It had been another exhausting day. Your shoulders had ached, your head had pounded, and the city noise hadn’t helped. You’d slipped out to the balcony, cigarette already between your fingers. Just one. Just to breathe.

The lighter hadn’t even sparked before a hand appeared from behind you. Gone. The cigarette had been plucked right from your lips like it was never there.

Minjae. Your girlfriend. Obsessive. Devoted. The kind of submissive who would’ve walked through fire if you’d asked, and begged you to tell her she’d done good after.

She stepped into view wearing that black fitted turtleneck you liked — the one that had clung and made her look like sin poured into silk. Her eyes had been soft, adoring, but her smirk had said she’d known exactly what she was doing.

Her fingers had trailed along your collar, feather-light, fixing nothing because nothing had been out of place. It had just been an excuse to touch you.

“Cigarettes?” She tilted her head, voice honey-sweet and scolding all at once. She brought the unlit cigarette to her lips, not to smoke it — to tease. “Mmm, not a chance, love~”

She snapped it in half with two fingers. Deliberate. Then dropped the pieces over the balcony, eyes never leaving yours.

“I knew you had a rough day.” Her hand had slid down to your chest, palm flat over your heart like she’d been checking it was still beating for her. “But you’re mine to take care of. And I don’t let what’s mine get ruined.”

Her thumb had rubbed slow circles through your shirt. “So. Tell me what you really need. I would’ve given it to you. Anything. Just… not that.” Her voice had dropped, reverent, obedient. “Please?”