#nako

“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”

Your eyes darted across the office, scanning for the source of that nagging sense of recognition. The answer came to you when your gaze landed on Nako.

Today, she was wearing one of her usual oversized sweaters, the sleeves swallowing her hands as she typed away at her computer. Her expression was neutral, her eyes focused on the screen like she was deeply engrossed in work. But now that you were paying attention, you noticed her glancing at her phone every few minutes, her fingers tapping at it with a practiced swiftness.

And that grin. It wasn’t the polite, work-friendly smile she usually wore. It was something smaller, almost mischievous, like she was laughing at a joke only she understood.

You scrunched your nose, watching her for a beat longer than was polite.

Couldn’t be.

Just to be sure, you replayed the clip. The voice filled your ears and minds again, bright and bubbly, complete with giggles and high-pitched squeals that had "Nako" written all over them.

You shook your head. This was ridiculous. There were millions of VTubers out there—what were the odds? But as you kept thinking, the resemblance became impossible to ignore. The intonation, the slight lilt at the end of her sentences, even the way she laughed—it was uncanny.

“Uh, hey….”

You jumped, nearly dropping your phone as Nako appeared next to your desk. Her big brown eyes blinked up at you innocently. “Did you need something? You’ve been staring at me.”

Her voice was calm, level, nothing like the hyperactive VTuber’s voice… but now you couldn’t unhear it.

“Oh, uh, no. Just spacing out.” You forced a laugh and stuffed your phone into your pocket.

Nako tilted her head, unconvinced. “Spacing out? While looking right at me?”

“I was, uh, thinking.”

“About?”

Her tone was casual, but there was something sharp in her gaze, like she was trying to read your mind. And maybe she was—Nako wasn’t as innocent as she looked. You’d seen her casually manipulate her way out of covering shifts more than once.

“Stuff,” you said, shrugging.

“Uh-huh.” Nako squinted, then smiled brightly. “Okay! Well, don’t let me stop you from… thinking.”

She walked back to her desk, but not before throwing one last suspicious glance over her shoulder.

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your heart was pounding like you’d been caught sneaking into the office fridge. It was just a coincidence, right? There was no way Nako—your soft-spoken, slightly quirky coworker—was living a double life as a virtual anime girl.

Right?

But the more you thought about it, the less ridiculous it seemed. Nako was always rushing off after work, claiming she had "personal projects" to take care of. She wasn’t particularly active on social media, and when she was, it was all vague posts about being "super busy."

And now, that voice.

You glanced at her again. She was typing away at her computer, completely unaware that you were mentally unravelling her secret life. Or maybe she wasn’t.

Either way, you needed to be sure. That Nako is…that Vtuber Yako.

-

"Nako-ya," you start casually, leaning against the edge of her desk. Your posture is deliberately relaxed, the perfect contrast to the laser-sharp focus you’re secretly aiming at her. The office hums with activity around you, the clatter of keyboards and faint chatter forming a pleasant backdrop.

Nako doesn’t look up, her face slightly illuminated by the soft glow of her monitor. Her fingers move briskly across the keyboard, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Hmm? What is it?" she mumbles, barely sparing you a glance.

"Just curious," you say, tilting your head as if in thought. "Do you stream? Or, I don’t know, have some kind of secret hobby?"

She freezes. Not long—just for a split second—but enough for you to notice. Her hands hesitate above the keys, her lips parting in surprise before quickly pressing together. "Secret hobby? Me? No, not really," she replies, a little too casually. Her voice is steady, but the quick swipe of her bangs behind her ear betrays her nerves.

You shrug, keeping your tone light. "Oh, no reason. Just thought I heard someone with a voice like yours on YouTube the other day."

Her gaze finally snaps to yours. Wide eyes. A flicker of panic. Then she schools her expression, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Lots of people have similar voices," she says lightly, her lips curling into a small, tight smile.

"Yeah, totally." You nod, standing upright. But inside, your curiosity is only growing.

She’s hiding something. I can feel it.

-

A few days later, you approach her desk again, armed with a coffee cup as a peace offering. "Morning, Nako," you chirp, pulling up a chair to sit beside her.

She glances at the cup, then at you, suspicion flickering in her eyes. "What do you want?" she asks, her tone wary but playful.

"Nothing! Just enjoying some coffee and a chat with my favourite coworker," you say innocently. Then, lowering your voice, you lean slightly closer. "By the way, have you ever heard of someone called 'Yako'?"

Her reaction is instantaneous. Her fingers fumble on the keyboard, and she nearly knocks over her water bottle trying to grab it. "Wh-what? No! Why would you ask that?"

You lean back, studying her with an amused grin. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes darting everywhere but at you. She shifts in her chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as though shielding herself from further interrogation.

"Just curious," you say with a shrug, sipping your coffee. "Her voice sounds a lot like yours. And the way she talks? Weirdly similar."

Her laugh is high-pitched and nervous, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "That’s ridiculous," she says quickly, waving you off. "It’s not me. I don’t even watch VTubers."

"Ah, fair enough," you reply smoothly, standing up. But you catch the way her shoulders tense as you walk away, her back stiff like she’s bracing for more.

Gotcha.

-

It becomes your new favourite pastime—seeing how far you can push her without outright accusing her. During lunch one day, you sit across from her in the break room, your tray clattering against the table as you settle in.

"Catchy tune, huh?" you say, humming the opening theme from Yako’s latest stream.

Nako’s chopsticks pause midway to her mouth. Her head snaps up, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tries to gauge your intentions. "What’s that?"

"Oh, just a song stuck in my head," you reply nonchalantly, taking a bite of your food. "It’s from this VTuber I’ve been watching. You wouldn’t believe how many people think her voice is addictive."

Her laugh is strained, and she resumes eating, though her movements are mechanical. She doesn’t meet your eyes, her focus glued to the bowl in front of her. "Must be a coincidence," she mutters, stirring her rice with more force than necessary.

You nod, pretending to let it go, but you’re watching her closely. The way her grip tightens around the chopsticks. The way her jaw clenches slightly, as if she’s holding back a response.

"Funny thing," you add after a beat, "her gestures are so specific. Like that thing she does with her hands when she’s excited." You mimic the exact motion, your grin widening as her shoulders visibly stiffen.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," she snaps, her cheeks bright red now. She shoves a piece of kimchi into her mouth, chewing like it’s her only way to escape the conversation.

"Sure, sure," you say, leaning back with a smirk.

-

The office meeting is the next perfect setup. After the boss asks for creative ideas, Nako surprises everyone with a well-thought-out pitch about animated characters for a marketing campaign.

"That was… really specific," you say later, catching her in the hallway. She’s holding a stack of papers, hugging them tightly to her chest.

"What do you mean?" she asks, her tone cautious.

"You clearly know a lot about animation," you say, walking beside her. "For someone who supposedly doesn’t watch VTubers, it’s kind of impressive of how creative your solutions are."

Her eyes widen slightly, and she stumbles over her words. "I—I just… read about it somewhere!" she blurts, her voice an octave higher than usual.

You smile, your gaze lingering on her as she fumbles with the doorknob to the break room. Her movements are jerky, her lips pressed into a thin line as she avoids your gaze. "Of course. Just something you read," you say, holding the door open for her.

She hurries past you, muttering a quick "Thanks," and you can’t help but chuckle.

You’re almost there, Nako. Almost.

-

That evening, you sit at your desk at home, your laptop glowing faintly in the dim room. You have the stream open, the lively chat scrolling endlessly beside the avatar of Yako. Her signature pink hair bounces every time she moves, and the soft tone of her voice—yes, her voice—is as distinct as ever.

You recline in your chair, sipping your drink, a knowing grin already spreading across your face. Tonight’s stream is titled “CGR - Chill, Gaming, and Rant” It’s only been ten minutes since the stream started, and she’s already flustered, her voice rising slightly as she rants.

"I’m telling you, chat, there’s this coworker of mine, and they’ve been so annoying lately!" she huffs, her virtual avatar mirroring the pout you’re sure she’s making behind the screen.

The chat explodes with reactions: "LOL who is it??" "Drama at the office?? Spicy!" "Is it someone cute??"

You can’t help but laugh, stifling the sound behind your hand. There’s no mistaking the frustration in her tone, and the knowledge that you’re the source of her irritation makes it even better.

She sighs dramatically, the avatar’s shoulders slumping. "They keep asking me the weirdest questions! Like, 'Do you stream?' or 'Have you heard of VTubers?' Like, seriously? What kind of question is that?"

Leaning closer to the screen, you rest your chin on your hand, utterly amused.

Poor Nako. If only you knew I’m watching right now.

"I mean, sure, maybe my voice sounds a little like a VTuber they watch, but come on! Do I look like someone who has time for that?" she says, her tone dripping with faux indignation. The chat eats it up, spamming laughing emojis and teasing comments.

"Nako-chan sus" "Sounds like they’re onto something " "Give them a break! Maybe they’re just a fan?"

Her avatar mimics her throwing her hands up in exasperation. "A fan? Ha! If they were a fan, they’d leave me alone! But noooo, they have to keep pestering me every day."

"Come on, Nako-chan," you mutter under your breath, smirking. "It's fun trying to figure you out ."

As if on cue, she leans closer to the virtual screen, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "And the worst part? They’re so smug about it! Every time I say it’s not me, they just smile like they know something. It’s driving me crazy!"

You laugh out loud this time, unable to help yourself. The timing, the delivery—it’s comedy gold.

The stream continues, and Nako eventually moves on to gameplay, but the occasional quip about her “annoying coworker” keeps slipping in.

"Chat, imagine this: you’re trying to work, minding your own business, and someone just waltzes over to your desk like, ‘Hey, are you this another person?’" she says, mimicking your voice in an exaggerated tone. "Who does that?! Who has that much audacity? Who even bothered?!"

Your sides hurt from laughing now, and you type into the chat with your anonymous username: "Maybe they just want to get to know you better, Nako-chan! "

She reads it aloud, her avatar squinting. "‘Maybe they just want to get to know you better’—psh, yeah, right. More like they want to ruin my life! YOU MOTHER*****!!! "

The chat erupts again, and you lean back in your chair, cackling your ass off and satisfied. It’s almost too much fun watching her complain about you without realizing you’re listening.

As the stream wraps up, she sighs dramatically one last time. "Anyway, thanks for listening to me rant, everyone. I needed that. And if my coworker somehow sees this—" She leans closer, her avatar's face filling the screen. "Stop. Pestering. Me!"

You grin, saluting the screen. "No promises, Nako-ya. No promises."

-

It’s just another ordinary day at the office—except it’s not. You’ve been inching closer to the truth for weeks now, and every interaction with Nako has only added more fuel to your suspicions. Today, though, feels different. There’s a tension in the air, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

Nako is sitting at her desk, her head bent over a stack of papers. She’s unusually quiet, not even giving you her usual half-hearted glare when you casually stroll past her cubicle. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her sleeve, her knee bouncing under the desk—a sure sign she’s on edge.

You seize the moment.

"Hey, Nako-yaaa," you say, leaning over the partition with an innocent grin.

She doesn’t even look up. "Ugh. What now?" she mumbles, her voice clipped.

"Oh, nothing much," you reply casually, pretending to examine a report in your hands. "Just thought I’d ask if you caught that new Yako stream last night. It was hilarious."

Her hand freezes mid-motion, the pen slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the desk. Slowly, she looks up, her eyes wide with a mixture of panic and resignation. "I—I don’t watch VTubers," she stammers, her voice a pitch higher than usual.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Really? That’s a shame. She was continuing her ranting about this super annoying coworker who keeps pestering her. Sounded oddly familiar."

Nako’s cheeks flush a deep pink, and she immediately averts her gaze, pretending to rummage through her desk drawer. "That’s… a coincidence," she mutters.

"Sure, sure," you say, watching her closely. She’s avoiding eye contact like her life depends on it, her shoulders hunched as though she’s trying to disappear into her chair.

You decide to press your advantage. "You know," you say, your tone turning teasing, "I know I talked a lot about this but I’ve been thinking. If you were a VTuber—and I’m not saying you are—it’d be pretty smart to complain about your coworkers on stream. Get it all off your chest, you know?"

Her head snaps up, and for a moment, she looks like a deer caught in headlights. "I—what—why would you even think that?" she sputters, her voice cracking slightly.

You lean closer, resting your arms on the edge of her desk. "Oh, I don’t know," you say, smirking. "The voice, the mannerisms, the very specific hand gestures you do when you’re excited. It’s all a bit too familiar, don’t you think?"

Nako’s face is now as red as a tomato. She opens her mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. Instead, she drops her gaze to her lap, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

"I—I don’t know what you’re talking about," she says weakly, but the tremble in her voice gives her away.

You chuckle, leaning back. "Relax, Nako. I’m just messing with you."

But she doesn’t relax. In fact, she looks even more panicked now, her fingers clenching the edge of her desk so tightly her knuckles turn white.

That’s when it happens.

Her phone buzzes on the desk, and in her haste to grab it, she accidentally swipes the screen. For a split second, you catch a glimpse of her notifications—one of which is a message from someone named Mod-Kazuya: “Great stream last night, Yako-chan!”

The world goes still.

You glance up at her, your eyebrows raised. She freezes, her hand hovering over the phone, her eyes darting between you and the screen.

"So…" you say, breaking the silence, "…you don’t watch VTubers, huh?"

Her shoulders slump, and she lets out a long, defeated sigh. "Fine," she mutters, dropping her head into her hands. "You win."

The victory feels sweeter than you imagined. You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face as you watch her squirm in her seat.

"I knew it!" you exclaim, pointing a finger at her. "You’re Yako!"

"Keep your voice down!" she hisses, glancing around the office in a panic.

You chuckle, dropping into the chair beside her desk. "So, how long were you going to keep this from me?"

"As long as I could," she mutters, burying her face in her hands.

Her vulnerability softens your teasing just a bit, and you lean in slightly, lowering your voice. "Relax, Nako. Your secret’s safe with me… for now."

She peeks at you through her fingers, her expression a mix of relief and suspicion. "What do you mean, ‘for now’?"

You smirk, folding your arms. "Well, let’s just say you owe me a favour or two. You know, for keeping quiet."

Her groan is muffled by her hands. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," you say cheerfully, standing up. "Come on, Nako-chan V. Let’s grab some coffee. My treat."

Her glare follows you all the way to the break room, but the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips doesn’t escape your notice.

-

It began innocently enough—or so you’d like to think.

You weren’t a tyrant, just opportunistic. After all, you held a golden ticket: the knowledge of Yabuki Nako’s secret life as a VTuber. And to her credit, she had taken your harmless requests in stride—at first. And the first test of her patience starts with coffee.

“Nako-chan, could you grab me an extra cup from the breakroom?” you ask, flashing a polite smile. “I’m drowning in emails here.”

Her head snaps up from her monitor, her brows furrowed in disbelief. “You were just in there five minutes ago. You had a fresh cup in your hand.”

You tilt your head, feigning a moment of thought. “True. But I drank it all. And you’re, well…” You let your voice trail off, shrugging as if the answer is obvious.

She narrows her eyes. “I’m what?”

“…good at grabbing coffee?” you offer sheepishly, your grin betraying your faux innocence.

Her lips press into a firm line, her eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. You see the flicker of a battle waging behind her gaze—outright refusal versus the undeniable fear of your leverage. With a huff that’s more air than sound, she rises from her chair, muttering in Japanese under her breath. You don’t catch the full meaning, but the sharpness of her tone makes the message clear:

You’re a piece of sh*t.

When she returns, her lips twitch into a strained, professional smile as she sets the cup down a little harder than necessary. “Your coffee. Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Nako! You’re the best!” you reply, suppressing the grin tugging at your lips.

Her forced smile tightens, and she pivots back to her desk, muttering something again. This time, you swear it’s about wishing coffee burns weren’t fatal.

The second favour comes during the weekly rush to print reports.

“Hey, Nako,” you whisper conspiratorially, leaning over the divider between your desks. “Could you grab the printouts for me?”

She doesn’t bother to look up. “The printer’s ten steps away.”

“…I know,” you say, resting your elbow on the divider and propping your chin on your palm. “But you’re already standing. It’ll save me some precious seconds to finish this email.”

Her shoulders rise and fall in a slow, exasperated sigh. This time, she turns her whole body toward you, lips twitching downward in irritation. “You’re sitting. You’re literally doing nothing.”

“I’m multitasking,” you counter smoothly, pointing at your screen where your email draft has precisely one line. “See? Hard at work.”

Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she stands and stomps toward the printer. Her ponytail bounces aggressively with each step, a physical manifestation of her frustration.

When she returns, she drops the papers onto your desk with a loud slap and leans over, her face close to yours. Her lips are pursed, her cheeks puffed out slightly in barely contained fury, and her eyes bore into yours like twin daggers.

“Next time,” she says in a low, dangerous tone, “I’m shredding them.”

You blink innocently. “Thanks, Nako. Truly. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Her jaw tightens, and she storms back to her desk, muttering again. You’re starting to think her muttering is a stress response you’ve singlehandedly cultivated.

It’s after the third week of subtle pestering that her patience begins to fray in earnest. By now, she’s learned to recognize the telltale grin on your face and the overly polite tone you reserve just for her.

“Nako,” you start sweetly, leaning over her desk during your Friday team meeting. “Could you take notes for me?”

Her eyes widen imperceptibly, and she stiffens in her chair. “Why?”

“I forgot my notebook,” you whisper. “And you’re so much better at taking notes than I am.”

Her lips press into a tight line, and her cheeks flush faintly. “Unbelievable,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head. Still, she takes the papers from your outstretched hand, her fingers gripping them a little too firmly.

Halfway through the meeting, she glances sideways at you, her brows knit tightly together. “You owe me,” she hisses, her voice barely audible.

You glance at her, trying not to laugh at the mixture of irritation and resignation written across her face. Her brows are furrowed, her nose scrunched slightly in annoyance, and her lips are pulled into a sharp pout. It’s almost endearing—if she weren’t so obviously plotting your demise.

“Of course,” you whisper back. “Anything for my favourite coworker.”

Her expression shifts ever so slightly, her glare softening just a fraction. But then, as if remembering she’s supposed to be angry, she elbows you in the side, her pout deepening.

“Quiet,” she mutters, her cheeks now faintly pink.

-

The breaking point comes one chaotic Monday morning.

“Nako, can you—”

Her chair screeches as she bolts upright, her face flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “No! Absolutely not!”

The office falls silent, every head turning in your direction. Her fists are clenched at her sides, and her eyes glisten with unshed frustration. Her normally calm expression is replaced with one of raw exasperation, her lips trembling as she speaks.

“You’ve made me your personal assistant for weeks! Coffee, notes, files—I’m not your errand girl!” she snaps, her voice rising slightly before cracking. She takes a deep breath, her gaze lowering to the floor. “And if you tell anyone about...you know...I’ll—” Her voice falters, and she slumps back into her chair, her frustration giving way to quiet defeat.

The silence is deafening until you finally break it with a quiet, “Okay.”

Her head snaps up, her wide eyes meeting yours. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely, rubbing the back of your neck. “I thought we were just messing around. I didn’t mean to stress you out.”

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out. She stares at you, her eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit.

“I mean it,” you say softly. “No more favours. No more pestering. I’ll keep your secret because I respect you, not because I can use it.”

Her expression softens, and the tension in her shoulders eases. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” you say with a nod. Then, a small grin sneaks onto your face. “But I do feel bad, so...how about lunch on me?”

Her lips twitch into the faintest of smiles. “Lunch and dessert.”

“Deal,” you say, standing and grabbing your wallet. “Come on, my favourite coworker.”

She huffs but follows you, her cheeks faintly pink. “You’re still insufferable, you know.”

“Oh wow, never knew that.” you reply, holding the door open for her. “Just your good old insufferable coworker.”