Lucky Ballot, Lucky Night

“You scared, kid?” 

The beer-bellied man says, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway. “Kinda, aren’t you?” You give him an awkward smile, wincing as his arm wraps around your shoulder. 

“Hear that boys? The kid’s scared!” Raucous laughter erupts, the others in your group thriving off your nervousness. Meanwhile, knowing smiles come from staff members crossing the hallway, with some showing the opposite, shooting you disapproving, sideways glances— a more normal, more human reaction to what you’re about to do.

“Hey, knock it off, will ya? I remember you pissing yourself before your first.” A thin, flannel clad man comes up on your left, his sleazy voice sending a shiver down your spine. He flashes you a wide smile, “So kid, ya ready?” 

“Umm-” 

“Shh, we’re here. Tighten up boys.” Beer belly squeezes your shoulder in mocking encouragement, feet and laughter stopping in place as you reach your destination. He’s like a high school bully, his friendliness an obvious facade for what he really wants— to put you down, to make you wallow in the scary, uncomfortable feeling of being the newbie. Well, you can’t really blame him. In this situation, you’re anything but comfortable.

The hallway widens into a row of expensive looking doors. Bright skylights dot the ceiling, with various managers and assistants quick to avoid your gaze as they brush past. Eyes wide, you can hear the fast pumping of your heart, a dull throb in your ears.

Music bank is usually filled with way more noise. Staff rushing about, recording equipment being pushed down tight hallways, you’ve grown accustomed to the mechanical symphony that accompanies early mornings spent waiting to support your idols’ stage recordings. The soft drone of machinery is a given at the famous hub of entertainment. But who would’ve known that here, at the heart of the building, it’s nothing but-

“Quiet!” 

Beer belly and Flannel line up on either side of you, the rest of the men in your little band quickly following suit. Keep your gaze straight. Don’t mind the skylight. Straighten your back. Slowly, the silence is replaced by the calm click-clack of heels on tile, and from the side of your eye, a suit-clad middle aged woman starts inspecting your line of giddy fans. 

“Ah, Jun, good, Jihyo was looking for you. Did you bring the lube?” 

“Yes ma’am!” A burly voice replies, and you gulp loudly. Lube? The memory of staying up until 4am, your fingers hovered over the sign-up sheet, eyes bloodshot as you raced millions of others to get your slot flashes in your mind. This is supposed to be an up-close fan meet, where you finally get to thank TWICE for their bright smiles and lovely performances throughout the years. Intimate, but not that kind of intimate.

“Saeho! It’s a pleasure to see you again. The next comeback isn’t for another year, have you saved up a lot?” The woman asks. Her stare is friendly, yet pointed, the skylight bathing her in a bright glow as she grills the sheepish Saeho. You look over at the guy. Glasses frame an acne covered face as he shifts from side to side. He stands as if this is one of his midterms— nervous, twitchy, and on edge. The manager lady's talking about money, right? An exclusive fan meet like this is a bit out of budget for a university student, after all.

You smirk, maybe you’re not the most out of place here after all. 

Saeho’s nasally voice sounds off from the left, “Don’t worry ma’am! I’ve saved up lots of cum for today.” 

You slowly turn your head, squinting.

C-cum? 

“Excellent. I’ll let Tzuyu know that her favorite is back to breed her.” A thin smile paints the manager’s face, her eyes hidden by the sunlight reflected on her glasses. 

…Breeding? 

Your head starts spinning. 

Lube

A bead of sweat runs down your forehead. 

Cum

Your posture softens, this is no ordinary fan meet.

Breeding

You open your mouth, breath shallow as you ask the dreaded question. 

“E-excuse me, what are we here fo-” 

“Mmm.. fuck! AGH!”

Freeze. Moans reverberate through the wide hallway, the sharp, erotic sound cutting through the quiet like a knife through butter. A puddle of translucent liquid slowly seeps out from a door on the right, followed by the slow thump of the lacquered wood shaking on its hinges. 

9 heads all turn towards the doorway, watching as a shadow moves in and out of the brightly lit slit that acts as the floodgate for the clear, thick substance. The manager smirks, “It seems like Tzuyu is a little too excited to see you, Saeho.” The kid starts shaking. You have no doubt why— his excitement ignites the already tense atmosphere in the hallway. Flannel starts leaning forward on your right, while Beer Belly licks his fat lips on your left. Can you imagine? She’s not your bias, but Tzuyu is known as one of the shyest girls in TWICE. It's her brand, her trademark, her thing. The idea that she’s behind that door, fucking herself to the sound of her favorite fan obediently waiting, just feet away, ready to put a baby in her... to fuck a baby in her? You can feel your breath pick up at how crazy it all sounds. 

“I- I can’t wait anymore, manager, please!” Saeho groans, clutching his crotch like someone kneed him in the balls. You’d almost feel for the kid, if it wasn’t for the shock of the whole situation still playing out over and over in your head. 

The manager sighs, putting down her clipboard to saunter towards Saeho. Her shapely legs stick out of the pencil skirt as she walks, slowly, like she has all the time in the world. The skylight makes her look like a trainer, her presence the only thing keeping a line of hungry, horny fans from crossing the hall and finding their prizes. 

“Fine, but you must commit to doing one thing for me. Can you do that? Saeho?” She stands in front of the hunched boy, manicured fingers clutching his chin as she whispers down. 

“W-what is it? Please, i’ll do anything!” Saeho wails. 

She grabs him by the chin, smirking "Put a baby in her, will you?" Before Saeho can react, the older lady roughly takes him by the arm, and turns the doorknob.

"Daddy? Daddy!" A desperate voice squeals, and you watch, stupefied as naked arms quickly wrap around the boy's neck. He embraces Tzuyu back in glee, gone just a moment later as the door slams shut.

The manager turns around, smirking, "As for the rest of you, you have your assignments. Feel free to begin." It's like a gunshot goes off. Beer-belly slaps your shoulder, his large hand heavy, yellowed teeth showing in a wide smile, "Don't be a fucking pussy, kid." He saunters to the end of the hall, barging into a room with red lights leaking under the door. You stare after him, before Flannel retreats behind, hand on another doorknob. He whistles, and you turn, his eyes laid-back as he leans on the plastic frame. "Relax, ya? It's a party, boy. Best to enjoy it." He cooly advises, giving you a snarky wink before slipping into his own room. Soft twangs of experimental, electric guitar leak out for a second, then, he's gone.

You're alone now. The looming, bright skylight illuminates the space between you and the manager. Her earlier strict bravado is gone, replaced with a thoughtful, almost caring stare. She taps her pen on the clipboard, softly saying, "Good, you're normal."

You squint at her, not sure where she's going with this. She didn't seem to have been paying any special attention to you. But honestly, who would? You're way less of a personality than the others, way less eager to be here for the same reasons. You let out an awkward chuckle "Aren't the others?" The older woman shakes her head, stepping forward into the light, "Are you kidding? They're all perverts. Every. Single. One of them. Rich as hell too, they pay to be here. But you, you got lucky, right?"

You gulp. There it is. The truth. "Yeah, thought I was going to a fan-meet. Not... this." The shrewd, catlike woman cocks her head, "But you're not against it? Sometimes we get those that are, you know. The superfans who want their idols pure and untouched. Perfect. It's a pain in the ass." You can imagine. In fact, you thought you were one of those fans a few minutes ago. Tzuyu? Fucked and filled like a broodmare? The others? The girls who you've spent most of your young life worshipping, waiting in these rooms like common whores? It should fill you with disgust. It should light a fire under your ass to go on an online crusade, exposing the corruption that let all this happen. It has to be corrupt, right? You should get out of here, now.

You should, but you don't.

Eyes glued to your feet, you shuffle from left to right, "N-no, ma'am. It was..." You look up at her, thinking back to Tzuyu, to the curious glimpses of debauchery before your companions slipped away. The hunger starts to burn, like hot pit in your stomach. "It was hot. I want to be a part of it."

The manager straightens her back, the look of shock on her face replaced by a sly, knowing smile. "Good boy. Well, I'll have you know that you're lucky. Your partner has always been... against these extra performances." Your brow furrows at that. Against? Everything you’ve seen would point to the opposite. These idols are sluts, you don’t expect them to discriminate dick from dick. "But? There's a but there, right?"

The manager smirks, giving you a pointed look. "But, lucky guy, she's agreed to try it, with one condition." You wait, the empty hallway suddenly feeling much bigger. She continues, voice low, "That she'll only do it for a huge, proper fan of TWICE. A real ONCE."

The manager laughs, dragging your dumbfounded ass along a large, gilded door at the end of the hallway, "That's you. The first fan to have, between you and me, my personal favorite. Treat her well, alright?" Her grip is firm as she places your hand on the shiny, golden doorknob, quality that belongs nowhere near the depths of backstage production halls. You've never been lucky, or special, or anything that she's talking about, at least before today. Maybe this is finally your reward, for years of love, of devotion.

You take a few deep breaths, eyes steadying, before you nod to her, "O-okay, I will."

With a soft click, you open the door, and step inside.

"Oops, sorry! Are you alright?” Sana’s bright laugh rings in your ears as you stumble back. She falls back onto a shiny, wooden hallway, giggling as you stand dumbfounded on the concrete landing.

You take a moment to stare. It really is her. Light brown locks frame her large, wide eyes, the adorable girl holding two pairs of fluffy, almost pajama-like slippers in her hands. She’s dressed in a simple grey tee and joggers; merchandise from their tour. Still, it’s as if you’re frozen in time. You’ve only ever seen Sana through a screen, or from afar, in seats bought at the far end of a concert. You never thought that you’d be standing in front of her, or for that matter, be stupid enough to knock one of the most beautiful women in the world on her ass.

‘I’m so sorry, Sana, holy shit.” You stammer, crouching down to grab her outstretched arm. She giggles, still brightly smiling. “Don’t be! I was a bit late to set up the slippers, so much for the whole spa concept, what do you think?” Spa? Pulling the idol to your side, the girl excitedly gestures behind. You find yourself in a surprisingly thin hallway. A step up from the landing, warm, yellow lights line the wooden floor, dotted by makeshift candles placed in carefully spaced intervals. The exotic scent of eucalyptus tickles the back of your throat, calming waves of fragrance emanating from the dimly lit corridor. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume that you’re in some high-class, mysterious massage parlor, not tucked in the back of Music Bank.