your face. Oh yeah. This trip was going to be anything but boring.

—

Right, so the week before the trip happens is basically a masterclass in passive aggression, mostly radiating from one Bae Joohyun. She communicates primarily through curt emails that somehow manage to sound personally offended by your existence. She avoids eye contact like you’ve got Medusa hair. If you happen to pass her in the hallway, she develops a sudden, intense interest in the ceiling tiles or her own shoes. It’s kind of impressive, really, the sheer effort she puts into pretending you’re invisible.

Naturally, you respond with escalating levels of cheerful provocation. You leave a bright pink sticky note on her monitor that just says "Smile! :)" which earns you a glare so lethal you’re surprised your hair doesn’t catch fire. You hum loudly (slightly off-key) whenever she’s trying to concentrate. You ‘accidentally’ start using the ridiculously oversized novelty mug someone left in the kitchen, the one you know she secretly coveted, for your disgusting instant coffee. Petty? Absolutely. Fun? Definitely. By the time Friday rolls around, the air between your cubicles is thick enough with tension to require a machete.

Travel day arrives, grey and early. You drag your suitcase (packed efficiently, because unlike some people, you don’t need five years to prepare for a three-day trip) towards the designated airline check-in area. The airport buzzes with that unique blend of frantic energy and soul-crushing boredom. You scan the crowds, looking for a small, probably scowling figure radiating waves of displeasure.

Bingo. There she is, standing near the gate information screen, looking ridiculously out of place. She’s wearing tailored black trousers, heels (seriously, heels for a flight?), and a crisp white blouse under a sharp blazer. Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek, severe ponytail. Even her small carry-on suitcase looks expensive and judgmental. You, meanwhile, are rocking comfortable jeans, sneakers, and a well-worn band t-shirt under your open jacket. You both have coats slung over your arms – the destination city is apparently known for being chilly, especially at night. You approach her, dragging your offensively non-designer suitcase.

"Morning, sunshine!" you chirp, offering your most annoying grin. "Ready for our big adventure?"

Irene jumps slightly, clearly not having heard you approach over the airport din. She turns, and her expression tightens when she sees you. So much for burying the hatchet.

"Don't call me sunshine," she says flatly. "Do you have your boarding pass? We need to get through security."

"Relax, Joohyun-ah," you drawl, enjoying the way her eye twitches at the informal suffix. "Got everything right here. Plenty of time. Flight doesn't board for another hour."

She just gives you a withering look, checks her watch pointedly, and turns towards the security line without another word. You sigh dramatically and follow her, maneuvering your bag around a slow-moving family. The flight itself is… uneventful. Mostly because Irene immediately puts on noise-cancelling headphones and pretends to sleep, effectively building a wall between you thicker than any cubicle divider. Fine by you. You watch a terrible action movie on the tiny screen and try not to think about how close her knee is to yours in the cramped economy seats.

Hours later, you land. It's dark outside, the runway lights glittering against the blackness. Stepping off the plane, the air feels different – cooler, maybe cleaner than back home. The airport is quieter than the one you left, smaller, with that slightly liminal feel of arrival halls late at night. You grab your bags from the carousel (yours appears instantly; hers takes ages, much to her visible, though silent, frustration) and head towards the exit signs.

Your stomach rumbles. Plane food was predictably awful.

"Hey, wanna grab something to eat before we hit the road?" you suggest, nodding towards a generic-looking cafe tucked away near the rental car area. "My treat. Well, Choi's treat." You dangle the shiny corporate credit card enticingly.

Irene hesitates. You can see the internal conflict. On one hand: dealing with you longer than absolutely necessary. On the other hand: free food and a valid excuse to delay the multi-hour drive she’s clearly dreading. Pragmatism (and maybe hunger) wins.

"Fine," she concedes, sighing like it’s a huge imposition. "But make it quick. We need to get the car and make up some time."

You find a booth in the brightly lit, mostly empty cafe. It smells faintly of stale coffee and disinfectant. Cheerful. You order burgers and fries – comfort food – while Irene opts for a sad-looking salad and black coffee. Because of course she does. While you wait, she pulls out a sleek tablet and immediately switches into work mode.

"Okay," she starts, tapping the screen and pulling up documents filled with charts and bullet points. "Ishikawa's main point person is Kenji Tanaka. He's old school, values formality and long-term relationships over quick wins. We need to emphasize stability, reliability..."

She launches into a detailed breakdown of the negotiation strategy, potential pitfalls, key phrases to use and avoid. You have to admit, she knows her shit. She’s thorough, prepared, and clearly passionate about nailing this deal. It’s almost attractive, seeing her in her element, laser-focused and competent. Almost.

You lean back, popping a stray fry into your mouth while she talks. You nod occasionally, but your eyes keep drifting to the scrolling news ticker on the muted TV above the counter, then to the tired-looking barista wiping down the espresso machine. Irene pauses, noticing your wandering attention.

"Are you even listening?" she asks, irritation sharpening her soft voice.

"Hm? Yeah, totally," you say, turning back to her. "Tanaka, old school, hates fun, got it. So, basically, just be my opposite?"

She pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. "This isn't a joke. This is important. Mr. Choi put me in charge of this, but your performance reflects on the team effort. Can you please try and take this seriously?"

"I am taking it seriously," you protest mildly, stealing another fry. "I'm seriously hungry. And seriously impressed by your color-coded flowchart, by the way. Very… thorough."

"It's not a flowchart, it's a risk assessment matrix," she snaps, her cheeks flushing slightly. God, she gets riled up so easily. It's ridiculously endearing.

"Matrix, flowchart, whatever. Point is, you got this covered, right? I'm just here for... mentorship," you say, waggling your eyebrows. "And the company card."

Irene makes a strangled noise, halfway between a sigh and a growl. "Just… try not to embarrass me in front of the client, okay? Stick to the plan. Let me do the talking unless Tanaka specifically addresses you."

"Affirmative, commander," you salute lazily with your fork.

She glares at you, takes a vicious bite of lettuce, and pointedly returns her attention to her tablet, effectively ending the conversation. You finish your burger in comfortable (for you, anyway) silence, watching the way the harsh fluorescent light catches the curve of her cheekbone.

Dinner done, card swiped, it's time to face the next hurdle: the rental car. You follow Irene towards the rental counters, her heels clicking purposefully on the linoleum floor. You handle the paperwork at the counter – the agent seems slightly charmed by your easygoing manner, much to Irene's apparent annoyance as she stands off to the side tapping her foot impatiently. Keys secured, you head out into the multi-level parking garage. The air here is colder, smelling of exhaust fumes and damp concrete.

You locate the assigned bay. It’s exactly what you expected: a bland, silver sedan. Practical, boring, utterly devoid of personality. Just like corporate wanted. Before you can even reach for the driver's side door, Irene sweeps past you.

"I'll drive," she states, not a request.

She unlocks the car with a decisive click and slides into the driver's seat, tossing her expensive-looking handbag onto the passenger seat beside her as if claiming territory. She immediately starts adjusting the seat, the mirrors, her hands moving with brisk efficiency.

You shrug, tossing your coat and duffel bag onto the back seat before sliding into the passenger side, pushing her bag onto the floor to make room for your legs. The door closes with a solid thunk, sealing you both inside the small space. Outside, the parking garage is dimly lit and cavernous. Ahead lies the exit, the highway, and hours of driving through the night with Bae Joohyun beside you, radiating tightly controlled hostility. She puts the key in the ignition, the engine humming quietly to life. The dashboard lights illuminate her face, casting sharp shadows under her cheekbones. She grips the steering wheel, knuckles white.

Yeah, this is going to be a long night.

—

The silver sedan eats up the miles, but time seems to stretch and warp inside the car. Outside, it’s pitch black, the kind of dark you only get away from city lights. Rain lashes against the windshield. The wipers swish back and forth, a monotonous metronome counting out the seconds of crushing boredom. Your phone dropped signal about thirty miles back, rendering it a useless brick. Irene is hyper-focused on the road, her small hands gripping the steering wheel at ten and two like she’s piloting a space shuttle through an asteroid field, not driving a boring rental on a mostly straight highway.

The silence isn’t comfortable. It’s thick, charged, like the air before a thunderstorm. You fidget, stare out the rain-streaked side window at nothing, try to nap, fail. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. Time to poke the bear.

"So," you begin, turning slightly in your seat to face her profile, illuminated starkly by the dashboard lights. "Ms. Bae Joohyun. When you're not busy being a corporate assassin and terrorizing innocent newbies like myself, what exactly do you do for fun? Collect rare stamps? Practice your death glare in the mirror?"

She doesn't even glance at you. Her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

"I'm focusing on driving."

Her voice is clipped, dismissing you utterly. Okay. Round one to Irene. But you're bored, and honestly, a little curious. What makes the office ice queen tick?

"Right, right, safety first," you concede easily. "But come on, there's gotta be something. Music? Movies? Tap dancing?" You try another angle. "What are you listening to in those fancy headphones when you're pretending to sleep on planes?"

A tiny sigh escapes her, barely audible over the rain and engine hum. Progress!

"Sometimes I listen to music," she admits, her eyes still fixed on the wet ribbon of road ahead.

"Oh yeah? What kind?" you press, leaning forward slightly. "Death metal? K-Pop? Whale songs?"

Another sigh, this one heavier. "Classical. Sometimes R&B. Does it matter?"

"Just making conversation," you shrug. "Long drive. What else? Read? Watch TV? Binge-watch documentaries about serial killers?"

"I read," she says curtly. "Fiction, mostly."

Okay, you're getting somewhere. It's like pulling teeth, but they're coming out one by one. You decide to switch gears, get a little more personal, maybe touch a nerve.

"Alright, forget hobbies. Let's talk shop, but like, real talk. What's your actual endgame at Choi Industries? What's the master plan, Joohyun? You aiming for Choi's corner office? Planning a hostile takeover via impeccably organized spreadsheets?"

That gets a reaction. Her head snaps towards you for a split second, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Why do you want to know?" she asks. "Trying to figure out the competition? Get some inside info for your own climb?"

Bingo. Hit a nerve. You put on your most innocent expression.

"Whoa, defensive much? Just curious," you deflect smoothly. "We're stuck in a car together for hours, might as well talk about something other than the weather. Isn't that what team building is all about? Sharing our hopes and dreams?"

She scoffs, a short, bitter sound. "Right. My hopes and dreams." She turns her attention back to the road, but her grip on the wheel seems even tighter. "I want to advance my career. Build something lasting. Move up. Same as anyone else. It's nothing special."

"Hmm," you hum thoughtfully, leaning your head back against the headrest. "You know, Irene," you say, using her preferred name deliberately this time, softening your tone just a fraction, "you're genuinely really good at the actual work. Like, seriously sharp. Your planning for this Ishikawa thing? Top-notch."

You let the compliment hang there for a second. You see her shoulders relax, just slightly. Hook, line...

"...But," you continue, casual again, "you're also kind of terrifying. You know that, right? You walk around like you expect someone to shank you over the last good stapler. All business, zero chill. It keeps people at arm's length." You pause. "That stuff matters, you know. The connections, the schmoozing, whatever you want to call it. Choi didn't put us on this trip just to sign a paper. He practically spelled out 'networking test'."

Her head whips back around, glare fully engaged. The brief moment of détente is shattered.

"I don't need your advice on how to do my job or manage my career," she spits out, her tone low and tight, that soft quality making the anger sound even more intense. "I've been at this company for five years. Almost ten years years of experience in the field. I know how things work."

"Yeah?" you counter, unable to resist pushing back. The dynamic is just too tempting. "You've been there five years. I've been there, what, six months? And yet, here we are. Same car, same crappy business trip, same potential promotion hanging in the balance if we don't screw this up." You let that sink in. "Seems like I'm learning how things work a little faster."

That does it. Her composure finally cracks. Her face flushes a dark red, visible even in the dim light.

"Oh, that is such bullshit!" she practically yells, hitting the steering wheel lightly with the palm of her hand. Her voice trembles slightly with fury. "It is so easy for you! You just waltz in, young, charming guy, probably went to the right schools, Choi loves you instantly! You think it's the same for me? You think I haven't worked twice as hard just to get half the recognition? You being a man in that office gives you a fucking ladder while I'm stuck trying to claw my way up a sheer cliff!"

Wow. Okay. That was... more raw than you expected. You lean back, genuinely taken aback for a second. She has a point, probably. You don't doubt she's faced sexist crap or had to fight harder.

"Okay, fair enough," you concede, holding up a hand slightly. "Maybe it's not a level playing field. Probably isn't. I get that." You pause, letting the admission settle. "But you can't pin everything on that. You gotta admit, you make things harder for yourself sometimes. You're so damn rigid, so determined to be seen as tough and serious, you shut down any chance for... other things, other opportunities. You push people away before they even get close."

"Oh, other things?" she echoes, and doesn't even try to hide the sarcasm implicit in her tone. "What 'other things'? What 'opportunities' am I supposedly missing out on by trying to do my job professionally?"

You just smile, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips. You meet her eyes in the rearview mirror for a fraction of a second. You don't answer, letting the question hang there, heavy and suggestive, in the charged silence of the car.

Irene lets out a frustrated groan, gripping the wheel tighter. "Ugh, I hate smug people," she mutters, mostly to herself, but loud enough for you to hear. "People who think they know everything..."

She stares straight ahead, focusing intently on the rain-slicked highway. The silence descends again, but this time it feels different. Not just boring, but thick with unspoken arguments, accusations, and that tantalizing, unanswered question. You drove maybe another five, ten kilometers like that, just the sound of the engine, the rain, the wipers, and Irene radiating pure, unadulterated annoyance.

Then, the engine sputters.

It's subtle at first, a slight hesitation, a cough. Irene frowns, glancing down at the dashboard. It sputters again, louder this time, the car visibly losing speed.

"What the–?" Irene mutters, pressing the accelerator. The engine whines in protest but doesn't pick up speed. Instead, it coughs again, more violently. Warning lights you don't recognize flicker to life on the dashboard.

"Shit," Irene breathes, real panic coloring her voice now. "No, no, no, not now."

The car lurches, engine sputtering weakly, power draining rapidly. She wrestle with the wheel, expertly maneuvering the dying vehicle onto the narrow, muddy shoulder of the road as the engine gives one last pathetic cough and cuts out entirely.

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence, broken only by the drumming of rain on the roof and Irene's suddenly audible, slightly panicked breathing. You're plunged into near total darkness as the headlights die too, leaving only the faint, eerie glow of the hazard lights she frantically switches on.

"Oh my god," she whispers, staring straight ahead, hands still clamped onto the useless steering wheel. "No. This cannot be happening."

You unbuckle your seatbelt. "Okay. Deep breaths, commander. Let's see what we're dealing with."

You push open your door, the sound of the steady downpour instantly filling the car. Cold, damp air washes over you as you step out onto the soggy gravel shoulder. You squint into the darkness, the rental car looking pitifully small and dead under the vast, black, weeping sky. You're well and truly stranded.

You fumble with your phone, switching on the flashlight app. The beam cuts a weak cone through the driving rain, illuminating the front of the dead sedan. Great. You try to find the hood release lever inside, cursing softly as your fingers brush against unknown sticky spots under the dash. Finally, you hear a clunk from the front. You push your already soaked self further out into the downpour, wrestling with the heavy, wet hood.

Suddenly, a small circle of relative dryness appears above you. You look up, startled. Irene is standing there, holding a surprisingly sturdy-looking black umbrella she must have magically conjured from that Mary Poppins bag of hers. She stands on her tiptoes, struggling to keep the umbrella on top of your head. Rain streams off the edges, but the patch directly over the engine bay – and you – is mostly clear. Her face is pale in the erratic glow of your phone light, eyes wide, looking genuinely worried. She holds the umbrella steady, shielding you from the worst of the deluge.

"Do you… do you know anything about cars?" she asks.

"Define 'anything'," you grunt, finally managing to prop the heavy hood open. You shine the light inside at the bewildering maze of pipes, wires, and greasy metal components. "I know they generally need gas, and that smoke coming out of the wrong place is usually bad news. That's about the extent of my mechanical genius."

You lean closer, phone held precariously in one hand, trying to look like you have a clue what you're seeing. Everything looks… like an engine. Wet, mostly.

"Oh god, we're going to die out here," Irene mutters, sounding genuinely distressed. "Or get murdered by truckers."

"Relax," you say, trying to project confidence you absolutely do not feel. "Let's check the basics." You shine the light on the big square thing with the knobs on top. The battery. "Sometimes these connections just get loose or corroded." You reach towards one of the terminals, the one with the red cap mostly covering it. It looks... wiggly.

"Be careful!" Irene yelps, flinching back slightly as you touch it.

"It's fine," you assure her, though you're mostly assuring yourself. You grab the connector and wiggle it. It’s definitely loose. You try to tighten it by hand, grimacing as your fingers scrape against rough metal and accumulated grime. You push it down firmly onto the post, twisting it slightly. There's a tiny, almost invisible spark, making Irene gasp. "See? Just needs a little push." You hope. "Okay, let's try that."

You slam the hood shut, making her jump again. "Moment of truth."

You both slide back into the car, dripping water onto the upholstery. The relative quiet inside feels strange after the noise of the rain. You take a deep breath, stick the key back in the ignition, and turn.

The engine turns over once, twice... then roars – okay, maybe hums – back to life. The headlights cut through the darkness again. The dashboard lights up, then settles back to normal. Sweet internal combustion.

Irene lets out a massive sigh, the tension visibly draining from her body. She slumps back against the seat, closing her eyes for a second. "Oh, thank god," she breathes.

You put the car in drive, check the mirrors (just blackness and rain), and carefully pull the sedan back onto the highway, the tires sloshing through puddles. You drive in silence for a few miles, the only sounds the engine, the rain, and the rhythmic thump of the wipers. The atmosphere has shifted, though. The earlier hostility is replaced by a weird, shared sense of relief and… awkwardness.

Finally, Irene stirs beside you. She clears her throat quietly.

"Hey," she starts. She’s staring straight ahead, but you can feel her looking at you peripherally. "Um... thanks. Back there. For... fixing it."

"No big deal," you shrug, trying to sound nonchalant, even though you're secretly preening over your unexpected mechanical success. "Thing was practically falling off. Anyone would've noticed."

"No, really," she insists, actually turning her head slightly to look at you now. Her expression is strangely earnest in the dim glow from the dashboard. "Thank you. I... I panicked." She pauses, then takes another breath, like she’s forcing the words out. "And... look, I'm sorry. Okay? For... you know." She gestures vaguely. "How I am. Sometimes. I know I can be..." She trails off, apparently unable to find the right word.

'Abrasive'? 'Hostile'? 'Terrifying'?

You glance over at her, surprised by the sudden apology. This is new territory. Instead of piling on, something else comes out.

"Difficult?" you supply gently, then shake your head. "Nah. You're not difficult." You lean back, thinking for a second. "You're intense. Focused. Driven. Honestly?" You give a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Sometimes I wish I had more of that. Wish I was less... this," you gesture vaguely at your own relaxed posture, "and more, you know, serious. Like you."

You expect a scoff, or maybe suspicion. Instead, she stares at you for a beat, her expression unreadable. Then, a small smile touches her lips, and a genuine laugh escapes her – not the mocking giggle from the coffee incident, but a real, warm sound. It lights up her face in the dim light.

"You?" she says, still chuckling softly. "Serious? You couldn't be serious for five minutes if your life depended on it."

"Hey!" you protest, though you're smiling too. "Okay, maybe not. You're right. Impossible." You grin. "That's why I don't even try. Why fight nature, right?"

Her laughter fades into a soft smile. She turns back to the road, but the stiffness is gone from her shoulders. "I guess not," she murmurs. After another moment of silence, she adds, quieter still, "Things were definitely… less monotonous after you joined the company, though."

Less monotonous. Her version of 'you're loud and annoying, but occasionally amusing'? You'll take it. An image flashes into your mind – bright lights, bad music, the clink of glasses.

"Less monotonous, huh?" you say, a teasing note creeping back into your voice. "Speaking of shaking things up... remember that company Christmas party? The first one after I started?"

You see her stiffen instantly, a dark blush creeping up her neck. Oh yeah. She remembers.

"Don't," she warns.

"What?" you feign innocence. "It was memorable! You were... surprisingly un-serious." You recall the scene vividly – Irene, usually so composed, tie slightly askew (did she even wear a tie? Maybe just metaphorical), laughing loudly at someone's bad joke, swaying slightly on her feet. Definitely holding a champagne flute like it owed her money. "You were actually... fun. Relaxed. Pretty sure you tried to teach someone how to floss dance."

"I did not," she insists, though the blush deepens. "I had... too much champagne. It was embarrassing."

"Embarrassing?" you counter, leaning towards her slightly. "I thought it was great. Honestly? For a second there, I thought that was the real Bae Joohyun. All that fire, but loose, you know? Not so tightly wound." You pause, letting the implication land. "Been kind of hoping Party Irene would make a comeback ever since."

She refuses to look at you, staring fixedly at the road, her lips pressed into a thin line again. Maybe you pushed too far. You decide to dial it back, just a notch.

"But hey," you say, your tone softening slightly, becoming more sincere. "Kidding aside. Party Irene, Work Irene... whatever. I actually do respect you. You bust your ass, you're damn smart, and you clearly care about doing things right." You shrug. "Even if you are scary as hell sometimes."

You offer the truce, the small olive branch. She glances at you, her expression flickering – surprise? Suspicion? Then, the walls slam back into place. Her eyes narrow, the familiar competitive glint returning.

"Oh, don't even try that," she scoffs. "Appealing to my emotions, pretending to be nice... It won't work. You're not getting that promotion by trying to soften me up."

You stare at her for a second, then burst out laughing. Of course. Back to business. The brief ceasefire is officially over.

"Soften you up?" you chuckle, shaking your head. "Please. I'm just trying to be a decent human being before your poor little heart gets crushed next month when Choi inevitably gives the job to me." You wink. "Gotta manage expectations, right?"

She makes an exasperated sound but doesn't retort immediately, a tiny smile playing on her lips despite herself.

The adrenaline from the breakdown and fix fades, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion. Your eyes feel gritty, and the endless stretch of rain-slicked highway seems to go on forever. Just as you’re seriously considering if nodding off and dying in a fiery wreck might be preferable to another hour of this, a flickering neon sign pierces the gloom ahead. ‘EAT’ it buzzes, next to the familiar logo of a gas station chain. Salvation, or at least, caffeine and questionable roller grill hot dogs.

“Pit stop?” you suggest, already slowing down and flicking your turn signal.

Irene just nods, eyes half-closed. “Good idea. And get gas. The hotel should be close according to the GPS, but better safe than sorry.”

You pull up to the pumps under the bright fluorescent canopy. The rain has eased slightly to a persistent drizzle. While the tank fills, you run into the attached convenience store slash diner. It smells of stale coffee, frying onions, and damp travelers. You grab two coffees, a couple of bottles of water, and some bags of chips – gourmet dining. Irene stays in the car, scrolling through something on her phone with fierce concentration, probably work emails. Figures.

Back in the car, coffee distributed, you navigate back onto the highway. You hold up the keys before putting them in the ignition.

“You wanna take over for the last leg? GPS says maybe twenty minutes to the hotel.”

Irene shakes her head, taking a cautious sip of her coffee. “No, it’s okay. You can keep driving. You’re… doing fine.”

Huh. A compliment? Or just too tired to argue? Either way, you’ll take it. You start the car, the familiar hum filling the space. The slightly thawed atmosphere from the post-breakdown conversation seems to linger.

“So,” you begin casually, glancing over at her. She seems marginally less hostile, maybe just worn down. “We established you don’t have any secret hobbies involving taxidermy or competitive interpretive dance. What about the other big time-sink? Boyfriend? Fiancé? Long-suffering husband hidden away somewhere?”

She stiffens slightly, taking another sip of coffee. “No.” Just the one word, flat and final.

“No?” you echo, keeping your tone light. “Come on. Someone as… uh… driven as you? Gotta have someone to share the spoils of corporate warfare with.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she repeats, a hint of irritation creeping back into her voice. “I don’t have time for that.”

Interesting. Very interesting. You file that little nugget away. Before you can probe further, she surprises you by turning the question around.

“What about you?” she asks, maybe a little too quickly. “You never mentioned a girlfriend. Someone waiting up, wondering where her charming, rogueish man is tonight?” There’s a faint trace of sarcasm in her tone.

“Me? Nah,” you answer easily, shrugging. “Single. Utterly unattached. Free as a bird who enjoys microwave meals and questionable life choices.”

She actually looks surprised, tilting her head. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh.” She frowns slightly. “I just assumed… you know. Guys like you. Funny, outgoing… you usually have someone.”

“‘Guys like me’?” you raise an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Neither,” she says quickly, maybe flushing slightly, though it's hard to tell in the dark. “Just… an observation.” She clears her throat. “What about Park Sooyoung, then?”

Joy. Of course. Joy, the human sunbeam from Marketing, who laughs at all your jokes (even the bad ones), brings you snacks, and finds increasingly flimsy excuses to swing by your desk. Her crush isn't exactly subtle.

“Joy?” you chuckle. “Yeah, what about her?”

“Well,” Irene says, picking at a loose thread on her fancy trousers. “She seems to… like you. A lot.”

“Joy’s awesome,” you agree readily. “She’s fun, smart, super sweet.” You pause. “But she’s not really my type.”

“Oh.” Irene sounds… thoughtful? Maybe surprised again? “Why not?”

You just shrug, keeping your eyes on the road as a sign for ‘The Whispering Pines Hotel – 1 Mile’ looms out of the darkness. “Just not. Doesn't click like that, you know?” You leave it there, letting the ambiguity hang.

You follow the signs, turning off the main highway onto a smaller, darker road winding through dense trees. Finally, a collection of low buildings emerges, vaguely rustic, with a welcoming (or maybe just lonely) light glowing above the entrance labeled ‘OFFICE’. You pull into the gravel parking lot, engine finally switched off. Sweet silence, broken only by the patter of drizzle on the roof.

“We made it,” you announce unnecessarily, stretching your arms as much as the seat allows.

God, you’re tired.

You both grab your coats and bags, heading towards the office. The lobby is… something. Wood-paneled walls, threadbare carpet, a faint smell of woodsmoke and dust. A bored-looking guy who looks barely out of his teens sits behind a worn counter, scrolling on his phone.

You handle the check-in, pulling out the company card again. “Reservation for Choi Industries,” you say.

The receptionist types lethargically on an ancient-looking computer. He squints at the screen. “Uh… yeah, got it here. Choi Industries.” He slides a registration card and a single old-fashioned key across the counter. “Just need you to sign here. Room 12.”

You stop, looking at the single key. Irene steps forward. “Sorry, there must be a mistake,” she says, her professional tone kicking in despite her obvious exhaustion. “The reservation was for two rooms.”

The kid scrolls back on his screen, frowning. “Nope. Says right here…” He turns the monitor slightly. The information is there: Irene's name and yours, one room, queen bed, non-smoking. Confirmed booking for two guests.

“That can’t be right,” Irene insists, leaning closer to peer at the screen. “Our corporate travel booked it last week. Can you double-check?”

He sighs, clicks a few more times. “Nah, that’s it. One room. Maybe your travel agent messed up?”

Irene pulls out her phone, already dialing. “This is ridiculous. I’ll call the emergency line.” She puts the phone to her ear, listens for a moment, then pulls it away with a frustrated sigh. “Voicemail. Of course.” She glares back at the receptionist. “Fine. Do you have another room available? We’ll pay for it separately.”

The kid shakes his head, looking almost apologetic now. “Sorry, ma’am. Totally booked solid tonight. There’s a big fishing tournament down at the lake, apparently. Everyone’s here for that.”

You quickly pull out your phone, checking Google Maps. “He’s not kidding,” you report grimly, showing Irene the screen. “Looks like the nearest town with another hotel is… yeah. At least an hour back the way we came. Maybe longer.”

You both stand there for a moment, the reality sinking in. Stranded. Exhausted. And apparently, booked into a single motel room with one bed.

This trip just keeps getting better and better.

Irene looks pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looks from you to the receptionist, then back to the single key lying on the counter. “Well… what do we do?” she asks, sounding genuinely lost.

“Let’s at least see the room,” you suggest pragmatically. You pick up the key before she can protest further.

“I am not sleeping in the same bed as you,” she says firmly, following you as the receptionist points you down a dimly lit hallway.

“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” you reply smoothly.

Room 12 is… a room. Beige walls, slightly musty floral bedspread on a queen-sized bed, a small desk, a tiny bathroom. It’s clean enough, but basic. And dominated by the single bed. There’s a small patch of carpet between the foot of the bed and the wall with the TV bolted to it. Not exactly luxurious floor space, but doable.

Irene stands in the doorway, looking utterly horrified. Before she can launch into a fresh round of panic or objections, you take charge.

“Okay,” you say calmly, tossing your bag onto the aforementioned patch of floor. “Look. It’s late, we’re exhausted, there are no other options. Don’t worry about it.” You point decisively at the bed. “You take the bed. I’ll crash here on the floor. Problem solved. We just need to sleep.”

She stares at you, wide-eyed. Like she’s never encountered basic chivalry before. “The… the floor?”

“Yep. Got my coat, can probably snag an extra blanket from the closet if there is one. I’ve slept in worse places.”

She hesitates, clearly warring with herself. Practicality versus the sheer awkwardness of the situation. “Are you… are you sure?”

“Positive.”

She frowns, looking genuinely perplexed now. “But… why? Why would you do that?”

You sigh, running a hand through your damp hair. “Because we’re colleagues on a business trip, we’re stuck, and it’s the simplest way to solve the problem without resorting to murder or sleeping in the car,” you explain patiently. “It’s just sleep, Irene. We’ll survive one night.”

She looks from you to the bed, then to the patch of floor, then back to you. She bites her lip, considering. Finally, she gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

“Okay,” she says softly, avoiding your eyes. “Okay. That… might work.” She pauses, then adds, even quieter, “Thanks.”

You just nod, trying to ignore the sudden, intense awareness of being alone in this small room with her. This was definitely not in the job description.

Irene clutches her overnight bag like a shield.

"I'm going to... uh... use the bathroom first," she announces stiffly, already moving towards the small, closed door. "Change. Brush my teeth."

"Sounds good," you reply, trying to sound casual as you busy yourself unpacking the few things you actually need from your bag – phone charger, toothbrush. You hear the click of the bathroom lock, then the sound of running water. You sit on the edge of the questionable armchair in the corner, scrolling pointlessly through your signal-less phone. It’s weirdly intimate, just sitting here waiting while she’s in there. You can picture her routine – efficient, precise, even in pajamas.

The lock clicks again, and the door opens. Irene emerges, looking… different. She’s wearing simple, dark grey pajama bottoms and a loose-fitting, long-sleeved t-shirt. No makeup, her dark hair pulled back loosely from her face, still slightly damp. She looks younger, softer, less like the corporate warrior and more like just… a tired person. She avoids your eyes, scurrying over to the side of the bed furthest from the door and immediately burrowing under the covers, facing away from you. Okay then.

"All yours," she mutters into the pillow.

Your turn. You grab your change of clothes (just sweats and a t-shirt) and your toothbrush, heading into the small, steamy bathroom. You do your thing quickly, splashing cold water on your face, trying to erase the grime and exhaustion of the day. Looking in the mirror, you definitely look like you wrestled a loose battery cable in the rain and lost. Charming. You emerge back into the room. Irene is a still lump under the blankets.

You find the light switch by the door and flick it off, plunging the room into near-total darkness, save for the faint ambient light filtering through the gap under the door and the thin curtains.

"Night," you say to the lump, trying to sound cheerful.

You hear a muffled "'Night" in response.

You arrange your coat as a pathetic excuse for padding on the patch of carpet, using your balled-up jacket as a pillow. You lie down. It’s immediately obvious this is going to suck. The floor is hard, unforgivingly so. There's a definite draft coming from somewhere near the window, chilling you through your thin sweats. And the carpet smells vaguely of old cigarettes. You sigh quietly, shifting, trying to find a position that doesn't immediately make your hip bone scream in protest. This is going to be a long, cold night. You can hear the gentle sound of Irene breathing from the bed, the occasional creak of the mattress as she settles. Lucky her.

Minutes pass in silence, marked only by the drumming drizzle outside and your own increasingly uncomfortable shifting. Just as you’re contemplating whether pneumonia might be preferable to this, you hear Irene move again, more deliberately this time. The mattress creaks loudly.

"Hey," her voice comes softly out of the darkness, startling you slightly. "Are you... are you asleep yet?"

You exhale, giving up the pretense. "Nope. Wide awake. Currently contemplating the existential dread of cheap motel carpet."

Silence for a beat. Then, she sighs, a sound laced with frustration and maybe embarrassment. "This is stupid."

"What's stupid?" you ask, genuinely confused. "My carpet contemplation? Probably, yeah."

"No," she says quickly. "This." A vague gesture you can't see but can infer towards the general situation. "Me being in this huge bed, and you sleeping on the floor like... like some kind of Victorian orphan. It's ridiculous."

You try to keep your voice light. "Hey, Victorian orphans built character. Besides, chivalry isn't dead, it's just really uncomfortable."

"Don't be an idiot," she snaps, though there's no real heat behind it. More tired exasperation. "The bed is massive. There's plenty of room. Just... get in."

Whoa. Okay. Didn't see that coming. Especially not after the firm 'not sharing a bed' declaration earlier.

"Uh," you stall, genuinely surprised. "No, really, Irene. It's fine. I'll survive.

"I insist," she says, her voice taking on a firmer tone, the one she uses when she's about to win an argument about budget allocation. Actually, it sounds less like insistence and more like a direct order. "Seriously. Get up off the floor. It's cold, you'll be useless tomorrow if you don't sleep, and I feel stupid lying here while you're down there."

You hesitate. The floor is cold. And hard. And the bed sounds incredibly warm and inviting.

"Are you absolutely, one hundred percent sure?" you ask, needing verbal confirmation. This feels like a trap.

"Yes," she replies instantly, decisively. "Now hurry up before I change my mind."

Well, can't argue with a direct order from the temporary commander, right? And damn it, you are cold. You push yourself up stiffly from the floor, joints protesting.

"Okay, okay, fine," you concede. "But under strict conditions, right? Like, there's a demilitarized zone down the middle, maybe we build a pillow wall?"

You hear her sigh again in the darkness. "Just... stay on your side. Way over there." A pause. "And don't... you know. Touch me. Or anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you assure her sincerely. "Don't worry, you're so tiny you barely take up any space anyway. Pretty sure I could parallel park between us."

"Just get in," she grumbles, sounding slightly flustered.

You peel back the covers on the side closest to you and slide in. Oh. My. God. The mattress is soft, the sheets are cool but not cold, and the residual warmth radiating from where Irene is lying, even a foot or two away, feels like heaven compared to the floor. You pull the covers up, letting out an involuntary sigh of contentment.

"Okay, you win," you murmur into the darkness. "This is significantly better. Thanks."

"Don't thank me," she says quickly. "It's just... practical." There's a rustle of sheets as she presumably turns fully away from you again. "I'm definitely reporting this booking disaster tomorrow. It's completely unacceptable."

"Damn right," you agree drowsily, already feeling the pull of sleep in the newfound comfort. Work talk. Safe territory for her.

More time drifts by. You’re hovering on the edge of sleep, the warmth seeping into your bones, when you hear her shift again, restlessly.

"You okay over there?" you ask quietly.

A pause. "...Yes," she says, but her voice is small. "Just... I have trouble sleeping in strange places sometimes."

"Ah." You hesitate, then decide to push gently. "Or maybe nervous about the big meeting tomorrow?"

Another pause, longer this time. Then, a quiet admission. "...Maybe a little."

"Hey," you say softly, keeping your voice low and reassuring. "You've got this. Seriously. You're ridiculously prepared. Tanaka-san won't know what hit him. You'll charm the pants off him with your risk assessment matrix."

You hear a tiny huff of air that might be a suppressed laugh. "It's not..." she starts, then seems to give up. "Thanks."

"No problem," you murmur. "Seriously though. When – not if, when – you nail this tomorrow, we should celebrate. Proper drinks, maybe find some non-terrible food? I'll pay, of course."

"...I'll think about it," she says, noncommittal as ever.

You smile in the dark. "You know," you say, letting the teasing note return, "heads would absolutely explode back at the office if anyone knew about this. You, me, one bed... The gossip mill would go into overdrive. They'd be planning our wedding by Monday."

Her reaction is immediate and sharp. "Don't you dare," she hisses, rolling over slightly to face your general direction, you can feel the shift in the mattress. "Nobody finds out about this, understand? Nobody. I will report the booking error to HR and Choi, citing 'unforeseen logistical challenges', and that is it. This conversation, this room... it never happened."

"Whoa, okay!" you say quickly, holding up your hands in mock surrender, even though she can't see. "Kidding! Totally kidding. Jeez. Relax. Your secret's safe with me." You pause, letting the intensity fade slightly. "Guess this is our first official secret though, huh?" you add thoughtfully. "Keeping this under wraps... Doesn't that, like, technically make us friends now?"

"Friends?" she scoffs, the sound sharp even in a whisper. "It makes us unlucky coworkers forced into an awkward situation by corporate incompetence."

"Hey," you counter softly, maybe pushing your luck. "Speak for yourself on the 'unlucky' part."

Silence.

You can practically hear her processing that.

"...What's that supposed to mean?" she asks finally, her voice dangerously quiet, curious.

Shit. Opened your mouth too wide. You backtrack quickly, trying to sound casual.

"Nothing... Hmm... Just..." You scramble for a plausible recovery. "Just that, you know. Despite the car dying, the rain, this hotel mess... the trip hasn't been a complete disaster. Getting out of the office..." You hesitate, then add honestly, "Traveling with you... it's not so bad, Irene."

There's a long pause. You wonder if you've finally pushed her too far, if she's going to order you back to the floor or maybe just smother you with a pillow. Then, she lets out a long, slow breath.

"Okay, smooth-talker," she murmurs, her tone laced with exhaustion but maybe, just maybe, a hint of something else. Amusement? "Shut up now. Seriously. Go to sleep."

You let out a genuine yawn this time, the comfort and the late hour finally catching up. "Alright, commander," you mumble, already drifting off.

You close your eyes, acutely aware of her presence just inches away in the shared darkness, the warmth of the bed a stark contrast to the cold floor you escaped. The rain patters softly outside. Sleep, when it finally comes, feels like diving into deep, uncertain water.

—

You drift awake slowly, reluctantly. First awareness: unfamiliar ceiling tiles, definitely not your apartment. Second awareness: a surprising, encompassing warmth pressed against your front. Third awareness, as your brain finally boots up: holy shit.

You blink, trying to make sense of the situation without moving a muscle. Memory floods back – rain, car trouble, motel, one bed, floor offer, Irene's insistence... Right. You're in the hotel bed. But the warmth... the weight... it's her. Irene Bae is currently draped across your chest like a ridiculously high-maintenance scarf, fast asleep. Her head is tucked under your chin, dark hair fanned out across your t-shirt. One of her arms is slung across your waist, hand resting loosely on your side. Her breathing is soft, even, punctuated by the faintest, almost inaudible snore. And yeah, there's definitely a small, damp patch on your shirt right near her slightly parted lips. Charming.

Your first instinct is pure, unadulterated panic. Abort! Abort! How the hell did this happen? Did you roll over? Did she? Did the tiny demilitarized zone collapse under the cover of darkness? You try the absolute minimum possible movement – a slight tensing of your muscles, an attempt to slide maybe half an inch away. Bad idea. She stirs instantly, murmuring something incoherent against your collarbone, and her arm tightens around you possessively. Her other hand comes up to fist lightly in your shirt. Okay. You are officially trapped by a sleeping, possibly drooling, corporate ice queen.

This is fine.

Everything is fine.

You lie there, rigid, hyper-aware of every point of contact, the softness of her hair tickling your chin, the surprisingly solid weight of her against you. It’s… not entirely unpleasant, if you ignore the sheer terror of her waking up like this. It’s comfortable. Warm. Weirdly intimate. You stare up at the ceiling, counting the water stains, wondering how long you can sustain this statuesque pose before something gives.

Mercifully, salvation arrives in the form of technology. A jarring, insistent beeping cuts through the pre-dawn quiet – her phone alarm, presumably set for maximum pre-meeting prep time. Irene groans softly, burrowing her face deeper into your chest for a second before the noise penetrates her sleep-addled brain.

Her eyes flutter open, blinking against the dim light filtering through the curtains. She lifts her head slightly, looking around with sleepy confusion. Where is she? Then, her gaze drops. She sees your face. She sees her hand clutching your shirt. She registers that her head is resting squarely on your sternum.

The transformation is instantaneous and spectacular. Confusion gives way to wide-eyed horror. Her face drains of color, then floods with crimson. With a strangled gasp, she recoils as if electrocuted, scrambling backwards so violently she completely misjudges the edge of the bed and tumbles onto the floor with a muffled thump and a yelp.

You push yourself up on your elbows, trying desperately to suppress a laugh, though a small smirk probably escapes. "Morning," you offer mildly to the tangle of limbs and pajamas on the floor.

She untangles herself, pushing her wildly messy hair out of her face, eyes blazing with mortification and panic. She points a trembling finger at you.

"What–? How–? I didn't–!" she sputters, scrambling to her feet, clutching the front of her t-shirt. "I don't know how that happened! I swear! I must have rolled over! I don't usually– I mean, I move a lot sometimes, when I sleep! And sometimes I hug my pillow, you know? Habit! It was an accident!" The words tumble out in a rush, a torrent of panicked justification.

"Hey, hey," you say calmly, holding up your hands in a placating gesture. "Relax. It's okay." You sit up fully, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. "Seriously. No harm done. Maybe you just recognized superior pillow material," you add, gesturing to your chest with a grin.

That seems to snap her out of her panic slightly, replaced by fury. She glares at you, cheeks still flaming red. "Don't you joke about this! And if you ever," she takes a step closer, lowering her voice to a menacing whisper, "tell anyone – anyone at all – about this… about me…" she gestures vaguely at the bed and your chest, "...I will personally find a way to ruin your career and possibly your life. Slowly. Painfully. Do you understand?"

You meet her glare, keeping your expression neutral, maybe nodding slightly. "Crystal clear. Pillow-hugging is a sacred, confidential trust. My lips are sealed."

She stares at you for another long moment, searching your face for any hint of mockery. Apparently satisfied, or maybe just too flustered to continue the confrontation, she lets out a shaky breath, grabs her neatly folded work clothes from the chair, and practically bolts into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

You exhale slowly once she's gone. Well, that was eventful. You stretch, feeling the slight stiffness in your neck from having acted as an involuntary human pillow. You get up, gather your own clothes. The bathroom door remains firmly shut, the sound of the shower running providing a buffer. Eventually, she emerges, fully transformed back into Irene Bae, Corporate Warrior. Sharp black suit, pristine white blouse, hair pulled back into an immaculate knot, makeup perfectly applied. The professional mask is firmly welded back in place. She completely avoids looking at you, busying herself with packing her overnight bag with brisk, efficient movements.

Your turn. You shower quickly, get dressed in your own meeting-appropriate attire. When you come out, she’s standing by the window, back to you, checking something on her phone. You walk over, stopping beside her.

"You clean up nice, Bae," you say genuinely, appreciating the transformation. Ready for battle. "Look beautiful, actually. Tanaka-san doesn't stand a chance."

She finally turns, meeting your gaze. There's a flicker of surprise in her eyes at the direct compliment, quickly masked by her usual cool confidence.

"I know," she replies simply. Classic.

Checking out is quick and silent. You grab coffee and some cellophane-wrapped pastries from a gas station down the road – breakfast of champions. Back in the car (you slide into the driver's seat again without discussion; she doesn't object), Irene immediately gets on her phone, confirming meeting times, checking traffic, voice crisp and professional. She briefly runs through the key talking points with you one last time, her tone all business.

You drive, the landscape outside gradually changing as you get closer to whatever moderately sized town hosts Ishikawa Tech. Irene is staring out the window, probably mentally rehearsing her opening lines. You glance over at her profile, silhouetted against the morning light. And you see it again.

"Hey, totally random question," you interject, breaking into her concentration. She turns, slightly annoyed. "That little scar on your chin. What's the story there?"

Her brow furrows, and her fingers instinctively touch the point of her chin. "Scar?" she repeats blankly. "I don't have a scar."

"Yeah, you do," you insist gently. "Tiny one. Right... there." You vaguely gesture. "Like a little crescent moon. Barely noticeable."

She continues to feel her chin, frowning in concentration. Then, her eyes widen slightly in recognition. "Oh! That thing! Wow, I completely forget that's even there. Fell off my bike when I was like, seven. Face-planted right onto the sidewalk trying to impress the older kids by riding with no hands." She shakes her head slightly. "It's ancient history. And it's practically invisible."

"Yeah, it's tiny," you agree. "Honestly, probably wouldn't have even registered it if your face wasn't..." You pause, choosing your words carefully, "...you know, kinda up close and personal this morning while you were using my chest as a Tempur-Pedic."

Her eyes widen again, and that familiar flush creeps back into her cheeks. She looks away quickly. "Nobody's ever mentioned that before," she mutters, sounding flustered.

"Guess I'm just observant," you shrug, letting your gaze linger on her profile for a beat longer than necessary.

She recovers quickly this time, though. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she turns back to you, leaning slightly closer across the center console. "Oh really?" she asks. "Observant? Or do you just spend an excessive amount of time staring at my face?"

Damn. She got you. You can feel your own face heating up now. You stammer slightly, caught completely off guard. "Wha–? No! I mean..." You regroup, trying for nonchalant. "Okay, maybe sometimes. It's a nice face! Kinda hard not to look, isn't it? Probably... probably everyone looks!"

Her eyebrow arches, skepticism radiating off her. That small smirk is back, wider this time. "Everyone?" she repeats, savoring your discomfort. "Is that what you tell Park Sooyoung? That she has such a nice face you just can't help but stare?"

The question hangs there, sharp, direct. And yeah, maybe, tinged with something that sounds suspiciously like jealousy. Interesting.

You meet her gaze directly now. "Nope," you say calmly, letting the word hang there for a beat. "Haven't told Joy that." You pause, leaning in just a fraction closer, lowering your voice slightly. "Just you."

You let that sink in, watching the surprise flicker in her dark eyes before she quickly schools her features back into neutrality. You turn your attention back to the road, pulling into the visitor parking lot of a modern, sterile-looking office building. Ishikawa Tech. Showtime.

You kill the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the low thrum of nerves in your veins. You glance over at Irene. She’s taking slow, deep breaths, eyes closed for a fraction of a second, seemingly centering herself. Then, her eyes snap open, sharp and focused. Game face: activated.

“Ready?” you ask softly, reaching for your door handle.

She gives a curt, confident nod, already smoothing down her immaculate suit jacket. “Born ready. Let’s go nail this.”

You get out, grabbing your respective briefcases/laptop bags from the back seat. The Ishikawa Tech building looms before you – all sleek glass and brushed steel, understated but undeniably expensive. You walk side-by-side towards the entrance, your footsteps echoing slightly on the polished pavement. The awkward intimacy of the car, the motel room, the shared secrets – it all seems to recede, replaced by a shared sense of purpose. You’re a team now, whether you fully like it or not.

The lobby is vast, minimalist, and eerily quiet. A single receptionist sits behind a massive marble desk, looking up expectantly as you approach. Irene handles the check-in with cool efficiency, her voice steady and professional. Passports or IDs are scanned, visitor badges printed. A moment later, a young woman in a similar grey suit appears to escort you.

The elevator ride is silent. You catch Irene’s eye for a split second; she gives you a barely perceptible nod, a silent acknowledgement. We got this. The escort leads you down a hushed corridor to a conference room with a heavy frosted glass door. She slides it open.

"Mr. Tanaka will be with you shortly," she murmurs, gesturing you inside before retreating silently.

The room is predictable – long polished table, expensive ergonomic chairs, a massive screen on one wall, water bottles and glasses neatly arranged. You choose seats opposite the door, setting down your things.

A few minutes later, the door slides open again, and Kenji Tanaka enters. He’s exactly as you pictured – maybe late fifties or early sixties, immaculate dark suit, silver hair impeccably styled, sharp eyes that seem to take in everything at once. He radiates an aura of quiet authority and old-world formality.

Irene is on her feet instantly, bowing slightly. You follow suit.

"Tanaka-san, thank you for meeting with us," Irene says, her voice perfectly modulated – respectful but confident. She introduces herself by saying her name and yours.

Tanaka returns the slight bow, his expression unreadable. "Welcome. Please." He gestures towards the chairs.

The meeting begins. Irene takes the lead, just as planned. She’s incredible. All the nervous energy, the flustered embarrassment from the morning, is gone. She lays out the proposal clearly, referencing data points from memory, presenting charts on the screen with smooth transitions. She anticipates Tanaka’s initial, cautious questions, answering them thoroughly, respectfully, demonstrating her deep understanding of Ishikawa’s needs and history. She’s built a fortress of facts and logic.

Your role is different. While Irene builds the structure, you provide the… ambiance? When Tanaka leans back, looking slightly skeptical about a technical detail, you jump in smoothly.

"And Tanaka-san," you interject with a relaxed smile, leaning forward slightly, "beyond the technical specs, which Irene has covered brilliantly, what this partnership really offers is future-proofing. It’s about ensuring Ishikawa isn't just stable today, but positioned to lead tomorrow. Like tending a prized bonsai," – okay, maybe that one was cheesy, you mentally cringe, but Tanaka’s eyes light up slightly in recognition – "it requires care, precision, but also a vision for growth."

Irene picks up the cue without missing a beat, transitioning back to the long-term benefits outlined in her slides, reinforcing your point with concrete projections. You see Tanaka nod slowly, making a note.

You handle the small talk during a brief coffee break Tanaka insists upon, asking about his recent trip to Kyoto you vaguely remembered Irene mentioning in her prep notes, drawing out a rare smile from him as he talks about temples. It gives Irene a chance to quickly check her notes and mentally reset for the next phase. When Tanaka asks a challenging question about potential disruptions during integration, Irene provides the detailed mitigation plan, while you add a reassuring layer about dedicated support teams and open communication channels, emphasizing the 'partnership' aspect you know he values.

It’s a dance. She leads with precision and data; you follow with charm, intuition, and strategic reinforcement. You find yourselves catching each other's eye occasionally, a silent communication passing between you – 'He’s hesitant here,' or 'Good point, run with that.' It’s surprisingly… fluid. Effective.

Finally, after nearly two hours, Tanaka leans back in his chair, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across his face. "Your company is fortunate to have such… complementary talents representing them." He looks directly at Irene. "Your preparation is impeccable, Ms. Bae." Then his gaze shifts to you. "And your understanding of… the bigger picture… is also valuable." He nods decisively. "I believe we have an agreement."

A collective, almost inaudible sigh of relief seems to fill the room. The tension breaks. The actual contracts are brought in by an assistant. There’s the formal ritual of signing, multiple copies, the passing of expensive-looking pens, the brief but firm handshakes. Professional smiles are exchanged. Success.

The walk back out of the building feels surreal. The modern lobby seems less intimidating now. The receptionist offers a polite smile as you hand back your visitor badges. You push through the glass doors and out into the surprisingly bright afternoon. The rain has stopped; patches of blue sky are visible.

You reach the rental car, parked innocuously among the much fancier vehicles. Irene stops beside the passenger door, leans her head back against the cool metal for a second, and lets out a whoosh of breath, her shoulders slumping dramatically.

You break the silence, leaning against the car beside her, unable to keep the admiration out of your voice. "Okay, seriously, Bae. That was bloody brilliant back there." You shake your head slightly in genuine appreciation. "When he threw that curveball about the supply chain redundancy? The way you pulled out that specific data point from the appendix? Flawless. You absolutely nailed it."

She turns her head, looking at you. A small, genuine smile touches her lips.

"Thanks," she says softly. Then, her smile widens slightly, becoming almost teasing. "You weren't... completely useless yourself, newbie.

"Gee, thanks," you laugh. "Highest praise."

"No, really," she continues, pushing herself off the car, her tone becoming more sincere. "That… that bonsai tree analogy was the cheesiest thing I've ever heard in a business meeting," she admits, "but Tanaka actually seemed to… connect with it. And you handled his tangents well. Kept him engaged." She meets your eyes directly. "It actually… it worked. Us. Together."

"Teamwork makes the dream work?" you offer, echoing Choi’s terrible line, but this time it feels earned.

She groans, but she’s still smiling. "Don't push it." She unlocks the car doors. "But yeah. Okay. Good teamwork."

You lean against the rental car, the afternoon sun feeling warm on your face after the artificially cool office building. You catch Irene’s eye as she stows her briefcase in the back seat.

"So," you begin, pushing off the car and taking a step closer, lowering your voice slightly with a playful grin. "About that celebratory drink... the one a certain highly successful negotiator promised she'd 'think about'?"

Irene pauses, her hand on the car door. She glances at her watch, then seems to mentally calculate flight times and driving distances.

"Okay," she concedes, the word carrying a lightness that surprises you. "Okay, fine. We earned it. Flight's not till tomorrow afternoon anyway. Plenty of time."

"Excellent." You beam. "Your chariot awaits. Or, you know, this incredibly boring silver sedan."

You slide back into the driver's seat. As you navigate out of the Ishikawa Tech corporate park and back towards the main part of town, Irene pulls out her phone.

"Just need to make a quick call," she murmurs, already dialing. You hear the slightly tinny voice on the other end – presumably Mr. Choi.

"Mr. Choi, good afternoon," Irene says, her voice instantly slipping back into smooth, professional mode. "Just wanted to inform you that the meeting with Ishikawa Tech concluded successfully... Yes, Tanaka-san seemed very pleased... Contracts are signed... Absolutely... Yes, him was very helpful... Okay... Thank you, sir. We'll debrief fully upon our return."

She ends the call, letting out another long breath. "Done. He's ecstatic, obviously."

"As he should be. We were awesome," you declare, already tapping away on your phone's map app. "Right, celebratory awesome juice. Looking for somewhere... classy but not stuffy? Divey but not tetanus-inducing? What's the vibe?"

"Just... somewhere quiet?" she suggests, sounding tired again. "And maybe with decent beer."

"A woman of taste. Okay, GPS says there's a good place a few blocks away. Reviews mention 'good selection' and 'surprisingly clean restrooms'. Sold?"

"Sold," she agrees with a small chuckle.

The place turns out to be exactly as advertised – a cozy, dimly lit neighborhood bar with dark wood booths, a long bar counter, and the low hum of conversation mixed with some classic rock playing softly. It smells reassuringly of beer and slightly greasy, delicious fried things. You snag a booth tucked away in a corner, offering a bit of privacy.

You both slide onto the vinyl benches opposite each other. A waitress appears promptly. You order a local IPA, while Irene surprises you by ordering a whiskey, neat.

"Whoa, playing hardball even after the deal's done?" you tease as the waitress leaves.

"Long day," she murmurs, shrugging off her suit jacket and draping it over the back of the booth. She takes a deep breath, then reaches up and deliberately unbuttons the top button of her crisp white blouse, revealing a hint of her collarbone. The small gesture feels significant, a conscious decision to shift gears.

The drinks arrive quickly. Irene picks up her whiskey glass, swirls the amber liquid, and takes a slow, deliberate sip, closing her eyes for a moment as if savoring the burn. You take a long pull of your beer. The silence stretches for a moment, comfortable this time.

"You know," you say thoughtfully, setting your glass down. "Thinking about that delightful Whispering Pines Hotel... and the distinct possibility of floor-sleeping again..." You lean forward slightly. "What if, instead of driving all the way back there tonight, we just grabbed a place here? In civilization? Somewhere reputable enough to understand the concept of 'two rooms for two people'?"

"I... I don't know," she hedges. "The company booked the hotel..."

"The company also booked us one room," you counter gently. "I think we're allowed to call an audible for the sake of sanity and spinal health. We can square it with expenses later. Come on, live a little."

She hesitates for another second, then gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Okay," she agrees. "Okay. That... that probably makes sense."

"Good." You smile, taking another sip of beer. "So, shifting gears slightly... the promotion Choi was dangling. How do you think he actually decides something like that? Does he read tea leaves? Consult a psychic?"

Irene manages a small smile. "Probably not." She swirls her whiskey again. "Honestly? I think Tanaka's feedback will weigh heavily. What he tells Choi about how the meeting went, how we performed... both individually and as a team."

"Think we passed the test?"

"We got the contract signed," she points out logically. "And Tanaka didn't seem overtly displeased. Especially after your… bonsai analogy." She gives you a sideways glance, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Hey, it worked!" you protest laughingly. "Never underestimate the power of cheesy metaphors with the older generation." You lean back against the booth, feeling relaxed, the beer and the success working their magic. You study Irene across the table. The professional veneer is definitely cracking around the edges. The unbuttoned collar, the whiskey, the slight flush on her cheeks. But something's still not quite right. The hair. Still severely contained.

"You know what else you need to do to complete the 'deal is done, time to chill' transformation?" you ask, gesturing towards her head with your beer bottle.

She looks at you warily. "What?"

"The hair," you say simply. "It's still yelling 'I might audit your expense report at any moment'. Let it down. Literally. Live dangerously."

She touches her hair self-consciously, her fingers brushing against the tight knot at the nape of her neck. "I... I don't know. It's messy."

"Who cares?" you shrug. "We're off duty. Besides," you lower your voice conspiratorially, "I've seen you with your hair down. It's better this way."

She hesitates for a long moment, glancing around the dim bar as if checking for hidden cameras or HR representatives. Then, with a small sigh that sounds like surrender, she reaches up. Slowly, deliberately, she pulls out the pins or elastic band holding the severe style in place. Her dark, silky hair cascades down, tumbling around her shoulders, framing her face. The change is immediate, striking. It softens her features, makes her look friendly, less intimidating, and undeniably more… beautiful.

"Wow," you breathe, genuinely impressed. "Yeah. See? Told you. Definitely better." You meet her eyes, holding her gaze. "Looks really pretty like that, Irene."

She ducks her head quickly, a definite blush rising on her cheeks this time. She tucks a loose strand behind her ear, avoiding your eyes, but you see the small, pleased smile she's trying (and failing) to hide.

"It's just hair," she mumbles, taking another sip of her whiskey, perhaps a larger one than before.

"Maybe," you concede, still looking at her. "But it's good hair… Anyway: Ms. Bae Joohyun, now that you've successfully negotiated a major international deal and liberated your hair... what other secrets are you hiding?"

Irene meets your question about secrets with a raised eyebrow, a slow sip of her whiskey momentarily stalling her response. A faint blush still colors her cheeks, maybe from the compliment, maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the question itself.

"Secrets?" she echoes. She leans back slightly against the worn vinyl booth, studying you over the rim of her glass. "Wouldn't you like to know, Mr. Observant?"

"Okay, maybe I would," you admit easily, leaning forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table, closing the distance between you just a fraction. "Come on. Indulge my curiosity. Let's start easy. What did you really think when I first swaggered into Choi Industries, all bright-eyed and probably tripping over my own feet?" You grin. "Initial impression. Uncensored version."

She laughs softly, a genuine sound that makes you smile. She tucks a strand of newly liberated hair behind her ear, a gesture that feels strangely intimate. "Uncensored?" She takes another sip of whiskey, considering. "Okay. Honestly?" She leans forward conspiratorially. "I thought, 'Oh great. Another overconfident frat boy type who probably got hired because his uncle plays golf with Choi, going to charm his way up while the rest of us actually work'."

"Ouch," you wince dramatically, clutching your chest. "Frat boy? Harsh, Bae. Really harsh."

"Well?" she challenges, a smirk playing on her lips. "Was I wrong?"

"About the charming part? Absolutely not," you say with a wink. "About the uncle and the lack of work ethic? Dead wrong. I work my ass off. And my uncle plays Bingo, not golf."

"Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little quick to judge on the work ethic part. You picked things up... alarmingly fast." She pauses, swirling her drink. "Which was, frankly, even more annoying."

"Ah, so the core emotion was annoyance. Got it," you nod sagely. "Which brings me to my next question." You lean in a bit more, lowering your voice further. "All the stuff at the office... the banter, the pranks, the constant low-key warfare... You hate that, right? Secretly wish I'd just leave you alone in your meticulously organized corner?"

You watch her face closely. Her smile fades slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. She doesn't answer immediately. She looks down at her glass, then back up at you, her gaze direct, surprisingly serious for a moment.

"Hate it?" she repeats softly. "...No. Not exactly." She hesitates, seeming to choose her words carefully. "It's... distracting. Sometimes infuriating." A small smile flickers back onto her face. "But..." She shrugs slightly, a blush creeping back onto her cheeks. "It's definitely... less monotonous than before you showed up. "Like I said before.”

"Less monotonous," you echo, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that has nothing to do with the IPA. So she doesn't hate it. Maybe even... likes it? "So, what you're saying is, my particular brand of charming annoyance actually brightens up your otherwise grey corporate existence?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she retorts quickly. She takes another drink, avoiding your gaze for a second. When she looks back, the playful challenge is back, stronger this time. "Okay, Mr. Observant. My turn."

"Oh?" you raise your eyebrows. "Shoot."

She leans forward now, mirroring your earlier posture, the dim light catching the curve of her collarbone where her shirt is unbuttoned. Her proximity feels electric. "All this 'teasing'," she says, maybe even making subtle air quotes near the table. "This 'banter'. This... whatever it is you do." Her eyes lock onto yours. "Why me?"

"What do you mean?" you ask, genuinely curious where this is going.

"I mean," she says, her voice dropping lower, becoming almost intimate despite the setting, "you don't pull this crap with anyone else. You're friendly with Seulgi, you joke around with Wendy sometimes, but you don't ‘accidentally switch their computer language to Latin’. You don't leave annoying sticky notes on their monitors. You don't engage in... competitive sighing across the cubicle aisle." She tilts her head, her gaze searching yours. "It's always me. Only me. Why is that, newbie?"

You're momentarily thrown. Why is it just her? Because she's the most fun to provoke? Because she actually fights back? Because looking at her, even when she's glaring daggers at you, does something weird to your insides?

You stall, taking a slow sip of your beer, buying time. How honest do you want to be right now, in this cozy, whiskey-soaked booth?

"Well," you begin slowly, trying to sound casual, "isn't it obvious?"

"Humor me," she says, her eyes narrowed slightly, not letting you off the hook.

"Because," you say, deciding to lean into the flirtation, "you're the most fun to tease." You meet her gaze directly. "You actually rise to the bait. Everyone else just ignores me or laughs it off. You? You get that adorable little vein pulsing in your temple." You gesture vaguely towards her forehead. "You plot elaborate revenge schemes involving binders and typos. It's..." You search for the right word, letting a slow smile spread across your face. "...Engaging."

Her breath hitches, almost imperceptibly. She doesn't look away, but the blush deepens again. "So you enjoy making me miserable?" she asks, her voice slightly husky.

"Miserable?" you counter softly. "Is that what I do?" You shake your head. "Nah. I think... I think we're just figuring out our own weird little language." You reach out, letting your fingers brush against hers as you gesture towards her whiskey glass. "And maybe... maybe I just like getting your attention."

The background noise of the bar seems to fade away. Her gaze drops to where your fingers almost touched hers, then flicks back up to your eyes. She bites her lower lip, a gesture that sends a jolt straight through you.

"And what," she asks, quietly so only you can hear, "do you plan on doing with my attention, now that you supposedly have it?"

Instead of answering directly, your gaze drifts downwards, just for a second, to her lips. They look soft, covered in a red lipstick that is doing terrible things to your sanity, slightly swollen too, maybe from her biting them earlier, glistening faintly from the whiskey. Then you meet her eyes again, hold her gaze.

"You know," you begin, "the very first thing I thought? When I saw you on my first day?"

She shakes her head slightly, eyes wide, waiting. "No. What?"

You lean closer across the table, close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from her, to catch the lingering scent of her perfume mixed with whiskey. "My first thought," you say slowly, deliberately, "was, 'Okay, wow. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman in this entire damn office.' And then I thought, 'Well, maybe this job won't completely suck after all.'"

You watch her reaction. Her breath catches audibly. Her eyes widen further, searching yours for sincerity. A slow, deep blush blooms across her cheekbones, far more intense than before. She seems momentarily speechless.

"...And?" she finally manages, slightly shaky. "Do you... do you still think that?"

You let out a soft breath, maybe a quiet chuckle. "Let's just say... it's evolved." You reach across the table, your fingers brushing against the cool condensation on her whiskey glass before deliberately, gently, closing around her hand. Her skin is cool, her bones delicate, but her grip, when her fingers instinctively curl around yours, is surprisingly strong. "It got... more complicated. More interesting." You squeeze her hand gently. "But yeah, Irene. The 'beautiful' part? That hasn't changed."

Her eyes flutter closed for a fraction of a second, then open again, looking directly into yours.

"Should we..." you murmur, still holding her hand, still holding her gaze, "get out of here? Go somewhere else?"

She doesn't hesitate this time. A simple, breathy "Yes" escapes her lips. It’s all the confirmation you need.

You reluctantly release her hand, signal the waitress, and settle the bill quickly, the mundane actions feeling surreal amidst the electric tension humming between you. You gather your jackets, her briefcase, your bag. Standing up, moving out of the cozy intimacy of the booth and into the slightly brighter main area of the bar feels jarring. You walk towards the exit, hyper-aware of her beside you. Your arms brush as you navigate past other tables. You hold the door for her, your eyes meeting again in a silent, loaded exchange.

Then you're outside, it's already night now, time has passed incredibly quickly and you didn't even notice. The parking lot is mostly empty now, bathed in the yellowish glow of a single flickering streetlamp. The relative quiet feels intense after the bar's low hum. You head towards the rental car, parked a short distance away in the shadows.

You're fumbling for the keys in your pocket when she makes a noise – a soft, frustrated sound, almost a growl. Before you can react, she closes the distance between you in two quick steps. Her small hands come up, grabbing the front of your jacket, fisting in the fabric, pulling you down towards her with surprising strength.

And then her mouth is on yours.

It's not gentle. It's not tentative. It's a collision. Hard, demanding, desperate. There's none of the soft exploration you might have fantasized about; this is pure, pent-up frustration unleashed. Her lips are surprisingly firm, pushing against yours, her teeth scraping slightly against yours in her haste, the slight shock of it sending a jolt straight down your spine. It’s messy, urgent, possessive. She tastes of whiskey, faintly of the cherry notes from her lipstick, and overwhelmingly of her.

Your arms come around her instinctively, pulling her small, solid body flush against yours. Just like you imagined, only more real, more intense. She feels surprisingly strong, wiry, pressing herself against you with a need that matches the force of her kiss.

You kiss her back with equal fervor, matching her intensity, letting the surprise give way to your own pent-up desire. This is Irene Bae? The controlled, cool, professional ice queen? This raw, hungry woman currently trying to devour your face? Apparently so. You deepen the kiss, angling your head, your tongue seeking hers, finding it, tangling in a hot, wet, desperate frenzy.

You break away for a ragged breath, resting your forehead against hers. Her breathing is just as harsh, her chest rising and falling rapidly against yours. Her eyes are closed, her face flushed, and her bright red lipstick is completely wrecked – smeared around her mouth, a smudge on her chin, and probably, you realize dimly, all over your own face as well.

"Waited..." she gasps, “so long... for this..."

"Me too," you manage, before pulling her back in, burying your face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. She smells incredible – that faint perfume, the scent of her skin, clean soap, a hint of the whiskey on her breath. It's intoxicating. You press kisses against the soft skin there, feeling her shiver violently in your arms, her fingers tightening in your hair.

You pull back again slightly, needing to see her face, needing to process this whirlwind. And that's when you see it. The glint of moisture under the flickering parking lot light. Tears are welling in her dark eyes, threatening to spill over.

"Hey," you murmur, concern cutting through the haze of lust. You reach up, brushing a thumb gently near the corner of her eye. "What's wrong? Why the tears?"

She lets out a shaky, slightly hysterical laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sob. She shakes her head, looking away for a second before meeting your eyes again, her gaze raw, vulnerable, utterly exposed.

"Nothing's wrong," she says. "Nothing. I'm just so..." She bites her lip, hard, then the words rush out in a torrent of frustrated honesty. "I'm just so fucking horny it hurts, okay? It's been driving me crazy, wanting this, wanting you, and trying so hard not to. And now..." She gestures vaguely between you, tears finally escaping, tracing paths through the smudged lipstick on her cheeks. "...It's just… a lot."

Her raw admission hits you harder than the kiss. The depth of her frustration, her desire, laid bare under a single flickering streetlight. You pull her closer again, holding her tight, stroking her hair, the silky strands cool against your fingers.

"Okay," you whisper against her hair. "Okay, Irene. I get it. Me too." You hold her for another moment, letting her trembling subside slightly. Then, you gently pull back, holding her shoulders, forcing her to look at you. "Okay. Deep breaths. We can't... we can't do this here. Not in a parking lot." Your voice is firm but gentle. "But we are going to find somewhere. Right now."

You keep one arm around her, leading her the last few steps towards the car. You unlock it, open the passenger door for her, making sure she gets in okay, her movements still slightly shaky. You get in the driver's side, the interior of the car suddenly feeling incredibly small and charged. You start the engine, the quiet hum filling the loaded silence. You glance over at her – she’s staring straight ahead, wiping furiously at her eyes and the smeared lipstick with the back of her hand.

You put the car in reverse, pulling out of the parking spot, heading out into the night, destination unknown but purpose crystal clear: find a room, find privacy, and finally unleash the storm that's been brewing between you since day one.

The drive is thick with a silence that screams louder than any argument you two ever had across the cubicle farm. It’s pure, uncut anticipation. You focus on the road, using your phone’s GPS to locate the nearest motel that doesn’t look like it rents rooms by the hour – or maybe one that does, you’re not feeling particularly picky right now. Beside you, Irene is a coiled spring of barely contained energy. She catches you glancing over a couple of times, her dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that mirrors the frantic heat still simmering from the parking lot. You see her pull down the visor, flipping open the mirror, dabbing furiously at the smudged disaster zone her lipstick became, trying to restore some semblance of order to her kiss-swollen lips with shaky fingers. It’s a futile effort, really. The evidence of her desperation, of your mutual desperation, is written all over both of you.

“There,” you say, nodding towards a neon sign ahead that glows a welcoming, anonymous 'MOTEL' with a flickering vacancy light. It looks clean enough, blessedly unremarkable.

You pull into the lot, park haphazardly near the office, and kill the engine. Neither of you speaks. The plan for two rooms feels like a distant, ludicrous memory from another lifetime. Right now, the only plan is proximity, privacy, and picking up exactly where you left off. You get out, grab your bags again and head towards the office. Check-in is a blur. You flash the company card, sign where needed, take the keycard handed over by a profoundly uninterested night clerk. Room 207. Second floor. Doesn't matter.

Finding the room, fumbling with the keycard, pushing the door open – it all happens in a haze of urgent autopilot. The room itself barely registers. Standard motel fare: two queen beds (ironically), beige walls, questionable art, the lingering scent of air freshener failing to completely mask years of transient lives. None of it matters.

The door clicks shut behind you, the deadbolt slides home with a satisfying thud, sealing you inside. Privacy. Finally.

You drop your bags by the door without looking. Kick off your shoes. When you turn, Irene is doing the same, her movements quick, almost frantic. Her jacket is already discarded on the floor. Her gaze meets yours across the small space, and the raw hunger from the parking lot is back, blazing in her eyes.

This time, you close the distance. No hesitation. Your hands find her waist, pulling her flush against you. Her arms snake around your neck instantly, pulling your head down. The kiss is immediate, but different now. The frantic, desperate edge is still there, but it’s tempered with a deliberate slowness, a need to explore, to taste, to finally savor what you’ve both apparently been craving.

Her lips are softer now, yielding against yours. You deepen the kiss, your tongue sliding against hers, a slow, wet exploration that sends shivers down your spine. It tastes like whiskey, lipstick, and pure, undiluted Irene. You groan softly into her mouth, pulling her impossibly closer, feeling the surprisingly firm lines of her body pressed against you. Her hands tangle in your hair again, holding you captive, her fingers digging slightly into your scalp in a way that’s more pleasure than pain. Your own hands roam her back, feeling the smooth fabric of her blouse, the delicate shape of her spine beneath.

After a long moment, she pulls back slightly, resting her forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.

"Better?" you murmur.

"Just getting started," she whispers back, and then her fingers, surprisingly nimble despite their slight tremble, are at the buttons of your dress shirt. She fumbles with the first one, her knuckles brushing against your rapidly heating skin. You cover her hand with yours for a second, a silent encouragement, then let her continue. One by one, the buttons come undone, her gaze fixed intently on the task, a faint blush rising on her cheeks again.

When the last button is free, you shrug the shirt off your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor behind you. You stand there, bare-chested in the dim motel room light. Irene’s gaze drops, slowly taking you in. Her eyes trace the lines of your shoulders, your chest, linger for a moment on your stomach. You see her swallow, her throat working. A soft gasp escapes her lips.

Tentatively, almost reverently, she reaches out a hand. Her cool fingers ghost over your collarbone, then slide lower, pressing slightly against the muscle of your chest. Her touch is light, exploratory, yet it sets your skin on fire. She spreads her hand flat against your abdomen, her thumb brushing against your hipbone.

"You're..." she starts, then seems unable to finish the thought. She just continues her exploration, her touch becoming slightly bolder, less hesitant. It’s driving you crazy.

Your turn. Your hands go to her blouse, still tucked into her trousers. You undo the remaining buttons much faster than she did, your own fingers eager. You push the fabric aside, revealing her bra – delicate black lace, the contrast against her pale, smooth skin is stunning. You hear her sharp intake of breath as your fingers brush the swell of her breast above the cup.

You slide the blouse off her shoulders, letting it join yours on the floor. She stands before you, clad only in her bra and trousers, looking both vulnerable and incredibly sexy. Her arms are crossed loosely over her chest now, a hint of self-consciousness returning, but her eyes hold a defiant heat.

You reach around her, your fingers finding the clasp of her bra. It takes you a second – damn these things – but then it clicks open. You slide the straps down her arms, letting the garment fall away.

Her breasts are just as you imagined from her petite frame – small, perfectly formed, pale mounds topped with tight, rosy-pink nipples that pebble instantly under your gaze in the cool air of the room. She doesn’t try to cover herself now. She stands there, letting you look, her breathing shallow, her lips slightly parted.

You groan, a low sound deep in your chest. You lean down, capturing one taut peak gently between your lips. Her reaction is instantaneous. A choked gasp escapes her, her head falls back, eyes fluttering shut, fingers digging into your biceps. You suck gently at first, laving the sensitive nub with your tongue, feeling it harden even further against your palate. She makes a soft whimpering sound, arching her back slightly, pressing herself against your mouth.

Emboldened, you increase the pressure, sucking harder, nipping lightly with your teeth, eliciting another sharp gasp and a trembling sigh. You switch to the other breast, giving it equal attention, loving the way she melts under your touch, the way her controlled facade shatters into pure sensation. Her hands fist in your hair now, not pulling, just holding on as waves of pleasure seem to wash over her. The taste of her skin, the salty-sweetness, is addictive. You could do this for hours.

But the urgency is clawing back, the need for more. You reluctantly lift your head, leaving her breasts glistening, nipples taut and dark. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused, her breath coming in short pants.

"Clothes," you manage. "Off. Now."

It dissolves into a tangle of limbs and frantic hands. Belts are unbuckled, zippers yanked down with more force than necessary. You struggle with her trousers, she fumbles with yours, bumping heads, maybe letting out frustrated laughs that quickly turn back into groans as skin meets skin. Shoes were already off, but now pants are kicked away impatiently, leaving you both standing in your underwear, chests bare.

Then, before you can pull her back into another kiss, Irene takes control again. Her eyes meet yours, blazing with a fierce determination you recognize from the boardroom, but now directed entirely towards you. She sinks gracefully to her knees before you on the slightly scratchy motel carpet.

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch her. Her dark hair curtains her face slightly as she reaches out, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your boxers. Slowly, deliberately, she slides them down your legs, revealing you fully. Your cock springs free, already painfully hard, throbbing in the cool air.

She doesn't touch you immediately. She just stays there, kneeling before you, her gaze fixed on your cock. Her eyes are wide, maybe a little awestruck, maybe just hungry. She licks her lips slowly, a gesture that feels both instinctive and incredibly provocative. You see her pupils dilate further. She reaches out a hand, her fingers cool and slightly trembling as they brush against the head of your cock. A jolt goes through you at the contact.

Her touch becomes bolder. She wraps her fingers around your shaft, testing your length, your thickness. Her other hand cups your balls gently, weighing them in her palm. A low groan rumbles in your chest. You watch her, mesmerized by the sight of Irene Bae, the picture of corporate perfection, kneeling before you, utterly focused on your cock.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of torturous anticipation, she leans forward. Her hair brushes against your thighs. She takes the head of your cock into her mouth, her lips soft, wet, incredibly hot. You hiss, your fingers automatically going to her head, tangling in the silky strands of her hair, not forcing, just holding her there, anchoring yourself.

The initial sensation is overwhelming – the wet heat, the gentle suction. She moves tentatively at first, maybe unsure, her tongue flicking against your sensitive frenulum, drawing another groan from you. Then, she seems to find her rhythm, or maybe just gives in to her own desire. She takes you deeper, her throat muscles working, sucking strongly, her tongue working magic along your shaft. She varies the pressure, the speed, sometimes slow and deep, sometimes faster, focusing on the head, driving you absolutely insane.

Your hips start to move involuntarily, a slight bucking motion, pushing yourself deeper into her mouth, chasing the incredible friction. You let out a string of low groans, maybe cursing softly under your breath. Her name might be a prayer or a demand on your lips. She hums softly around you, a sound of concentration, of pleasure, vibrating against your skin. This is beyond anything you could have imagined – her focus, her intensity, the sheer, raw hunger in her touch, in her mouth. The memory of the hard floor, the awkward silences, the professional distance – it all evaporates in the searing heat of this moment, replaced by the undeniable reality of Irene Bae's mouth working expertly on your cock.

Irene's initial tentative exploration gives way to something far more assured, more knowing, as she takes you deeper into the wet heat of her mouth. Her technique is devastatingly effective. One hand stays wrapped firmly around the base of your shaft, creating a tight seal, while her mouth works miracles further up. She slides down smoothly, coating you in saliva, the suction strong and steady, before slowly drawing back up, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head, eliciting a choked groan that rips through your chest.

"Fuck, Irene..." you gasp out, your eyes rolling back slightly, head thudding against the cheap motel headboard you didn't even realize you were leaning against. Your hands fist in her dark, silky hair, not pulling, just anchoring yourself as waves of pure pleasure crash through you. "Where the hell... did you learn to do that?"

She pauses for only a fraction of a second, lifting her head just enough to look up at you through her lashes. Her eyes are dark pools of undisguised lust, her lips wet, kiss-swollen, slightly red from the friction. A tiny smirk plays on her mouth.

"Pays to do your research… I've always thought about doing this,” she murmurs, before dipping her head again, taking you fully back into her mouth with a renewed enthusiasm that steals your breath. Research? Research on what? On you? The thought sends another jolt of pure electricity straight to your groin.

She changes rhythm, sometimes long, slow, deep strokes that feel like she’s trying to swallow you whole, her throat muscles working skillfully. Other times, she speeds up, her head bobbing faster, tongue flicking and teasing, driving you absolutely wild. Her free hand comes up, fingers gently tracing patterns on your inner thigh, occasionally dipping lower to cup your balls, the gentle pressure adding another layer to the exquisite torture. You hear the wet, slick sounds of her mouth working on you, mingling with your own ragged groans and the soft patter of rain that might have started up again outside – you can barely tell, lost in the sensations she’s creating.

"Jesus..." you pant, hips bucking off the bed involuntarily now, chasing the friction. "Thinking about this... you said... you thought about this?" You struggle to form coherent words through the haze of pleasure. "When? While you were... sending me passive-aggressive emails?"

She pulls back again slightly, dragging her lips slowly up your shaft, leaving a wet trail. Her eyes lock with yours. There's a vulnerability there now, mixed with the heat.

"All the time," she admits. "From the beginning. You drove me insane." She shakes her head slightly, hair brushing against your stomach. "Showing up, being so... effortlessly charming, so good at everything without seeming to even try... while I was working myself to the bone."

She leans forward again, pressing a soft kiss to the head of your cock before taking you back into her mouth, sucking gently this time, almost thoughtfully.

"I hated how easy it seemed for you," she continues, her words slightly muffled around you. "Hated how... how you made me feel." She pulls back again, looking up, her expression earnest, almost pained. "God, you have no idea... How hard I tried not to feel this."

"Tried?" you echo, reaching down, gently tilting her chin up so she has to keep looking at you. "What do you mean, 'tried'?"

“The job," she says. "My career. Everything I worked for. I couldn't afford distractions. Especially not... you. The boss's obvious favorite. The competition." Her gaze drops for a second. "I told myself you were just annoying. That the little flips my stomach did when you smirked at me were indigestion. That the only reason I watched you walk across the office was to make sure you weren't slacking off." She lets out a shaky laugh, devoid of humor. "I had to hate you. Or at least, pretend to. Act like you didn't exist, like you didn't..." She trails off, licking her lips again. "...affect me."

Hearing her confess this, seeing the raw honesty, the years of suppressed desire laid bare in her eyes while she’s kneeling between your legs – it’s fucking overwhelming. You feel a surge of something more than just lust – tenderness, understanding, a fierce connection forged in shared frustration.

"You..." you start. You gently cup her face, thumbs stroking her damp cheeks. "You felt that too? All this time? That... pull?" You shake your head, needing her to understand. "Fuck, Irene, I thought I was losing my mind. Your glares could freeze hell over, but then... the coffee thing, the party... little moments where I thought I saw something else." You let out a harsh breath. "I figured I was just projecting because... because goddammit, I wanted you too. So fucking badly. Probably since that first day I saw you chewing out the intern and thought, 'Wow, she's terrifyingly hot'."

"Terrifyingly hot?" she repeats. "Is that how you saw me?"

"Among other things," you admit, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Driven. Brilliant. Prickly as a cactus. And utterly captivating."

That seems to break the dam. She surges forward, her mouth reclaiming yours in a deep, soul-searing kiss, her earlier desperation replaced by a profound sense of release, of acceptance. Her hands cup your face as she kisses you, pouring all that pent-up emotion, all that suppressed longing, into the connection. You kiss her back just as deeply.

When she finally pulls back from the kiss, her eyes are clear, blazing with intent. The vulnerability is still there, but now it's overlaid with pure, unadulterated hunger. She looks down at your cock, still hard and slick in her hand, then back up at you.

She dives back down, taking you into her mouth with a ferocity that makes you gasp aloud. There's no hesitation now, no tentative exploration. It’s pure worship, pure need. She sucks hard, her throat muscles working expertly, taking you as deep as she possibly can, her hand working your shaft in perfect rhythm. She knows exactly what she’s doing, what you need, reading your body with an intimacy that belies the fact this is the first time she’s ever done this. The sounds she makes are louder now – wet sucking noises, occasional choked gasps as she takes you deeper, throaty hums of pleasure.

Your own control is rapidly disintegrating. Your hips are bucking wildly off the bed now, completely involuntary, chasing the incredible sensations. Your hands are tangled tightly in her hair, knuckles white, not pulling, just holding on for dear life. Groans rip from your throat, unfiltered, animalistic. The pressure builds relentlessly, coiling tight and low in your gut. Every nerve ending is screaming.

"Irene... Fuck... Irene!" you gasp out, your vision starting to blur at the edges. "I can't... I'm gonna..."

She makes a low, guttural sound around you, her pace somehow increasing, becoming frantic, pushing you right over the precipice. You feel that tell-tale tightening deep inside, the point of no return hurtling towards you. You're about to lose it, right here, right now, in the incredible heat of Irene Bae's mouth.

Irene seems to sense you're close, impossibly close. Her ministrations become laser-focused, utterly relentless. She tightens her grip at your base, trapping blood, making your already throbbing cock feel impossibly hard, almost painfully full. Her mouth works faster, suction strong, but it's her tongue that sends you over the edge. She finds that hypersensitive ridge beneath the head, the frenulum, and concentrates her attack right there, flicking, licking, swirling with an agonizing precision that bypasses thought entirely.

"Ah... fuck! Irene! Right there!" you choke out, unable to stop the raw sounds ripping from your throat. Your back arches off the mattress, every muscle in your body clenched tight as a fist. The pressure builds, an unbearable, exquisite agony coiling deep in your balls, climbing higher, demanding release.

With one final, expert flick of her tongue against that spot, combined with a deep, powerful suck, the dam breaks. A guttural roar tears from your lungs as your orgasm crashes over you, violent and all-consuming. Your vision whites out for a second. Your hips slam upwards uncontrollably as your cock pulses violently, spasming in her mouth, releasing thick, heavy ropes of cum.

You feel it pulsing out, hot and thick. Through the haze, you dimly register that Irene doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. If anything, she seems to press closer, her tongue still working, deliberately licking at the head, catching the first hot spurts, chasing the sensation even as you come undone.

Your cum wells up, thick and white, accumulating at the tip before starting to run down the shaft, coating the inside of her cheeks. And then, with a decisive, almost greedy movement, she slides her mouth all the way down your shaft again, taking every last pulsing drop deep into her throat, swallowing strongly, her throat muscles contracting visibly. She keeps sucking for a moment even after the pulsing stops, ensuring she gets every last bit, cleaning you with an efficiency that's both shocking and incredibly fucking hot.

Finally, she releases you, pulling back slowly. Your cock slaps wetly against your stomach, slick with her saliva and remnants of your release. You collapse back against the headboard, utterly spent, chest heaving, limbs trembling. You stare at her, kneeling there between your legs, her dark hair slightly mussed, lips plump and glistening, a faint white sheen at the corners of her mouth despite her thorough swallowing.

"Holy... shit, Irene," you manage to rasp out. You shake your head slightly, trying to clear it. "That was... fuck. Best. Ever."

A slow, incredibly sexy smirk spreads across her face. She reaches up, slowly licking a stray droplet from her lower lip, her eyes never leaving yours. The gesture is pure, unadulterated confidence, a world away from the flustered woman in the parking lot.

You reach for her then, needing her closer. You grab her hands, pulling her up from her knees. She comes willingly, rising gracefully. You pull her onto the bed, maneuvering her beneath you so she’s lying on her back, looking up at you with that same dark, hungry gaze. You capture her mouth in another deep kiss, tasting yourself on her, the salty tang mingling with the whiskey and her own unique flavor. It's intoxicating.

You break the kiss, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her jawline, onto the pale, smooth skin of her neck. You linger there, where you desperately wanted to bite her in the parking lot, sucking gently, nipping lightly with your teeth, rewarded by her sharp intake of breath and the way her fingers fist in the motel sheets beside her hips. You continue your descent, kissing the hollow of her collarbone, your tongue tracing the delicate bones.

Your mouth finds her breasts again. They look even more perfect now, flushed slightly, nipples still tight, pebbled peaks begging for attention. You oblige, latching onto one, sucking strongly, rolling the nipple between your tongue and palate while your free hand gently teases the other, thumbing the peak, squeezing the soft mound.

"Ah... ah, yes... please..." she gasps out, her head thrashing slightly against the pillow, hips starting to lift off the bed in involuntary arches. She sounds wrecked already, her usual control completely dissolved into raw need.

You give her breasts lingering attention, loving the soft whimpers and gasps you draw from her, before continuing your downward path. You kiss the soft skin of her stomach, lingering for a moment at her navel, flicking your tongue into the small indentation, making her giggle breathlessly despite her arousal. Her hands flutter, unsure where to land – sometimes gripping your hair, sometimes clutching the sheets, sometimes hovering just above your shoulders.

Finally, you reach the waistband of her remaining underwear. You hook your thumbs into the waistband, pausing for a moment, looking up at her flushed, beautiful face, her eyes hazy with lust. Then, you slowly slide them down her legs, revealing her completely.

You pause again, taking her in. Her mound is neat, shaved smooth. it's perfect against her pale skin. Her outer lips are plump, slightly parted already, glistening with the clear, slick wetness of her arousal. The air fills with her scent – musky, sweet, utterly female, driving you wild. You inhale deeply, savoring it.

"So beautiful," you murmur before lowering your head between her thighs.

You don’t say anything else. You just slide your hands under her thighs and drag her closer, lifting her hips slightly, angling her open.

Then you kiss her pussy.

She jolts like she’s been shocked, hands gripping the sheets tight as you drag your tongue slowly from the bottom of her slit up to her clit, licking through all that wetness. She tastes incredible - salty, musky, a little sweet. Fucking addictive.

“Ahnn—!” she gasps, biting her knuckle to keep quiet, thighs twitching.

You flick your tongue against her clit, fast little strokes that make her hips jerk. Then you flatten your tongue and lick her deep again, pressing your mouth to her like you’re kissing her lips. Your tongue plunges between them, fucking into her slowly, over and over again. She moans - soft, breathy, helpless. Her hips grind against your mouth now, chasing the rhythm.

You slide one hand up, thumb stroking her thigh, and the other hand slips under her ass to keep her tilted right where you want her.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” you mumble between licks. “I could eat this pussy for hours.”

Her voice cracks. “Sh-shut the fuck up and—ahhhn—don’t stop—”

You don’t. Your tongue works faster now, focused on her clit, flicking it mercilessly while your mouth stays sealed to her. She's dripping so much you can literally hear the wet noises every time your tongue dives back in. Her legs are shaking, stomach tensing, and she keeps whispering something you can’t quite make out between gasps and moans.

“Right there—fuck, right there—don’t you fucking dare stop—ahhh—”

Her hands find your hair, pulling tight, riding your mouth like she’s forgotten anything else exists. You slide a finger up, press it gently to her entrance - and she clamps down, tight, velvet-slick and hot as hell.

You glance up. She’s watching you now, pupils blown, face red, lips parted.

“Please,” she whispers. “I—fuck, I’m close—”

You push your finger in. She screams.

And you don’t stop.

Your finger’s barely two knuckles in before she clenches down on it hard, walls fluttering like she’s already teetering on the edge - and you haven’t even started properly fucking her with your mouth yet. Just teased her, tasted her, dragged your tongue up and down that needy little slit while she squirmed and begged and moaned into the sheets like she couldn’t help it.

But now?

Now it’s game over.

You curl your finger inside her just enough to stroke along her front wall, then dive back down with your mouth, tongue flattening against her clit before flicking in fast, tight circles. Left-right-left again. Her whole body jolts.

“Ahnnnn—fuck, fuck—!” Her thighs clamp in around your head, squeezing hard, and she’s half-pulling, half-pushing at your hair, like she doesn’t know if she wants to run or grind you deeper.

You smile against her, lips dragging over that sensitive nub as you suck it into your mouth. Just a little pressure at first, just enough for her to feel it, then you suck harder, sealing your mouth around her clit and letting your tongue flick-flick-flick until her hips start rolling on their own.

“Fuck, yes—right there, right fucking there,” she gasps, voice cracking beautifully. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare—!”

You moan into her, on purpose this time, letting the vibration hit her right in the sweet spot.

“You have no idea,” you say against her skin, the words muffled by her soaked pussy, “how long I’ve wanted this. Dreamed about this. You, like this. Dripping for me.”

She lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob, legs trembling. “I used to get horny thinking about what you’d taste like,” you continue, tongue flicking again. “How your pussy would feel against my mouth. And now?”

You pull back just long enough to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss right against her slit. “Now I finally fucking get to taste you.”

“Holy shit,” she breathes, voice shaking. “Y-you’re disgusting.”

“Yup,” you grin, dragging your tongue up again, this time slower, letting her feel every inch. “And you love it.”

“God—yes—fuck—” Her fingers tighten in your hair again, her body arching off the bed as her thighs start to tremble harder. “You’re so—fucking good at this—Jesus—”

You slip a second finger in, and she clenches even tighter around both, slick and hot and wet as fuck. You pump your fingers slowly at first, then faster, syncing them with your tongue, which is working her clit with ruthless, practiced intensity now—fast circles, hard flicks, messy wet sucks. Her whole body’s thrashing now. She’s right there. You feel it.

“Irene,” you mutter. “Come for me. Come on my fucking tongue.”

She shudders. Her heels dig into the bed, hands fisting the sheets tight enough to tear them, and then she breaks.

“FUCK—!” she cries out, thighs snapping tight around your head. “Oh my god—I’m—I’m—ahhh—ahhnnnn—!”

Her pussy clamps down around your fingers like a vice, pulsing hard and fast, and you don’t let up. You keep your mouth latched to her clit, sucking through it, licking and drinking every drop like she’s your last goddamn meal.

You feel the gush before you taste it. Her cum hits your tongue in a hot, slick rush, and you groan into her, licking deeper, fucking her through every wave. She’s trembling like a leaf, legs twitching, breath coming in short, ragged little whimpers. One hand’s still tangled in your hair, the other pressed over her mouth like she’s trying not to scream the whole hotel awake.

You finally ease off, slowing your tongue, kissing her thighs gently, licking up the mess you made. She’s panting hard, chest heaving, skin flushed from her cheeks all the way down to her collarbones.

You crawl up the bed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, leaning over her like you just conquered a fucking mountain. Irene’s eyes crack open. She looks wrecked, hair stuck to her forehead, lips parted, eyes dazed. You’ve never seen her like this.

“Well?” you ask. “Better than you imagined?”

She lets out a weak laugh, breathless and hoarse.

“Are you kidding?” she murmurs. “I—I thought about it, yeah. Once or twice. But that… fuck.”

You grin, dipping your head to kiss her throat, tasting her skin, her sweat. “I’m not done,” you whisper against her pulse. “Not even close.”

You keep moving up, lips brushing over the curve of her breast, catching her nipple between your lips one more time, sucking slow just to hear her gasp again. She does, hands coming up to grip your shoulders this time, nails biting into your skin like she needs something to hold onto.

By the time you reach her mouth again, her legs are already curling around your waist, like her body’s decided it knows exactly what’s happening next even if her brain hasn’t caught up. You kiss her softly at first - languid, slow, lips parting against hers - and then harder, deeper, tasting her whimper, the desperation in it.

You feel her hips rocking up against you.

“Fuck,” she whispers into your mouth. “I need it. I need you inside me.”

You pull back just enough to look down at her. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, lashes wet, cheeks flushed beautifully. She's still wrecked, still riding that afterglow high - but the hunger behind it is real, raw, needier than anything you’ve ever seen on her face.

Your cock is already hard again, thick and aching and pressed up against her soaked slit. It’s almost unbearable, the heat of her skin, the way her slick folds are already parting around your tip, begging for more.

“Condom,” you manage to say, brain barely functioning.

She shakes her head instantly, biting her lip. “No. Don’t care. I just… I need to feel it.”

You blink. “Joohyun…”

“I mean it,” she breathes. “I don’t care. Just fuck me. I need your cock now.”

Fuck. You grab your cock at the base and slide it slowly along her slit, letting her feel the weight of it, the heat, the size. She shivers. She’s so wet you glide right through it, your tip bumping against her clit and making her gasp, thighs twitching on either side of you.

You watch her as you line yourself up, dragging your cock down until it catches against her entrance. Her pussy’s still twitching, visibly soaked, the lips glistening with a fresh sheen of slick. She’s tiny - tight - and you know this is going to stretch her like hell.

“You sure?” you ask one last time.

“Do it,” she says, voice cracking. “I need to feel you stretch me out. Just—fuck, just do it.”

So you do.

You push in slow - just the tip - and the heat is blinding. She gasps sharply, hands flying up to clutch your arms.

“Shit—” she chokes, legs tensing around you. “You’re… oh my god—you’re huge—”

She’s gripping you like a goddamn fist. Her pussy clenches around your head so tightly it’s hard to move, and you groan low in your throat, already struggling not to lose it.

“Relax,” you whisper, rubbing her thigh. “Breathe. Let me in.”

She tries. You see her eyes flutter shut, mouth open, chest heaving as she focuses. You slide in another inch and her body tightens again, sucking you in like her pussy’s never taken anything this big before.

“Holy fuck, Joohyun,” you grit out, watching yourself sink into her. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I-it’s a lot,” she pants, legs trembling. “I can feel… everything.”

You look down. And there - fuck. You can see it. A bulge under her lower stomach, small but unmistakable, pressing up under her skin when you push in just deep enough. She follows your gaze, then sees it too.

Her breath catches. “Is that… you?

“Yeah,” you breathe, mesmerized. “That’s my cock, baby. Stretching your tiny little pussy open.”

She lets out a ragged whimper, biting her lip hard. “Keep going,” she begs. “I want it all.” You inch in slowly, savoring every second. Her cunt is pulsing around you with every heartbeat, so hot, so wet, tighter than anything you’ve ever felt. It’s like she was made for this, like her body was shaped to take you and only you, and even then, it’s barely handling it. You finally bottom out, fully sheathed, hips pressed tight against hers, and she lets out a long, broken moan.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “It’s so deep—I feel so full—I can’t—fuck—”

You don’t move at first, letting her adjust, letting her feel just how completely you’ve filled her. Her pussy keeps fluttering around your cock like she’s trying to milk it, desperate to hold you inside.

You lean down, mouth right next to her ear.

“You feel that?” you whisper. “That’s me. All of me. Deep in your fucking guts.”

“Uh-huh—” she gasps, nodding fast, nails scraping down your back. “I feel it—I feel everything—please, please move—”

You start slow, pulling out just a couple inches and sliding back in. The friction is unbelievable. Her cunt clings to you like velvet vice, slick and hot and perfect. She cries out again, hips rocking up to meet yours.

“Fuck me,” she pleads. “Harder. I want it—I need to feel it—”

You give it to her. And the way her pussy grips your cock every time you start to pull out? It’s unreal. She’s so fucking tight, slick walls pulsing around you like she doesn’t want to let you go, like her body’s clinging to you on instinct. You’re buried to the hilt, hips flush against hers, and she’s shaking beneath you, gasping into your mouth like she’s already losing her mind from just this slow rhythm.

Every thrust starts controlled, deliberate - your hips rolling against her, cock dragging out of her inch by inch, gliding slick and wet until just the head’s inside, then pushing all the way back in, slow and deep. Her whole body arches, her tits pressing to your chest as she moans into the kiss, voice soft and breathless.

“Oh my god—fuck, fuck—you feel so good—” she gasps against your lips, hands scrabbling at your back. “It’s so much—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you growl, breaking the kiss to mouth along her jaw, your tongue sliding hot over her skin. “You’re taking it so fucking well, Joohyun. Look at you. Taking every inch of my cock in that tiny fucking pussy.”

She whimpers, head tilting back, eyes fluttering closed. You take the opening and kiss her neck, slow at first, then rougher, letting your teeth scrape lightly before sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

“Hhnnn—ahhh—!” she cries out, body bucking under you.

“Mine,” you murmur against her throat, the taste of her skin salty and addictive. “This body’s fucking mine.”

She chokes on a moan, clenching around you like she’s about to come from just the words.

“Y-yours,” she gasps. “Fuck, yes—I want it—I want it so bad—!”

Your thrusts pick up, pace increasing, hips slamming against hers with wet, obscene sounds. The slick slap of skin fills the motel room, your cock pounding into her over and over, every stroke pushing a new cry from her lips. She’s so small beneath you, tiny frame writhing under each thrust, trying to take it all and somehow still needing more.

You kiss her again, this time messy, teeth knocking, tongues tangled, just trying to devour each other between gasps. Her moans are constant now, desperate, broken little sounds between every slam of your hips.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” you pant into her mouth. “Wanted to feel you wrapped around me, wanted to fuck you till you scream my name—”

“I thought about it,” she blurts out, breath hitching. “In the office—I thought about you—fucking me over the desk—your hands in my hair—ahhhnn—!”

That does something to you. You lose it a little.

You sit up on your knees, dragging her hips up with you, and start fucking her harder - deep, brutal thrusts that make the bed slam against the wall. Her body jolts with every one, her tits bouncing, hair splayed out on the pillow as she cries out over and over, no longer trying to stay quiet.

“Right there—right fucking there!” she screams, eyes wide open now, staring at you like she’s burning alive from the inside out. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop, I’m—”

You grab her thighs, angle her hips up just slightly more, and slam into her so hard she screams, nails raking down your chest.

“I’m cumming—I’m gonna—ahhhhhh—!”

Her pussy clenches around your cock like a vice, spasming hard as she crashes into her orgasm, back arching, mouth falling open in a soundless moan as wave after wave rolls through her. You feel everything - every twitch, every squeeze, her whole body trembling under yours as she soaks your cock, juices dripping down to your balls. You don’t stop. Not yet.

Her body doesn't even stop trembling before you're moving again, hands gripping her hips, thrusting deep into that spasming, soaking heat. She gasps - high-pitched, raw - as you bottom out again, her walls fluttering madly around your cock. She's still cumming, or maybe her body just hasn’t figured out how to stop. Her thighs are shaking, heels sliding uselessly against the sheets as your rhythm holds, slower but deep, like you're trying to reach her soul with every stroke.

"Ahhh—f-fuck—it's still—!" Her voice shatters into a broken moan as you thrust in hard again, burying yourself to the base. She rolls her eyes back, jaw slack, expression completely unguarded - beautiful and messy and real.

You grind your hips at the end of the thrust and suddenly—

"Fuck—fuck, I—I’m—ahhhhhnnn—!"

She jerks under you violently, like she’s been shocked. Her pussy explodes, a gush of warm wetness flooding over your cock, drenching your balls, soaking the sheets. You watch it happen, stunned for a heartbeat as she squirts, shaking and convulsing, her fingers digging into your arms like she’s trying to keep from flying apart.

"Shit, Joohyun—" you groan, staring down at her in awe. “That’s it. That’s it, baby, let it all out.”

She’s still crying out, head tossed back, body trembling as her pussy keeps clenching, fluttering, leaking all over you. You don’t stop, fucking her through it, shallow thrusts that keep the pressure exactly where it needs to be while her body loses its goddamn mind.

The sight of Irene like this: fucked out, twitching, squirting, burns into your brain like the most perfect thing you’ve ever seen. Bae Joohyun, the office’s ice queen, a picture of control and composure, is now writhing under you with her legs spread wide and cum running down her thighs. Her moans are broken, stuttered, barely coherent, and her eyes are glassy with bliss. Finally, the tremors start to fade. Her body goes limp, legs falling open, and she lets out a long, shaking breath. Her arms come up, slow and trembling, wrapping tight around your shoulders.

You collapse onto her chest, still inside, pressed against her like you need her to stay grounded. Your heart’s pounding. She’s breathing hard beneath you, soft little hiccups in her chest like she doesn’t even know how to recover.

“You—” she starts, voice hoarse. “You are… fucking insane.”

You chuckle, kissing her sweat-slicked shoulder. “You came so hard you fucking squirted, Joohyun. I think you broke me.”

She laughs, breathless, hands sliding up into your hair. “I’ve never come like that. Never. That was—oh my god, that was fucking incredible.”

You lift your head to look at her. Her face is flushed, glowing. There’s something in her eyes now - not just dazed pleasure, but something deeper.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she murmurs, fingertips tracing your jaw, slow and delicate like she’s afraid you’ll vanish. “You and me. Here. Like this.”

You tilt your head, studying her. “You sorry it happened?”

She freezes, lips parting slightly. Your eyes lock - and for a second, the silence stretches between you, heavy with whatever the hell this is turning into. “No,” she says finally, and there’s no hesitation in it. “No, I’m not sorry. I don’t think I could be, even if I tried.”

You nod slowly, kissing her again, this time with something gentler behind it. Her hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You feel the shift in her hips even before she speaks again.

“Are you close?” she whispers, lips brushing your cheek.

You groan, grinding your hips into hers. “Yeah. I’ve been holding back, but… fuck, Joohyun, you feel too good.”

She bites her lip, still panting softly. “Then I want to make you cum.”

Her voice is hoarse, but there’s something determined behind it. “Even if I’m sensitive. Even if it fucking hurts.”

“Babe, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” she says, smiling through the flush. “Let me ride you.” She shifts beneath you, pushing at your shoulders until you fall back onto the mattress. She climbs on top slowly, wincing just a little as she straddles your hips. Her legs are trembling, pussy still twitching, but her eyes never leave yours.

She reaches down, guiding your still-hard cock to her entrance. And fuck - she’s still soaking, but sensitive as hell. The moment the head slides in, her whole body tenses.

“F-fuck—” she breathes, gripping your chest. “So full. Again.”

“You okay?” you ask, voice tight.

She nods quickly, face strained. “I’m okay. I can take it. I want it.”

And then she starts to move. Slowly - agonizingly slow - she sinks down on your cock, her pussy stretching around you all over again. She whines low in her throat, legs shaking with the effort.

Her voice trembles. “You feel so fucking deep.”

You grip her hips, watching her ride you, barely able to believe how beautiful she looks like this. Hair a mess, sweat glistening down her chest, legs struggling to keep the rhythm - but she won’t stop. Every bounce makes her gasp, every grind has her whining into the dark motel room air, and you feel it building in you, tightening fast.

The way she moves - rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles - makes your breath catch hard in your throat. She's still so tight, even after everything, and every single motion feels like you're being pulled deeper into something you might not come back from. Her hands are braced on your chest, her thighs trembling slightly with exertion, but her expression? That’s what gets you. Eyes heavy-lidded, flushed cheeks, lips parted in a mix of concentration and something way too raw to be just pleasure. She’s watching your face as she rides you, like she’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart beneath her.

The pace starts slow. Her movements are languid, almost lazy, like she’s savoring it, dragging her slick, aching pussy along the length of your cock with a deliberate grind that makes your stomach flex. Her warmth swallows you, over and over, her body squeezing tight every time she sinks back down.

“You like watching me like this?” she whispers, a little breathless, but with that same venomous sweetness behind her voice. She leans forward, hands pressed flat against your chest now, breasts hanging just above your face as she bounces a little faster, a little harder. The slap of skin against skin returns - softer now, wet and obscene, her cunt audibly swallowing your cock.

“You’re unreal,” you manage. “I can’t believe this is fucking real.”

“Believe it,” she grins, hips slapping down again, making you twitch inside her. “I want you to remember this every time you look at me across the office. Every time you think about me in meetings. That you had me like this.”

“Fuck, Irene—”

Your hands reach up and catch hers, fingers threading together, grounding you both. The shift in angle makes her whimper, head tilting back as her thighs flex, ass slapping against you harder now.

She rides you harder, faster, eyes locked on yours, her moans mixing with yours in a haze of breath and sweat and desperation.

“Gonna cum soon,” you gasp, hands tightening on hers. “Fuck—Joohyun—I’m close.”

Her thighs are trembling, muscles burning, but Irene doesn’t stop - doesn’t even slow down. She’s bouncing on your cock like she’s trying to ruin you, riding hard, frantic, every slap of her soaked pussy against your lap loud, wet, obscene. She’s a fucking mess - hair a disaster, face red and dewy with sweat, tits jiggling wildly with every brutal grind - but she doesn’t care. She’s into it. She’s owning it. She leans forward and spits pure filth, her lips parted in a breathless grin, eyes blazing like she’s high on how deep she’s taking you.

“Come on,” she pants, riding you hard, slamming down over and over, your cock buried so deep it punches the air right out of your lungs. “Fucking cum, baby. I can feel that cock twitching inside me.”

You groan, one hand gripping her hip tight, the other sliding up to her tits, squeezing, watching the soft flesh spill through your fingers.

“Irene—fuck—gonna make me—”

“Yeah?” she cuts you off, her nails raking across your chest as she grinds down hard, clenching around you on purpose. “You gonna cum for me again, huh? Gonna cum all over my body like a good boy?”

You growl, hands snapping to her ass, holding her in place so you can fuck up into her now, hips pistoning into her soaked cunt while she squeals and moans like the dirtiest little thing you’ve ever seen. Her eyes are rolling, mouth slack, and she’s loving it - riding you like a cock-drunk slut with something to prove.

“God—yes—fuck, yes, fuck me—fuck me—harder—!” she cries out, nails biting into your shoulders as she throws her hips down to meet every brutal thrust. “I want your cum—I want to feel it—I want to feel it all over my body; warm, thick, sticking to my skin.”

You snarl something wordless, thrusting harder, faster, deeper, your balls slapping against her ass with every frantic collision.

“You like that?” she gasps, barely coherent now. “You like this pussy? Tight little fucking cunt squeezing your cock like it was made to milk it dry?”

“Fuck—Joohyun—gonna—fuck—I’m—”

The moment she slips off your cock, the heat leaves you with a wet noise and you're left pulsing in the open air, soaked in her wetness, veins standing out along your shaft like it’s straining to explode. Irene falls back onto the bed, limbs sprawled, chest rising and falling with uneven, post-orgasm gasps. Her skin glows with sweat, her thighs slick, trembling, still twitching from how violently she came - and then she looks at you.

And fuck, that look.

Lust-drunk, completely wrecked, pupils blown wide and mouth slightly open like she’s still dazed - but there’s something sharp underneath, something needy, greedy, filthy. She spreads her legs wider, completely unashamed. Her hands slide up her torso, fingers lightly skimming her stomach, then over her tits, which she squeezes softly, pinching a nipple like she’s toying with herself just to keep your eyes locked on her.

“Come on,” she murmurs. “Show me. I want to see it.”

You wrap your fist around your cock - slick, hot, twitching - and start stroking, fast and rough, the veins bulging, your tip swollen and twitching with every heartbeat. You’re kneeling over her like it’s ritual, like this is the fucking altar and she’s laid out in front of you, hair a mess over the pillow, chest heaving, legs spread wide, skin glowing with sweat and sex. And she’s just looking up at you like she’s starving.

“Come on,” she breathes, her hands sliding up her own stomach, cupping her tits, squeezing them together. Her thumbs flick her nipples, her eyes locked on your cock. “Cum for me, baby. I want it all over me. Cover me with it—paint me.”

You groan, deep and guttural, biting your lip so hard it stings. It’s surreal—Irene, the same ice-cold, composed, impossible-to-please Irene from across your cubicle, now spread out like a fucking porn star, looking at you with cum-hungry eyes and begging like a slut for your load.

She smirks as she sees the look on your face, teasing you with just her voice. “You like this, huh?” she says, dragging one hand slowly down her stomach. “Watching your coworker get messy? Filthy? Begging to get covered in your cum?”

“Fuck, Joohyun—don’t stop,” you groan, jerking faster now, chasing the tightness building in your gut.

“I want to feel it,” she whispers, her voice shifting, getting rougher, needier. “I want everything you’ve got. Drench me. Make a fucking mess of me.”

She licks her lips as she says it. Her thighs spread wider. One hand cups her breast again, the other trailing lower, fingertips barely grazing her oversensitive clit. And she’s smiling - smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Your cock throbs hard in your grip.

“You gonna give it to me?” she says, breath hitching. “You gonna jerk off like a good boy and give your dirty little coworker what she needs?”

“Fuck—yes, yes—I’m so fucking close—” you pant, jerking harder, faster, your balls tightening.

Her voice drops into a whisper, thick with lust and taunting affection. “Then cum for me. Cum for your little cumslut. I’m ready for it. I need it.”

Your vision tunnels. Your whole body seizes up. And then you’re there. With a broken groan, your cock explodes, the first thick rope of cum shooting out hard and painting her chest, streaking from collarbone to nipple. She gasps, eyes wide, biting her lip, watching it hit her.

“Yes—fuck yes—” she moans, arching her back, offering more skin. “More—give me more—”

Another jet lands across her stomach, thick and white, dripping down between her ribs. Then another hits higher, splashing across her throat and chin, and she laughs through it, twisted and breathless and completely unrecognizable from the Irene you’ve known at work. You’re still cumming, stroke after stroke, your cock throbbing violently in your hand as you spurt again and again - her tits, her belly, the soft curve of her hip, streaks of white everywhere. She writhes in it, moaning, hands smearing it into her skin like it’s lotion.

“Oh my god—look at how much you fucking came—fuck, it’s so hot—”

You stroke the last few drops out, your tip now so sensitive it burns, but she’s not done.

“Come here,” she pants. “One more.”

You blink down at her, chest heaving. “One more?”

“On my face,” she growls, licking her lips again. “Mark me.”

You swear you almost cum again on command. You kneel higher over her, aiming your cock right at her flushed, expectant face. She tilts her chin up, mouth parted, tongue out slightly, eyes fluttering shut like she’s about to get baptized.

You stroke hard - just a few fast pumps - and you feel it hit again, the pressure spiking. A hot, sticky burst lands across her cheek, then her nose, then her lips. She moans, mouth catching a string of it, and another shot hits her right between the eyes, dripping down her forehead.

“Mmmnnhhh,” she moans, lips curling around her tongue as she catches the taste. “Fuck… yes.”

Her hands come up, fingers dragging through it, smearing your cum across her own cheeks, her mouth. You’re trembling, panting, absolutely destroyed, and she still looks hungry.

“Look at me,” she whispers, eyes fluttering open, cum dripping from her chin. “You fucking ruined me.”

You’re about to collapse when she pushes herself up slightly, sitting up with effort. Her eyes drop back to your cock - still twitching, slick and flushed - and she leans in. Without hesitation, she wraps her lips around the tip and sucks.

You almost scream.

Your hands fly to her hair, hips jerking, as she takes the head into her mouth and sucks gently, tongue swirling around the sensitive tip like she’s savoring every drop you’ve got left. Her mouth’s warm and wet and slow, and it’s too much - you twitch, thighs tensing, muscles locking up.

“Holy fuck, Irene—!”

She moans, low and satisfied, as she pulls off with a slow, wet noise, licking her lips one more time, eyes dazed and shining. And then she grins, breathless.

“Perfect,” she whispers.

You collapse on the bed, utterly spent, breathing hard, just watching her. Irene Bae. Your rival, your coworker, the person you spend hours just pranking and annoying. Currently kneeling beside you on a motel bed, naked, flushed, her dark hair tangled, her skin glistening with sweat and drying trails of your cum. Her lips are swollen from kissing and from cleaning you, a faint red smear still visible at one corner. And somehow, despite the absolute messy reality of the last hour, she looks breathtakingly beautiful. More beautiful than you’ve ever seen her. The raw vulnerability, the satisfied exhaustion, the sheer woman beneath the corporate armor – it’s devastating.

You reach out slowly, your hand still trembling slightly from the force of your orgasm. You gently cup her cheek, your thumb brushing away a stray strand of hair plastered there by sweat or... your cum. She leans into your touch instantly, a soft sigh escaping her lips, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment, completely trusting. Then, she turns her head slightly and presses a soft, lingering kiss against the palm of your hand. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels profoundly intimate.

A small, breathless chuckle escapes you. "Okay... wow," you murmur, shaking your head slightly in disbelief at the whole situation. "Right. Uh..." You clear your throat, trying to regain some semblance of normal thought. "I think... I think maybe we should attempt some... decontamination? Before we permanently bond with this questionable bedspread." You gesture vaguely at the state of her, and likely yourself. "A shower might be a good idea."

She nods, her eyes drifting open again, soft and hazy. "Yeah," she agrees. "Good idea."

Moving feels like a monumental effort, but you manage it, helping each other untangle limbs and push upright. Standing beside the bed, unsteady on your feet, you get a full view of the beautiful disaster you’ve made of her. You offer her a hand, pulling her gently towards the tiny bathroom.

Stepping into the small shower stall together feels strangely normal after everything else. You turn on the water, adjusting the temperature until it’s comfortably warm, not too hot. The spray washes over both of you, rinsing away the sweat, the slickness, the drying evidence of your climax from her skin. You find a small bar of generic motel soap. Without asking, you start gently soaping her back, your hands moving slowly, tracing the delicate lines of her shoulder blades, the curve of her spine. She leans back against you slightly, letting out a soft sigh of contentment, resting her head back on your shoulder.

She takes the soap from you after a moment, turning to return the favor, her small hands surprisingly strong as she works up a lather on your chest, her touch feather-light but sending shivers down your spine nonetheless. There’s a quiet intimacy in the shared task, the shared nudity feeling different now – less charged with frantic need, more comfortable, vulnerable. You stand under the steaming water. You share another long, slow kiss under the water, tongues tangling gently, a reaffirmation rather than a prelude. Mostly, though, it’s just about getting clean, about the quiet care after the storm.

Finally, clean and slightly less shaky, you turn off the water. You grab the two thin, threadbare towels provided by the motel. You wrap one around her, taking a moment to gently towel dry her hair, her dark strands clinging to your fingers. She does the same for you, her movements efficient but gentle.

Back in the main room, wrapped in towels, the exhaustion hits hard. You both sink down onto the edge of the bed you haven't yet defiled – the one further from the door. You feel clean, wrung out, and suddenly ravenous.

"Hungry?" you ask, glancing over at her. She’s staring blankly at the wall, looking utterly drained but peaceful.

She nods slowly. "Starving, actually."

"Okay." You stand up, resolve firming. Duty calls. Or at least, takeout calls. I volunteer as tribute. What culinary delight can I procure for the lady?" You pause, unable to resist a small jab. "And please, for the love of god, tell me you're not going to ask for a kale salad with lemon vinaigrette right now."

A genuine laugh bubbles up from her, startlingly bright in the quiet room. She shakes her head, meeting your eyes with amusement. "Definitely not salad," she confirms. "Not tonight." She thinks for a moment, biting her lip. "Could you… maybe find a burger? Like, a proper greasy one? And fries? Lots of fries?"

Relief floods you. "An excellent, perfectly reasonable request!" you declare dramatically. "A greasy burger and copious fries it is. I shall return victorious!" You quickly pull on your jeans and random t-shirt, grab your wallet and the room keycard. "Don't go anywhere," you add with a wink, before slipping out the door.

The hunt for late-night, non-salad food takes you to a slightly sketchy but blessedly open 24-hour diner a few blocks away. You return twenty minutes later, triumphant, bearing two large paper bags smelling gloriously of fried onions, grease, and potential cardiac arrest.

You find Irene exactly where you left her, still wrapped in a towel, though she’s now curled up on top of the clean bedspread. You spread out your feast on the small, round table in the corner – burgers, mountains of fries, onion rings, a couple of sodas. You ditch your own shirt again, deciding comfort trumps propriety at this point, and join her, sitting cross-legged on the bed opposite the food table.

You eat mostly in a comfortable silence, punctuated by satisfied sighs and occasional comments about the food ("This is disgustingly good," she declares after her first bite of burger). You catch each other's eye occasionally, sharing small, knowing smiles. The remnants of smeared lipstick are gone, the tear tracks washed away, the drying cum replaced by the faint scent of cheap motel soap and greasy food. It feels… normal. Almost domestic, in a weird, post-apocalyptic-motel-tryst kind of way.

Finally, bellies full, wrappers and cartons shoved back into the paper bags, teeth already brushed, the inevitable question of sleep arises. You look pointedly at the two queen beds occupying the small room. One currently holds the remains of your feast. The other… well, the other holds memories you won't soon forget. Your gaze flicks between the beds, then to Irene, unsure of the next move. Should you offer to take the other bed? Reiterate the floor offer?

Before you can formulate a potentially clumsy question, Irene speaks, her voice soft. She pats the space beside her on the bed they didn't just have incredibly messy sex on.

"Hey," she says quietly, meeting your eyes directly. Her expression is open, vulnerable. "Sleep here. With me." She offers a small, tentative smile. "It's… it's okay. Really."

Relief washes over you. "Yeah?" you confirm, maybe needing to hear it again. "Okay. Good." You start to move towards the bed, ready to slide under the covers.

"Wait," she says quickly, holding up a hand, stopping you. A faint blush creeps up her neck again. "One more thing first." She hesitates, seeming to gather her courage. "Those pajamas I was wearing last night?" You nod, remembering the grey ensemble. "I… uh… I almost never wear them." She looks down at her hands, then back up at you, her gaze steady despite the blush. "At home. Normally. I sleep… naked."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Okay. Didn't see that coming.

"It just… feels better," she continues quickly, maybe rushing the words out now. "Less restrictive. More comfortable." She gestures vaguely between you two, acknowledging the current state of undress beneath the towels. "And… well. Since we've already… you know. Seen pretty much everything there is to see… I just… I was going to anyway. Unless…" She trails off, looking suddenly uncertain. "Unless that makes you uncomfortable? If it bothers you, I won't."

You stare at her for a beat, processing this new piece of information, this unexpected vulnerability mixed with practicality. Does Irene Bae sleeping naked beside you bother you? Is she kidding?

A wide, slow grin spreads across your face. "Bother me?" you repeat, maybe letting out a soft chuckle. "Irene, seriously? Absolutely fucking not." Your grin widens. "Please. By all means. Be comfortable." You can't resist adding, "Though, fair warning… my self-control already took a serious beating tonight. No guarantees it won't snap entirely if faced with naked Irene Bae snuggled up next to me."

Relief floods her face, followed by a genuine laugh this time. She playfully swats your arm. "Shut up," she mutters, but she's smiling. "Okay. Good." Then she tilts her head, looking you up and down, still just in your jeans. "Well?" she asks, raising an eyebrow, a challenge in her tone now. "Same rules apply, right? You too."

Your grin widens further, if possible. "Wouldn't dream of overdressing for the occasion, commander."

The decision is made. Wordlessly, you both stand up. You shed your jeans quickly, tossing them onto the chair. Irene unwraps her towel, letting it fall to the floor, completely unselfconscious now. You do the same. You stand there for a moment, naked together in the dim motel light, the shared vulnerability feeling less charged now, more like a simple, honest truth between you.

You slide into the clean bed, the sheets cool against your bare skin. Irene slides in beside you, pulling the covers up. She hesitates for only a second before rolling onto her side, facing you, even scooting a little closer than strictly necessary. The warmth radiating from her bare skin is immediate, intoxicating. The lingering scents of soap, food, sex, and just her mingle in the air. Exhaustion pulls at you, heavy and insistent, but lying here, naked, beside Irene, feels like the only place in the world you want to be.

—

You wake slowly, pulled from a deep, dreamless sleep by the unwelcome intrusion of pale morning light filtering through the cheap motel curtains. Your body feels heavy, pleasantly sore in ways you haven’t experienced before, muscles aching with a satisfying thrum. The first conscious thought is fuzzy, disoriented by the unfamiliar ceiling, the faint scent of stale cigarette smoke overlaid with something muskier, sweeter... sex.

Then it hits you. All of it. Like a tidal wave crashing over your sleep-fogged brain. Irene. The bar. The confessions. The parking lot kiss that felt like spontaneous combustion. This room. Her mouth on your cock, your mouth between her legs. Her screams, your cum painting her skin. The raw, unbridled need that finally exploded between you after months of simmering tension and office warfare. Holy. Shit.

A slow smile spreads across your face as the memories solidify. You roll over instinctively, reaching out, expecting to find her warm, soft body curled against yours, maybe still tangled together from however you finally collapsed into sleep.

But the space beside you is empty. Cold.

You push yourself up on one elbow, blinking, fully awake now. You’re naked under the thin motel sheet, the faint, sticky residue on your skin a testament to the night's activities. But Irene is gone from the bed. Your eyes scan the small, unremarkable room. And there she is.

Standing by the window, already fully dressed in the crisp, professional attire she wore yesterday – tailored trousers, sensible blouse buttoned all the way up, sharp blazer. Her dark hair is pulled back into that severe, immaculate knot again, not a strand out of place. She’s staring out the window, back mostly to you, posture ramrod straight. The transformation is jarring, almost comical if it didn’t make something unpleasant twist in your gut. The passionate, vulnerable, gloriously debauched woman from last night seems to have vanished, replaced entirely by Bae Joohyun, Senior Analyst.

"Morning," you offer.

She startles slightly, turning from the window. Her eyes meet yours for only a fraction of a second before flicking away, fixing somewhere on the wall above your head. Her face is carefully blank, the professional mask firmly in place, though you notice a faint pinkness high on her cheekbones and maybe, just maybe, the slightest puffiness around her eyes. The dark marks you left on her neck are skillfully concealed by her collar.

"Morning," she replies curtly, her voice cool, clipped. "We should get going soon if we want to make the flight. I checked traffic; it looks okay, but better safe than sorry." All business.

Right. The flight. Reality intrudes with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. You swing your legs out of bed, the sheet pooling around your waist, suddenly very aware of your own nakedness under her studiously averted gaze. You grab your clothes from the floor where they were discarded in a heap last night, along with hers.

The process of getting ready is excruciatingly awkward. You head into the bathroom, showering quickly, the hot water doing little to ease the sudden tension coiling inside you. You brush your teeth, staring at your own reflection – you look tired, maybe slightly dazed, but undeniably satisfied. Is that a smear of lipstick still near your ear? You scrub at it vigorously. When you emerge, towel wrapped around your waist, Irene is meticulously packing her overnight bag, movements precise, efficient, avoiding looking at you entirely. You get dressed quickly, pulling on yesterday's clothes, feeling rumpled and profoundly out of sync with her pristine appearance.

The silence is broken only by the click of her suitcase clasps, the rustle of clothing. No reminiscing sighs, no shared smiles, no acknowledgement whatsoever of the earth-shattering intimacy you shared just hours ago. It’s like hitting a brick wall.

"Ready?" she asks, her voice still coolly professional, turning towards the door, bag in hand.

"Yeah," you grunt, grabbing your own bag.

Check-out is as impersonal as check-in. Breakfast is a quick, sterile affair at a generic coffee chain near the motel. Irene pulls out her work phone immediately, scrolling through emails, making a comment about a report that needs finalizing. You try to make small talk – about the terrible coffee, about the flight – but her answers are short, clipped, deflecting anything remotely personal. It’s like talking to a polite, efficient stranger. The Irene who screamed your name, who swallowed your cum, who confessed her hidden desires, might as well have been a fever dream.

Back in the rental car, the awkwardness becomes suffocating. The confined space magnifies the unspoken tension, the elephant – no, the entire goddamn zoo – sitting between you. You drive towards the airport, the silence stretching, punctuated only by the GPS voice occasionally telling you where to turn. You can’t take it anymore. You stop the car on the highway shoulder.

"Okay, Irene," you say finally, your tone tight with frustration, maybe a little hurt. You glance over at her stony profile. "Can we just stop?"

She turns her head slightly, feigning ignorance, though her fingers fidget nervously in her lap. "Stop what?"

"This," you say, gesturing vaguely between you. "This... pretending. Acting like last night was just... another item on the agenda we checked off. Like it didn't happen."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says stiffly, refusing to meet your eyes. "We finalized the Ishikawa deal, and now we're heading home. That's what happened."

Her denial, so blatant, so deliberate, snaps something inside you. Before you can retort, however, she moves. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she leans across the center console, grabs your face with both hands – her touch surprisingly firm – and presses her lips to yours. It’s a hard, fast kiss, desperate almost, a confusing echo of the parking lot passion but tinged with something else – panic? Regret? Then, just as quickly, she pulls back, retreating to her side of the car, leaving you stunned, tasting her faint lipstick again.

She takes a shaky breath, finally looking at you, her eyes wide, conflicted. "I'm not ignoring it," she says, her voice low, trembling slightly. "Okay? I'm not. I just... I'm trying to process it."

She gestures helplessly. "This is... this is insane, don't you see that?" Her voice rises slightly, laced with panic now. "We work together. We sit five feet apart every single day. People notice things, people talk. What we did... it's..." She struggles for the word. "...Complicated." She takes another deep breath. "And then there's the promotion. Choi is watching both of us. We're supposed to be competitors, rivals! Not... not this."

The fear rolling off her is palpable. You feel a pang of sympathy, but also a sharp sting of rejection. "So," you ask quietly, the question heavy, "what was last night then, Irene? Just... a mistake? A one-time lapse in judgment? Blowing off steam after a stressful negotiation?"

She looks away, unable to meet your gaze now. "I don't know," she whispers, sounding lost. "Honestly? I don't know what it was. It was... incredible. And terrifying." She finally looks back at you, her eyes pleading. "Can we just... not? Not right now? Can we just get on the plane, go back home, pretend to be normal coworkers for a little while?" Her voice drops further. "Maybe... maybe we just try and forget it happened? Just until... until we figure things out?"

“Forget it happened?” The words hit you like a physical blow. After everything? After the confessions, the raw honesty, the sheer intensity of the connection?

"Forget it?" you echo, your voice dangerously quiet now, laced with hurt you can't quite hide. "You really think we can just forget last night? Pretend none of it was real?" You shake your head slowly, a bitter taste in your mouth. "Wow." You take a deep breath, needing her to understand. "Listen to me, Irene. Things have changed. Between us. Everything has changed." You meet her eyes, holding her gaze firmly. "Whether you want them to or not, whether you're ready to deal with it or not. They've changed."

She holds your gaze for a long moment, the conflict, the fear, the lingering desire warring visibly in her expression. Then, she looks away, staring out the windshield, nodding almost imperceptibly.

"I know," she whispers. "Believe me, I know." She closes her eyes briefly, letting out a long, slow breath. "And that," she adds, turning her head slightly back towards you, her eyes filled with a deep, unsettling fear, "is exactly what scares the hell out of me."

"Scared?" you ask. "Scared of what, exactly? That maybe... just maybe... it wasn't a mistake?" You lean slightly towards her, forcing her to feel your presence even if she won't look directly at you. "Scared that it actually felt... right? That maybe the 'annoying office clown' isn't so bad when he's got his tongue buried between your..." You cut yourself off with a sharp breath, shaking your head. Too much. But the point hangs there. "Scared that you might actually want this, Irene? That maybe you've wanted it for just as long as I have?"

She flinches at your words, turning her head sharply away to stare resolutely out her side window, presenting you with the rigid line of her shoulder. Her voice, when she speaks, is tight, controlled, desperately trying to rebuild the professional wall you both just obliterated.

"Want what, newbie?" she retorts, the words clipped. "A completely inappropriate, career-destroying entanglement? An HR nightmare waiting to happen?" She takes a shaky breath, trying to marshal her arguments. "We work together. Directly. We are competing for the same promotion, remember? Last night..." Her voice falters for a split second before hardening again. "...Last night was insane. It shouldn't have happened. It was a lapse, brought on by stress, exhaustion, proximity... maybe too much whiskey at that bar." She throws out the excuses like shields.

A short, sharp, humorless laugh escapes you. "Right. Blame the whiskey. Blame the motel booking from hell. Blame the fucking rain." Your tone hardens, losing its earlier softness. "Blame anything and everything except the fact that you kissed me first in that parking lot like you were starving. Blame anything but the fact that you practically ordered me into that bed. Blame anything but the fact that you looked me dead in the fucking eye afterwards and told me you weren't sorry." You pause, letting the words sink in. "Don't you dare try and minimize this, Irene. Don't try and shove it into a box labeled 'drunken mistake'. I thought you were better than this, Irene, now I look at you and see a liar."

She wipes angrily at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing makeup she hastily reapplied earlier, just wiping away fresh tears. "It has to be a mistake!" she insists. "What else could it possibly be? This isn't... us! This isn't how we work! We snipe at each other, we compete, we drive each other crazy! We live in a war. We don't... we don't do..." She gestures vaguely, frustratedly, between the two front seats, unable or unwilling to name the intimacy, the intensity, the raw sex you two shared. "...that! We can't."

You fall silent then, just watching the rigid line of her jaw, the way her fingers are clenched tightly in her lap. The fight seems to drain out of you, replaced by a heavy weariness, a profound sense of disappointment. "But we did, Irene," you say finally, your tone quiet again, flat, devoid of inflection. "We did all of it." You turn your gaze forward, focusing on the road ahead. "And pretending it didn't happen, trying to rationalize it away... it's not going to work. Not for me." You take a deep breath, the silence stretching thick and suffocating between you. "So yeah. Go ahead. Be scared. Maybe you're right to be." Your tone drops even lower, laced with a bitterness you can't quite contain. "But don't you ever try and tell me it wasn't real. Or that it didn't mean something."

Irene makes no reply. She just continues to stare out the window, utterly still, perhaps watching the vehicles go by, perhaps seeing nothing at all. You start the car and get back on the road, the miles ticking by in loaded silence, the unspoken chasm that just opened up between you feeling wider and more insurmountable than any distance you could cover on the highway.

All that raw intensity back there, the confessions whispered against damp skin, her body shattering beneath you, the way she looked at you, held you… you actually thought that meant the stupid office cold war was over. You thought you'd finally signed some kind of truce – hell, maybe even a full-blown peace treaty – right there on those cheap motel sheets, written in sweat and come and desperate need. But listening to her now, watching her meticulously rebuild those professional ice walls brick by painful brick?

Nope. You were kidding yourself. This wasn't peace. It was just an armistice. A really, really good armistice, granted, the kind that leaves you aching and raw and wanting more, but just a temporary ceasefire before the battle lines get drawn all over again, probably colder and sharper than ever before.

Back to square one. Fuck.

[knightyoomyoui]

Adore You

w/ Red Velvet's Bae Joohyun "Irene" x Male Reader

TYPE: Fluff, Light Angst

WORD COUNT: 6993

NOTE: First time writing a Red Velvet oneshot! Hope yall enjoyed it, especially you, Hijack! Thanks for ordering again! Also, giving a special credit as well to Hijack himself for providing some assistance on some of the dialogues here in Act 4 and 5. ORDERED BY: @hijack711

DONATE OR REQUEST FOR COMMISSION HERE: https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui === START ===

In a small town of Gangwon Province, a car was seen crossing through the narrow road surrounded by green fields. It parked in front of a house, the driver stepped out to greet the surroundings of her new place to stay.

Draped in baggy gray sweatpants, simple white t-shirt and comfy matching rubber shoes, the driver which was revealed to be a woman with long straight hair and breathtaking beauty locked the door and stood in front of the said house. Observing her new personal space, a sigh of relief and contented smile formed in her lips.

The landlady, who previously owes the property, popped up from the other side to greet the young lady. “Good morning, maam! Welcome to Gangwon, glad that we finally met. I’m Jiwoo.”

“I’m Irene.”

“Shall i introduce you to your new house? It’s great that you came in time.”

“I guess I could say I’m excited to live here.” Irene formed a soft smile. “I’ve been longing for a fresh new start again, and today’s the day. Can’t let anything go to waste.”

“If that’s so then let’s proceed immediately and get the papers done. We both do have a lot more things to do after this.” Jiwoo searches from her keychain to pick the right key and inserted it on the gate to unlock.

She opened and initiated to welcome Irene. As she was brought to every area of the house to see it for herself along with its details, her mind is focused on what things she’s planning to do here now that she’s about to settle for good in this place that hopefully she could considered as the perfect destination for peace.

She wants to become comfortable and get used living here, that’s why she would do a lot of efforts just so it could help her get distracted and moved on from everything she left behind from where she came from. This is important for Irene, when she said that she’s going to live the life she always dreamt of, she meant that and now that she’s all alone away from everything she wants to avoid, nobody can stop her from finally build the bubble she wants to put herself in.

A slight amount of senses were spared to concentrate still on the landlady’s thoughtful assist to prevent disrespect on her part, she listened through everything she said. As of her mind was multitasking both regarding about her priorities currently.

“Doesn’t all you’ve seen makes you regret?” The landlady requested for assurance.

“Not at all. This is exactly what I wanted. All I ever care is to have myself a place to stay and be happy, you know what I mean.”

“That’s the spirit. I like your positive intuitions, Irene-ssi.” Jiwoo cheered on her. “About the papers, you can sign it here with your name to make ourselves a deal.”

Irene didn’t wasted no more time to sign the contract. She also handed a bag full of money to Jiwoo for payment. “Just being fair and true to my words.”

“Thank you much again, Irene-ssi. Hey, if you ever need anything to help you discover more about this place to make yourselves one of us, feel free to come onto me anytime.” Jiwoo said. “My house is just houses away from you!”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Jiwoo unnie.” Irene bowed along with her and they bid goodbyes from one another, leaving herself alone.

Giving another roaming sight around the interior, it motivates Irene more to visualize what she plans about any of these she wanted to happen here.

“Let’s do well in our new home, self. Fighting!” She raises her fist to support herself and boost her anticipation for upcoming success she wants to achieve in here.

The next few days, Irene had her house almost rearranged with the return of her belongings and furniture from her previous place thanks to the kind carriers who helped her set everything back up. She also started to greet some new neighbors and get introduced by Jiwoo.

The connection she had with the friendly landlady has what led her search for a vacant space to become easier. With just few discussions, she already claimed the space officially hers and when she was asked what business she has in mind that made her purchase this: “I always wanted to build my own flower shop.” Irene answered in which the respondents agreed to her decision as it does seem like a perfect fitting to their rural community that provides lots of plants.

Having new friends to speed up Irene’s establishing of her new flower shop, it didn’t became a bothersome to look for various flowers to choose and buy with the intention to sell it to others by her own. The deliveries would be out by no time, it’s up for Irene to give them the go signal of when it would be.

As for the empty space she already have, it would be unacceptable and plain if she won’t put decoration and other changes to transform a single room into a legit shop. To lessen the struggle of searching to the outer cities, thankfully Jiwoo and the other neighbors knew someone who can help Irene in her business’ concern.

While she was cleaning the house, she heard her doorbell rang and a few knocks on the door. Irene paused her task and went outside.

Opening the gate, she found a man standing in front of her wearing just simplest outfit in a cap on his head while carrying a tool box and extra pockets for other acessories. As she met his face, she found him smiling at her as brighter as the sun this morning and somehow it got her in awe just by looking at it.

“Hello, miss. May I ask if you are Bae Irene?” The man spoke.

“Yes, you’re talking to her right now. Perhaps you must be…”

“Ah yes, I learned that you were looking for a carpenter to help create your shop. Allow me to introduce myself, I’m YN LN, the carpenter who can help you with that.” He offered his hand to her and she accepted.

She felt his touch and the firmness of his grip as she stares at him with a welcoming grin. “Thanks for accepting my request, Mr. LN.”

“No worries, it’s my job anyway.” He shook it off sheepishly. “So uhm, I am ready to begin my service today, can you show me where your shop will be?”

“Yeah, sure. Just one moment.” She excused herself as she rest her house’s electricity to leave and guide YN on the way to their designated location.

ACT 2

They reached the area that Irene was mentioning. It’s scroll gate was closed and no more sign that says “FOR SALE” like the past few days.

“So uhm here’s where I want to open it.” Irene presented the soon-to-be flower shop to YN who looked at her before turning his attention to the sealed space. “Not too much, right?”

“Yeah but it won’t be a bothersome if I work on to larger ones. Handled some before.” YN said. “But hey, this is a nice spot to have it.”

“Really? That’s nice to know.” Irene calmly replied. “I was actually hoping that there’s people who will come by, I mean… selling plants not be that much entertaining to be a go-to place at when you go shopping but… I want to make it different, you know. Changing the ideology of that.” She added.

“Point taken, but you can leave it to me on that if that’s your goal. I’ll help you turn your shop become eye-capturing not just from your products but with its aesthetic as well.” You assured. “I suppose you have an idea on how to make this place look what it should be. Just say it and I can make it possible.”, he patted his toolbox to refer at.

“You do seem pretty convincing and confident with your skill, Mr. LN.” Irene said in her amazed tone. “Is that why you’re popular around here?”

“Ahh that, I don’t know, maybe?” his contagious chuckle affected Irene as well. “I would rather just say that I can rely on my 20+ years of my experience doing carpentry and from how my previous clients all through those times were satisfied at the outcome I provide them, not that I’m forcing you to expect too high on me but your trust would be enough.”

“Let’s see if the rumors are true then.” Irene bounced her eyelids with an anticipating smirk. “Hold on, let me show you inside. It’ll be empty obviously but yeah…”

“To visualize what I can do with it, I get it.” YN understood the point. They both looked at each other and Irene nodded with a smile before she hesitantly went away.

She rolled out the gate and opened the glass door, which allowed YN to roam his eyes around on the inside. Irene was doing the talking as she was given permission to speak about the plan she has in mind on how to transform such boring, small, lifeless room into a vibrant, captivating, and cozy atmosphere that compliments the flowers she will stock in here for selling soon.

YN was directed by Irene around and through his head he compliments how creative her imagination was to turn this place around, something he hasn’t encountered to a person for quite a long time. Most of the works he did was done mostly through his own idea just to construct something beautiful, but with Irene, it’s beginning to make him feel that he’s going to have fun and won’t dire out himself on finishing this new task in production.

“That’s all I can give for my dream shop. About your materials by the way, as part of my token of appreciation, you can tell me what materials you will need for designing this room and I’ll cover all of those.”

“Wait, seriously?” YN was dumbfounded. “A-ahh, you don;t n-need to if it’ll cost your money to be spent more, I don’t like that my service should demand much costly price in return. You can just focus on your stocks to fill up your shop, I’m good.”

“Are you sure, Mr. LN? I have no problem with it, like I said it’s a way of saying thank you for your help.” Irene tries to contemplate him.

“It’s fine, actually you helped me already. This is another income for me and I have something to do again with myself being a carpenter.” YN confirmed. “I already have my own source to grab some materials I’ll need to build every detail you’ve told me.”

“If that’s the case then, I don’t want to force myself too much.” Irene embarrassingly laughs. “Thank you again for this, Mr. LN.”

“You’re welcome.” He bowed after in respect.

They exit the shop and Irene closes its doors and gate again. Before they separate ways, YN announces that he’ll start going to that source he’s mentioning and most likely will begin the construction tomorrow. Irene took note of that and both were now looking forward to the progress of the ongoing project they’re both invested in.

The following days, each changes that were being applied to the walls through every corner was evident to both YN and Irene, and it makes them amused to notice how everything is going smooth. What makes these even more interesting for Irene is that she could only watch YN do these all by himself, remembering the first day of his visit to the shop with the materials he need that she thought there’s more men incoming to assist YN in the construction but to her surprise, YN said there’s no one and it’ll be him who will do all the work.

Sensing that it had the lady speechless due to concern, YN ease down Irene by trying to persuade her that he’s been doing this for a long time and not once he complained about it because he prefers to work alone. He knows what he’s doing and as much as he is willing to teach and instruct other men to help him, atleast he won’t be going around to multitask of observing their task when he could just completely finish it all off by his own.

The impressive skills and talent of YN has gotten into Irene slowly by slowly. Not only that, during his busy days of renovating her store, she also discovered more of YN’s down to earth personality. A positive, humble, and sociable person was all she can describe while having a conversation with him through the breaks, which probably what makes it more enjoyable other than how much she provides him snacks to recharge his energy.

In some of the topics they’ve had, love talk was part of those that slipped in to their curiosities. It wasn’t suspicious for them at first, that’s why they’re able to answer it straightforwardly, although YN’s has richer information. Both of them admitted they are currently single but what caught Irene’s interest more is his reason.

It wasn’t because he doesn’t want to be involved in relationship these days, it’s rather due to the feeling of having personal incapability to win a woman’s heart because of things that what makes about him. Despite his proudness of doing this occupation for decades, YN reinstates that at the same it makes him insecure that being like this may not be that attractive to women to consider a guy like him, as he is aware of the stereotypical truth that they include carpentry as one of the less-demand jobs and it makes him afraid that once the girls learned it about him, they’ll reject him with the possibility that he might not be able to support them financially. Sadly, he couldn’t deny that idea.

YN also mentioned that as of now he currently lives along with the mastermind that pushes him to accept that flower shop construction offer because of her love with flowers: his sister who is now married and have two kids at home.

Those along with his job are what gives him responsibility and purpose still in his personal life aside from being unsuccessful in love. As Irene listened through all of that, she couldn’t help but to feel sorry for YN and she hopes it didn’t destroyed his self-esteem about his appearance because it’s a shame that even through all he said, his looks were undeniable enough to attract someone else.

Furthermore, it frustrates Irene that there are women who thinks lowly immediately of his background which proves that they only care about the looks. She could only hope that he finds someone who will value him in everything, and if its her who can do that then she’ll do what must be done for a good guy like him.

Irene’s eyes widened, confusion formed in her forehead. She was weirded out how her thoughts ended up in that way. Imagining herself volunteering to be the perfect one for YN was out of nowhere, but unsure if she can call it unexpected. After all, she already find him cute in the first place the first time her eyes landed at YN.

Disregarding how random it was, she just focused on comforting YN with kind words that speaks out on behalf of her reactions and hearing all of that had YN boost his confidence within himself. He thanked Irene for being honest to him and added that he was touched.

Both of them weren’t aware with each other that the silence and the glances they stole from each other after that heartwarming moment was the emergence of something deeper between the bond they’ve shared everyday. Their respective emotions that they keep within themselves after listening to their sides is what perturbedly urges them to do the right thing with use of their heart and minds functioning solely for one another.

ACT 3

Irene kept on enjoying YN’s presence looming around her shops while proceedingly applying more furnitures that would aid her to organize the plants neatly for the visitors to see. It grew a relief on her tah both of them had the courage and the ability to interact well with one another because if the opportunity is wasted, Irene could only hope that the construction goes slow to keep him near.

That alone is what Irene begun to distinguish her expanding interest about him, that she could be willing to set aside her priority just to have more time with him. The more they talk together, Irene’s satisfaction goes to the top, although a bit challenging that she had to contain herself from bliss of sharing these types of simple moments with you.

She was now indeed falling in love with him, she confirmed silently while she gets on to watch him focusedly hammering a wood for another level on the shelf. Her eyes shimmers at the sight of his attractive looks, having her in amazement and confusion of how could you just do a simplest thing and effortlessly show your handsome features.

But then, her smile faltered when the thought of a chance to confess had her recalling some specific choice of words that he told a week ago. Something she has now been wondering to herself if she can be the one that he actually sees from her.

She could be honest about her true feelings for him, but what about everything about her once a miracle happened? Yes, she claim that YN receiving and returning her confession would feel surreal for her because that one darkest secret she has been hiding from is still a what-if to her on how he would react once he finds out the truth.

As much as she wanted to be loved back, she has suffered enough from her bitter past that manipulated her to only be concerned with the negative consequences of her personal decision. Now that she’s attracted to this one guy in the new town she moved in, it became a hindrance for her if she would truly tell someday about her admiration to him.

“Irene?” His voice snapped her out of trance, rapidly blinking then gets to contact with YN’s puzzled appearance. “You okay? You seem to be thinking deeply about something.”

“Ahh yeah, I’m fine don’t worry. Sorry, was I out of my senses that much?”

“Mmhmm, you were staring on the floor for like almost half a minute.” He nodded. “Care to share what’s disturbing you?”

Irene looked at his face and again, the mix of embarrassment, fear, and sadness crept up in her heart. She shook her head in denial, “It’s just nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, but if you need any help, I can offer some assistance if you want. Just come by and pour out everything you’ve been storing inside.” He reminded her.

“Nah, YN you’ve already helped too much. I don’t want you to include you as well to fix my life.”

“But I want to, and I think you need it.” YN replied. Irene stared at him as she felt the seriousness to his words. “To be honest, I don’t know but… you haven’t told me anything yet I just feel like there’s something wrong that you’ve been keeping to yourself, and that’s not good at all Irene.” She kept on listening.

“We can’t heal if we don’t speak it out loud. Don’t be afraid to share it to me, I’m willing to lessen the burden that you feel if I had to because I want to keep this friendship of us going and, you know… better.” He declared.

“I can see through people if they’ve gone through a lot. It’s either in their eyes, their smiles, and how they act.”

“Wow, when did you learn to become very observative?”

“It’s already in my nature.” He shrugged. “Maybe because I care too much.” A grin formed in his face which made Irene’s heart palpitate. His closer profile and the way of his words just made her forgot all her concerns and focus only to that one necessary thing that matters to her right now.

It was day off for YN which paused the ongoing progress of the shops reconstruction. Irene decided to treat him after she cooked her favorite meal.

She followed the address that YN gave him. Through every turns and straight driving across the roads of this small town, the direction led her to stop and reach this particular two storey pleasantly looking house that had a yard inside.

She knocked on the gate while holding the aluminum tray of food. The metal clang as the door opens, YN wasn’t the one who greeted but rather, a woman who looks almost identical to him but with feminine features.

“Hello, is YN there?”

“You must be what my brother is telling about, a girlfriend.” She teased.

“E-eh?”

“HAHAHAHA just kidding, she didn’t said that. But I won’t mind if you end up to be.” She winked and clicked her tongue. “Anyway, hello! What brought you here? Do you wanna see my brother that much huh?”

“A-ahh… n-no, I just… want to give him something.” She handed the tray. “It’s a food that I cooked, please be careful, it’s hot.”

“Ooohhh this smells delicious! But sadly, he wasn’t here yet, he went out for some errands to do.” She explained which made Irene shocked. “Would you want to wait for him? You can come inside if you wan!”

“It’s okay?”

“Yeah, we accept visitors always. And now that you’re our new neighbor and my brother’s… ahihihi” She giggled in fluster which had Irene heating up with her blushes. “You’re very welcome to come here often.”

YN’s sister gave a way to her, and she accepted the invitation. She stepped inside and viewed the appearance of their cozy home. “Come on, have your way!”

As she entered their house, two kids that are sitting in the living room greeted her eyes. These must be the children of his sister that YN referred to her.

“Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness of my brother. I’m sure he will love this food from you.”

“You can try it if you want, I made it more than one servings anyway.”

“Wait, you serious?”

“Yes. Please, have a taste if you want.” Irene kindly smiled.

“Who am I reject? Oh I’m going for a bit already.” She joked before grabbing a plate. “How about we go there in the couch and talk shortly while we wait for my brother to arrive?”

“Sure, I appreciate it.”

“By the way, I haven’t introduced myself yet, I’m Joy.” She offered her hand. Her name does compliment her bright personality.

“I’m Irene.”

They went to the couch and sat. Her kids instantly went beside her and begged to taste her food on the plate. “Can I just say something real quick, I’m so stunned at how pretty you are. I didn’t even know that my brother befriended such an original visual.”

Irene is getting fluttered with Joy’s sweet comments. “Thank you, I don’t mean to brag but I do hear it often from others.”

“Keep on bragging, come on! You are pretty, and it wasn’t a lie. If I have a face like yours, I would be a K-Pop idol right now or what, be popular and attack every ones hearts with my gorgeous visuals. Do you have any talent?”

“I can sing.”

“See! Perfect for you!” Joy was amused.

“I don’t see that you’ll be needing mine, unnie. You’re beautiful as well.”

“Aish, you! Oh. I haven’t heard anyone saying that other than my husband. You understand the assignment, babe!” She gestured a blowing kiss. “Thank God you and my brother are different, I can’t stand that idiot’s arrogance. Always making me a target of his antics, do you know he rather calls me a retard?”

“Uhh… I really don’t expect that he does that.”

“Hah! He got you fooled as well, isn’t he? My brother is a moron, that’s what he is. Now you know, and you’ll be thanking me much once you get to be closer with him a lot more and you started to notice how goofy he is.”

Both of them laughed with the repeated roasts about YN behind his back, until it lowered and Joy sighed in delight before looking back at Irene. “No, but seriously speaking. I love my brother so much. Was he the first person you get to be close with after you moved here?”

“Yes.”

“Great, you got to come across with a great person like YN. Believe me, with every help and sacrifice he gave for me, I wouldn’t be here right now living peacefully with my two kids here. He’s the reason why I’m so grateful to have this life right now despite of the problems I’ve been into, he’s always right there by my side.

And I know it’ll be the same for his friends like you. Do you know that out of all the people he meet around here, you were the only one that became successful to have him repeatedly mention you everytime he comes at home after working at your shop, that’s when I knew that you are a wonderful person and looking at you up close, I never doubted him.

I don’t want to be too emotional with this but… please know that you have to trust my brother. He has it all, I swear. Consider yourself lucky already that you meet a man like him, because he won’t hesitate to cheer you up, assist you when you need it, and most importantly… to accept you with open arms.”

Joy’s speech made Irene froze as every words struck into her, relatable and convincing it sounded. Her times with YN had her revisiting and not a single information that Joy used to describe her beloved brother was a lie. She saw it all and it seems that it wasn’t the entirety of it yet.

The desire to discover more of him is pushing her again to do it. Her thought were interrupted when they heard the gate close.

As she turned her head around and stood up, YN appeared on the door frame. Both of them saw each other, their mouth gaped slightly at the surprise of seeing themselves in a new place, before their reactions displayed an uplifted grin.

“I-Irene? What brings you here?”

“Just wanted to see you.” She answered shortly which made his chest heavy in overwhelm.

ACT 4

YN stayed up until night at Irene’s shop, eager to replenish the remaining sections of the shop in his last day of helping for the construction. It was bittersweet for Irene, she knew the outcome of what her shop is finally going to be would be exciting but the realization that it would be his final day of his daily stay in her property had her put into a gloomy mood as well.

She didn’t want to disrespect YN’s dedication in his work, she could only show and project his bright demeanor as he is just as thrilled as she is for the finishing touch of the flower shop’s design. Her mixed emotions would then return when he turns his back around and return on his work.

The words that came from this two siblings were now helping her to contemplate about the decision she’s going to make. How she received the message of their advice were battling for dominance to see what’s going to motivate Irene to conclude the heaviness of thoughts and feelings she’s carrying for this man.

She closed her eyes as she stepped out of the room to get some air, seething the calmness and serene environment to help her focus what is it going to be. There, she slow understood that to ensure that she’s going to pick the right thing, she had to be fully committed to it without any regrets, not even a sign of negativity.

Then she reflected back on her past, she had a lot of worst scenarios to encounter and endure because of the truth that she is gay and now transitioned into a transgender woman from her parents, neighbors, old friends, etc. It was hard for her to make them explain this new version of her and to rebuild that connection they once had, but to no avail, and it eats her up until now that it’s making her feel and think that her decision ruined her life when she thought it was for her sake of becoming free and better.

She felt selfish of what others may feel, inconsiderate of how they would take this information, and a traitor for betraying the perspective they had on her. If she has to make a decision that will never haunt her for its consequences, then her mind is now made up.

She won’t let history repeat itself again. This is about forgetting the past and focusing on her present situation. She’s going to confess at YN tonight.

“And it’s done!” YN exclaimed as he attached one last screw to wrap up his duty for Irene’s shop. “You can start your business anytime soon. How was it?”

“Just like what I wanted it to be.” Irene roamed her eyes around in awe, she couldn’t believe it that another dream of hers has came to life, thanks to YN. “Well done, YN. This is awesome.”

“You’re welcome.” YN nodded. “So uhm, I guess you’re going now for deliveries next.”

“Yeah.”

“Just tell me when are you gonna open, alright? I could help you set things up. It doesn’t mean that my job around here is done I’ll let things in control just by yourself. If… that’s okay for you.”

“Oh o-okay, I’ll remember that.” Irene smiled.

After she closed the shop and hide her newly polished place from the eyes of the public, YN and Irene looked at each other. Time is shrinking as Irene waits for the perfect opportunity to do it.

“So uhh, I’ll see you again if I can.” YN said. “Good night, Irene!”

“Wait, I want to say something to you also.” Irene stopped him from walking. “It’s not about the shop, it’s… another that has been filling up inside of me since then,”

“Well, look at you. There you go, finally opening up to me.” YN was exhilarated, stepping closer at her which made her flinch a bit in shyness. “I’m all ears.”

“Yeah, I thought about what you’ve told me last time about… sharing what’s bothering me and not letting it just bottled up within me.” Irene stated. “But it’s more of about you telling me that I was honest to you.” YN kept on listening.

“I did say that, why? Is there anything wrong to it?”

“Yeah but it’s more of me to be blamed with because… I felt like I was being honest enough to you yet.” Irene said. “I thought that if you could share your past struggles in your personal life, that means you trust me and… now that we’re friends, that’s what it’s all about right? Giving back the kind treatment that others were doing to make us feel.

:YN… I hope you won’t distance yourself from me when I tell you this.”

“About what?” YN asked. “This is getting suspense ain’t gonna lie, seems like you’re about to drop some biggest secret that you were hiding. I mean, it’s okay though it’s not actually that I;m forcing you-”

“No wait please, quiet for a second and let me be.” YN zips his mouth, feeling like he got scolded. “Sorry.” “No, I trust you, YN. Believe me, that’s why I’m ready to do this. It’s just that there’s something that makes me afraid when I finally say it to you… that I’m a transgender.”

YN’s hand covering his mouth dropped first before his jaw slowly slipped downwards after what he just heard. His eyes slightly largened in surprise.

“What I fear is that now you know, you’ll avoid me just like everybody else. I only got to tell you this because I was motivated by what you said to me and what your sister told me about you too, that I’m lucky to have a friend like you. That’s why I don’t want to secure myself from these walls I built around me through these years now that I find a person that is wholeheartedly nice to me and someone that I… am interested with.”

“Irene… you do?”

Irene lowered her head and lured her gaze away in embarrassment. “It’s been weeks now that I’ve begun to feel different whenever you’re near. Your presence, I feel so alive when you’re around me.”

“I didn’t want to be what I think I’ve became when everyone that is close to me rejected me because of my identity. I don’t want to betray, to be selfish, and doubtful of you. I’ve been through enough.” A tear flowed in her cheek brought by the overwhelming emotions urging her burden to affect her. “I just wanted to be seen as a good and a normal person.”

Not long after, shadow on the ground merged around his, and suddenly she felt his embrace wrap around her fragile self. “Come on, I thought it would be threatening or something for me to be aware. Irene, you don’t have to be scared either because you are transgender or you’re feeling more of me. I accept you for whatever makes this entirety of you. That’s what it matters, being real and true to yourself. Even me, I would rather be hated for something that I am than be loved for something that I’m not. I get you, it’s tiring to keep on fooling yourself just to please people.

And you don’t have to do that to me. For me, whatever I see through you and now what I’ve learned of you. It didn’t changed a single thing. You’re still attractive to my eyes.”

YN felt his hand shiver when Irene began sobbing on his gentle grasp. “I’m sorry for what they’ve done to you. They don’t deserve you. I’m glad that our fate led to us meeting, because now you got to meet someone who will accept you. And I will be here always to stay as long you’re still the one I like.”

They stayed there for a few more minutes before Irene thought his care is enough. She leaned away and YN helped her wipe off her tears. “Feels good doesn’t it? To pour everything that causes you pain and torment.”

“It does. Thank you so much, YN.”

“Can I ask a very random question, I just became curious. What’s your original name when you were… you know, like me.”

“Bae Joosung.”

“Oh, and now… I suppose it’s Bae Irene?”

“Irene is actually my English name. I did surgery back in Sweden and stayed there for a couple of years. My current name now is Bae Joohyun.”

“Oh, interesting. Well they both sounded cute.” They both laughed. “So, Bae Joosung or should I call you Irene. Let me repeat this again, I can clearly say that I was not gay, but I am willing to be now and I’m not scared anymore to discover what is love again. You maybe a trans but I am not ashamed telling you that for the past months I’ve loved you, now even more for learning who you really are. I’m not ashamed by that so why should you, haven’t you already decided who you are now then why are you having that negative feeling, aren’t you wanna be loved?”

“I… I want you to.” She whispered.

“Then let me adore you. I’ll do it like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do.”

“But I can’t give you … you know, kids.” Irene concerningly mentioned.

“I can work on that … my noona and her husband … which unfortunately have passed away from an airplane crash leaving their kids behind…” YN cautiously explained

“Sooyoung-ah? O oh my god, I-I’m so sorry for that, YN.” Irene was flabbergasted at the revelation of YN’s sister’s tragic backstory.

“You two were already close for a short span, it was lovely watching those two messing around back then but now they’re just remnants of the past. Their kids, my two nephews and a niece are under our care. Well, it’s just me who currently acts as their father-figure being an uncle. Sooyoung would definitely appreciate if… an auntie like you can somehow join me to take care of them.”

“Say no more, YN. You got me on that.” Irene could only nod in agreement as both of them grinned widely at each other. They hugged again, their newfound relationship has helped them to settle their inner conflicts manifested by their challenges and heartbreaking experiences as they bravely departed into their desired future being together.

ACT 5

Months later, the gossips about YN and Irene’s relationship spread across the neighborhood including the truth of her being a transgender. To add the happiness that she’s receiving, everybody welcomed her still, and YN proudly watched her girlfriend get along with new acquaintances.

Irene also lived up to her promise of standing as the aunt and guardians for Sooyoung or Joy’s children with YN. Sooyoung was very thankful that the weight of her responsibility became even lighter because of her kindness of assistance. The kids already had a great impression to the two, and it was not a day where all of them go play around their houses.

What had them both in complete shock was the moment when Irene requested YN that they go to her childhood home to visit her family, both for the aim to ask for their blessing on their relationship and to seek acceptance as well. After couple of asks from YN is Irene is sure about this, she replied that she is and she wanted to do this.

They arrived at her house in the city. The maids allowed them in and for the first time in years, Irene got to meet her family again. She admittedly was scared and nervous to face them again, but with YN’s support beside her she has the courage now to confront them. To her surprise though, her parents immediately rushed to hug her and emotions broke from the longing and a proper closure of their longtime conflict. They finally greeted and claimed her as their ‘daughter’ and even allowed YN on their relationship.

A year afterwards, YN and Irene got married outside of South Korea and also decided that they want to have their own children to raise. They adopted two a young boy named Jinwoo into their family.

“Hahaha, what is it, Jinwoo-ah?” Irene asked her son tugging her dress while she waters the plants.

“Eomma, go help YN appa make kimchi stew, please! I’m hungry!” Jinwoo pleaded. She sighed and chuckled, she knew that her husband must be struggling again on cooking this dish.

Meanwhile inside their house, YN was about to prepare in the kitchen when she heard the door bell rang. He opened the door and there, his sister Joy and her friends who visited their humble abode.

“Oh hey YN, how is it being a dad?” Wendy asked as she saw his apron and some of the toys scattered on the food. “HAHAHA, no hard feelings, just joking, shit I went too far with that, am I? Sorry about it.” Wendy noticed her mistake as she saw his deadpanned reaction.

“Hey, it’s okay and yes I’m fine raising kids unlike you with your single, no boyfriend since birth ass.” YN hissed and lets out a smug smile before turning around as he lets the girls in.

“Aish this brat, that hurts you know!” Wendy grumpily complained.

“Hahaha!” Joy laughed at how defeated Wendy looked after getting teased back.

“Good one, oppa! … ehh, is that your wife?” Yeri turned to the woman who is being pulled inside by their son from the yard.

“Woah, she’s gorgeous, why should I be surprised?” Seulgi

“Well, girls, I had Joy call you all here ‘cause I know my lady here will be more comfortable with that rather than a bunch of dudes to invite in the house.”

“How about you?” Irene asked him.

“Me? I got my boys here.” He said as he patted his son and his two nephews. “Who’s up for basketball?” They all shouted “Me!”

As they left the scene, they all laughed. “Aish, I was supposed to just help him cook kimbap and now he’s gone.” Irene shook her head. “Hi everyone, I’m Bae Joohyun or Irene and it’s nice to meet you girls.” she greeted at her lovely visitors.

“Hello! Wait, have we met before?” Wendy asked.

“I don’t know, maybe? You all seem familiar as well.” Irene chuckled sheepishly.

“Who knows? Maybe we know each other from our past lives.” Yeri winked.

“Yah, like what are we? Some sort of a girl group?” Joy humorously commented.

“That would be cool.” Seulgi shrugged. Irene could only laugh at them, they don’t know yet that they were actually her batchmates except Joy that she knew back when they were in college. Such coincidence had her both astonished and ecstatic to meet some few people who have been kind for her even just for a short time of knowing them before.

“Oh yeah, please take a seat. I’ll prepare us all a lunch.” Irene excused her guests and before she went to the kitchen, she stopped by to watch her beloved husband play with the kids. Seeing him made her feel very thankful of this new life that she chose… in which YN changed for the better. === END ===

[w1w2]

The Echo of an Ordinary Girl

Irene x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 17K

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: After years of relentless work, Y/N’s promotion celebration takes a surprising turn when a chance encounter leads her to an exclusive idol party. There, she catches the attention of Irene from Red Velvet, sparking a quiet yet profound connection.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

A soft snow had started to fall, casting a glittering veil over the bustling streets of Seoul. Y/N pulled her coat tighter as she stepped out of the sleek glass doors of her company’s headquarters. The cold bit at her cheeks, but she didn’t mind; the warmth of her success was more than enough to keep her spirits high.

Earlier that day, during the morning briefing, she had been officially promoted to Manager—a position she had worked tirelessly toward since moving to Seoul three years ago. The congratulatory emails and warm smiles from her colleagues had left her feeling both accomplished and reflective. She thought of her journey from Europe to South Korea, the challenges she faced, and how this moment was a testament to her determination.

Reaching the curb to hail a cab, Y/N adjusted her glasses, the sleek frames resting perfectly on her subtly arched brows, framing her thoughtful green eyes. There was a calm intensity in her gaze, a reflection of the emotional intelligence and quiet confidence that had carried her through the hurdles of her career. Her lips curled into a small, genuine smile as she glanced at her phone buzzing in her pocket.

It was a message in the group chat she shared with her three closest friends in Seoul:

Soojin: Manager Y/N! That title looks good on you. We’re celebrating tonight, no excuses!

Jiho: Seriously, you deserve a night out! We’ve got something special planned, so don’t even think about canceling.

Minji: Wear something cute, but don’t go overboard. You know we’ll be late if you overthink it.

Y/N chuckled softly, tucking her phone back into the crossbody bag slung across her shoulder. She had learned early on that arguing with her friends was pointless. Their love for celebrations—and for her—meant she was in for an evening she wouldn’t soon forget.

Later that night, Y/N stepped out of the cab in front of a well-known bar nestled in the vibrant district of Itaewon. The neon sign above the entrance flickered invitingly, reflecting off the light snow that continued to fall.

Her outfit was both stylish and understated, a perfect blend of her practical nature and subtle flair. She wore ripped jeans paired with a crisp shirt that emphasized her toned upper body—her hard-earned muscles a quiet testament to her dedication to maintaining balance in her hectic life. Over the outfit, she’d thrown on a high-fashion jacket, the perfect mix of casual and refined. Rings adorned her fingers, adding a touch of edge to her ensemble, while her dark blond hair fell loosely in soft, straight strands, catching the faint glow of the streetlights.

As she approached the bar, her eyes scanned the crowd, immediately spotting her friends standing near the entrance. Their excited waves and cheerful grins brought a warmth to her heart that rivaled the glow of her earlier success. Tonight wasn’t just about celebrating her promotion—it was about embracing the life she had built, surrounded by the people who made it all worthwhile.

“Finally!” Soojin exclaimed, pulling Y/N into a warm hug. “We thought you’d back out and bury yourself in work.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Y/N replied, grinning. “Not with you three plotting against me.”

Minji gave her a once-over, nodding approvingly at Y/N’s outfit. “Good. You look the part of a manager who knows how to let loose.”

Jiho, ever the planner, led the way inside. “Okay, ladies. Follow me. I know a guy.”

The bar was packed, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. True to Jiho’s word, they were quickly ushered upstairs to the VIP section, a cozy yet sophisticated suite overlooking the main floor.

“How do you always manage this?” Y/N asked as they settled into plush seats.

Jiho winked. “Let’s just say I have connections.”

The night unfolded in a whirlwind of laughter and clinking glasses, the lively hum of the bar providing the perfect backdrop for their celebration. Y/N found herself loosening up as her friends swapped stories and jokes, their energy infectious. The VIP suite was intimate but elegant, with plush seating, dim lighting, and a panoramic view of the bustling main floor below.

Jiho had ordered a round of signature cocktails for the table—colorful concoctions served in ornate glasses that seemed almost too fancy to drink. “To success!” Jiho proclaimed, lifting her bright blue martini high in the air.

“To Y/N!” Minji countered, standing up dramatically and holding her glass aloft. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, “The most hardworking, badass Manager we know!”

Soojin, always quick to join in, tapped her glass against Minji’s. “And don’t forget the most loyal friend and terrible dancer.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad!” Y/N protested with a mock glare, though her laughter quickly broke through.

“To Y/N!” they all echoed, their voices rising above the noise of the bar as their glasses met with a satisfying clink. Y/N felt a warmth spread through her—not from the alcohol but from the love and pride radiating from the people around her. In the three years she’d spent in Seoul, these people had become her rock, a second family that reminded her she wasn’t navigating this city alone.

“You’ve earned this, Y/N,” Jiho said earnestly, her hand resting on Y/N’s shoulder. “All those late nights, the way you push yourself—you inspire us.”

“And now,” Soojin added, nudging Y/N playfully, “you get to bask in the glory of our undivided attention and terrible drinking habits.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You three are impossible. But thank you—for tonight, for everything.”

As the drinks continued to flow, their stories became more animated, the jokes increasingly ridiculous. Jiho shared a tale of her most awkward client interaction, which had Minji practically in tears from laughing too hard. Soojin, ever the dramatist, acted out an exaggerated rendition of a failed first date, complete with over-the-top gestures that had the entire table roaring.

But as the night went on, Y/N felt the need to step away, to breathe in the quiet pride swelling in her chest. “I’ll be right back,” she said, standing and smoothing her jacket.

“Don’t get lost!” Minji called after her, raising her glass.

The crisp December air filled Y/N’s lungs as she stepped outside the bar’s back entrance. A faint glow from the streetlights reflected off the freshly fallen snow, giving the alley a serene, otherworldly feel. She leaned against the brick wall, fishing out a cigarette from her pocket and lighting it with a quick flick of her lighter.

This was her night—a culmination of years of hard work, late nights, and moments of doubt. It was a small victory, but one that reminded her she was capable of more than she sometimes gave herself credit for. A sense of contentment washed over her as she tilted her head back, gazing at the snowflakes drifting lazily down from the dark sky.

The quiet moment didn’t last long. A few meters away, muffled voices rose into a heated exchange. Y/N squinted, noticing three figures huddled around a man near the alley’s edge.

“Just one more photo! Come on, you owe us that much for waiting!” one of the voices demanded, sharp and insistent.

“I already took photos with you and gave the autographs,” the man replied, his tone calm but laced with frustration. “I’d appreciate some privacy now.”

The fans ignored him, stepping closer, their voices growing louder and more aggressive.

“Why are you being so rude now? Do you think you’re too good for your fans?”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t recognize the man at first, but his discomfort was clear. Her instinct to protect kicked in. Without a second thought, she stubbed out her cigarette and walked toward the group.

“Hey!” she called, her voice firm. The fans turned, startled by the interruption.

“Who are you?” one of them snapped, glaring at her.

“Someone who’s not afraid to call the police,” Y/N shot back, pulling out her phone. She locked eyes with the man they were harassing, silently asking if he was okay. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“You don’t even know what’s going on,” another fan spat.

“I know enough,” Y/N replied, her voice steady. “You’ve been harassing him, and if you don’t leave now, I’ll make sure this alley is swarming with cops in minutes. Your choice.”

The trio exchanged uncertain glances before finally backing off. “Whatever,” one of them muttered, turning to leave.

As the fans disappeared down the street, the man let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said, his voice warm with gratitude.

“No problem,” Y/N replied, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “You okay?”

“I am now,” he said, offering a small smile.

Now that the tension had eased, Y/N got a better look at him. His stylish clothes, perfectly tousled hair, and unmistakable aura of confidence made recognition click. Her eyes widened slightly. “Wait… you’re Key, right? From SHINee?”

He nodded, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Guilty as charged.”

Y/N felt a wave of embarrassment but quickly brushed it aside. “I didn’t recognize you right away. Sorry about those fans.”

“Don’t apologize,” Key said. “You handled that better than most people would. I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about it. I just hate seeing people being cornered like that,” Y/N replied.

Key chuckled softly. “You’re not like most people I meet.”

As they stood there, Key glanced back at the bar. “I was just here to pick up some bottles of my favorite drink for a party. It’s imported, and the owner’s an old friend who keeps it in stock for me.” He hesitated before continuing, “Actually… you and your friends should come. It’s going to be an idols and stuff get-together, but I think you’d fit right in.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t know about that. My friends and I aren’t exactly… your usual crowd.”

Key tilted his head, a playful smirk forming. “You helped me out when you didn’t have to. Consider it my way of saying thanks.”

Before Y/N could respond, the door behind her swung open. Jiho, Minji, and Soojin appeared, their laughter filling the alley.

“There you are!” Jiho said, her eyes narrowing as she noticed Key. “Wait… is that…?”

Key gave a small wave. “Hi.”

“Holy—” Minji began, but Soojin elbowed her before she could finish.

“Your friend here is amazing,” Key said, gesturing toward Y/N. “I was just inviting you all to a party tonight.”

“A party?” Soojin asked, her eyes lighting up.

“Yes,” Key confirmed. “It’s at a villa not too far from here. Exclusive, private, and plenty of fun. What do you think?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at her friends. Jiho’s excited nod and Minji’s wide grin made it clear they were already on board.

“C’mon, Y/N,” Soojin urged. “When are we ever going to get another chance like this?”

Y/N sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay. Why not?”

Key grinned. “Great. Let’s go.”

A sleek black van pulled up moments later, and the group piled in, their excitement bubbling over as the van drove off into the night.

The van glided smoothly through the snow-dusted streets, leaving the bustling nightlife of Itaewon behind. Y/N gazed out of the window, her mind wandering between disbelief and curiosity. Her friends, on the other hand, were practically buzzing with excitement.

“Did you see the interior of this van?” Jiho whispered loudly, nudging Minji. “This isn’t just luxury—it’s idol-level luxury.”

“We’re literally heading to an idol party,” Minji replied, grinning. “How is this even real?”

Key, seated comfortably at the front, glanced back with a smile. “You’ll see soon enough. It’s just a little gathering, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

As they turned into a gated community, the surroundings shifted. The streets were lined with towering villas, their architecture sleek and modern. The van stopped in front of a sprawling property, its façade illuminated by soft, golden lights. Snow shimmered like diamonds on the manicured lawn.

The driver opened the door, and the group stepped out onto the cobblestone driveway, their breath visible in the crisp night air. Y/N paused, taking a moment to absorb the sight before her. The villa was nothing short of breathtaking, a modern architectural marvel nestled in one of Seoul’s most exclusive neighborhoods.

Its façade was a seamless blend of sleek glass panels and natural stone, the warm golden lights from within spilling onto the manicured grounds. The building rose in staggered levels, each section connected by terraces adorned with elegant wrought-iron railings. Vines with winter berries clung to the lower stone walls, adding a touch of charm to the contemporary design.

The large floor-to-ceiling windows offered tantalizing glimpses of the party inside—silhouettes of people laughing, mingling, and dancing under ambient lighting that shifted in soft hues of purple and gold. A grand staircase swept up to the main entrance, flanked by tall, meticulously trimmed evergreen trees wrapped in twinkling fairy lights. It felt like stepping into a dream, a world far removed from the bustling streets of the city they’d just left behind.

To the right of the villa, Y/N noticed a sleek infinity pool that shimmered even in the winter chill, its edges blending seamlessly with the view of the sprawling city below. The snow-dusted patio surrounding it was dotted with clusters of modern outdoor furniture and heat lamps, where a few guests braved the cold to chat and sip their drinks.

“It’s like something out of a movie,” Jiho murmured, her voice tinged with awe as her gaze swept over the scene.

“More like a music video,” Soojin quipped, nudging Minji. “Think we’ll end up in the background of someone’s Instagram story tonight?”

Minji rolled her eyes but grinned. “If we’re lucky.”

Y/N shook her head with a soft laugh, her initial hesitation about coming here momentarily forgotten. The villa exuded an atmosphere of exclusivity and indulgence, yet there was an undeniable warmth to it, as if it invited you to step closer and be part of the magic inside.

“Let’s not stand here gawking all night,” Jiho said, tugging Y/N gently toward the staircase. “Key didn’t invite us just to freeze out here.”

With one last glance at the dazzling exterior, Y/N followed her friends up the stairs, her heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and anticipation for what awaited them beyond those glass doors.

“Here we are,” Key announced, leading the way. At the entrance, a pair of well-dressed security guards stood by, clipboards in hand. Key spoke to them briefly, gesturing toward Y/N and her friends.

“They’re with me,” he said confidently.

The guards nodded, and one of them opened the door. “Enjoy the evening.”

As they stepped inside, the warmth of the villa enveloped them. The interior was just as stunning as the exterior. Floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city lights below.

Key turned to them with an easy smile. “The bar’s in the kitchen. Drinks are on me. Have fun!”

“Wait, you’re not sticking with us?” Soojin asked, feigning a pout.

Key chuckled. “I’ll see you around. Gotta make my rounds first.” With that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving the group to fend for themselves.

Following Key’s directions, the group made their way to the kitchen, which had been transformed into a sleek bar setup. Bottles of every kind lined the counters, and a bartender stood ready to mix drinks. The space buzzed with energy as idols and their friends mingled, their laughter blending seamlessly with the upbeat music.

As Y/N and her friends approached the sleek marble bar, a pair of familiar faces caught their attention. Jeon Somi and Giselle from Aespa stood side by side, their radiant appearances drawing casual glances from other guests. They were deep in lighthearted conversation, their laughter blending seamlessly with the background hum of the party.

Jiho’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Is that—?”

“Yes,” Y/N whispered quickly, cutting her off before Jiho’s excitement could spill over.

Somi was striking as always, her blonde hair styled in loose waves that cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a shimmering silver mini-dress with a plunging neckline, paired with towering heels that accentuated her already statuesque frame. Her makeup was flawless, her glossy lips curved into an inviting smile as her sharp, cat-like eyeliner added an extra edge to her features. She looked every bit the superstar she was—bold, confident, and effortlessly glamorous.

Beside her, Giselle exuded a more understated elegance. Her sleek pink hair framed her face perfectly, softening the angles of her jawline. She wore a tailored blazer dress in deep emerald green, cinched at the waist with a belt that highlighted her figure. Her look was paired with chunky ankle boots, adding a playful edge to her refined style. Subtle gold jewelry caught the light as she moved, her demeanor cool and approachable.

Noticing the newcomers, Somi’s gaze flickered to them, and she flashed a bright, friendly smile. “Hey there! You’re new faces.”

Y/N’s heart skipped slightly at the casual warmth in her tone, but Minji stepped forward first, her voice a mix of excitement and nervousness. “We just got here. This place is amazing.”

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Giselle chimed in, her tone easy and welcoming as her sharp eyes quickly scanned the group. “Are you here with Key?”

Y/N nodded, regaining her composure. “Yeah, we ran into him earlier, and he invited us.”

“Well, Key has good taste,” Somi said with a wink, the corner of her mouth tugging upward in a mischievous grin. “I’m Somi, by the way. And this is Giselle.”

Giselle gave a small wave, her smile soft but genuine. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Y/N and her friends introduced themselves in turn, their initial awkwardness melting under the idols’ casual, welcoming presence. Somi leaned slightly against the bar as they spoke, her interest piqued by the group’s easy camaraderie. “So, what do you guys do?” Giselle asked, her curiosity clearly genuine.

“We’re just regular people,” Y/N replied with a modest smile, her voice steady. “I work in logistics, and these troublemakers are my friends.”

“Troublemakers?” Somi echoed with a laugh, her tone playful. “I like them already.”

Minji grinned, her confidence growing. “Y/N’s the serious one in our group. The rest of us? Chaos. Total chaos.”

“Oh, I can tell,” Giselle said with a knowing smirk, her gaze shifting to Jiho, who was still star-struck. “But it’s good. Regular people with a little chaos? That’s refreshing.”

The bartender arrived with Somi and Giselle’s drinks—Giselle’s a dark cocktail garnished with a twist of orange peel and Somi’s a vibrant pink concoction that matched her bold personality. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the casual way they carried themselves, despite the aura of celebrity that clung to them.

“So, do you guys party often, or is this a once-in-a-blue-moon thing?” Somi asked, swirling her drink as she leaned forward slightly.

Jiho, emboldened by the atmosphere, answered quickly. “We celebrate when we can. Tonight’s special—it’s Y/N’s big promotion!”

“A promotion?” Giselle’s brows rose, her interest clearly piqued. “That’s amazing. Congrats, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said with a bashful smile, ducking her head slightly. “It’s been a long road, but worth it.”

Somi raised her glass, her smile turning almost conspiratorial. “Well, that calls for another toast. To promotions, new friends, and a night to remember.”

Y/N raised her own glass with a small smile, her earlier nervousness fading. “Cheers to that.”

The group clinked their glasses, and as the conversation flowed effortlessly, Y/N felt a sense of ease settle over her. Somi’s humor and Giselle’s grounded nature made the idols feel less like untouchable stars and more like people she could genuinely connect with.

“You guys are fun,” Somi declared after a sip of her drink, her gaze sparkling with mischief. “Stick with us tonight. We’ll make sure you have a great time.”

“Careful what you promise,” Y/N teased lightly, her grin matching Somi’s.

The low hum of music and laughter spilled from the various rooms of the villa, but it was the karaoke room that drew Somi’s attention. After finishing their drinks, she turned to Y/N and her friends with a wide grin.

“Alright, karaoke time!” Somi announced, grabbing Y/N’s arm.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused. “We just got here. Shouldn’t we, you know, mingle?”

“You can’t hide that voice forever,” Soojin chimed in, nudging her teasingly.

“What voice?” Somi asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Oh, she’s amazing,” Minji said, her eyes sparkling. “But she’s shy about it. You’ll have to drag her up there.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Somi declared. “Let’s go.”

Y/N groaned playfully but couldn’t suppress her smile as Somi led the way with an infectious energy, her friends trailing behind them. The hallway leading to the karaoke room grew quieter, the distant hum of the party fading as they approached. When Somi pushed open the door, Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, taking in the scene before her.

The karaoke room was a cozy yet vibrant haven nestled within the sprawling villa. It was spacious but designed with an intimate feel, the walls lined with plush, velvet-textured panels that absorbed sound and gave the room a luxurious warmth. A massive TV mounted on one wall displayed an animated karaoke menu, its neon colors contrasting against the dim lighting.

The ceiling featured a constellation of tiny, twinkling LED lights, creating the illusion of a starry night above. Along the perimeter of the room, colorful LED accents pulsed faintly to the beat of the music, shifting between deep blues, soft purples, and occasional bursts of gold, casting an ever-changing glow on the occupants.

A semi-circular arrangement of plush leather sofas wrapped around the room’s center, their deep cushions inviting guests to sink in and relax. In front of the TV, a small raised platform served as the makeshift “stage,” complete with two cordless microphones resting on sleek stands. A marble minibar was tucked into one corner, stocked with an array of drinks, from sparkling water to imported liquors, with an elegant countertop illuminated by soft under-lighting.

The air carried a subtle blend of scents—faint notes of citrus from the cocktails and the lingering warmth of expensive cologne. A handful of other partygoers were already there, sprawled comfortably on the sofas, laughing and singing along to the current performance. The karaoke system was state-of-the-art, seamlessly syncing lyrics to music videos displayed in vivid clarity on the screen.

The atmosphere was relaxed yet charged with the kind of energy only found at gatherings where inhibitions were left at the door. The hum of music mingled with bursts of applause and occasional laughter, creating an environment that felt alive, yet somehow comforting.

“This place is insane,” Minji whispered as they stepped inside, her gaze darting from the starry ceiling to the stocked minibar.

“Why am I not surprised?” Soojin added, her voice low as she took in the luxurious details. “Leave it to idols to make karaoke feel like a five-star experience.”

Somi turned back to them, her grin wide as she gestured toward the stage. “Alright, who’s up first?”

Y/N couldn’t resist rolling her eyes as her friends all looked at her expectantly. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late!” Jiho teased, nudging her forward. “You’re the singer in the group. It’s your destiny.”

“Destiny?” Y/N groaned, laughing despite herself. “I thought we were here to relax.”

Somi leaned in conspiratorially. “Relaxation is overrated. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Before Y/N could protest further, Somi grabbed the remote and flipped through the song list, then turned to Y/N. “How about we do a duet? Something fun to break the ice?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at her friends, who were all grinning at her. “Fine,” she relented with a sigh. “What do you have in mind?”

“‘APT.’ by Rose and Bruno Mars.” Somi said confidently.

Y/N laughed softly. “Alright. Deal.”

As the first notes of “APT.” filled the room, a few heads turned toward the stage out of casual curiosity. The vibrant, synth-driven beat and playful energy of the song were impossible to ignore, and Somi wasted no time diving into her part.

“Kissy face, kissy face, sent to your phone, but, I’m tryna kiss your lips for real,” Somi sang, her voice light and flirtatious as she swayed effortlessly to the rhythm. She twirled on the stage, her blonde hair catching the colorful lights as she pointed cheekily at the crowd. The room buzzed with her energy, and a few partygoers began clapping in time with the beat.

Y/N leaned into the microphone for her turn, her voice steady yet filled with a quiet confidence. “Red hearts, red hearts, that's what I'm on, yeah, come give me somethin' I can feel, oh-oh, oh,” she sang, her soulful tone adding depth to the playful lyrics.

As they moved into the pre-chorus, their voices blended seamlessly. “Don't you want me like I want you, baby? Don’t you need me like I need you now? Sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy, all you gotta do is just meet me at the…” Their harmonies rang out, drawing more attention from the room.

By the time the chorus hit, the energy in the room had shifted completely. “아파트, 아파트, 아파트, 아파트, uh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” they sang in unison, Somi’s vibrant tone and Y/N’s rich, resonant voice weaving together effortlessly. Y/N allowed herself to relax into the performance, swaying to the rhythm and exchanging playful glances with Somi.

On the second verse, Somi turned the spotlight fully onto Y/N, stepping back with a grin as Y/N picked up the next lines. “It's whatever, it's whatever, it's whatever you like,” Y/N sang, her voice gaining strength as she swayed to the rhythm, her green eyes sparkling under the room’s dim lighting. The playful edge in her delivery was undeniable as she leaned into the next line, “Turn this 아파트 into a club, I'm talkin' drink, dance, smoke, freak, party all night,” adding a touch of charm and mischief that made the audience sit up and take notice.

The shift in the room was palpable. Conversations paused mid-sentence, heads turned, and people began clapping along with the beat. Even those who hadn’t initially been paying attention were now fully captivated by the chemistry and energy on stage.

Near the minibar, Red Velvet’s Wendy looked up from her drink, her eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity as she leaned toward Irene. “Who is that?” she murmured, gesturing toward the stage.

Irene, who had been watching the performance with quiet intensity, didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze lingered on Y/N, drawn in by the ease with which she commanded the song. Y/N’s stage presence was magnetic—her voice rich and controlled, her every movement natural yet captivating. She wasn’t just singing; she was performing as if she belonged on a stage.

As the song reached its bridge, Y/N and Somi both leaned into the mics, their voices intertwining effortlessly. “Hey, so now you know the game, are you ready? 'Cause I'm comin' to get ya, get ya, get ya,” they sang, their playful delivery eliciting cheers from the crowd. Somi twirled again, encouraging the onlookers to clap along, while Y/N’s voice carried the weight of the next line: “Hold on, hold on, I’m on my way… yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah, I’m on my way…”

By the final chorus, the room was fully alive with energy. The crowd clapped and swayed to the infectious beat, and even the idols who had been lounging on the sofas were now leaning forward, their attention firmly fixed on the stage.

“아파트, 아파트, 아파트, 아파트, uh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” the two sang together, their voices blending in a vibrant crescendo that brought the performance to a powerful close. The final note lingered in the air for a beat before the room erupted into cheers and applause.

Somi, slightly breathless but grinning wide, threw an arm around Y/N. “Okay, okay, I see you!” she teased into the mic. “We’ve got a superstar in the house tonight!”

Y/N, her cheeks flushed from the attention, laughed and shook her head as she handed the microphone back. “I think you’re exaggerating,” she said modestly, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her exhilaration.

“Exaggerating? Please,” Somi shot back with a smirk, addressing the crowd. “Y’all saw that, right? She owned it.”

Amidst the laughter and applause, Y/N glanced at her friends, who were practically bouncing with excitement. 

Somi grabbed the microphone with a flourish, her grin wide and mischievous. Turning to the room, she waved her hand theatrically. “Alright, she’s warmed up now. Time to let her shine.”

Y/N shot her a look that was half-glare, half-smile. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Somi smirked, scrolling through the song list. “Oh, you’ll thank me later.” Her eyes lit up when she found her choice. She turned the screen toward Y/N with a playful glint in her eye, selecting Seulgi’s “28 Reasons.”

Y/N groaned softly, running a hand through her hair. “You’re evil.”

“Exactly,” Somi whispered with a wink, handing her the mic as the first haunting notes of the song filled the room. A soft whistle echoed through the speakers, followed by the deep, hypnotic bassline that set the tone. The playful yet ominous melody seemed to hum with tension, pulling the room into its orbit.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped forward, her entire demeanor shifting. As if a switch had flipped, she stood taller, her eyes narrowing with focus. The playful edge from her previous performance was gone, replaced by a poised, commanding presence. With the mic in hand, she became someone else entirely—intense, magnetic, and impossible to look away from.

Her voice slid into the first line, sultry and deliberate. “I kiss your brother, 그 맘 훔쳐, 독이 퍼져도 못 느껴, my pleasure.” The rich timbre of her voice sent a ripple through the room, her delivery both teasing and dangerous, perfectly capturing the song’s duality. Her gaze swept across the crowd, lingering just long enough to draw them into the story of the lyrics.

“짓궂은 반칙, 떨리는 눈빛, 그런 널 보는 게 참 재밌어, 웃겨,” she sang, her tone playful yet dripping with wicked amusement. Her movements were subtle but purposeful—a small step forward, a tilt of her head, the faintest curve of her lips. It wasn’t over-the-top; it was controlled, calculated, and utterly entrancing.

As the pre-chorus began, Y/N’s voice softened, drawing the audience closer. “Ooh, ooh, I'm breaking every rule 자꾸만 괴롭히고 싶은걸” she sang, her tone haunting and deliberate. The room seemed to hold its breath, the pulsing LED lights reflecting off her figure as she moved fluidly with the music. The tension in her delivery perfectly matched the song’s groovy bassline, her voice weaving between playful temptation and subtle danger. Every syllable carried the duality of the song’s themes—good and evil, attraction and chaos.

By the time she hit the chorus, the energy in the room had shifted entirely. “널 망친 28 reasons 몰라도 돼, 나쁜 의도 없어 내겐, 도망칠 28 reasons 다 아는데, 왜 또다시 내게 기대?” Her voice soared effortlessly, powerful and precise, capturing the delicate balance of innocence and mischievous intent. Her performance seemed to radiate a duality that echoed the very essence of the song—a mix of allure and danger, seduction and defiance.

Some of the partygoers began swaying in time with the music, their earlier chatter completely forgotten. A few idols had moved closer to the stage, their eyes fixed on Y/N as if trying to figure out how a “regular” guest could exude such star-like energy.

In the back of the room, Seulgi was leaning forward, her excitement unmistakable. She nudged Irene, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s singing my song. And she’s good.”

Irene didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze remained locked on Y/N, her expression unreadable but undeniably intrigued. The way Y/N embodied the song—the subtle interplay of light and shadow in her delivery, the way she commanded the room without trying too hard—was something Irene hadn’t expected. There was no hesitation, no doubt. It was as if Y/N was made for this.

The eerie melody lingered as she delivered the next lines with controlled intensity. “You in danger, But it's okay, You're a grown-up.” Her voice dropped to a lower register, sending a ripple through the room as every word landed with weight, pulling the audience deeper into the story she was telling.

Then came the final chorus, and Y/N let her voice swell, each note pouring out with a raw intensity that left no room for distraction. “천국을 보여 줄게, I’m not the devil, 마음껏 더 원망해, I don’t care, 망가질수록 나를 원해.” Her voice climbed to its peak before fading into the final, haunting note, the sound reverberating through the room like a lingering echo.

The silence that followed was electric, the room still caught in the grip of her performance. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, the audience erupted into cheers and applause, their enthusiasm ringing out loud and clear.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed faintly as she handed the microphone back to Somi, her earlier confidence melting into a shy smile as she stepped off the stage. Her friends were already cheering loudly, their pride evident in their beaming faces.

Somi grabbed her by the arm, her grin wide. “What did I tell you? You killed it!”

“I think you just wanted to embarrass me,” Y/N teased, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her again.

“Embarrass you? Please,” Somi shot back. “I just gave the people what they wanted—your superstar moment.”

As Y/N made her way back to her friends, she couldn’t help but notice someone’s gaze lingering on her from across the room, the faintest hint of a smile playing on the idol’s lips.

Y/N barely had time to sink into the plush sofa before she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she found herself face-to-face with Seulgi, Wendy, and Irene. Their presence was striking—not just because of their fame, but because they carried themselves with a natural, understated confidence that filled the space around them.

Seulgi stood at the forefront, her bright smile a perfect match to her friendly demeanor. Her shoulder-length, wavy black hair framed her face effortlessly, and her casual yet chic outfit—a tailored blazer paired with relaxed trousers and bold sneakers—made her look approachable yet undeniably stylish. She exuded an easy warmth, like someone who could make anyone feel at home.

Wendy, standing slightly to the side, had a spark of energy about her that seemed to draw people in. Her short, sleek hair fell just below her chin, accentuating her radiant smile and sharp, sparkling eyes. She wore a soft lavender blouse tucked into high-waisted pants, a look that balanced playfulness with sophistication. There was an air of grounded humor to her, as though she could lighten any moment with a single witty comment.

And then there was Irene.

She stood just behind the others, slightly to the left, her posture poised yet effortlessly relaxed. The soft lighting of the room seemed to gravitate toward her, catching the sleek fall of her dark hair, which was parted perfectly and cascaded over one shoulder in polished waves. She wore a black, fitted midi-dress that emphasized her slender figure with understated elegance. The minimalist design of the dress—no embellishments, no distractions—only served to highlight her natural beauty.

But it wasn’t just her appearance that drew Y/N’s attention—it was the quiet command she exuded, the way her presence seemed to fill the space without effort or pretense. There was a subtle magnetism in the way she carried herself, as though every movement was deliberate, every glance imbued with a thoughtfulness that set her apart.

Her eyes, deep and expressive, lingered on Y/N for a fraction longer than seemed necessary, as if she were assessing something beyond the surface. They held a quiet intensity, a softness that seemed to say she saw more than what was immediately apparent. When their gazes met, Y/N felt the air between them shift—subtle, almost imperceptible, but undeniably there.

Irene’s lips curved into the faintest smile, a gesture so subtle it could have been missed if Y/N hadn’t been paying attention. But she was. There was something about the quiet grace in that moment, the way Irene stood as though the chaos of the party existed around her but not with her, that left Y/N slightly breathless.

“Hi,” Seulgi said warmly, her signature bright smile instantly putting Y/N at ease. “I just wanted to thank you for singing my song. Most people go for the more mainstream ones, but it means a lot that you picked ‘28 Reasons.’”

Y/N blinked in surprise, her smile widening. “It’s a great song,” she replied, her voice steady despite the sudden attention. “It’s so layered and expressive—it really speaks to you. Thank you for writing it.”

Seulgi’s eyes lit up at the compliment. “I’m glad it came through that way. You really nailed the feeling behind it.”

Wendy, standing slightly to the side, leaned forward with a grin. “You’ve got some serious talent,” she said, her tone genuinely impressed. “Are you a singer?”

Y/N laughed softly, brushing off the praise with a wave of her hand. “Not at all. Just a regular person with a karaoke habit.”

Irene, who had been quietly observing the interaction, tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as if studying Y/N. When she finally spoke, her tone was soft but pointed. “You didn’t seem like a regular person up there.”

The words lingered, carrying more weight than Y/N expected. For a moment, she was caught off guard, meeting Irene’s steady gaze. The intensity in Irene’s voice didn’t feel like flattery—it felt like an observation, almost like a challenge. Y/N wasn’t sure how to respond, but before she could speak, Wendy’s laugh broke the silence.

“Well, whatever you are,” Wendy said, her voice light but filled with sincerity, “you’ve got some star power.”

Seulgi nodded enthusiastically, her grin widening. “Seriously. If you ever decide to give this a shot professionally, let us know. You’d be a natural.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, a mix of pride and disbelief washing over her. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “That means more than you know, coming from you.”

Her friends, sitting a little further back, were visibly beaming, Minji even giving Y/N a small thumbs-up as if to say, I told you so.

The interaction could have ended there, but Irene’s gaze lingered on Y/N for just a beat longer. There was something unreadable in her expression—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper. Finally, she glanced away and turned to follow Seulgi and Wendy as they excused themselves.

Just before she disappeared back into the crowd, Irene glanced over her shoulder one last time, her dark eyes meeting Y/N’s. There was no smile, no nod, just a fleeting look that carried a quiet intensity. It was over in an instant, but it left Y/N wondering what, exactly, Irene had seen in her up on that stage.

As the Red Velvet members disappeared into the sea of partygoers, Y/N turned back to her friends, who were already bursting with excitement.

“Did that just happen?” Minji whispered, leaning forward. “Like, the real Seulgi, Wendy, and Irene just came to talk to you?”

“And complimented you,” Soojin added, her tone practically giddy. “Don’t forget that part.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing softly as she reached for her drink. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

Minji smirked. “Oh, no. This is a big deal.”

The noise and energy of the karaoke room still buzzed in Y/N’s ears as she slipped into the main part of the villa. The distant hum of music and laughter filled the open space, but it was quieter here—a welcome reprieve from the vibrant chaos of the party. Her friends were still soaking up the atmosphere, mingling with idols, and basking in the glow of the night. Y/N, however, needed a moment to herself.

She wandered toward the bar, the open kitchen bathed in soft, ambient lighting that gave the space a cozy warmth despite its sleek, modern design. The marble countertops gleamed under the low lights, and the faint scent of citrus and mint lingered in the air from freshly made cocktails. Sliding onto a stool, Y/N signaled to the bartender for a glass of water.

The cool glass was a relief in her hands, grounding her as her mind swirled with the night’s events. The karaoke performances, the compliments from Red Velvet, the sheer absurdity of being at a party surrounded by some of the biggest names in the industry—it was exhilarating and surreal, but also overwhelming. She stared into the clear water, her reflection faint and distorted on its surface.

“Taking a break?”

The voice was soft, almost hesitant, but unmistakable. Y/N turned, her breath catching slightly as she found herself face-to-face with Irene. Up close, away from the noise and the crowd, Irene seemed almost ethereal. The dim lighting softened her features, and the slight curiosity in her calm expression made her feel approachable, even as her presence carried an air of quiet authority.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, letting out a small laugh to mask her surprise. “Needed to catch my breath. This is… a lot.”

Irene nodded, her lips curving into a faint, understanding smile. “It can be. Especially if you’re not used to it.” She gestured toward the bartender. “A glass of water, please.”

Y/N chuckled, leaning lightly against the counter. “Not a fan of cocktails?”

Irene shook her head, the corners of her mouth lifting in a faintly amused expression. “Not really. I prefer tea, but that’s hard to come by at parties like this.”

“Tea?” Y/N asked, tilting her head. “That’s… surprisingly low-key.”

Irene raised an eyebrow, a glint of humor flashing in her eyes. “Should I have said champagne? Would that fit the image better?”

Y/N laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. “No, tea’s perfect. You don’t strike me as someone who does anything just to fit an image.”

Irene’s smile softened, her gaze flickering downward briefly before returning to Y/N. “You’d be surprised how often people try to tell me otherwise.”

For a moment, a comfortable silence settled between them, the quiet clink of glasses and the murmur of distant conversation filling the space. Y/N found herself studying Irene—the way her posture was effortlessly elegant, the way her presence seemed to fill the room without demanding attention. Yet, there was a softness to her up close, a vulnerability that the cameras never seemed to capture.

“Do you ever get used to it?” Y/N asked after a moment. “The attention? The noise?”

Irene exhaled softly, her gaze shifting to the glass of water the bartender placed in front of her. “Not entirely,” she admitted, her tone thoughtful. “But you find ways to cope. You have to.”

Y/N nodded, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “Speaking of coping…”

Irene’s nose crinkled slightly, an expression of subtle distaste flickering across her face before she could mask it. Y/N froze, catching the reaction immediately.

“You don’t like smoking,” Y/N said, her tone more observational than accusatory.

Irene hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. “I don’t hate it,” she said carefully, “but it’s not my favorite thing.”

Y/N considered this for a moment, glancing down at the pack in her hand. She hesitated, the weight of the decision lingering in the air between them. Then, with a decisive motion, she walked to the nearby trash bin and tossed the pack inside.

Irene’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, why did you do that?”

Y/N shrugged as she returned to her seat. “You said you didn’t like it. No point in making you uncomfortable.”

The honesty in her tone caught Irene off guard. For a moment, she simply stared at Y/N, a mixture of surprise and something deeper flickering in her eyes. “That was… unexpected.”

Y/N leaned her elbows on the counter, a small, teasing smile playing at her lips. “Good unexpected or bad?”

“Good,” Irene admitted, the faintest hint of pink coloring her cheeks as a smile tugged at her lips. Her gaze softened, and for the first time that night, her guarded demeanor seemed to melt just slightly.

“Well, I’m glad I can surprise you,” Y/N replied, her tone light but sincere.

As Irene took a sip of her water, Y/N couldn’t help but feel the shift in the air between them—a quiet understanding, a shared moment of something unspoken.

The faint hum of the party buzzed around them, but here at the bar, the atmosphere felt quieter, more personal. Y/N swirled the last bit of water in her glass, her gaze occasionally flickering toward Irene, who was sitting poised yet relaxed. Their conversation had started with casual pleasantries but had slowly shifted into something deeper, the kind of exchange that left Y/N wanting to know more.

Y/N glanced toward the large glass doors leading to the balcony. The soft glow of the city lights outside promised a peaceful escape from the bustling villa. She hesitated for a moment, debating whether to ask. There was something unspoken between them, a subtle connection that she couldn’t quite name. It was a gamble, but something about Irene’s quiet presence made her want to take the risk.

“Do you want to step outside?” Y/N asked, her tone casual yet inviting. She nodded toward the balcony. “It’s quieter out there. A little easier to breathe.”

Irene tilted her head, her brown eyes meeting Y/N’s with curiosity. “Are you trying to get me away from the party?” she asked lightly, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Maybe,” Y/N replied with a playful shrug. “Or maybe I just thought you could use a break too.”

For a moment, Irene studied her, as if weighing the offer. Then, without a word, she picked up her glass of water and stood, her movements graceful. “Alright,” she said softly. “Lead the way.”

Y/N smiled, gesturing toward the doors as she moved to open them.

As they stepped onto the balcony, the cold night air hit them like a gentle wave, crisp and sharp against their skin. Y/N barely flinched, used to chilly nights, but she noticed the way Irene folded her arms close to her body, her black midi-dress offering little warmth against the biting air. The faint glow from the city lights illuminated her features—the delicate curve of her profile, the faint blush on her cheeks from the cold, and the way her breath formed soft, fleeting clouds in the air. Irene’s hair, cascading over one shoulder, caught the light, creating a subtle shimmer that made her seem almost ethereal as she gazed out at the view. A slight shiver ran through her, though she made no move to complain or retreat indoors.

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before shrugging off her jacket. “Here,” she said softly, stepping closer. Without waiting for a reply, she draped the jacket over Irene’s shoulders, the motion smooth and casual but deliberate. “You’ll freeze otherwise.”

Irene blinked, surprised by the gesture. She glanced down at the jacket and then back at Y/N, her lips parting as if to protest. “You’ll be cold,” she said, her tone quiet but laced with concern.

“I’ll survive,” Y/N replied with a small grin. “You’re the star. You can’t get sick, or your fans would be mad.”

Irene’s cheeks tinged pink, though whether it was from the cold or the compliment, she couldn’t tell. She clutched the jacket around her shoulders, the fabric warm from Y/N’s body heat and carrying the faint scent of Y/N perfume. It was comforting in a way she hadn’t expected, grounding her amidst the unfamiliar intimacy of the moment.

“Thank you,” Irene said after a beat, her voice soft but sincere. She looked at Y/N, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

Y/N nodded, her grin widening slightly. “No problem. Can’t have you turning into an ice sculpture out here.”

Irene let out a small laugh, the sound quiet but genuine, and turned her attention back to the city lights below. The chill of the air seemed less noticeable now, the weight of the jacket and the presence of Y/N beside her somehow enough to keep it at bay.

Irene glanced at Y/N, who seemed lost in thought as she gazed at the cityscape. There was something about the woman’s presence—unassuming yet quietly magnetic—that made Irene feel unusually at ease.

“Irene… or Joohyun?” Y/N asked suddenly, her voice breaking the silence with a playful lilt.

Irene’s brow furrowed slightly, her curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”

“Well, which name do you prefer when you’re not on stage?” Y/N turned her head, her green eyes meeting Irene’s warm brown ones with an open, curious expression.

“Joohyun,” Irene replied after a moment, her voice soft. “It feels more… me.”

Y/N smiled, the corners of her lips curling gently. “Joohyun it is, then.”

For a few beats, they stood in comfortable silence, the quiet between them filled only with the faint hum of traffic below and the occasional gust of wind. The moment felt suspended in time, the city sprawling before them as if they were the only two people in the world.

“Can we please start talking informally?” Irene’s voice was gentle but direct, her gaze steady as she looked at Y/N.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Only if you’re comfortable with it. Since you’re the unnie,” she added with a teasing tone.

Irene blinked, momentarily startled. Then she let out a soft laugh, the sound like a quiet melody carried on the cold air. “Wait. ‘Unnie’? You’re younger than me?”

Y/N chuckled, her breath forming small clouds in the cold.

The surprise on Irene’s face was endearing, her eyebrows raising slightly as she tilted her head in curiosity. “How old are you?”

“That would be too easy,” Y/N teased, leaning casually against the railing. “Why don’t you guess?”

Irene crossed her arms under the jacket, pretending to consider it carefully as her lips quirked in amusement. “Hmmm… I’ll say… 30?”

Y/N burst into laughter, the sound echoing softly in the open air. “Not even close! Wow, I must look really mature to you.”

Irene furrowed her brows, equal parts amused and puzzled. “So, how old are you, then?”

“Well..” Y/N said, leaning in slightly with a playful grin, “I was born in 1999. Does the age gap bother you?”

Joohyun froze for a moment, the unexpected answer catching her off guard. The casual confidence in Y/N’s tone contrasted with the weight of the question. “Eight years…” Irene repeated softly, her voice trailing off as she processed the revelation.

Y/N studied her closely, noticing the flicker of uncertainty in Irene’s expression. “It’s okay if it’s weird,” Y/N said quickly, her voice gentle. “I get it if the age gap is a problem. I just—”

“No,” Irene cut her off, shaking her head slightly. “It’s not that. I just didn’t expect you to be so… young. You seem much older.”

“Older, huh?” Y/N teased, her grin widening. “Should I be flattered or worried?”

Irene smiled despite herself, her cheeks tinged with a faint pink. “Flattered, I think. You’re very mature.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, the warmth in her tone softening the moment. “But honestly, I think age is just a number. It’s how you connect with someone that matters, right?”

Irene hesitated, her gaze shifting back to the city lights below. “You’re right,” she said softly, her voice thoughtful. “It’s just… different for me. I’ve always been cautious about letting people in.”

“Well, I’m not here to complicate your life, Joohyun,” Y/N said sincerely. “I just… really enjoy talking to you.”

The simplicity of her words made Irene’s heart flutter, the sincerity behind them resonating more than she expected. The weight of the age difference, the boundaries Irene had carefully built around herself—it all seemed to fade in the quiet warmth of the moment. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to simply be.

Just as Irene opened her mouth to reply, the balcony doors swung open, the spell of the moment breaking as Joy’s cheerful voice filled the space.

“There you are, unnie! We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, her tone playful as her eyes darted between Irene and Y/N, her grin widening with mischief.

Irene straightened, her professional demeanor slipping back into place, though her hands clutched the jacket more tightly around her shoulders.

“I was just…” Irene began, but Joy’s teasing smirk interrupted her.

“Having a moment,” Joy finished with a dramatic tone, her eyes sparkling. “I see that.”

Y/N chuckled, stepping back from the railing with a shrug. “I should probably get back to my friends anyway. Thanks for the chat, Joohyun.”

Irene’s lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. She only nodded, her gaze lingering on Y/N.

As Y/N turned to leave, Irene called after her softly, “Thank you for the jacket. I’ll return it before the night’s over.”

“Keep it,” Y/N replied over her shoulder, a grin flashing in the dim light. “It suits you better.”

Irene stood there for a moment, clutching the jacket tightly as the scent of Y/N lingered around her. Joy tilted her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

“So…” Joy began, her tone light but loaded with curiosity. “Who was that?”

Irene didn’t reply immediately, her gaze still fixed on the now-closed door. “Someone different,” she said finally, her voice soft, almost wistful.

Joy smirked. “Different, huh?”

Irene glanced at her, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Let’s get back to the party.”

The next morning light filtered softly through Irene’s curtains, painting her room in hues of gold and cream. She sat at her vanity, absently running a brush through her dark hair, the rhythmic motion a habit more than necessity. Her gaze wandered to the Prada jacket draped over the chair beside her, its sleek fabric catching the light. A silent reminder of the night before.

Her hand stilled, the brush hovering mid-air as her thoughts inevitably returned to Y/N.

Joohyun had met countless people throughout her career—smiling faces at fan events, fellow celebrities at events, industry professionals at photoshoots. Most blurred together, their interactions fleeting and transactional. But Y/N wasn’t like the others. Her calm confidence, genuine warmth, and selflessness had lingered in Irene’s mind like the last notes of a favorite song.

She sighed, setting the brush down on the vanity with a soft clink. Picking up her phone, she stared at the screen for a long moment, her thumb hovering indecisively over the messaging app. Finally, she stood and left her room, seeking a second opinion.

“Seulgi?” Irene called out as she entered the living room. The younger member was sprawled across the couch, scrolling through her phone lazily, one leg draped over the armrest.

Seulgi looked up, her brows raised in mild curiosity. “What’s up, unnie?”

Irene hesitated, trying to keep her voice casual. “Do you have Giselle’s contact information?”

Seulgi sat up, her curiosity sharpening. “Why? Looking to hang out with the Aespa juniors now?”

Irene gave her a pointed look. “I need her help getting in touch with someone from last night.”

“Oh?” Seulgi’s lips curved into a teasing smirk as she sat cross-legged on the couch. “Who?”

Irene’s reply was quiet, almost reluctant. “Y/N.”

Seulgi’s smirk widened, her tone turning mischievous. “Y/N? The karaoke superstar?”

“Seulgi,” Irene warned, her tone light but edged with impatience.

“Alright, alright,” Seulgi relented with a laugh, reaching for her phone. She tapped the screen a few times before raising it to her ear. “I’ll call Giselle for you.”

Irene crossed her arms, leaning lightly against the back of the couch as she waited. Her mind drived back to the jacket in her room. The faint scent of Y/N perfume still clung to it, and despite herself, she found the smell comforting.

After a brief exchange, Seulgi ended the call and grinned. “Good news, unnie. Giselle can get Y/N’s number from one of her friends. She’ll send it to me asap.”

Irene’s pulse quickened, a quiet flutter of anticipation rising in her chest. She took the phone from Seulgi as the message came through, the string of digits appearing on the screen like a secret invitation.

Seulgi watched her with a curious tilt of her head. “You seem pretty interested in Y/N.”

“She left her jacket, it's a pretty expensive one.” Irene replied quickly, her tone carefully even as she gestured toward the item in question.

“Uh-huh,” Seulgi replied, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press further.

Back in her room, Irene sat on the edge of her bed, holding her phone in her hands. The contact information stared back at her, deceptively simple, yet it felt impossibly daunting. The idea of texting Y/N—of deliberately reaching out—was both exciting and terrifying.

Her mind drifted back to their moment on the balcony. The way Y/N had laughed so easily at her miscalculated age guess lingered in Irene’s mind. That laugh—bright, genuine, and free of judgment—had slipped past her usual defenses with an ease that was both unsettling and comforting. Y/N’s bold, self-assured admission of their eight-year gap had carried no hesitation, as though it was a simple fact rather than an obstacle. And then there were her words, delivered with such sincerity: Age is just a number. It’s how you connect with someone that matters, right?

The sincerity in Y/N’s voice had struck a chord in Irene, brushing aside her carefully constructed doubts in the moment. But now, alone in the quiet of her room, those doubts crept back in, louder and more insistent.

They mattered.

“She’s so young,” Irene’s inner voice whispered, sharp and critical, curling like smoke at the edges of her thoughts. “What will people think? What if she doesn’t understand how complicated this is? What if it’s just some fleeting infatuation for her? Something she’ll laugh about one day as a passing phase?”

Her thumb hovered over the text field on her phone as she chewed her lip. Her free hand tightened into a fist on her lap.

It wasn’t just the age gap, though it loomed large in her mind. Y/N was everything Irene was usually cautious about: spontaneous, disarmingly open, and seemingly unbothered by the walls Irene had spent years building around herself. The younger woman didn’t seem to care about appearances or expectations, brushing off Irene’s hesitations as though they were irrelevant.

And yet, those hesitations were relevant. Irene had spent most of her adult life guarding her personal world with almost military precision. It wasn’t just the media or her career—it was the deep fear of letting someone in, of giving someone the power to disrupt the delicate balance she maintained.

Her stomach twisted with doubt. What if I misread her? What if I let my guard down, only to regret it?

The jacket hanging on the chair caught her eye again, its presence both comforting and taunting. Y/N had handed it over without a second thought, brushing aside Irene’s concern about her getting cold with a playful comment: You’re the star. You can’t get sick, or your fans would be mad.

That memory softened the tightness in her chest.

Y/N’s easy laughter, her straightforwardness, and the way she had tossed away her cigarette pack without a moment’s hesitation—it all played in Irene’s mind like a highlight reel. Y/N had done it for her. Not for appearances, not for some ulterior motive, but because she wanted to.

The thought disarmed Irene again, just as it had on the balcony. Y/N’s actions weren’t about impressing anyone—they were about sincerity. And sincerity was something Irene rarely encountered in her world of carefully managed interactions and calculated relationships.

Her doubts pushed back, louder this time. “But what if she’s too young to understand what she’s asking for? What if I’m too set in my ways to even try?”

She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and pressing the phone against her chest.

Stop.

The word echoed firmly in her mind, her own voice this time, clearer and steadier. “This isn’t about other people, and it’s not about the age gap. It’s about her.”

Y/N’s words from the balcony returned, calm and earnest: I’m not here to complicate your life, Joohyun. I just… really enjoy talking to you.

Those words hadn’t been a promise or a demand. They were an offering—a simple, genuine connection. Irene realized that the only thing standing in the way of accepting it was her own fear.

She took another deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she began typing. The words came slowly at first, her mind second-guessing every letter.

Hi, this is Joohyun. I hope you don’t mind me contacting you. I’d like to return your jacket and maybe talk for a bit, if that’s alright. Let me know when you’re free.

She stared at the message for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the send button. The doubts whispered again, quieter now but still present: “What if this changes everything?”

But then she thought of Y/N’s laugh, the way it had made her feel lighter for the first time in weeks.

With a decisive exhale, Irene hit send.

The message hung in the air, the seconds ticking by feeling impossibly long.

When Y/N’s reply came through quicker than expected, Irene’s chest tightened.

Hi, Joohyun! Of course, I don’t mind. I’m free most evenings after work. Just let me know what works best for you.

Irene exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A small smile tugged at her lips as she quickly typed a reply, suggesting they meet at Y/N’s apartment to avoid any unwanted attention.

With the plan set, Irene placed her phone down and leaned back against her headboard, staring up at the ceiling. The uncertainty still lingered, but now it was outweighed by something else entirely—a quiet anticipation, tinged with the faintest spark of hope.

For the first time in a long while, Joohyun allowed herself to wonder what might come next.

The faint sound of soft jazz played in the background as Y/N set down two steaming mugs of tea on her small but neatly arranged coffee table. She glanced around her apartment, ensuring everything was in order. It wasn’t fancy, but it was cozy and reflected her personality: bookshelves lined with novels and travel guides, framed photos of her family and friends, and a faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

Her heart skipped a beat when the intercom buzzed. “It’s Joohyun,” came the familiar, soft voice.

Y/N pressed the button to unlock the door and stepped back, taking a calming breath. Moments later, there was a knock, and when she opened the door, Irene stood there, jacket in hand.

“Hi,” Irene said, a small, polite smile on her lips.

“Hi,” Y/N replied, stepping aside to let her in. “Come on in. It’s freezing out there.”

Irene slipped off her coat, revealing a simple but elegant turtleneck and tailored pants. She handed Y/N the jacket. “Thanks for lending this to me. I wasn’t sure how to return it without it being… awkward.”

Y/N chuckled, setting the jacket on a nearby chair. “It’s just a jacket. You didn’t have to go through all the trouble of texting and coming over.”

“I wanted to,” Irene admitted, her voice soft.

They settled onto the couch, the soft cushions sinking under their weight as the aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the room. Irene cradled her mug, letting the warmth seep into her palms as she looked around, her gaze landing on a small stack of books neatly arranged on the coffee table.

“You read a lot,” she noted, the observation tinged with curiosity.

“It’s my escape,” Y/N said, her smile soft but genuine. “And my excuse to stay in when my friends are being too wild.”

Irene chuckled, the sound low and melodic as she took a sip of her tea. “Your friends are… energetic.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Y/N replied with a laugh, her green eyes twinkling. “But they mean well. Honestly, they’re the reason I even ended up at that party.”

Irene tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharpening with interest. “Kibum mentioned how you helped him,” she said, her tone shifting to something more serious. “That was brave of you.”

Y/N shrugged, the motion casual but unassuming. “I didn’t really think about it. It just felt like the right thing to do.”

Irene studied her for a moment, the admiration clear in her gaze. The simplicity in Y/N’s words—no need for embellishment or grandeur—made them feel all the more sincere. “You don’t act like someone your age,” Irene said finally, the words slipping out before she could think better of it.

Y/N smirked, leaning slightly forward. ���Here we go again with the age thing.”

Irene’s cheeks tinged pink as she looked down at her mug, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Y/N said softly, setting her own mug on the table. The playful teasing in her tone gave way to something gentler. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s a big deal. The age difference, I mean.”

Irene hesitated, her fingers tightening around her mug as her thoughts wrestled for clarity. “It’s not that I think it’s a problem. It’s just…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting briefly to the tea in her hands before lifting back to Y/N. “I’ve never met someone quite like you.”

Intrigued, Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Irene seemed to consider her words carefully, her expression briefly vulnerable. “Most people, when they realize who I am… there’s a shift. It’s subtle, but it’s always there. They start treating me like an idol instead of just a person. But with you…” She met Y/N’s gaze, her brown eyes steady and open. “You don’t do that. You treat me like… Joohyun.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. “Because that’s who you are, isn’t it? Joohyun first, Irene second.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Irene’s face, followed by a warmth that softened her features in a way that caught Y/N off guard. “Not everyone sees it that way,” Irene admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, I’m not everyone,” Y/N replied, her tone light but tinged with sincerity.

“That’s clear,” Irene murmured, almost to herself, her lips curving into a faint smile. She shifted slightly on the couch, letting herself relax further as the tension in her shoulders eased. “You have this way of making people feel at ease. It’s… different.”

Y/N tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “Different good or different bad?”

Irene chuckled softly, shaking her head as she brought her mug to her lips. “Definitely good.”

Y/N leaned back against the couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest as her expression turned teasing. “Good to know I’ve passed the Joohyun compatibility test.”

Irene laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, and shook her head again. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Y/N replied with a grin, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “But you’re still here, so I must be doing something right.”

Irene smirked, the playful banter putting her at ease. “Or maybe I’m just too polite to leave.”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Y/N shot back, her tone full of mock agreement.

The warmth of the moment wrapped around them like the steam curling from their mugs. For Irene, it was strange and yet refreshing—how natural it felt to sit here, trading words with Y/N as though they’d known each other far longer than just a few days. She wasn’t sure what it was about Y/N—the straightforwardness, the calm confidence, the refusal to tiptoe around her like most people did—but it felt disarmingly easy.

For Y/N, the moment felt almost surreal. She could see the layers of Joohyun—the idol, the perfectionist, the guarded woman—and yet, here and now, she was seeing someone else. Someone softer, someone real.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in a while,” Irene admitted quietly, almost as if to herself.

“Well,” Y/N said, her voice light but tinged with warmth, “I’m glad I could help with that.”

And for a brief moment, as their gazes held, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

They talked for a while longer, their conversation drifting to lighter topics: favorite movies, dream destinations, and the quirks of their respective friends.

“You’re really close to your group, aren’t you?” Y/N asked, leaning forward slightly as she rested her chin on her hand.

“They’re like family,” Irene replied, her voice carrying a quiet fondness. “We’ve been through so much together. I don’t know where I’d be without them.” Her lips curved into a small smile, but there was a weight in her words that hinted at the challenges behind the bond.

“I get that,” Y/N said after a thoughtful pause. “I moved here alone, so my friends kind of became my family. They’ve been amazing, but… it’s not the same as having people who’ve been through it all with you. People who just get it.”

For a moment, Irene’s expression softened, her brown eyes reflecting an unspoken understanding. “It’s hard,” she murmured, her gaze dropping briefly to the mug in her hands. “Letting people in, even when they mean well.”

Y/N nodded, the quiet bond between them deepening. The world outside her apartment—Seoul’s noise, its bright lights, its expectations—felt far away, like a distant memory they didn’t need to revisit just yet.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to the stack of DVDs on Y/N’s shelf, the gleaming plastic cases catching Irene’s attention.

“You still have DVDs?” Irene asked, a rare playful glint sparking in her eyes.

“They’re classics,” Y/N defended with a mock-offended look, her grin betraying her amusement. “Besides, they work when the internet goes out. You can’t put a price on reliable entertainment.”

Irene chuckled, shaking her head. “You sound like an infomercial.”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” Y/N shot back, getting up to rummage through the stack. “You’ll appreciate it when the apocalypse hits, and I’m the only one with a working movie library.”

“Sure,” Irene replied dryly, but the amusement in her voice was unmistakable.

After some back-and-forth, they finally settled on a romantic comedy. Irene seemed more relaxed now, her usual polished demeanor replaced with an easy warmth. She tucked her legs beneath her on the couch, the mug of tea still cradled in her hands, and let out a quiet sigh of contentment.

As the movie began, their laughter blended with the antics on screen, filling the apartment with a lightness neither of them realized they’d needed.

Credits started rolling, the final strains of the movie’s theme fading into the quiet hum of the apartment, Y/N turned to Irene. Her heart pounded slightly, her confidence wavering for the first time all night. The words she wanted to say seemed caught in her throat, the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

“Joohyun… can I ask you something?” Y/N finally said, her voice softer than usual.

Irene turned to her, tilting her head slightly, her gaze warm and attentive. “Of course,” she replied, her tone calm, though curiosity flickered in her gaze.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers fidgeting slightly with the edge of the couch cushion. The confidence she was usually known for felt just out of reach, but she pushed through the nerves. “Would you… maybe want to go out with me sometime? Just the two of us. Somewhere quiet, away from all the chaos.”

Irene blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness of the question. The silence stretched just long enough for doubt to creep into Y/N’s chest. She wondered if she had misread all the signals—the stolen glances, the lingering smiles, the way Irene’s presence had felt so natural beside her.

But then Irene’s expression softened, and a small, genuine smile spread across her lips. It reached her eyes, making them sparkle in the dim light.

“I’d like that,” Irene said softly, her voice carrying a sincerity that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders relaxing as a grin broke across her face. “Really?”

“Really,” Irene affirmed, setting her now-empty mug down on the coffee table. “I wasn’t expecting you to ask, but I’m glad you did.”

Y/N’s grin widened, her earlier nerves melting away into quiet excitement. “I’ll text you the details soon,” she said, her voice gaining its usual steady confidence.

“Looking forward to it,” Irene replied, her tone light but genuine.

The moment hung between them, warm and full of possibility, until Irene’s phone buzzed, breaking the spell. She glanced at the screen, her brow furrowing slightly. “That’s my manager,” she said, standing and gathering her things. “He’s here to pick me up.”

Y/N rose to her feet, following her to the door. The apartment felt quieter now, the air charged with the weight of everything unsaid. Irene slipped on her coat, her movements graceful but unhurried.

Just as Irene reached for the door handle, she paused and turned back. Her movements were deliberate, but her expression carried a hint of shyness that made Y/N’s heart skip. Leaning in, Irene pressed a soft kiss to Y/N’s cheek, the touch warm and fleeting but full of quiet meaning.

“Thank you for tonight,” Irene repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, her breath brushing against Y/N’s skin.

Before Y/N could respond, Irene stepped out into the hallway, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. The sound of her heels echoed softly against the floor, fading as she disappeared down the corridor.

Y/N stood frozen for a moment, her hand instinctively brushing the spot where Irene’s lips had touched her cheek. A slow, almost disbelieving smile spread across her face as the warmth of the moment settled into her chest.

The door clicked shut, leaving the apartment in silence, but the energy Irene left behind still lingered—an unspoken promise of something more.

Y/N leaned back against the door, staring at the spot where Irene had been moments ago. “Well,” she murmured to herself, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “That went better than expected.”

Her thoughts quickly shifted to what came next. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she opened their text thread, her fingers hovering over the screen as she considered her options. After a few moments of deliberation, she typed out a message:

How does Friday evening sound? There’s this little café I think you’ll love—quiet, cozy, and very private. I’ll text you the address.

Irene’s reply came quickly, the soft chime breaking the stillness of the apartment.

Friday works. Looking forward to it.

Y/N grinned, her excitement bubbling over as she began planning. She called ahead to the café, confirming a secluded table by the window with the best view of the fairy-lit trees outside. She wanted everything to be perfect—relaxed, intimate, and free from the chaos Irene was so used to.

When Friday arrived, Y/N adjusted her collar nervously as she waited in front of the small café tucked into a quiet corner of Seoul. The warm, golden glow of the lights spilling onto the cobblestone street reflected the cozy atmosphere she had been aiming for—a space that was private yet inviting.

The cool night air carried a faint hint of roasting coffee and pine, mingling with the sound of distant chatter from passersby. Y/N glanced at her watch, her fingers fidgeting slightly before she tucked them into her jacket pockets.

Then she saw her.

Irene approached, wrapped in a sleek black coat with a scarf draped elegantly around her neck. The soft light of the café caught the subtle shine of her hair, and her delicate features seemed even more radiant in the glow of the surrounding fairy lights.

Y/N’s breath caught as Irene gave a small, almost shy smile. She quickly stepped forward, holding the door open for her.

“Hi,” Irene said, her voice warm but quiet, as if the moment were something fragile.

“Hi,” Y/N replied, her grin widening as she gestured for Irene to step inside.

They were greeted by the rich, comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with faint hints of vanilla and cinnamon. The soft strumming of an acoustic guitar played in the background, the music low and soothing, blending perfectly with the quiet chatter of other patrons. A warm glow from the pendant lights above bathed the space in a golden hue, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt removed from the busy world outside.

The café staff greeted them with a discreet nod and led them to their reserved table, a cozy nook near the window. Strings of fairy lights framed the glass, and outside, the trees sparkled faintly under their glow. Irene followed closely behind Y/N, her scarf still loosely draped around her neck, her gaze sweeping the room with a mix of curiosity and appreciation.

“This is… perfect,” Irene said softly as she slipped off her scarf and set it on the chair beside her. Her brown eyes flicked to Y/N, warmth evident in her expression. “Thank you for finding a place like this.”

“I wanted you to feel comfortable,” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite the faint pounding of her heart. “Somewhere away from prying eyes, where you could just… be.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at Irene’s lips, and for a moment, she said nothing, just meeting Y/N’s gaze with quiet gratitude.

They sat across from each other, the table small enough that the tips of their fingers occasionally brushed as they reached for their cups. Irene stirred her tea with slow, deliberate motions, the clinking of the spoon against porcelain filling the brief silences, while Y/N wrapped her hands around her mug of hot chocolate, savoring the warmth that seeped into her palms.

The initial moments were tentative, their conversation weaving through small, safe topics—the crisp winter weather, favorite dishes, and the café’s charming décor. They exchanged polite laughs and observations, but the air between them felt heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Then, Y/N decided to take a leap.

“Can I ask you something, Joohyun?” she said, her voice soft but purposeful.

Irene’s fingers paused mid-stir, her eyes lifting to meet Y/N’s. There was curiosity in her gaze, mixed with a flicker of vulnerability. “Of course.”

Y/N hesitated for a brief moment, then asked, “What’s the one thing you’d do if you could have a day completely free from all expectations—no schedules, no cameras, no people recognizing you?”

Irene blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. Her lips parted slightly as she processed it, and then, after a moment, a wistful smile appeared. “I’d spend the entire day in bed,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, as though she were confessing a secret. “Reading books, watching old movies, staying in pajamas. No makeup, no pressure. Just… peace.”

Y/N chuckled, her grin widening. “That does sound perfect. I think I’d join you.”

Irene’s smile deepened, and a soft laugh escaped her. “And you?” she asked, her tone shifting to one of genuine interest. “What would you do?”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, thinking for a moment. “I think I’d get in my car and just drive,” she said finally. “No destination in mind, just the open road. Maybe stop at random little places along the way—cafés like this, antique shops, small towns with hidden gems.”

Irene nodded thoughtfully, her expression serene. “That sounds freeing,” she said softly, her gaze distant as if imagining the scenario for herself.

Their conversation flowed more easily after that, moving from wistful dreams to stories of their lives. Y/N spoke of her decision to move to Seoul—the uncertainty, the thrill, and the comfort she eventually found in her close-knit group of friends. Irene, in turn, shared snippets of her childhood in Daegu, painting a picture of simpler days filled with family traditions and quiet moments that felt a lifetime away now.

As the evening progressed, their laughter became more frequent, their smiles more natural. They leaned closer without realizing it, their words spilling out in easy rhythm, their connection deepening with every passing moment.

When they finally stepped out of the café, the cold night air greeted them, crisp and bracing. Irene adjusted her scarf, wrapping it more tightly around her neck, but a sudden gust of wind made her shiver slightly despite the effort.

Noticing this, Y/N reached into her bag, rummaging for a moment before pulling out a soft, knitted beanie.

“Here,” Y/N said, holding it out with a grin. “You look like you could use this.”

Irene blinked, surprise flashing in her eyes. “You carry a spare beanie with you?”

“Not exactly,” Y/N admitted, chuckling. “It’s mine, but I’m not letting you freeze.”

For a moment, Irene hesitated, her gaze flicking between Y/N’s face and the beanie in her outstretched hand. Then, with a small smile, she took it, carefully pulling it over her head. The fit was a little loose, the fabric dipping just slightly over her ears, and the sight made Y/N grin even wider.

“What?” Irene asked, her cheeks flushed—not entirely from the cold.

“Nothing,” Y/N said, her grin softening. “It suits you.”

Irene rolled her eyes, but the fondness in her smile was unmistakable. She tugged the beanie snugly over her ears, her voice light. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Y/N replied with a playful shrug, “but I’m warm, and now you are too.”

As they walked down the quiet, cobblestone street, their laughter mingled with the faint sound of the café door closing behind them. The lights from the trees above cast soft patterns on the pavement, and the crisp air felt less biting, wrapped as they were in the shared warmth of a night neither would soon forget.

When they parted ways at the end of the street, Irene offered a soft smile that lingered in Y/N’s mind long after she’d disappeared into the waiting car. The faint scent of Irene’s perfume and the warmth of her laughter stayed with Y/N, wrapping around her like a comforting echo.

The next day, Y/N hesitated before typing her first text. She didn’t want to seem overeager, but the thought of letting too much time pass felt unbearable.

Hi, Joohyun. I hope you’re having a good day. Let me know if you’re free this week—You still owe me another warm drink for stealing my beanie.

The response came faster than Y/N expected, her phone lighting up with Irene’s message.

I think I’ve already paid you back with good company. But I’d love to meet again.

Y/N grinned, her chest warming as she typed her reply.

Good company is a rare find these days. I think we’re both lucky.

A moment later, Irene replied:

You give yourself too much credit.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head as she typed back.

And you don’t give yourself enough. I’ll take that as a yes for another tea, though.

The playful exchange set the tone for the steady rhythm of their conversations, growing warmer and more natural with every message.

The banter flowed easily, their texts a back-and-forth rhythm that quickly became a regular part of their days. At first, Irene’s messages were careful and composed, always polite, but as the days turned into weeks, something shifted. Her responses grew warmer, tinged with playfulness and the occasional flirtation that caught Y/N off guard.

One evening, Y/N sent a picture of her hastily assembled dinner: slightly burnt toast next to scrambled eggs that looked more scrambled than eggs.

Chef of the year, don’t you think? she texted, adding a laughing emoji to soften the self-deprecating humor.

The reply came after a brief pause, Irene’s tone light but biting:

Do you usually subject your kitchen to such tragedies?

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she quickly typed her response.

Only when I’m hungry. Care to save me with your culinary expertise?

Her grin widened as she hit send, but when the next message took longer to arrive, Y/N wondered briefly if she’d overstepped. The silence stretched for a few minutes, her nerves creeping in. Then her phone buzzed again, and Irene’s reply made her laugh aloud.

Only if you promise to leave the cooking to me next time.

Deal, Y/N shot back. But that means you’ll have to let me take you out again.

Irene’s response came quickly this time, and Y/N could almost picture the faint curve of her smile as she read:

That’s the idea.

Their conversations became a steady rhythm, filling the spaces between their busy lives. Despite her normally reserved nature, Irene found herself reaching for her phone more often, eager to hear from Y/N. Late-night texts turned into moments of shared vulnerability, while daytime banter revealed Irene’s unexpected playful streak.

One afternoon, Y/N sent a picture of her desk, papers strewn everywhere, and a nearly empty coffee mug perched precariously on the edge.

This is my current “escape.” Beautiful, isn’t it?

Irene’s reply came quickly, her tone as sharp as ever:

Beautiful might not be the word I’d use. Chaotic, maybe.

Y/N grinned, typing back with mock offense:

You wound me, Joohyun. Truly.

Just being honest, Irene replied. Then, after a beat, she added: But for what it’s worth, you work hard, and it shows.

The compliment made Y/N pause, warmth spreading through her chest. She reread Irene’s words a few times before replying:

Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.

In return, Irene occasionally shared glimpses of her own life. One afternoon, she sent a picture of a steaming cup of tea resting on a windowsill, the cityscape visible in the distance, painted gold by the late afternoon sun.

My little escape between schedules, she wrote.

Y/N stared at the serene image for a moment before replying:

Peaceful and elegant. Very you.

Irene’s reply came almost immediately, teasing but not unkind:

Are you saying I’m predictable?

Not at all, Y/N replied. Just that you have good taste.

The ease of their conversations deepened in the quiet hours, when the weight of their respective worlds felt lighter in the presence of the other.

One night, as the city outside Y/N’s window grew quiet, she sent a message:

How do you handle it? The pressure, the expectations?

This time, Irene’s response didn’t come right away. Y/N could imagine her deliberating, carefully choosing her words. When the reply finally arrived, it was more honest than she had anticipated:

Some days, I don’t think I do. I just… keep going.

There was a pause before another message came through:

You seem like you’d understand that. You make it look effortless.

Y/N’s reply was immediate, her honesty mirroring Irene’s:

I don’t. Not always. But talking to you helps.

Amid the seriousness, humor often found its way into their exchanges. One afternoon, Y/N sent a post-gym selfie: her hair was a sweaty mess, her cheeks flushed red, and her expression one of mock exhaustion.

Glamorous, right? she captioned.

Irene’s reply came almost instantly, her wit on full display:

Definitely. Very idol-like. Should I be worried about competition?

Only if you think I can pull off sparkly outfits as well as you can, Y/N shot back, laughing as she typed.

Moments like these became their quiet escapes, a space where they could share laughter, confessions, and dreams without fear of judgment. Late one night, Irene sent a single message that lingered in Y/N’s mind long after their conversation ended:

I think you make me braver than I usually am.

Y/N stared at the words, rereading them several times before finally typing her reply:

And you make me better than I usually am.

For a while, neither of them said anything more. But as Y/N lay in bed, staring at her phone, she knew that their connection had grown into something neither of them had quite expected—but neither of them could deny.

One evening Y/N stared at her phone, rereading the half-typed message for the third time. She wasn’t usually one to hesitate, but something about Irene made her pause. After a moment, she sighed, deleted the draft, and hit the call button instead.

The phone rang twice before Irene’s soft voice answered, “Hello, Y/N.”

“Hey, Joohyun,” Y/N said, trying to sound casual while her heart thumped in her chest. “How’s your day going?”

“Busy,” Irene admitted with a chuckle. “But your call is a nice surprise.”

Y/N felt her confidence returning at Irene’s warm tone. “I was thinking… if you’re not too busy this weekend, would you like to go out with me again? Somewhere quiet, just the two of us?”

There was a pause, just long enough for Y/N to start second-guessing herself. But then Irene’s voice came through, soft but sure. “I’d like that. Do you have something in mind?”

Y/N exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I do. It’s a surprise, though. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“Then I’ll trust you,” Irene said, her smile evident in her voice.

The soft hues of twilight painted the horizon as Y/N finished setting up the picnic by the lake. She’d chosen a quiet park on the outskirts of the city, where the sound of rustling leaves and lapping water replaced the usual urban noise. A blanket was laid out with cushions for comfort, a small spread of food neatly arranged in wicker baskets, and warm, battery-powered candles flickered softly around the setup.

When Irene arrived, wearing a cream-colored coat and a delicate scarf, her eyes widened at the sight.

“You did all this?” Irene asked, her voice tinged with awe.

Y/N shrugged, though her cheeks flushed slightly. “I wanted it to feel special. I know how chaotic your life can get, and I thought… maybe we could both use a little peace.”

Irene’s lips curved into a soft smile. “You were right. This is perfect.”

They settled onto the blanket, and for a while, they ate and talked, their conversation punctuated by laughter. Y/N had packed sandwiches, fresh fruit, and even a small bottle of wine—though she brought sparkling water, knowing Irene didn’t drink much.

“I can’t believe you put all this together,” Irene said, taking a bite of a strawberry.

“Well, I can’t sing or dance like you,” Y/N teased, “but I’m pretty good at making picnics.”

Irene laughed, the sound light and melodic. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m still thinking about your karaoke performance.”

“Oh no, you’re never letting me live that down, are you?” Y/N groaned, covering her face.

“Never,” Irene said with a playful smirk.

As the sun dipped lower, the conversation shifted to quieter topics. Irene talked about her favorite childhood memories, the joy of running through fields in Daegu without a care in the world. Y/N shared stories of road trips across Europe, painting a picture of freedom and adventure.

At one point, Irene leaned back on her hands, gazing at the lake as twilight deepened. “I don’t think I’ve ever been somewhere so quiet in the city. It’s… nice.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze fixed on Irene. “You deserve moments like this. A chance to just be Joohyun.”

Irene turned to her, her eyes warm. “And you make that feel possible. That’s rare.”

The words lingered between them, unspoken emotions carried in the stillness.

After a while, Y/N stood and extended a hand to Irene. “Come on.”

“What are we doing?” Irene asked, looking at her hand curiously.

“Trust me,” Y/N said with a grin.

Irene let herself be pulled up, and Y/N led her to the edge of the lake, where the water reflected the soft glow of the moonlight. Y/N took out her phone, scrolling to a playlist she’d prepared, and soft music filled the air.

“You made a playlist for this?” Irene asked, her tone incredulous but amused.

“Of course. What’s a picnic without music?” Y/N said, holding out her hand again. “Dance with me?”

Irene hesitated, glancing around. “Here? What if someone sees?”

“No one’s here,” Y/N reassured her. “And even if they were, we wouldn’t care. Just one dance.”

With a slight shake of her head and a soft smile, Irene stepped closer, letting Y/N take her hand. They swayed gently to the music, the world around them fading into the background.

“You’re terrible at this,” Irene teased as Y/N stepped on her foot.

“Hey, I said dance, not waltz,” Y/N shot back, laughing.

The laughter soon subsided, replaced by a comfortable silence as they continued to move together. When the song ended, Irene rested her head lightly on Y/N’s shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for tonight. I don’t think I’ve ever had a date like this.”

Y/N smiled, her hand tightening slightly around Irene’s. “Then I’ll just have to make sure the next one is even better.”

As the evening wrapped up, they lingered for a few moments longer, reluctant to let the magic of the night end. Eventually, Y/N stood, offering Irene her hand once more. They gathered their things under the glow of the moonlight, their movements unhurried, savoring the last moments of their time together.

The quiet hum of the car engine filled the space as Y/N drove Joohyun home, the soft playlist she had chosen earlier still playing in the background. The conversation had grown quieter, not out of awkwardness but from the comfortable silence that had settled between them after the picnic.

As the car turned onto Joohyun’s street, she glanced at Y/N, her expression warm. “Thank you for tonight. It was… really special.”

Y/N smiled, briefly taking her eyes off the road to meet Joohyun’s gaze. “You don’t have to thank me. Spending time with you makes it special for me, too.”

Joohyun looked down, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Only when I mean it,” Y/N replied softly.

When they reached Joohyun’s building, Y/N got out of the car, quickly moving to open the door for her. “I’ll walk you up,” Y/N offered, her voice casual but resolute.

Joohyun hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Alright.”

Inside, the building was quiet, the faint sound of the elevator humming as it carried them to her floor. They walked side by side down the hall, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting.

When they reached Joohyun’s door, she turned to face Y/N, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. “You really didn’t have to come all this way.”

“I wanted to,” Y/N said simply, her hands resting at her sides.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them charged with unspoken words. Y/N’s gaze softened as she looked at Joohyun, noticing the way the dim hallway light caught the delicate curve of her face.

Joohyun broke the silence first, her voice quieter now. “You make things feel… easier. Even when I feel like they shouldn’t be.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small smile. “That’s all I want—to make things a little easier for you.”

Joohyun’s eyes lingered on Y/N’s for a moment longer before she stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming. “How so?”

“Because you make me forget all the rules I usually set for myself,” Joohyun admitted, her gaze flickering down briefly before returning to Y/N’s.

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat as she stepped forward, closing the small distance between them. “Maybe breaking a few rules isn’t so bad.”

Joohyun’s lips parted, her breath hitching slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted her head just enough, her eyes searching Y/N’s for permission.

Taking the silent invitation, Y/N leaned in, her movements slow and deliberate. When their lips met, the kiss was soft and tentative, like the first note of a song waiting to be composed. Joohyun’s hand came up to rest lightly on Y/N’s arm, and Y/N’s heart raced at the gentle touch.

When they pulled apart, Joohyun’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. “I should probably go inside,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Y/N smiled, her voice low but steady. “Goodnight, Joohyun.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Joohyun replied, lingering for a moment before stepping through her door.

As the door clicked shut, Y/N stood there for a beat longer, her lips still tingling from the kiss. She turned and walked back down the hall, her heart lighter than it had been in years.

The memory of the night stayed with her, replaying in quiet moments when she least expected it—Joohyun’s smile, the way her hand fit perfectly in hers, the soft warmth of her voice. It made the time between their meetings feel both endless and worth the wait.

Now, standing in her small kitchen, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of disbelief at how effortlessly Joohyun had become a part of her life.

The faint aroma of garlic and spices filled Y/N’s small but cozy kitchen as Irene stood at the counter, meticulously chopping vegetables. Across from her, Y/N stirred a pot of pasta sauce, stealing glances at Irene every chance she got. The soft hum of music played in the background—a playlist of quiet, jazzy instrumentals Y/N had curated to set the mood.

The kitchen itself was modest but inviting, with clean countertops, a row of neatly arranged spices, and a small potted plant perched by the window. A set of mismatched mugs sat drying on a rack, hinting at the cups of tea they’d shared earlier.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Irene teased, not looking up from her chopping. “Is everything okay?”

“Just admiring your knife skills,” Y/N said with a grin. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got a future as a chef if this idol thing doesn’t work out.”

Irene rolled her eyes but smiled. “You flatter me too much.”

“Not possible,” Y/N replied warmly.

They worked seamlessly together, moving around the small kitchen with practiced ease. When Y/N accidentally spilled a bit of sauce on the counter, Irene smirked and handed her a towel, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

When dinner was ready, they carried the plates to the small dining table near the window, where a single candle flickered softly. Outside, the city lights glittered faintly against the evening sky, the view framed by sheer curtains.

“This might be the best meal I’ve had in a while,” Irene said after taking a bite.

“You’re just being nice,” Y/N said, though her cheeks turned pink.

“No, really,” Irene insisted. “Cooking with you makes it even better.”

After dinner, they moved to the couch, bowls of ice cream in hand, as the opening credits of a romantic comedy played on the TV. Y/N settled into the corner of the couch, and Irene curled up beside her, their shoulders brushing. The scent of vanilla lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the sweetness of their dessert.

As the movie unfolded, Y/N found herself paying less attention to the screen and more to Irene—the way she laughed at the cheesy jokes, the slight crinkle in her nose when a scene was overly dramatic, and the way her presence made the room feel warmer.

When the credits rolled, Y/N turned the TV off and set her empty bowl on the coffee table. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts as Irene remained curled beside her.

“Joohyun?” Y/N began, her voice softer than usual.

Irene tilted her head to look at her, a small smile on her lips. “Hmm?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the couch cushion. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how much I’ve enjoyed spending time with you these past two months.”

Irene straightened slightly, her expression growing curious but unreadable.

“You’re… incredible,” Y/N continued, her words earnest. “You’re kind, strong, funny in ways you don’t even realize, and just being around you makes my days better. I know we come from different worlds, and I know this might be complicated, but… I care about you. A lot.”

Y/N paused, her heart pounding. “I want to be more than just… someone you spend time with. I want to be someone you can count on, someone who makes you happy. I want us to be something real.”

As the warmth of the moment settled between them, Y/N’s heart raced, yet she found herself calmed by Irene’s steady presence. The silence wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was charged with the unspoken possibilities of what could come next.

Irene’s hand, still lightly holding Y/N’s, tightened slightly, grounding her thoughts. Her soft smile turned into something deeper, more sincere. “Y/N..” Irene began, her voice even softer than before, “you make me feel… free. Like I can be myself without the weight of everything else.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a gentle smile. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to give you—a space to just be Joohyun, not Irene.”

Irene’s eyes glistened as she looked down for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “You have this way of making me forget the things that usually scare me—how complicated everything can be.”

Y/N’s voice softened, her tone sincere. “That’s not a bad thing, is it? Forgetting, even for a little while?”

Irene met her gaze again, her lips curving into a faint smile. “No. It’s not bad at all. It’s just… different. But good different.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her own smile widening. “I can work with ‘good different.’”

They both laughed softly, the tension giving way to a mutual understanding. Irene’s gaze drifted to their hands, now entwined. “I never thought I’d meet someone like you. Someone who sees me for me and doesn’t flinch at the messy parts.”

Y/N’s voice turned resolute. “That’s because every part of you, Joohyun, is worth seeing. The messy parts, the strong parts, the quiet parts—they all make you who you are. And I want to be there for all of it.”

Moved, Irene leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against Y/N’s. Their breaths mingled in the intimate closeness. “You already are,” she murmured.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as her eyes searched Irene’s, finding a quiet vulnerability that mirrored her own. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air charged with a palpable tension. Y/N raised her hand slowly, her fingers brushing against Irene’s cheek, tentative yet full of intent.

Irene’s eyes fluttered closed, and the smallest of smiles tugged at her lips as she tilted her head just slightly—a silent invitation. Y/N leaned in, their faces so close she could feel the warmth of Irene’s breath.

When their lips met, it was soft and unhurried, a delicate exploration that spoke more than words ever could. Irene’s hand came up to rest lightly on Y/N’s arm, her touch anchoring the moment in quiet certainty. The kiss deepened slightly, tender and warm, leaving them both breathless yet content.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads touched once more, a shared smile passing between them like a quiet promise.

The weight of Irene’s words settled warmly in Y/N’s chest, and she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. Tentatively, she raised her free hand, brushing a strand of hair from Irene’s face. “So, where do we go from here?”

Irene pulled back slightly to look into Y/N’s eyes, her expression both vulnerable and determined. “We take it one day at a time. No rush, no pressure. Just us.”

Y/N nodded, the sincerity in Irene’s words anchoring her. “I like the sound of that.”

Their moment was interrupted by the soft patter of rain against the windows, a cozy rhythm that matched the beating of their hearts. Y/N glanced toward the window and smiled. “Looks like the universe is in on our mood.”

Irene followed her gaze and chuckled. “Maybe it’s trying to tell us something.”

“Like what?” Y/N asked, her tone playful.

“That we should stay here, wrapped up in the warmth of this moment,” Irene replied, her voice tinged with amusement and affection.

Without thinking, Y/N reached for the throw blanket on the back of the couch and draped it over their laps. “Well, who am I to argue with the universe?”

As the rain picked up, the two settled back into the couch, Irene leaning her head on Y/N’s shoulder. They didn’t need to fill the silence with words—the quiet companionship between them said everything. For the first time in a long while, both felt at peace, the weight of their separate worlds momentarily forgotten.

Y/N looked down at Irene, whose eyes had fluttered closed. “Joohyun?”

“Hmm?” Irene replied without opening her eyes.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Y/N whispered. “I want us to be something real. Something lasting.”

Irene smiled faintly, her voice heavy with drowsiness but steady with conviction. “We already are.”

And as the rain continued its steady cadence, the two remained wrapped in each other’s presence, content with the quiet promise of what was to come.

[rosiehrs]

YOU DON'T KNOW MY NAME # 43. omfg

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SUMMARY ⤻ irene was a private influencer and y/n was an avid follower. you were extremely open about your admiration for the older girl. like every other fangirl, you want her to notice you – but she doesn't know your name. (and you don't know hers)

[twice-inamillion]

The Company

Asking for a favor

Smut and Story Building (Sex, Teasing, Anal sex, Deep Penetration, Creampie, use of anal plug) 

Chapter 4

2630 Words

(Irene, like a good girl, is used by the Company CEO. He makes her wear a butt plug to get her accustomed to having something inside of her when she is to service her boss in anal sex. She uses this opportunity to get on the good side of her boss, even if it means being used like a sex toy.)

“Fuck, this is so embarrassing. Why is he making me wear this in public? I hate it him.” Irene walks through the main building, making her way to the CEO’s office. She greets the trainees who are coming from their biweekly evaluation meeting. “Good Morning, girls.” 

The trainees wave back and bow at Irene as she holds some paperwork through the busy hallway. She presses the button on the elevator, scans her access card, and selects the top floor. She faces the glass and sees the view of the campus, busy with trainees going to their classes. She starts to walk to the end of the hall when she drops some of the folders, “Damn, why is this happening to me?” She squats carefully so as not to reveal her panties and the plug she was forced to wear as punishment by the CEO. She quickly picked up the files and quickly felt the back of her skirt to make sure that the plug in her behind wasn’t showing. After checking, she makes her way to your office and knocks on the door. 

“Irene here. May I come in?” dreading to see your face this early morning.

“Yeah, come in.”

She opens the doors, walks in, and immediately closes the door behind her. She sees the smirk on your face, knowing that you’re laughing at her. “Good Morning, sir.”

“Good Morning, Irene. How are you doing today?”

“I’m okay. Thanks for asking.” With an annoyed face, she gives you the files you requested, “Here are the files you requested.” You take them, review the files, and set them on the table. You get back on your desktop but notice Irene standing before your desk. “Did you need something?”

“Sir, I want to ask you for something.”

“Speak.”

“Well… I reviewed the evaluations from the trainees who were tested two weeks ago, and four stood out to me. Would you mind looking at them?” handling your files. 

“Ah, yes. You mentioned one of them before, right? A girl named Wendy.”

“Yes, sir. She’s from Canada. We sent someone to recruit her based on her viral YouTube video.”

“Okay, and what about the rest?”

“The rest went through the Korean auditions. Most of them are good singers and have been performing well in their evaluations.”

“I see that there is one that’s not of age yet.”

“Yeah, her name is Yeri. She recently joined that company a few weeks ago, but I think she has the basics down.”

“Okay, and why are you showing me this?”

“Well… I wanted to see if you would consider these girls for a girl group.”

“Irene, You know we already have a group in mind.”

“Sir, but I think these girls would do well.”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

She walks over to your side of the desk, “Please, sir, let me be responsible for the group. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“So you want to be in the group too?”

“Yes, I would like to debut with them.”

You see the desperation on her face, making you want to tease her more. You remember the punishment you gave her and say, “Seems like you’re serious. You must really want this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Alright, show me how serious you are.”

“What do you mean?”

You place her hand on her behind, giving it a nice rub and smile. She reads your expression and knows what you are trying to do. She slowly spreads her legs and pulls her panties down to her knees, giving you access to her cheeks. With your right hand, you go up her skirt and grab onto one of her cheeks, feeling her pale and soft flesh, “A nice ass like always.” She tries to think of something else as you caress her ass cheeks by squeezing them, cupping, or slapping them until they’re slightly red.

Once you get your fill, you focus on what’s between Irene’s cheeks and slowly move your hand toward the bud sticking out of her. You grab the pink glass plug and gently give it a tug, causing Irene to twitch. You try to give it another pull, but her body tightens out of reflex. 

“Come on, you know the drill, relax.”

Without a word she spreads her legs a bit more and bends towards the desk. You give the butt plug another pull, and this time, you’re able to move it. Grabbing onto the nub, you give it a twist, which makes Irene moan. Seeing her reaction, you decide to pull on it, “Remember to relax.” With a firm grip, you begin to pull on the nub, which causes her pucker hole to stretch slightly. Irene gets firm to the table and feels you pull the plug out of her butt. She moans with every centimeter you pull until her hole is stretched to the size of a glass ball. 

“Ready for the last bit?”

“Shut up, just pull it.” 

All you hear is the popping noise of air escaping her now gaping hole, trying to clench onto the foreign object it held earlier before. “Fuck, look at that gaping hole,” as you stare at the inside of Irene’s exposed hole. You stand and watch as her pucker hole constricts, turning you on. 

Not wanting to wait any longer, you undo your belt and drop your pants to the floor. You take out your cock and give it a full pump, getting it ready for some action. 

You open the bottom drawer and pull out some lube and squirt some on Irene’s ass and on your cock. Slowly and gently, you rub the lube all over your cock and between Irene’s slit. The cold lube causes Irene to shiver in anticipation of what’s to come. 

Now, the long-awaited meal that you have been craving is here. You press your cock against Irene’s ass and gently push it into her asshole. She groans as she feels the tip of your hardened cock spreads her puckerhole, “Uggh…fuck…” biting her lip. A cold sensation fills her spine as she takes in your massive cock. 

“Fuck, you’re still tight.” You press in even more, feeling the flesh of her walls wrapping around your cock. You take a better hold of her waist and warn her, “I’m going to go all the way!”

Irene tries to prepare herself and adjusts her position on the table but loses her balance when she feels a stab in her womb, “Wait! You’re going to mess me up!”

Her knees become weak from just one stroke, and it’s not the last one. You pick up the pace and mercilessly fuck her ass. You enjoy hearing her groan in pain as she takes you massive length. “Stop! Stop! Give me some time to adjust myself. You’re going to ruin me!”

You move your hand and insert two fingers into her wet cunt and collect as much fluid as you can. With those two fingers, you shove them into Irene’s mouth and say, “Shut up and suck like a good girl!”

Without a fight, she welcomes your fingers and begins to suckle. “Yeah, that’s right. Sucking on your own nectar like a slut you are.” She tries to respond, but you slam your cock back inside, reaching the deepest parts of her ass, causing her to gag on your fingers. 

After five minutes, Irene is a complete mess; she groans, “You’re turning me inside out. Please, pull out…”

“Alright, I’ll let you rest, but let me cum first.” 

You pull out your cock just enough to leave the tip and slam it once more, releasing a large wave of cum, “Hmph… fuck!!” She loses her balance, falls on the desk, and goes silent. “Fuck, your ass is so just tighter, it’s milking my cock.”

You turn to Irene and see her passed out, so you pull out your cock and see Irene’s motionless body. You grab your phone from your desk and take a picture of Irene’s gaping ass, “That’s so hot.” You walk in closer and see a large puddle of cum just at the edge of her puckerhole, just waiting to ruin Irene’s thigh. You grab her ass cheeks and spread them, causing your cum to spill out and drip onto her underwear. 

Not wanting to spill any cum on the floor you pull her panties back up and sit on your chair with Irene on your lap. You move her panties to the side and insert your semi-hard cock back inside, and continue to work on the computer. 

After a couple of minutes, Irene wakes up and feels the hot sensation of something buried deep inside her and lifts her head up. She slowly regains her vision, and the first thing she sees is your chest. She tilts her head up, “Wh…what are you doing?”

“You fell asleep, well more like passed out. I didn’t know I was that good.”

“Stop. Let me get off.” 

“No.”

“Come on, I need to get back to my duties.”

“These are part of your duties, remember.”

“Fine… just get it over with.”

“That’s no fun, but whatever. Let’s see your reaction after I’m done with you.”

Irene feels your semi-limp cock throbbing and getting harder as you bounce her small body on your length. With a firm grip on her ass tries to turn her head away, but you stop her, “Don’t look away. Look at me.” She moves her gaze at you, making direct eye contact. “That’s right, just like that. Now, I’m going to let go, and I want you to ride me.” 

You could see that she was going to talk back, but instead, she holds the words in her mouth and does as she’s told. She continues the rhythm you previously had and, little by little, increases the pace. You place your hands on her back, and she places hers on your shoulders; you stare at her, teasing that she is doing all the work like the good little cum slut that she is. 

“How does my cock feel up your ass? Good, huh?”

“It’s not bad.”

“Remember the first time?”

“Don’t… don’t bring it up.”

“Why not? It was cute seeing you struggle.”

“I couldn’t walk straight for two days because of you.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault your body is so small.”

“It’s not my body, it’s that your cock is too big.”

“But you like it” as you give her a smirk. She doesn’t respond, but the silence gives away her answer. Instead, she picks up the pace to get her duty over with. “Fuck, you’re getting tight again. You’re so good at tightening your walls. If only your future members knew how much of a slut you are.”

“I’m not doing it because I want to; I’m doing it because I have to.” 

“Oh, if that’s the case, why don’t you let me fuck that tight pussy you have right there” as you rub your hands on her nicely trimmed cunt.

“No, you can’t.”

“Come on, it’s been over a year since we met, and you still haven’t…”

“Don’t. Remember, you can only fuck me anal if you don’t do it from the front. I’m saving myself for someone special.”

“Alight, I guess… You’re lucky I’m nice. If it was anyone else, they wouldn’t think twice about having all of you, if you know what I mean.”

“Haha don’t think you’re so nice. You still got your with me, even if it’s through my ass.”

“Let’s change the subject. How about you make me cum in two minutes. If you can do it in less than that, I’ll let you start your little group.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.”

Without a second thought, she increased the pace of her straddling. She moans as your cock reaches the deepest parts of her rectum. “Ahh… ahh.. it feels so good!” She lifts herself up and slams herself back down, causing her to tighten her walls. “Cum already, please…” as she looks up at you. “Almost.” She repeats it a couple more times, making you cum only five seconds before the two-minute mark. She groans as you fill her ass once more, causing her to lose strength in her body and collapse on your chest with a heavy breath.

It takes her a couple of minutes for her to regain a part of her strength, and when she does, she pulls herself out of your cock but don’t before you go for a passionate kiss to, which she does not reject. After you kiss, she musters enough energy to pull away, gets off your lap, waddles to the sofa across the room, throws herself onto it, and slowly closes her eyes.

You get off the chair and walk towards her and whisper, “Congratulations on your new group. Make sure not to disappoint me,” as you smack her ass. You walk towards the desk and grab some tissues to clean yourself off. You see the plug on top of her skirt and grab it before walking back to Irene. “Don’t forget this. I want you to walk around with my cum inside your ass for the whole day, okay” as you insert the plug back into her butt.

—————-

Irene spends the whole day with the plug as you order her to. The first thing she does when she returns to her apartment is go straight to the shower. She turns on the shower, lets it run for a few minutes, and places her head against the shower wall. After a long day, she tries to clear her mind and pulls out the plug. She watches as a large amount of cum pours out of her tight butthole and into the drain, “He pumped so much in me. It’s better for it to be my ass than the other whole and ending up pregnant. I’ll never let that man impregnate me. That would be the end of me…” as she takes a hot shower. 

—————

A few days passed, and Irene was heading to the meeting room to meet with her future group mates when she saw a group of women entering through the main entrance. She sees IU and Taeyeon coming out of the elevator and walking toward the women. “Hey, IU. Who’s that?”

“Oh the group?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re Taeyeon’s groupmates. They came for a tour since Taeyeon wouldn’t stop complimenting the place. She will show them around the campus and maybe meet with the CEO if he’s available.”

“Oh, okay. Good luck then.”

IU catches up with Taeyeon and the rest of the group and passes by Irene. They introduce themselves one at a time, but only one catches her attention. “You must be Irene.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I’m Jessica, by the way. Taeyeon told me I should communicate with you and IU if I had any questions.”

“Yes, IU and I are the CEO’s assistants and are more than glad to answer any questions you have.”

“Okay, good. I’ll catch you later. Can’t miss the tour of the company,” as Jessica waves goodbye to Irene. 

Irene waves back better, heading to the meeting room. She opens the doors and sees a group of four girls sitting next to each other, waiting patiently.

[seullovesme]

cockwarming w/ irene bae

pairing ⥬ g!p!irene x reader

genre ⥬ smut

warnings ⥬ sex, slight innocence kink

(nsfw under the cut btw)

just cuddling with irene, listening to her rambling away about her day and how much fun she had because she knows you'll listen to her even if it was nonsense. you discover her love for sudoku and you ask if she could do some with you.

she gets excited and brings out the sudoku book she started, telling you about how easy the first few levels were for her, trying her best to impress you which worked. she begins doing her thing as you compliment her, saying that you're so proud of your smart girl.

but because your girl is skilled, she finished the entire book with some of your help. she's so happy and wishes that you could do more together. this obviously results in you buying a ton of sudoku books because what the bae wants, the bae gets!

irene seated at her desk located in your room, innocently going through her new sudoku book in her sweats with a thin long-sleeve shirt on, when you spot her. she's adorable and you couldn't just stand and admire from afar.

you sit on her lap facing the desk and kiss her cheek, telling her to continue playing. she complies and goes back to filling the boxes with their designated numbers though she's curious on what you're planning to do.

you pull her sweats to her knees, shushing her when she gasped, telling her to put all of her focus on her game. she was trying to stay focused, but your hand on her now hard cock was definitely not helping in the slightest. she stopped and put down her pen when you began to sink down on her, grabbing your waist to guide you.

she was drowning in pleasure from feeling your velvety walls engulf her whole length like it was nothing, and she couldn't hold in her pretty sounds 😵‍💫😵‍💫

you took her hands off of you and put them onto the table. "come on bae... be a good girl and finish up your game. i told you to focus on it didn't i?" you shifted a little to adjust your sitting position, making the sensitive girl under you whimper. she can only obey your command as she took the pen and studied the puzzle carefully, trying to work as fast as she could.

despite her efforts, you could tell she was working slower than she normally was, only spotting a few mistakes that she had made due to her being so distracted. it was cute hearing her struggle to refrain from moving around.

eventually, she completed the whole board and hugged your back, hoping you'd allow her to start railing the shit out of you. her hopes couldn't get very high as you interrupted her thoughts.

"good job! shall we start another?" you grinned and flipped the page, revealing a new one for her to do.

sorry it took a while to post i didnt realize i hit save to drafts instead of post LMFAO also i didnt edit 😞

[ducktoo]

Love is War

Red Velvet’s Irene x Reader

Note: I….love….Kaguya-sama so much. It’s just a funny show to watch and I’ve wanted to make something inspired by them. I had a lot of fun with this.

P.s. a lot of second handed embarrassment

(She’s kinda like Kaguya)

You sit across from Irene in the empty student council room, the evening light filtering through the tall windows, casting long shadows that add a layer of mystery to the already tension-filled silence. Irene is flipping through some papers, meticulously reading, yet somehow ignoring your presence. Her focus, as always, is sharp, precise — but you've noticed the subtle glances, the way her lips curl ever so slightly when she thinks you aren’t watching.

You lean back, determined to stay calm. After all, if you show any interest first, it’s game over. Irene is the president, elegant and controlled, respected and even a little feared. And you, as her vice-president, know every one of her mannerisms by now, but this silent tug-of-war — this feeling she hasn’t just caught your eye but your heart too — has been going on for months. But you’d never give her the satisfaction of saying it first.

“So,” you say, nonchalantly, “another meeting… just us, huh?” You emphasize the “us,” making sure it sounds casual enough to not raise suspicion.

She raises an eyebrow, not even glancing your way. “You’re the vice president, remember?” She flips to the next page. “Or did you forget why you’re here?”

Ouch.

But you can play it cool. “Just making conversation,” you reply with a smirk. “Not everyone spends hours in silence like you do, President.”

She finally looks up, her eyes sharp, and for a second, you’re caught in her gaze. This is all part of the game, you remind yourself. Whoever slips first, whoever lets their guard down, loses.

“I don’t mind silence,” she says with a smirk of her own. “Unless you’re uncomfortable?”

“Oh, of course not,” you scoff, leaning forward. “If anything, I think you’re the one struggling to keep it together.”

She narrows her eyes, amused. “You think I’d give in that easily?”

“I didn't say anything,” you tease and put both of your hands up in innocence. Though your heart's pounding, every word a risky gamble. “You seem pretty close to breaking. Maybe you’re just waiting for me to say something first.”

Irene tilts her head, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “It’s funny. You think you’ve got it all figured out.” She leans in, just close enough that you can feel the warmth of her presence. “But if you’re so certain of yourself, why haven’t you said anything either?”

The challenge is clear, and for a moment, you’re both silent, the air between you practically crackling. You’re staring at each other, each waiting for a sign of surrender, for that one misstep.

Just then, you notice her hand on the table, fingers lightly tapping. You reach out, instinctively, to still them, and in that moment, her eyes widen slightly, the faintest flicker of surprise betraying her usual composure. Your hands linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and you can feel your own face growing warm.

You pull away, breaking the silence with a chuckle, hoping to cover up your own slip. “Nice try,” you say. “But I’m not that easy to trick.”

She looks at you with an unreadable expression before her lips twitch into a soft smile — a genuine one, not her usual restrained, dignified expression. “I’ll admit, you’re a little harder to deal with than I thought,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

You raise an eyebrow, feeling a rush of victory. “So, you’re admitting I’m getting to you?”

Irene crosses her arms and raises a brow, leaning back in her chair as if sizing you up. “Well…since you’re so intent on making conversation, how about a game?”

You match her confident expression. “A game, huh? Alright, let’s hear it.”

She holds up her fingers, ticking off each word. “Twenty. Questions.”

The challenge is clear, and your eyes narrow as you smile. This is an opportunity. If you ask the right questions, you might get her to reveal something. “20 questions?"

“Yes,” she says, looking far too pleased with herself. “I’ll ask first.”

You nod, already strategizing your responses. There's no way she’ll get you to slip up.

“Alright,” Irene begins, her tone deceptively casual. “Are you… seeing anyone right now?”

You blink, but you manage a cool response. “No.”

She hums thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “Interesting. Your turn.”

“Are you seeing anyone right now?” you shoot back immediately, watching her for any reaction.

She raises an eyebrow, giving you a slow smile. “No. Next question: Do you have a… special someone in mind?”

Your face heats up, but you don’t let it show. You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “No,” you say, stretching the truth just a bit. “Do you?”

She smirks, but her answer is quick. “No.” There’s a spark in her eyes now, and you know she’s trying to rile you up. “Have you ever… spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about someone without realizing it?”

You narrow your eyes. She’s getting clever with these questions. “No,” you lie, feeling like she’s closing in. “But have you ever been caught staring at someone and couldn’t look away?”

Her smirk falters for a split second, but she recovers quickly. “No.”

The room feels charged with each back-and-forth. Neither of you wants to back down, and every question seems to dig just a little deeper, as if you’re both trying to pry open a box that’s already bursting at the seams.

Irene leans forward, her eyes glittering. “Do you… think about me when you’re alone?”

The question catches you off guard, but you’re not about to let her win. “No,” you reply, keeping your expression neutral. “Do you think about me?”

Her lips twitch, almost into a smile, and her answer is a soft, measured, “No.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you’re sure she’s lying. But you’ve both committed to the game, and there’s no turning back now.

You decide to turn up the heat. “Have you ever wondered… what it would be like if you and I were… something more?”

Irene’s eyes widen slightly, and for a fraction of a second, you see a crack in her calm exterior. “No,” she replies, but the tiny hesitation is enough to make your heart race.

“Are you sure?” you press, grinning.

“Yes,” she snaps, recovering her poise with a steely look. “Absolutely sure.”

You can’t help but laugh, sensing her annoyance. But she doesn’t let you revel in it for long.

“Do you get jealous if I talk to other people?” she asks, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

“No,” you answer immediately, fighting the urge to look away.

Irene chuckles, clearly unimpressed. “Liar.”

Your cheeks warm, but you keep your gaze steady. “Sure, like you’re any better,” you say. “Have you ever gotten jealous seeing me with someone else?”

She narrows her eyes, leaning just a bit closer. “No.”

There’s a pause, tension thick in the air. Both of you know the series of no are getting less and less convincing, but neither of you is willing to back down.

Then, Irene clears her throat, her voice softer than before. “Alright, last question. And you have to be completely honest.”

You nod, bracing yourself. “Fine. Go ahead.”

She looks you dead in the eye, her expression unreadable. “Do you… feel anything special for me?”

Your heart pounds, the air between you both thick with unsaid words. You can feel every second stretching, every fiber of your being shouting to say something, anything other than—

“No.”

Irene’s eyes widen, and for a moment, her carefully guarded expression slips, replaced with something almost vulnerable. But she recovers, her smirk returning, even if it’s a little shaky.

“Good,” she says, trying to sound indifferent. “Neither do I.”

You both sit in silence, staring at each other, knowing you’ve just lied through your teeth and realizing that you’re both too stubborn to admit it.

But then Irene leans back, her smirk shifting into a resigned smile. “Well,” she says, standing up, her voice teasing, “it seems we’re both in the clear, then. No one’s losing anything here.”

You watch her walk toward the door, and before she leaves, she glances over her shoulder, her eyes holding yours for just a second too long.

“Good night,” she says softly, with a smile that tells you maybe, just maybe, she’s as frustrated as you are.

“Good night,” you manage to reply, watching her leave, and for the first time, wondering if this game is even worth playing if it means you’ll never actually win.

-

Back in your dorm room, you close the door and let out a long, frustrated groan. You’d spent the entire day locked in a ridiculous back-and-forth with Irene, trying to make her slip up, but "nooo", she had to be as stubborn as ever. You throw yourself onto your bed, grabbing your pillow and thrashing around in irritation.

“‘No,’” you mutter to yourself, mimicking Irene’s voice in the most exaggerated tone possible. “'No, I never get jealous, no, I never think about you, no, I have no feelings whatsoever!’” You yank the pillow over your face and yell into it, hoping it’ll somehow drain the frustration boiling over inside you.

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD BAE JOOHYUN!”

-

Meanwhile, across campus, Irene is pacing in her room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Every step she takes sounds like she’s trying to stomp a hole into the floor. She mutters angrily to herself, face contorted in a mix of anger and — if she were to admit it — embarrassment.

“‘Do you think about me when you’re alone?’” she scoffs, doing her best impression of your voice, throwing her hands up in the air. “Absolutely not, why would I?” She frowns, blushing despite herself. “As if I’d be the first one to say anything anyway!”

She huffs and, in a rare moment of unchecked frustration, grabs her textbook off her desk and slams it down, a futile attempt to squash the annoyance bubbling inside her. She’s never felt so embarrassed — or so irritated that she can’t stop thinking about you.

“No,” she grumbles to herself again, as if the more times she says it, the more true it’ll become. “I am Bae Joohyun…why would I fall for you?”

-

Back in your room, you’ve started pacing now too, every nerve on edge. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your face twisted in frustration, and throw your hands up. “This is ridiculous! I don’t even care!” You stomp over to your desk, slamming your hands down like it might somehow snap you out of this bizarre Irene-fueled haze.

“Of all the people I had to like,” you grumble, throwing yourself back on your bed, arms flailing dramatically, “it had to be the one shortie who won’t admit anything!”

-

Meanwhile, Irene’s found herself in a similar scene, on her bed, legs kicking the mattress in frustration. “And that kid KNOWS what they’re doing,” she says, voice muffled by the pillow she’s now buried her face in. “Just sitting there with that smug little smile, asking all those RIDICULOUS questions like they didn’t care one bit!” She lets out a loud, frustrated sigh, tossing her pillow across the room.

It’s not even five minutes before she stands, determined to shake off the restless energy building inside her, and starts pacing her room again. Each step lands with heavy frustration. She mutters under her breath, trying to convince herself: “It’s not a big deal. This is… nothing. And they were obviously lying anyway, just to mess with me. I mean, why would they ask those things unless they were trying to make me crack?”

-

At the same time, you’re staring up at your ceiling, arms crossed, muttering to yourself. “She just has to be so stubborn,” you say, voice heavy with annoyance.

“Every single answer, every question — it’s like she’s actually trying to lose her mind on purpose!” You cover your face with your hands, shaking your head. “But no, she’s just too proud to admit she feels anything.”

-

In the end, both of you spend the next hour or so in almost synchronized frustration — you, rolling around on your bed, groaning loudly every few minutes, and Irene, sighing dramatically and flopping from one end of her bed to the other, trying not to think about how much it bothers her that you refuse to admit anything either.

It’s only when you both wear yourselves out from the mutual thrashing and muttering that a sense of calm settles, leaving you both sprawled on your beds, staring at the ceiling, each lost in thoughts of the other.

But even in the quiet, both of you have the same thought lingering, echoing annoyingly in your minds:

“Why can’t they just confess already?”

“Why can’t she just confess already?”

-

The next morning, you drag yourself into the student council room, feeling the weight of sleep deprivation clinging to your eyelids like cement. You glance at the clock — 8:15 AM. You’ve barely gotten any sleep, and it shows. Your eyes are bloodshot, your hair’s a mess, and every step feels like it’s being weighed down by the universe itself.

You slump into your usual chair, rubbing your face. The room is eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. No one else is here yet — except for Irene, sitting in her usual spot across from you, who seems just as disheveled as you feel. Her hair’s a little frizzy, and her posture is slumped like she might collapse at any moment.

You exchange a tired glance. Neither of you says anything. There's no point in it. It’s obvious you both didn’t sleep well, and it’s all because of that ridiculous game.

"Morning," Irene mutters, sounding less like herself than usual, her voice hoarse and low.

You nod. “Morning. Did you… sleep at all?”

She gives a small shake of her head, eyes slightly glazed. “…No.”

You groan. “Same.”

“I can tell,” she says, voice tinged with equal frustration.

You both fall into an exhausted silence, but just as the tension begins to build between you once again, the door creaks open. Seulgi, the treasurer, strides in, bouncing on her feet as usual, though today she seems extra chipper — like she’s somehow been recharged by a full night of sleep, which you both desperately lack.

She beams at you both. “Good morning, my higher ups! You two look like you barely survived the night.”

“Thanks for the observation,” you mutter sarcastically, leaning back in your chair, trying to ignore the painful throb in your skull.

Seulgi raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing the tense energy in the room. “You guys didn’t get any sleep, did you?” she teases, looking between the two of you. “Too busy scheming with each other, huh?”

Irene gives Seulgi a deadpan stare. “We don’t need your commentary, Kang Seulgi.”

Seulgi shrugs, unfazed. “Okay, okay, no need to get defensive. You two need a distraction.”

With that, Seulgi pulls a small notepad from her bag, flipping it open with dramatic flair. “Let’s play Would You Rather,” she announces, practically jumping into the chair beside Irene.

You blink at her, too exhausted to even care about the idea of playing another game. But Seulgi’s already too deep into her plans to let you escape.

“Would you rather,” Seulgi starts, voice rising in enthusiasm, “have the ability to read anyone’s mind, but only while they’re eating something, or be able to talk to animals, but only in a language they don’t understand?”

You glance at Irene, already half-suspecting she’s not going to entertain this nonsense, but to your surprise, she lets out a small sigh and leans in, trying to humor Seulgi. “The animals. No contest.”

“Really?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I could ask a certain bear to stop stealing my snacks,” Irene mutters, eyes narrowing like she’s speaking from personal experience.

"I know nothing" Seulgi whistled and looked away, feigning ignorance.

You chuckle, despite yourself, because somehow that seems oddly relatable. But Seulgi’s not done yet.

“Okay, next one!” Seulgi says, flipping her page. “Would you rather always know when someone’s lying, but it makes you physically ill, or never know when someone’s lying, but it makes you constantly question everything?”

Irene shoots you a look, probably knowing where this is going. You tap your chin dramatically.

“I’ll go with the first one,” you say, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I already get physically ill just dealing with you.”

Irene doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m starting to think you might be lying about that,” she retorts, a small grin playing at the corner of her mouth.

Seulgi, clearly loving this back-and-forth, just grins wider. “Alright, now for the real fun one…”

You both exchange a look of dread.

“Would you rather,” Seulgi pauses for dramatic effect, “have to sing every time you want to communicate, but only in opera, or be unable to speak at all and only express yourself through interpretive dance?”

You both sit there, silent for a moment, processing the absurdity of the question. Then, without missing a beat, Irene responds, deadpan, “I’d go with interpretive dance. At least it’s not opera.”

You stare at her in disbelief. “You would dance? For everything? For your class presentations?”

She shrugs. “I mean, it would be easier than singing opera in front of the entire school.”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. “I’d rather sing opera. It’s at least... dignified.”

Seulgi looks between the two of you, laughing to herself as if she’s witnessing the world's most ridiculous standoff. “Okay, okay, one last one. Would you rather accidentally confess your feelings to the entire school, but the person you like doesn’t hear, or have to live your life with a giant embarrassing secret that no one knows except you?”

You freeze. Irene’s gaze flicks to yours, and for a brief, horrifying moment, it feels like the entire world has just turned its spotlight on you both.

Seulgi’s watching, clearly loving the discomfort she’s causing.

“I—” you start, but then you hesitate. “I’d rather have the secret,” you say quickly, then add, “I mean, I don’t want to confess in front of everyone!”

Irene laughs — a soft, almost bitter laugh — and answers quickly, “I’d pick the same thing. Secrets are easier to deal with than... that.”

You both stare at each other, and for once, the silence between you doesn’t feel as tense as before. In fact, it’s almost like... you’ve just admitted something without even trying.

But Seulgi, ever the expert at reading the room, lets out a dramatic sigh. “You two are impossible,” she says, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “But at least we had fun.”

Irene and you exchange a glance. Neither of you says anything, but the hint of something unspoken lingers in the air. Something that wasn’t quite said in the game, but was definitely felt.

“You know,” you mutter, standing up and stretching, “next time, we’re just playing chess.”

Seulgi grins, already plotting her next absurd question. “You got it. But just so you know,” she winks, “I’m totally adding opera to the rules.”

Irene shoots you a look as if to say, See? This is your fault.

And for once, you can’t help but laugh.

-

A few months pass, and life in the student council room has somehow become a bizarre, ongoing comedy show. You and Irene continue your ridiculous push-and-pull game, each day a new round of Who Will Crack First?. Neither of you has budged an inch, and yet neither of you has let up on the passive-aggressive scheming either.

It’s as if you’re both living in some weird, never-ending loop of “will they, won’t they” — and it’s driving everyone around you absolutely mad.

Seulgi, who’s practically an expert at this point in navigating the absurdity of your interactions, has given up trying to intervene. She now finds it hilarious, often leaning back in her chair with a smug smile as she watches the two of you exchange cryptic looks and challenge each other with passive-aggressive “Would You Rather” questions.

One particularly awful morning, Irene walks in wearing her usual perfectly put-together look — except today, her blazer is slightly askew, her hair a little more chaotic than usual. She’s clearly been running on no sleep, but as always, she gives you a pointed, unamused look when you glance at her.

“Not today,” she mutters, sounding exhausted, and collapses into her chair with a sigh.

You blink. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m tired of you,” she snaps back, without hesitation.

You sit up straighter, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh? So you admit it now?”

Her head whips to face you. “I didn’t admit anything, you idiot.”

“Right, right. Of course not.” You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, trying to play it cool, but inside you can feel a small victory bubbling up.

Yes, you’re getting to her. Keep going.

Before you can continue your “I’m always right” victory lap in your mind, Seulgi enters, holding an envelope in her hands.

“Good morning, everyone!” Seulgi greets, sliding into her chair and tossing the envelope onto the desk in front of you. “Got this for you,” she says, looking far too pleased with herself.

You blink at it. “What’s this?”

Seulgi leans forward, grinning. “Well, someone (ahem, our vice-president) just got accepted for the student exchange program. With a full scholarship, no less.”

You freeze, staring at the envelope as if it might suddenly burst into flames. It takes a moment for the words to fully process in your tired brain, but when they do — you can’t help but feel a mix of disbelief and excitement.

“Wait… you’re kidding,” you mutter, flipping the envelope open. Sure enough, it’s real. You’ve been accepted into the program — and with a scholarship at that. You can barely wrap your head around it, the magnitude of it overwhelming. A chance to study abroad? This is huge.

"I MADE IT MOM!!!" You shouted, as loud as you just won a well fought war.

Irene, however, is not as happy for you. She glares at the envelope, as though it’s personally offended her. “Congratulations,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You grin, almost smugly. “Thanks, Pres. I’m going to study abroad! How cool is that?”

“Right, so you’ll be gone for how long?” Irene’s voice has a sharp edge to it, and you know instantly that something’s bothering her.

“I’m not sure,” you say, waving it off, still too distracted by the possibility of it all. “Maybe six months? Maybe more. It’s exciting, right?”

Irene doesn’t respond. Instead, she leans back in her chair, arms crossed, staring at you with an unreadable expression. Her lips are pressed together like she’s holding something in.

“You know,” you say, enjoying the rare moment of feeling like you actually have the upper hand, “maybe you should congratulate me properly. This is a big deal.”

She gives you a sharp look. “I don’t congratulate people who act like they’re already the best at everything.”

“Oh, please,” you laugh, “that’s not even true. We both know you’re just upset that you won’t get to have your daily dose of me tormenting you.”

Irene narrows her eyes, leaning forward like she’s about to bite back with something absolutely scathing. But instead, she just sighs. “Fine. Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll do great. Now, I’ll just go back to pretending you aren’t about to abandon me for six months.”

You blink, caught off guard by her sudden change in attitude. It’s almost like she’s… jealous? No, that can’t be right.

“Wait,” you say, your voice sounding strangely unsure, “you’re mad?”

She raises an eyebrow, looking at you like you're the dumbest person alive. “What do you think, Einstein?”

“Are you actually mad that I’m going abroad?” You almost can’t believe you’re asking. This is a new level of absurdity. She’s always acted like she doesn’t care about anything — least of all you.

Her response comes in the form of a heavy sigh, followed by her leaning back again with a dramatic thud into her chair. “I just don’t get it,” she mutters, staring at the ceiling like it’s the most tragic thing in the world. “One moment you’re here, annoying the hell out of me, and then poof — off to some other country like it’s no big deal.”

“Is that jealousy?” you ask, incredulous. “Pres, is that—”

“No!” She snaps immediately. “I’m just annoyed that you’ve been torturing me for months, and now you’re going to vanish, leaving me alone with Seulgi’s stupid games and that.”

You look at Seulgi, who’s grinning at the back-and-forth with a cup of coffee in her hand like she’s watching a reality TV show unfold before her. “I’m just here for the drama,” Seulgi mumbles under her breath, casually sipping her coffee.

“See?” Irene gestures to Seulgi. “I’m stuck here with this.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m just as confused as you are,” you joke, tapping the envelope on the table, “since it looks like I’m leaving you here to suffer alone with your secrets.”

Irene glares at you. “Stop talking about my secrets. It’s not like you even have any.”

You grin, sensing that you’ve touched a nerve. “Oh, I do, don’t worry. Just waiting for you to—”

“Stop talking.” Irene snaps, her voice so sharp it’s almost a threat.

The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife, but you don’t know whether to laugh or just keep pushing her buttons. It’s getting harder and harder to tell if she’s frustrated because of your “secret” or if it’s just the ever-present game you two have been playing for months.

Seulgi, clearly sensing the climax of your endless drama, looks between you both with a smirk. “You two are ridiculous,” she says, sipping her coffee and savoring the war, like a general on the side watching her neighbouring countries fight.

And as always, you and Irene stay locked in your little game — still stubborn, still not admitting anything, but both of you a tiny bit more frustrated than before. You can’t help but laugh, even though you’re not quite sure whether it’s from the excitement of the exchange program or the absurdity of your constant back-and-forth with Irene.

One thing’s for sure — you may be leaving soon, but the game will never truly end.

-

The days leading up to your final day at school felt like a drawn-out episode of Who Will Break First?.

The tension between you and Irene was palpable, like two magnets trying to repel each other while secretly waiting for the other to snap. It was absurd, and yet, you couldn’t help but be thrilled by the idea of ending this ridiculous game once and for all.

The exchange program was looming on the horizon, and you were determined to win this war — no more games, no more indirect jabs. One of you was going to finally confess, and it would be grand. You weren’t just going to do it quietly or casually.

Oh no. You had bigger plans.

Way bigger plans.

You could practically feel the dramatic music building in your head as you sat in the student council room, staring at the whiteboard, mapping out your elaborate scheme. It had to be perfect, a moment so spectacular that Irene would have no choice but to confess. You had one chance, and it had to be memorable.

The idea? A scavenger hunt.

But not just any scavenger hunt. A scavenger hunt for the heart.

“How can I make it even more dramatic?” you muttered to yourself, looking over your ridiculous list of clues and challenges. Every challenge would lead Irene closer to her inevitable fate — confessing her feelings, of course. But it couldn’t be too obvious. You had to make it like a game, because she would never confess otherwise. She was too proud.

You could already hear the sound of her internal monologue: I can’t let them get away with this. I’ll show them I’m not some softy.

Little did she know, you were about to turn this into the most obnoxiously grand gesture ever.

The next day, you casually walk into the student council room, where Irene is sitting at her desk, looking as stoic as usual. Her hair is perfect (obviously), and she’s in the middle of filling out some form that looks like it was written in some ancient bureaucratic language.

“Good morning, Pres.” you say nonchalantly, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

She barely glances up at you, just giving a quick nod. “Morning,” she mutters, not even bothering to make eye contact.

Perfect. The stage was set.

“You ready for the game today?” you ask casually, leaning over to get a peek at her papers.

Her eyebrow twitches slightly. “What game?”

“The game,” you say dramatically, “The scavenger hunt. The ultimate scavenger hunt.”

Irene freezes. “What?”

You grin, feeling the thrill of your scheme starting to take effect. “It’s simple, really. I’ve set up a series of clues around the campus. Each one will lead you to the next, until you finally reach your destination. And guess what? You’re the only one who can participate. No one else is allowed.”

Irene stares at you as if you just suggested she run a marathon in high heels. “A scavenger hunt? Are you serious?”

“Yes.” You give her an exaggeratedly dramatic nod. “You’re going to love it. Each clue is going to lead you to a place that’s important to us. You’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

She blinks, clearly confused. “And what’s the point of this ridiculous hunt?”

“The point is,” you say, leaning in like you’re about to share the world’s greatest secret, “by the end of it, you’ll finally admit that you can’t stand it anymore and you will…”

You paused for a moment “…confess your feelings for me.”

Irene’s face is completely deadpan. “You’re out of your mind.”

But she’s intrigued. You can tell.

“Okay, okay. I’ll bite. Where do I start?” Irene asks, crossing her arms with that same defiant, no-nonsense look that always drives you insane.

You hand her the first clue, which is written in ridiculously dramatic handwriting. “Go to the place where it all started,” you say, practically bouncing in your chair, “You know, where we first met. Good luck.”

Irene glares at you for a second before unfolding the note. Her eyes scan it quickly. She’s already halfway out of her seat when she mutters, “This is so stupid.”

And off she goes.

What she doesn’t realize is that you’ve set up each clue in the most bizarre and over-the-top way possible.

The first stop is the fountain near the school entrance. But it’s not just a simple clue — oh no. You’ve surrounded the fountain with floating balloons that spell out “LOVE,” because you’re subtle like that. Next to the fountain, there’s a big, obnoxious banner that says, “First step to confessing your feelings: stop running away from the truth.”

When Irene arrives, she looks at it, rolls her eyes so hard you think they might get stuck, but follows the instructions anyway.

“Ridiculous,” she mutters, lifting the balloon with one hand and searching for the next clue.

Next, the clue leads her to the library — but not just any section of the library. It’s the aisle where you first bumped into her accidentally (totally not planned) on that fateful day. The shelf is stacked with books on love and confession. (Of course, you also made sure the most embarrassing ones were in plain sight.)

By the time she reaches the next clue, which is hidden inside a cookie jar in the student lounge, she’s had enough. “This is the worst thing you’ve ever done,” she says under her breath as she rips open the paper and immediately glares at the next clue.

It’s just one word: Confess.

Irene stares at the note for a solid minute, as though she’s trying to will it to self-destruct. “This is… absurd.”

She’s so close now. You’re practically jumping out of your seat, grinning so wide you’re certain she can hear the smugness radiating off you.

The final stop is, of course, the student council room. You’ve cleared out all the other council members and arranged the room like an oddly romantic restaurant, complete with candles (yes, real candles, because you’re extra) and a giant cardboard cutout of the two of you from a school event that she’ll definitely recognize.

“I swear to god, if you’ve done anything worse than this, I’ll…” Irene trails off as she steps into the room, eyes widening at the display.

You cross your arms. “Well?”

“Are you really going to make me do this?” she asks, her voice dangerously calm.

You grin, barely containing your excitement. “I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

Irene looks at you, deadpan as usual. “You’re impossible.”

You wait, your heart practically beating out of your chest.

She doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches for a few seconds, and just when you think she’s going to snap — she sighs. “Fine.”

She’s this close.

She takes a deep breath, looking you straight in the eye, and says in the most dramatically deadpan voice possible:

“I hate you.”

And just like that, you snap.

“WHAT?!”

“I said I hate you.” Irene smiles smugly, enjoying every second of your frustration. “But I think you’re kind of an idiot. And I’m sort of impressed by your sheer lack of self-awareness. So, confession done.”

You stand there, utterly flabbergasted.

“That’s not a confession!” you shout.

“I didn’t say it was a good one,” Irene retorts, crossing her arms. “But at least I win.”

And with that, you both realize — you’ve just played yourselves.

As Irene starts walking away, her smug expression plastered on her face, you stand there, still stunned, your heart hammering in your chest. You had come so close to victory — and then she just dropped the bomb on you like it was nothing.

I hate you.

What kind of confession was that? Sure, it was dramatic, but it was barely even close to what you had in mind!

But something in your chest tightens. You can’t let this end like this. No way. You won’t let her get away with this. Not when you’re so close

You take one step forward. Then another. You’re walking after her now, and you can feel the heat rising in your face as you approach. The whole scene plays out like a movie, but not the cool action kind of movie. No, this is a slow-motion trainwreck happening in real time.

“I—” You stop yourself. What the hell am I doing?

Irene turns around, still smirking as if she just hit you with the world’s greatest comeback. “What? Did you come to call me an idiot again?”

“No! I mean—YES, but—” You flounder, trying to hold on to whatever shred of dignity you still have. She raises an eyebrow.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you mutter, realizing that at this point, the only way to salvage your pride is to act like you meant this all along.

You take a deep breath, already feeling the cringe crawl up your spine. “I—I think I like you. A lot.”

You don’t stop there. No. That would be too easy.

“Bae Joohyun, I think... I think I’ve liked you for a long time, and... and this whole thing, the games, the scavenger hunts, the balloons... it’s been ridiculous and stupid and—”

Your voice cracks, and you internally scream. This is so embarrassing. Why did I think this would work against the Ice Queen?

Irene just stands there, her smirk faltering for the first time. “Wait—are you—”

“Yes! I—yes! I like you, okay?” you blurt out, and then immediately want to crawl into a hole and disappear forever. “Like, really like you. More than I can even explain. And maybe I don’t always show it, and maybe I’m not the best at this, but I’ve spent so long trying to... uh... win this stupid confession game, and now I’m realizing that I... don’t care about that anymore. I just want you to know that I like you—like, like you—and I’m tired of pretending I don’t!”

There’s a moment of silence. You stand there, your face glowing with humiliation, hands clenched at your sides, waiting for Irene to react. You almost can’t bear to look at her. You can feel the awkwardness radiating between you like a thick cloud, and it’s so heavy that it might as well be an actual physical presence.

Irene doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at you with wide eyes. Then she opens her mouth, and you hold your breath, half-expecting her to laugh in your face or walk away.

Instead, she says, “...Are you... done?”

You blink rapidly, still trying to process her words. “What?”

“Are you done?” she repeats, her voice more amused than anything else. “Because that was about the most painfully awkward thing I’ve ever witnessed. I mean, are you seriously this bad at confessing?”

Your face turns bright red, and you immediately want to crawl under a desk and live there for the rest of eternity. “I—No! I mean... Yes, I am. I just... I don’t know how to do this! It’s like every time I try, I keep making it worse, and now I’m... I’m...”

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m just going to shut up now.”

Irene crosses her arms, watching you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “So, what exactly are you expecting from me now? A confession back? Do you want me to one-up you with some dramatic gesture too?”

The secondhand embarrassment is reaching a point where you feel like you might die from sheer awkwardness. “I—”

“Well, guess what?” she interrupts, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re not the only one who’s bad at confessing, you know.” She pauses, letting the words sink in. “I’m just better at pretending I don’t care.”

Your eyes widen. Wait. What?

“You’ve been so obvious for so long. But you’re... you’re a mess,” she says, voice dropping into something a little more serious now. “And I didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. I didn’t want to admit it either.”

Your brain short-circuits. “Wait, so... you—”

She gives a dramatic sigh and steps toward you. “I’m just saying,” she continues, “You’re such an idiot. And I can’t believe it took this long for you to get a clue.”

And then, out of nowhere, she leans forward and kisses you.

For a moment, everything stops. Your brain ceases to function as you try to process what just happened.

It takes about five seconds before you realize that you’ve been kissed, and another five seconds to realize that you’re staring at her wide-eyed, as if this were the most confusing thing to ever happen to you. But you’re also feeling like you might pass out from sheer shock.

As Irene pulls away from the kiss, you’re still standing there, completely shell-shocked. Your head is spinning, the words in your mind tumbling over each other, and your whole body is shaking like a leaf. You can’t believe what just happened — you’d been playing this ridiculous back-and-forth for so long, and now it was finally over.

Sort of.

Irene looks entirely too smug for someone who just outplayed you at your own game. “Well, that was definitely a moment, wasn’t it?”

Your mouth opens and closes, but you’re too dumbfounded to say anything remotely intelligent. You can feel your cheeks burning with embarrassment, your brain still processing the fact that she kissed you like it was some kind of casual Tuesday.

“Um... can I... can I just...?” you trail off, desperately trying to regain your composure, but it’s like trying to catch a greased pig.

Irene, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected, smirking as she watches you fumble. “What? Are you still processing it, or...?”

But before you can even think of a response, you hear it.

A very loud click.

Both you and Irene freeze at the sound, and the two of you turn towards the source of the noise. And there, standing a few feet away, is Seulgi — grinning like a cat who just got into the cream.

“Oh, this is rich,” Seulgi says, holding up her phone. “Vice president, you really should’ve told me you were planning on doing a ‘confession’ scene. I thought I was going to have to orchestrate this myself, but lucky for me, I had a feeling something like this would go down.”

“No...” you mutter, feeling the blood drain from your face. “No, no, no. Did you seriously just—?”

“Oh, you bet I did,” Seulgi replies with a grin so wide it should be illegal. She’s clearly enjoying every second of this. “You two have been at this for months. I was just waiting for the moment when one of you would finally break. And I caught it all on video!”

You can feel the panic rising in your chest. “Kang Seulgi, no! You—You can’t—”

She takes a few steps closer, completely unfazed by your distress. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t post it... yet,” she says. “But let’s just say I also have some... interesting footage that could influence your future decisions.”

“Seulgi, you wouldn’t,” Irene warns, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Oh, I would,” Seulgi chirps, tapping away on her phone, her fingers flying over the screen. “I have all the juicy bits. You two were so painfully obvious, I might just have enough material for a whole documentary about your embarrassing little love war.”

(She said the title card! Don’t sue me thank you)

You turn to Irene, a look of pure despair on your face. “Please tell me this is not happening.”

“I swear to God, Seulgi, if you even think about blackmailing us...” Irene starts, but then her eyes flicker to the phone in Seulgi’s hand. She hesitates, realizing there’s really no way to undo this.

“Oh, I’m just kidding,” Seulgi says suddenly, and you almost collapse in relief, but then she adds, “Mostly.”

“What do you mean, mostly?” you ask, now suspicious.

Seulgi just looks between the two of you, her grin only growing wider. “Well, I was going to use this footage to make you two suffer with some embarrassing compilation videos... but honestly? It’s more fun to watch you both squirm. You’re so pathetically obvious, it’s hilarious.”

You groan and throw your hands up in exasperation. “I can’t believe this. Of course, Seulgi would have been lurking in the shadows, ready to capture every moment.”

Irene, meanwhile, takes a deep breath and glances at the phone again, looking more irritated than ever. “You better not show this to anyone. Or I will make your life a living nightmare.”

“Oh please,” Seulgi says, tapping the screen. “I’m just going to enjoy watching you two suffer in peace for now. But you know, if you’re ever interested in... making a deal... I’m all ears.”

Irene crosses her arms, giving Seulgi a death glare. “You really want to start blackmailing THE president and vice president of the student council? Don’t forget, I have connections.”

Seulgi raises her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll back off... for now. But let’s just say, I’ll be keeping my eyes open. You two are so obvious.”

As Seulgi walks away, still chuckling to herself, you and Irene stand there, completely defeated.

You’re both speechless.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter again, this time to Irene, who’s clearly just as done with the situation as you are. “I swear, Seulgi is too much.”

Irene lets out a long sigh and places a hand over her face, as if trying to hide her sheer embarrassment. “This is never going to be over, is it?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I’m stuck with this for life.”

“I don’t think I can show my face at school tomorrow,” Irene admits, finally letting out a little laugh despite herself.

“Same,” you reply, feeling the humiliation deep in your bones. “I’m going to pretend I’m sick. I’ll fake an injury. I’ll fake... I don’t know, something.”

“You should,” Irene agrees, “and I’ll be right there with you. The entire school will know about our ‘confession’ before lunch.”

There’s a brief silence between you both, and then, at the same time, you both erupt into groans of frustration and turned away from each other.

“This is why I hate you.”

“This is why I hate you,” Irene replies, her voice thick with secondhand embarrassment.

And there it is — the grand culmination of months of tension, teasing, and awkward games. And it ended up with you both being caught on video, standing like two idiots while Seulgi secretly enjoyed every moment of it.

Today’s result: Both lost (even with a fcking kiss)

-

The week after you left for the exchange program felt like a blur for you — the excitement, the new environment, and the unfamiliar routines made everything feel like a whirlwind.

But back at school, Irene was in a much different place.

Every day, Seulgi would come to school with a new glint in her eyes, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips, and a phone hidden somewhere on her person. She wasn’t as sneaky as she thought; Irene could spot her from a mile away, and each time, she’d smirk to herself.

“I swear, you’re enjoying this way too much, Bae Joohyun” Irene would mutter, though the grin never left her face.

And why wouldn’t she? Each time Seulgi presented her with another batch of pictures — snapshots from the infamous day of the confession — Irene’s heart would flutter in the most embarrassing way.

There was the one of you, mid-sentence, as you tried to pull off your grand declaration. Your face was a perfect mix of awkwardness and desperation, eyes wide as you blurted out the confession.

The best part? The expression on your face was so utterly panicked that it made Irene burst into a fit of giggles every time she looked at it.

Then there was the one of you standing there, your hands raised in dramatic surrender, as Seulgi’s camera flashed. Your face was a blend of mortification and determination. Irene would often catch herself replaying that moment in her head — how precious you looked, fighting so hard for that confession you never thought you’d be able to get out.

But the one that made her giddy the most was a candid shot — one taken right after the kiss. It wasn’t a perfect picture by any means, but there you were, lips still pink from the kiss, standing in complete shock as Irene pulled away with that smug smile plastered across her face. You looked like you’d just been struck by lightning…

…and Irene was absolutely in love with the image.

Every time she glanced at it, she could feel the warmth in her chest, the little skip in her heartbeat.

But the real kicker? The deal she made with Seulgi.

“If you promise to keep these between us... and not use them as leverage against me,” Irene had said one day, as Seulgi grinned with her phone in hand, “then maybe... just maybe... you’ll get something in return.”

Seulgi had raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly are we talking about here?”

Irene’s eyes glinted mischievously. “The ‘one’ photo you really want. The one where I’m looking adorably happy in front of that dork. I’ll give it to you... for a price.”

“Deal,” Seulgi said instantly, knowing exactly which picture Irene was talking about — the one of her, holding her phone with a soft smile, staring at all the pictures of you. The one where the subtle joy in her eyes was enough to make Seulgi’s heart melt.

And that, of course, meant that Irene had the perfect little “deal” in her pocket. She now had the ultimate keepsake of her vice president and all those memories of their relationship’s unspoken history — one that no one else would ever know about. Not just the hilarious moments, the embarrassment, or even the kiss itself, but the sweetness of it all — tucked away in her phone, a secret only for her to see.

The first time you sent her a message after you’d arrived at your exchange program, she stared at her phone for a moment longer than necessary, then quickly typed back:

“I miss you already. Do you remember that day?”

She hit send before she could overthink it. Almost immediately, she received a reply.

“Of course I do, Joohyun.” you texted. “How could I forget? My life will forever be haunted by that day, thanks to Seulgi.”

Irene couldn’t help but chuckle, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I’m not letting you forget. I’ll be keeping all the best pictures. After all, I did get the perfect shot,” she teased, her fingers flying over her phone.

“You wouldn’t dare...” you wrote back, but Irene could tell you were joking. Your words were playful, the tone light.

“I would,” she replied, sending a winky face along with the message. She then paused, allowing herself to enjoy the quiet connection between you two.

As Irene walked through the campus, heading toward the student council room, she felt oddly content. Despite the distance between you now, despite the teasing and the games and the back-and-forth, there was this undeniable warmth in her chest. She might have started this war thinking she’d win, but now that it was over, she realized she had already won.

You.

Her vice president. The one who had made her life absolutely ridiculous and frustrating, but also the one who had somehow captured her heart in the most unexpected of ways.

Irene flipped through the pictures once more (and the candid shot that she had set as her lock screen)— the ones of you two together — and her smile softened. It was official.

She was never letting go of this.

As she walked into the council room, still holding her phone close to her chest, Seulgi shot her a knowing look. “So, when are you going to send them all the photos and just admit you’re head over heels for your vice president?”

“Soon,” Irene said, her voice thick with happiness, as she swiped through the next batch of pictures. “Just... one more time. I want to keep this to myself for a little longer..”

Seulgi rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that followed. “You really are hopeless. It sounds more like you definitely lost this war, isn't it?”

“…maybe.” Irene admitted, unable to stop herself from smiling widely. “But I’m hopelessly in love.”

And with that, she tucked her phone away, heart full of giddy excitement, ready to face whatever came next. After all, she had time. The war might have ended, but this?

This was just the beginning.

(cue the outro)

[aernergy]

Irene Imagine - five clingy minutes

as you stand at the stove stirring the pan of pasta, irene snuggles up close behind you, her arms wrapping around your waist like a gentle hug. her head rests comfortably on your back.

 "i don't want you to cook," she says, her voice muffled against your shirt. "i want you to hold me." 

you chuckle and try to gently pry her arms off your waist, but she holds tight, her grip surprisingly strong.

"hyun, i need to cook dinner," you explain. "we're both hungry." but irene refuses to let go. shaking her head, she tightens her grip, holding you close. 

"just five more minutes," she begs. "please?" she looks up at you, pleading with her sparkling puppy eyes, lips slightly pouting.

your eyes soften at the sight, and you feel your heart instantly melt. now, you're at war between choosing to make dinner or to hold her. this war quickly ends as she bats her eyelashes at you.  Instantly you give in to her demands to hold her for five more minutes.

turning off the stove, you turn around, wrapping your arms around irene. 

"okay, okay," you say, smiling. "five more minutes."

irene squeals with delight and buries her face in your chest, her arms wrapping tightly around you. You hold her close, feeling her warmth and affection, her soft body pressed against yours. the five minutes pass quickly, and irene eventually releases her grip on you. 

"thank you," she says, looking up at you with shining eyes. you smile and kiss her forehead. 

"anytime, my love," you reply. 

"best five minutes of my life."

[alcoholfreenayeon]

can I request irene gf headcanons pretty please? 🥹

Irene Girlfriend HCs

SFW HCs

Irene is always concerned about you, even though she doesn’t always show it, whether you’ve eaten or had enough rest or are working too hard, she’s always worried about you.

She likes to pamper you occasionally but if she thinks she’s being too obvious with it or if you or anyone else points it out, she’ll go red faced and push you away, too embarrassed to face anyone.

She likes to cook for you.

She absolutely loves any gifts you give her, smiling ear to ear whenever you present it to her.

She can be quite sensitive sometimes and never likes to seriously fight or even argue.

She leaves little notes for you containing her appreciation for you. It can range from her basically writing a love letter to her just saying thank you for something you did for her the previous day.

She’s quite shy about PDA and doesn’t like to go beyond holding hands in front of others.

Whenever you both are going out for anything, she always steps out of the room, slightly hesitantly waiting for you to comment on her outfit so she can see if you like it or not. She now has a pretty good idea of what clothes you like her in and tries to dress accordingly.

She never says it but she likes it when you do her hair for her.

The other members tried to tease her about you once but the death glare she gave despite being red faced was enough to put them off…for now.

NSFW HCs

She’s quite shy about initiating sex but sometimes when you both are cuddling she’ll just shift or turn towards you in a particular way and you can tell from that, that Irene is feeling in the mood.

She prefers to have short but intense sessions and looks forward to cuddling and aftercare a lot.

She likes to bite your fingers.

She likes to whisper in your ear, sometimes it’s praise and sometimes it’s just the things she wants to do to you or things she wants you to do to her.

She likes roleplaying and tries out different scenarios often.

You were always surprised by how good Irene does in the roleplay especially when you both are trying out something new. Until you came home early one day and walked in on her fully dressed up and practicing the lines she was going to use.

You nearly went deaf with the squeal she let out when she spotted you, frozen in panic, unable to decide whether to hide her face from embarrassment or to hit you for laughing at her.

She doesn’t mind a bit of feet play and becomes quite bratty and playful with it.

She wants you to leave marks all over her neck and shoulders.

Lately she’s been thinking of trying out some bondage with you but isn’t sure how to bring it up.