How's Lemon?

“Hi, mister Sato,” she says, suddenly appearing behind you.

Your fingers fly up to your nosebridge.

(That isn’t your name. Not even close.)

Right when you’re at the climax of the scene that she asked to be rewritten for the hundredth time, Nako shows up like a damned ghost that won’t leave you alone. Someone call an exorcist. You almost threw your laptop into the air and with how sadistic the woman is, she’d make you write the whole thing on paper.

You observe her: Yabuki Nako, former member of K-pop group IZ*ONE, 149 centimeters of pure evil. As far as you know, she’s still with HKT48—she was with them since she was barely a teenager. Years of the industry taught her how to present an adorable persona to worshiping fans while being a terror behind the scenes. 

Once, your little sister asked you what it was like to work with such a big celebrity. You didn’t have the heart to lie to her. You couldn’t tell her who the girl smiling in her posters truly was.

She’s dressed in a sleek black dress with a fine frown on her face. Right. Her face. That beautiful face is the very reason no overworked employee has mailed an expose to Dispatch. Not even you.

One of these days…

“Hello, Nako,” you reply. Hope that the dark mode enabled on your screen hides the bullshit you’ve been spewing out. At this point, you’re going to hire a science fiction author to write an act where Nako gets kidnapped by aliens and never returns.

The image is funny in your head: Nako, with her short legs dangling in the air as she’s brought somewhere she can never torture you again. Maybe later you’ll check if Stephen King is free. 

You stifle a giggle and Nako raises a brow. Uh-oh.

“It’s miss Yabuki.” 

“Right,” you say. “I apologize. Hello, miss Yabuki.”

Nako allows a small smile, but it disappears just as fast as it fixes itself on her lips. “Are you slacking off?” 

“What?”

She slams a hard folder full of A4 sheets on your laptop. It makes you jolt in surprise. The same goes for everyone around you, nervously looking at Nako. She meets their stare with the face of a woman who knows there are no consequences for her. A woman who knows she’s too rich, too gorgeous, and too famous for any actual backlash. 

A frenzy of typos appear on your screen. Nako doesn’t seem to care; she opens up the folder, revealing dozens of unused revisions with fine, red ink on them.

Nako’s notes, scrawled in her deceptively neat handwriting, are every bit degrading. There’s multiple critiques about the symbolism, the pacing (are you desperate to give me a bed scene ten episodes in? I’ll have you reported if this isn’t fixed., she wrote), basically everything. 

“Mister Sato, do you use AI for scriptwriting?” she asks. Her voice is thin and reprimanding. “I’ll have you know that is a serious ethical dilemma which disrespects actual talents. Wouldn’t know anything about talent, would you?”

It stings. No matter how many times she humiliated you, it makes your cheeks burn like it’s the first time. She’s out of her fucking mind.

“N-no,” you reply. “I don’t use AI. I, I can show you rough outlines—”

“Then why is this script fucking trash?”

Nako whips the files off your table, your laptop joining in its plight. The sound of the device that has seen you through film school and internships breaking echoes throughout the room. Stories you’ve worked so hard on lie usually on the ground.

Unwanted tears sting the corners of your eyes. All that hard work is gone just like that. All the talent people said you had is just as gone under Nako’s evil watch. It was probably never even there.

The crew doesn’t dare to look at the scene she made. Even you can’t write something this cruel. 

Nako shoves her finger in your face. Refuse her the satisfaction of seeing your eyes water up. You won’t let her take the little dignity you have left. You keep your gaze trained on the mess of destroyed hardware and broken dreams. 

“I want episode 8 and 9 revised by tomorrow, 4 a.m. sharp,” she spits. You’ll never understand how such a cute voice can belong to someone so evil. “I don’t want any of that clunky dialogue by then. If you can’t do it, you’re fired.”

Nako turns to leave. Her word is law. Everyone, from the director who personally handpicked her for the drama to the assistant who brings her morning coffee, knows this fully. 

But your heart beats quickly. Fired? She can’t do that. This drama is your only source of income—because of it, you’re able to pay for an apartment and filming equipment. Your life depends on this production. 

She’s overstepped too many boundaries. She already destroyed your laptop and your reputation. She gives you one impossible deadline after the other even if the release date is months away. Yabuki Nako is a certified bitch. But what she can’t do is take on the role of a boss and kick you out.

You raise your chin. “You can’t do that. You’re not the director.”

Nako stops in her path. For a moment, she’s completely still as a mannequin. You wonder in fear if she’s going to walk over and slap you for finally standing up to her. This is the only time someone hasn’t let her push them around. Maybe you should say your prayers.

But all Nako does is smile and say, “Watch me.”

-

How could someone be so cruel? It’s a question you’ve asked yourself time and time, again and again, yet you’ve found no proper answer. You’ve met professors who called your work drivel. Directors have turned you down for less. But you’re certain no one could be as satanic as Yabuki Nako.

You can’t believe she tricked people for this long. As you hunch over the sink, you mumble bitter curses. Manipulative bitch. It feels mocking now, seeing her ads plastered all over Japan, makeup pink and coquette as if she weren’t the devil herself. You almost rolled your eyes when the local premiere started and you saw hundreds of fans vying for her attention. Later on, you checked Twitter, where she was the talk of the town as usual.

@ nabukiyakoshi Tweeted a photo: look at her :(((( she’s so fucking precious istg! good job on the premiere @ nako_yabuki_75 <33 thank you for always working so hard and being the sweetest most precious bb in the world

Sweet? You snorted. Even at the premiere of flashing lights and cameras, Nako put up a front. She beamed at the reporters, whisker dimples appearing on her cheeks. “Thank you so much to my crew for their hard work,” she had said during her speech, “and to the fans who continue to support me. I’ll never let you down!”

Sugarcoated words have a surefire way to a person’s heart. Nako reTweeted it with a kissy face emoji and a pet name that was just enough to make someone blush, but not one that crossed the line. It was the right amount of parasocial fuel. The internet was on fire yet again. A hashtag was started to give fans’ reactions to the drama. The comments on the post were spammed with even more GIFs of her, specifically during her time in IZ*ONE. 

Damn, did she do a great job pretending—all that aegyo that bought her way to a spot in Produce 48 and her big, shining eyes. Maybe she was meant to be an actress after all. She certainly had the international audience fooled.

Mulling over this in this miserable place does nothing. Nako’s still the boss, and if you want to keep your home, you have to do what she wants.

You wash your face and wipe your hands with tissue paper. You hope nobody notices how down you are, but when the light pours down on you as you exit, the evidence is all there. Your shoulders are drooped. Your face is puffy. All the light is gone from your sore, red eyes.

“Hey.” Yuto comes over to you. He’s one of the cameramen, responsible for the blocking and light casting. “I heard all of that terrible shit she told you, man. I’m really sorry.”

It’s 9 p.m and although he’s a good friend, you’ve no time for sympathy. You pack up your gear for the day. “It’s fine. I’m just thankful it’s over with.”

“It’s not okay. I should’ve defended you. Someone needs to give her a piece of their mind at least once.”

“I don’t blame you for being afraid of that monster,” you joke. He laughs, too. But no matter how much you kid about her, it’s true. She’s a fucking sadist. Either you stay a slave to her or speak up about it and get blacklisted by the press and her fans. 

At least she left the set early today. She said she had to attend a business meeting. It’s a welcome weight off your shoulders. It’s been a long fourteen months and you need a break.

You bid goodbye to the rest of the prisoners. Tomorrow, you’ll have to do it all over again.

Your head already aches at the thought. In your miserable taxi, you hold the papers up to the light. A few of the lines are blotted with your tears and the rain. But Nako’s written her notes down in teacher’s red:

???? she scribbled on a random quote. On a romantic scene, she put a particularly irritated comment in the margins: don’t make him seem like he isn’t head over heels in luv with me… as the character. surely you know a thing or two about chemistry?

You don’t. That’s why you went to film school.

Fuck this. “Can you make a left?” you ask the driver. 

“Sure, sir. That’ll be a few additional for the tolls. Where are you headed?”

Only to the finest hotel in the city. 

You can already see its gleam from miles ahead. You’re not one for luxury, see. But today, the pressure is overwhelming. You need just one night in a place no one from the production team would go—not even Yabuki Nako.

She’s made that depressing set her queendom. But for once in your life, you can make and break the rules. You will finally have a place free from judgment, work, and the nasty idol who’s made your life a living hell.

You tip the driver extra. As you open the taxi door, you’re welcomed to the life of the elite. While this is a life you can afford for only the next twelve hours, this is their everyday routine. The hotel towers over Tokyo up in the clouds. Casinos decorate the first floor, with palm trees modestly covering the pool deck.

“Your coat, sir?” Immediately, a pale, serious man approaches you with his arm outstretched. He shields you from the rain with a black umbrella. You allow him to take your drenched trench coat and walk you to the entrance.

You could get used to this.

The interior is even more beautiful. Marble expands beneath your feet. It is kept so clean and shiny that you can see your own reflection. You look like a taller, more confident man. The posture alone says it all. You’re a man who doesn’t take shit from anybody.

The line is relatively short. A foreign couple—probably a business owner, seeing as his eight-year-old daughter is quite literally in head-to-toe Chanel—sits comfortably in the waiting room. People above your tax bracket lounge this place as if it weren’t any different than your regular gas station motel. 

“Good evening, sir,” says the lady behind the counter. The uniform is minimalist and chic; you guess the pay here is good enough to deal with spoilt brats on the daily.

“Good evening,” you reply. “I’d like to book a suite for the night.”

She smiles. You certainly look a tad different from the people dressed in designer here, but if you can afford their most expensive room, you might be the type to keep the old money undercover. “Certainly. Will that be card or cash?”

“Card, please.”

Thank god for financial literacy. This is the first night in years that you’ve spent so much on something. Last time, it had been a doable apartment in a semi–gated area. Now, you’ve got just enough for one night.

And hey, even if Nako throws a tantrum and fires you tomorrow, you can say you had fun.

The payment goes through seamlessly. More than a couple digits than your usual spending. 

“Thank you.” She looks down at her computer and checks the reservations behind her square-cut lenses. “May I ask if you are eighteen years of age or older?”

Now you’re sure you don’t look that young. “I’m old enough to have brandy in my cereal,” you joke, handing over your ID for verification. She offers you a polite laugh.

“Perhaps you’d like to avail one of our… exclusive services.”

Her tone is low and conspiratorial. You raise your brow quizzically before it hits you.

Oh.

No wonder this place is bursting with rich old men. You look far into the west bar and immediately realize what’s going on. A young woman laughs in the lap of a politician probably twice her age. Her strappy heel caresses the core of another man seated across her. Both men’s eyes are dazed with liquor and lust. Glance to your right—there’s a lady dressed in furs to hide her night slip, hanging off the arm of another filthy rich woman. 

Who are you kidding? This place is the center of Tokyo’s richest and finest; of course it has prostitutes.

Stop clutching your pearls. It’s been a while anyway. “Sure. Add it to the bill.”

“Understood. You’re on the twenty-ninth floor, Room 619. Shall I assign someone to assist you with your belongings?”

You politely decline. All you brought is your equipment and… well, yourself. You receive your keys and make your way to the elevator. It smells of vanilla as it ascends you to the views that overlook the city of lights. A gentle Japanese ballad plays to pass the time. 

It doesn’t take long. Soon, you’re greeted with the view of roads lit by passing cars and forests that span acres. You are once again reminded of the disparity of it all. On any other night, you’re just one of the workers dragging themselves home on the highway. You’re no different from them. 

But tonight? You get to not be you for once. You are a sheep in wolf’s clothing to match those of the upper class. You’re treated like royalty, not a poor scriptwriter who gets abused by the whims of the industry.

You slip your key through the slot and turn it swiftly. What greets you shakes you to your core.

It’s her.

Yabuki Nako kneels pliantly on your bed, but it’s a version of her you’ve never seen. Her eyes widen in surprise. Instead of her trendy wardrobe, all she’s wearing is a pink, low-cut nightie and a transparent robe. The flimsiness of her clothing allows you a view of her supple thighs and cleavage.

You hear her make the tiniest gasp. 

“You,” she whispers. “What the hell are you doing here?”

A slow, vindicated smile appears on your face. “I could ask you the same thing, but we both know what you’re here for.”

“I—you don’t—”

A whole war of emotions plays out on Nako’s face. She wants to ask a million questions. How could a guy like you afford this hotel? How did luck play against her this way? 

The large room is filled with silence. You click the door shut behind you. It’s locked. A DO NOT DISTURB sign hangs from the knob outside. 

“This is a coincidence,” she finally says. Her voice cracks—you’ve never heard her sound anything except haughty before. “I believe you’re in the wrong room. I went here to rest.”

“Please, Nako. My key clearly worked, and you said you were at Miyawaki’s for a business meeting. Or did I get that wrong, too?”

God, does it feel good to say her name. She doesn’t deserve any of the honorifics. By the look on her face, she knows this, too. 

Nako doesn’t move from her temptingly submissive position on the bed. She keeps her hands on her lap and tries not to make eye contact. There’s no explanation needed. You’ve just been given information Dispatch would pay a fortune for. The headlines would be utterly ridiculous, but true: the beloved Japanese star and former IZ*ONE member Nako is working as a prostitute.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” Nako shifts on the bed. She can’t deny the wetness between her legs. “I’ll do anything you want… just don’t let this get out.”

You finally stop pacing. “Or what, you’ll ruin another laptop? Make me do a hundredth retake on a scene?”

You were looking for a night where you had the upper hand for once, but you didn’t expect it to play out this deliciously. You can’t stop gloating. This is the sweetest revenge ever.

“I just wanted what was good for the cast. You know I didn’t mean anything bad.”

She pouts and flashes you those doll eyes, big under those long lashes. You burst out laughing. The absurdity of it all, Jesus. Does she really think those tactics work on you? You’re not one of her little fans.

“Did you?” you ask again. Crouch down, bringing yourself to her eye level. “That might buy your way out of trouble onset, but we aren’t onset, are we now? I make the rules here. I’m the boss.”

“I’ll tell everyone that you took advantage of me,” warns Nako, drawing a little bit of her courage. You’d call it audacity. “Now I’ll really have you fired. You won’t find another job in your sorry life again.”

There’s the Nako you know, with spunk and bite. Her glare tells you to back off if you know what’s good for you. You recognize that look when she’s intimidating you about writing or accusing the stylist of making her look disproportionate. 

“Sure, and I’ll make sure to tell everybody that Yabuki Nako is a prostitute. You know I’ve got all this on tape. Whatever anonymity these rich bastards promised won’t save you.”

The flash of your phone torch sits beside the TV. Nako’s no stranger to a camera. She even spreads her legs a little for it, allowing a teasing smile on her lips. A natural actress. But the smile disappears quickly when she realizes she’s doing it for your pleasure.

Nako bites her lip. “What do you want?” 

It’s an insanely sexy expression from her. And then you’re greeted with the rest of the actress: that curvy, small body that’s toned in all the right places. Her heavyset tits are bursting out of that slip. Her thighs would look good around your hips, on your shoulders, in your lap as you spank her for being a bad girl.

She wouldn’t have gone anywhere with that attitude. But with this body? She could reach the stars.

It should be pretty obvious by now what you want.

“You.”

Claim her lips. Make her yours. Push her over the mattress so she whines in surprise. But she welcomes your tongue, licking into the roof of your mouth as you keep her wrists pinned to the bed. She smells so good. She’s a tempting meal waiting to be devoured. Bury your nose in her neck and she moans obscenely.

Can’t hide it, can’t deny it. Nako tries on her best glare but she’s shaking by the time you get your fingers on that ridiculous robe. You pull it open with no gentleness or consideration. 

You press a knee up between her legs. A pink blush graces her cheeks. She has no underwear on, not even shorts. “God, wet already, Nako?”

She tells you you’re full of shit, but her breath’s strained and hot when she says it, especially when you grind your knee against her center. It’s a welcome surprise for her harsh words to make you feel good rather than hurt you.

And of course, Nako’s just so ready for it. Her legs are already spread open. This is another scene for her. All improv from you, you think while removing your shirt. You know exactly what to do and how to make it look good on your camera. Meanwhile, Nako is figuring out her lines. There are no beats spaced between her cusses and moans. Her character can’t quite decide what she thinks of you.

“Touch yourself,” you murmur in her ear. 

Nako’s breathless. Her face is flushed. “What the fuck? No… you’re fucking insane.”

“You’re already wet, miss Yabuki.” You grin wickedly. “You might as well get to it.”

It’s good time management, you think. While you busy yourself by getting naked, Nako can give you a show. 

Nako gives you a look, as if to ask if you’re serious. Surely she can make a few cute poses and negotiate her way out. But finally, her small, pale hand pulls up the skirt of her silk nightie. It pulls the curtain back from her pussy. It’s pink, glistening with wetness. Even from the shadows of this godforsaken suite of sin, you can see her clit pulse with arousal. 

You can’t believe you’re actually witnessing this. It makes you wonder who else from the world of film and music has seen Nako like this, legs spread and revealing her tiny little pussy for them to play with. Probably far too many. 

It’s no matter to you. She’s yours for the weekend.

Nako draws careful circles on her clit. Her cry sends the blood shooting straight to your member. It sounds straight up pornographic. She would’ve made billions in every currency as a JAV actress. Nako looks at you desperately as the heat causes her hips to buck upwards and into her hand. 

Her lips continue to part. The pleasure is too much. She starts rubbing frantically at her nub, finding a rhythm that’s just enough to make her hiss. You watch her make a mess of herself and match it by giving your stiff cock a few preparatory pumps. 

“P-pervert,” Nako moans. “Should be… ashamed of yourself. Ah…”

The strap slips off one shoulder and falls less than gracefully down her body. No bra either? She grasps her tit and gives it a firm squeeze. She plays with her little pink nipple. The additional sensation, coupled with the fact that you’re watching her, is driving her to the edge.

The expressions Nako makes, eyes knit tight and her lip tucked between her teeth, are too much. You can’t allow her to have too much fun. “Stop.”

She whimpers in protest. Her adorable little sounds increase in volume once she catches sight of your cock. You’re leaking with precum from the show she gave you. You’re painfully hard and she has to do something about it.

Your knees dent the expensive mattress. The shadows in this rainy night clearly show the difference between the two of you. Nako shrinks in the bed while your shadow overtakes her. It’s a sick and haunting show that the candles play out for your pleasure.

She blinks coquettishly. “You’re too big,” she says, her last attempt at saving her irritatingly cute face.

You guide your cock between her legs. You can’t wait to feel how tight she is. She’s so much smaller than you, so easy to bend and spank. Your tip rubs against her slit, causing both of you to moan. Nako slaps a hand over her mouth in shame.

“I’m sure you’re used to taking dick. You do it for a living, remember?” 

Her ears burn. How fun it is now that the tables have turned. She used to be the one reigning her terror over you like this. She always dished out more than she could take. You press just the leaking head of your cock inside and she yelps. 

Close your eyes. God, Nako’s so fucking tight. You can’t imagine how good she’d feel after you get the rest of your aching member inside her.

“You really won’t fit, I’m not kidding,” sobs Nako. “ I’ve never had anything that big. please… ahh!”

With no warning, you shove it all inside. The suction of her used hole has your knees buckling. Her hot muscles throb and encourage you to do it again.

Nako’s a bad actress. Her performance dissolves with a mere deep thrust. Her head falls back into the pillows. She sinks further into them as you piston madly inside her. You’re not thinking right. You forget that she’s a woman with a lot to lose because you’re a man with nothing to lose. You forget that she’s your superior because it just feels so damn good to call the shots for once.

Each thrust is blunt and punishing. You feel the vibrations of Nako’s helpless whimpers as you attach your lips greedily to her neck. Can’t get enough of how she tastes as good as she smells. She’s surely one of the best clients out there. No one could leave right after they get a taste of her.

“You look so good taking it.” You slap Nako’s ass, provoking a shameless scream. “So wet for me, too. Does taking your anger out on me get you off, Nako? It looks like it does.”

Her nails dig into your shoulders. She can’t match the anger you’re taking out on her on Monday. Her venomous words are nothing compared to how you’re wrecking her pussy, hips relentless and unforgiving. She can’t respond. All that comes out of her pretty mouth is broken sounds of shameless pleasure.

You’re knocking the bedframe into the wall. It produces a satisfying beat that becomes more rapid. You hope the sounds won’t overpower Nako’s moans when you watch this video later. The light does a great job of spotlighting how her face contorts. This will show the world how the cute idol from IZ*ONE’S J-line is a slave for her scriptwriter’s cock.

You capture her bouncing tits in your hands. Take no safety measures in squeezing them, slapping and toying with them. She’s evil as she is, but she’s even more evil for hiding them from you. The only one who could level with the weight of her tits was her former group member. What was her name? Eunha? Eunbi?

“B-be careful! Fuck!” she yells. The duvet balls up in her fist. 

“Were you careful when you destroyed my life, filthy slut?” Slap one of her tits again. The recoil is hypnotizing. The look on her face changes to something dark and you clock it before the denial. “Oh, of course you like being called a slut. That’s just who you are, aren’t you? A bitchy little slut with big tits.”

“Just shut up and make me cum!”

You smirk. This is the single order you’ll obey. 

You have no idea where you harnessed all this energy from. All you know is you’re pounding into her with an engine-like pace. She’s far too small to be able to take the roughness. Your hands are everywhere—her neck, breasts, clit, basically anywhere they can reach and pull. But it’s this horrid treatment that makes Nako cum.

“Ohhhh!” 

Her back arches off the bed and meets your body. She might break with how hard you’re going. But you can’t hold back when her walls flutter with wetness. Your shared grunts and moans are deafening. The climax is as messy as it sounds.

“Gonna breed you now, Nako,” you promise. “Gonna fill this slutty little cunt up and give your fans something to worry about. You’ll take every—fucking—drop—”

Nako holds you to that promise by sealing her little legs around you. You don’t slow down for a second. Finally, you fill her up with thick, hot cum, pushing the excess inside with your strokes. Nako’s cute pitchy moans spur you on. 

The pleasure bursts and dies like a star in the night sky. For a moment, there is only the sound of heavy breathing. You’re gasping against one another. You didn’t know sweating this much was possible in a room as air-conditioned as this. But that’s the least unexpected thing to come out of this day. You’ve quite literally bred the Yabuki Nako. 

The sensation of your ever-flaccid dick pulling out of her makes her moan. She’s lying spent on the rumpled duvet, shining with sweat. 

You nod toward the bathroom. “We’re not done yet.”

End scene.

-

The bathroom is fancier than you thought it would be. The mirror spans the whole length of the wall, matched with adjustable colorful lights. Before you turn on the shower, the glass walls of the shower fully show the portrait of Nako’s naked frame. As the steam fills, she becomes a fantasy in the mist.

Under the hot spray, the shower is a waterfall flowing down her amazing body. She looks positively tiny when you step in. There’s soap on her breasts. The facial cream whitening her face has to be an innuendo.

“I think you need help with your body wash, Nako.” 

Just as she thinks she found a minute of relaxation, your hands grab her again. Nako yelps. “I don’t need your help, fucking pervert.” 

Your palm smooths over her arms. Nako shivers deliciously. It spans the dips and crooks of her toned abs. It settles over her clean mound.

Her whimper should be cute. A part of the reason why you never dared report Nako was how cute she was. But now, you find that it makes you push her against the shower wall. Aided by the generous press of her tits against you, it tells you to shove your fingers inside her.

You’re not one to deny the devil on your shoulder. As expected, she squeezes down on you like something you can’t let go of. A bad habit. A bad round of scolding. A bad boss.

“Haah! Oh god!” Nako’s greedy cunt swallows your digits. It accommodates you easily, your touch already a familiar sensation. Trust her to deny that though, with all of her black little heart. 

“I thought I said we weren’t done here, Nako.”

She struggles and yearns against your fingers. They’re reaching the parts she never could, and it sends her tumbling into your arms. “I-I’m sorry, please!”

“What are you sorry for?”

Your wrist rubs against her clit. Nako’s grasping at anything just to keep herself sane. The knot in her core emerges too early. You know it, too, so you keep your fingers sliding into her swollen lips.

“I’m sorry for being a bad boss! I’m sorry for, for ruining your things and hurting you!”

“And?” You press harder against her g-spot. These urgent, angry thrusts are driving her crazy. Nako’s babbling incoherently. But you won’t let up until you hear it.

“Nako’s sorry for being a bad girl! Fffuck!”

She’s a paralyzed, pathetic figure in your arms. When the overstimulation loses its fuzzy hold on her head, she’ll start plotting her revenge. For now, however, Nako’s panting is hot. It joins the forming steam around you. 

Let the mist be stage decoration, special effects to the screen. The water splashes between her breasts. Your hands are on her again, sliding over her slick skin to lift her once more.

The entry is smoother now, aided by the wetness that never seems to end. You drive into her with the same brutality as before. If anything, you’d say you’re more intense now. You rely on the shower wall to resist your humping bodies.

Her fingers are gripping your hair now. You’d tell her off for that, but the feel of her second climax building distracts you. Her pussy is a cord around your cock and you drive into it, searching for the danger. You used to run from it. You used to cower when Nako even approached. How funny to think all of that happened when she’s a submissive little whore for your dick.

All the water and soap on Nako’s incredible body won’t cleanse her of what she did. The blinking camera lens is a good reminder of that.

-

Monday

From: you@*.com

To: yabukinako79@*.com 

Attachment: 4GB video

I told you we weren’t done yet.

Meet me in the bathroom after the last take for today.

Love,

“Mister Sato”

Yuri stops, mid-slurp of what looks to be a much more savory bowl of noodles and broth than it is, and eyes you with a warning shot. She chews hastily, swallows ungracefully, clears her throat, “We were never together,” with that uneasiness in her eyes you know means nothing good. “We didn't even kiss in the drama, you know.” She reaches down, kneads her calf, and you just let her. 

“I know,” because of course you did, “but you had really good chemistry. On the show, off the show, maybe even behind the cameras?” You pick at your California roll—a soy sauce-soaked grain of rice here, a loose sesame seed there—trying but obviously, laughably failing at laughing and passing it off as a mere observation. Her eyes are still hell to avoid: soft, or piercing, or mysterious on command, and today is no exception. Her phone isn’t a valid target either, just sitting there on the table, screen locked but facing up so it reflects your gaze every time it falls within. You have to look up, and once you do, those hellishly gorgeous eyes find yours in no time at all. She looks at you with a weird flavor of amusement, like entertaining the most ridiculous thought you’ve ever had. 

“He was nice. Tall, handsome, sweet too, at least that's what I'm told,” she huffs, trying just as hard with that smirk to keep the situation light. “Now I'll bite. Tell me, oppa, why do you ask?” Yuri leans back on her chair, arms crossing and her smirk growing just the slightest bit wider, testing the limits of what she can let herself get away with saying.

You had the nerve to ask her to this random New York noodle house for lunch, thousands of miles away from both your homes and jobs, while you’re both on vacation for Christ's sake, and ask her that as a shameful last ditch attempt at petty conversation you knew you couldn’t keep up with. “Just,” you concede with a pause that’s definitely, maybe a bit too pregnant, “just curious.” Not that it was a lie, but it’s a grave understatement—you did miss her, it looks like she missed you too, overreading the situation be damned. 

She laughs, which, mission accomplished for you. “You can’t fault me for wanting our breakup to have been worth something,” mirror her crossed arms with yours, throw back a pointed stare of your own. “You were giving up a real catch, so I didn’t want you regretting it.”

“Right, right. Sorry.” She clears her throat and wipes away the stray broth from her lips, throwing down the napkin like she was right back at home. With that same tone she always took with you, only you, “Well, if you must know, it was not worth it. At all. I mean, seriously, do you really think that he could compare?”

And there it is. It stops you both in your tracks, the tension of meeting up with an ex in a weird place after an ambiguous breakup immediately replaced by the realization that, for lack of a better term, “I don’t wanna compare,” rubbing your neck out of embarrassment more than humility, “I don’t wanna say ‘worth it.’”

Different this time, “Right, sorry. You know what I meant.” Yuri’s eyes cast down just as quick, and you find your respectfully waiting sushi on the plate right across from her gently cooling bowl of noodles. The clatter and chatter of sounds around you comforts you in a way you can’t explicitly understand, but the way her smile creeps back into her cheeks and her honest attempt at checking if what she said was okay with you means more than anything else. 

“Yeah, I know.”

Her phone lights up, breaking the ice better than you ever could, but Yuri’s face all but sours when she reads the notification. She wills the screen back to black, and flips it over this time. No more distractions. She turns back to you, hiding all the emotions from her face. Continues on, like nothing happened.

~~~

There's really no good way to describe the feeling again. It’s some parts anxious, other parts offended, yet other parts just plain relieved. Confusing is another word you’d love to use, but you’ve long accepted that everything was confusing in the face of one Jo Yuri, even if it was the last thing she wanted. She grips your arm tighter as her glasses fog up with a puff of breath gone awry. There’s a slight shiver in her fingers, dreadfully obvious even through her winter gloves, that makes its way up your sleeve and onto the arm she’s gripping onto. It’s confusing, anxious, offensive, just plain relieving, to have her on your arm like this again. 

“How’s work?” Again, not the best icebreaker, though by now you’ve gotten quite used to the awkward silences since her. What you’re not used to, unfortunately, is having her there with you. She grips tighter, not to any considerable degree, but enough for you to notice the flex of her fingers against the thick fabric of your coat. But you can feel, even without seeing the corners of her lips curve up, that she finds this more amusing than you do. 

“It’s fine,” Yuri breezes against your arm, “I’m glad to have a little time to myself before heading off to Manhattan or something,” before settling with a huff that produces a thin cloud of breath in front of her face. “What about you? You must’ve been busy too, not much time to be sitting around and missing me.” 

A moment of weakness is an understatement. What you’d give in exchange for the courage to tell her the truth that, yes, you missed her with all your heart, and that not a day on this God-given earth has passed that you haven’t wished she was right back there with you, without any or all of this complicated nonsense that you can’t bring yourself to tell her drove you two apart. Or, on the other hand, you could also say no, not one bit, you haven't even thought of her, and your password isn't your anniversary anymore, and the gallons upon gallons of midnight oil you burned at your desk at work didn’t have anything at all to do with not having her near. 

Instead, your hands ball into fists in your coat pockets. It’s for the warmth, it has to be for the warmth. There’s no particular reason why your tongue finds its way between your teeth, why the flashing digital billboards of brands you’ve never heard of suddenly seem so interesting, why the birds and chatter and the buskers singing love songs are much too loud for 3 pm. But you look to your right, see the tiny girl clung to your arm like a koala, half watching where she’s going past the crowd of people going the opposite way and the other half looking up at you. 

“You’re holding back,” she huffs, another breath-turned-fog-cloud rising up her face, though it’s just a smidge too late to hide the tiny furrow in her brow when she says it. “You never hold back.” 

Nevertheless, reassure her, “Am I? I don’t think so.” Pat the hand that clings to you, convince her that you’re okay and convince yourself harder, “I’m fine. You?”

Clearly not satisfied, (of course she’s not, not even you would buy that bullshit you just spouted), she presses: “Something’s bothering you. You think you’re so slick.” She pokes your side, in the spot you curse that she remembers is ticklish. “Fine, don’t tell me yet. But I bet you’ll slip or something. You always were,” she stops for a moment, the playful tinge in her voice flickering. “You always were an open book.”

She suddenly stops, fingers still tight on your arm, but she pulls out her phone with her free hand. She puts it to her ear, mumbles a simple “Uh-huh,” and her face does that thing again when she gets bad news. “Alright, thank you, oppa,” before pocketing it back with a sigh.

“Everything okay?” 

Not even one breath after you start, she perks back up: “Come up with me.” She tilts her head to the right, pointing at the big revolving door of the hotel she must be staying at. “My legs are tired, and it’s too cold, and everything is so loud here.”

“Oh, if you’ve had enough—”

“Come up.”

It’s one singular moment of hesitation—both yours and hers—before she pulls you along, into the lobby, past the staff, into the elevator. You almost don’t mind the eyes, human or digital or otherwise, that might catch you; you only allow yourself one of the worst palpitations you’ve ever had the displeasure of the thought of Jo Yuri being caught with some nobody not even worth a second of her time. She rushes down the hallway, avoiding eyes and ears like the expert you know her to be, until the last moment before she places her hand on a seemingly random doorknob: a man emerges from the room to the left, asking her who you are. 

“He’s new,” she says, before you realize that she was talking to you. She shoots you a new smile—a teasing one—before addressing the man this time, “He’s someone I need you to keep from management and everyone else, especially you-know-who. He’s not here at all.” The door flies open, Yuri doesn’t wait for a reply from him, shoves you in. 

~~~

Everything like old times, from the rambling about work and schedules, to how her mother and yours are doing, to fighting over the TV volume that has to be either a multiple of 2 or of 5 before ultimately settling on a crisp 30. That’s why it’s unsettling to you, creating friction somewhere deep in your chest, at the stark lack of it outside. It’s most apparent when she takes a big, lazy, manspread seat onto the sofa while you do the same on the floor in front of her, falling into step like you used to. You know things have changed, and she knows that things have changed, and that your old routines aren’t, shouldn’t, be the same as they once were. But the world is quiet, save for the TV spewing nonsense about the news or this telenovela or even this funny streamer she loves so much. You want the fighting, the interrogations between each other, the explosions of passion and yearning like the dramas—like it should be.

Instead, after the hellish couple hours of leisurely catching up like neither of you deserve, she chuckles, swings a leg over each of your shoulders, breathes out a slow sigh. Wraps a calf around the front of your neck, snuggling you between her thighs, and you place your hands right on her shin—not to remove, but simply to touch—kneading the muscles she's been complaining of soreness ever since the morning. 

Your eyes stay fixed on the TV, but watching it has long been out of your mind. The little people onscreen couldn't do anything right now to grab your attention back; now it's just on the gentle voice somewhere above and behind you, humming a familiar song as fingers run through your hair and ruffle through the liminal spaces between every strand. “Can't believe you remember we used to do this,” Yuri says, and she bends down over you, tilting your head back just a smidge with a soft tug. It's not demanding in the slightest, though you fight down the urge to tell her you would've given in if she did.

Her eyes were always so pretty. They could be soft, or piercing, or mysterious on command, but now it's nothing more than that comforting curiosity that got you to fall in love with her in the first place. It's always been the trust she had in you to be patient even to a fault, to let her go off into the wide open world as you stayed behind, to be there for her when she comes home and complains about her feet hurting as you come down to rub all the tension out once more. 

With the awkwardness only finally starting to melt away, you whisper in the most gentle tone you never knew you could muster, “This was my favorite part. I'm glad you let me do this back then,” as your fingers prod and squeeze away the spots of pain and pressure woven between her muscles, “even now.” She continues running her fingers through your hair, letting you feel the gentle strokes of her fingertips and nails against the skin of your scalp. She comes eye to eye with you, tilting your head far enough back that it rests on her lap, and she shows you that raw honesty you can tell she's been dying to show anyone. “Do you remember why we broke up?” you ask her, whispering far too quietly, scared to break this unbreakable peace you’ve already built with her. 

She sighs through a mouth curved into a sad smile. “No, it's been so long. I bet you remember, though. I must've been a bad girlfriend or something. Did I forget your birthday?” Warmth from a hand on each of your cheeks now, and the smoothness of a pair of lips right on the center of your forehead. The ends of her hair tickle your face wherever they land, but you don't mind them enough to brush off. Yuri peppers tiny pecks all over your face, and you have to let it happen. You get to let it happen. 

“Let's let that be my burden to carry. I don't blame you for not remembering.” You close your eyes slowly, receiving her love like you deserve it. On one particularly slow kiss right between your eyebrows, her smile grows a little wider, her exhale a little more forceful as she takes comfort in the tiny graces you pay her back. Your fingers continue to knead her calf, feeling the tension melt away as she grows ever more pliable under your hands, half-hoping that she doesn't realize you've been playing Fur Elise on her leg for the better part of the hour now, with the other half hoping that she does. 

And then, without warning or heed, her lips meet yours. They're just as soft as you remember, with the familiar pout you've come to memorize and, hell, even miss. She parts them slightly, takes your upper lip gently between her teeth. It's everything to you to let her have her tiny nibbles, all the while you get to love her right back. She takes the utmost care, as if handling the most fragile of glass mirrors, as she rubs her thumbs across your cheeks, feeling how corporeal and simply present you are with her. It's everything to be here again, to be hers again, to be again. It feels like an eternity and a day that you stay in her presence, taking from her without deserving, yet—

She pulls away, just for a moment, and whispers against your lips: “Here you go again with the owing me something. I know that twitch in your lips. I don’t like it.” She traces circles on one cheek, holding you steady by the other, waiting for you to settle. Waiting for you. Waiting for you. 

“You can’t not remember by now,” you chuckle, breath pushing lightly against her smile. “Tell me why we broke up. Right now. Come on,” poking and prodding at her psyche, before she breaks into that same adorable giggle that lights up the room and everything in it. 

“I said I was gonna be busy.” The way she says it is plain as day, as if it’s the simplest thing. “And you took it like ‘She doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore’ when you know it’s not that.” She rubs your cheeks again, trying to pull away the layers even though she knows it’s not you that’s hiding, “it was never that.”

“What was it then?” Keep testing her, even if you know she’ll get all the answers right anyway. The little things get lost in the noise, but not the big thing she keeps close to her heart. 

“It was,” with a pause much too short to be pregnant, “It was me saying ‘You aren’t worth the few free hours I have anymore.’ And you hated that, because who wouldn’t?” she confesses, voice shaking like old wounds were opening again. “But that’s not what I meant.”

Your turn to kiss her forehead, and the way you pull her down isn’t as awkward as you want it to be. Instead, she takes one slow glide into position, hovering right above your lips, and you don’t make her wait a millisecond longer than she needs to. “I know what you meant. But do you think I’d have ever forgiven myself if I ever got in your way?”

And then she pulls back, meeting your eyes again as if seeing for the first time the blazing galaxies behind the inky cover of night. Her smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, stretching ever so slightly, like it’s getting wider against her will. “It’s not fucking fair,” she says, gaze still locked on you, smile reaching peak width. “You make it look so easy, loving me. It’s like you’re this perfect fucking soulmate for me. How do you know me so well?”

“I,” you take a deep breath, bracing yourself for an answer that pains you to give, “I don’t know.” It’s the truth, that you don’t know how easy it was to fall for her, or why it was so simple to learn her little habits. How long she stays in bed scrolling after waking up, the number of the place she always gets her spicy marinated crabs from, her unnatural insistence that the volume of the TV has to be a multiple of 5. It’s all these little things: stuff that you and only you could ever know of her, stuff she only ever lets you see. It strikes you as every bit of odd, knowing so much about her, when all you are is some background character in the grand scheme of her life—

“I don’t get it.” Yuri’s voice shocks you back down to Earth, “You’re not the type to cry. Or hesitate. Or keep things hidden, at least from me. That’s that twitch in your lips, when you want to say something out loud but you bite it back. I don’t like it.” She thumbs your cheek again, more slowly, deliberately, “I don’t like when you don’t tell me things.”

Her phone again, this time a Kakao message judging from the notification sound. It reaches you both at the same time, but the effect it has on her is the worst yet. She shuts her eyes hard, as if wishing the message would be gone by the time she checks, and she doesn’t plan to check anytime soon. You even feel her hands get ever so slightly chillier, like it pains her to think about what that message could be. 

“You can get that if you need to.” You always had that soft spot for her, knowing where you stood in her life and when it was your turn. And of course, you were more than happy to step aside, because God forbid you, as you accidentally so eloquently put it, got in her way. 

But a fresh, warm breeze of breath hits your forehead. “That’s the second stupidest thing you’ve ever said.” Her eyes open again, and it hits you: soft or piercing or mysterious on command. Shining like the blazing galaxies that hide behind the inky blackness of the sky. All at once, the mystery of how you remember everything about her even after all this time just seems to solve itself. 

But there’s that doubt in her eyes again, when she sees your lips twitch again. “I really hurt you, didn’t I?” She’s downtrodden, and you can’t console her. Not like this. “What did I do?” 

Lie. Just lie. “Nothing, that was it.” Fight the twitch in your lip again, pretend you can hide it when she’s this close. 

You want her to let go, then say she’s busy, then pick up her phone and read it and say she needs her rest, then kick you out. But she doesn’t, even with the incessant pinging seemingly getting louder and louder. Through it all, she stares into your eyes, thumbs brushing the skin of your cheeks, trying to find any clue she can find. Instead she mumbles, “Bullshit,” focused on you. 

~~~

The TV hangs above a fake fireplace far from the foot of the bed, waiting patiently for the next time they can light back up. A newly-snuffed stick of incense fades out in its stand in the kitchen, and the far off cars and people somewhere on the busy 10-in-the-evening New York street beneath you try their hardest to throw soundwaves up that many stories and through your window to you. And her. 

She finally pulls you down, taking her with you as she descends backwards onto the fluff of the mattress. All the while, your lips never leave hers: slow kisses, fast, light, deep, and everything in between. Tongues swirl in a dance from long ago but never forgotten, somehow recalling every step of the way like you were never apart. Her breath grows heavier along with yours, vying to keep up with the heat you offer her and trying to outdo you all at the same time, when it all comes to a screeching halt; she pushes you off, keeping you only a hair's width away from her, no more and no less. 

Don’t ruin it. Don't do it. Don't say it. Don't—“So you’re not going out with him?”

And she looks up at you with those gorgeous eyes, piercing, before settling into soft, as her lips curl into a smirk that she tries so hard to fight down before failing anyway and, god forbid, laughing right in your face. You’d thought that this would happen sooner or later, but not like this. Not her comfily lying in a fluffy bed, keeping you mere millimeters from her face as she lets out a laugh from deep in her chest, at something you said that made her happy again. Once she settles, “No, absolutely not,” pulls you closer again right up until you’re fully flush against her lips. “Don’t make it hard for me now. How many more times are you gonna ask tonight?”

“Just one more,” you joke. Indulge her, even if only for this. She deserves at least one good memory—

“There you go again, that twitch in your lips. It’s distracting.” Yuri is nothing but gentle when she nudges you backward against the headboard, straddles your legs, places your hands on her lap as she has her way with you. It’s one deep kiss after another, not knowing where one ends and the next starts, the minutiae doesn’t really matter. What matters is that she’s here, you’re here, and that things haven’t changed at all. Her hands find their way to your neck, trying in vain to pull you any closer than you already are, and yours find her hips, going along with the grinding on your lap that she’s starting to build up.

“Mmh,” straight into your mouth, and it's something you didn't even know you needed. She's had onscreen kisses before, including the ones she's gotten into bed with you and shown you before falling asleep right before the good part comes. And it's that that you held on to: that the way she does those kisses is the farthest thing from the way she does these kisses. She's needy for something more than any physical contact a kiss could offer but the kind of comfort it brings, and you can tell by the way she takes and takes and takes from you, like you don't deserve to be the one offering it.

“Fucking—” but there's no actual heat behind the word. She pulls back ever so slightly, only far back enough to be able to look you in the eyes without crossing hers. “Stop that. Whatever it is you're thinking, I don't like it. Just kiss me again.”

“Sorry.” There's nothing to apologize for, really, since you know deep in your gut that you'll do it over and over. Your chest grows heavy, and not because of the girl that's doing nothing but trying to love you. Even when she insists, from the way she reaches behind her and under her shirt before pulling off her bra and throwing it off somewhere to the side, to her utter refusal at letting go of your hands once she places them on her chest herself, you can tell that she needs that comfort again. Through her knit top, you can feel the rising warmth of her body, the neverending softness of her boobs, the growing stiffness of her nipples already starting to poke through her shirt and into your palms. 

But despite it all, you can't ignore the weight in your chest. You're the one who let her drift away, never explained why or how, and now you're taking the same sort of comfort like you used to as if nothing changed. Like she's still the same Yuri, your Yuri, who isn't an international superstar nor budding small screen staple with a future she can't help but rise up to. No, Yuri is there now. Household name, face on the Netflix profile pictures, hundreds of thousands of monthly Spotify listeners and every other metric of success anyone could ever come up with to show just how right you were to let her go. 

She pulls back, not gentle in the slightest, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “What in the fuck do you want to hear, huh?” She slides her hands under your shirt, coming up your sides, before slipping through the hole for your head to station her hands on either shoulder of yours. Her forearms do the rest of the heavy lifting, bringing the hem up until you have to take your shirt off for her. Not even a moment once it’s off that she dives back in, claiming your mouth before moving down to pepper wet kisses on your neck, leaving trails of spit on your shoulders, nibbling gently at your collarbone, taking deep breaths of the scent on your chest, leaving you breathless and wanting more of what she’s so desperately trying to offer you. 

Her turn now. You grab the hem of her top, pulling it up and over her head as well. As it clears her chest, her boobs bounce free, a sight for sore eyes; yet she doesn’t let you dwell. Yui allows you two perfect squeezes of her soft, supple breasts, and she goes down. Your pants come away with a concerted joint effort, letting her urgency get the better of you to tear it off, and she takes your throbbing length into her hand. “Please tell me this is what you want,” as she strokes your cock in deep and slow pumps, all the while letting her spit trickle down your tip, onto the slit, down the shaft where she rubs you up and down. “Please don’t make me play this fucking guessing game.”

“I—” is all you can put together, just as a groan escapes you. The warmth of her mouth is divine, the slickness of her tongue on your cock a feeling you sorely missed. Yuri wastes no time, knowing just how to work you, by taking a long drag up the underside of your cock all the way to the tip and leaving a warm glistening trail, and then suckling on your head like she knows she was always good at. 

She’s gorgeous. Never mind the way her tongue swirls on your tip, nor how she pays special attention to the slit of your cock, nor even the way she releases with a pop each time before coming back down for more. It’s all of ten seconds that she keeps those soft, or piercing, or mysterious eyes on yours, right when they flutter closed to enjoy having your cock in her  mouth once again. It’s blasphemous reverence: the way she tilts her head left and right to make sure she coats your length with her spit, and the delicious heat of her mouth, her subtle yet firm tracing of her tongue along every vein on your cock she can reach, is nothing short of heaven. 

For a moment, she retracts, and you sigh a breath of relief. It’s too soon, much too soon, but the way she gazes at you lovingly from between your legs tells you everything you need to know: she wouldn’t mind a second, third, fourth round with you. “You were saying?” she teases, her lips still stuck gently on the underside of your cock, tiny sucks and licks in that sensitive spot she knows you have. 

You confess, “I forgot,” just as she makes a particularly long stripe of saliva from your base to tip. It’s that deadly smirk pulling up only one side of her mouth, that look she gives when she’s amused. It drives you crazy, and she knows it. 

“Mind if I take a guess?” she relents, just for a moment, retreating her mouth and replacing it with light, lazy strokes. Her fingers work you the way she knows you’re weak against, tracing her fingertips in the most sensitive spots she could only know through her very own trial and error. 

Before you know it, her free hand is no longer free, holding up her phone and showing you the screen. A guttural moan escapes you as she gives you those deep strokes you love her doing, keeping her lips on your head, as it finally connects: she’s calling her co-star. 

He picks up, and amidst a raucous background, “Hello? Yuri?” and immediately you know what she’s playing at. A loud pop, followed by a drag of her tongue around her lips, and she says back, “Are we dating?” Her gaze stays sharp on you, hand unceasingly tight around your base, but above all else, she looks bored. And, perhaps, a little bit annoyed to be hearing a voice she absolutely would not want to be hearing otherwise. 

“Uh, if you’re free—” more of that background noise, and you surmise he’s in some club, “—If you’re free, let me buy you a drink—” 

Yuri just stays hovering over your tip, her tongue sliding again and again over your slit, letting her spit dribble down the sides of your shaft. You know she’s bored now, and a little bit displeased—not by the apparently disappointing phone call, but by you who forced her to make it in the first place. 

“Just…” she mumbles, making sounds suspiciously like sucking on a lollipop for the call, “Are we dating? Yes or no?”

“No,” said the other voice, tentatively and having taken way too long, “I don’t think we are, yet, unle—” and she drops the call. Her phone lands on the mattress, bouncing slightly, before Yuri takes half your length into her mouth again. It’s that heat of her that you’re loving: the utmost care she showers all over your cock, the pointed attention she gives to you and you alone, the deliberate slowness and pressure she knows you like. The other half she can’t fit in your mouth, she strokes with her hand, as her cheeks hollow out around you, and she tries just a little bit harder with every bob of her head to take more of you in. 

“Y-Yuri,” you can’t resist. Everything in you wants to be rough with her again, to have what she’s promised only you can have all along. There’s absolutely no sign or hesitance in her eyes when your hand makes for the back of her head; only a breath held in anticipation of what’s to come. She halts, pressure constant and unchanging in her mouth and hand, cradling your cock like it’s something precious. A beat passes, she’s waiting for you, and you finally give in. 

Push her gently down. Her hand makes way, and her tongue works the underside of your cock as she takes more and more of you in. It’s slow, careful, almost shy, as if you were a stranger when you aren’t—you never were. 

Her nose meets your pubic bone, eyes slightly watery, the way she takes you tells you there’s nowhere she’d rather be. You’re not even pushing her at this point anymore; just taking the pressure of going all the way for her, promising her that you want this too. Her throat squeezes and constricts, massaging your cock in all the perfect spots, wrapping your length in an intoxicating heat, while she makes all these tiny attempts at making eye contact with you, only to fail when she feels you throb against the muscles of her throat, causing her to gag and settle and gag and settle. Even when you let go, retreating your hand away from the dark, fluffy strands of her hair, she stays wrapped around your length, not at all fighting for anything but merely letting you feel her.

But her need to breathe prevails, and she rises slowly, savoring the way your length slides and throbs against the walls of her throat. Yuri fully pulls her face off of your crotch, lines of spit still connecting, her breath heaving warm air onto your soaked cock. She takes a moment to steady her breathing and her heart, before wiping the spent saliva off her lips with the back of her hand. Then, as if nothing happened, she looks up at you with a teasing smirk. She knows she has you wrapped around her finger. 

It's really that easy for her to take your breath away. You almost succumb to the long, slow, deep strokes she makes on your shaft, throbbing even more against her palm, and her relenting when she knows you're getting worked up and getting close. It's heaven if it weren't hell, yet you love every second of it. It's a long time coming, and you're set on enjoying all the attention she gives you again.

But even so, it's different: the way she smirks changes ever so slightly, and you could never know why—you just feel it, know it. It devolves into something you've seen on her before, but never on the screen; not the smile she wears on stage performing her hit songs, nor the smile she puts on between the director yelling “action” and “cut.” No, it's the smile she shows you when it's nearly midnight and she needs her cuddles before a big day, the show of quiet contentment when she's leaning back in her chair with a massive plate of spicy marinated crab shells in front of her, it's the smile that's nothing but softness when she’s taking a break from packing for a location shoot and you promise her you'll stay up until 3 a.m. for her goodnight video call.

It's that smile she only ever shows you, and as she climbs on your lap again, her eyes never leave yours, that smile never shifts from her mouth. Yuri comes in close, plants a slow kiss on your lips, empties her lungs as her eyes flutter shut. She wraps her arms around your neck, tilts her head slightly to the left, makes tiny licks on your tongue whenever you allow it. 

She starts, “Can I—” but you already know. She hovers slightly over your cock, dripping liquid heat right onto your tip, teasing herself with it and rubbing her slick folds on you. You know it, and she knows it, only having fun, enjoying yourselves, no pressure, just… home.

She sinks herself onto you, her pussy lips parting at your familiar length. Even through it all, she’s hellishly tight as you remember, searing heat enveloping your length, giving delicious pleasure to every inch of you. Her descent is slow, almost savoring, as her grip on you tightens with every passing second. 

She’s beautiful. Her eyes closed in what you could only surmise is perfect bliss, head lolling back as if offering everything of her to you. The dim light of the moon filters through her hair, illuminating what she always considered her good side. It reflects off the smoothness of her skin, just the right amount of light to show you tantalizing glimpses of her curves: the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flex of her neck. Lean in, pull her close, take advantage of her vulnerability like she wants you to. You find the pulse on her neck like second nature, and the minute tugs as she snakes her fingers through your hair tell you more than words ever could. She holds you in place as you kiss and suck at her weak point, knowing you’re just as vulnerable in this moment as she is, and you can feel, with the way her grip is gentle yet needy, hungry yet loving, wanting to take so much but also wanting to give back. 

Only barely having forgotten, she finally sits herself onto your lap. She’s still for a moment, drinking in your affection through the kisses you place all over her neck and collarbone, trying to find her bearings as you hold her steady in place. Her heart beats against your chest, her breath tickles your shoulder, and before she pulls back to look you straight in the eyes again, she mumbles, “I missed you.”

It doesn’t take long before she captures your lips again. She starts a slow grind on your lap, and you help her along with your hands on her waist, feeling her warmth against your palms. It’s only small noises now: the deep exhale of a breath held too long, tiny whimpers slipping through the gaps of your lips, the gasp caught in her throat as you hit that perfect spot inside her. Above all else, there’s no hurry—she doesn’t make any effort to speed up, nor do you let her. Yuri maintains her pace on your lap, grinding instead of bouncing, fully feeling you inside her, as she says, “I really missed you.”

Deeper is the game, and both of you know it. Yuri leans forward, drawing herself closer onto you. It gives her that much of a better angle that her moans draw out longer, that you feel the quiver in her thighs just that little bit more. She arches her back in your direction, and you take that opportunity: you catch her nipple as she gets close, sucking and licking to your heart’s pleasure. It’s give and take when it comes to this position, like it always was with you two: “Mmh” and “fuck” and “please” in the empty spaces you never really needed to fill but do anyway. In every single one is the love you only now get to show each other again, and by God will you love her. 

It’s everything all at once, and you can’t get enough. The jiggle of her boobs against your face, her incessant pulling of you harder onto her chest, the steady speeding up of her grinding on your lap until she’s pathetically leaking onto the sheets below. “Shit, shit, shit,” she whines, getting closer and closer to her peak, and with the way you’re wrapping your arms around her waist, lapping up the drops of sweat that fall down the valley of her breasts, bouncing her on you with help from the mattress, you’re drawing close right with her.

Pressure mounts, the floodgates strain, and her tiny whimpers are music to your ears. She’s scratching marks on your back now, sinking her teeth in your shoulder, and you don’t mind the sting at all. You hold her tight, no doubt leaving handprints on either side of her waist, getting faster and faster vying to keep up with her when you know she’s straining to keep up with you. It’s that one final bounce, that broken moan, that sudden jerk that sends you over the edge. “Mmh,” just as you’re sucking her other nipple, and you bite down a bit too hard without meaning to. But, instead of anything else, she pulls you in, nearly jerking, as she throws her head back. You feel goosebumps forming up and down her back, and she gets that much tighter around your length. It’s that moment when her voice cracks, and she finally lets go, and her squirt floods your lap, coating your entire length with liquid heat as she convulses over and over around you. It triggers you too, and within a second, you pull her down, embedding yourself as deep as possible into her. You shoot spurt after spurt after spurt of your hot seed into her waiting womb, and she welcomes it by milking you for everything you have. Even with her going crazy bouncing on your cock, spraying her squirt all over your crotch, she takes in every drop you give her. It feels like forever, filling her up with your cum, pushing more and more into her, and she thrashes against you that you have to hold her still. You keep cumming and cumming, until she’s only wringing small spurts out of you. 

Then, nothing. The air is still and full and humid, the only proof that you exist being the ragged breaths the pair of you take. Her grip on your shoulders is loosening, and you slowly pull yourself from her chest and meet her gaze again.

“Holy shit, that was hot,” she gasps, chest heaving against yours. Her arms are limp around your neck, same as yours around her waist, holding loosely but holding all the same, just to let her know you’re still there. Her head finds the crook of your neck, snuggles into it. You feel her breaths on your shoulder, and you savor the moment of having been her utmost happiness, even for just a little while. 

“You good?” you attempt. A beat passes.

“I think so.” 

A breath. 

“I missed you.”

Another beat, another breath. 

“I missed you too.”

Pull a blanket over her and you, kiss what you can reach of her hair. Beyond that you stay motionless save for your own breaths. The last thing you want is for her to move, or, God forbid, get off of you. So you stay still; she’s comfy enough, and you have that trust in her that she’d tell you if she needed a change in position. But it never comes. 

The blaring urban jungle of New York City may as well be millions of miles away from your little world of just you and her. Inhales and exhales, small squeezes of fingers, split-second blinks that you’d never have noticed otherwise had her face not been buried in your neck. The world is dark and silent and unmoving, and for a second, you think that eternity like this may not be so bad. 

It’s almost a shame to break the silence. But with her, it comes like it was destined: “I can’t sleep.” 

~~~

“That’s a fucking massive tilt into big tech.” Way too dramatically do you slam your coffee cup onto the table. She laughs out loud at it, clutching her own for the last few slivers of warmth it can offer. “If you’re gonna buy tech, buy tech. Why an ETF?”

“Because,” she smirks, still incredulous and irreverent and mayhaps a slight bit teasing, “it’s diversifying. I don’t want to be caught up in the whims of the market.”

“You’d have been better off commissioning some AI prompter for some fanfiction.” Bury your face in your hands, feign this frustration that she used to always love about you. You hang your head low, her laughter picks up higher, and in this moment, you feel neither you nor she would rather be anywhere else. 

She takes a sip, then “Excuse me for using my own hard-earned cash to make a bet for the fucking tech industry.” You can tell, by the way her voice clears up from that early morning roughness, that the coffee is working its magic. “I have hope for this future, you know. QQQ isn’t the worst option out there.”

“Then buy Nvidia!” You explode, though every bit of heat from it is fake, and she all but falls out of her chair laughing-crying. “Buy Apple! Buy fucking Microsoft before Copilot tanks it even worse, for fuck’s sake! You’re paying fees you don’t have to pay for! God, it’s like talking to a brick wall,” and to drive the point home, you lean back, past your own chair’s backrest in faux exasperation, feeling the roughness of the actual brick wall on your hair and scalp. Through it all, she clutches what she can of her stomach through the layers and layers of blankets, tears nearly falling from the corners of her eyes from laughing the most beautiful laugh you’ve ever heard.

A star streaks through space, or at least you think it was a star, barreling through the pinks and reds of a sky only starting to stir. Looking back down, across the small marble table, past the pair of rapidly cooling coffee mugs placed quite close to each other and to each of you, Yuri meets your gaze. The metal railing wobbles slightly with the air currents this high up, and the crisp dawn atmosphere sends chills up and down your spine even through the bundle of jackets and coats you’ve wrapped yourself in. The wind blows through her hair and yours, momentarily pushing her bangs out of place. Reach over, pat them back down. She wouldn’t have minded, having only you up here, to show her forehead like that. But—

“Thanks. I’m still getting over it.” 

“You looked really pretty in that Love Shhh stage. I liked that look.”

“God, please don’t remind me,” she giggles, hiding her face in her coat underneath the three blankets she’s also chosen to keep herself warm with. She pulls up her sleeve all the way past her fingers, then reaches over and takes your hand in hers. After a moment of staring into the changing colors that make up the grand sky, “Stay a while.”

You give an incredulous exhale through your nose, letting the fog of it rise up and dissipate into the atmosphere. Little by little, the windows in the building across the urban chasm go dark, and the chatter of New York City picks up at ground level, lightyears below you. Taking a sip of your now-cold beverage, “Don’t you have somewhere to be today?”

“Would you believe me if I said I had a date?”

You chuckle. “No, not really.”

“Then there you go.” She gives your hand a gentle yet firm squeeze before pulling back, exposing the skin of your palm to the frigid morning air once more. She narrowly avoids the coffee, picking up hers and downing the last few sips of it in one go, “Stay here with me.” She pulls the several layers of blankets around her tighter, tilts her head back inside towards the warm, fluffy bed waiting for her. “Unless you have a date.”

“I do, actually,” you say back, getting up and stretching as far as you can without really exposing your midriff to the nippy air, “booked and busy the rest of the day.”

“Oh yeah? I take it this girl is a real catch.”

“She is, and she just invited me to spend the day in bed with her. So, there you go.” She giggles, and you walk over to her side of the table. She doesn’t really say anything, just watching, perhaps admiring, as you get closer, and more so when you scoop up the bundle of blankets and warmth in your arms. Once you regain your balance and make for the sliding glass balcony door, she sighs, accidentally brushing away her bangs from shielding her forehead, and as the heat of the great indoors meets her skin again through all those layers, she leans her head on your shoulder. 

“You know, I really hate being so,” she’s being careful with her words, and despite wanting to say that she doesn’t need to be, you also know it’d be a lie to say so, “so reckless. I don’t like it. And you, well, you make me less reckless. Is that bad?”

Tug at the outermost blanket she’s cocooned in, and she gives it up much too readily. You get in bed with her, unceremoniously just plopping into the empty white space next to this girl, “Why would it be bad? Without you, I’m all jealous and doubtful and all that shit. That’s even worse, I think.” 

“Mm, maybe.” She turns to you. Always to you. “Then I guess we just…”

“Lay here with me?”

“Deal.”

You smile. You can’t say anything. You don’t want to. Listening to her talk all day isn’t a problem at all.

She’s past that two-minute ramble about how coffee is a placebo effect made to capitalize off teenagers and burnouts when she notices your stare. She scoffs, pushing your chest.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Yuri asks.

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re… forget it.” She rolls her eyes.  “‘A shot of espresso.’ What a whole load of bullshit.”

-

And yet she pays her tuition by making that whole load of bullshit.

The Cuppa is probably the second comfiest place in the city. You rank it second because nothing really compares to your bed, but goddamn, does the café come close. It’s a cute little place just off campus, a little short of walking distance but not too much trouble. Any student seeking solace could easily find it right here. 

But that’s not why you’re here.

“Is your punk ass really trying to steal from us?”

You smile. That’s why.

“You caught me,” you say. “What are you gonna do about it, officer?”

Yuri emerges from behind the counter. She’d dyed her hair a sage brown and it looks strikingly good on her, especially when the sunlight hits. Even in that loose shirt and apron she looks beautiful. You’d tell her that but she’d probably say something snarky, and the two of you would fight like siblings and big bad manager Eunbi would have to yell at you two again.

“How many times do I have to tell you that our stuffed toys aren’t up for grabs?” she asks, hands on her hips. The plushies lined up neatly next to the wall look at you with bright, plastic eyes.

“What the fuck else are they for then?” 

Yuri stands on the tiptoes of all her five foot nothing. “The ambience.”

She has a point. The budget set for the interior of The Cuppa was low but you wouldn’t be able to tell. Something about the vintage furniture and the music—was that Baek Yerin? Clearly Yuri’s selection—makes it feel like a place you could call home.

It’s been Yuri’s home since the first year of university. It was odd sometimes to think about it. You’ve known each other for years, back when she wasn’t a slave to capitalism coffee and still hated you. You still think she does, honestly, but it’s all in good jest. The years have only made you fonder of her.

Funny. All your exes shared the jealousy that you were each other’s first kiss, even if it happened when you were barely eighteen. And come on: nothing’s ever serious before college.

“Yeah?” you ask. “Spell ‘ambience.’”

“You are so full of shit.”

“It’s fine if you can’t. But just so you know, using words you can’t even spell is kind of…” You shrug. “Highfalutin.”

“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes at you but the dimple on her cheek gives it away. “The usual?”

You’re not too particular about coffee. Any caffeinated drink that gets you to finish a line of homework without suicidal ideation is good enough. But The Cuppa found you a favorite:

A steaming americano with a shot of milk. Yuri always complained about its simplicity (“I swear to god, you just do this because you want to get yelled at” was what she said once, arms crossed and pouting in her typical Yuri-style, before shoving the menu in your face again) but there’s nothing you’d stand by more. It’s the perfect combination: something hot to keep you up but not anxious. Something sweet to keep you satiated but not spoiled.

So that’s exactly what she makes. You see her tiny face on the surface of the warm espresso before she splashes it with cream.

“On the house.” Yuri doesn’t even look at you as she makes your drink. Everything comes to her in exact measurements, perfect cups. Routines keep her sane. Anything that slightly disrupts it would drive her insane.

“Thanks. You’re the coolest barista I know,” you say. 

You take the mug from Yuri. You’re waiting for her to ruffle your hair as revenge or the usual bratty banter you always give into. 

But for once, Yuri has nothing else to say. She just smiles like she spotted an inside joke in that sentence you’re not privy to, and leaves.

-

Okay, so for some background to avoid any confusion. You and Yuri most certainly did not meet like lovebirds—you didn’t meet in a café or in the school hallway where she dropped her books in front of you and you picked it up for her. Not that had to do with anything because you aren’t hookups or exes or anything like that. You just happened to grow up together in the same town. 

And you honest to god despised each other. Yuri was a difficult kid, running around in mud-caked sneakers and hair sticking to her forehead. But she wasn’t the conventional type of difficult—she didn’t do any of the delinquency shit Hitomi fell into or talked back to her parents. There wasn’t even a record of delinquency in her files. No, not at all. Her parents actually adored her. She was the only good thing that came out of their messy, tumultuous marriage. Their precious little girl. Poster child of a perfect child. She only seemed to be really difficult with you. 

There’s one early memory you have of Yuri that isn’t blurred like a wet camera lens. It’s set in the now overrun park near your middle school. She was staring down at a pond. She was fifteen years old, you think. Just turned. You were around the same age yet she seemed to carry a quiet confidence about her, the attitude that always gave her what she wanted. 

“Hi,” you said, because you were tired of the unspoken rivalry and being someone she hated for no reason. 

Little Yuri just kept looking down at the body of water. Big, curious eyes examined the colorful fish under the rainbow surface. These were the few things that survived the mass construction of your little town. It was all the authenticity it had left. 

“I said hi,” you tried again, because if there’s anything your mother taught you, it was that the quietest people made the best friends. All it took was a single bright conversation—

“Don’t talk to me.”

Well. 

It took them a while to open up sometimes. That was fine. You were an earnest little kid. You believed that if you waited, said things at the right time, you could make friends with the enigma that was Jo Yuri. Yuri was cool. You wouldn’t be able to tell at first, from her tiny frame and big eyes, but she was exactly someone you’d like to befriend.

So you kept quiet. She matched your silence with no problem. She only spoke to correct you when you messed up a word. She didn’t make the slightest expression. 

“It’s a nice day out.”

“It is,” she replied, the monotone of her voice making it seem like a misfortune befell her and it was your fault.

“Do you like ponds? Miss Kim talked to us about it yesterday. She said sometimes fishes are there.”

“Ponds are okay.”

Finally, something you had in common with her. “I think so, too!” you said excitedly. “I like this one. I can see your pretty face even when I look at the water because it’s so clear. Like glass.”

Yuri stood up straight. There was a crease in her brow that she seemed too young to have. “If you’re trying to flatter me into being your friend, it’s not gonna work.”

She looked at you directly for the first time. The sunlight beamed loudly onto her yet she didn’t blink. That conviction was the talk of the town. It never faltered for a grown–up, teacher, or parent. Much less a boy who was trying to sweet-talk his way into her circle.

You could capture this moment in a polaroid, set it side by side with the Yuri of today, and see no difference. She’s always had smooth skin, soft eyes when she wasn’t upset. Jo Yuri was beautiful since the day you saw her.

“What?” You tilted your head. She still seemed to take this as an insult. “Has nobody ever said you’re pretty?”

Yuri blinked. Her shoulders slumped a little, her lashes lowered. “No,” she said finally. “You’d be the first.”

That was the day you became her friend. You were the first person to make Yuri put her guard down. She gained some sort of respect for you, because, as she’d tell you later on, most people would have backed down. You didn’t without having to get aggressive.

She vented to you about boy problems. She climbed trees with you and laughed when you missed a branch. Everyone in town thought Yuri’d found her match. You were the only boy she didn’t want to beat up; that must have meant something. So, even if you had slept in each other’s rooms and saw the skeletons in your closets, you kindly denied the allegations. No, grandma, Yuri’s just a friend. No, dad, you don’t have to worry about him because he’s not my suitor.

You couldn’t imagine yourself without her. She was braided so closely into the twine of your life that the idea of her suddenly loosening away wasn’t even acceptable. She was part of you as much as you were of her. 

Until one day, on a summer you never foresaw, you caught Mr. and Mrs. Jo loading the last of some boxes in a truck. Much vulgarity was exchanged, not getting physical but the line was nearly crossed. You had seen them drift apart before—Yuri’d told you they didn’t exactly like each other. Each box was filled with memories: family photos, essentials, and Yuri’s belongings.

Yuri. 

Immediately you frantically scanned the area for her. Where could she be? You didn’t need to search far—there she was in the front seat of the truck. The hood of her jacket was turned over her head and her earphones were plugged in. Although she looked straight ahead into the road, her eyes were glassy. 

“Hey! Yuri, wait!” you shouted. But her father didn’t want to hear any of it. It didn't matter that you were a familiar face. He was taking his daughter away from this miserable town forever and nothing was going to change his mind.

You remember pounding on that carseat window. She finally found it in herself to look at you. Tears streamed down her cheeks. One, tiny hand came to touch yours from behind the glass.

“Please don’t go,” you said. “At least- at least tell me why you’re leaving.” You jammed your fist harder into the window. She was locked in there like a prisoner. “Talk to me, please. Yuri!”

You were young. You were a boy with fimble arms and a broken heart. Those were the only things that kept you from sweeping Yuri in your arms and flying her away to safety. It didn’t matter where—could be the pond, the school, her old room. Anywhere would do as long as she was with you.

Yuri seemed to understand this. It wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t hers. There were things keeping you apart that she couldn’t quite control yet. 

She pressed her lips to where your forehead rested on the window. I’ll come back for you, she mouthed, the words ghosts left trapped in the car. Just wait for me.

-

Dreams keep coming back to you in the quiet of the night. They’re of meeting Yuri again, hugging her, and taking her out to dinner. After all the times your lunch was on her, she deserves a fancy meal. 

Dreams are nothing short of fictional. They’re just things our minds make up as idle play in our sleep. It’s nothing worth relying on as prophecies. But these days, you always see Yuri with her knees to her face that’s streaked with tears. She always looks the same in your head. She’s in the same hoodie as that night you chased after her car. She never grew up.

Neither did you. 

“And I told her,” says Jordan, a.k.a. mister Bark-No-Bite, leaning across you from the table with the most wicked simper on his face, “‘honey, if you spend every moment thinkin’ I’m gonna leave you for some tighter chick, hop off this dick.’”

The rest of the canteen laughs like it’s the best joke they’ve ever heard. You’ve heard better from the opinionated uncle at family gatherings. The glass on the table is smacked incoherently and bursts of laughter fills the reservation room.

Given that the meal is free, generously sponsored by your project leader: it should feel like everything. The food is great, the service is instant, and the weather is going on nicely. Everything aligns to a perfect day yet you feel like shit. Absolute fucking shit.

You stare at the centerpiece. “You should be nicer to her, honestly,” you murmur.

Amid the guffaws, your groupmate heard you. “What did you say?”

Silence. Your words become realized and now you’re facing off against a crew of juveniles masking as men who, for some reason, either want to adopt or shoot you. That’s business.

“I mean,” you fling your hands up then place them flat on your thighs, “if she’s afraid you’re gonna leave her, isn’t it better you tell her you’ll never let go?”

People grow older and grow apart. When bound together by wedding band and law, they want to run free, or run home. Those two things collide sometimes. Cutting off patterned wings seems arbitrarily cruel. 

The table mutters agreement. Bullets can be saved for next time. You should be proud of taking a stand and cutting their bullshit out. It’s the daydream of every man closed off from the world. But the pain in your heart swells from different roots, and you can’t trace which or where.

“Philosopher of the fucking century,” says Jordan. “You got that going on for you?”

All eyes are on you again. No matter. You’ve long forgone trying to be one of them.

“What else is?” You shrug, and down another bitter, bitter drink.

-

“You promise you’ll call us?” 

“Yes.”

“And don’t do drugs or drink or—”

“Yes, dad,” you said exasperatedly. Over time you understood that it was a privilege to have parents who genuinely loved you. Not many could say they had a mother and father fully supportive of the direction you want to take in life, much less willing to shoulder the fees. But they could dial down on that love. You’re an adult. Plus, you’re just moving to a new university, not starting college all over again.

(Also, you’d rather die than redo college.)

Thinking of reliving those years already makes you want to crumble. It was hard enough in high school without a familiar face to turn to or the ease you only realized too late was there. Adjusting to a new environment, all alone and without your best friend, was lonely. Terribly lonely. 

She never came back for you. You’d waited for so long. Middle school left you friendless in the canteen room. High school had you clinging onto girls, onto friends who looked like Yuri and laughed like Yuri but weren’t quite Yuri. Now, college made you wonder: were you ever going to see each other again? 

You wondered how she was doing now. Did she get into that performing arts school she used to drone on about? Get piano lessons? Wherever, however she is, you hope little Yuri achieved all her dreams without trouble. She deserves it.

You dropped the call after a while. Besides your mother droning on about not getting anyone pregnant getting weird, it was hard to keep a conversation when unpacking.

The bag could look better. It was winter, so the conductor told you it got damaged in the compartment. An avalanche, he claimed, had gotten the best of it. Outside, thick layers of snow lay on the road, greenless trees, and benches. You believed him. But you still lost a few important things, like pencils and a notepad filled with sketches. You had to make sure you at least had the essentials.

So—seeing as the snow had plowed and stranded through your stuff—you took upon the job of going to the bookstore. Sure, you were freezing, and a strong wind was sure to make you one of the snowmen up ahead. But it’s your first day. You couldn’t afford to screw up.

The bookstore was low-lit and cozy. The cashier was looking through folders, saying something about work hours. 

“I’m so sorry, darling.” She missed the r in her pet name as she gave a blue folder over the desk. “We don’t have any orange ones left.”

The girl sighed. “Nothing? As in nothing?”

Her voice was of husk and silk. You raised a brow. Were you imagining things?

“No, Yuri, I’m afraid this is all we have.”

“Yuri?” 

You couldn’t stop yourself. You had to make sure you weren’t dreaming. That puppylike way of tilting her head when she was confused… the fucking bangs…

“No way,” you said. It couldn’t be.

She noticed you, too. Her fingers hooked around her gigantic mask and revealed the same pouty mouth, open in shock. She was still dressed in the baggiest clothes that undermined how tiny she actually was. Still wore barely any makeup, skin smooth and pure.

Worst of all, she was only even more beautiful.

“What are you out in this storm for?”

Her little mouth still hung slightly open. “What are you out here for?” she asked. 

“I dunno. Why are you in the same college as me?”

Of all the dumb questions you could have asked in the world. It was selfish, stupid, so quintessentially you. She was never going to let you live this down. 

Yuri’s mouth quirked to the side. “Is it my fault that I happened to pass the entrance exam?” 

You couldn’t believe it. Your heart’s stuck in your throat and it kept doing this weird, pulsing thing, as if you were going to throw up all the relief you had.

Yuri’s smiling at the dumbfounded look on your face and you thought, fuck it. 

You rushed to her and hugged her tight, lifting her in the air for seconds that felt like heaven. Her mask hung from her ear. She was so beautiful, so loveable. Her laugh was the sweetest thing you heard. 

“It’s not fucking funny,” you said as you pressed a kiss to her forehead. But despite your tears, you were laughing too. You set her down to clutch her face. Your thumbs passed over her cheekbones, temples, just to see if she was real. “I thought I lost you, Yuri.”

Yuri held your hand that was cradling her cheek. Her eyes were tender. “I did say I’d come back for you.”

And it was like you were young again. Like you were back at that miserable town, making faces, cussing each other out, but somehow kissing under that tree and promising to keep it a secret.

-

I hate you. I can’t live without you.

-

From jjoyul <3:

if you want coffee get it now

my head hurts but i need tips

The fluorescent lights of The Cuppa are its usual cozy today. It’s the only place on campus that is still open. Yuri once said it would’ve had 24/7 operating hours if not for the fact that the staff is composed of mostly sleep-deprived college students. But they’ll have to make do.

It works to your advantage anyway. You have another test waiting in your calendar, making it the perfect time for a coffee. There’s some material you want to get revised by tonight. 

Yuri emerges from the backrooms. “Welcome to The Cuppa, please make it fast," she says. “If you can’t decide in five seconds, we’ll use your head as a tip box.”

“Hi there yourself,” you say sarcastically. But when you take a proper look at her, you immediately dial it back. “You okay?”

She’s Jo Yuri. Of course she’s a brat. But today, there are deep, dark circles under her blank eyes. She’s pale as a ghost. She looks so down, like all the energy’s been drained out of her.

Yuri stares blankly at you before forcing a smile on her face. “Yeah. Just a headache.”

“Doesn’t look like just a headache.”

Her movements are sluggish as she opens the money drawer. You don’t trust her to make another move without falling over. “Aww, thanks, you’re a real charmer.” 

You lean closer. “No, seriously. Are you okay? You look like you haven’t slept in a week.” 

You only realize how close you’ve gotten when Yuri lifts her head. You’re practically nose to nose, cheek to cheek. The hollows under Yuri’s eyes are dark and deep but now, a faint red hue colors her skin.

There really is something about her, huh? You’ve known that, been enthralled by that since you talked to her at that pond. She seemed to be one with sunlight that day. Yuri—Yuri and her big eyes and pouty lips and loud self—gives you life. She keeps you tossing and turning at night and laughing in the morning.

Like a shot of espresso.

Yuri clears her throat, immediately taking a step back. 

“Rough night,” she says simply. “I’ve got a big project for professor Lee tomorrow, and this shift is absolutely killing me.” 

You glance at the clock behind her, then at the schedule pinned beside the register. “What time are you off?” 

“I dunno.” She gestures vaguely, a weary wave of her hand. “Another two hours. Then I get to go home and pull an all-nighter, probably.”

Her eyes keep shifting to the money in the drawer. Your heart just twists. Poor Yuri, living off paycheck to paycheck so she can keep studying. So she can keep suffering. You don’t know how she handles it. You’re pretty sure that if you had a dad still upset over your mom who left him years ago and a damning tuition fee, you’d have given up.

That’s the thing about Jo Yuri: she never gives up. But sometimes, the world moves too fast even for her. 

“I’ll take your shift,” you say firmly.

“What?” 

“Your shift,” you repeat. “You’ve got a lot more on your plate than I do.”

Yuri shakes her head. There’s that small frown creasing her brow again that seems to have been there forever. “Absolutely not. You don’t have to, stupid. You just—” 

She’s always sort of pushing help away. But with you, she refuses it completely. You’ll never understand why.

It doesn’t mean you’ll stop offering. 

“It’s fine, Yuri. Go get some rest or work on that project. I’ll handle it.”

She searches your face for any compromises.  She finds none. “Are you serious?” 

“I’ve never been more serious. Just tell me what to do.”

She still looks hesitant, but the exhaustion is getting to her now. Sometimes she needs to accept help. “Okay, fine,” she concedes, rolling her eyes. “But I owe you big time.” 

“No, you don’t.”

Yuri chuckles, looking very interested in the fabric of her apron. Is she blushing? 

“Usual BS: don’t overload the grinder, Chaeyeon doesn’t like too much cream. The regulars will ask for a Yuri special but it’s just a latte with one of those puppy cookies on the cream." 

You’d take note of how she refuses to meet your eyes but you’re too busy trying to absorb all the information. There are more customers coming in that need your help.

Her boss will probably get her ass for this. But that doesn’t matter. Not now. You occupy yourself with their orders while she sleeps with her cheek against her duffle bag. Occasionally, you make a mistake or two. You forget milk and add too much sugar, the sort of slip-up that would’ve resulted in coffee thrown in your face if The Cuppa were a mega corporation. But within this small café, it seems like Yuri built a community. People understand her. When you explain to them that you’re filling in for her, they tell you that it’s no big deal. You’re doing your best and Yuri’s a good girl. She deserves a break.

(I know, you want to say. I wish she knew that, too.)

Yujin’s not over to help, so you do the honors of closing The Cuppa yourself. You’re left in a bit of a sweat after that shift. As you turn the “CLOSED” banner on its face, you think of the times you barged in here, joking about a free drink and how Yuri, through all her exhaustion, smiled and gave you one anyway. Do you take her for granted? Are you overstepping her boundaries?

She’s still sleeping. Seems like she used your jacket as a blanket, too. It drapes around her small body while her arms curl around her bag. 

It’s so rare to see her put her guard down. The bare-faced vulnerability makes you think about how she looks soft. She looks like someone you could love, if she’d just let you.

Scared to ruin her slumber, you decide to carry her to your  car. It’s not like you haven’t done it before. She sat on your shoulders at that concert. You carried her piggyback in eighth grade. 

And now, she’s all grown up in your arms. 

You could say something poetic about it all. How Yuri’s sitting in your carseat after she left you in her father’s. The way the moonlight pours on her relaxed expression. How you’ve grown up together and then some because, let’s be honest, there remains a whole lot of things you want to do with her.

But words fail you long enough for Yuri to stir awake. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes with her paws. “Did I just…” Yuri gives a small yawn. “Did I just teleport to your car?”

You laugh, sealing the seatbelt over her waist. “You could say that.”

At least somebody entertains her gimmicks. You do it better than anyone. The thought leaves a little warm feeling in her chest. 

“I’m sorry about your hoodie, by the way,” Yuri says. She shyly looks down at your clothes, where they hang loosely on her, smelling of your cologne. “In case you haven’t noticed, it is extremely cold out back.”

“Keep it. It looks better on you.”

“Oh, you flatter me.” She feigns a coquettish gasp, placing a hand on her chest with a gasp. “You’re a real dreamboat.”

You laugh in response as you kick the engine to a start. Your eyes flick to the rearview mirror to navigate the narrow parking lot. It disallows you from witnessing Yuri blush, then turn up her chin and look away. 

-

About that kiss:

It’s October something. You can’t remember what day it was exactly, but you know Yuri’s birthday had just passed. She had turned eighteen and really proud of herself for it. Told everyone that she was an adult and when they pointed out that she wasn’t by Korean standards, she cussed them out. She even put some lip tint on, a gift from her mother. 

But the funniest thing about it all was her purchasing those little canned beers. “I’m an adult now!” she proudly told the man behind the counter, who looked pretty fucking sure he’d sold countless to her the past years. You fled the scene with her before he could make a few calls. 

You and Yuri were still laughing when you finally head to the playground. It’s the furthest you can get from that sleazy store, and the closest you could leave without your parents worrying. Your hands were interlocked and the light wind whips you two around like daffodils. You’re both young. Yuri was still here. Nothing bad has happened to you yet.

“If my dad finds out, he’s gonna kill me,” Yuri said. She’s still giggling. The drink in her hand fizzed before she popped it open. “Gonna grill me about being a proper young lady and all that.”

“I’m sure I can bribe Mr. Soo into keeping his mouth shut.”

“Right, because you’re just charming like that.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, making Yuri laugh. Her laugh echoed into the neighborhood. Some birds nesting in the branches above you flew away. You forgot that it was late. No kids—at least, except the two of you—were playing here at this time. Your next door neighbor’s little girl was nowhere to be found on the swings. 

You took a long drink of the can, tossing your head back. Yuri watched the column of your throat as you drank it. By the time you were done, she had switched her focus to the basketball hoop nailed to a low-hanging board.

“I can’t believe we’re eighteen,” you said. “We have entrance exams just around the corner and we’re getting drunk.”

 “Great start to adulthood!” proclaimed Yuri. She didn’t look all too worried though. “Next thing you know, we’ve got boyfriends and girlfriends. Then we’re getting married.”

You slipped into easy conversation. You could talk about anything with Yuri, and Yuri could run her mouth for days. But you kept reverting back to the marriage topic. It was an odd thing to think about. You had some flings before, some courtships that didn’t last a week. Nothing was too serious anyway. No kissing, no under-the-table petting, no oath of a wedding-banded life together. You didn’t see yourself promising devotion to any of the girls you met before. Funny; you didn’t see that for the future either.

Unless it was—

Yuri leaned against the bark of the tree. She was looking at you with a funny smile, the side of her mouth lifted. No worries were etched into the lines of her skin. She waded through life so easily. She could talk her way through anything with that gentle face. She had nothing to be scared of.

“Crazy,” she said. “The world moves too fast sometimes, doesn’t it?’

It’s an invitation to more than an answer. You could read Jo Yuri like a book. 

But you had nothing to be scared of either.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “it does.”

Then you leaned forward to kiss her. You had to grab the chance while she offered it. And it was like the world stopped spinning too fast, all slowed and focused down to watch your lips on hers.

-

From that moment on, Yuri became a walking, talking contradiction. 

Yuri isn’t easy, you know that. You can’t pry a straight answer out of her if your life depended on it. But why was she acting all brand new? Now, she’s hot and cold, sweet and sour. Cozying up next to you now but completely rejecting you tomorrow. 

When you tried asking Minju and Yena, they only laughed in your face. Yuri blushed furiously in the corner before picking her books up and leaving. She stopped offering coffee and taking walks with you. It was like she morphed back into the young Jjoyul who wanted nothing to do with you. The only thing missing is the resentfulness in her gaze. 

Because even with her distance, Yuri looks at you these days with some kind of… longing. Pain. Love? No, can’t be. There’s so many emotions deep within those coffee-brown eyes yet you can’t quite figure them out.

With each week that passes, more questions fill your head. Usually, she’d tease you about girls who looked your way. Now she glowered when you were even paired with one for a project.

(Like that time she was late to class and you had to do your analysis with a new girl. She had just moved and everybody liked her. Well, everybody except Yuri, it seemed. Ten minutes of her absence made her lose you to some fresh face.

“Hot.”

“Huh?”

“Hot girl you were with up there,” Yuri said later on, arms crossed and looking everywhere but at you. “I heard she’s from Japan. Pretty cool.”

“Uh,” you hesitated. It didn’t sound cool to her at all. “Yeah, I guess. You don’t really find a lot of Yabukis in Korea.”

“I thought you gave up Japanese girls after Sakura.”

“Nako’s my lab partner, Yul, not my fuckbuddy.”

She squinted her eyes into narrow, daunting slits. “Right. Of course.”)

Today, you conveniently share a vacant hour with her, just right after her economics class. Professor Kim is beloved for her early  dismissals. As soon as yours is called off, you go to the library. It’s a large, cold room where you and Yuri usually write your reports. There’s computers, encyclopedias older than you are in there—everything.

You see her in the history aisle. Her head floats behind stacks and stacks of Korean books. This is it. You’re going to march up there and confront her for how distant she’s been, ask her what’s wrong, call her out on her bad behavior-

Oh.

Oh.

Yuri is in the tiniest dress ever, cut just below her hips. The zipper is pulled all the way down. Has her skin always looked that… delectable? The wrap of green fabric makes her legs look like they go on forever, down to those fine strappy heels. Doesn’t help that it’s skintight either, or that it brings out her eyes, or god fuck her waist is actually nonexistent, or how her milky thighs look so fucking—

“Oh, hey there! Hi!” Yuri’s voice is a note higher than usual. Her smile—is that lipgloss?—sparkles brightly. “I was just about to leave but you’re here, so I guess I can stay around.”

You don’t realize you’ve left your jaw on the ground. Yuri’s already beautiful, but today—well, is it okay to say this? Let alone think this? With her new striking blonde hair and the little green dress she’s got going on, she looks… sexy. 

You’re surprised you still have words. “Yuri, we just got dismissed.”

“I’m hanging out with Isa!”

“Isn’t she like, on vacation?” 

Yuri bites her lip. Dang it. Your gaze lingers a little too long on that pouty mouth before you take another forbidden look at the rest of her. The curve of her back into her hips then her ass is deadly. 

Yuri crosses her arms under her chest. You’ve no idea where to look that doesn’t cross the line. Every bit of her is beautiful. There’s her sweet face, the hourglass pinch of her waist, then her plush thighs. Fuck. You should’ve brought sunglasses or just plucked your eyes out. Yeah, that seems better. Anyone in this freezing library can tell you’re gawking at your best friend.

You’re here for business, you remind yourself. Clear your throat. “Why are you avoiding me, Yul?”

Yuri’s suddenly as pale as a ghost. All the color is lost in her face, nearly making the new Barbie blonde dye wash her out. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Then why didn’t you want to commute with me?”

“D-Dad drove me,” she stammers out. And it’s a lie right from the get-go—you know her father. He wouldn’t let her out in a dress like that, especially in front of you. He was quite skittish about you being around for most of Yuri’s growing up. You shook your head adamantly while he suddenly switched the topic around to manipulative boys. He’d talk openly about how you seemed to have a plan to put a ring on her finger.

And right now? Well, you hate to prove the old man right. Yuri looks too damn good. 

“I’m sure you can come up with a better excuse.”

Her eyes flare. “I—I’m not making excuses!”

Her voice cuts through the silence. Jesus, why does she always make a scene? It earns her a disapproving look from the librarian. Some juniors have turned their heads to glare at her. You recognize them as the ones Yuri told you about having too much audacity. Not even bowing to the upperclassmen or using honorifics. You told her she sounded like a grandma and she told you to shut up.

Now, you see her point. Their glares are scathing. One of them turns her chin up loftily after looking at you head to toe, taking note of your shoes and hair.

You’re about to go off at her when Yuri’s soft hands on your shoulders bring you back to earth. She has a way of doing that, doesn’t she? Grounding you, soothing you, reminding you that as long as she’s on this earth she’s tying you down with her. You wonder if you’ve ever done the same for her. 

Open your eyes. Her brows are doing that tense, wrinkling thing again. You want to kiss the fine line away so badly before you remember that it isn’t your place to do so.

“And even if I am,” says Yuri, voice thinned down to a whispered snarl, “that’s the best one you’ll get.”

“Really, Yul? You’re just gonna leave me in the dark?”

“I try my best to look hot for you and all you do is bombard me with questions. Of course I’m not explaining shit.”

“What?”

You finally hold the world record of getting Jo Yuri to shut up. You didn’t think it was possible before, but now, with her blood running cold and her body frozen like a mannequin, you can consider it done.

She’s quite consistent with being a human paradox. Ever on brand. With that silence the librarian can approve of for once, she’s answered all your questions. 

You want to strangle yourself. How the hell did you not know? It wasn’t even a thought in your head. But if you need any more clarification, more confirmation from the shock written on her face—your best friend likes you. She is head over heels in love with you and doesn’t know how to deal with it.

You stare back at her just as bug-eyed. You reel back to the moments she sought your attention, jumping on your back or sneaking a vulgar note with your espresso. Her gossiping with Minju over the phone about a boy. The weeks of blatant avoidance. Her hatred for poor Nako. 

Yuri regains her senses. She pulls her hands away from you as if it burned. “I said I was hanging out with Isa, right? She just landed from Busan.” Each anxious syllable tumbles out of her mouth at a rapid pace. “I’m gonna help her with her luggage and, uh, tell her about the project. Yeah! Wouldn’t want her to fall behind, right? Good. I’ll see you around! Bye!”

-

From Yuri: oh my god i’m getting flashbacks again

IM GONNA DIE THAT WAS SO EMBARRASSING

I actually cannot beleive you convinced me to do that

*beleve

*BELVEE

FUCK

From behind the counter, Yuri shoots Minju a desperate look. She’s lost count of the girl talk they’ve had. That little library fiasco stays in her mind–a lot like you.

Minju is the only one who can understand her humiliation. She spent weeks trying to put Yuri back together, telling her she was fine and you probably thought it was cute. Doesn’t mean Minju can’t laugh at her. She gives her friend a smirk before texting her a cheeky reply.

From Minju: youre the one who was a dumbass and said you wanted to seduce him…dont take your stupidity out on me

She waits for Yuri to peek at her phone screen as she attends to a customer. When she does, she looks furious. Minju pretends not to notice by nursing her frappe.

From Yuri: I DIDN'T SAY I WANTED TO SEDUCE HIM I SAID I WANTED TO LOOK HOT

wording matters bitch

From Minju: and what does ur wanting to be hot imply 🤭

like he’s supposed to believe u picked out the sluttiest most fuckably gorgeous dress in existence becuz you wanted to look hot. JUST to look hot. right.

Yuri glowers. Minju sticks her tongue out at her.

From Yuri: you want me to shove your face into this fryer soooooo bad

i’m gonna kill you one of these days kim minju

no wait he probably thinks i’m a weirdo or like a mega freak

From Minju: ….

wouldn’t he like that? ;)

Yuri wants to ram this plate of chocolate waffles in Minju’s head so badly. How could she crack a joke? Yuri’s been operating on anxiety-fueled adrenaline alone since her accidental confession. It’s intensely serious for her. 

The sweat beads at her fine brow. The nerves are getting to her so bad that she’s sweating in an airconditioned facility. She couldn’t get any more down bad. She wipes it with the back of her wrist as she contemplates apologizing. Lord knows she owes you a lot of it. 

But whenever she sees your face, she starts dying inside. She screwed it all up. If only she’d kept her big fat mouth shut. If only she tried to keep her feelings at bay instead of avoiding them.

She can’t do this.

“Still torturing yourself?” Yena’s strolled up to the counter and leaned against one of the stacked mats. Yuri rolls her eyes. She was the one who suggested she dyed her hair blonde. Look how that turned out.

“Agh, fuck you, Yena.”

“Language.”

“I’m sorry. My brain is just… I can’t stop thinking about it. I wanna die everytime I remember.”

“Have you tried talking to him?” Yena asks. She doesn’t need to answer; the sudden downcast, timid look is enough. She sighs. “Yuri, come on. It's called trying for a reason.”

“What if he tells me he doesn’t want to be friends anymore?”

Yena laughs. Her lipgloss (also the one Yuri wore for that day) shimmers, matching the cardigan she has wrapped around her shoulders. “If you stayed friends after your cute li’l reunion,” she says with a laugh, “then a little crush won’t ruin whatever you have going on.”

“Really?”

“Trust me. Now make me a milkshake.”

Yuri rolls her eyes as Yena gives her a playful wink. At least this will give her something to focus on. Ever since contact between you faded, she lost a lot of good company. No more of those inside jokes, light banter. She finds herself missing your teasing when she’s the only one holding up The Cuppa. You never made her feel like she was alone.

God, she misses you. She might even be okay if you rejected her as long as you were friends again. That’s something she can’t lose.

The whirring of ice drowns out her thoughts. Noise pollution had some purpose after all. After reheating some smores for Minju, who’s taken a liking to them, she adds whipped cream on top of Yena’s milkshake. She loses herself in the smell of sweets, serene music, and the constant noise of the blender.

The fewer the customers that come in, the more Yuri finally relaxes. She looks up at the clock. Her shift is nearly done. Her final order is for the old man who ordered espresso. 

“In a shotglass, will you, honey?” he requested. His smile was warm. “I’m putting off alcohol, but it wouldn’t hurt to look for an alternative, right?”

Easy. Yuri knows what it feels like to hold something off, to search for it anyway in other things. Other people.

She takes a small glass and holds it under the machine. The smell of finely processed coffee beans lights her up. She turns around to place it on a small saucer.

But someone’s hand is already perched near the utensils. It reaches out for the same saucer. And before Yuri can admonish the customer, their hands touch. It feels familiar, like she’s held this hand before. Or had it ruffle her hair and pinch her cheek. 

She looks up and gasps, a tiny, almost imperceptible sound, and yanks her hand back. Speak of the fucking devil, it’s you. 

"Oh my god! Sorry! So sorry!" she stammers, stumbling backward, nearly tripping over her own feet. "I—I didn’t see you, my bad! All yours! Enjoy the… the plate! I meant the saucer!” 

She practically shrieks the last part out, her voice hitting a register you hadn’t heard since she was sixteen and thought you’d missed the bus. 

She’s cute. Her hair is done up in this bun, a few strands falling to drape on her sweater. There are white, cursive words embroidered into the fabric: “call me baby.”

(Well, if she insists?)

“It’s fine,’’ you say. “I just came to get one for Minju.”

Minju waves at the two of you from her seat. You wave back. Behind you, Yuri is certain she’s going to explode. Minju is aware that her drink is a frappe in a cup, right? She doesn’t need a damn saucer.

There’s a tremor running through her right now. Her stomach’s doing that thing again. She’s so lovestruck and it’s so pathetic that she can’t do anything about it. Her friends are watching and you’re standing in front of her and she’s so consumed by the thrill of it all.

“What are you doing here?” 

“We need to talk, Yul. You know we do.” 

The poor thing’s near tears already. You offer her a gentle smile, lowering your gaze so you’re eye-level. You don’t want to make her more nervous than she already is.

She says she’ll finish this shift first. You sit by Minju and Yena as she takes her sweet time cleaning up. Yujin’s already out back tying on her apron to take over. She can wait as long as she likes because Yuri’s suddenly vying for that Employee of the Month title. She polishes the already shining counter, checks the schedule for next week, and asks the old man in the corner twice if he likes his drink. You laugh; it’s an espresso. It’s not like it changes.

Your own shot of espresso finally sits right across you. Her knuckles are white, curling tight as she folds her hands together on the table. Her friends exchange knowing glances.

“So,” you start lightly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Yuri replies quietly. You barely hear it.

“Now I think we can both agree you’ve been acting weird?”

Yena muffles a cackle. Minju punches her in the shoulder. They’re quite enjoying their front row tickets to the cheesiest romance ever. 

Yuri scoffs at this, crossing her arms. “Weird? Me? Never. Besides, I know what you want to talk about and, and I’ve actually been thinking about someone else.”

You smirk. “Really now?” 

Because from the beginning, let’s be honest—through her plethora of crazy exes, filmstar crushes, and the fifty miles that once kept you apart, you were the only one for her. 

And through your plethora of mournful nights, jealous juniors, and the snowy night that brought you back together, you know she’s the only one for you.

There’s no need for lying. You’re always going to stand by her. 

She shoots a quick, almost panicked glance at her friends, then puffs out her chest. “Yeah, there’s this… TA.” The wince she makes at her own lie is maddeningly cute. “He’s really smart, so he’s totally my type, you know. I like smart men in glasses.”

Yena’s laughter interrupts her. She tried her best to contain her giggles but watching Yuri in denial is too funny. Five star comedy of the year, did millions in the box office. 

“A TA? Seriously? Yuri, you’ve never looked at anyone beyond your textbooks and… well, him,” she gestures in your direction. “Since when did you like ‘smart’ guys with glasses? You always said they were boring.”

“Yeah, and you hate glasses!” Minju chimes in, her drink abandoned already. “Remember that time you accidentally wore my reading glasses and said you felt like our mean librarian?”

Yuri surreptitiously mouths vulgarities at them. They’re unbothered, knowing you’ve got her cornered now. They bore hours of her rants about you, your hair, your smile. They think they’re pretty deserving of a break. 

Yuri’s the star actress in the theater club but she can’t improv her way out of this. 

“Sounds like a real catch. What’s his name?”

“Uh, it’s… it’s not important!” Yuri fumbles with her words. “Just know he’s a very attractive, smart, non-you person.”

Her cheeks are practically glowing. You just hum, pretending to be convinced, but a warmth spreads through you. In every little way, even when she’s trapped in her own denial, Yuri makes you smile. She’s a ball of energy. She’s the shot of espresso you can’t get enough of and will come back for again and again.

But she takes her time. She’s been teaching you patience all your life. You had to wait for her to become your friend. You had to wait several lonely years for her to come back to you. 

Now, you have to wait for her to come to terms with those feelings. She’s still trying to drop the habit of putting up a front: cussing when she wants to say something sweet, covering her face when she cries, running from you when the love catches up to her in the most random parts of her day. And that’s fine. It’s okay. You’ll wait forever if you have to. 

So, you smile. You’ll play her game.

“That’s good to know,” you say graciously. “But if you ever need anyone, anything, I’m just here, Yuri. I hope we can still be friends?”

It’s not quite the reaction she’s looking for. She wants you to chase her and be fine if she tells you to go away. After all, she could only get so tired of running. “Y-you don’t want to be more than friends?” 

“Do you?” 

Yena and Minju squeal, holding onto each other for the grand climax. Yuri raises a threatening, fisted paw at them. She looks back at you sheepishly.

“Fine,” she says, raising her chin. “Mr. TA’s probably taken anyway. But that doesn’t mean I like you or anything. I just think you wouldn’t be too bad as a boyfriend.”

That’s the greatest compliment you can get from her. You’ll take it.

-

The first time you suggest karaoke, Yuri’s face goes pink. “Absolutely not,” she says. She sounds offended that you even asked.

She’s still partial to the deal so this is your way of getting her to open up. You thought it was the perfect date idea.

So you’re standing there absolutely dumbfounded. Here’s a girl with the most beautiful voice in the world and a passion for music. She records soft, beautiful demos in that recording studio down the road. She plays the piano, guitar, and almost every instrument you can think of. If she doesn’t know how to play it, she’s definitely learning to. 

You need to know “Why?” 

“My voice is terrible.” 

“Yuri,” you reply slowly, still trying to make sense of it all, “you’re literally in theater.”

“So?” she protests. She raises herself to meet your height (or at least the flat of your shoulders) as best as she can in her heels. “You think just because we’re trying the whole dating thing you can get me to do stuff I don’t wanna do?” 

You laugh. You’ve known her long enough to know her little bursts of rage are simply what they are: short bursts that don’t make her love you any less. And it’s the same on your end, too. You love Yuri—with all her quirks and brattiness and shouts. You wouldn’t trade that for anything.

“Slow down, Yul.” Lean down and cup her small face in your palms. The slightest protest flickers in her expression. However, she doesn’t move. “Of course not. I’m just saying your whole thing is being a great singer so… it’s gonna be fun. Please?”

As much as she has her power over you, you have your own, too. You know what your little touches do to her. Her skin already feels warm under your fingers.

So there you have it: you’re on your umpteenth date with Yuri. Last time you had gone to the cinemas, where she pretended not to cry at the tragic ending. But trust that she spent the ride home with her face buried in your jacket. The date before that, you took her to the museum she talked about wanting to visit. 

You’ll probably spend a fortune on her until she says yes. It doesn’t matter though. You’ll wait forever, grovel at your knees, and dish out your bank accounts if you have to. 

Tonight, the neon sign of the karaoke bar buzzes softly. It’s a pink and blue beacon in the quiet street. Your fingers are interlaced. It’s a completely new sensation with the knowledge that it means something deeper. It seems Yuri has gotten used to it; she squeezes you tighter when she’s surprised, or when she just needs someone.

“Boyfriend and girlfriend, right?” you’d said before, and she’d nodded, a blush creeping up her neck before she muttered, “Don’t make it sound so serious.”

She’s a vision in red, by the way. It’s a small little dress that hugs her hips, complete with knee-high boots. You tell her she looks beautiful even if you risk a slap. You’ll never let her forget. 

Inside, the private booth is a capsule of dim light and velvet seats. Looks clean. It better be for the price you paid. And you still have food waiting to be served. The touchscreen of the large scale TV  glows with an endless menu of songs. There’s the classic Korean trot that tops the charts, and some English ones, too. 

Yuri looks tiny compared to the TV. She’s staring in disbelief at the catalogue, the infinite number of options for bass and echo. 

“You should get first dibs,” you say, nudging her shoulder with yours. 

“Why? So you can laugh at me?” she retorts, but her eyes are sparkling. They don’t even look away from the screen. It means you did a good job. She loves singing more than anything, and with this top tier noraebang, you made her dreams come true.

“Never. Why would I make fun of someone so perfect?”

She rolls her eyes, a classic Yuri deflection. “You’re so cheesy. Don’t say that ever again.” But she doesn’t move away. Instead, she leans into your shoulder, her scent—clean like rain, sweet like something floral you can’t name—wrapping around you.

And please, she can pretend all she wants but she’s a sucker for cheesy pickup lines. 

After a few minutes of playful bickering and a lot of convincing, she selects a song. The title flashes on the screen: Casualty of Love. The familiar instrumental starts. You realize this is one of Yuri’s favorites, some of the many songs she covered on her old phone. The first note plays and she starts to sing.

It stops your world completely.

We may not have all the answers

Oh, I know that we can change some of the things that are beyond our control

You’ve heard her sing before—in practice rooms, humming along to tracks. You knew she was good. But this is not “good.” This is something bigger than you, even bigger than her. Her voice, usually overpowering the loudest speakers when she’s mad, is fragility that steals the air from the room. 

And it’s so odd in the best way possible. You’ve never known her as someone to show this kind of raw vulnerability. Her voice is thick with emotion. It’s like each note she draws out is a line in a story you know too well. 

 And the vision of us may be blurry

Oh, but it’s clear to you. So clear.

But use your heart to see, just follow the beat

The path will lead you back to me

The drawl of her song brings you back to the past. It takes you on a whole journey. You vividly see her wrapped in her hoodie as she was brought away from you, and in the same one when she saw you again in that snowstorm. It just so happened she studies at the same university. It just so happened that pain had to be there to bring her back to you.

Sometimes it’s a game of give and take

You’ll give her anything she wants.

It’s easy to break, but hold on and wait

As long as she’d like.

Have a little faith!

Yuri isn’t looking at the screen anymore. She knows all the lyrics by heart because it’s an echo of her life. It reflects all the little feelings she’s tried to figure out. Those big, beautiful eyes connect with yours. Passion overflows from the bittersweet melody.

I will go down to the last round

I’ll be your strength to find you when you get lost in the crowd

So I’ll stand up tall, if by chance I fall, I’ll go down 

As a casualty of love

The whole song is a love letter to you. She’s mapping the architecture of her heart, and you see your name etched on every wall. There’s no hiding it.

You’re motionless. Your breath is caught somewhere between your chest and throat. The love you feel for her, always present like a motion natural as breathing, expands. She is yours, and you are hers, and this voice is the proof of a soul that is impossibly, wonderfully complex.

The last note hangs heavily before it fades into nothingness. She places the microphone down, her shoulders dropping as if she’s shed a weight. It’s hard for her not to notice the way you’re looking at her right now. Like you’re in love with her or something. You remind her that every time yet it remains a surprise to her.

“It’s… a hard song. The pronunciation is tricky.” 

She doesn’t have to sell herself short. She’s more than you can ask for. Stand up on shaky knees, “You’re fucking breathtaking, Jo Yuri.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It’s just singing.”

 It’s the only time you won’t do something she tells you to do. You’re a slave for all of her. She’s the most gorgeous girl in the world and it pains you that she’d downplay herself like that. You want to tell her she shouldn’t do that. You won’t allow her to.

But talking is her job. She doesn’t stop you when you reach out to kiss her. She fits there, in the space against your heart, where she has always belonged. She’s smiling. She’s perfect. You don’t even see the score.

The graduation party still hums in your veins, a pleasant buzz of cheap champagne and nostalgia. Perhaps not too much of the nostalgia. There are a lot of people you’d fare better without having in your life. You can certainly do without the sadistic physics prof.

Without Yuri? That’s a different question. You’re not losing her again, especially when she looks this damn good.

She makes it all worth it. Holding her hand at the ceremony made you realize how far you’ve come with each other. The little visits at The Cuppa and games with her at midnight have helped you more than she could ever know. You couldn’t have made it without her. Hell, she deserves a name on your certificate for powering you through.

She’s your girlfriend. The love of your life. Your shot of espresso who brought you back into this world because you’ve so much to do with her.

She’s kicking off her heels by the door of your house. It is really fucking hard not to stare at her. For the party, she’s got this tiny pink top, exposing her arms dangling with jewelry and tight stomach. The skinny jeans don’t do much in hiding any skin either. 

Yuri looks fucking delicious.

“So,” she says. Her smile is cheeky as she undoes her earrings. “We did it.”

“We did,” you reply. The space between you feels like a physical thing. You close it.

The corny, reminiscing conversation can be saved for later. You’re focused on just getting your hands on her. And you can tell she wants it so bad, too.  

Because the first kiss isn’t hesitant at all. You’re colliding into each other with all the pent-up frustration. Her lips are soft but insistent, tasting of sugar and champagne. You detect some of her favorite lipbalm, too. Your hands find her waist, pulling her flush against you, and she melts into the contact with a sigh. The heat between your legs causes you to grind against each other, fighting through the clothes. It’s messy from the very start.

You break for air, foreheads resting together. Your voice is rough. “God, Yuri. You have no idea how fucking sexy you are. All night, watching you laugh, that fucking top… I was losing my mind.”

That familiar, challenging glint is back in her eyes. “Took you long enough to do something about it.” But her cheeks are flushed, her breathing uneven.

“Did you really want me to fuck you in the library and get us expelled?”

“No, but if I knew you were this big”—she cups your hardening bulge and you groan—”I would’ve considered it.”

Yuri starts palming you through your pants. Each stroke has you groaning for life against her cheek. You take it as permission to squeeze her plump ass, dragging those ridiculous jeans down. Kiss her again, walking her backwards until her knees hit the edge of your bed. You tumble down together in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

It’s an incredibly sexy sight: Yuri lying back on her arms with only that flimsy top and her matching pink panties. The gaze she’s levelling you with is fucking wicked. You want to pounce on her, get your mouth on those tits, everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

She glances at your cock freed from your clothes and laughs. You’re already leaking. “Impatient much?”

“Impatient? Yuri, I’ve waited a lifetime.”

That shuts her up. Her eyes go wide, then dark. The rest follows—your shirt, her lace, everything—until it’s just skin and heat. You take a moment to just look. Her pale breasts are rising and falling rapidly with each short breath she takes. Her skin is soft and smooth. Each part of her is so pliable and ready for you.

She spreads her legs a little, opening herself up for you. “See something you like?”

“Everything,” you say, and you mean it.

You kiss your way down her body, and her sharp wit dissolves into gasps and moans. They’re not delicate sounds. They’re loud, unfiltered, a little ragged. Start putting your money where your mouth is. A high “ah!” when your tongue finds her hard nipple. Her hold on your hair tightens. You lavish attention on one breast, learning how she likes it, before moving to the other one. You suck a little more firmly, eliciting a low moan that vibrates through her and into you. 

There’s a choked-off curse when your fingers slide through her bare wetness. She’s so fucking turned on and the slick, hot evidence of it makes your head spin.

“Please,” she pants “Now. I need you now.”

You don’t make her ask twice. Even Yuri’s grown tired of waiting. So you guide yourself to her entrance, your eyes locked on hers. There’s a second of perfect, aching tension, and then you push in.

The tight, searing stretch that makes you both groan. You bury your face in her neck, the scent of her perfume and sweat overwhelming. Yuri tries to adjust to your girth but she just squeezes tighter. You start to move, and it’s rough almost immediately, a desperate, driving rhythm born from years of friendship tipping into this. The bedframe knocks a steady beat against the wall.

The rhythm you find is punishing. You swear to god you’re being honest when you say you thought the first time would be romantic. Something straight out of a lovey-dovey novel, just to close off the chapter. If it were up to you, this would go like that. 

But Yuri just does something to you. The alcohol in your systems fuels it. Her pussy grips around you perfectly, a tight sleeve that never lets go. And you can’t even start on how sexy she looks. Your hands find free territory over her bouncing tits. Dip occasionally to her swollen clit. She gets impossibly tighter around you. 

The room fills with the sound of skin against skin, ragged breathing, and the soft, rhythmic creak of the bed. Her pleas in your ear are fragmented, a mix of Korean and breathless, broken mumbles. 

“Fuck,” she breathes out, her head thrown back. “Right there… don’t you dare stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, Yul,” you grit out. You then pull out a little, your dick coated in her wetness. The sound is obscenely wet. “I’m gonna fuck this little pussy until you’re crying.”

Shift her leg higher over your side and snap your hips deeper. The new angle punches a broken cry from her throat. Her voice is a wrecked needy whimper you’ve never heard before.

“Oh, god, daddy! Right there!”

The word is a punch thrown in your gut. It shouldn’t make you feel like this. You didn’t even like being called daddy until you heard that desperate sound from her. Seeing her like this—completely undone, begging, vulnerable—while she calls you that… it sends a brutal surge of heat straight to your core. Your thrusts become more purposeful, harder.

“Say that again.” You don’t recognize your voice anymore. It’s filled with lust. It has infected the rest of your body, from your brain down to the cock that’s ruining her.

“Daddy… you feel so good, daddy. So fucking big inside me.”

You’re both hurtling toward the edge. Her moans are constant now, a sobbing, rhythmic chant of yes, yes, yes. Her body is tightening around you like a coiled spring. It’s stretched to its limits. You feel the exact moment it snaps.

“I’m—d-daddy, oh fuck, oh fuck I’m cumming!”

Her back arches clear off the bed with a raw cry. Yuri’s whole body shakes. Her cunt pulses around you in relentless waves. She clutches at you like you’re the only solid thing in the world. You hold her through it, watching her fall apart. Her cunt still clenches onto you. The sight of her, so thoroughly wrecked and peaceful, is what finally undoes you. A few ragged, deep thrusts later, you follow her over, your own release tearing through you with a groan you feel in your bones.

The only sound is your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city. You’re far too tired to make small talk. Yuri’s still catching her breath beside you.

You can’t move or remember much. It’s the tipsiness biting you back in the ass, you know it. Try to make up for it by kissing your girlfriend on the forehead goodnight. Yuri’s arms wrapped around your neck conjure you sweet dreams. Yuri isn’t crying or alone in them anymore. In this one, she’s still in this small bed with you. She’s not going anywhere.

The crowd echoes its support through another round of deafening cheers. After a moment's hesitation, the young woman reluctantly agrees, being guided by security past the barricade before walking herself up the steps and onto center stage. 

As the woman reveals herself to the thousands strong, the thunderous roar feels louder than usual, with some even calling her out specifically—Yuri—as if she's someone you're supposed to know. Given the general anonymity of your guests, comprised entirely of teenage fangirls and the occasional fanboy, she's not far off from the former. 

But nevermind that; now she's standing right in front of you, your eyes meeting directly once more.

"What's the pretty girl's name?" you ask, holding up the mic in her face.

Someone in the crowd echoes out "Yuri,” drawing another round of resounding cheers. The woman covers her face out of sheer embarrassment. Doesn't seem to be a partner or accompanied by anyone; it's just her, but the way everyone calls out her name makes it now clear she's more than ordinary in an otherwise faceless room.

As you draw the mic back, trying to ease her into it, she utters her own name, modest and low: "Jo Yuri." 

And the patrons roar out their approval again. This unprecedented level of support for an invited fan is something else, something foreign.

"You seem to be quite the popular one here!" you remark, pointing out how everyone's been on her side. Her cheeks are flushed; she keeps her hands close together, head lowered for the most part, trying to look unassuming when the spotlight's on her.

But you're committed to the part, so you keep it pushing: "So—for this part," you start again, breaking the tension, "You know the lyrics to our next song, yeah?"

The guitarist begins strumming to the tune of a familiar song, one that's deemed difficult, if not impossible to cover, but the lyrics convey the ironic relationship you have with your general fanbase. 

Yuri nods along as you hand her your mic and grab a second one from nearby. The crowd relaxes into solemn silence as the stage lights fade, shrinking down to just you and your invited guest as the rest of the instrumental kicks in.

—————

Even after the show's long over, the frenzy's still there.

Emerging from the exit doors, the crowd make themselves loud and clear, standing just outside from a distance, with security posted up at the barricades, coming alive as if you're starting the night all over again. Patient, obsessive hundreds of fangirls lined up in rows willing to die for more, another round, a glimpse, a chance.

A simple glance and wave of acknowledgement in their general direction is more than enough to get them going again, screaming their lungs out, cameras flashing, phones held high, the lot of them.

It's a sight you've gotten used to, the same thing day in, day out. It never gets old, but it does become tiresome at points. They should be going home, not waiting in the freezing cold.

Fuck it, the tour is almost over. You'll oblige.

As security tries to dissuade you from approaching the rabid throng, you assure them it'll be quick. Pulling a pen from your shirt pocket, the guards form a makeshift wall as you step towards the crowd, taking pictures, signing random shit they throw your way (mostly tour merch and albums), ignoring that some of them are down horrendous. You feel the desperation when they pull on your arm, on your shirt, and when they refuse to budge whenever you move away from them. 

It's a lot. It's dangerous. It's why you've stopped doing these public backstage walks, mostly. But the fans have also adapted, through bribery or knowledge of the surroundings, any means to get close to you.

Front row gets majority of the interactions before security decides enough is enough and whisks you away and to the cars. You don't get through to them all. That's to be expected, but it is what it is.

The other bandmates have already left while you stayed behind, meaning it's just you back to your hotel.

And when you return to your room, the adrenaline crashes all at once. The couch has never felt more comfy when you slump back on it. The weight of the world finally seems to ease up, and the deep sigh feels like heavenly relief: no more obsessive crowds, no more nailing songs, just some much needed peace and quiet.

As you pull your phone from your shirt pocket, you notice a thin sheet of paper caught on the phone case. Tearing it away reveals a number and a familiar name: 

> +82 10-XXXX-YYYY

> thanks for inviting me, twas a lotta fun. here's my number if you wanna talk

> jy

If the initials didn't give it away, the note itself is a dead giveaway.

'Jy' was the very same girl you had picked out of the crowd. Yuri. You recall her soft, innocent smile and timid, demure nature before she belted her ass off during the cover. Admittedly, for those four minutes she shared the stage, she overshadowed you. And it wasn’t remotely close.

It's a strange new feeling. And to think she's supposed to be just another fan. 

"Yuri," you mutter, trying to connect the dots. There's more to her than just a pretty face: the way the crowd roared as her presence was reflected on the cameras, how they erupted once she said her name—how they already knew—she's something more.

Against your better judgment, you dial the number. A few tense moments later, an answer:

"Hello?"

"Yuri?"

Her soft, airy laugh fills your ears. "I—I didn't think you'd entertain my number. Thanks again for letting me join you on stage. It was a huge honor."

"Um—I know this might seem sudden but—" You're swallowing your throat, ruminating about the consequences. It's been a while since the last hookup, the last blind bender. One fueled by drugs and alcohol to cope with the stress of touring. Clean ever since, but this—this is a voluntary choice. "Do you have time tonight?"

"Of course." The answer comes out almost immediate, as if she'd been waiting her whole life for this opportunity. "Why? Do you wanna talk?"

—————

"Sorry I don't really have much," you say to your guest, pouring a glass of alcohol on her cup. It was already half empty from the night before. 

Yuri's got the whole act pat down like muscle memory: quiet, reserved, shy. The smile's constantly modest, barely touching her eyes as she sits on the edge of your hotel couch. Her posture is deliberately straight, shoulders slightly hunched inward as if trying to make herself look smaller than she already is. She keeps her gaze low most of the time, only occasionally stealing glances at you through thick lashes that flutter against her porcelain skin.

Even the way she takes the tiniest sip from the glass seems rehearsed: delicate and measured, as if afraid to disturb the shoddily crafted atmosphere between you with something as mundane as thirst.

"I gotta say it one more time," you start, trying to ease her into conversation, "You were fucking amazing. That voice is—something else."

"Thanks," she hushes, deliberately suppressing herself. So maybe it's just Yuri being—Yuri. 

"I mean," You're drinking up the last of your own glass, setting it down with a loud clasp, "You got some of the loudest cheers of any invited fan. At points, I thought you were the one inviting me to perform."

She doesn't say a word; she just smiles. Her blush turns a slight rosy red, hands clasped together, cheeks puffing a little at the flattering comment.

"So after the show ended, we did a bit of searching and—" you pivot on your heel suddenly, her gaze completely avoiding yours, "—turns out you're a singer. An indie singer, but a singer's a singer."

You hold your phone up toward her; the screen displays her Spotify page, with her 526,000 monthly listeners, a step below your band's 4.3 million, but given the crowd's immense reception earlier, she's not just some small-time name. 

"Is there anything else I'm missing?" you ask.

"Well," Yuri sighs a bit, furrowing her brows staring intently at your phone, "I've done some acting here and there."

Suddenly, it clicks. The missing piece. One that got lost in the heat of the moment.

"Wait." You suddenly say, your eyes widening at the realization. "Player 222, right? Squid Game? Fucking loved the show! Hate what they did to your character, but you crushed it."

She simply nods. 

"So," you continue, putting the phone down on the coffee table, "What brought you to our concert? I didn't know the Jo Yuri was a fan of our music."

"Just wanted to catch a good show. A friend had tickets, and she didn't want to go alone, so—"

"Gotcha," you reply, nodding along.

"You had an amazing show, by the way. Like, really good. Loved that you performed my personal favorite song."

"Thank you. Means a lot."

You're smiling. She's far more relaxed now, crossing her leg, her posture still mostly straight, but clearly loosened up. Seeing her now like this—black dress even in the cold, beneath a thick winter coat—she's angelic.

And perhaps that's the point: to not be seen. To not be recognized. To be caught lacking in public during what's meant to be her downtime would bring even more stress than it already is as a celebrity figure. She probably would have preferred being all the way in the back, now that you think about it. The fans—both hers and yours—can't stop talking about her unexpected presence and performance online too, sharing videos and pics that spread like wildfire.

A brutal realization hits: you just brought her unwanted attention that she accepted with nothing but quiet grace. 

"So—sorry, about the little gig," you suddenly say, remorseful and genuine. "I mean—I didn't realize—"

"Okay, let's not get carried away," she interrupts, grabbing your arms and shaking you down to her gaze. "You don't have to apologize for anything. I said it was an honor to join you. And it was nice to sing, even for a little."

You're shaking your head, insisting on the apology. "Right."

"I may be an actress, but I'm a singer first," Yuri suggests, assuring you with that charming little smile that's too good to be true. "I don't forget my roots."

—————

"Not bad," you remark as the instrumental to her recent song ends: very rock sounding, a far cry from her otherwise bubblegum, light fare. You've spent the hour going through her rather small but flavorful discography on the couch. "I can see where the inspiration came from."

"Yeah, wanted to do something different this time," she answers, pressing pause on the music playing through her phone. "But thank you."

"Wish I could say the same for us, but—" you chuckle a bit, rubbing the back of your neck, "We've been running the same formula for a few years now. That new song at the start was us experimenting, you could say."

"Nah, I think you guys are pretty solid. I'm a bigger fan than you'd expect."

"Everyone says that," you say, jokingly.

Yuri raises a puzzled brow. "Really?"

"Nah. I'm just playing; you're the first one to say that. Or third. I don't know anymore. I've lost count."

She laughs. The softness in it—ugh. It pulls on your heartstrings.

"So," Yuri starts again, placing the phone down, "How does the rest of the night go?"

"Well," you sigh, leaning back on the couch. "It's whatever you want. We can keep talking shop, or we can call it a night. Either of those options is fine by me."

"Very bold to say that straight to my face," she remarks. "So the rumors are true."

"Rumors?"

"Don't act like you don't know." The atmosphere has shifted now, her grin going from modest to coy. "You're a fuckboy, they say."

Shit. She may be more than just a fan after all.

"Where'd you get that from," you ask.

"I don't know. Just some accounts describing situations like this: making your guest feel comfortable, getting rather intimate, and then, you know—"

"Hey. They didn't say no," you interrupt. No pretense, no hiding. The tone makes it clear: you've been through this before. "And no, I didn't have them sign NDAs and all that shit. Too much paperwork. Not a damn peep other than some snarky comment about finishing too soon."

Yuri laughs. "Makes for good songwriting inspo, though."

The chuckle you let out is priceless. Like breaking character. It's funny cause it's true.

"Would you?"

"I don't know. Try me."

She raises the challenge; from this point, the chains are completely off.

Yuri sees it coming a mile away: the inevitable. Yet she doesn't resist or budge when you lean in and kiss her. You're backing her against the couch, her chin cupped in your grasp, breaths smelling like alcohol and mint all at once. She closes her eyes and lets it sink in; further and further you assert yourself over her, like the stakes have never been higher. 

Because she's no ordinary fan and should be treated as such. She doesn't come onto you like the typical groupie begging to be slutted out; she's daring you to prove something: that you're not just another performer looking to notch another conquest on your tour belt, that you see beyond the carefully constructed facade, that you recognize the talent and raw potential beneath the shy exterior. 

She's testing you, seeing if you'll crumble under the weight of her gaze or rise to meet it with equal intensity.

And the way her legs wrap on your waist, you're matching her level. Or maybe she's stooping down to yours.

The careful, casual facade disappears with each kiss, turning rougher and rougher, trading rational thought for pure, primal instinct. While both your hands are pressed on her warm, blooming face, she's wrestling on the fabric of your shirt, sighing as air escapes her lips, demanding breathing room that you subtly allow back in.

"For a self-professed fuckboy, you sure kiss like a goddamn lover," is the best possible way she can describe it, and hearing it straight from her saccharine voice is something else. Validation.

"Let's see how well you take it, then," you tease, pulling her so close that your temples meet.

She tilts her head, conceding the expanse of her neck. "I'm ready whenever."

Your hand slides across the length of her luscious thigh, moving up and down, squeezing, feeling, savoring the warmth and the smoothness of her skin. Yuri shudders, her grip tightening, her teeth sinking into her lip. All that creamy flesh under the slimmest of dresses beneath.

"Someone's sensitive," you mumble, breath hot, trailing soft pecks down to her collarbone. 

"Could say the same about you," she sighs, her hand finding your groin and the bulge growing behind your pants.

Using your strength, you scoop Yuri into your arms, continuously making out with her as you lead her to the bedroom, setting her down just in front of the mattress itself. As you transition between rooms, you loosen her bun and let her raven colored hair down.

Next, you're undressing in a quick, rushed manner. How she casually slips off her black dress down to her bra while you make light work of your shirt, belt, and jeans, puddling your clothes together into a single large messy pool on the floor—it's curt, economical, clearly screaming to get on with the sex and focus less on the romance of it all. 

You both know the deal and how it ends; this night will be an afterthought soon after.

But the way you admire her body, and the way she admires yours is a momentary respite from the raw carnality.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," you remark, drinking in the sight of her almost bare, utterly divine form. The way her bra emphasizes her shapely breasts contrasting her petite frame—Christ.

You're kissing her again, a little harder, a little faster, a little more intense. Her hands are around your neck, her body pressed against yours, her nipples hard, poking through the thin fabric. Yuri seems to understand, reaching back to unclasp the bra, letting you bite the center gore off and tossed aside.

When your fingers hook on the hem of her panties, she's already wet, and she moans slightly, shuddering, her thighs clamping on your wrist.

"Want it bad now, do we?" you tease, slipping a digit between the obstructive piece of clothing and feeling her core, freshly slick and aroused.

Yuri doesn't respond with words; she answers with action.

Dragging you down onto the sheets with her, you crash and freefall together, falling on top of her like loose pieces of an incomplete puzzle. Then you capture her lips in another passionate kiss, her nails raking your scalp and neck, while your hands are reaching around the expanse of her back.

Passionate and needy, you can't stop making out, as your bodies tangle up beyond saving.

Her hands snake down your chest, past your stomach, until they reach your boxers. Staking her claim, her fingers tug on the elastic band and yank them down, letting your cock spring free, hitting close to her inner thigh.

"Look who's eager," you whisper, your breath hot and heavy, hovering above her. She keens.

"Maybe I am," she mutters, her hand wrapping around your girth, stroking the shaft slowly, her thumb swiping your tip.

"Fuck," you groan, the sensation sending shivers throughout your body.

"Like that?" Yuri teases, eyes fluttering, gasping for air. She doesn't relent; her strokes pick up speed, her thumb rubbing the head, the precum oozing out, inking her fingerprints.

"C'mon," you say, snatching her wrist. "Enough teasing. Let me—"

"Just getting it ready," she quips, smirking devilishly, that air of modesty now a weapon turned against you. "Easy now—"

Your mind blanks out on that last bit, because you slip into her cunt gradually, drawing a groan from her lips that feels rather heavy.

"Shit—too big—too big—" Yuri grunts out, her eyes slamming shut, the sensation of your cock entering her too much to bear.

The adrenaline consumes you; the euphoric embrace of her welcoming, tight walls overrides any rational thought. You're slamming into her slick folds effortlessly, each thrust driving you further into her warm, suffocating heat. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, her ragged breaths and your guttural groans its own musical chaos that feels just right. 

"Yes—fuck—fuck yes—" she whines, lifting a leg, pressing it on your waist. All the more reason to fuck her senseless.

This is both reward and relapse; the kind of nights you live for and regret; what the songs are inspired by. It's why you do this shit, and also why you drink, smoke, and have sex to cope when the lights fade. It's the rockstar lifestyle that they glorified back then but condemn now; fucking your choice of groupie or girl, sometimes two or three (maybe at once), keep it on the low. The rumors are indeed true; you'll fuck the lights out of the girl tonight and forget about her the next day. You'll get on that plane and do it again twice more in Singapore and Manila before it's done, and this is what you'll miss the most when the tour wraps. 

But fucking Yuri—the Jo Yuri—seeing, hearing her gasping, shaking and pleading for more, is the ideal victory lap.

"God, you're so fucking sexy," you murmur, kissing her forehead. Groaning against her temple, your thrusts are relentless.

"Yes, yes, yes," is her only response, her hips rolling, bucking, her back arching. Eyes closed, letting the pleasure utterly consume her entire being.

"So damn tight," you growl, bottoming out, her pussy wrapped around your cock. "Fuck—fuck—so good—"

The way your body naturally moves when she begs—faster, harder—and you effortlessly give her what she wants. It's so fucked; the girl would usually fold to your whims, but this—is something else. And not just because Yuri is—well, Jo Yuri—rather, how goddamn incredible this feeling is. More than the usual ecstasy of letting loose after a stressful couple of hours. For once, you're not rushing, not dying to get to the climax and pass out; but instead, you're savoring every thrust, every moan, every bounce of her breasts, every slap of flesh against hers like this is truly the last one. 

It makes for great cold turkey against your vices, yet it's as addicting as all of them combined.

"Ah—baby—I'm—close—" she pants between gritted teeth, trying to find some semblance of composure, but not quite.

"Not yet—" you mutter out, desperate not to let this fleeting moment pass so quickly, "Not yet. Cum only when I tell you to."

"Oh God—"

The cry Yuri lets out is complete anguish and despair, the kind that brooks no argument. Not a want, but need.

It feels cruel to demand such a twisted thing from someone as demure as Yuri, like stripping a goddess of her divinity. Yet you call all the shots, reminding her—and yourself—of how the game is played.

"I—I can't," she whines, her mouth agape, head lolled all the way back. "Can't—hold—"

"Trust me baby, it's gonna be all right," you assure her, but the strokes you pump into her are anything but comforting. If anything, it's coaxing her into an earlier demise. "Need you—just a little longer—"

"Please, please, please," she mutters back, beyond overwhelmed by the sensation coursing through her veins. Tears are welling from her eyes. 

"Almost—" You manage to utter, crashing your lips hard into hers, trying to keep it together, but for only a moment.

Losing grip on reality with each passing second, your loins feeling like hell, the coil threatens to snap at any given time. Still, you're hammering into her with reckless abandon, one leg raised, pumping from that same angle with the exact same result. Everything else feels irrelevant; only the climax, the taste of bliss on the other side is what matters right now.

"Look at me," you command; not a request, but a demand.

Yuri struggles. Ecstasy overriding her senses, unable to follow even the simplest of orders. Her head's all over the place, scrambling to open, to find clarity, to find you. It's pain, punishment, and pleasure all at once. 

And when she focuses, locks gazes for a split second—

"Cum."

The singular command activates something in her.

A raw, primal scream tears from her throat as her body arches violently against yours, back bowing so deeply you fear she might break. Her eyes, wide with shock and overwhelming pleasure, fixate on your tired gaze for a moment before closing once more. 

Her leg goes limp, falling back down to the bed, as her orgasm ripples through every muscle, every nerve in her now slack body. Turning into a melting heap beneath you, watching a woman fold like this, especially now that it's Yuri—it never gets old. Every single time. 

As waves of her slick coat your cock and spill onto the sheets, you don't stop moving. If anything, it only coaxes you to follow sooner. 

When your own climax finally comes moments later, the feeling is its own reward.

Her pussy hungrily swallows your load, wasting not a single drop as you bottom out and bury yourself to the hilt. Resting your head against her neck, leaving a mark on her skin with your teeth for good measure as you slam into her cunt one last time. 

All that leftover adrenaline dies right then and there, and your bodies become one satisfied puddle on the bed. 

Hours ago, your ears were filled with screams and loud music. Now, it's only deep breaths and satisfied sighs.

————— A phone ringing breaks your otherworldly daze. Not yours.

Hers.

Sighing, your grip on Yuri's hair loosens while she works your cock with her pretty mouth. On her knees while you’re seated on the couch, her lips are glossy stained with your cum, spreading to her cheek, chin, and even down to her chest. 

"3 AM," is all you manage to groan out, annoyed by the audacity for someone to call at this ungodly hour. Either you were deeply passed out drunk or in the middle of writing new songs around this time. But not tonight. Not when you can't feel your legs. And it's all thanks to Yuri.

Her airy hum reverberates through your bones as she releases you from her mouth with a sloppy pop, reaching for the buzzing phone on the coffee table. "Hello?"

The room momentarily goes silent, save for the hushed chatter between Yuri and the anonymous caller. She only answers in simple 'hmms,' nods, head shakes, and 'okays.'

"Yeah. I'll be fine. I just—wanted some late night coffee. I'm already home," she says, adding "Goodnight," before hanging up.

"Who was that?" you mutter, sounding borderline drunk, tipping on the point of stuttering.

"Just a friend," she says casually, setting the phone back down on the table. "You know, she really wanted to be on that stage. Instead of—"

"Of you," you finish her sentence, smiling at the cruelty of it all. You wouldn't have it any other way.

"I mean, she's more of a fan of your music than I am," she admits. “She has a poster in her bedroom.”

"And why was she calling at this ungodly hour?" you ask.

"Wondered where I disappeared to," she answers, blunt and to the point. No lies, no sugarcoating. "When you called, I just—left her."

"And you didn't say anything? Not even a clue?"

Yuri shakes her head vehemently. "No."

"And why didn’t you tell her?"

"Because," she sighs, closing her eyes for a moment, a smile subtly forming. This modest tone feels foreign and unusual now that you've come to know her rather intimately. It's like seeing a whole different person, even though both sides are one and the same. 

"Hehe... suddenly, I remembered when Yuri stayed over at my house..."

"Oh, about that time..."

"Yes, Miss... finally, I can see your body again... hehe..."

"You idiot..."

Y/N cut off Yuri's words. Their kiss was passionate and full of lust. Both missed each other's intimacy. Y/N devoured Yuri's lips mercilessly, the beautiful girl who had been his outlet for his lust for four years. Y/N already considered Yuri his wife and her beautiful body was only for him.

Y/N spread Yuri's buttocks, and two fingers immediately slipped into her anus without permission. Yuri's body suddenly lurched forward, surprised by the unexpected thrust. Y/N stopped his advance and stood slightly to the side.

"Oohhh...ummhh...goodhhh..." The pleasure was incredible for Yuri, as Y/N worked her anus and vagina simultaneously. The moans that escaped Yuri's mouth became like a war drum for Y/N, growing more passionate and lustful, and Y/N's fingers entered and exited her vagina and anus with maximum acceleration. Yuri couldn't take it anymore; she clung to Y/N and released her pleasure. Yuri's vaginal fluids poured out onto the floor after Y/N withdrew his fingers from her two holes. Y/N didn't mind wasting Yuri's vaginal fluids.

Y/N knew that her beautiful, fragrant vagina was for him alone. She could be devoured, poked, or do whatever she wanted because her owner had given her private area to Y/N.

"Y/N, you are so rude just went for it...", Yuri said coquettishly.

"Hehe... I was just checking... turns out Yuri's pussy is still tight... hehe...".

"Y/N... how could you forget... I don’t like that word...".

"Oh yeah... sorry babe...". Y/N took off his t-shirt. Like a good wife, Yuri squatted down to help Y/N remove his pants and boxers. Y/N's musty, pungent crotch was familiar to Yuri. Yuri gently held Y/N's penis, both hands gripping his long, thick member. Yuri missed Y/N's manhood so much. After two years apart from the penis that had been her lifelong companion for four years, Yuri could say she had grown up alongside it.

"It seems like Y/N's has gotten bigger, huh?" Yuri said, as she passionately kissed Y/N's entire length from the base to the tip.

"Is that true, babe?"

"Yes, I remember perfectly. It used to be only this big..." Yuri reached the neck of Y/N's penis.

"How come you remember?"

"How could I not remember? I was shown Y/N's every day, even back then..."

"Oh, yes..." Yuri used both hands to massage Y/N's penis. Then she pushed it toward his stomach.

"Yes, babe...there...it feels good..." Y/N moaned in pleasure as Yuri continued to use her tongue to tickle the crease between his shaft and his balls. Y/N thoroughly enjoyed Yuri's oral play, which was now alternately sucking on both of his testicles. Then, Yuri licked every inch of Y/N's penis. Y/N writhed in a mixture of amusement and pleasure as Yuri continued to tickle his urethra.

Yuri took Y/N's penis into her mouth until it reached the base of her throat. It was incredibly warm. Her head moved back and forth, jerking Y/N's penis. Tired of sucking, Yuri licked again until his groin and thighs were soaked with her saliva. Consumed by the fire of lust, Yuri didn't realize how long Y/N's penis had been receiving special treatment from her mouth. Y/N held back desperately, not wanting to disturb Yuri, who seemed to be enjoying her karaoke session. Yuri finally came to when she felt Y/N's throbbing penis in her mouth. Yuri stopped what she was doing because she knew neither she nor Y/N wanted their "reunion" to pass quickly.

"Ahh... why didn't you tell me... you were almost out..."

"I mean... babe... it seemed... really... fun...", Y/N said breathlessly.

"Oh, babe... I'm sorry... I got carried away... hehe...".

"Yeah... it's okay... baby...", Y/N stroked Yuri's long, soft, and beautiful flowing hair.

Back when Yuri was still with him, Y/N's crotch was always soaking wet like it was now because Yuri always "cleaned" his crotch every day. Yuri sat on the edge of the bed. Y/N stared at her face. Beautiful, too beautiful to be Y/N's sex slave. But what can you say, fate has its blessings.

Meanwhile, Yuri was already at her knees before Y/N's prowess. Yuri's body belonged entirely to him. Y/N gently pushed Yuri down until she was lying on her back. The warm, passionate, and lustful kisses continued.

"Hmmm..." Kisses and licks landed all over Yuri's upper body without exception. Both of her nipples had been thoroughly sucked by Y/N. Both of her breasts were covered in his saliva. Y/N lifted Yuri's legs onto the bed and spread them wide, forming an M shape.

"Oooh..." Yuri moaned, writhing as Y/N began to invade her vagina.

Her clitoris, groin, and every inch of her vagina were completely covered by Y/N's tongue. Yuri experienced a powerful orgasm. It had been a long time since Y/N, someone who knew and knew her intimate areas, had cleaned her vagina. Yuri's vagina released its essence. Yuri's fluid tasted like honey to Y/N, truly sweet and refreshing to the throat. Yuri could do nothing but surrender as Y/N wouldn't stop licking her vagina. It seemed his thirst for Yuri's vaginal fluids hadn't been quenched. Yuri happily gave Y/N two more drinks. Afterward, Y/N shared the vaginal fluid with its owner through his mouth while guiding his penis into her vagina.

"Mmffhh...", Yuri moaned, muffled by Y/N's lips. Yuri savored every inch of Y/N's penis as it continued to penetrate her womb.

"Oooh...", Yuri moaned silently, now she could feel Y/N's penis again, which had been so long since it had filled her vagina.

Y/N felt immense relief, finally feeling the warmth and tightness he had longed for. The penis began to move, sliding out only to re-enter, and entering only to re-exit. Y/N rocked while continuing to thrust his hips forward and backward. Yuri's legs wrapped tightly around Y/N's waist, preventing him from withdrawing his penis. Yuri babbled incoherently, moaning wildly and freely. Excited by Yuri's voice, Y/N thrust his penis forcefully into Yuri's vagina. Yuri reached another peak of pleasure, even though Y/N remained perfectly still, stirring her vagina. Y/N's penis slid in faster and faster due to the pent-up fluids from Yuri's vagina, and he couldn't control his penis. His penis kept pushing in until it couldn't go any further, reaching its limit, reaching its full potential. Y/N opened Yuri's legs, which had been wrapped around his waist. Yuri's vaginal fluid, which had been held back by Y/N's penis, immediately flowed out of her vagina.

Yuri smiled sweetly as Y/N's blunt object pressed against the entrance to her anus. Yuri closed her eyes, appreciating and experiencing every millimeter of Y/N's penis as it penetrated her anus.

"Aaahh…" Yuri moaned as Y/N's penis was fully inserted and enmeshed in her anus. Starting slowly, Y/N's penis gradually accelerated in and out of Yuri's anus. Both of his hands also engaged in their own activities. He used his left hand to massage, rub, and play with Yuri's clitoris. His right hand was responsible for "nurturing" Yuri's supple breasts. Unable to withstand the intense stimulation, another orgasm swept through Yuri's body. Yuri's vagina became increasingly flooded with her own vaginal fluids. As usual, Y/N remained still during Yuri's orgasm to allow her to fully experience it. Y/N's penis returned to its favorite spot: Yuri's vagina.

Y/N lifted Yuri, who immediately wrapped her arms around his neck to prevent her from falling. Y/N then took Yuri for a walk around the room without standing on her own two feet. He pressed her body against the wall to pump her vagina. Yuri wasn't afraid of falling because she knew Y/N's penis, embedded in her vagina, would be enough to support her. Not long after they were in this position, Y/N felt his penis wasn't fully penetrating Yuri's vagina. They both returned to the bed, Y/N laying Yuri down without withdrawing his penis. He pushed Yuri's legs forward and pumped her vagina while half-standing. Yuri shook her head in pure pleasure; Y/N's penis felt even more penetrating in this position.

"Oooh...uuhhh..oohhh.."

"Mmhh...ennghh..." Their moans grew shorter and shorter as they both raced towards the final peak of pleasure.

"OKKHHHH!!!" moaned Y/N, finally releasing his longing, as his sperm flowed freely into Yuri's womb.

"AAAAHHHH!!" Yuri orgasmed from the shot after shot of Y/N's sperm inside her womb. It felt so warm and comfortable in her vagina.

Y/N's penis came out on its own, as if vomited by Yuri's vagina, having done its job well. Y/N used his right thigh to support Yuri's bottom and placed both of her legs on his shoulders. Y/N spread Yuri's vaginal lips, peering inside as if to witness the final moments before his sperm was swallowed by her vagina. Furthermore, Y/N wanted to ensure none of his sperm was wasted and that it reached the right place to complete its task: fertilizing Yuri's egg. Yuri could do nothing but surrender, even though her back ached somewhat in that position.

Y/N had always wanted to have children with Yuri. He was curious, wanting to see what a child would look like if their mother were as beautiful as Yuri. However, Yuri wouldn't allow Y/N to ejaculate into her womb, fearing that she would become pregnant and lose her future. However, Yuri promised before they separated two years ago that she would allow Y/N to fill her womb with the seeds of their love. With Yuri's vagina protruding upwards, Y/N's sperm naturally wouldn't escape. Then, Y/N lowered Yuri's body and lay down beside her. They both caught their breath and gazed at each other lovingly. Deep in their hearts, they were ready to take their relationship, which had initially been purely physical and for pleasure, to the next level: becoming husband and wife.

With her stunningly beautiful face, he would never tire of looking at her, and it would certainly be a source of pride to marry such a beautiful woman. Another important point was that Yuri knew how to satisfy him in bed. The question was, why did she want to be Y/N's wife? Perhaps it was because he had been with her for so long. Y/N wasn't just Yuri's "playmate," he was also a good confidant. Yuri shared her frustration, sadness, happiness, and other feelings with Y/N, as she couldn't share them with her busy parents or with her normal colleagues. Yuri's friends took her concerns lightly, unlike Y/N, who seemed to share the same feelings as Yuri. So it's no surprise that Yuri loved to confide in him.

Although Y/N couldn't teach her or provide solutions for her career problems, he always provided the right solutions for her life's problems. Perhaps all of these reasons made Yuri feel comfortable around Y/N. Isn't that the kind of comfort you need when looking for a partner, Yuri thought, so Y/N's appearance no longer mattered.

=============================================

“I miss moments like these more than anything.”

It’s been years since you last spoke to her. Naturally, you’re absolutely dreading the thought of seeing her again.

Your meeting spot of choice—a shitty dive bar 10 minutes away from your house. Not the most glamorous setting for a reunion, but it’s familiar territory and you know the owner will cut you some slack if this ends up going poorly as expected. So, win-win, probably.

You’re nursing a cheap beer, taking careful sips to avoid getting shit-faced before you’ve even laid eyes on her, and stealing constant glances at the door. It doesn’t help that her most recent social media post is from several months ago, so you’re not really sure what to expect. Hell, the last time you’ve seen her properly was high school graduation. She was practically drowning in her gown, a hand-me-down from her older sister who had, evidently, gotten the better half of the genetic lottery.

 You grin at the thought. Maybe seeing her again won’t be so bad.

“Hey, you!”

Your ears perk up immediately at the sound of her voice—sweet and soft like marshmallows. The second you lay eyes on her, all that anxiety goes away as you’re suddenly transported back to your youth, where everyday was another adventure spent together. All of those years apart, gone in the blink of an eye.

“Yuri,” you utter her name with a smile, “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

She pulls you into a hug, the contours of her figure imprinted into your mind like a memory. Even after all these years, she still hasn’t grown an inch.

“How have you been?” she asks, her voice muffled against your chest.

“I’ve been, uh… fine.”

Yuri slaps your chest. “Just ‘fine’? Come on, be more specific than that!” She slides into the seat across from you with that impish grin, tapping the table impatiently as she waits for you to spill your life story. “We got five years of catching up to do, let’s go, slowpoke!”

You can’t help but chuckle at her antics. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Why change what’s already perfect?” Yup, still the same Yuri as ever.

So, you talk, and talk, and talk, exchanging tales about that one failed food truck idea you had while she counters with the time she ended up performing unknowingly at an old folk’s home. Talk about that one week in uni where you almost dropped out, and she’ll tell you about the weekend she spent in Copenhagen with food poisoning. She’ll ask about your love life, so you go on about the excruciating month and half spent in a situationship that you’re sure shaved off a good five years off the end of your life. Yuri will say she hasn’t dated at all, and you believe her because you know she’s never liked feeling tied down.

Talk and talk and talk until all the gaps are filled and there’s nothing but reminiscing to do. By then, all the patrons will be gone, chairs stacked onto tables, and the bartender cleaning a glass for far longer than he needs to be doing. You’d like to think he’s just stalling to give you two some more time, but the annoyed twitch in his eye tells you otherwise.

“It’s getting late,” you utter, checking your watch. “It was really nice getting to catch up with you like this.”

Yuri nods, cheeks warm with a couple beers (your treat, of course). “It really was. I…” She bites her lip, her gaze veering to the side like she’s avoiding something.

“What is it? C’mon, spit it out.” You nudge her foot under the table, producing a soft laugh from her lips. You’ve missed that sound more than you care to admit.

“I just… God, this is so corny.” Yuri hides her face in her palms, hints of pink peeking through her fingers. “I missed this. You. I missed talking to you for hours about everything and nothing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She uncovers her face, cheeks now redder than ever, yet her smile is the only thing you notice. “Don’t get me wrong, traveling around the world is so much fun, but… I miss moments like these more than anything, y’know?”

“And what kind of ‘moment’ would this be?”

“You know, like…” Yuri gestures to the now empty bar, glancing around the room like the right words are hiding somewhere inside. “...I don’t know how to explain. It’s just nice.”

You can’t help but chuckle at her. “I think I get the idea.”

“No one else would,” she grins.

The bartender clears his throat, capturing both of your attentions, and jabs a finger at the clock that reads 1:07 in the morning. You and Yuri quickly gather your things, shooting a rushed apology behind you as you step into the chilly autumn air.

Yuri shivers, rubbing her hands against her arms. “I hope I didn’t get you banned for overstaying,” she utters.

“I’m one of his only regulars, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you reply. As the cool air breezes past, Yuri meets your eyes, and for the first time all night, she doesn’t speak. And for once, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence. Her lip twitches like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t need to—you know her better than anybody. You know what she wants to say.

“Well,” her gaze falls to the ground, “I think I should go find a taxi or something. It was really nice seeing you again.”

As she turns to leave, you grab her wrist before you can give it a second thought. “Hey, uh… Do you maybe wanna come back to my place?”

Her eyes widen just a smidge before her lips curl into that impish grin of hers. “Why? What do you plan on doing with me?” she asks, dramatically covering up her chest.

“Not like that, you perv,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “It’s late and my place isn’t too far from here.”

“And…?” She squints her eyes playfully like she’s trying to uncover some dirty secret hidden in your mind.

“And… I don’t really feel like saying goodbye just yet,” you admit, a flash of heat hitting your cheeks.

Yuri smiles at you—a real smile. No teasing or poking fun at you. Just genuine happiness displayed on her face. “Okay.” She takes your hand, her small fingers filling in the gaps between yours. “Lead the way.”

“Come on, nerd, you need the fresh air. It’ll be fun, stick with us.” Hanbin nudges you from your other side, making you drop your kimchi back onto your lunchbox. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, “We’ll find you a fineshyt to grind with on the day.”

“What? It’s not that—” and the table erupts in teasing and jeers. A round of laughter follows, but you were always touchy with it, even if you never really showed or said. At least, not in front of…

Yuri dusts off her pants, “Gotta go, next class,” and scurries off while still chewing without another word. You have to follow, because it's your class too—albeit being thirty minutes too soon—anything to get out of the situation. Once you get up though, your ears catch the slightest hints of gossip behind you from your friends, punctuated with the usual tones of teasing and tomfoolery only your friends could ever, ever make, and you shake your head at them. What else were you supposed to do?

Instead of paying them any more mind, “Hey, busy on the day?” as you jog to match her pace.

“No, I’m just… I don’t wanna.” And despite the earlier brisk steps, she slows to a more comfortable rhythm. “Not like I have the funds to put an outfit together, can’t just pop back home and find something nice to wear.” 

“What, that’s all? Ryujin must have something your size—”

“And… I’m not looking for a teary goodbye.” 

She’s right, you have to admit, though the realization is less than pleasant; much more so to Yuri who’s probably had this weighing on her since the announcement. 

“I want quiet ones, with each of you, separately. It’s just… I’ll miss you all. There’s a lot of stuff I want you all to know,” and you can feel the subtle shaking in her voice as she says it, “especially you.”

You concede, “Okay, okay,” falling finally into an easy pace with her towards the class you know won’t even miss you. “When were you leaving again?”

“Just a month after the end of sem. Then I’ll help with all the logistics like packing and plane tickets, which’ll take about a month or two—don’t visit, house will be messy,” she shoots you a glare, ”I’d love to come to the homecoming, seriously, but I just don’t have it in me right now.” 

One last try to convince her, “I mean, really, Ryujin would have something you can borrow. And if you really think about it, won’t that be a good stage for goodbyes?”

She ponders for a bit, as if scared to commit to anything she can’t uphold, so you offer her a little more, “Come on, I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun. Plus, there’s a call for volunteers. If you wanna do that too, I’ll be right there with you. I want you to come, so please?”

~~

“Hey, what's the first—Whoa,” she gasps out loud, looking you up and down. Yuri's wrapped herself in a gorgeous brown dress that'd never catch anyone else's eye, hugging her body not at all too tight, but still doing long-overdue justice to the curves she’d always tried to hide. The deep sunset hue that bathes what she calls the bad side of her face makes her glow in only the most ethereal light, and the way her deep, dark hair falls around her face to make a perfect frame of her gorgeous features is nothing short of magnificent. 

And you're staring.

“Uh, yeah, ready.” Your gaze shoots down to the floor, inadvertently to her cute shin-high boots that somehow make her look taller than she has any right to. You can't deny the warmth that spreads across your cheeks, nor the jitters you just got from the half-second spent looking her in the eye, but if she noticed, she didn't say anything. All she does is push her hair behind her ear, pick up her guitar case, start to walk in step with you. It's a short, silent couple minutes down the stairs and back to your car, punctuated only by commas of footsteps and the occasional colon of a throat being cleared. 

Engine starts, and you're off to the last time you'll ever see her, again. You want to say something, anything—“The first thing,” you scramble to recall, not at all distracted in any way, shape or form whatsoever, “we… sign off on inventory. You took the floor? Tables and setting?”

“Yeah, and you took backroom?” She doesn’t meet your eyes, but you figure she doesn’t need to. 

“Mhm” is all you need to say back. 

It’s not really anything: you’re only vaguely aware of the way your shirt sleeves cover your arms, and how your jacket sleeves cover your shirt sleeves. There’s friction there where there shouldn’t be, or that the friction isn’t something you think you could get used to. Your leather shoes feel loose in some spots and tight everywhere else, so unlike the usual sneakers you have on. And it doesn’t help that Yuri is right next to you, looking every bit as pretty as she always is, but wearing the lightest makeup and in the nicest clothes you've ever seen her in.

You can afford a momentary distraction at a red light, can’t you? Look over to your side, find her having pulled down the sun visor and going through some routine of checking her cheeks and lashes. Just a touch more liptint dabbed gently yet firmly with her pinky, a light swish of her bangs back into place, and the tiny smiles and poses she’d always do when she was faced with a mirror and a challenge she had yet to figure out how to overcome. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just… nervous. Big event.” Yuri settles back into the seat, sun visor flipping up a bit too gently to reach up all the way. But her eyes land back on the road, as the light turns from red back to yellow and finally back to green, and she lets out a deep breath of something or other just as the car jerks forward. 

“It’s just homecoming, not even ours.” Just as the words leave your mouth, you regret it; you were always one to downplay, but not to others, especially not to her—

She giggles anyway. “Yeah, I don't know why my nerves are acting up. Maybe just some other stuff going on.”

Both you and she relax, with the sounds of a dusk-riddled urban Saturday evening filling the voids of silence. You settle, same as her, and the nerves don't seem as bad—not even yours. 

“Actually, I’ve got something on my mind.” She fidgets with the gingerbread keychain she keeps on the strap of her bag, trying to form the words in her head while her lips stay clamped, and with your eyes back on the road you can only imagine what could be so important that she can’t just tell you like she always does. 

“Just… I wouldn’t be here, staying out late, doing this, if it wasn’t for you. And I really, really… think this is gonna be fun. You know, besides all the work, it’s gonna be fun to see our friends, and the alums, and the professors—”

“And the pay,” you remind her, with a sigh too dreamy to warrant a couple additions to your bookshelf, or a weekend of fast food, or maybe half of a new, albeit knockoff, electric guitar. 

“Right, the pay…” and she’s suddenly all the less fidgety. “What are you planning on buying?”

“I’ve been saving up for something, but until it’s mine, I can’t really say,” as your mind drifts to that very knockoff electric guitar you saw with her at one of those stalls at the stripmall. You even remember hooking it up to the amp for her as she slid the strap on her shoulder, and the way she picked at the strings for that “wise-men-say” song was maybe 90% beautiful and 10% still beautiful but with notes her fingers defied her to play.

“Yeah? Me too,” and you catch her just as she looks away and back to the road ahead. Cars whizz past beside you, city lights twinkling overhead in apartment buildings and billboards. The smile stays on her lips as the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, and for a brief moment, you consider, but shove it away again. This is Yuri. This is enough. 

~~

“You know she likes you?” Hanbin slings an arm around you, causing you to nearly drop the very expensive mic. “Turned me down. Twice. Don’t make me look bad, alright?”

You’re at the very least able to right yourself before anything falls, and the mic reaches its stand alive and functioning well. “What is that supposed to mean? And how do you even know that?” 

“It means it’s you or no one. She likes you,” he insists, with a light jab poke at your ribs, “and you’re being kind of a dick for not making a move.”

A chuckle and a shake of your head is all you give him. After all, it doesn't make any sense. She's Jo Yuri, for God's sake: university scholar, College of Mass Comm sweetheart, Music Circle senior vocalist, and the rest of a longer list of other things you could never live up to. She's Jo Yuri, and you're… you. 

“Yo. Just go. It's gonna happen,” as he helps you untangle a particularly uncooperative cord, “She’s not gonna say no. Granted, she won’t say yes either but—”

“Okay, thank you, Hanbin, get the fuck out of here. Employees and volunteers only.” Shove him away, give him a pat on the back, turn him around and to the door. 

Even still, you’re reminded why you and everyone else knows him to be so hardheaded, “One last thing.” He straightens his shirt, fixes his jacket, “Chaeryeong is out there getting talked down right now. Jeongin and Ryujin already got theirs, and I’m next. Not sure where Somi is, but I’ll bet she got Yuri’s goodbye speech first.” Each word weighs on your heart a little bit more, and that sinking feeling of losing her roots itself back into your chest, “Dunno when you’ll get yours. But don’t make her regret it.” He makes insistent strides towards you, almost angry, even, “Do not fuck this up.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

“You know what I mean. Either do this for her, or do this for you. The rest of us aren’t supposed to care, but when it’s this glaringly obvious, we can’t just let whatever this is keep happening and still call ourselves good friends.”

Hanbin turns on his heel, marches out the double doors, rejoins the party on the other side. Yuri’s somewhere out there, baring her heart and thanking everyone for memories they’ve formed with her over the past few years. Soon it’ll be Hanbin’s turn, and she’ll no doubt thank him for his feelings and turn him down again. You recall his words, “She won’t say no,” but it still scares you, to death. You’re spiraling, you’re frazzled, you’re angry, “Why does she have to move?” “She has a great life here, why change anything at all?” 

No, none of this is helping. Hanbin’s right, do it for her. She deserves a good, happy, peaceful last few weeks here with everyone, with you. Do not fuck this up. 

~~

“Fucking there you are.” She walks over to you, the widest smile tugging on the corners of her mouth, never mind the sweat that makes her hair cling to her forehead and the sides of her face. Her arms swing with each step less carefully than the rest of the night, but with the loud beats shaking the air around you, nobody else seems to notice. “I was wondering if you’d left me here already. I can’t find anyone else, looks like they left,” she crosses her arms as she falls into position next to you, scanning the rest of the area you’re looking after. 

A cup of Pepsi makes its way from your hand to hers, and while she does take it gratefully, you can’t really recall meaning to do that. “They let you off the hook already?” 

“For now. Once it ends, I’m staying to help with egress.” Yuri hands you back the cup, still half-full, thankfully, and with a faint lipstick mark on one side of the rim. Turn the cup around, mark steadily away from you, take a sip. She eyes you with a playful glare, “The fuck was that for? We’ve eaten with the same fucking spoon and fork at the same time and you’re queasy now?”

You do agree it was silly, but whatever, “It’s a ‘respect’ thing,” taking another sip, but right next to the mark this time, “I’m not exactly looking for chances to take swipes at the spit you left behind on my cup.” Even as it makes its way out of your mouth, hearing it ever so quiet with your own voice, it still does sound pretty fucking dumb. 

And yet, all she does is giggle. Her attention drifts back to the dancefloor and its various inhabitants—esteemed ladies and distinguished gentlemen, good dancers and good singers, GPAs of 4.0 and of 0.4—and her gaze softens for some reason. She wraps her arms around her just a tiny bit tighter, as you can tell by the way her fingers flex and hold her elbows and the way her dress creases at the sleeves under the dim swirling disco lights, and the way she lets out a little sigh.

“You almost weren’t here,” you say, tone flat as the board some cunt brought to tapdance on, “you good?”

Yuri shakes her head, “Yeah. I’m really glad I’m here. I’m glad you convinced me. This is really, really fun.” She gives you a light shove and an even lighter laugh, “Thanks.” 

Breathe slow, breathe out. It’s nothing. It’s always nothing, when it comes to her. But, as she leans her head on your shoulder, settling into a quietness that drowns out all the noise of the world, you feel this is enough. More than, even. This is Yuri. 

“You know,” you start back, “I can just come back to pick you up. You don’t have to take the bus or anything.” 

“It’s not that, you know it’s not that. You’re already tired. Besides, you’ve done enough for me: talking me into this, driving me here, hanging out all night and keeping me in line,” she snakes arm around yours before it retakes its place crossed in front of her, “If I can’t thank you before we really do go, at least let me live with a lighter memory than burdening you with looking after me all night.”

“Burden?”

“Ryujin told me, when she caught me earlier, you didn't plan on coming either; you’re only really here for me. And what’s worse, she said you asked her for my size to buy me this stupid, pretty dress.” 

You feel another warmth spread across your cheeks again, and you think for a moment how many times does it actually take to get over something like this. But, true to Yuri, she doesn’t notice, or if she did, she didn’t say. 

“So don't do any more sweet shit tonight, okay? I can't repay everything in the last few weeks we get to see each other anymore as is,” with a song under each word she says like it's nothing to her that this is one of the last few times you meet.

Last few times you'll meet.

Fuck.

“Gimme a couple minutes? I gotta tell you something.” Your palms get clammy right away, your heart beats ever so slightly faster. The regret of not telling her is palpable in the air surrounding your face, you find it even harder to breathe just considering it, but the regret of telling her at all is, somehow, just as bad or even worse. 

“Hmm? Anything.”

You take a deep breath, “You’re perfect to somebody, and I know you won’t stay long—”

A subwoofer statics and dies, and half the dancefloor snaps out of their revelous haze. They look around for a little bit, and the lights-and-sounds guy from the backroom is calling you back to help look something over. “I’ll be right back,” though both of you know you won’t. And as you walk away, only seeing her shoot the most apologetic smile she can show through the dimness of everything around you, as the first of the last few songs of the night start to play, you decide that whatever it was, that was enough. A good, honest attempt, again struck down by mere circumstance, or fate, or whatever, and you decide that’s enough. 

~~

For some reason, you always thought the first time you'd hold her hand would send your heart fluttering. You thought butterflies would rush down your throat and fill your stomach until you were a bumbling mess. Your dreams would come true, your heart finally be happy, your feelings of anxiety put to rest and replaced by a future with her by your side.

But here she is, standing in front of you, in a dress you've already told yourself was glimmering, with the moonlight supposedly bathing her face in an ethereal glow, and her hair perfectly framing her delicate, gorgeous face. Just Yuri. No flutters, no butterflies, no ultimate actualization of the feelings you've had for her for the past decade. Her hand rests securely in yours, and she looks up to you with the most beautiful smile on her face.

What’s worse, the somber atmosphere of a party long ended takes over the both of you. Only stray soundwaves bounce around the walls, poorly-aimed beams of light reflecting off rough surfaces. All the energy is gone, replaced by the fatigue of a successful party from attendees already long since when home. All that remains is you and Yuri, making lists, checking them off, tidying up. 

With the last few items on the egress list struck through, “So, 100%, huh?” in the breathiest pant you've ever heard her make, “good job, you. Never doubted you for a second.”

You grasp her hand just a smidge tighter, despite it not being what you thought it would be, “I was thinking… I want my 112%.”

Her eyebrow rises, her smile devolves into a teasing smirk. “Alright, what’s that last 12%?”

“Just,” you say with the easiest tone you've ever taken with her, and as she adjusts her hand so her fingers intertwine with yours, “3%, I get you in a pretty dress.”

She giggles, “Done.”

“3%, dance with you.”

“Alright…” as you place your hand on her hip, as she places hers on your shoulder. Your feet move on their own, bringing her along to sway with the music that's far too quiet to be important. 

“3%, let you know you how beautiful you are. Every day, every time I see you, whenever you smile or do something or breathe.”

The gentlest pink blooms across her cheeks, but her eyes sparkle without ever leaving yours, “Thank you.”

“And last…” you have to pause. You were always the type to be dramatic or suspenseful, but now, it's only really a matter of steeling your nerves. Yuri is nothing but patient though, only waiting encouragingly for whatever it is you need for this to be a night of perfection that you could finally share together. She only looks on, with a ‘take your time’ kind of crinkle in the corners of her eyes instead of the usual ‘get on with it already’ you're so accustomed to.

“I have to tell you something I've wanted to tell you since forever.” Your senses dull, or sharpen, or both, you can't really tell. The music is gone, lights fade to dim, only the sparkles reflecting off the cellophane onstage as the disco spotlights spin around a hall that's missing all its lively hectic chaos. But you suppose you and her are enough to fill it right back up.

It's the worst time to get tongue-tied, but it's probably for the best. She's only indulging you, throwing you a treat, giving you a glimpse of what could have been. After tonight, everything will go back to the way it was, as if this past couple weeks had never happened between you two at all. And yet…

“I'm not gonna have to share you with anyone, will I?” she chimes in, slowing to a stop. Instead of pulling away, she places her hands gently on either side of your neck, “You know I don't like sharing what's… mine.”

“Yours?” you challenge without any real reason to. Both hands on her hips now, as you move to a comfortable stillness with her. Her own hands meet on your nape as she places her wrists on your shoulders now, closer than most other times you've ever been. “No, you won't be… sharing… me.”

She tilts her head to one side, “Good. So,” in a tone so curious you'd swear to search the world for an answer, knowing that it's about to be the easiest question ever asked, “what did you wanna tell me since forever?”

“Just… sorry. For everything I did wrong.”

But she just laughs. In your face. A sudden high-pitched squeal. You watch as she drops her head down, hiding the rest of the laugh from you. It’d be so easy to say it’s fine, but it isn’t. 

And yet, despite yourself and everything you just thought in the last twenty seconds and the last twenty years, “Sorry, that was… weird. What was it you did wrong?” Yuri buries her face in your chest, wiping away sweat from her forehead as if she knows you wouldn't mind. 

~~

Yuri really is nothing but sweet: “I washed that one set of clothes you left when we had that paper together,” “Fuck you, it’s just a shirt, shorts, and underwear,” “I’m not above washing my best friend’s clothes along with mine.” They even smell just like her. 

“Hey, come here.” She pats the spot next to her on the bed, smiling that sad smile you always hated to see, she always hated to show. Your steps come slow—no point in hurrying now—and take the seat Yuri so graciously offers you. 

“So this is my goodbye?”

She leans her head on your shoulder again, like it was always meant to be. Her arm slips under yours again, fingers intertwining as she holds what she can of you for what might be the last time. And yet, she’s no sadder than what she looks like, and for that, you can’t be thankful enough. “Mhm. Your turn; last one.” 

There’s really no way to prepare for anything like this: your heart aches at the thought of losing her, your eyes start to well up with tears you don’t deserve to let fall, your hand closes around hers like that’ll keep her from leaving and perpetually by your side. With the way she looks up at you, the manner in which her fingers squeeze yours, it’s more-than-obvious, less-than-subtle that she feels the exact same way. 

“Twenty years, huh?” she starts, albeit fighting through the slight shaking in her voice, “hell of a long time.”

“Am I allowed to feel special for being last?” Always the poorly-placed joke, and yet…

She giggles, again, “Of course, dumbass, only you,” like she always does at every joke you make. 

You spend a moment in silence with her, staring into the dimness of the room. Traces of her life here have dwindled to near-nothing: sink clean and clear save for the tiny water stains just about drying, rarely-worn clothes already packed neatly in the corner of the room instead of hung up in closets and drawers, her desk cleared of succulents and picture frames and with only her laptop and rolled up charger left sitting on top. Her eyes and yours drifting around the space feels like a goodbye to everything, but the breath that exits her nose deep and slow is without a doubt for you and you alone. 

“Thank you, for the whole… The dress. The night. I loved everything, every second.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Her fingertips meet yours, rubbing against each one, letting you memorize her callouses as she memorizes yours. 

“And for the… twenty… years. You really are the,” she takes in a deep breath of air, “best friend,” releases, “that I could ever hope for.” Not even trying to hide it anymore, but she doesn’t need to. Neither of you do. 

“Pleasure was all mine, I mean it. You were great too. Everything I needed in a best friend.”

Yuri breaks the mold this time: places her chin on your shoulder, and you feel her gentle exhales by your ear. You look over, and you meet her gaze, knowing you’ve never been closer than this now yet also never really farther away. 

“That was your song, wasn’t it,” her eyes never leaving yours, “I know you won’t stay long.”

“That was your takeaway?” Her hand leaves yours, and you let her, only for her arms to find their way around your waist. She smiles up again at you, though you think it’s the same smile she’s held this entire quiet moment, with just a tinge less sadness for every word of this farewell she manages to get across. 

“Not exactly. ‘You’re perfect to somebody’ was a bit too on-the-nose. But it was really, really cute.” 

Silence.

“Could you sing me the whole thing? Please?” She nods in the direction of her guitar, so you reach out for it, unzipping the bag carefully as its sound bounces around the bare walls. 

And you start, “You’re perfect to somebody, I know you won’t stay long… so let me try to love you just a little more honest.” The notes come out beautifully, even through the rust and wear on her strings. Her arms wrap tighter around your waist, face digging comfier into the crook of your neck as you continue, “The words go like ‘I’m sorry,’ but we both laugh it off, I should’ve tried to love you just a little more honest.” 

“Okay, stop,” as a tear runs down her cheek. A light sniffle follows, another wipe of her face on your shirt. “You are so… Gah, I fucking hate you.” Worry creeps in, though contentment comes with it: you start to think maybe letting go would be easier now, for the both of you. It’s a goodbye that puts every other one to shame, but on the other hand, it’s an ugly sort of bittersweet you decide you’ll bear for her. 

And yet, the next words are so much harder to let go of, in a sniffly, sickeningly sweet voice of hers you’ve come to know and love, “Stay the night? One last time?”

She places her guitar carefully on the floor, sliding it under the bed and out of the way in case either of you need a quick trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night. And with one slow, persistent tug, she pulls you down onto the mattress. Not that you fight it at all, falling with her was always a dream you never let yourself dwell on. 

Your head and hers securely on the pillow, faces closer than they’ve ever been, your hand on her waist and hers on the side of your neck. It’s nothing but natural—you’ve slept in the same bed a million other times before—but with the way she looks at you, and the way you’re probably looking back…

You sigh, “what are you thinking of?” like it isn’t the easiest read on her you’ve ever had. 

“I feel kinda guilty. You’re really handsome.”

“I don’t think that’s your fault, though?”

“True,” she laughs like a breeze, “I meant my fault is that you never went out with anyone because of me.”

“Again, not your fault.” Rubbing your thumb against her waist, feeling her smooth skin, and her letting you do as you please. All the while, it’s the most informal yet hardest-fought staring contest in the world, and neither of you are backing down. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, just as her thumb mirrors yours on your cheek, and she comes in for a quick peck on your lips.

“I’m allowed to do that, right?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, leaning in closer to ask for another one just as she pulls away. And she obliges.

“And that?”

“Mhm.” Lean even closer. Another peck, slower this time.

“And that?”

“Mm.”

You take her lips for yourself, and she stops pulling away. There’s no way to know who lost that staring contest, but her lips are soft against yours, her exhales warm against your nose, her hand on your cheek keeping you securely in place as she takes her time with a kiss much too long overdue. There’s no expectations; only the contentment of finally being able to show this girl you’ve known your whole life how lovestruck you are with her. She nibbles your top lip for a moment, and you suck her lower lip right back. Her hand moves to your nape, yours moves to the small of her back pulling each other ever closer by mere inches at a time, and breaking and setting new records for how long you’ve been next to her without admiring how beautiful she really, truly is. 

“Mmh…” she whimpers right against your mouth, slipping deeper into the kiss. Your breathing grows heavy, and she takes advantage of your open-mouthed gasps to slip her tongue around yours. You let her, of course, and she takes everything she can of you: your gentle, deep breathing in sync with hers, the way your tongues swirl around each other’s, the slow drift of your palm from her back to lower down…

“Mm.” Her hand leaves your cheek, knowing she can trust you not to pull away from her now. Instead, it meets yours as you only start to squeeze her butt. Yuri lets you have a couple more squeezes, as her lips curl into a smile with how much she’s enjoying you and being yours. But it’s decidedly not enough: even if a little bit sheepish, she brings your hand to her front, asking for just a bit more of a different kind of love. 

Yuri’s lips form the word, “Please,” as she manages your hand into her shorts, making straight for her core. Immediately you feel the heat coming from her bare pussy, as well as the slick that’s starting to leak out to soak her folds. “I mean… we can’t—I’m ovulating, so—”

Kiss her again, shut her up, none of that matters right now. “Yeah, I got you.” Rub anyway, in slow and firm strokes, up and down between her lips. Feel her grind against your hand, getting wetter with each pass and more shameless with what she wants. Help her along, finding what spot she likes pressure on, giving her just a little bit more friction with every stroke that rubs against her clit. “Just feel good for me?”

A sigh escapes her, you receive it with more kisses down her jaw, her chin, her neck. She tilts her head up—she sounds heavenly—giving you better access to wherever of her you want. “Come closer…” as if you could, but she takes you anyway: she finds your cock with her thigh, rubbing you right back as she urges you to grind on her. It’s the perfect tightness, how her fingers wrap around your length, rubbing you in long, slow strokes. “You’re not the only one who wanted this.”

Your lips meet again, tongues swirling together in a sensual dance. Your hand on her, her hand on you, and it’s again not what you imagined at all. You thought it’d be the stuff of your wildest dreams, ultimate pleasure, having her in bed with you to touch and please however you wanted, but not at all. Instead, it’s more of the same: it’s so easy to read what she wants, like how exactly to apply that friction she needs on her body, and she does the same to you. It’s not the mindblowing experience you envisioned a night with Yuri like this would be, but it’s somehow… better. There’s nothing between you, like it always should have been. It’s so easy to fall into this rhythm with her, to just have her like this, and you start to wonder what fucking took you so long.

Suddenly, “Ow… ow, ow, ow!” she recoils, and you’re shocked out of everything else and crash back into the real world. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” is all you can say back, before she buries her face in your chest. Her hands shoot up to your shoulders, her foot digs deep into the mattress, she sucks in a harsh breath of air through her teeth. 

“M-my leg is cramping…”

“What?”

“Can you do that thing you do… please?”

It’s more than magical, you suppose, how she seeks your comfort even now. Retract your hand from her shorts, wipe her slick onto some far-off corner of her sheets. But she snaps, “Did you just fucking smear—” 

“—Did you want me to massage your leg with all that pussy juice?” You ground her right back, despite the twisting pain growing more intense in her calf. She laughs a hearty laugh for you, and you get to work. You trace slow, deliberate circles along her cramped calf, pressing gently but firmly, while pushing her to flex her toes toward the shin. Her muscles slowly loosen under your touch, and she lets out a soft, relieved breath right into your chest. You move up to her thigh, kneading with steady strokes, careful not to hurt her more than necessary, guiding her leg slightly so the tension melts away. 

“Better?”

“Mhm… thank you. Love you.”

Well, fuck. That’s not how you imagined to hear that the first time at all, and yet—

“Yeah, love you too.” It’s the most natural thing in the world, as your fingers keep dancing over her cramp, dotting the pain down and away. Her grip slowly loosens on from shoulders, and her breaths come easier, before everything just… stops. Her foot is finally at rest and she throws it over your hip, and Yuri looks up at you with another sweet smile, but nothing like you’ve ever seen on her before. She loves you, and now she’s showing it, shamelessly, softly, truthfully. 

“So… where were we?” The corners of her eyes crinkle again, her smile spreads across her face. She maneuvers your shorts and underwear down, and tries teasing you anew, “Give me a second chance, please.”

“You must be tired, it’s okay,” but she steals your hand and pushes it onto her core again. Only remnants of her former arousal remain, but it’s just as easy to get her back. Closer now—much closer—and she takes your lips again, Yuri teases the underside of your shaft with her fingertip, and the constant mindmelting attention is enough to get you going as is. It’s even worse when she grinds against your hand, showing you just how much she wants to be doing this with you, “Mmh, eager much?”

Her smile grows bigger against your lips, “Over-fucking-due. You owe me years’ worth of orgasms.” You stiffen faster in her palm, and she takes this as the signal, wrapping her fingers around your length and starting her slow strokes once more. “Like from summer two years ago at the beach.”

“What? I was in a rashguard.” You ease your finger into her core, and she gasps, then relaxes as you settle, stretching her open ever so slightly. “Fucking perv,” but it does turn you on knowing she found you hot.

“It was the fucking surfboard, asshole. Plus… you have sexy hands.”

“Excuse me?!” You both erupt into laughter, just like old times. It’s nothing but comfort, despite your childhood friend and forever-crush jerking you off while you’re one—no, two now—fingers inside her. “What does that even mean?”

“It means your hands look—oh fuck—your hands look… hot,” making deep strokes now, and you can tell with how her walls are fluttering around your fingers that she’s loving every single second of this. “Always liked seeing those… veins… fuck, don’t stop, pleasepleaseplease—” Her lips crash into yours, and she stifles a moan with your mouth. She’s unbearably close, grip tightening around your now-throbbing length and stroking faster, deeper, “Make me cum… make me cum!” 

You can't lie; it’s heaven seeing her lose control like this. Addictive, even. Her eyes shut tight, hand wrapped around your cock, slowly letting pass things that only ever held her back. You have to kiss her. Have to feel her on you, and hold her tight as she lets it all out. She's stroking even faster now, determined to rub out your orgasm too, and by God, it's working. You're falling into a comfortable rhythm with her, forehead to forehead, lips to lips, hands on each other like letting go would kill you. Among everything else this isn't how you imagined pushing each other to the edge would be, but like everything else, it's so much better. She's well and truly yours, you plain and simply hers, her walls clamping down on your fingers as she grinds against your palm, you thrusting into her hand as you throb and leak onto her fingers. It's all too much, yet not enough at all—she was right, you had years to make up for, but it has to be enough for now—

”Fuck… fuckfuckfuck!” throwing her head back as she screams, and you dive into her neck to suck at her skin. You don't even mean to, but your teeth scrape and dig lightly into it, leaving more than conspicuous marks you'd love to keep leaving forever. It’s one last deep, perfect swipe at her g-spot, she comes undone, and she lets it all run through her: a quick jerk takes over her body, and it's followed by a mess of squirt that jets out of her and onto your hand. She lets it spray all over, soaking the bottom half of her shirt and the front of her shorts, as well as the mattress underneath you with all her excess love. Through it all, she grips your hair, making sure you keep your lips on her neck, your nose on her jaw, leaving every single kiss you should've left in all those years you've loved each other quietly. It's the same singular swipe at the peak of your pleasure, her thumb right on the underside of your tip, and she doesn't let go: forces you to shoot your own warm, sticky cum all over her tummy. Each spurt is another glob of cum, sending shockwaves of arousal through her with each warm drop on her cool, smooth skin. She keeps stroking you through it all, as you do with her, desperate to give each other that pleasure that's been the longest in the making. It goes on for two eternities with no end in sight, only the dawning realization that you're in bed together, hands on each other's crotches, having just cum your brains out with each other using each other. 

Breathing heavy, or at least you think you are, “Fuck… I love you.”

“Mm, love you too,” she kisses you one last time. Slow, sensual, not wanting to receive and only really giving the love she and you've been wanting to give since forever. 

It's not even a shame to pull away, because you know she's right here, not going anywhere, ever, at all. She’s exhausted, satisfied, fucked out, and it’s all your fault. “You good?”

All she can do is nod, eyes heavy, but still wearing that smile that always made your heart do flips in your chest. She’s drifting off to sleep, and you kind of are too—until her 7:00 am alarm blares, shattering your peace like a tiny betrayal. You groan, half-laughing, and she mumbles something sleepy, turning over with a soft sigh to turn it off, still smiling even through the chaos of morning. 

“It can’t be fucking sunny yet,” pulling her back against you. Reach for a blanket, wipe down her abs, and she laughs such a sweet laugh that you almost forget what you just did with her. But you don’t; not really. 

“Let’s just take a quick nap. Everyone will understand if we’re a little late.” She sandwiches your hand with hers, keeping it safe as she settles into being little spoon. Her breathing slowly evens out, her fingers relax, and you can tell she’s fallen asleep just like that. You feel her exhales on your fingertips in front of her face, tiny jerks of her palm, the rise and fall of her shoulders as seen from behind. Now this is what you expected: the easiest aftercare in the world. Just cuddling, maybe holding her hand as she powers down right next to you. Gentle kisses on her neck and shoulders as she snores away. 

~~

“So,” Hanbin grunts, staring incredulously at your hand intertwined with Yuri’s, just like Ryujin, Somi, Chaeryeong, Jeongin are, “you two now.”

“Yeah,” you say back, voice tight and uncertain with how this looks and what to explain.

“It was really sudden,” Yuri chimes in, but the way she purses her lips is an admission all by itself that that was a lie. “But yeah, we’re… seeing each other now, and after a little bit of time back home, I’m coming back and looking for a permanent apartment.”

You slide in, “And she’ll be staying with me while that’s going on—”

Jeongin holds up a hand, “Just fucking stop, okay? We get it. Congrats and all that shit.” He stands up, dusting off his pants, and reaching into his back pocket. He pulls out a fairly large bill, crumples it into a ball, tosses it in Hanbin’s general direction, “Couldn’t fucking wait two weeks.” 

Everyone else follows suit. Chaeryeong fishes out her wallet from her purse, Somi removes her phone case and retrieves her own bill, and they both hand them to Ryujin, who’s already smiling wide. “Thank yewww,” she gloats, counting her new cash.

And just like that, it all shifts again. Everyone’s serious, but with smiles all around, “We’re all really happy for you two. You’ve liked each other forever,” Chaeryeong notes, followed by Jeongin, “And it’s about fucking time.”

Somi slams down her smoothie, “Wait, did you fuck?” 

Your eyes meet Yuri’s, wondering how in the fuck you’re going to explain to them. You can sense she’s uneasy with the way her brow furrows, and she states plainly, “All yours, don’t lie. I trust you.”

Everyone’s eyes are on you now; deep breath, here goes. “We kissed a lot,” looking around to see only expectant faces, “hands stuff,” eyes widening, including even Yuri’s, “and we came. No penetration.” Groans erupt from your table, hands thrown in the air in defeat. All at once, everyone reaches for more bills, Chaeryeong asks “Ryujin, change for a thousand?” before it all switches hands so quickly, all settling in Somi’s. 

“Did you all actually bet on us getting together and having sex?” Yuri’s absolutely red in the face, and while you’re sure you are too, you can’t lie that it’s adorable on her. She leans her head on your shoulder, hides her face in the crook of your neck. You pat her hair, trying to hide behind it too, but with the topic already changed and normalcy reattained, you think that this setup with her is a pretty good start to a lovestruck rest of your lives. 

She jumps a little at being spoken to directly, then shakes her head fast.

“N-No! I mean, no. I don’t need the outlet.” She holds up the pastel pink box in both hands like she’s surrendering. “I, um… made too much.”

You glance at the box, then back at her.

“Too much… what?”

“Cupcakes,” she answers, then adds quickly, “for my baking club. But the meeting ended early, and there’s a lot left, so I thought… maybe you’d want some?”

You stare for a beat.

You like food. You like eating. You can destroy three bowls of ramyeon without blinking. But there’s one thing you’ve never really had a taste for.

Sweets.

Sweet coffee? No. Sweet bread? No. Frosting? Absolutely not.

But she’s waiting there, eyes hopeful but ready to run, like one wrong word and she’ll vanish.

You swallow.

“…Sure,” you hear yourself say. “Thanks.”

Her shoulders visibly drop in relief. She sets the box down, lifting the lid carefully. Inside are a dozen cupcakes in neat rows—light vanilla cake, piped with pale lavender buttercream, topped with tiny edible flowers.

They look… professional.

You reach for one, trying not to look hesitant. The frosting is piled high, swirled perfectly. You bite in.

Sugar hits your tongue like a truck.

It’s good. You can tell it’s good. The cake is soft, crumb fine and moist, the frosting smooth. But it’s so, so sweet your brain throws up a red flag.

“W-What do you think?” Yuri asks, eyes huge.

You chew, force yourself to swallow, ignoring the way your teeth ache.

“It’s…” You search for a safe word. “Really… well made.”

Her face lights up. “Really?”

You nod, because that part’s true. “The sponge is crazy good. You made all this this morning?”

“Last night,” she says, suddenly animated. “I wanted to try this new buttercream ratio I saw, and the temperature was weird so I had to—sorry, I’m talking too much.”

“No, it’s fine.” You take another bite out of sheer politeness, your stomach already protesting. “Thanks for sharing. Seriously.”

Yuri ducks her head, cheeks pink. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll… I’ll bring you something else next time, then.”

You smile weakly, not quite registering the “next time” part. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” she blurts.

You blink.

She coughs. “I mean. It’d be a waste if my friends are the only ones that taste-test. Variety of opinions. For improvement. And stuff.”

You nod slowly. “Right. For improvement.”

She gives a small bow and backs away, then nearly collides with someone behind her.

“Whoa—careful,” Kwon Eunbi says, steadying the girl with one hand while balancing a stack of folders in the other. She glances at you and the box of cupcakes. Then at Yuri’s flushed face.

Her mouth curls into a knowing smile.

“Oh,” she says lightly. “So you finally gave them to him.”

“Unnie!” Yuri squeaks, going even redder.

You glance between them, confused. “Uh…”

“Enjoy,” Eunbi tells you, amusement in her eyes. “She worked very hard on those.”

She steers Yuri away, whispering something that makes the younger girl swat her arm in mortification.

You look at the cupcake in your hand.

You don’t like sweets. You never have.

You take another bite anyway.

-----

The second time, it’s cookies.

You’re on a bench outside the science building, eating a kimbap roll you bought in a rush. The late autumn wind is sharp, and you wish you’d brought a thicker jacket.

“Hi,” a voice says timidly.

You look up to see Yuri again, clutching a paper bag decorated with doodled cats.

You blink. “Hey. You, uh… need notes or something?”

“No.” She hugs the bag a little closer. “I, um… made too many cookies.”

You stare.

Of course.

“Right.” You clear your throat. “You have a… problem with making reasonable amounts of food, don’t you?”

She puffs her cheeks. “It’s not a problem. It’s… generous.”

You can’t help a small laugh. “Okay. Generous.”

She thrusts the bag towards you. “Try them?”

Your kimbap sits half-finished in your hand. You wipe your fingers quickly on a napkin and accept the bag. Inside, you see neat rows of round cookies, speckled with what looks like white chocolate and pistachios.

You pick one up and take a bite.

This time, it’s not as aggressively sweet. More buttery, with a hint of salt. Still sweeter than you’d pick voluntarily, but better.

“These are… nice,” you admit. “I like the texture.”

“Really?” Her eyes shine, and you feel oddly pleased you could give that to her.

“Yeah. Crunchy at the edge, softer in the middle. You’re… good at this.”

“It’s nothing,” she mumbles, but her grin betrays her. “I just… I like baking.”

“I can tell.”

She hesitates, then sits on the bench, leaving a careful bit of space between you. She pulls out one cookie for herself, nibbling it.

“You don’t mind if I sit here, right?” she asks.

“No, it’s okay.”

You finish your kimbap and another cookie out of politeness. She asks about your major, your project. You ask about hers—Home Economics, with an emphasis on culinary arts.

“That’s why you’re always making… too much?” you say.

“Exactly.” She laughs, and the sound is soft and warm, like a kettle just before it boils. “I need people to eat my experiments. Otherwise I’ll get fat.”

“You won’t,” you answer automatically. “You walk like… everywhere, don’t you?”

She blinks. “You noticed?”

You freeze. You did. You’d seen her around campus more often than you’d admit, lugging flour bags, handing out samples to friends, tying her hair up in the hallway with a practiced motion before disappearing into the Home Ec wing.

“I mean, I just see you a lot,” you say quickly. “Small campus.”

“Mhm.” She doesn’t call you on it, but there’s a tiny, smug smile on her face now. “Then I’ll keep bringing you things, if you don’t mind.”

You do mind, a little, because sugar isn’t really your thing.

But the way she’s looking at you, waiting, hopeful—

“I don’t mind,” you say.

Her smile widens.

Far away, behind a pillar, Choi Yena peeks out, hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god,” she whispers to Chaewon and Minju, who are squeezed beside her. “Look at her face. She’s so into him.”

“He’s into the cookies,” Chaewon replies dryly.

Minju squints. “He looks… confused.”

Yena grins. “Perfect. This is going to be fun.”

-----

It becomes a pattern almost without you noticing.

Midterm week? She appears with boxes of brownies, smiling apologetically. “They’re not too sweet this time, I swear. I used dark chocolate.”

Group study session in the library? She brings a tupperware of matcha financiers, claiming she needed more feedback from “different palates.”

You come out of a brutal lab? She’s there, hovering uncertainly near the exit, holding a paper cup.

“I, um… got you coffee,” she says.

You take a sip, then blink. “It’s… black.”

She nods, looking absurdly pleased she got that right. “I remembered from last time. No sugar, no cream.”

Your chest does a weird, tight thing.

“And, uh, I brought some canelés.” She lifts another small box. “Just in case you… wanted something with it.”

You’re starting to suspect she doesn’t know how to show up empty-handed.

You always take it. You always eat, no matter how full you are, no matter how your tongue protests or your teeth ache. Because every time you say “thank you,” she looks like she just won something.

And you don’t want to be the one to take that away from her.

-----

In the baking room one afternoon, Yuri is scraping the sides of a mixing bowl when Eunbi leans against the counter.

“You’ve been busy,” Eunbi remarks. “The sugar budget doubled this month.”

Yuri doesn’t look up. “It’s for the club.”

“Mm.” Eunbi picks up a decorated cookie, inspects it. “The club whose logo happens to share initials with a certain engineering student, right?”

Yuri chokes on air. “Unnie!”

Eunbi laughs quietly. “Yuri. You come in here at least three times a week to make ‘extras.’ You hover by the science building like a puppy every other day. The other girls send me updates like I’m watching a drama. I’m not blind.”

Yuri slumps, cheeks burning. “I just… like baking for him.”

“And why him, specifically?” Eunbi’s tone is gentle but pointed.

Yuri presses her lips together.

Because he always accepts it, she thinks. Because even when he’s clearly tired, he’ll smile and say thank you. Because he listens when she rambles about yeast fermentation and oven temperatures. Because he remembers how she takes her coffee. Because he says her name like he’s not in a hurry to finish it.

And because every time he eats something she made, it feels like he’s letting her be a small part of his day.

“It’s how I show I care,” she says aloud, in a much smaller voice.

Eunbi puts the cookie down and reaches over to flick a bit of flour off Yuri’s cheek.

“I know,” she says. “Just make sure you’re not pouring all your sugar into someone who can’t taste it.”

-----

You find out they know before you do.

You’re in the student café with Yena, half your attention on her exaggerated story about how she nearly died fighting an exam question. She’s gesturing wildly with a fork, crumbs flying.

“And then,” she says dramatically, “the professor was like, ‘You have five minutes left,’ and I swear my soul just—hey, dessert guy is here.”

You follow her gaze instinctively.

Yuri is at the counter, carrying two plates this time—one with a small, carefully plated slice of cake, the other with what looks like a tart. She scans the café, finds you, and starts towards your table.

“You’re really committed to this bit, huh?” Yena mutters under her breath, grinning.

You frown. “What bit?”

“Nothing,” she singsongs, leaning back to watch.

Yuri reaches you, a little breathless. “Hi. Um. I was testing some menu items for the café and thought… maybe you could help taste them? If you’re not busy.”

Yena leans in, eyes sparkling. “Oh, we’re not busy. Right?”

You shoot her a look, but she just beams innocently.

“Sure,” you say to Yuri, gesturing to the seat beside you. “What’s this?”

“Black sesame tart,” she says, setting it down. “And this is a coffee chiffon cake with whipped cream, not buttercream, so it should be lighter. I tried to make something less sweet.”

Your eyes flick to her. “Because…?”

She bites her lip. “You, um… drink your coffee black. And you eat a lot of savory stuff. I just thought…”

There’s that tight feeling in your chest again.

“You really don’t have to adjust everything for me,” you say quietly.

“I want to,” she answers, just as quietly.

Yena kicks you under the table. You glare at her; she just smirks and mouths: “Say something.”

You pick up your fork and take a bite of the tart. The nuttiness of the black sesame comes through first, then a gentle sweetness. It’s… really good. Balanced. Complex.

“This is amazing,” you say honestly. “I could eat this all day.”

She brightens. “Really? I was worried it might be too heavy.”

“It’s perfect.”

You move on to the cake. The coffee flavor is strong, the sweetness much lower than any cake you’ve had before. The whipped cream is airy, not cloying.

“This too,” you say, surprised at how much you mean it. “It’s like… cake for people who don’t like cake.”

Yena makes a strangled sound. “Wow. Deep.”

You elbow her.

Yuri beams. “So you do like some sweets, then.”

You hesitate.

“I… guess,” you say. “I mean, usually I don’t. But this is different.”

“Different how?” she asks quickly.

You open your mouth, then close it.

How do you say: different because you made it? Different because I’ve spent weeks watching your face every time I take a bite? Different because somewhere in the sugar and butter you’ve been quietly threading pieces of yourself, and without meaning to, I’ve started liking the taste?

You just shrug instead. “Just… less sweet. More… me.”

“Less sweet,” she repeats.

Yena watches, eyes narrowing. Then she says, very loudly:

“Good thing you’re here to balance things out, huh, Yuri? Since you’re sweet enough for both of you.”

Yuri nearly drops her fork. “Yena!”

You choke on your cake.

“I’m just saying,” Yena continues with zero shame. “You bake your heart out for him, bring him stuff every other day, hover around his classes—”

“Yena,” you cut in sharply.

She ignores you. “—and he still hasn’t asked you out. At this point, I’m developing secondhand embarrassment.”

Silence slams onto the table.

You stare at Yena, stunned. Then you turn slowly to Yuri.

Her face is frozen, eyes wide, the color draining out of her cheeks.

“You—” you start.

“It’s not—” she says at the same time.

You both fall quiet.

Yena, realizing maybe she’s pushed too far, raises her hands. “Okay, okay, I’ll shut up. I’m going to, uh, go… get water. From across the campus. Bye.”

She bolts.

You and Yuri sit there, staring at your plates.

“You… don’t have to listen to her,” you say finally, voice rough. “She likes to talk.”

“It’s not…” Yuri’s throat bobs. “It’s not completely untrue.”

You look up.

She grips her fork so tightly her knuckles whiten. “I do like baking for you. And I… do… like you. I thought—you hadn’t noticed, I guess.”

There it is. Plain, vulnerable, terrifying.

You open your mouth.

And your brain, traitorous, latches onto the one thing it knows: you don’t like sweets.

“Yuri, I…” you begin, struggling. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, really. I just… I don’t even like sweets that much. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to—”

The hurt that flashes across her face makes you want to rewind time.

“You… don’t like them,” she repeats slowly.

“I—”

“But you ate all of it,” she whispers. “Every time. You said you liked it.”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” you blurt. “I mean, they’re good, objectively, it’s just—”

She flinches like you slapped her.

“So you were just… enduring it,” she says. Her voice is flat, unfamiliar. “Smiling through it. Because you felt sorry for me.”

“No.” Panic punches through you. “That’s not what I—”

“I get it.” She stands up abruptly, chair scraping. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve been… stupid. I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Yuri, wait—”

But she’s already dropping the fork, the metal clattering on the plate, and walking away with stiff shoulders, head bowed.

You instinctively move to follow, but someone steps into your path.

It’s Eunbi.

“Don’t,” she says softly. “Not right now.”

You swallow hard, watching Yuri’s retreating back.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” Eunbi says. “But you did.”

Her gaze is sharp, but not cruel. Just… tired.

“For someone who doesn’t like sweets,” she says, “you sure took a lot from her.”

Then she walks away, leaving you alone with two half-eaten desserts and a heaviness in your chest that no amount of sugar could cover.

-----

The next few days are quiet.

No Yuri in the hallway near your lab. No sudden appearances at your table in the café. No paper bags of cookies or neat little boxes of tarts.

You don’t realize how much space she’d taken up in your routines until she’s gone from them.

Your coffee—black, no sugar—tastes more bitter than usual. Your lunches feel oddly empty, even when they’re full of your favorite savory foods.

You tell yourself it’s better this way. She shouldn’t waste her time and energy on someone who doesn’t even like half of what she makes. You were always going to hurt her eventually; better sooner than later.

But when you pass the Home Ec wing and catch a glimpse of her through the small window—hair tied up, head bent over a mixing bowl, expression carefully neutral—your steps slow.

You remember the first cupcake, too sweet but offered with shaking hands. The cookies with the doodled cat bag. The tart she adjusted just for you. The way she seemed to time her appearances with your worst days, like she had a sensor for your stress.

You remember how she’d watch you with this intense, fragile hope every time you took a bite.

You’d thought it was about baking.

Now you’re starting to understand it was never just that.

You sit down in the empty lounge one evening, head in your hands, and mutter to yourself:

“I’m an idiot.”

“Correct,” someone says.

You look up to see Chaewon standing there, arms crossed, Minju beside her with an apologetic wince.

“You guys rehearsed that?” you ask dryly.

Chaewon shrugs. “Felt right.”

Minju nudges her. “Be nice.”

Chaewon sighs. “Fine. You’re not a hopeless idiot. Just a very specific kind. The kind who doesn’t realize when a girl is in love with him even when she’s practically writing it in frosting.”

You wince. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“We know,” Minju says gently. “But you did. She really likes you, you know.”

“She said,” you murmur. Saying it out loud makes your chest hurt.

“And what about you?” Chaewon asks. “Do you like her back, or were you just enjoying the free food?”

You think of your empty days without her. The way your mood had quietly lifted with every new box she brought. How seeing her approach had started to feel like the best part of your day.

“I…” You swallow. “I miss her.”

“That’s a start,” Chaewon mutters.

Minju smiles faintly. “You’ve been… different since she stopped coming around. Quieter. Sadder.”

“Yena said you’ve been glaring at every dessert in the café,” Chaewon adds. “Like they personally betrayed you.”

“That was one time,” you protest weakly.

“Three,” Chaewon corrects.

You rub your face. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Minju and Chaewon exchange a look.

“Well,” Minju says. “How about you start with telling her the truth?”

-----

The truth, as it turns out, is complicated.

The truth is that you spent most of your life associating sweets with cloying, artificial flavors that stuck in your mouth in an unpleasant way. You were the kid who traded candy in your lunchbox for your friend’s leftover sausage.

The truth is that even when Yuri’s desserts were too sweet for your taste, you never actually hated them. They were the best “too sweet” things you’d ever had. Because they tasted like effort. Like intention.

Like her.

The truth is that somewhere between the cupcakes and the coffee chiffon cake, you’d started to look forward not to the sugar, but to the way she appeared like a small, bright break in your day. To the way she listened and remembered the mundane details of your life. To how she laughed, the way she went all-out for things she cared about.

The truth is that you like her.

Enough that the thought of never being on the receiving end of her “too much” again—too much baking, too much care, too much heart—makes your stomach twist.

You show up at the baking room with all of this knotted inside you.

Outside, you hesitate, then knock gently.

No answer.

You crack the door open.

Yuri is inside, alone, standing at a counter with her back to you. She’s piping something onto small tart shells, movements precise and mechanical.

“Yuri,” you say.

She flinches, the piping bag jerking. Cream spills in a crooked line.

“I’m busy,” she says without turning around. Her voice is carefully even. “We’re testing new items for the winter menu.”

“I can see that,” you say. “Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Can I at least apologize?”

She goes still.

“You already did,” she says finally. “In the café. I got it. You don’t have to keep pretending to like things you don’t.”

You walk further in, closing the door quietly behind you.

“I wasn’t pretending to like you,” you say before you can stop yourself.

She freezes.

You exhale. “I handled it badly. I’m sorry. I should have told you early on that I’m not a sweets person. But I also should have told you… other things. About what I did like.”

She sets the piping bag down with trembling fingers.

“Like what?” she asks, still not facing you.

“Like…” You swallow. “How I started looking forward to seeing you more than the food itself. How your timing is freakishly good—you always showed up when I was most stressed. How no one’s ever made that much effort just to make my day a little better.”

Silence.

“And,” you add, “how somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as just ‘the girl who keeps bringing me desserts’ and started… liking you.”

She turns slowly.

Her eyes are wary, hurt still lingering at the edges. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not saying it to make you feel better,” you answer. “I’m saying it because it’s true and I’m tired of you only knowing half of it.”

You take a breath.

“I don’t like sweets,” you say plainly. “I never have. But for weeks, I ate every single thing you gave me. Even when it hurt my teeth. Even when my stomach was already full. Do you know why?”

“Because you felt guilty,” she says softly.

“No.” You shake your head. “Because it was from you.”

Her eyes widen.

“You could have handed me the weirdest sugar disaster in the world and I still would have at least tried it,” you continue. “Because every time you handed me a box, you looked like you’d poured a piece of yourself into it. And I…” You hesitate, then force the words out. “I wanted that. I wanted any piece of you you were willing to give.”

Her lips part, but no sound comes out.

You step closer, heart pounding.

“I’m not going to suddenly become someone who loves super-sweet things,” you admit. “That’s just… how my tongue is trained. But that day at the café? Those desserts you made, adjusted for me? I really liked them. Not out of politeness. They were actually the first sweets I thought, ‘I could eat this every day.’”

You manage a small, crooked smile.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… I might not like sweets in general.” You hold her gaze, letting the words steady. “But you’re an exception.”

Her breath catches.

You realize, belatedly, that your confession sounds like something out of a cheesy drama. But it’s the truest way you can put it.

“I don’t like sweets,” you repeat quietly, taking another step, “but you’re an exception.”

Tears spring up in her eyes so fast it throws you.

“Yuri—”

“That’s so unfair,” she whispers, voice cracking. “You say something like that now… how am I supposed to stay mad at you?”

Hope blooms cautiously in your chest. “You don’t… have to stay mad.”

She laughs, wet and shaky, swiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist. “You hurt me, you know.”

“I know.” Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry.”

“I felt so stupid,” she continues. “Like I was forcing you to eat things you didn’t even want. Like you were just… playing along because you pitied me.”

“I never pitied you,” you say firmly. “If anything, I admired you. How you keep trying new things, how you’re not afraid of failing a recipe and starting over. How… you care, so much, about something.”

Her shoulders slump.

“I should have told you from the beginning,” she mutters. “About… liking you. Instead of hoping you’d get it from sugar and butter.”

You huff a small laugh. “I have a history of not getting things unless they’re spelled out. Just ask Yena.”

She snorts, despite herself.

You take a breath.

“So I’ll spell it out too,” you say. “I like you, Yuri. I like when you hover awkwardly by the door of my lab. I like when you get flour on your face and don’t notice. I like when you go on about proofing times and oven temperatures like the world depends on it. And I like that you thought of me enough to adjust your recipes around what I might enjoy.”

Her eyes shimmer, but she meets your gaze.

“I like you too,” she says quietly. “Obviously.”

You both laugh, the tension thinning.

After a beat, she adds, almost shyly, “So… what now?”

You glance at the counter, then back at her.

“Now,” you say, “if you’ll let me, I want to try being on your side of things. Just once.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

You pull a crumpled printout from your bag and place it on the table. It’s clearly been through a war—smudged with something that might be batter.

“I asked Eunbi for help,” you admit. “She… wasn’t gentle. But she showed me a simple recipe.”

Her eyes flick over the page. “Dark chocolate hazelnut biscotti? That’s… not easy for a beginner.”

“Yeah, I figured that out when I almost burned down my kitchen,” you say dryly. “But she supervised. And we managed to get a batch that was… edible.”

You reach into your backpack and bring out a small, somewhat lopsided tin. You open it to reveal twice-baked cookies—clearly made by clumsy hands, edges uneven, a few pieces cracked. But they smell deeply of cocoa, toasted nuts, and a hint of coffee.

“You baked these,” she says, stunned.

“With a lot of help,” you confirm. “They’re not very sweet. More bittersweet, actually. I thought… if I was going to really understand you, I should at least try standing where you stand.”

You hold the tin out to her.

“For you,” you say. “No pretending. If they suck, tell me. But I wanted to try.”

Her fingers shake slightly as she picks one up. She takes a careful bite.

Silence stretches.

You swallow. “Bad?”

Her eyes close.

When she opens them again, they’re shining for a different reason.

“It’s… not perfect,” she says honestly. “Some pieces are a little overbaked. And the chocolate could be better quality.” Her lips tremble into a smile. “But it’s good. Really good, actually. The bitterness from the cocoa and coffee is nice. The sweetness is subtle.”

Relief floods you.

“I thought you might like something that’s kind of in the middle,” you say. “Not too sweet. Not too bitter. Like… us, I guess.”

Her laugh is soft and wet. She takes another bite, savoring it.

“You really made this for me,” she whispers.

“For us,” you correct. “So we can have something that fits both our tastes.”

She watches you for a moment, eyes searching.

“Do you really think I’m an exception?” she asks finally.

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Her lower lip wobbles.

“Then…” She takes a deep breath. “If we start… dating—”

Your heart lurches. “I’m very in favor of that plan.”

She flushes, but continues, “—you’ll… keep being honest? Even if you don’t like something I make?”

You nod. “I will. And if it’s too sweet, I’ll just say, ‘It’s good, but can we adjust it a bit?’ Not ‘it’s perfect’ while I die inside.”

“And you’ll still… try them?” she adds. “At least a bite?”

“Always.” You smile. “And in return, you’ll keep telling me when my cooking attempts are tragic?”

She giggles. “Deal.”

You grin. “So… is that a yes? To… you know. Dating.”

She doesn’t answer with words first.

Instead, she steps closer, closing the space between you with tentative, small movements until you can feel the warmth of her. She looks up at you through her lashes, cheeks pink.

“Yes,” she says softly. “It’s a yes.”

Your breath leaves you in a rush.

You want to hug her, to hold her, but you hesitate, unsure.

She solves it by leaning forward and pressing her forehead lightly to your chest.

“Just… give me a second,” she mumbles. “I’m trying not to cry again.”

You chuckle breathlessly, your hands finally coming up to gently rest on her shoulders.

“Take all the time you need,” you murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”

-----

A few weeks later, the new routine feels so natural you can’t imagine the old one.

You still drink your coffee black. She still brings you things—but now they’re as likely to be savory scones, cheese bread, or low-sugar tarts as they are cakes and cookies.

“New experiment,” she says one day, plopping down beside you in the café. “Honey yogurt panna cotta. Less sugar, more tang. I want to see if it can win you over.”

You take a bite. The texture is silky, the sweetness mellowed by the yogurt’s acidity.

“This is dangerous,” you admit. “I could actually get used to this.”

She beams. “Good. I want to expand your dessert vocabulary.”

You nudge her with your shoulder. “As long as you’re the one teaching me.”

Across the room, Yena, Chaewon, Minju, and Hitomi watch from behind a potted plant.

“This is disgusting,” Yena mutters. “They’re so soft now. Remember when he looked like he was about to cry drinking a caramel latte?”

“He still doesn’t like caramel,” Hitomi notes.

“I think it’s cute,” Minju sighs. “Look, he’s actually smiling when he eats that dessert.”

“He looks like a man peacefully accepting his fate,” Chaewon says.

“His fate is dating a baker,” Yena says. “He can’t escape carbs now.”

Eunbi joins them, wiping her hands on a towel. “Stop spying and go help me with the new dough,” she scolds, though her eyes are warm as she glances at you and Yuri.

Back at your table, Yuri is poking her spoon into your panna cotta, stealing a bite.

“Hey,” you protest. “That’s mine.”

She grins. “I made it. Therefore it’s ours.”

You roll your eyes but don’t fight her.

After a moment, she sets the spoon down and studies you.

“What?” you ask, amused.

“Do you still… stand by what you said?” she asks. “About not liking sweets.”

You pretend to ponder, then shake your head.

“No,” you say. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Her eyes widen, hopeful. “Really?”

You lean in a little, voice dropping.

“I don’t like sweets,” you tell her, deliberately echoing your old line, “but you’re an exception.”

Her cheeks flush, smile blooming wide and bright. “You can’t just keep saying that,” she complains weakly. “My heart can’t handle it.”

“That sounds like a you problem,” you tease.

She flicks your hand lightly, but her fingers linger, twining with yours on the table.

“Fine,” she says, squeezing your hand. “Then I’ll make sure you never run out of exceptions.”

You watch her, the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles, the way a smear of cream dots her lip without her noticing. There’s a slice of some new tart in front of you, another variation she’s testing.

You take a bite, chew slowly.

“Good?” she asks anxiously.

You swallow, meeting her gaze.

“Yeah,” you say. “But honestly? Everything tastes better when it comes from you.”

She flushes so hard you’re pretty sure her temperature rises five degrees.

“Stop,” she mumbles, hiding her face behind her spoon. “You’re worse than sugar.”

You chuckle, squeezing her hand again.

Maybe you’ll never be someone who loves every dessert on a menu. But you’ve learned that taste can change, edges can soften, and things you thought you’d never enjoy can become your favorites—if they’re wrapped in the warmth of the right person.

You still don’t like sweets.

You love her.

And that, you decide, is the sweetest thing of all.

-----

Your palm tightens around hers.

“The only possible treatment options are therapy, or stress management methods through the use of prescriptions or self administered stress reduction techniques.”

You feel trembling in your hands, but it isn't yours. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but we all have to start with diagnosis some day right?

“Now Miss Yuri, the good news is, the degree of your split personality, otherwise medically termed as Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), is not that serious yet, and with proper management, there won't be an issue of it worsening. Besides, you have someone right by your side, supporting you, and that's all that matters.”

The doctor is met with silence as he attempts to reassure and suppress Yuri’s growing anxiety. Finishing up his consultation, he directs both of you out of his consulting room to wait for Yuri’s prescribed pills.

“Sorry Sir, please stay with me for a moment. I’ll need to speak to you privately.” The doctor calls out to me before we leave. Motioning Yuri to the prescription room after assuring her you’ll be fine, you closed the door behind her as you turned to face the doctor.

“Now, the only thing I can say to you right now is that I hope that regardless of how your girlfriend acts, try your best to accomodate, to assure, and to satisfy. However, I do have to warn you. Please be level headed. If it gets too dangerous, you bail. Always put her first, but also put yourself first.”

—————————————————————

The ride back home is silent. You play her favourite songs to try and cheer her up, but she just curls her legs up to her chest, arms wrapping around her shins. Body tilted to the side, she leans her head on the side window as she stares out into the rain, millions of thoughts running through her mind.

“Hey baby, are you sure you want to quit your job? Even though… ahem - he has been arrested?” You murmur as you pull into the garage.

You cut the engine and turn around to face her. Her eyes are moist, and you grab her hands. Rubbing your thumb against the back of her hand, she lets out a heartbreaking sob.

“I-I don't know…”

A silent pause engulfs the morbid atmosphere as Yuri breaks down and continues crying.

You wished that you found out about the workplace abuse earlier.

You wished that you spent more time with her.

And you wished that you communicated more with her.

But what's done is done.

And then you remembered something in your pocket.

“Hey! Look at this.” Your hand goes deep into the pocket as you dig out a box with an autumn leaf symbol on it. Flipping it open, you fish out a shiny coin, a custom made coin with Yuri’s lovely facial features engraved on it. Just for her.

“I planned to give this to you on your birthday in October, but I figured that I should give it to you now.” You rest the coin on your knuckles and begin performing tricks with it. Magic. Bullshit. Whatever. Anything is needed right now to help her.

Anything.

“This… is a fair coin. However, I have used my almighty powers to bless it and it will always land on the side that shows your beautiful face. I’m going to give it to you, so I hope that you can use it to make hard decisions whenever you find difficulty.” You turned her hand around and placed the coin into her trembling palm. “So use it as a method to justify any decision you want to make. And I hope… you won't ever forget that I will always love you.”

…

…

…

“H-hey, I'm sorry for what I did to you earlier… you know, s-seducing you in-into having…sex… with me. Th-that wasn’t me ME… It was me SHE, or HER or whatever...” Yuri looks down and grips the coin tight as she splurts out words of regret.

“I know babe… I know. Don't worry about it. Besides, I didn't hate it.” Cupping her hands, you reassure her. “C'mon. Let's get back in, I'm starving.”

—————————————————————

“You’re going to be my fucking toy~” A searing pain spreads like a wave across your cheek as she mounts you.

“B-babe! What's going on with you!” Panic floods your chest as you struggle to make sense of the situation.

There was no warning. It was as if a switch had just flipped.

Dinner was already prepared and you were about to invite her out of the room, but Yuri dragged you in and pushed you onto her bed. The next thing you know, you're given a slap across your face.

“Oh shut up! You're fucking noisy.” Yuri grumbles as she lifts up her two legs, sliding her panties off.

Pink, cute. Wait, what are you thinking? Wasn't there the promise between both of you that there would be no premarital sex?

You respect and love Yuri to death, which is why you always only get yourself off in the bathroom. No sex. But nevertheless, you are always attracted to her. So gorgeous, so cute, so lovable.

And your body doesn't deny her either.

As your dick grows, the tent building in your jeans makes contact with her ass. Feeling your erection, Yuri smirks and grabs your shirt by the chest with both hands.

“Yuri-ah, wh-” Your attempt to seek clarification is cut short as Yuri slightly pulls your upper body towards her, and she leans down to smash her lips against yours.

Electric currents surge through your mind as she crashes her plump lips on yours. Your eyes go blank as you reciprocate and hook your tongue onto hers through the oral connection between your lips. Fighting for dominance, each twirl around hers spread the delicacy of her saliva around your taste buds.

Heavenly. Your body thirsts and it intensifies its greed for more.

You're so immersed in plunging your tongue through her plump lips that you didn't even realise that she has ripped your shirt apart, exposing your chest.

Pressing down on your chest, she disconnects her mouth from yours, breaking the kiss apart. Although, a thick strand of your mixed oral fluids bridges the gap formed between the disconnection.

You groan at her absence from your mouth, but she curses at you. “Gosh you're so god damn fucking noisy!” Balling her pink panties, she pushes her fingers into your mouth, prying it open and stuffing the makeshift gag in.

Her musky scent floods your nostrils as you gulp a deep breath through the sex filter embedded in your mouth.

Doggying backwards, she fumbles with and loosens your belt. Grabbing the sides of your jeans she drags it down. Although, she doesn't completely remove your pants and keeps it right between your knees. You don't know if it is intentional or not, but your legs are restrained, unable to open too wide, and unable to close because Yuri’s anchored between them.

Palming your erection through your boxers, she sultrily licks your covered tip. The sensation is dull, but your cock twitches welcomingly.

You're already leaking in anticipation. Years of jerking alone in the bathroom has finally led to this. You don't know what switched in your girlfriend's mind, but your mind shrugs it out of existence. It should have been a problem that you would worry about, but you didn't. Gone was the gentle, shy and caring Yuri, now replaced with a fierce, domineering and lust filled brat.

Yanking the final obstacle down, your already hard cock springs up and smacks Yuri’s chin.

“Fucking dick! How dare you slap me!” She grabs your dick by the base and delivers a hard smack to its tip.

You roar at the impact, but Yuri’s panty gag muffles it. The stinging pain creeps across your entire body and just as you slowly recover, Yuri gives it two more smacks. Your arms raise to grab her hands, but she grabs yours instead. Fastening your wrists to the mattress, she stares deep into your eyes and mouths, “You're so fucking needy.”

Before you can answer - not that your gagged mouth can - she pushes her pouty lips to kiss your cock’s tip, and slams the entire thing right to the ends of her throat. Any attempt of struggle is replaced with petrification as Yuri holds her position. Although, her oral muscles are not on pause. The scorching wet heat from her throat walls conducts to the core of your shaft, and you shiver in pleasure.

Tensing and relaxing, those very same walls mould and meld into the outline of your cock as her tongue rotates and swirls around around it, each repeated rotation dragging you into a quicksand of pleasure. Yuri’s mouth and throat is claiming your dick as her own, and you can do nothing but fall into an eternal prison that she has constructed. Fingers gripping tight, she senses your lack of struggle and relaxes her grip on your wrists.

Then she pulls up. Lifting her head off your dick, Yuri sucks in a deep breath and looks into your eyes. Satisfied at your surrender, she readies her lips above your tip once more and gives it a warm blow, before slamming her entire head down to the base of your cock, deepthroating you once again.

However, this time round, she doesn’t stop. Throat already moulded to the outline of your cock, no hesitation remains within her as she repeatedly sheaths your rod with every piston. You cannot believe yourself. You’ve never seen Yuri act like this, she was never controlling, always so sweet. But now, now she is a lusty, erotic mess, slobbering on your cock like an innocent slut, except she’s anything but pure. Her pumps get sloppier as she disregards her own makeup, forcefully jamming your cock through the gagging and gawking sounds reproducing from her larynx.

And you’re not silent either. Each scrape of her teeth on your veiny shaft sends tingles to your scalp. Each rub of her tongue across your frenulum sends your tip dribbling pearls of precum. And each pummel of your swollen rod against the back of her throat makes your toes curl.

You’ve always respected Yuri’s choice of abstaining from premarital sex, but with her thrusting herself so hard and fast on you, each warm engulf is slowly eroding and shattering that very respect you have. You’re on the verge of losing any semblance of self control as your haze filled mind directs your two hands onto her head. Firmly grabbing on to her disheveled hair, you synchronise the motion of your forearms with her bobs, forcing her head down on your cock as she thrusts herself downwards, pulling her hair upwards when she lifts her vacuuming plump lips up your shaft.

Your motions resonate with hers as the intensity of her throating surges. Saliva bubbles out of the gaps and strands of sticky saliva swings around wildly, some connecting with your thighs, some with her cheeks. Your balls and groin are flooded with her bubbly juice and slobber as she tears up. She refuses to stop. Face flushed with a passionate crimson glow, her eyes roll to the whites as you use her like a sex toy, chasing your own high. The seismic tremors in your body quakes and accumulates as her gagging and choking crescendos into a spluttering mess.

Yuri looks into your eyes, soaking in the sight of your animalistic state, smirking that she’s the one that unleashed this beast. Clutching fistfuls of her hair, you plunge her head harder, spit spraying out like an overflowing bottle.

Yuri’s muffled licks on your cock grow more frantic as you grunt against the fabric in your mouth. You can't hold it any more. The milky liquid surges up your cock and unloads itself like a tidal wave into Yuri’s mouth. The first paints her throat, and Yuri doesn't stop bobbing.

Each subsequent roar coats the inner walls of her cheeks as you fill her entire mouth to the brim. She holds you in place, keeping your tip captive as she sucks your cum out like a straw in a bottle.

“Bwah~” Releasing your cock with a pop, she sticks her tongue out and presents the warm seed you have blessed her with. You pant raggedly as she rolls your cum into a pool, before guiding it to her throat with her tongue, gulping down each and every single drop.

Kinky.

Without waiting for your exhausted state to recover, Yuri mounts you and positions your still rock hard cock to the entrance of her dripping pussy. As she lowers herself, you feel yourself splitting her folds as your tip enters her. You ready yourself as Yuri proceeds to bury you deep in her.

Then a shriek.

“No! What's happening! What am I doing!” Yuri immediately pulls herself off you before collapsing naked right beside you, hands covering her face as she sobs and tries to make sense of the situation.

Her shriek jolts you to from your sex starved state, and you try to calm her down, but only muffles escape. Peering through her fingers to see your gagged state, she panics as she clambers towards your mouth, ripping her panties from it.

“I-I’m so s-sorry baby!! I-I…that wasn't me! I swear!” Tears gush out from her already makeup ruined face as she breaks down and sob non stop.

You heave in a sigh as you gather your thoughts, grabbing the blanket stained with your sweat, wrapping it around her, before pulling her towards your body for a deep embrace as she cries herself to slumber.

—————————————————————

“Hey baby! C'mon out for dinner! I’m done cooking~” You holler from the kitchen.

You wait for five moments before heading towards Yuri’s room, seemingly in an attempt to drag her out for dinner (her first meal for the day). It's always a challenge to get her out since she's always on her noise-cancelling headphones, jamming to music.

Swinging the door open, you spot her small frame huddle on the corner of her bed, fiddling with the coin you gave her.

flip

Heads.

flip

Heads.

flip

Heads.

You stand there like a ghost and calmly observe your love continuously flipping the coin.

“Heads again? Did he really bless this coin?”

flip

Heads.

“What in the world?”

“Hey.” Breaking Yuri from focus, I grin jokingly, “I told you I blessed that coin, so use it to justify any doubts you have. Although I hope you don't use it to justify a confirmation to murder me…”

“I-I… I’ve decided. I want to quit my job and stay by your side forever.” Yuri looks into my eyes with a resolute expression as she blurts out her decision.

“That's fine by me. Whatever you decide and choose, I’ll respect your wishes, as long as you forget about that scum who…ahem…harmed you.”

You can see her hands beginning to tremble at the mention of that guy, and you quickly divert the topic. “Hey, since the decision has been made, get your cheeky ass out here for dinner. My speciality ramen is gonna get soggy and all puffed up~”

Immediately replacing her stoic expression with a slight curl on the edges of her lips, Yuri scrambles off the bed and runs towards you, hooking her arm around yours, embracing you tight.

“Yes, yes naggy man, to dinner we go!”

—————————————————————

“Hey are you not going to drink yours? It's not gonna be cold anymore~” You see Yuri just sitting on the couch, constantly fiddling with the coin you gave her, occasionally flipping it. It always gives heads no matter how many times she flips it, and she now religiously believes that you have indeed blessed it. Kept in a custom made holder that hangs allows the coin to be contained in a necklace on her neck, it is now a precious treasured item of hers.

“You mind if I ask you a question?”

You look at Yuri’s puppy eyes as you pick up your cup of bubble tea. “Mmm you already asked me one though?”

“No no I mean… Gosh! Can I ask you two questions then?” She palms her forehead as she tries to restructure her thoughts.

Slurping on the chewy tapioca pearls mixed with the sweet milky beverage, you chew a little before gulping down everything. “Ehhhhhh… babe. That's the second question you're gonna ask?”

“No no no no! You prick!” She lunges at you and tries to jab her finger into your waist.

You flash to the left to evade her attack but you're too slow. “I-I’m joking babe!! Sor-hehehe! It's so ticklish! Ahhh stop!” She curls her fingers and worm tickles right into your spine, drawing giggles from both you and her.

Finally stopping, she gathers her bearings and tidies her ruffled top. “Babeee! I was trying to be serious! Hmmph.” You pinch and stretch her chubby cheeks while she chortles out the question, tapping her two index fingers together. “H-hey, was I scary that time? I hope I didn't go overboard or anything.”

“When? Ohhhhh. You mean when you pushed me down and gave me the best blo-” Your teasing was cut short as her palm clambers to your mouth, slamming it shut.

Yuri’s face flushes red as her breath quickens. “You know… I've been thinking a lot, do you not want to like… fu- I mean have s-sexual intercourse with me? I know you love me to hell and I want to give you everything.” She blurts out in a machine gun-like manner.

You push yourself upwards and settle right beside her, grabbing her warm palms. “You know, I don't love you for like “sex” you know. So let's just leave it at that. C'mon, let's finish your drink and get dressed up~ I’ll bring you out on a dinner date.”

—————————————————————

“Eat me. Right here. Right now.”

You're shocked at the turn of events. One moment you're having dinner at a steakhouse with Yuri, the next moment her switch completely flips as she stabs her fork murderously into her piece of meat that was supposed to be bloody (it came well done).

You tried to calm her down, offering to trade your medium rare one with hers, but she refused.

“Why the fuck should I eat your meat? I want my meat fucking dripping wet, not this piece of cardboard!” She ranted and raged as she kept stabbing and disfiguring the pitiful slice of “inedible” steak.

“Maybe they got our orders wrong. Let me get them to change it!” You tried to defuse the bomb, but she slammed the fork down on the table, which zipped your mouth shut. “Shut up babe. I don't want to eat this piece of shit anymore. I want my pink meat dripping and you're going to give it to me.”

And here you are.

Yuri’s legs spread wide apart in the restaurant's washroom for the disabled. And you? You're kneeled on the cold floor, as she holds your head right in front of her sex. It emanates a tart, musky scent, and it's intoxicating. Every fiber of your nerves are on fire as you whiff her aphrodisiac perfume drunkenly, drooling at the sight of her soaked cunt.

“Look at you, kneeling on the ground like a dog.” She lifts your chin with her fingers and your drool slightly flows out. “Tell me. Tell me what you want right now.”

“I-I want to eat your cunt. I want to slurp up all the slutty juices that splurts out of your cunt, make this pink and pretty piece of meat so fucking soaked. I want to make this cunt cum so badly. Please.” Her heat emanating in your face hypnotises you into a trance as you blabber out filth.

Your mind is hazy, and she initiates your baptism. “Then fucking feast, you needy piece of shit.” Two hands around the back of your head, she pulls your head towards her heat and smashes you against the wet warmth.

The first plunge into her moist cavern suffocates you. A honey-like sweetness with a hint of tartness that lingers on your tongue. It's so well rounded - sourness just enough that any excess off-flavour is balanced by the nectar sweetness. You can't stop lapping.

Your tongue has a mind of its own as it goes into overdrive, and you're like a dog, lapping up her nectar as if you’ve been dehydrated for 3 weeks straight. Moving in a myriad of directions that you didn't know your tongue could, you plunge it in and out, vertically up and down, sliding left and right horizontally, and making circles around her dripping wet clit.

Yuri becomes an instrument for you to play, and each subsequent strum with your tongue sends her pressing your head against her soaking snatch harder. Melodic breathy moans escape her mouth as she trembles and shakes under your ministrations.

Her grip grows weak from your assault. Refusing to let you go, she wraps her legs around your head, crossing her calves around the back of your neck. Slurping sounds that mix with her moans are now suppressed as Yuri’s meaty thighs act as noise suppressing mufflers.

You choke and rasp at the lack of oxygen, but that's the least of your concerns. Her musky heat and delectable juices are now your sole lifeline as adrenaline surges through your blood vessels.

“God fuck-right there. You're a good fucking boy. Fucking lick me, don't you dare fucking stop!” Her shrieks pierces through her thighs into your ears which motivates you to act out of place. You sneak your left arm and place your palm right below your chin, and you push. Index finger penetrating her convulsing cunt.

“Wh-whatever you're doing. You bett-better not fuc-fucking fuck fuck stop!!” Plunging your finger deep into her cunt, you lap and slurp the juices out of Yuri as she shrieks and clenches her thighs even harder.

You don't care if its a fucking rare A5 wagyu steak placed in front of you, because right now, her fucking raw, wet, soaked, dripping - god you cant fucking think of any more adjectives right now - cunt is the most delectable piece of meat that transcends any 5-Star Michelin delicacy.

Yuri’s wails grow louder than the loudest she never knew she could go as she shakes and claws against your head.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck! Don't fucking stop!!! I'm fucking cu-” Yuri splashes her essences onto your fingers and face as she orgasms, and you don't stop your stimulation on her wrenching pussy.

Each clench sends out waves of juices which you gladly gulp and drink. Fuck, it's so obsecene that you wish Yuri would film your debased state.

Yuri’s high slowly dies out as she releases and loosens her grip on you, and you finally get your much needed gasp for oxygen.

“Fuck baby, look at my soaked face~” You splutter as your tongue sticks out to lick up any remnant juices on the sides of your lips. Fuck, you're getting addicted to her juices.

Slap

“How dare you fucking finger me. I thought I only told you to eat me? You're so fucking naughty!” The searing pain spreads across your cheek.

Then, a smooth caress follows.

“I-I’m so sorry baby! That wasn't on purpose! It wasn't me!” Yuri’s gaze switches back to a gentle and worrying one, looking at you with an apologetic expression as she rubs and soothes your cheek, flabbergasted at what she has just done.

“It’s fine… baby. It didn't hurt one bit. C'mon, let's head back home. I reckon the entire restaurant has heard us.”

…

…

…

“O-okay…”

—————————————————————

“Hey.”

There she is, sitting right at the kitchen island table. The same coin in her fingers, she flicks it upwards.

clink

The coin lands on the table for the umpteenth time before settling down flat.

Heads.

“How does this make any sense? Did you really do magic on it? This doesn't make any sense at all! I've rolled it like what, 238 times, and not once, not once did it give me tails…” Yuri grumbles in disbelief.

“So… why are you rolling it again? Having trouble making a decision?”

…

“Your…”

“Hey babe. If you're going to ask me about that last week again, I'm really gonna get mad at you. I already told you, it doesn't hurt. And I'm not mad at all. Why would I get mad when I get to feast on such a delectable pus-”

“Kyaaaa stop!!! You're… so irritating!” Yuri shrieks as she tries to cut your sentence short, as her face turns red like a tomato.

…

…

…

“Yah. How… did I taste?” Yuri blurts out, palms covering her face.

You glance over at her, shock spreading through your face as you ponder if you should give her an answer.

“Just tell me already… I'm not some naive kid. Stop treating me like one!” Yuri meekly urges for your answer as she peeks at your face through the slight gaps between her fingers.

“You know, I love you so much that I would never disrespect your choices. So yeah. You are you, and she is she. I would never ever force myself onto you, my precious little baby. So yeah.” Struggling to come up with a politically correct answer, I sigh in exasperation as I look into her unconvinced eyes. “Bit ifffff you really want to know… yea you fucking taste like heaven, so sweet, slightly tart, so fucking addicting that I could lap your pus-”

“I got it I got it! Stop stop stop!” Yuri once again cuts you short.

Sometimes you wonder why humans are such complicated organisms. The mouth says one thing, but the mind means another.

“At the very least, you are still ultimately you Yuri. Whether it's this sweet and gentle side of you, or whether it is that “savage or sex-mode” of yours, you will always be Yuri to me. My dear Yuri. Gosh, you're such a worrywart, my turn to tickle you!” You lunge at her, trying to change the topic, earning a tussle. Giggling, she ends up reversing the situation and in the end, you're the one suffering at the hands of the Grandmaster of Waist Tickles.

—————————————————————

“Oi, you can cum once more for me right? Don't you love me? I am Yuri aren't I?”

You barely register what Yuri says in your mind as you lie sprawled on her bed. How many times has it been? Three? Four? You can't remember. You just know that she has been vigorously griding her fist on your cock, pumping it till it sprays cum all over her hands.

The first time it was pleasurable. As usual, you were a moaning piece of mess, throbbing so hard until she pumped your milk out.

But that's where the nightmare began. Yuri didn't stop. Using your cum as lube, she jerked your softening erection even faster and harder than before, sending your body thrashing from the already extra sensitive penis of yours. You wanted to sit up and push her hands away, but she locked your arms down with her feet as she sat on your thighs, hands continuously tugging your cock.

Ironically, your stupid shaft had its own ideas and freaking hardens again. Your mind is puzzled as you marvel at Yuri’s handjob skills. Where and when did this “sex-mode” learn all this? Even though her personality is different, she's still ultimately the same person, sharing the same memories. Where the hell did she learn all these unorthodox techniques?

Every twist and turn of her pistoning wrist brought you to ruin in no time as you roared and came once again, albeit lesser semen as compared to the first.

You panted as you beg, “I-I can't cum anymore babe…”

“Shut the fuck up. This is me getting revenge on you for fucking using your finger that time when I told you to only use your mouth!” Smirking and still restraining your limbs - not that you had anymore strength to struggle, Yuri cupped your balls, massaging and fondling it. Rubbing your tip, your freaking shaft solidified and hardened.

And the next thing you know, you're cumming your balls empty once again. You don't know how many times it has been, but your entire body feels twisted, and your cock feels soreness from the uncountable milking sessions that Yuri has performed.

Back to your present state, Yuri reaches forward and slaps your face, squeezing and twisting your nipples as she taunts you. She demands you to cum for her once more, to show and prove your love for her. “Since I'm Yuri, you're going to cum one last time for me. Show me that you fucking love Yuri.”

“Here's some fucking help.” She sticks her finger into her mouth and slobbers all over it, before placing it right at your rear entrance. Pushing her digit into your ass, she sticks and curls her finger, seemingly searching for something. Then she hits it. That small walnut shaped lump nesting right inside your rectum. Pressing hard on it, she rubs and massages it with her delicate fingers, eliciting a sharp moan from your needy mouth.

“There we go~ I know you can fucking give me more!” Yuri cackles in a sadistic chuckle as she proceeds with her double assault. Fuck, she's really good at multi tasking.

Her feet shift from your limp arms that need no more restraining right onto your nipples, toes on each side, stimulating and rubbing your nipples. Fingers smushing and kneading that prostate of yours. And finally, her hand that fists your cock with your cum-lube that has been used and abused till it is now a frothy bubbly mash.

Your cock throbs at the triple stimulation as it resigns itself to its last ejaculation for the night. It's hurting, but that pain is mixed with pleasure that's overwhelming your senses as your tongue lulls out of your mouth and your drool drips onto the bedsheet beneath you. Your body shakes and convulses at her assault as the waves approach the climax point. Like a lightning streaking through the sky, you crash and roar, shooting out the last of whatever remaining cum you have. It's no longer the white, sticky and thick fluid from before - it's now a watery, slightly transparent, whitish spurt that dribbles out from your tip, coating her already frothy hand.

Giggling at your demise, she works you through the orgasm as your heart tightens and constricts, gasping and choking through your breaths for air.

“P-please. N-no more… I-I can't an-anymore…” You barely even have any energy to beg for mercy.

“Oh? I think… I want you to do me one more favour, baby boy. I want to see you fucking squirt for me. Since you made me squirt so hard that time, I guess I have to reciprocate your efforts right?” Yuri doesn't even wait for your answer as she grabs your dick with one hand, then places her other hand's palm around your tip, and begins to rub in circular motions.

Your overstimulated tip’s nerves are on overdrive from her circling as you shiver and beg for mercy. You’ve never felt this before. This is different from cumming. It feels like something welling up in your entire body as your ass clenches and relaxes non-stop. Your toes curl harder than ever, and your waist arches upwards. You stop breathing and your entire world comes crashing down. Your dick spews and sprays a transparent liquid that doesn't stop flowing, and it suddenly strikes you.

You're fucking peeing! Or something similar. As you empty gallons and gallons of your squirt, Yuri laughs evilly and continues to rub your tip through your love shower that covers every inch of both of your bodies.

Your mind reels from the constant pleasure and the next thing you know, you pass out.

—————————————————————

“Let's take a break from each other.” Yuri looks down at her coin that shows heads.

“Wh-what? Why?” You panic at her sudden confession. “If this is about what happened last time, I'm fine! Really! You don't need to worry about it!”

“I do. I have to. Please. It's just a short break. We're not breaking up or anything.” Yuri looks up at you, tears already streaming down her cheeks.

Your heart shatters at the sight. Just then, the doctor’s words strike you.

“Regardless of how your girlfriend acts, try your best to accommodate, to assure, and to satisfy. However, I do have to warn you. Please be level headed. If it gets too dangerous, you bail. Always put her first, but also put yourself first.”

…

Taking in a deep breath, you extend your palm towards her. “Lend me the coin.”

Confused, Yuri places the coin with her trembling hand into my palm.

“I'm going to listen to Yuri and distance myself from her.”

flip

Eyes trained on the coin, Yuri sucks in a gasp of air and holds it there as she watches the coin land and roll onto the table between both of you.

Tails.

It's a motherfucking tails.

“Wa-wait what? How's that possible? Didn't you cast your magic on it? How the heck did it show tails? Did you remove the magic?” Yuri blasts you with questions as she sees the impossible.

“No Yuri. It's just that the world doesn't want me to be away from you. Tell me, what question did you ask when you last flipped the coin?”

“I uh… asked if I should distance myself from you.”

Looking deep into her eyes, you mouth the words, “Yuri meant what she asked.”

And you flip the coin.

Tails.

“I didn't know you were a liar, my baby.” you taunt.

“I-I that was really what I ask-” Cutting her short with a slightly raised tone, you question, “Or maybe, that's not what your heart wants! Ask yourself, is that really what you want? To leave me?”

…

…

“Look at me. Tell me what you see.” You nudge her watery face to peer into your resolute eyes. Her tears don't stop flowing, both streams from each of her eyes cascading and coalescing to the base of her pointed chin, dripping onto her clenched fists resting right above her two thighs.

…

“I-”

You continue staring at her, and it's not a fierce gaze. It is a gaze of concern, a gaze of affection, a gaze of love, and a gaze that speaks of the promise that you always make to her. To always be by her side, no matter what happens.

More tears replace those words of feelings that Yuri is unable to express and you smile warmly. Opening your arms wide, you gesture to her. “Come here, my love. That's all that matters.”

Yuri lunges forward from her seat into your arms, burying her head into your chest as she cries and bawls her heart out. Her tears and snot smudges on your shirt, but that is of no concern as you caress and rub the back of her head, showering her with the only things you can provide, love and comfort.

—————————————————————

“Do you not want to have sex with me?” Yuri shoots you a question as she drinks her cup of green tea in the kitchen. You stare at her, mouth open, ready to deny and use your textbook prepared excuse of your respect towards her wishes of no premarital sex, but you hold your words there.

It's different. Her eyes speak of firmness and wanting, and it is unwavering.

“I do. I have always did. How could I not want to? You're so gorgeous, so unbelievably sexy, so otherworldly hot!” You bombard her with your carnal compliments, each one progressively making her redder and redder.

“Yes Yuri. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you so hard and make you fucking scream my name. I want to claim yours as mine forever. I want to pump my seed into your wonton pussy and breed you so badly that you bear my child.”

“Then please. Claim me as yours. Have sexual intercourse with me. Make me pregnant with your child.” She meekly murmurs out her filthy desires - although the way she speaks is so filtered and prim, unlike her other self, so vulgar and unhinged.

“So uh… How does this usually go? I mean, I’ve watched porn before, but this isn't anything like porn.” Yuri scratches her head awkwardly.

“Trust me baby, I’ll take the lead.” You grab her hand and pull her towards you. Cupping her face, you kiss her forehead before grabbing on to her waist.

“Gosh, you're so god damn beautiful.” You lift her petite body up and sit her onto the kitchen counter. Kissing her left palm, you make love marks progressively up her arm and finally smooches her neck. You lean your head inwards and lick the nape of her neck, to which she lets out a breathy moan. Pulling away, you look into her eyes and reassure her, “Relax and trust me, my love.”

You then smash your lips against hers, grinding your tongue inwards. Yuri tries to kiss back hesitantly, obviously not used to having such a deep kiss before - it was always small pecks on either her cheeks or forehead. But you didn't care. Yuri tenses, but you reach towards her chest with your free palm, grabbing on to her soft mounds and gently squeezing it.

With each knead of her bouncy dough, she moans through your kiss and relaxes slightly, allowing you to stick your tongue deeper. Her eyes close to feel the sensations throughout her chest that mixes with the exhilaration of the slimy dance taking place between your mouths. Something awakens in her as she feels the need to compete with your tongue for dominance. No. It is the need to savour each and every drop of your love liquid that you're feeding into her mouth. The kiss intensifies until you disconnect from each other to take the deepest breath of your life.

“W-wow… that feels different from the kisses we usually do.” Yuri wipes your salivas that leaked from the sides of her lips.

You just stare at her drunk state silently, entranced. “Sorry baby, I don't think I can hold back any more.” You reach forward to unbutton her blouse and reveal her full breasts.

“N-no bra? You really prepared yourself to get fucked huh?”

“Sh-shut up!!” She hastily retorts. Cute. You always love to see her throw mini tantrums. To shut her up, you dive in and latch your mouth onto her nipples, suckling them like a newborn baby. Yuri loses balance from the pleasure and props her two arms backwards onto the kitchen counter for support as you continue alternating your suction on each tit. Within your pants, your erection grows stiffer despite the constraints as she lets out strands and strands of raspy moans.

“P-please baby, put your penis into my vagina. I'm feeling so warm and itchy down there.” You lift your mouth from her breasts and look at her desperate state. No words needed, you lift her legs up and slide her skirt off, throwing it to the side.

Looking at her panties that have a visible wet patch on it, you tease her, “Oh! You wore the same panties that you stuffed into my mouth the last time~ How cute.”

“I-It wasn't on purpose!” She blurts out in an ashamed tone. “I'm going to keep it there while I fuck you.” Pulling down your pants to reveal your straining cock, she gasps as she reaches out to touch it.

“It's so…warm. So hard~ This is going inside of me? Gosh~” Part of Yuri is in awe, the other in anticipation.

You reach forward to pull her panties to the side, revealing her soaking wet cunt. “Fuck your pussy looks so goddamn pretty baby.” The other hand grabbing on to your dick, you inch forward and position your tip right at her wet folds.

Then you push. Your dick inches and splits her folds apart as it makes the first penetration. Yuri moans as your tip enters her. However, you stop there. “Baby, more please, more. Why did you stop?”

“You know, this was the depth of penetration that happened during your first personality switch. I've been holding it in since that day and wanted to bury myself inside you all the way, right to the hilt. So I'm going to savour every moment of this.” You groan as you push forward at a snail's pace, feeling every rib, every pattern of her velvety walls as they welcome you. All the way in, till you're nested right inside her.

“S-so full. It's so warm inside me.” Yuri whines as you penetrate her fully.

“Are you ready? I'm going to move and fuck you.” You wait for her nod of affirmation as you pull all the way out, and right before your tip exits her pussy, you slide your dick all the way back in. Every push is met with an unfathomable tightness, and every pull is like a vacuum that doesn't want to let you go.

With each thrust in and out of her, you see Yuri biting on to her lips, trying to suppress her moans, but you coax her to let it all out. You smash your hips against her harder, while maintaining the same slow pace, each one filled with intention to unleash her hidden desires.

“Ahhh~” A sultry moan escapes Yuri’s mouth as her bite on her lips loosens from your smashes. Her eyes close to soak in the deep penetration that you're giving her and she's losing control.

“Oi. Look at me right now you fucker.” You stop pounding at the sudden command that escapes Yuri’s mouth. Damn, her personality switched again.

“Did I tell you to fucking stop fucking me? Continue smashing my cunt and listen to what I'm about to say, you piece of shit.” You can't say that you aren't afraid of this side of Yuri after what happened the last time, but you also can't deny that this is so fucking hot, her switching personalities in the midst of sex. So you resume your pounding and smashes even harder into her squelching cunt.

“Ahh-yes so fucking deep! N-now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to fucking fuck the other Yuri and give her the best pounding of her life, and you're going to fucking fuck your seed deep into this fucking pussy, you hear me?” She demands. “Because I am her, I can speak for her, she has wanted you to fucking destroy her cunt ever since forever and this stupid pussy side of hers doesn't dare to say it. So you're going to fucking breed her pussy so full until all your cum spills out.”

Gosh, the words that come out of this Yuri’s mouth is so fucking filthy. But you're surprised at what she is saying. Your pure and gentle Yuri actually wants to be pounded and bred so hard? You consider her words as you continue pistoning your cock in and out.

“I know you love her and not me, but she and I are both the same. I am her, and she is me. So you're going to love me like you love her. I won't ever hurt you, I promise. As for the previous time, I guess you can say it's just a test, to test your limits, on like the number of times you can fucking cum so I know how to play with you.”

“God, you're so fucking crazy.” You voice as you pick up your pace slightly faster. The squelching gets sloppier and louder as you grunt with each subsequent thrust. “But yes, I've never looked at you and her as two different persons. I have always loved you just like how I love her.”

Staring deep into your eyes as you confess, she snaps back at you, “Then prove it to me. After you fucking breed her pussy, you're going to fucking cum deep into my ass. I’ll be back.” With that, Yuri’s eyes lose some luster and are replaced with gentler eyes.

“W-what happened aahhh- just now-ahh baby it feels so good!” Yuri moans cutely as you continue pounding her cunt. “Nothing baby, just a small conversation with your other self~ nothing to worry. Although, I heard that you have been very dirty minded, really wanting me to pound and fuck your needy pussy hard eh?”

“I-I” You shush her and thrusts a little harder. “Shhhh- just let me rock your world baby~”

Grabbing on to her waist tightly, you take her to pound town. Each snap of your hips grows with increasing speed as the slapping sounds reverberate throughout the kitchen. The kitchen counter shakes at the intense workout as metal utensils clink dully against each other from inside the cupboards.

Your thrusts surge into a wild rhythm throughout the cacophony of moans and artificial inorganic sounds. Yuri clasps her arms around your neck and wraps her legs around your waist as you fuck her senseless, every spear into her wonton pussy brings you both closer and closer to the inevitable.

“Look at me Yuri, look at me while I cum deep into your needy pussy. I'm going to fill your cunt so fucking deep and full until every single sperm fertilises your eggs. You're going to fucking get pregnant and bear our child.” Yuri whines and nods at your drug like words as she herself gets high on pleasure. Both of you feel a coil tightening within you that drives you crazy. As you piston harder, Yuri rocks her hips against your thrusts. Her snatch demands more depth and you both cooperate to reach your self defined Nirvana.

“I-I something's coming babyyyyy!” Yuri shrieks as her body freezes, her cunt clenching and convulsing non stop. Squirting and wrenching her juices out of her, the crushing sensations tips you over the edge as well as you grunt animastically, unleashing waves and waves of your thick, gooey cum. Each splatter coats every inch of her quivering walls, not sparing any chance to put a baby into her. You don't stop pumping your cock throughout your orgasms till they die down. Exhausted and breathless, you collapse onto Yuri, dick softening inside her.

Gathering yourself, you stand up and pulls away, cock sliding out of her creampied pussy. Your voluminous cum slightly leaks out of her pussy that's still clenched tight, refusing to let go of your baby batter, afraid that allowing any more to flow out will reduce the chances of the egg being fertilised.

“Baby, you ejaculated so much inside of meeeee. I'm definitely going to ge-”

“OI you're gonna fuck my ass right?” There it is. Mode switch. Yuri’s gaze switches once again as she hops off the counter, turning around and sticking her ass towards you. Using one of her hands, she places her palm onto her ass cheeks and spreads it wide.

“C'mon, don't you wanna try anal sex? I’ll have you know, my ass is tighter than my pussy~” Yuri looks back at you sultrily, cooing you to penetrate her dick. At the thought of fucking her ass, your dick twitches and hardens. Gosh, this fucking dick, always making its own decisions. Jerking it too full hardness, you slip the pink panty away from her puckered hole, spitting a spat of pooled saliva right on the entrance.

Still glossy from Yuri’s pussy juices, your position your lubed cock and push. Fuck, there's so much resistance. You press your dick with your free hand, stuffing it into her ass where the tip finally enters it fully.

“Oh baby, you don't have to hold back with me, I want every single inch, and every single ounce of your innermost desires.”

“You asked for it~” Pushing her against the counter, you use the firmly rooted construct to assist your descent into her. With a single thrust, you fully embed your entire shaft into her. Fucking hell, the tightness is at least twice as much as when you were fucking Yuri’s pussy. You struggle to pull it all out and when you finally do so, you stuff it all the way back in, hard.

Soon, you gain traction and the anal dilation procedure becomes smooth. You're humping Yuri like no tomorrow, each crash of your hips against her body sends her ass cheeks rippling. Your balls lunges forward with every thrust, slapping and plapping against Yuri's pussy, giving her extra stimulation and sensation that drives her insane.

“Choke me. Spank me. Fucking use me.” Yuri stares daggers into your eyes as she tilts her head backwards to exercise her demands.

And so you oblige. You pull her body towards you, her body arching into a curve so perfect that you swear it looks like an outline of the golden ratio. Left hand on her throat, you squeeze it tightly as you smash forward into her rear entrance.

Moans turn into wheezes as her eyes roll backwards from the pleasure. The lack of air sends her heart pumping faster, delivering more adrenaline and endorphins around her body.

With your other hand, you raise it up high and swings it down. Palm crashing onto her ass cheek, she yelps through her choked wheezes as her anus clenches more tightly around your cock.

She's gripping you so tightly like a vice that you don't think can hold on much longer. You grunt and continue your assault on her throat and ass cheeks while you plunge deep into her.

Yuri’s shaking and convulsing so hard that she's on the verge of release too. Looking at her contorted face, you blurt, “I-I'm gonna fucking bust Yuri.. can't.. can't hold on much longer!”

You loosen your grip on her throat and she falls foward on to the counter. “Then fucking- fuck fuck you're so deep- fucking cum inside of me. Please… I'm so close too!”

You grip on to both of her wrists and pulls onto her arms. With your last spurt of energy, you go into overdrive as you snap your hips into hers. With a huge grunt, you're sent on your journey to the abyss.

Each spurt of your cum is sucked hungrily by her ass as she cums too, milking each and every single drop of your semen. Wave after wave, your body freezes as you empty your balls out into her while Yuri continues to drive her ass backwards onto yours. Two, three, four. Each subsequent pump coats her inner walls and fills Yuri so much that you feel like you came all the way to her guts. Your orgasms slowly die out as you collapse backwards away from her onto the island behind you.

Looking backwards at you, Yuri turns around and props herself up onto the kitchen counter, legs spread wide as she shows you your handiwork. Translucent white liquid pearls out of both her holes as the cum from Yuri’s pussy flows with the aid of gravity, over her puckered hole and combines with the cum oozing out of her tight anus to pool all over the kitchen counter.

“Mmmm you really filled us both in both holes so well baby. You did so well, you good fucking boy.” Yuri uses her two fingers to scoop up your cum and stuff it into her mouth, licking and savouring every single drop. “It's so salty, so creamy, so fucking delicious that I could drink this all day~ Well, I'm gonna go now, so you better fucking take good care of both of us~ Ciao!”

When the sentence ends, Yuri falls forward as you try to catch her, and you both collapse onto the floor, exhausted and drained of energy.

You both just lay there, staring into the ceiling blankly as you both recall and reflect on what the fuck just happened.

“You know, I actually remember everything that happens when my other mode takes over, you know, so all the memories that she experiences, I am also aware of. So for whatever you said to her before you ejaculated into me,... Thank you. Thank you for accepting all of me.” Yuri smiles sheepishly. “Hey baby, one more thing, tell me the truth. Is that coin really magical?”

You laugh dryly as you spill the beans. “Nah, I just modified it slightly to make sure that it is heavier on one side. That way, the lighter side, which is the side that shows your beautiful face, will always be the one showing on top. To make it show tails, I just simply stuck something heavier on the lighter side to make it heavier. It's just that simple!”

“You! You're a liarrrrr!” Yuri lays there and tries to tickle you. You don't even bother to dodge and just collapse into fits of laughter from her attack.

…

…

…

“So, that coin, now that you know its secret, are you still going to use it?” You nudge Yuri, you both still plastered to the ground.

…

“Of course! I'm going to use it to decide if I'm going to have to switch modes and ask her to sexual intercourse the hell out you if you ever decide to bully me!” Yuri turns to peer at the coin that has fallen onto the ground from the intense pounding earlier, before turning back to look into your eyes lovingly. Opening her mouth, she whispers shyly,

…

...

...

Not once did Jollibee ever think of her as that before meeting her. No, Jollibee thought that she was this innocent K-pop idol from this fourth gen group called aespa that were hitting charts left and right.

Did Jollibee regret sponsoring this event, knowing that every fan out there has been waiting to see aespa or IVE or NMIXX or whoever group it is they stan? Not really, and even then Jollibee is a slave to management. Forced to attend this event to sate the corporate overlords that made Jollibee famous internationally.

Really, all Jollibee found out is that Winter is in fact, one crazy son of a bitch, because Jollibee is currently getting Jollibee’s fingers wet from Winter’s dripping pussy. Dragged into their backstage room right before their performance because apparently, she’s a huge fan.

Looking back, Jollibee thought it was an ordinary meet and greet. You know, Winter meets Jollibee, meets the rest of the group, have some mint ice cream or receive a gift from them like a woolly scarf inside of a aespa themed box that Jollibee can use (if he can even be allowed to), and there’ll probably be a group photo taken somewhere in between it all. And it’s not like Jollibee can talk because all Jollibee can do is gesture around to communicate Jollibee’s thoughts. 

Of course, that’s how Winter got Jollibee. Innocent face, pretty smile, amazing body (see that slutty little waist and deceptively busty chest), the k-pop idol look all wrapped and personified into one Kim Minjeong. It wasn't until Winter decided to flirt with Jollibee, pressing up against Jollibee, all these little things that would make Saint Valentine and Eros blush that Jollibee thought, this was not going to end well for the both of them.

Verisimilarly, having Winter be on the table, legs spread and her pussy in full display with all the pent up arousal of a horny teenager for Jollibee to retract the thought, replacing it with the phrase ‘amazing idea’ in Jollibee's mind. It has to be admitted, anyone would think that having a chance to fuck an idol without any sort of consequences is an amazing idea, one of the best really, Jollibee included.

“Enjoying the view?” Winter asks, hand circling her clit. It’s not like Jollibee can say anything, Jollibee’s mouth is perpetually in that shit-eating grin that always, always means yes, no matter what you tell Jollibee because why else would corporate make Jollibee smile like that?

Shit, Jollibee needs to learn sign language. Or morse code. Or  whatever helps Jollibee communicate better because gestures are not enough to tell Winter that yes, this jolly bee is enjoying the view and that this bee would like to absolutely breed her in the dressing room. Pollinate? Jollibee is a bee, after all. Well, Jollibee is willing to ‘Jollibreed’ Winter if such a thing ever existed. ‘Breed, true’ and all that. That sounds like it can be one of the original sins, what the fuck—

Whatever, Jollibee will send an email to HR about it. Right now there are far more important matters that need to be settled. Matters such as having the notion to get freaky with a beautiful k-pop idol. Jollibee’s frame looms over hers, body shivering in excitement, eyes lighting up in perverted glee, those dick sucking lips of hers grinning large enough to challenge Jollibee’s own grin. Jollibee has no dick sucking lips of course, Jollibee has clit sucking lips (if Jollibee could ever move them).

Into her dripping pussy does Jollibee’s glove covered finger go, eliciting the most drawn out, hot as fuck moan that Jollibee’s ever heard of. “So big,” Winter gasps, back arching from just one finger. “You’re just as big as the toys we use,” she chuckles, closing her eyes as Jollibee begins to pump slowly.

No going back after this, Jollibee thinks. What would the rest of Jollibee’s gang think if they saw this spectacle. Hell, what would corporate say? It’s not like they’d decommission Jollibee considering that they need Jollibee, the star mascot of the entire company. Jollibee would get away scot-free, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. They can chalk it up in one of the gray areas if anyone’s got a problem with it. Might even get qualified institutional buyers (QIBs) for the company.

To that end, the bee’s fingers never let up for a second. Faster, harder, better, it’s all to hear Winter moan out in capslocked. Unfiltered, uncaring, undeniably loud, it's as if Winter's been transported to her first porn act on a casting couch. The triple dubs that consist of being one amateur pornstar were all there too.

Extremely hot bod, over the top acting, shitty location to commit the act of fucking (Jollibee has no camera to record this). It's like that duck analogy—if she fucks like a pornstar, moans like a pornstar, she's a pornstar. Only she's a k-pop idol that's getting finger blasted by a fucking bee of all people.

Really, she could've had anyone. A random fan like Raf or Tyler or Peter or whoever cold from the stadium fan boys out there. They would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. But no, WInter just had to pick the mascot that blinked majorly and had hooded eyes that she has to have mistaken for the fabled ‘fuck-me’ eyes.

All Jollibee wanted was peace. Or arina, if Jollibee was philosophical. Where the sun (or sol, again if Jollibee was philosophical) does shine. But Winter knows the game. Knows how to stalk her prey like a shark, comical noises of ‘ddeun-dun-ddeun-dun’ in the background and all. And Jollibee? Jollibee fell for the bait.

Loving it, Winter is. Jollibee doesn't want to say she’s a slut considering she and Jollibee only met today, but the way she just tightens around Jollibee’s fingers, soaking and mewling and begging for release that makes Jollibee reconsider:

Okay, so she is a slut. No mistake about it anymore. Just peachy. Jollibee doesn’t know if a spanking is in order. She’d probably even enjoy it, if this entire event she’s orchestrated is any indication. It would definitely, well, maybe, make her cum faster on Jollibee’s fingertips.

The first orgasm comes fast; Jollibee’s unrelenting fingers pumping her pussy, Winter’s own hands palming her breasts over her shirt. It makes that slutty little waist of hers arch upwards and her mouth open wide in a silent scream. And the only thing Jollibee can do is keep moving Jollibee’s fingers, leaving her no rest, wanting to see her cum again and again. Staring sexily with those hooded eyes of Jollibees, it makes Winter reach that high she’s been wanting embarrassingly quickly. And if Jollibee could tell her what a good girl she’s being, Jollibee would. Jollibee doesn’t even know what Jollibee would sound like. Gentle and loving and Kooing her those sweet little words in her ear. Her voice was what caught Jollibee’s eye (or ear) when Jollibee was told to research the idols. And hearing her sing was amazing. How soothing it was, the power whenever she hits a high note. But her moans sounded even better up close. And how Pretty she looks, it’s almost unrael. Especially when she’s like this. Putty in Jollibee’s hands, crying about how “Good you are, making me cum so fucking hard on your big hands.” and demanding Jollibee to never stop making her cum, please, Jollibee, it’s all she can think of now. She takes Jollibee’s other hand, bringing it over to her lips and pecking Jollibee's fingers. Licking them, sucking them, giving them a blowjob of epic proportions. It was weird, only having four fingers. Though it probably would be better than having eight on a hand, like an octagon. Or an octopus. Having fingers is still a mighty fine thing, no matter how many fingers someone has. And feeling Winter suck on Jollibee’s fingers while her walls are clenching around Jollibee’s other hand. Maybe having fat fingers is nice after all. It’s not like Jollibee could do anything else with them aside from making silly gestures here and there, all for the enjoyment of Jollibee’s fans. So why can’t Jollibee enjoy this too? Sex wasn’t something that Jollibee ever really thought of before today. But now that this beautiful, perverted woman was willing to let Jollibee experience it…Jollibee’s going to enjoy every second of it. Until Winter has to go on stage, of course. Jollibee needs to make this entire thing count, because Jollibee might never have the chance to again. Well, unless Winter plans to have this be a recurring thing, then Jollibee will have to make something up to get them a brand deal or whatever. Lying to corporate would be easy too. It’s not like Jollibee can speak. Jolllibee doesn’t know morse code. Or sign language. What can they do, strap him on a lie detector and have some guy from HR like Kesujo or some shit ask him all about what happened today? They should have known better, really. Now Jollibee’s enjoying this, just like Winter’s enjoying getting dicked down by Jollibee’s fingers.

“Bida ang saya!” Winter screams, pussy gushing around Jollibee's fat, wet, fingers, his hooded eyes staring lovingly into hers. “I’ll make sure to introduce you to my friends–God, they’d fucking love this!” Jollibee bets they would, but Jollibee’s hopes aren’t that high until Jollibee meets them. The road to hell is paved with jolly intentions. But perhaps, Jollibee is already in hell. All inside one Kim Minjeong’s tight pussy.

“Now, each camera is linked to each of our VR glasses, offering live streaming of exactly what's going on in the room. The different perspectives may result in movement coordination confusion, but it makes the expected movements unexpected, triggering more sensitivity.” She rambles as she begins to strip her clothes, beginning with her top, exposing her handful of breasts nested in a lacy black bra. “I'm going to be collecting some data throughout, so just ignore what I'm doing if you see any weird movements~”

Your mind can barely register whatever mumbo jumbo manuscript she's reciting as you can only focus and gulp on the exposure of her tight, slender body.

“Hey! Earth to you! Gosh, I guess you are just awestruck by me again? Even though you've seen this sexy body numerous times. You strip too baby~” She chuckles as she strips down every single piece of cloth.

You can just barely manage a nod as you fumble with your clothes. The blonde beauty assists you with your pants as she unbuckles your belt and pulls your pants down together with your boxers, causing your dick, already hard as a rock to snap upwards and hit her specs, eliciting a gleeful moan from her.

She passes you your set of glasses and teaches you how to switch it on. It takes a moment to start up and she starts re-explaining the risks and safety concerns once again.

There it is. In a flash, you see what you always see in your eyes in the glasses’ background, as though you were really wearing glasses. Then the multiple other cameras’ content started appearing around the edges of the glasses screen. Though a little small, they were still clear.

She fumbles with her set of glasses and switches it on. Mumbling to herself, she waves her arms about and poses her body in a model-like pose, totally naked. Turning around to pose for each camera, you hear her adjusting something on her set of glasses.

And there it is again. The calm, focused demeanor that drew and attracted you to Liz, where everyone except you shunned. You could only stand there like a dumb kid admiring his dream toy through the store's display glass. Except she's yours.

“Hmm~ I’ll need to adjust the latency, it seems like there is a 0.02 ms difference between the actual movement and what is seen on the screen… Thhhhheere we go, adjusted~ perfectly in sync now!” Immediately, the slight lag that you observe is gone and everything moves as though there wasn't any delay at all.

You just continued staring at her while she made more adjustments. Looking at your unfocused look, she gave up and just grabbed your dick, giving it a few hard jerks. “Guess you’ve really fallen hard for me huh? Get ready, because I'm going to give you your reward for being such a good booooy~ Remember, throughout this, you're not allowed to touch me at all, just trust me.

She lowers herself down till she's facing your dick. Your head automatically lowers and your eyes focus on her doe like eyes. She pools saliva in her mouth and spits it on your tip. Right before her spit could drip down your tip, she inches her pouty lips and kisses the tip. You shiver. She pushes further. Your tip parts her lips. Then she starts. Quick. Fast. Sloppy. No warm up. You moan. So wet, hot, and sloppy. Her mouth feels like heaven. The slurping sounds she makes as she twirls her long oral muscle around your shaft, spreading and using her saliva as lube sounds so erotic.

Your eyes. The cameras. You had to give yourself some time getting used to it. And even then, it is still difficult. Relying on the background main display, it was easy to navigate and move oneself. The only thing right now that was affecting your focus was the god damn woman below you. Each pump of her head on your dick sends alarms to your brain’s pleasure centre. Your eyes shake and water as your breaths begin to shorten into raspy breaths.

Then, darkness. Liz triggers the main display to blackout, leaving only the live-feed of the cameras to be the ones remaining. What the hell? She didn't mention this earlier. Or maybe you were just entranced by her and didn't catch it.

The effect is instant. Disorientation. Your mind spins. Uncertainty on which view to focus on. You move your arms to the left, but you see it moving to the right in another camera. You see her grab your left ball, but wait, you feel your right ball caressed instead. It's weird. But it's exciting. It's like getting a surprise one after another. Her assault on your dick never stops. Her neck pumps like a piston as she gets sloppier and dirtier. Slurps turn into gags as gawking sounds echo the room.

Your senses are on overload. You're anticipating touches here, but it's happening there. Nerves get ready for the point of contact, but it never comes. You're violated in other places. You've experienced blindfold sex before, but that's different. You don't know when and what's coming. It's a sense of loss, but kind of not as well. To put it in sexual terms, this is a sense of “blueballing”, but it's on every inch of your body.

gluk gluk gwak slrususrp bwahh gwak gwwaakk gluuuk

You want to grab her head and slow her down, but you remember her warning and clench your fists at the side instead.

You focus on the left side camera. A shiny stream of drool is leaking down from her mouth to her chin, extending halfway between her chin and the ground, swinging like a pendulum as she bobs and pumps her throat on your dick.

You look at the screen that’s focusing on her back view. She's rubbing her clit with her free hand and the ground has a wet puddle, with drops adding to the reservoir beneath her. You tilt your pupils slightly up and look at your glistening body, your mouth opened wide as you gasp for air. Fuck. You're at her mercy.

Your dick throbs at the sights.

mmpphh ggwaakk ggwwakkk ggluukkk gluukk mmpphhh gglukkk mmpbhh gwwakk

You're close.

You’re moaning non stop. You feel her grab your shaft's base tightly and pump it quickly. You struggle to focus on one particular camera as you just hear a single word that sends you bursting.

“Cum.”

You cross the edge. You ready yourself for her continued throating and pumping of your seed down her throat. But she stops. Pulls you out of her mouth. You groan as she lets your milk drip and flow out from your tip. Right in a stream into her mouth.

Orgasm ruined. But you're hard as ever.

She toggles the main display on both of your glasses back on. You see her smirk as she licks her lips, savouring your creamy sauce. You're panting. Speechless. The disorientation due to the added perspectives made it as intense as an actual orgasm. But you're still hard, orgasm ruined. Balls still swollen.

“Get ready baby boy, because these are the last few moments where you will have your sight back. It’s for safety purposes baby~ Because I'm going to fuck the milk out of you.”

She pushes you onto the bed. A pillow under your neck. Three more firm pillows underneath your groin. Your groin is elevated, body arched. Still weak from the ruined orgasm, your body is a ragdoll at her mercy.

Metal cuffs at the side. Grabbed.

clink

One arm restrained. The other next. Two more clinks and your ankles are restrained too. You look at the side camera. Your hips are elevated so high that it makes your dick protrude out even more. You're bent, like a flag stuck on a mountain.

click

Your main sight goes black once again. She triggers another button. Each camera screen is enlarged, just like how a security room’s monitoring screen would look like.

You see her moving to your right and you turn your head to the right. But wait, it's your left. Your mind is messed up, confused. Panic unknowingly creeps over your chest as you feel like you're in Inception.

Sensing your panic, Liz palms your left cheek, wait no, your right cheek.

She whispers in a raspy voice, “Baby, don't worry. Just enjoy.”

You see her climb onto the bed and straddle your elevated groin from the side view camera. With your rock hard dick at full mast, she doesn't even need to touch and position it. Hovering above the tip, and down she goes. Right to the hilt. Both of you moan in unison.

She grinds and rides. Bending and grinding her hips in wave-like motions, you both feel every angle of your shaft prodding every inch of her warm, tight, drenched cavern. You wonder if this is the reason why she always wants to go on the “Crazy Bull” ride whenever you go on amusement park dates. Not that you're complaining, because with the way she's riding you, if she lost her job one day, she could be a professional bull rider entertaining in the circus.

“Gosh baby, you dick is so deep in me when you're tied and your body is arched like this.”

She's riding you as though she's riding a horse with a saddle, legs bent in a right angle as she grabs on to your waist for support.

Top ceiling camera. Everytime she grinds her hips upwards, you see the bulge forming on her belly. You're a magician. Making that bulge appear and disappear. And audiences like quick and lightning fast magic tricks. She rides you faster, harder. The formation of bulges becomes rapid. Her moans follow the same pattern. With every grind of her hips, you could feel the textures of her walls. You swear that you would be able to map out her entire vaginal structure by the end of this.

Then it happens. The screen lagged. Your kinesthetic and auditory senses went haywire. You feel her wet and soaked pussy pushing down on you. The image hasn't caught up, and it was late by about a few milliseconds. However, that was enough. You saw her ass clapping down on you. But you already feel her pussy sliding upwards. Your eyes darted to the front camera but it depicted her slamming down. It was like hearing your echo reverberate as you shout in a cave, but you are constantly shouting just a slight second later.

Your mind is fucked. Disconnected. She goes up and your eyes see her going down. Then she slams down on you but the display shows her lifting her hips up again. You're panting, drooling. She's moaning, leaking.

The lag sends your mind into a frenzy as it tries to figure out which sense to take into priority. It gives you the drug-like experience of feeling both the pushing and pulling motion of your dick in her tight pussy at the same time.

“Li-Liz-ya, what-what’s mmph happening to m-me. Fuck mmph I-I can't th-think mmph straight.” You moan with your tongue sticking out due to the sensorial overload and confusion. That said, your body does not betray your mind. Your dick throbs even harder as your back automatically lifts itself slightly as you clench your toes due to the added sensitivity. Your mind is reeling while she pounds you to hell.

Liz frowns at your state while she tries to figure out the issue. “Seems like the connection is not stable and there needs to be extra attention paid to maintain the latency between the data packets sent and the visual feedback.” She mumbles as she continues to lift and slam her squelching cunt.

“B-baby pl-ple I-I-I fuck pl-please. I don’t kn-know what I-I’m pleading fo-fuck for. B-but it feels sooo gooood.” It appears as if you were begging just for the sake of begging as your mind was sent over the edge.

Just as your mind was about to get used to the lag, Liz fumbled with her glasses to adjust and try to fix the issue, all while continuing to ride and bounce on you.

“Fuck baby, you feel so god damn good in me. But…. here we go, issue fixed!”

You thought it would liberate you, but that fix fucked your slowly adjusting mind once again. The glasses/camera resync was fixed, but now your adjusted mind needed to resync and this sent you into another frenzy.

At this point, you moan, shiver and beg even louder for mercy, but Liz didn't care at this point. Rather, she switches up the pace. She lifts her hips all the way till her pussy is at your tip. Slap.

She slams it down.

Hard.

You moan.

Again. Hard.

She moans.

Rinse and repeat.

You don't know what to do. As your mind slowly adjusts, you manage to barely focus on the view. Your girlfriend, looking so professional but yet so slutty and sexy even while she pounds you. She’s feeling herself as she raises her arms above her head, ruffling her hair stricken with sweat.

You want to grab that pair of bouncy glistening tits, but you can't.

You want to grab her hips and slam them down on your hips harder and faster, but you can't.

You want to thrust your hips upwards into her pussy, but your hips are already so high, and you can't.

Tied. At her mercy. And you can't do anything but get fucked both in the body and mind.

The multiple cameras. You're watching yourself getting fucked, and you're also getting fucked. It's like you're cucking yourself. And fuck. It's humiliating. But it's exhilarating.

Smirking, Liz teases you, “How's that baby? Who was the one who went Are you sureeeee about this? You should look at yourself in the camera right now, just a moaning and drooling mess.”

Her taunts sent your mind haywire. And she's not wrong. Every angle of your depraved state is displayed right in your eyes through the multiple cameras.

Front camera. You see her juices spilling out as she bounces.

Back camera. You see her ass cheeks rippling every time it makes contact with your hips and balls.

Ceiling camera. The way she looks up with her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she drools too.

Left side camera. You see her pronounced thigh muscles flexing every time she lifts her thin, slender frame up.

Right side camera. Those same thigh muscles relax and her glutes clenches as she crashes her entire weight down.

With every piston, the pillows are getting flatter as she pounds you into the bed, and you're both getting closer and closer.

She smirks and an evil plan forms in her head. “So much for the “latency issue”. I’m going to exploit it. Get ready baby~” she moves her hand to her glasses and slides her finger along the right spectacle frame.

Up and down. Then it happens. The video “lags” again. And the next moment, it was back to normal. Then it “lags” once again. A split second later it was back to normal. She was using the ability to adjust for the latency to invoke an artificial sensory overload in you. And it was working.

Your mind struggles to decide on what it is feeling and seeing. All you know is that your entire body is convulsing and trashing as your mind ascends past euphoric pleasure. Your palm was gripped so tightly and your toes were curled as Liz continued to slam onto you. Wet soaking squelches echoed off the walls as your wrists pulled against the cuffs so hard due to the sensory overload. Your mouth was open so widely as you gasp, pant and moan. The rhythm was chaotic, and your heart beat too.

It was the same for her. Her slams are getting more erratic as she adjusted her own “lagging” as well. The chaotic rhythm ascends into a crescendo as her moans transited into squeals and shrieks.

“Baby-I-I’m going-” Her last words were cut off as she clenched and writhed, flooding your entire waist. Waves of hot warm liquid crash as she convulses and cuma. But she doesn't stop. She knows you're on the precipice too. She reaches her two arms forward to your nipples and flicks them with her slender fingers, sending even more shocks to your collapsing fragile will.

“Cum baby, cum for me. You're such a goood boooy for me. Doing so well, taking my tests so well. Fucking cum deep into my pussy baby~”

Four more slams is all it takes and you cross the edge. You let out a long extended breathy roar as your anal muscles contract and relax as hard as you can, pumping your first blast of thick, warm, gooey milk right into her soaked pussy.

She senses your eruption slams down with all her might repeatedly, milking each and every blast from your dick. Her pussy treats your shaft like a straw, gripping and sucking every single drop of cum out from your balls. Weakening slaps continue to echo throughout the room as she bounces while your orgasms cross the peak and slowly plateau.

A few more moments pass and she's collapsed on your left. Wait, it’s your right. Whatever it is, your mind can't function anymore.

She rests for a moment before gathering herself to sit up. You hear her reach for the keys to your cuffs, hands trembling as she struggles to release you. Even then, your body and mind are so drained and exhausted from the constant readjustments that you can only lie there as your dick grows limp. You are a total mess. Body stricken with sweat. Groin drenched with her juices and your cum. Trembling.

You barely managed to tilt your head to the side and the widest smile just spreads across your face as you see your girl just huddled in front of the desk, scribbling on her notepad which you assumed to be the changes that she would need to address for the continued development of Perspectives v6.0.

She turns around, looks at your dumb smile and just laughs. And all it takes is one sentence from her to send your mind reeling again as you recall the earlier experience.

“So baby, how's that for a change of perspective?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in the office, an unfinished loading bar on Liz’s desktop screen slowly increases.

Automatic uploading of recorded content into shared drive.

9 of 13 files uploaded.

69.0% complete.

Author’s note:

Hello~ Ahem! This is my first time here and I present to you my first piece~ I've been reading kpop smuts since… god knows… about 5 to 6 years ago? As such, I really really wanted to try out writing my own piece. Thanks to @gammasnippets for providing and sharing advice, and as well as some of my precious beta readers.