I'm not going to warn you. The first line should be enough to know what you are getting into.
Rei's pussy is a spire the way you slay it, your cock is a spire the way she
slays it. You could call it Slay The Spire 2…
But let's back up, there was a bit more before that.
The night started simply, Liz told you to BEGONE! So you went over to your best friend's house. You knocked on her door, she was half naked with her headphones on. Both excited and unexcited to see you, she dragged you in before you could think of an Escape Plan.
She pushes you to her bedroom, Lifting you up the stairs. You'd never guess what's on her computer monitor, hey at least she's on Aeonglass. She must be a Master of Strategy, where were you?
Oh yeah, the 'fucking' thing.
There wasn't any Prep Time. "You interrupted my gaming, so you will be my game." She groans, pushing you onto her comfy bed– adorned with all the Slay The Spire makeship plushies money could buy, "Understood?"
"Yes, Rei."
"It's the Reigent to you."
You are so not calling her that, she's quick to Expose her lower half in one go. Pattering over as she climbed over your face. More accurately you are Crushed Under the weight of Rei's pussy on your mouth, but that's more a blessing than a curse. You greet her instantly, letting her ride your tongue. There's No Escape from the pace she sets, fast and hard as all of her taste hits you.
"Know Thy Place!" She moans, rolling her hips, holding on to the headboard and using you for her pleasure. You aren't above showing Greed, drinking up all of her, feasting on her cunt more than just what was allowed. Perhaps that is what this is, an endless Folly.
But if this is your Folly, may you toil eternally.
You moan, she moans, the soundtrack of her game is the backdrop for all of these sounds. "Fuck! Mm, that's a good interruption, pretty glad you are here, fuck." Rei Monologues, while you Prolong your actions. Oxygen is irrelevant right now.
Though evidently, sexual action with Rei is just like the game, being turn based. Now its your turn, an Energy Surge empowers you to push her off your face. She falls into her mattress and you are Unrelenting, grabbing her thick thighs and pulling close.
She trembles as your tongue is back up against her, this time though its fully in your control. Through sheer True Grit you devour her, it's erotic, filthy and disrespectful. Her wetness gets smeared all over your lips, the corners of your mouth. If you are her game and the win-condition is an orgasm.
You will Make It So.
"Mmh!" You have to keep Rei on the bed, her legs actively trying to Defy and reach Act Three. She's the best elite combat you've ever had, she's in a Haze while you keep up your combo. Rei's whining and the games truly back, two of your fingers join in. Thrusting in and out, doing some Hand Tricks. Hitting all the right spots, sucking her clit.
It's all a Well-Laid Plan, your eyes look up at her, her mouth's agape, she's so close.
"I'm, gonna, gonna cum!" That's a Victory? The orgasm has her Glowing, gushing all over your fingers and her sheets. You Wish to be in this moment forever, but the show isn't over yet. Rei recovers in a Blur, suddenly she's back up and your pants are down.
"Let me see what you are working with." She treats your cock like the Ironclad's sword, holding it firmly. Spitting on tip and rubbing it in recklessly. "Let me Stoke it a little, get you ready for what's to come."
She does just that, making out with you as her hand pumps you, both of you Huddled Together. Rei's hand is warm, really warm. It feels like the Brightest Flame. Fuck.
Rei's shamelessly sticking her tongue as deep into your mouth as you did her hole. Her spit mixes with yours (there's a lot of it.) Sloppily making out while she gets to terms with your cock. She's The Smith the way she's made you harder than a steel beam.
Her lips pull off yours and you are Dazed. "There's so much I could do, suck your cock until you shoot it down my throat. Or I could slide it in, ride it until you pass out. Maybe I could push my thighs around it, lift up and down until you helplessly spurt all over them. Decisions, Decisions."
Rei has her mind made up, truly in Demon Form as she pushes you down. "So big, so hard." You breathe heavily as your tip is brushing against her, a Tremble while Rei rubs against you, it's bliss, hell, how quickly she's got you Enthralled.
"This cock is going deep inside me, I need it so badly." With that, Rei Follows Through, slipping down and engulfing every inch of you. She's intoxicating, like taking every Elite even though you know it's a bad idea. You just lay there and take it, she bounces and you watch your cock come out wetter than it was before.
She's quick, a Bombardment of bounces, skin slapping against each other. Rei is a very adamant woman, nothing is going to stop her from riding you like the world's going to explode. Not even an Heirloom Hammer to the face.
"You are going to see stars, generate stars, whatever, fuck." Well logic was out of the window awhile ago, you are just happen to get Bury'd deep inside of Rei. She's so horny that she can't maintain rhythm, just chasing her Ascension 10. you both knew from the moment you began you were on Borrowed Time.
And now here you are, back at the beginning. Rei's the spire and you are the spire, she's delivering her attempt to finish the game by making you finish. Her turn's not over yet, being inside her raw has truly Captured your Spirit.
Sweat shines on her deliciously smooth skin, if her hands weren't forcing you into the bed you'd lick it all clean. Ravage her body like the eager slut you are. But you are always Thinking Ahead, and when she starts to slow you say nothing. Just pick her up and throw her back onto the bed. Your sex is the true roguelike experience, pick a different build (face riding, cock riding) and still go onto the same route.
How poetic.
You pounce onto her, sliding into her cunt at the same time you are on top of her. Your dick must be enchanted with Momentum the way her moans get louder with every time you push deep, targeting the right spots. "Fuck ne harder, fuck!"
You lick all the salty sweat off her skin, it turns you on so much that you throb helplessly inside of her. But this is not where the run ends, you are far too Feral. "Oh, oh my god, okay! Fuck me, fuck me harder!" You were surprised you were even able to, Overlocking your thrusts and Doubling your Energy. Everything to make Rei feel euphoric, even if you have to Scavenge the power to keep going.
"I, your cock is so good! I can't hol-" Rei gives up, cumming her brains out as you plow her through it. impressive how you don't follow, she Claw's at your back while you pound her like a Osty. You are fucking her full, the only thing left to do is…
Your orgasm Rattles you, dumping your thick load deep inside, filing her to the brim– you are truly the Conqueror to her spire, hitting the Knockup Blow instead of the Knockout Blow. The legend, another Victory? Her walls milk more of your cum out. she's bred, happy.
But, there's four acts.
Something happens, a spark, you've been fucking on video game logic and this is no different. A few minutes and you are inside Rei's tight asshole, lube was the three keys. This is the summit, you've never been here before but your memory is crystal clear.
Normally you fight a spear, this time you are the spear, spearing inside of her. The easiest way to a girl's heart is to make her cum, so it seems like you will be finishing this final act. Rei's ass cheeks Thunderclap with every thrust, it's total Havoc. It's sort of like a multiplayer card, you pound her ass like she begs and she fingers her cum filled pussy.
Teamwork.
You continue to Heavenly Drill the another orgasm out of her, another shriek and more. No matter how many times you make her cum, you never seen to get further in winning the fight. An infinite stalemate, though her juices Splash off her fingers and into the bed, which is close enough to a victory.
"Please, treat my ass however you want! Fuck, keep going!" The entire street hears it, a Countdown is active. You can only go for so long, a final Spur to make sure this orgasm is The Bomb. "More, please, please, please, I Am Invincible I can take it!"
Helix, Heavenly, what does it matter? You are drilling her, time is drawing to an end. You are Doomed, flooding her asshole with a load of it's own, that's the true Victory. Rei completely dripping, both your cum and her sheer arousal. Converged into one.
It's complete Mind Rot when you pull out, watching it flow out all into a pile, your body is Withering. This run might be over. But you and Rei can definitely do another some other time.
"That was really… really good. You are my new fuck toy, got it?"
The front door bursts open then slams closed. You're in the middle of snacking, watching YouTube documentaries as part of your off day. Hearing the door makes you freeze and turn your head.
Minjeong walks in silently, her steps slow and heavy. Her entire person looks worn out, actually, most apparent in her face and shoulders. Even so, she is still incredibly beautiful.
"Hey, babe. Long day?" you ask softly, rising from the couch. Minjeong doesn't answer, blank eyes looking forward. She takes a while to register your presence, neck dragging to face you. "Evening," she croaks.
You pout, wanting to comfort her. "Wanna talk about it, or need distractions?"
Her eyes bounce lazily, tongue licking her dry lips. "No talk. Want quiet."
"Okay. Come here, I got you." You extend your arms, but it earns you a sharp glare.
"Shut up."
"Sorry?"
"Shut...the fuck up. Want quiet!" she growls. You lower your arms and gulp, sweaty hands rubbing on your thighs. Walk towards her slowly, keeping your eyes on hers. Closing the distance, you gingerly wrap your arms around her; a light hug.
Several seconds pass before Minjeong sighs and rests her head on the crook of your shoulder, dropping her bag. She doesn't hug you back, doesn't have to. You keep the light embrace, listening to each other's breathing.
Suddenly, Minjeong pulls herself free, putting an arm's length between you. Then she yanks your sweatshirt's collar, sending your lips crashing into hers.
She isn't gentle whatsoever. Her mouth is hungry, insistent, devouring yours with burning fervor. You yelp and moan and she unlatches briefly, slapping you hard. "Shut up I said. How many times do I gotta say it?"
Oh she is stressed stressed. Work must've been a real bitch. You remember she's going through her PMS as well. This will not be easy on you, and you're equally thrilled and terrified.
Minjeong keeps your mouths locked as she pushes you towards the couch. She's groaning, whining into your lips. You, meanwhile, try your best to stay silent as she asked. Every little audible slip-up is met with a harsh slap, stinging your cheek and hardening you below at the same time.
Your legs hit the couch. Fall backwards, no attempt to get up. Just lie there while you watch Minjeong ditch her blazer and unbutton her shirt, untucking it from her pencil skirt.
"Strip. Everything." Her command is short and clear, you obey straight away. "Faster!" You make haste, abandoning any regard to pride that you foolishly kept.
The moment you're bare, Minjeong leaps onto you, straddling your hips. She bites her lip, grinding hard and slow, her heat driving you crazy even through all the fabric.
Another moan escapes you. She's fast to discipline with a hard slap across your face, the hardest one yet. "You...are gonna give me what I want. Exactly as I tell you, or you'll get more of that. Understood? Nod."
You nod just once, feeling any extra will earn another slap. Minjeong's mouth stretches to a predatory grin, hiking up her tight pencil skirt to slide off her panties. Gosh, she is so hot.
"Open." She stuffs her white panties into your mouth. "Good boy. Don't think that means you can make sounds. Got it?"
You nod, getting high off her musk. Minjeong lines up her wetness with your tip, then slams down. She lets out a guttural moan, fingernails digging into your shoulder. It takes all of your might to maintain silence but you manage, tearing up instead.
"Fuuck yes...needed this dick. So fucking hard..." Minjeong doesn't bounce, she rolls her hips, letting every inch of her depth feel you. The motion is equally arousing for your eyes and shaft, you bite down on her panties hard.
Your arms go to her waist by instinct, she knife hands them away. "No...touching. Did I say you can touch? Keep them where they are!" They resort to grabbing the couch instead, increasingly difficult as time passes and they get sweaty.
Some thrusts in, one in particular is too much for you, letting out a choked cry in response. Minjeong snarls and delivers a slap, her hand resting around your neck. Not choking, but enough pressure to establish herself.
"I've—had enough...of those—ahh! Assholes telling me around. Yelling and treating me like—mmhhh! Like I'm trash." She laughs, a daunting sound among the claps of skin. "So you shut up and take what you're given. I'm giving the orders here, got it?"
Your eyes struggle to stay open as you nod, tears obscuring your vision. Minjeong's hips pick up speed, her rolls becoming shallower and more intense. "Oh fuck! Ahhh!" Her first orgasm surges through her, drawing out a long, melodic moan as her body spasms.
"Ngghhh! Don't you dare fucking cum before I tell you! You don't decide how I use this dick. Got it?"
Your nod is accompanied by a loud, helpless whimper. No way you're staying quiet and not busting with how insane her pussy's grip and wetness is. It's met with a slap as expected, but you’re starting to go numb. Heck, it's downright enjoyable.
"Mmhhh, my baby boy. You're so adorable under me," she sighs, bending down and licking your cheeks as a brief remedy. You shudder at the sensation, then gasp as Minjeong gets going again, hard and fast from the off.
"Ahh...babe. You wanna—argh! Fuck! Wanna cum? Wanna breed this—pussy?"
Nodding multiple times now, to hell with the single nods. You're desperate, begging for release. Panties are completely soaked with drool, flowing down the sides of your head.
Minjeong shifts her angle, now she actually is bouncing. It's shocking and borderline painful, arching your back, knees bucking up. But she just giggles in between her long, loud moans, eyes hazy with euphoria.
"You're so desperate, aren't you?" she mewls. "Wanna let go? Fill me up? Want it so bad?"
You nod continuously, knowing it's the only right answer anyways. Minjeong shrieks and grabs your hands, bringing them to her waist. "Touch me." You waste no time gripping it like a lifeline, cock aching for release.
"Gahhh, what a good boy. Now give it to me, baby. Let go, fill me u—arghhh!"
Not one second after hearing 'fill', you burst. Pent-up load blowing deep in her cunt. Broken cry slipping past your mouth, but Minjeong doesn't hear it. Not over the wails of her second orgasm, eyes rolled back as she milks your cock.
Minjeong collapses forward, her heavy breaths softening into thin wheezes next to your ear. Your eyelids become heavy, you relax your body, about to doze off—
"Hey," Minjeong's soft albeit slightly hoarse voice brings you back. "You okay, babe? Oh, your cheeks are so red!"
You chuckle weakly in response as she takes out her panties and drums her fingers over your cheeks. "Does it hurt?"
"It–urgh. It did, but...no problem. Really...liked it. Ehe."
"Tsch. You little freak." Minjeong pokes your reddened cheeks before kissing them gently, earning a delighted hum from you. "My freak."
"Mhm. How are you feeling? Feel better?" you ask, lightly playing with her damp hair.
"Yeah. Got...got it outta my system. Thanks, babe."
"Anytime." Your turn to kiss her now, once on the temple and another on her lips.
"Dinner?"
"Mmm...I gotta—we...clean up first. Carry me to the shower?" she murmurs, resting her chin on your chest.
You giggle at an idea that popped up in your head. "Sure...but there's a toll."
Minjeong raises an eyebrow, her breath hitching as she feels your cock twitching and hardening inside her. "Yeah? What is it?" She smirks and tilts her head.
"Another round. In the shower," you reply, rolling your hips slowly. Minjeong bites her lip and sighs, her eyelids fluttering. "Deal."
Deal sealed, you heave yourselves off of the couch, carrying Minjeong in your arms as she wraps her arms and legs around you. A good few pecks and giggles are exchanged throughout, gradually reigniting your passion.
That passion manifests as a slow candle flame rather than the firestorm that was the couch. Minjeong lets out small mewls and whimpers as you worship her neck, back and shoulders with your lips. Below, your hips roll into her tight pussy from behind, thrusting deep but gentle.
When your orgasms arrive, you share a low, long moan of each other's names, Minjeong's frame lightly trembling as her walls get another thick coat of your seed. A smooth, gradual step down from her hectic day onto your laid back, relaxed evening.
ex-LOONA Yves x Male Reader ft. Chuu
Tags: au, smut, crack, cunnilingus, blowjob, armpits, rimming, brainrot
9.2k words
First posted on Fanprose
A/N: This is my first ever smut, so it's dogshit. I do realize it's not even hot anymore, this is just a stupid, jumbled mess of my horniness and random references.
Also, english pretty hard. Lots of repeated words, but I tried.
Yves nailed you, so you nail her.
“Can you like… stay fucking still??” She hissed as she firmly squeezed your wrist, holding it right above her palm.
She was hunched over your hand. Her face was obstructed by locks of her bob, so close to your fingers you could feel the soft warmth of her breath coursing through them. Her gaze was fixed on your nails while she drew perfect, deliberate strokes on them.
She was doing nail art, on your nails. Not that it hurt your masculinity or anything—in fact, you had always liked how she did her nails. It was just that it was the first time she’d asked you to be her “guinea pig” for her designs. Well, “asked” was putting it too nicely. She had practically kidnapped you out of your 67th play through of Baldur’s Gate III. Though, for someone who ran a nail art shop—a side hustle, as she’d always corrected you—it was ridiculous that somehow she had run out of practice tips.
“You know you have your own nails, right?” you said, earning yourself another squeeze, her sharp nails now digging into your wrist. Heh, fortunate you were masochistic enough for the pain. Hell, the wincing from your bitten lower lip could’ve been mistaken for a moan had she not been so focused on drawing the final stroke.
“I hope you stub your toes, actually” she said, rolling her eyes as she applied the final coatings. “I told you I ran out of rounded tips. I’ve done my nails already, and you just happened to have… neatly clipped nails, ‘kay?”
“You could always ask Jiwoo to come over,” you shrugged.
“And let you ogle at my girlfriend again? No thank you, perv.” She scoffed, doing a final check, admiring her brand new design.
She carefully brought both of your hands into the UV machine. “And as much as I wanna nail my girlfriend,” she looked up expectantly before turning on the machine, checking to see if you’d misinterpreted her words. And of course, you were putting on the most annoying grin ever. “Her nails are usually long. Not only that, she’s also currently away.” The UV light cast upon your fingers as she pressed the power button. “And this is a practice anyway. Soo… I don’t wanna mess up her nails, if I were to mess up.”
“So if you mess me up, that is okay?”
She crossed her arms on the desk, grinning so smugly it was so obvious to her “Why else would I drag you here, bozo?”
“To… ogle at your girlfriend’s girlfriend?” you said, so lightly you started to wonder how come she hadn’t kicked you out yet for being so down bad for her for the longest time.
“Ha, ha. Don’t even need to drag you along with me when you’re fucking ogling me all the time.” She rolled her eyes distastefully, yet somehow endearingly. “You’re lucky you somehow happened to be my bestest friend—”
“With benefits?”
“—of high quality nail art, that is.” she said, putting on a mocking smile, flexing her nails centimeters away from your face.
“Unfortunately…” Your gaze shifted from her decorated nails to her obstructed face across her fingers. “They are really, really cool though. You know I love them all.”
“See? You can be somewhat nice.” She threw her hands up as she leaned back on her chair, quite taken aback by your genuine compliment. “Is it really so hard to appreciate your home girl’s work, instead of her body all the time?”
“Can’t help it,” you shrugged innocently, as if it was normal to begin with. You were lucky indeed she was also weird like that. “So… how long does this usually take?” You looked back at your illuminated fingers under the violet light.
“Couple minutes tops.” she says dismissively, opening her phone to check on her girlfriend.
“You’re taking my sweet sweet time from finishing the game, y’know?”
“Sweet time my ass, you’re still in Act 1, save scumming tryna steal Voss’ Sword for HOURS! IT’S YOUR 67th PLAYTHROU-” She cut her own words off to catch a minuscule movement of your hands. She dropped her phone and immediately halted your hands before you could even attempt to pull them out.
Oh, how she knew you very, very dearly.
“Nooo you are NOT doing the 67 HAND THINGY, KEEP YOUR HANDS IN!! HOW OLD ARE YOU??”
“Old enough… according to Miss JiU next door.” you grinned ever so smugly with such confidence, name-dropping the MILF next door the two of you had been thirsting over ever since moving in.
“She is such a MILF isn’t she… yeah….” Her mind instantly got distracted, wandering off to the resident MILF. Then, it dawned on her. She shook off the thoughts to fully process what you’d just said. “W-wait… YOU’RE FLIRTING WITH HER?”
“Jealous much?”
“Nah, with that behavior of yours? Highly unbelievable actually.” She leaned forward mockingly, her arms crossed on the desk.
“AckSHualLy ☝️🤓… I’m only like this when I’m with you, bestie <3” you winked.
“Okay, gross.” She cringed. “Sweet, but gross.”
“I have always been sweet, what is you talm bout.”
“You have been, weirdly, INAPPROPRIATELY sweet—even for your standards, which are in hell. If I were dense, I wouldn’t have noticed the pattern that you want something.” She said, her eyes suspiciously narrowing.
“I suppose I am deserving of a small form of gratitude for being your… object of interest today, my Lady.”
“Disinterest, actu-” she shot her eyes out before you could even air out another AckSHualLy. She sighed. “But fine, whaddya want, my… Unbecoming Lord?”
“Let’s just say I happened to have uhh… other rounded tip you can practice on too. Would that be of your interest as well, madame?”
“You’re saying you want me to prick your dick with the brush, 2 kids 1 sandbox style??” That was a deep cut, literally.
“YOU’RE OOLLLD”
“SO ARE YOU!!! So keep your dick to yourself… eugh.” Her eyes drifted back to her phone as it was vibrating.
Jiwoo sent a video.
She stood up, moving from her chair to her bed just behind it, sitting on the edge.
The play button still unpressed—she didn’t even need to. She could tell it was a spicy one just by looking at the blurred thumbnail, filled with colors akin to Jiwoo’s skin tone.
This has gotta be the worst timing ever, she thought. But truly, she blamed herself. She couldn’t possibly be mad at her girlfriend for sending a spicy video, nor could she blame the timing, for she had been so fucking horny for the past week since Jiwoo left for a work trip.
She glanced at you. Then back to her phone.
You again, then back.
Her eyes resorted to her fingers, though with such pity. Her own fingers hadn’t been doing it for her the past few days, not to mention she currently had sharp nails on.
Then she looked up at you once again, lost in thought, probably thinking of another multi-class combo.
I’m going fucking crazy, she cursed herself. I can’t possibly be even considering this mf…
“... Unless…” her heart skipped a beat. Her body acted faster than her mind. She was desperately horny.
“Am listening…” You locked the fuk in.
“Unless you’re the very last person on earth. Then, I’d consider it.”
“CONSIDER??? Girl you’d be fucking no one but me.”
“No, I meant it when I say you’re the very last person on earth. I’d kill myself before we even—”
Fuck, she cursed. That was somewhat a nice save, but her last sentence? She’d be lying to herself knowing she was actually considering you. But time was crueler still, never sparing her, as the alarm on her phone rang, forcing her to nod at you, beckoning you to come.
“Sooyoung-ah…” You towered her, showing off the finished result to her face. “These are fucking rad.”
“I know.” She held your hands, pulling them slightly to observe the details, while you, instinctively, knelt before her lap, resting your arms on her thighs.
She grabbed her phone to take pictures of your nails, another masterpiece added to her catalog.
As she angled her phone for the final pic, she saw you through the screen.
On your knees.
Between her legs.
Your elbows positioned off her shorts, touching her bare exposed thi-
“You done?” you interrupted her tweaking, tilting your head into view of her screen.
“Y-yeah…” She shook her head, then took the final picture.
She reviewed every picture attentively. Her thumb tapped in to zoom, then swiped onto the next pic every other second. She kept swiping and swiping, even after the final pic, she didn’t keep track of how many she’d taken, and it happened.
Jiwoo’s video slid into view of her screen.
That’s it.
“Ookaayy… I’m keeping these on, by the way. Lowkirkenuinely sick af.”
I can’t hold it anymore.
“Uuuh… Sooyoung?”
I’m so sorry, Chagiya.
“I’ll… Leave it to you then… Hope it sells a fuck ton tho.”
Before you could even stand up properly, she held you down. Her grip firm on your shoulder, pinning you onto the floor.
You were preparing for the worst. You did pull your hand out from the machine once to scratch your balls when she wasn’t looking. Well, at least that’s what you’d thought, perhaps she had seen you after all, and now you were so fucked.
“S-sooyoung-ah… I-” You looked up to her.
“Shut up.”
“A man has his needs… And I needed to sc-”
“Exactly. And I have mine too.” She stared down at you.
“huH……. You have a girl dih??” Your eyebrows shot up through the roof, and you were down for whatever she had down there.
“W-what??? Well, I kinda wish,” she recoiled before taking your query thoughtfully for a second, “but no, what the fuck are you talking about??” She groaned at your stupid question. But despite that, she sighed—not at you, but at her own resignation to temptation.
You would do.
“Anyways…” she finally pressed the play button. “Jiwoo’s been away.”
Heavy breathing.
“W-what is this……”
Faint squelching.
“And my fingers not doing it as of late.”
Soft whimpers.
“So, I’m giving you this one chance...”
A sudden sharp moan.
“... Of…?” You asked.
Then came a soft feminine voice, calling out to… Sooyoung??
“To…” She hesitated, but eventually broke off her own shackles… kinda. “K-… kiss my… kitty…”
“… But, we don’t have a kit-”
“MY PUSSY GOD DAMMIT!” She yelled as she grabbed the hem of her shorts and pushed them down off her legs, together with her panties. Her movement was ragged and desperate, her legs kicking you off your balance, your elbow propping you up on the floor.
And there you had it.
For years you had been so down bad for the hottest woman you’d ever known. No visual cues, hints, or even reciprocal teasing that’d lead to anything. Somehow life was worth living again, as now Ha Sooyoung, your lifelong hot best friend, had her kitty out in the open, mere centimeters away from your senses.
“Oh… THAT kitty….”
“Yes, this kitty…”
Her face was lush red, both embarrassed and horned tf out. She gathered all her courage, and with a groan, she said. “Let’s just say this is your reward for… whatever reason.” She scoffed. “Tch, my girlfriend just sent a video of her fingering the fuck out of her pussy, and I’ve been horny af for the past week, and I wanna touch myself but my fingers not cutting it anymore.” She sighed. “Look, just fucking eat me while I watch my girlfriend finger herself.”
All your down bad comments towards her, your teasing—all of them just gone. Nothing in your life could’ve prepared you for all that. You tried to process the series of words she’d just said, especially the last one. She was asking you to eat her out, WHILE she watched her girlfriend screw herself??? You didn’t even know if you were being a cuck or if Sooyoung was just being sinfully unfaithful—maybe even both. But none of that mattered anymore when you were rock hard, mouth agape, still fixated on her pussy with Jiwoo’s moaning in the background.
You gently wrapped your arms around her thighs from below, you were so close to her pussy you could breathe in her musk doing you like crack. It was dripping, through the tendrils of her well-kept bush. Not that it bothered you—somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice definitely yours said Even better. The hem of her black tank top rode up, your eyes tracked the soft thin happy trail up to her exposed navel, then eventually you met her flushed gaze from above. You could never be happier in life, being put in place by your hot lesbian home girl.
“Y-you sure about this…?”
Her left hand ran through your hair, grasping what she could palm. You could feel her desperation in her nails poking your scalp, while the other held the moaning device for her to watch.
“Just fucking eat me, bozo.”
And so you did, unleash the beast.
You kissed her kitty—though not the way you’d kiss a real kitty, obviously. You ate her like you hadn’t eaten for weeks. You ran your tongue in laps and laps all over her pussy as if cleaning her girl juice off, replacing it with your own saliva. She tasted nothing like the countless 2AM sessions in your head (and hand). She tasted miles better, intoxicating as you breathed her in, the folds and crevices felt like they’d been perfectly sculpted for your tongue to slip into.
But that was putting your hunger too nicely.
It was more like you were in a biology exam with a blindfold on, mapping out her pussy with your tongue and trying to answer what part, what flesh or folds of her pussy it was. But the best part was, you didn’t know shit about biology.
You swirled around her clit, then sucked it with such suction you were basically slurping on it. Congratulations—you earned yourself a guttural moan from her. She started slow, but eventually rode your face, finding the right answer—which you weren’t going to spit out to begin with.
“F-fuck… Chagiya…” She moaned, her eyes totally fixated on Jiwoo’s sticky fingers pumping into her pussy.
Well, that wasn’t your name, but it was now. You were standing in for a lesbian with supple tits and the most God-sent DSL apparently. Was it cuck-ish? Kinda. You’d argue Jiwoo was the cuck, considering you were the one eating Sooyoung. But that was beside the point, and the point being how Sooyoung wasn’t even complaining or bullying you for your tongue game. Knowing her, she would’ve bullied you for the most nothing-burger reason ever, and honestly, she might’ve been for the past few minutes. But you wouldn’t have heard it anyway, all you could still hear were both of them moaning, though faintly, due to her plush thighs suffocating you from both sides. You could feel all the pressure of her grasping hand from above, all around your head, wrapped between her legs.
She’s fucking enjoying this, you patted your ego in the back.
Your tongue game matched that of a lesbian eating a pussy. Your ego blasted off the roof, you’d successfully masked yourself as Jiwoo, with a rock-hard cock down under, that is.
Jiwoo with a cock.
Jiwoo with a cock? Jiwoock??
That didn’t sound bad at all, actually. But you were Jiwoo now—did that count as self-cest? You’d been given a chance to be in heaven—that was, Ha Sooyoung’s pussy—and you were still thinking of another girl with a cock. By Merlin’s beard, you were greedy.
You grew bolder as your left hand slithered up, roaming on her flat tummy, which you’d cummed on multiple times in your dreams. Meanwhile, your right hand was in the rightest place of all, slipping under her tank top to join forces with her own hand groping her tits.
“You’re not allowed to be this— Aah…!” You squeezed her nipple. “F-fucking go~od!” She finally referred to you for the first time in minutes. Not Jiwoo, you. Thank God it wasn’t self-cest after all.
She looked ungodly above you. Darker spots of moisture started wetting her top. She was still holding up her phone, her arm pinned high, perfectly exposing a small, tantalizing opening of her right armpit to your view from below. Your eyes greedily tracked down all beads of sweat trickling down from her flushed forehead and neck, pooling right at the delicate, sensitive hollow at the base of her arm. She is swelteringly sweating. It was so damp you could literally see small reflection from the room lighting gleaming off her slick skin.
The intoxicating musk of her raw sweat mixed with her arousal sending a feral jolt straight to your broin—brain and groin. A thick bead of sweat trailed down the soft crease, soaking the trim of her tank top’s armhole. Your mouth practically watered along with her wetness, down dripping on the floor. You stared at the glistening textured folds of the hollow, a degenerate, desperate, pathetic thought crossed your mind.
Maybe, if you ate her out hard enough, she would actually indulge your sickly, filthy fantasy on her.
So you nuzzled her clit as you buried your face deeper. But not as deep as your tongue, working inside her pussy so hard she crossed her calves behind your neck, locking and pulling you deeper in her pussy. Suddenly, death by suffocation didn’t sound bad at all.
Though as much as Sooyoung loved getting fucked by your… no, Jiwoo’s? Nah, it was your tongue—she needed something more. Something that could reach deeper, something more rigid. And she could only think of your digits, for now.
So her wish was your command.
You trailed your left hand down to her mound, stopping right on her clit. You’d dreamed about this. Numerous times you had sacrificed enough sleepless nights jacking off while writing about rubbing one out for Ha Sooyoung. But somehow your fingers worked her clit with way too much care in contrast to the beast, that was your tongue. They were stiff, careful, and definitely not sensual at all. So you switched up the strategy.
You were now back to sucking her clit while your fingers down there hesitantly rubbed, and rubbed, and rubbed. You knew how to finger a woman—you had seen videos, read fan fics, and pretty sure this wasn’t your first rodeo with a woman. You were being awkward af.
Then, it hit you. You still got your nails on. You really didn’t want to ruin it, you actually liked her design and genuinely appreciate the art. You really wished you had Mage Hand right now, on second thought that’d actually be so hot. But again, that was beside the point, you had a better question.
Is it even safe…?
Sooyoung noticed, of course she did.
“The fuck… Are you doing…?” She said, in the middle of her panting.
You pull off your tongue out of her pussy, your lips smothered by her girl juice. “It’s… Been a while, y’know?” You reasoned weakly.
“No shit. Somehow your foul mouth works better in my pussy than your neat fingers.” Backhanded as it was, you took half the compliment to your ego. “You never touched a woman before??”
“I have-!”
“Eaten a woman? Yeah, I can tell. But your finger game lacking so bad omg you’re ruining the mood!” She yelled, her brows furrowed as she glared at you intensely from above, and of course your ass only got hornier seeing her angry like this.
“I-… I don’t wanna mess up my nails, okay!?”
You could see a faint blush on her cheeks. Despite her blazing arousal, she was genuinely flattered that you actually cared that much about her work.
“I-it won’t mess ‘em up!” she argued, reaching down to grab your wrist.
“Is it even safe???” you hesitated. As much as you wanted to ruin her, you didn’t want to actually make her sick or anything.
“YES!”
“How would you know?”
“… Grok.”
“I’m leaving.”
“I’m fucking kidding!” She let out an exasperated laugh, her nails digging firmly into your wrist. “I’m a nail artist, dumb ass! I WOULD KNOW.”
She let her phone slip from her grasp, tumbling onto the messy sheets to her right, though you could still hear Jiwoo’s soft moaning hands free. She twisted your freshly painted digits, angling it directly against her soaking entrance.
“So, shut up,”
She didn’t even give you a chance to argue. With a firm, determined pull of your arm, she forcefully thrust two of your fingers deep inside herself.
“And stop thinking about your nails.”
So you did.
At this point, you were sure your pre-cum was already wetting your boxers just from the extremely lewd, shattered moan ripped from her throat the second your fingers cave in. But alas, you let go of your restraint completely. Fuck your nail, literally. You curled your fingers and drove them deep into her core. She could feel the smooth, cold surface of your freshly cured nails rushing along the slick of her soaking walls. You fell into a ruthless rhythm, thrusting and curling your knuckles upward against her sweet spot relentlessly like it was a button mashing Quick Time Event, all while your tongue kept its starving, aggressive assault on her swollen clit.
“F-fuck! God, y/n!” Sooyoung shrieked, her back arching off the mattress, she was seeing stars.
At last, she succumbed to you. She lost it the moment she found it fucking hot seeing you under her mercy like a dog. She had completely forgotten about who she was fantasizing on her knees. The last remaining remnant of Jiwoo was the moaning on her phone she’d discarded next to her face. It was a man, only you, her perverted gooner best friend between her thighs giving her the best oral she had ever gotten.
Her hips bucking against your fingers while she threw both her hands up, grasping the sheets above her head. She was basically presenting herself to you. With a loud slurp on her clit, you started trailing wet kisses up her happy trail, tasting the sweat up pass her navel, to the hem of her tank top just below her tits. Her small under boobs peaked just enough to get you riled up even more. With your free hand you took her top off.
You had seen her braless in a thin see through shirt before, you swore if someone were to ask where exactly her nipples are placed, you’d know it by heart. But seeing her fully topless like this was just a whole another level. You squeezed it with your free hand, earning another italic moan from her. Sure, she wasn’t as well endowed as your ex Hyeju. But you couldn’t care less.
Tits are tits, and man’s gotta eat.
Your tongue hit first, swish and flicking around her light brown nipple. With a firm squeeze of your hand, you sucked on it hard you were practically milking the fuck out of her.
“Harder!” She arched her back, catching your mouth.
“Which one?” You asked as you lightly grazed her nipple with your teeth, slightly biting on it.
“HnnGHh~ FUCK!” She howled. “Both, fucker.”
“Say less.” You upped your fingers tempo, more ragged and messy, while your mouth switch between her tits sloppily, covering them with your saliva.
Then it was time.
Your free hand pinned hers above as you dragged your tongue from her left tit, upwards, not to her neck nor collarbone, but the sensitive, glistening armpit. Your tongue glided along the axis, lapping all the sweat pooled at the now fully exposed hollow.
Sooyoung flinched, a sharp gasp ripping from her throat.
“Wait—what the fuck??” she shrieked, her body squirming against your hold. She looked down at you lavishing her armpit, her face burning, humiliated red. “EW, Y/N, STOP! That’s mmngHh~ disgusting! I haven’t showered all fucking day!”
She tried to twist her arm away from your pinning, glaring at you with a mix of genuine disgust and a newfound arousal. “You’re a fucking FREAK oh my G~od!”
But you paid her no mind, her protests fading into the background beneath the deafening, wet slurping of your own depravity. You definitely rolled a NAT 20 today. You had always secretly loved how she smelled every morning you passed by her at the kitchen counter. Since it was a lazy holiday afternoon after all, meaning she had no plans, home all day, there was absolutely no need for her to put on any deodorants or perfume. So the Unwashed status effect multiplied to her natural pheromones, and having her arm pinned securely above her head gave her an automatic Disadvantage on all Strength saving throws. And it left you with a 100% guaranteed hit chance to feast upon the raw, unfiltered, intoxicating musk that was uniquely her.
So you took full advantage of her debuff completely. You nuzzled your nose into the damp skin as you dragged your wet tongue deeper into her sensitive hollow, meticulously mapping out the topography of her underarm like a starved explorer. You could literally feel the delicate texture as your tongue pushing ruthlessly into every tiny, slick crevice and fold, slurping obscenely, savoring the sharp, salty tang of the raw moisture straight out of her pores.
Her disgusted remarks now fractured into breathy, needy whine. Her pinned arm went limp, fingers twitching helplessly on the mattress. She couldn’t help but get aroused by your weird kink.
“F-fuck… You’re so gross.” She whimpered, her voice cracking.
Contrast to her own insult, her free arm suddenly flew, wrapping tightly around the back of your head. Her fingers tangled deeply into your hair, nails pricking your scalp, forcefully shoving you deeper into the damp hollow, smothering you in her raw musk, all while her hips subconsciously bucked harder against your fingers still relentlessly plowing her soaking core.
“Oh my God…” She sobbed out. “Don’t stop.”
She was finally close. You could feel the tension in her thighs, her walls inside tightening, trapping your fingers like that one scene in A New Hope as she desperately chased her climax.
You were both entirely preoccupied, blissfully lost in the filthy, undeniable sin you were committing on this God-forsaken mattress. But you felt something missing from all of this.
You consented to this, she definitely consented to this.
Then it dawned on you. You asked yourself, isn’t there somebody you forgot to ask?
“I don’t!” Time said, ever so cruel.
The screen of her phone lit up brightly, cutting off the spicy video that was somehow still looping after what it felt like 30 minutes, with a deafening, obnoxious ringtone.
“Ring-ding-ding-ding-dingeringeding!“
You froze.
You heard it right, you couldn’t possibly mistake it. It wasn’t the generic default ringtone of any normal device. It wasn’t as if the writer didn’t know how phones ring—they definitely knew exactly what a default iOS or Android ringtone sounded like.
No, this was definitely a targeted assault on the reader. The writer had specifically chosen to ruin it with the 2013 viral electronic dance hit “What Does the Fox Say” by Ylvis.
“Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!“ the phone blasted at max volume from the messy sheets, obliterating the filthy tension between the two of you.
Incoming Call: Jiwoo
“SHIT!” Sooyoung hissed.
With sheer panic, she violently shoved you off your balance. You tumbled backward off the mattress, hitting the floor with a hard thud, bruising your elbows.
“What the fu—”
“SHUT UP! Shut up, shut up, shut up.” she frantically shush-ed you. She scrambled to sit upright, cleared her hoarse throat, and accepted Jiwoo’s call on loud speaker.
“H-heeyy… Chagiya!” Sooyoung answered, her voice was an octave higher than usual.
“Heyy… Are you… Okaay?” Jiwoo’s sweet, concerned voice echoed through the now quiet room. “I was just… Worried. I sent you the video like half an hour ago and you haven’t replied since. Was it a bad time…? I’m so so—”
“NO!” Sooyoung even startled herself. She cleared her throat again. “I mean, yeah! I saw it! It was… Great!” She stammered. Her pants ragged, chest still heaving as she tried to regulate her breathing. “There is… Absolutely nothing wrong. I was just… Busy!”
There was something so hot the way she referred to both your uncouth shenanigans as busy.
Heh, busy? I’ll show you busy
A mischievous, wicked grin stretched across your face. You got back on your knees, moving right back between her dangling legs off the edge of the bed. Sooyoung’s eyes widened in horror as she realized exactly what you were about to do. She glared down at you, silently mouthing “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Despite her glaring, her legs didn’t show any sign of restraint or fight as you spread it wide open once again. You leaned in and aggressively buried your face right back to where it belonged, Ha Sooyoung’s soaking, edging core.
Sooyoung jolted, her spine snapping straight. Her free hand flew up, slapping it over her mouth to hold her squealing. But of course, that wasn’t enough to contain the pleasure in from her phone.
“Chagiya…?” Jiwoo’s concerned voice now had a slight suspiciously teasing tone to it. “Are you… Out of brea—”
“NO!” Sooyoung forced out an answer through her gritting teeth. Her knuckles gripping the phone turned white as you swirled your tongue mercilessly, slurping her dripping folds. “I just… Dropped something!”
There was a moment of silence on Jiwoo’s end of the line. Then, a soft, incredibly sweet giggle echoed from her line.
“Chagiya… Are you…? Are you touching yourself to my video right now??” Jiwoo teased, her tone completely shifted playfully.
Sooyoung was in absolute chaos. She was terrified of getting caught, but the sheer thrill of her girlfriend unknowingly listening to her get eaten out by her bestie was too much for her to handle. She wanted to deny it, push you away and end whatever the fuck this was. But her body betrayed her completely, and so did her mind, consumed by the unfaithful arousal.
“… Perchance…”
“Oh my God!” You could hear Jiwoo’s laughing echoed through the room. “But it was only like one half a minute video! Were you looping it? You’ve been gooning to me this whole time?”
“Yeah… You, only you!” Oh how fired up you were listening to Sooyoung’s lies.
“You wanna kiss my kitty so bad hmm? Want me to kiss yours too?” Jiwoo teased, which Sooyoung could only give an agreeing moan as an answer. Ah, so this where the kitty kissing came from, you thought.
The absolute, catastrophic irony of the situation messed up your already messed up broin. You were eating the fuck out of Sooyoung’s pussy, while Jiwoo gave gooning instruction to her … And you? At this point, it worked both ways for Sooyoung and you. Of course, you wanted in too like yeah you wanna kiss Jiwoo’s kitty too. Now you and Sooyoung both were gooning to Jiwoo. This is so weird and fucking hot, you both thought respectively.
“So I was interrupting your gooning! Were you close, Chagiya?” God, Jiwoo’s cute giggle was so out of place yet her husky tone right now was so right.
“Mhmm…” Sooyoung whimpered, her fingers messing up your hair as your tongue relentlessly lapped her folds.
“Then tell me.” Jiwoo’s voice grew even huskier. “Tell me what you would have me do, if I was right, there. On the bed. With you. Tell me, Chagiya…”
You could see the massive lump going down Sooyoung’s throat. She turned her eyes to you as you greedily slurped her core. Unfortunately fortunate, she was just as fucked up as you. A wicked, fucked up idea sparked into life within her.
She didn’t even have to use her imagination, when she had you on her kitty.
“I’d want you… to spread my thighs,” she breathed heavily into the phone, live reporting your exact movements, word for word. “I want your face buried in my pussy… Swirling your tongue right on my clit… Sucking on it so ha~ard I can’t eve- Aah! Breathe!”
“Hmmm yeah… What else?” Jiwoo urged for more, her own breath hitching.
You smirked against Sooyoung’s wetness. You were more than happy to put on a live… Show? Podcast? Smut audio book for Jiwoo? Hell, whatever this was, you were nailing your role. But a stagnant, repetitive narration would only bore the audience. You had to be creative, feed more narration into Sooyoung, keep the audience entertained, you had to be the star.
So you flip the script.
You pulled your face off of her dripping slit and with firm grips under her thighs, you lifted her legs upward, exposing an entirely new different map. Sooyoung’s brows furrowed in confusion, she was positioned as if she was trying to give birth to electro pop.
And before she could even ask, you dragged down your soaked tongue from her pussy, then pressed it firmly onto the concave surface of her musky tight, puckered rim that was her asshole.
Sooyoung violently jolted you could feel her entire body shudder. “HNGH— FUUUUCKKK!” she shrieked, the unfiltered, no audio gate, soul-leaving-the-body kind of shriek. Her free hand flew up, grasping the sheets hard. Nothing in her life could’ve prepared her for an ass eating, they didn’t teach her about this in school. Her face burned aflame, mortified as you stared right back beneath her. She really didn’t want to narrate this newfound arousal, but she had to. She had to commit to the bit.
“I… I want...” She took the sheet to cover up her burning face as she shamefully confessed. “I want you to go lower…”
“L-lower…?”
“Yeah…” She whimpered, her hips bucking deliberately as you pushed the tip of your tongue into her tight pucker. “I want you to lick my ass…”
Another brief silence on the other end of the line. You could imagine Jiwoo’s stun locked face by Sooyoung’s confession.
“Wai-… Wha-… Really??” Jiwoo squeaked, Sooyoung’s confession completely rendered her off guard. “You… You want me to rim you…? Well, I… I never done it but… Since when are you into that?!”
“N-now??”
“I… I don’t know what to say!” She let out breathless laugh. “I mean, I would do it if you want to, Chagiya~” Her tone shifted back into that husky whisper.
That was it. That was your entry for Best Directing at the Academy Awards.
Jiwoo’s green light was basically a “Yes I will, in fact, eat ass.” for you, it was now lore accurate. With another swish and flick of your tongue, and her lower back literally levitating off the mattress, giving you unrestricted access to lap and scoop all the tangy, bitter sweat and musk. Professor Flitwick would be proud of you.
You flattened your tongue, made it rigid, and deliberately, you forcefully thrust the tip straight pass her puckered ring. It was incredibly, very, very tight. But Thank God your tongue was already warmed up and practically ripped the fuck up from the earlier biology exam. So you pushed through as hard as you possibly, physically could, essentially tongue fucking her dirty hole in a wet, filthy rhythm.
But then, you decided that the layer of filth was not enough for the climax.
So you added another.
While your tongue was busy violating her asshole, you brought your old friends, brother and sister finger, right back into the frame. You drove them straight back into her core, thrusting upward, pumping them against her sweet spot while perfectly in sync with the brutal movement of your tongue.
“Ch-chagiya—!” Sooyoung sobbed, she couldn’t even stand a chance, the double stimulation on both her holes rendered her overwhelmingly devastated. Her phone slipped and tumbled onto the mattress again as she grabbed fistfuls of your hair. “I’m— FUCK!”
Her spine arched so high and her trembling thighs clamped down aggressively, suffocating you in the splash zone.
Then, the dam finally broke.
She upcast Climax with a level 6 spell slot, her core convulsing as she flooded your hand with her release. She came so fucking hard that her spasming inside crushed your fingers, forcing them to slip out with a wet pop, drenching your face with her sweet, sticky girl juice.
“D-did you just… I never heard you cum that hard…” Jiwoo’s voice stunned from the discarded phone. “Maybe I should eat your ass when I go back home…”
“You… Should, Chagiya… T-thanks?” Sooyoung said out of breath, still coming down from her high.
“Anything for my baby apple <3 We’ll try it out next week~”
The call finally ended.
After you licked her sensitive pussy clean, you crawled over her on all fours. You both stared each other, flushed and exhausted. You licked your lips, wiping the last remaining of her cum as you put that smug grin back on your face.
“You’re… You’re fucking crazy…” She panted.
“You’re crazy too.”
“Armpits?? Really…??”
“Yeah… Really.”
“That was…” All of a sudden, she felt conscious of her armpit still sticky from your saliva earlier. “Fuck… I also can’t believe you ate my ass while— Tch, JIWOO WAS ON THE CALL!”
“And you fucking loved it.”
“Th-… That’s beside the point!” She blushed, she couldn’t deny how hot it was for her too. “Not a fucking word to her, you hear me??” She grabbed a fistful of your shirt.
Then, she felt her wetness in her palm, she had forgotten how hard she came, she didn’t realize she soaked your shirt. Her eyes then trailed down your whole body and stopped at the protruding relief on your pants, you were still completely clothed and hard. She scoffed, looking away from your face above. Then, with a deep sigh, she finally gave in.
With all the strength she had left, she shoved you to the side. The room lighting cast over her from above, she set the scene so fucking good as she was now on top of you, you could still see the glistening sweat, your drying saliva and her cum on her backlit body.
“I suppose… You deserve a reward.” Her hands scrambled to unbutton your pants.
“I thought that earlier was the reward?”
“Oh, so you don’t want me to go full on glizzy overdrive??” She let go the hem of your pants. “Fine.” She said dismissively.
“WAIT!” You instantly grabbed her before she could get off of you. “Hehe, please commence glizzy overdrive.”
She rolled her eyes as she got off the bed, getting on her knees and with a firm pull, she took off your pants and boxer altogether.
For the first time, she finally took witness of your cock, standing proud, towering her flushed face. She was expecting it to be disgusting, or ugly given to her preference. But the sheer size of your cock rendered her into a loading state you could see the clogs working in her mind, calculating the size of it compared to her face.
“Holy fuck…?” she said in awe.
“Nothing we done this afternoon has been hol-.”
“You’re fucking huge!” she cut you, her face shocked, with a spice of concern of her well-being as images of your cock if it were to get inside of her flooded her mind.
“Aw, you don’t have to sa-”
“NO LIKE… You’re HUGE huge…!” She reiterated, bringing her arm into frame. “It’s almost as big as my arm!!”
She hesitated, her expression was a mix of disgust and curiosity. But eventually, she reached for your cock. Her touch was hesitant, nails grazing along your length. She then tried wrapping her fingers but her index couldn’t even meet her thumb around the diameter. It felt painfully hard, like literally, you were holding it in for what it felt like a whole day. And considering the sun setting by the window, you were probably right.
“I literally can’t wrap my hand around it.” She said dumbfounded.
You sit up straight, and your dream came true.
Ha Sooyoung on her knees, holding your hard wet cock, ready to suck the life out of you.
You admired the ungodly sight for a tad bit too long, you were woken up by her squeeze on your shaft.
“Eugh… Just so you know, I never done this, obviously.” She started stroking half of your length with such distaste. “Is this fine?”
“Hmmnggh… A bit faster…” You moaned.
So she tried, her best at least.
As much as you want to bully her for her stroking game, you really, really needed this. This was literally the dream, you wouldn’t want her to leave you blue balled just because you were teasing her all the time. Though, eventually she caught onto a steady rhythm, her small hand pumping your length with just enough pressure, and surprisingly good grip. You threw your head back with a groan.
“Fucking perv.” She sneered. “You dreamed about this, huh?”
“Yeah…” You confessed so lightly, completely shameless. “Every night.”
She scoffed at your raw confession, rolling her eyes in exaggerated annoyance. But despite her protests, she applied more agonizing pressure to her strokes, her sharp nails would lightly graze against your throbbing length every one or two pumps.
“What a freak, jerking off to your best friend…” she mocked, leaning in closer as if she was inspecting the disgusting rod she were never interested in at first.
At first.
Fuck.
She paused her pumping. Her face was mere centimeters away, and as her bare chest heaved, she breathed in the musk radiating off your cock. Something about your musk just put her in a trance as she felt the shudders running along her body.
This is fucked.
Slowly, but hesitantly, she parted her glossy lips and stuck her tongue out. She pressed her flattened tongue to the base of your shaft and dragged it in one long, agonizingly slow lick all the way up to your tip, lapping up the dripping pre-cum from your slit.
She pulled back, her eyes widened in deep regret.
Not because it was gross—well, it was still gross for her, but she actually, highkey liked how you tasted.
She couldn’t believe what she was feeling. The sharp, salty tang of your hour long arousal completely turned something on within her. At this point, her cheeks were toast by how many times she had gone red. She lost the plot. She was supposed to be disgusted by your cock, but now it looks so disgustingly delicious I wanna swallow it whol— WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME.
Before she hastily wiped her lips with the back of her hand, she glared up at you with masked arousal. You were utterly, pathetically desperate for her, and God he looks so pathetic I love it, she thought.
Fuck it all.
“You’re lucky I’m your best friend, perv.” she purred, deliberately, slowly licking the remaining slick off her glossy lips as she resumed her stroking.
“Can’t help it when you walk around half-naked around the place all the time” you countered.
“Oh, so it’s my fault you’re a fucking degenerate??” She squeezed harder, her voice dark yet clearly she turned on by your candidness. “No wonder I heard someone calling my name every other night, I thought this place was haunted. It was you after all, huh? Whining my name while you stroked this stupid, fucking massive thing.”
“Fuck… Yes… Sooyoung please—”
“Please what?”
“Suck my— Agh!” you hissed as she grazed her sharp nail along your slit.
“Hm? Can’t hear you.” She teased, letting out a breathy, arrogant laugh.
“Fuck you.”
“Hmph, you wish.” She smirked, deliberately misconstrued your cursing. “Beg for i—”
“Please please pleeasseee, suck my cock, Ha Sooyoung I’M TIRED OF JACKING OFF TO YOUR PICS EVERY DAY PLEASE JUST LET ME HAVE ONE CHANCE.”
…
Dead silence.
The sheer, unadulterated weight of your pathetic preaching hung heavily in the air. Sooyoung stopped her stroking on your shaft, her eyes went wide, blinking almost comedically as she tried to process the absolute all time low of your dignity.
For a moment, you thought you pushed it too far.
That was, until her lips twitched, followed by a snort, then immediately a full-chested laugh that shook her entire system. She laughed so fucking hard she collapsed against your thigh, completely obliterating her composure for a brief moment.
“Oh… My fucking God.” she wheezed, wiping her teary eyes. “I knew you were pathetic, but I didn’t know you were THIS pathetic.”
She let out another breathless giggle, shaking her head in disbelief. Then, with a sigh, she went back to your towering erection. She scoffed in disdain, though hungry as ever.
“I mean, seriously, look at this… thing.” she mocked, squeezing the thick base firmly, making your hips bucked helplessly. “It’s ridiculous. It’s disgustingly huge, it’s way too veiny, and honestly? It’s just fucking ugly.” and I fucking love it.
You let out a pathetic whimper, not even trying to defend your pride. You loved this.
“But…” she trailed off, her voice an octave lower as she smeared your pre-cum over your tip with her thumb. “I’m only going to suck it just because you’re begging me like such a good, pathetic, little dog.” She said, dangerously close you could feel her hot breath making you throb harder.
She puckered her glossy lips and with a smack, she kissed your frenulum.
She parted her lips, her eyes staring right back at your heavy dirty soul.
“And you’re lucky I actually like you this way.”
Before the red could fill your entire face, she flattened the tip of her tongue on your frenulum, then slowly, she took your weeping head directly into her mouth. Her plush lips sealed around it, in an ever so agonizing pace, she sank down with her tongue flattened, gliding along the underside of your length. You let out a guttural groan, bliss rushing through your veins.
This was it.
You had finally reached the absolute peak of your existence.
Countless sleepless nights and pathetic, desperate fantasies…
Ha Sooyoung actually had your cock in her mouth.
However, as she started to bob on your length, a sharp sting followed.
“Aish— FUck,” you hissed, your cock twitched and tensed as her front teeth clumsily scraped against the sensitive skin of your shaft.
Despite the blazing hot dominant aura she just put on, it was a painful reminder that she was still very much a lesbian. She had absolutely zero idea how to suck a cock properly. She was rather amateur, sloppy and uncoordinated. Not that you actually minded the pain, you had established you were a pathetic, masochist when it came to her. And honestly? Her sheer, stubborn effort as she hollowed her cheeks, trying to force herself to sink down half of your length was truly commendable.
And if you were being entirely honest… You found her inexperience rather… Cute.
The way her nails grazed your skin as she pumped you at the base, her eyes teared, fluttering upward every time she pushed herself too deep. The obscene, bubbling mix of spit and pre-cum slipped out of her glossy, plush lips as she coughed and gagged around your length.
God her gagging is so lewd, you mused.
It was terribly, uniquely, endearingly her.
You had never been so painfully, euphorically happy in your entire life.
Her throat spasmed, and with a slippery sloppery schlorp, she pulled her mouth off of your cock to catch her breath.
Lumps of saliva dripped down from her lips to your tip, you could see the glistening string connected still to her lips. She coughed hard, her free hand wiping her mouth as the other remained its chokehold on your cock.
“Fuck… You’re too fucking huge!” she managed to gasp out as she glared up at you. Her bangs damp with sweat, stray hairs plastered, sticky all over her flushed forehead and temples. “God, I can barely swallow half of it without choking.”
She sighed as she finally took witness of your shiny cock coated in her spit. “This is so gross…”
“Heh, you do seem a tad bit too engrossed in it for a wuhluhwuh.” you grinned ever so smugly.
“… A what??” She blinked.
“En-gross-ed…? Get it? Because you said gross, but you seem to—”
“No, I fucking know English, dick head.”
You tensed up your cock, your head twitching in response “He begs to differ. You clearly don’t get the jo—”
“WUH-LUH-WUH!!!” she yelled exasperatedly. “Did you just try to pronounce W-L-W??”
“Fuck, no! Don’t patronize me, I was terrible! You squirmed every time my teeth were on it, you were literally hissi—”
“What makes you think I don’t like it?”
“…” She blinked. “The fuck?” She recoiled, thoroughly confused.
“I find it particularly cute, actually,” you admitted nonchalantly, rendering her speechless.
She didn’t expect you to genuinely enjoy her terrible blowjob, even she knew she was absolute dogshit at it, yet she couldn’t help but feel lowkey flattered.
“You are so weird...” she rolled her eyes, though the corner of her lips smugly curled as she resumed her stroking. She milked the slick skin of your coated shaft, but as she did, her eyes drifted lower, completely hypnotized by the twin pendulums that were your balls, swaying beneath her hand.
She stared at them, her eyes flickering mischievously as she went down on you. You let out a muffled groan as she pressed her plush lips against them, tentatively kissing the sensitive skin of your sack.
“How much longer do I have to suck this thing before you pop?” she murmured, her tongue darted, down to scoop one of your balls into her mouth.
Your fingers instantly tangled into her bob, knuckles turning white. “Fuck… not long if you keep doing that…”
With her hand still working on your length in a steady rhythm, she finally sucked your balls. Her tongue swirled, fondling them lewdly with a filthy slurping, smacking, and popping of her lips. The wet tip of her tongue would occasionally glide dangerously low, tracing the stretched skin near your asshole, making you squirm helplessly on the mattress.
I am a wuhluhwuh, she muttered inside.
Women are soft, smell like vanilla, taste like honey. Yet there she was, eagerly slurping on a disgusting pair of sweaty, musky, dirty balls like they were Michelin fucking star. Her soaking core throbbed all over again as she tasted the degrading filth that felt like sin on her tongue.
“Fuck, Sooyoung-ah…” you breathed heavily, your hips twitching as her lips took your balls in and popped them out in tandem. “I’m so close… Like… Really fucking close.”
She pulled back with a smack, your balls glistened with her spit. “Well, you’re gonna have to help me then,” she said invitingly, her thumb deliberately smearing your pre-cum on your frenulum. “I can’t possibly do allat again by myself.”
She upped her tempo, letting out a stifled laugh. “I mean, I can’t exactly get the goat milk out all on my own.”
Your edging broin stalled for a moment. “… Goat milk?”
Her smirk quivered, her broin rotten to the core. “Yeah. If I milked you, I’d get goat milk…”
Despite her brutally quickening stroke, a snicker escaped her lips as she laughed at herself.
“’cuz you da #goat”
You snapped.
You didn’t even let her have a full-blown laugh as your hands flew to grab her head from both sides, violently tangling them into her roots. With a surge of brain-rotten adrenaline, you stood up from the mattress and forcefully impaled your throbbing cock straight into her open mouth, plunging down her throat.
Hmpphkk!
Hnghk
Gawk
Glorp (Bogos binted?)
Now that was the sound of heaven.
You pulled her head hard every time you pushed your goat in. Your pace was unforgiving and brutal. Her hands instinctively anchored to your thighs, nails digging as you mercilessly fucked the joke out of her.
But the devastating momentum of your thrusts was quickly becoming too much for the poor girl as your hips kept pushing and chasing her mouth, forcing her to tilt backward. Her hands shot back to prop herself from collapsing on her back. With her body arched, you took full advantage of it as your hand palmed the crown of her head while the other wrapped around her slender neck. Looming over her, you angled your hips and drove your heavy length downward with gravity.
Gag reflex be damned, you managed to bottom out nearly all of your length—you could literally feel your bulge plunging in and out of her neck.
Tears trailed from the corner of her eyes down to her flushed cheeks. But she didn’t even try to tap out. Her arms stood their ground, bracing hard as you fucked her throat into Oblivion so hard that it actually got remastered.
You nailed her mouth in a feral rhythm, balls slapping against her chin each time you tried to burrow even deeper into her incredibly tight throat. You could only think about how tight her ass would be if her throat was already this tight, but that was a story for another day. Perhaps. It was time to end this fuck-ass fic, the writer thought. So, eventually, you felt it coming.
“Fuck!” you roared, shudders running all over your body. “Take it all!”
You locked her in place, and with a one-hundred horse power thrust—maybe a hundred and twenty four—you bottomed out like a dragoon and blew your load.
Torrents of your release erupted straight down her esophagus. Suffocated by the sheer volume of your cum, you could feel the peristaltic spasms of her throat violently milking the goat. She tried to swallow it all, but you kept coming and coming she couldn’t keep up.
It was just too much. Her throat completely overflowed.
She coughed so violently it popped your cock out of her throat. Freed from the confines of her mouth, your cock sprayed the remaining ropes across her ruined face. Sticky mess splattered over her cheeks, nose, and damp fringes on her forehead as she collapsed back on her hands, coughing and gasping for air.
As the stream began to subside, you got back on her lips and milked the pulsing trickle down into her cum-filled mouth. You could only stare, mesmerized by the absolute filth that was Ha Sooyoung, face and mouth fully covered with your cum.
Her tongue darted out slowly, lecherously licking your slit off the final rope, then wiped the ropes around her lips as she finally downed your pooling cum in her mouth.
Gulp
Gulp
Gulp
It took her three fucking gulps to down all your hot cum into her tummy.
You stared down at her, chest heaving as you took in the absolute masterpiece of her face, beautifully dazed and glistening with your release. She had never looked better, and you had never felt better.
“I guess I really am the goat.”
A/N: I wanna say thanks and like pay respects to lots of writers I've been reading since 2020 until now, but like actually maybe no I don't wanna drag lots of yous name here I would only embarrass you.
a/n : This was written for @mysonesecret's A Thousand Words challenge over on Fanprose
Hands. Nien offered hers as the answer after I mustered every morsel of courage in the world to confess after an exceptionally boring class.
“Huh? That…your—wait! Really?”
“Yeah! That’s what people do when they’re dating, right?” she giggled with the brightest smile I’ve ever seen on a person. I tentatively gave my hand, but Nien grabbed it and dragged me along with her. “Come on, let’s have lunch!”
“Whoa–hey! Wait, I haven’t packed my stuff yet!”
Nien cackled and did a U-turn, flunking me towards my desk. “Better be quick or I’m gonna eat you instead, sugarpie!”
“Got it. Give me a minu—sugarpie?”
“Mhm. You asked me out so sweetly and you got a big round head, so…sugarpie!” she snickers, drawing a circle in the air with both hands. I chuckle in amazement, nodding. “I guess that’s me.”
“Hurry up!”
“Okay!”
***
Hands. I held Nien’s throughout and after she cried from nervousness and anxiety a few days before our wedding.
“Why’d you say yes?”
“Hm?” she mumbled, curled up on my chest.
I gently wiped away some of her dried tears. “Why did you say yes to, well…my proposal? Just…curious.”
Her mouth tugged side-to-side in thought before blooming into a small, warm smile. “You feel…hmm…peaceful.”
“Peaceful? Me?” I laughed.
Nien nodded. “You…I feel…I know I don’t have to be afraid of anything beside you. Even when I do bad things. You don’t hesitate to set me straight, without any judgement.” Her hand rose to caress my cheek, then poked at it softly. “I can be anything, everything, or nothing. When you’re beside me, my heart is at peace.”
Hatiku damai, jiwaku tentram di sampingmu.
I could feel my heart thumping harder, Nien likely could as well by how she was grinning. My cheeks bloomed warm as I cupped hers, leaning down for a kiss. “I’m gonna marry you again, I swear.”
“We haven’t even married once, you silly!” she giggled into my lips.
“Don’t care. I love you that much.”
Nien kissed me this time. “I love you too, sugarpie.”
***
Hands. Nien held mine as she nursed them after I opened a suspicious package that was meant for her, which turned out to be a small firebomb.
“Those assholes,” she huffed, her eyes blazing. “Using these old ass scare tactics—what do they think this is, 1960?”
“Ouch!”
“Sorry, sorry!” She blew on my burnt hand softly.
“It’s okay, honey. It wasn’t your fau—”
“No, it’s not okay!” she snarled, her jaws trembling before she started sobbing. “Those…fucking Vulpes thugs would rather do this shit than actually admit their atrocities. Think they’re above everyone else.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with her elbow.
“Well, I’m one journalist they won’t silence. I wasn’t gonna stop, but now they hurt my sugarpie? I’m gonna skin them alive. I’m gonna be even louder.”
“Honey, isn’t that…dangerous?”
“That’s exactly what they want,” she gritted. “Want me to be scared. Fuck that.” She gets back to treating my burns. “You believe in me, don’t you?”
I sighed. “I’m still a bit concerned…but, I do. All the way. Fuck them up, hon—ow!” I tried to raise a fist. Nien whined, slapping my back. “What are you doing? You’re still hurt!”
“Yeah, forgot,” I snickered. “You’re really hot when you’re mad, by the way.”
Nien couldn’t help but laugh, slapping me softer and pulling in to peck my lips. “You silly, beautiful man.”
“Takes one to know one.”
***
Hands. I was jumping in place to surprise Nien and hold hers as her train pulled onto the platform. As I looked around for her among the disembarking passengers, I heard a woman scream.
“HELP!”
I didn’t think twice before running to the car it came from. “What’s going on?” I asked a passenger crowding around something.
“I think someone’s hurt, I’m not sure.”
I pushed past the crowd, and my heart dropped. Nien was on the floor, half conscious, her lower torso stained deep red. Her head rested on the lap of a woman quietly sobbing, her hands also stained as it pressed on Nien’s stomach. “What…what–what happened? I–I’m her husband, please tell me!”
“I don’t know!” she cried, shaking her head. “She was standing next to me, and there was…like this, this group that came in and bumped into us.” She sniffled and swallowed. “Then they got off here, and then…and then she just collapsed!”
“Oh my God…honey. Nien, honey! Can you hear me?” I held her cheek and turned her face towards me. “Did—did you call an ambulance yet?”
“I did…told the driver to–to stop the train, too.”
“Did you, um…here, let me.” I took over putting pressure on Nien’s wound. “You remember anyone from that…the ones who bumped into you?”
The woman bawled, shaking her head. “No! I’m sorry sir, I didn’t—it was…I’m sorry!”
I nodded and leaned closer to Nien. “Nien, honey. Hey, I’m here. Can you hear me?”
She stirred weakly, her voice airy and thin. “Sugarpie?”
“Yeah, me! Sugarpie!” Tears started falling. “Help is on the way, so stay awake for me, okay? I won’t go anywhere, I promise. Just stay with me, please.”
Nien’s lips curved into a frail smile, her bloody hand floating up to my cheek. “Sugarpie…”
“Mhm, what is it, hon?”
She didn’t answer, only opening her eyes a bit wider to look at me. Her smile grew just a bit, then started to wilt away as her breath slowed.
“Honey? Hey! Don’t—stay with me! Don’t you dare! Stay with me, Hsu Nien Tzu! Don’t—” I choked. “Don’t leave me alone…please…”
Her featherlight breaths slowed down more, then stopped completely. The light behind her glossy brown eyes dwindled, then faded into emptiness.
“No, no! Nien! Honey! Wake up!” My hand moved from her wound to catch her hand sliding away from my cheek. I gripped it harder than ever, sobbing profusely. “Wake up, please…”
Hands. That was the last time mine held hers. And I would do anything to hold it just once more.
"Hey! Hello, Seoyeon!" Nien waves with a wide, albeit stiff smile.
The name bearer snaps her head to the voice. Her focused squinting on the phone screen eases into a groan of relief upon seeing her best friend. "Oh, there you are! Girl, you really just said 'bench behind Music & Arts'. There's like thirty of the damn things!"
"Aha! Y–yeah, right. I shoulda specified, heh." Nien's hands fidget with the hem of her sweater, lips continuously wetting each other.
Seoyeon saunters over to her then halts, sucking through her teeth and tilting her head.
"What's wrong?" Nien asks, less stable than she intended. Seoyeon continues walking, though her steps are less spry and more calculated, eyeing Nien closely.
She sits silently, the corners of her mouth tugged up a bit. Nien swallows a loud gulp. "Alright, what's going on?" Seoyeon crosses her arms and turns her body.
Nien shrinks into herself, cold running down her back. "What's going—what do you mean?"
"Hello, Seoyeon?" Seoyeon chuckles in disbelief. "What happened to the 'hiya hiya, what's going on, Yoon Seoyeon!' bit you do?" She imitates Nien's tone as she quotes it.
"Oh my God, you know it word by word?" Nien grimaces, lowering her face.
"Of course I do! You say it all the—hey, are you okay?"
Nien forces a chuckle. "O–Of course! I'm feel—feeling super today. Why'd you ask?" She tries to look Seoyeon in the eyes, fails after two seconds, looking away.
"Nien, you look...you don't sound okay. Is something up? Tell me." Seoyeon slides across the bench and reaches out for Nien's face, causing the latter to yelp and flinch.
"Oh my God! Are you sick? Does it hurt? You're sweating, Nien!" Seoyeon whines, reaching for Nien's arms this time. Nien doesn't flinch as badly, though she's lightly shivering now, breaths heavier.
"S–Seoyeon...I need—I got something to t–tell you," she murmurs, licking her lips as she does her best to look Seoyeon in the eyes.
"Mhm? What is it?" Seoyeon asks softly.
Nien takes a few deep breaths, blinking rapidly. "It's, um...I....there's—ugh, hold on, give me a minute, please?" She looks away again, fanning her cheeks.
"Of course. I'm right here, Nien. I'm not going anywhere."
"Mmm...why do you gotta sound so sweet!" Nien whines to herself.
"Huh? What was that?"
Nien doesn't answer, fanning her face harder. Her lips keep drying, she keeps licking them. "Alright. So, like, we've been...um, good–good pals for a while, yeah?"
Seoyeon raises a brow and lets out a single chuckle. "Girl, you're making me nervous—"
"Just listen!" Nien yells, covering her mouth right after, eyes wide. "I—I'm sorry, I wasn't...didn't mean to yell." Seoyeon let Nien's shoulder go in surprise, leaning back slightly. "It's...it's okay. I shouldn't have interrupted."
"No! Don't..." Nien raises both fists in the air, then drops them back to her lap. Another few breaths and she continues. "So...so. I didn't—don't remember when—since when. But...you...I—"
The words clog up in her throat, lips trembling, teeth clenched as a tense groan spills through in lieu of speech. Her head's thrown aside again, trying to bury itself in the crook of her shoulder.
Seoyeon watches with bated breath, her eyes darting all over Nien. Giving some moments to let the flow settle before asking, "You, I...what? Did...I do some—"
"Urgh! I like you! I Yeon Soo—I mean, Yoon Seoyeon! I like you! I like you a lot!" Nien utters breathlessly, fists clenched hard on her thighs. Her big round eyes are locked onto Seoyeon's, fearing she won't be able to anymore if she averts them even briefly.
Seoyeon stammers silently, eyes narrowing a smidge. "Nien..."
"Like, more than a friend! Way–way more! I like you so much it makes my chest hurt!" Nien's voice becomes less stable with every word. "Every time you...you feed me a bit of your food. Your smile and th–the little giggle you make after asking me to open a bottle. When—"
She runs out of breath, the one she takes next sounding moist. "When you hold doors for me, fix my hair a bit even though—" Now she's starting to laugh, a wide, dumb grin unlike the one she forced on earlier. "Even though you didn't have to! Your smell, your presence—everything! It–it feels...different! I don't know how long, I just know it drives me crazy!"
Seoyeon's slightly open mouth shuts, curving downwards as she watches Nien panting. "Nien...is this—if this is a prank—"
"It's not! It's not a prank! Not a prank, I swe–ear..." Nien begins sobbing quietly. "I prepped the whole day for this! I like you so much..."
Seoyeon raises her arms tentatively, wrapping them around Nien and pulling her in. The moment she does, Nien breaks, crying into her shoulder.
She pats Nien on the back, her face burning hot and eyes getting glassy. Nien calms down after not very long, wiping her tears with haste, a pensive smile already adorning her face,
"Nien..."
"I'm sorry! Just...I really wanna get it out right now. Felt like I'd literally explode if I don't," Nien chuckles, sniffling. "You don't...you don't have to answer right now." Her voice fades and speeds up towards the end, eyes down at her lap.
Seoyeon observes her for several moments, then smiles. It's not the dazzling summer sun that Nien's is, more like the cozy rays through the canopy of an autumn forest.
"Why would I do that?" she asks, almost too quiet for Nien to catch. "Hm?" the latter raises her head. "Why would I answer it later..." Seoyeon tucks a hair behind Nien's ear, making her breath hitch. " ...when you're right here, right now?"
"I—phew, I don't think I've told you before, have I?" Seoyeon starts, tapping her fingers on the bench. "You know I got...a lotta people relying on me, yeah? Professors always appoint me to help manage their classes. Always the leader in group projects. Not to mention the club."
Nien nods silently. Seoyeon continues, "And so...a lot of the time, I gotta be upright. Reliable. The one who knows everything, even when I don't." She exhales through her nose, running her fingers through her hair. "It's a lot. Lots of pressure. And it bleeds into my daily life."
Seoyeon inches closer to Nien, eyes gazing deeply. "You help me...forget about them, even for just a bit. Reminds me that...that I don't have to be strong all the time. That not everything has to be perfect for them to work."
A sob, then another, then another from Nien. Each becoming less restrained. "Oh, Seoyeon..."
"Seriously. If not for your wacky ass segues to hang out at random hours of the day, I'd have missed a lot more meals!" Seoyeon scoffs, tickling Nien as well, the latter snickering between sobs.
"Remember that one time? You said you wanted to try out that new Pho place at like...4 PM?"
Nien scoffs, biting her lip. "Wasn't even that good. Pricey as shit, too. Had the gall to call themselves 'authentic'? Bitch please!"
"Yeah! Did I ever tell you the...nonsense I just finished dealing with right before you texted?"
Nien shakes her head, pouting. "No, you didn't."
"I had—ugh!" Just the thought of it causes something to burble in her chest. "Some genius thought certain campus rules no longer applied to him. Because he wasn't a freshman anymore."
"No way," Nien chortles.
"Wasn't even the nuanced stuff, too. Things that are plain fucking obvious. Like how do you—" Seoyeon sighs, waving away the awful thought. "Anyways, you made me forget all that with your...passionate grovelling about the Pho. Learned some new Viet curses that day!"
Both women laugh, reliving the memories and emotions of that late afternoon.
"But um...yeah. When I'm with you, I feel...safe, without being strong. I can feel vulnerable, without—" A single tear rolls down Seoyeon's cheek, her voice also becoming wet. "—without feeling guilty."
Nien's cries get a bit quieter, but longer. "Stop! That's so...why are you so..." she trails off, covering her flushed face. Seoyeon snickers, then grits her teeth, preparing to continue.
"At some point, they did start feeling...different. All those little things you did for me. Being around you." Seoyeon rests her head on her fist, propped against the backrest. Nien follows suit, resting her temple entirely on the backrest, slightly hunched due to her greater height.
"Different...how?" Nien whispers.
Seoyeon ponders for a few, her tears speeding up. "Like–like I...wanted you."
Nien lets out a long squeal, then breaks down crying again, covering her face and shaking. "You did not just say t–that..."
"I wanted—I didn't want us to be just...I want—" Seoyeon groans, Nien's animated, genuine reactions making it harder for her to continue. "Everything! Everything..." she sobs. "When I see pretty things, I wanna show them to you. When things are hard, I want—you, your person. Like...you don't have to—" Seoyeon breaks down properly now, though her cries are silent.
Nien whines and slides over in a split second, closing the distance and hugging her tight. "Seoyeon...don't cry! You're making—" She sniffles and shakes her head, resting her chin on Seoyeon's shoulder. "No. Cry. Cry all you want, Seoyeon. I'm–I'm right here."
Seoyeon hiccups and keens a few times before she's able to go on. "You don't...don't need to do anything, Nien. I just want you near me, to know you're there with me, for me. Whatev—" She coughs. "Whatever it is. Is–is that okay?"
Nien nods fervently, having the unintended effect of hammering on Seoyeon's shoulder. "Ow, ow!" Seoyeon moans, half-chuckling half-sobbing.
Nien gasps and pulls away, massaging the spot. "Sorry! I was...sorry!" she grimaces, pouting at herself. Seoyeon grins, a smile curving her eyes all the way up. "You are so damn adorable, Nien."
Nien's lips curl inwards, then up as she shakes side-to-side, kicking her feet. Her face somehow gets redder than it already was, all the way to her ears. Seoyeon giggles and settles, fanning and wiping her soaked cheeks. They stay like that for a bit, listening to the park and feeling the buzz of a different energy in the air between them.
"So...does all that mean..." Nien looks at Seoyeon expectantly, hands clasped tight. " ...you, like me back?"
Seoyeon clicks her lips a few times, then nods; oscillating her neck's full range of motion. "Mhm!"
"Can you say it?"
"I...like you, Hsu Nien Tzu. I like you a lot. More than—oh!" Nien squeals and launches herself at Seoyeon, capturing the smaller woman with a tight, crushing hug. Seoyeon's unable to hug back, arms pinned to her sides.
"Nien! You're—ah! Really—strong! Girl, ease up!" Seoyeon huffs. Nien loosens her arms, laughing. "Sorry, you are really...so small and huggable! Hehe!' Seoyeon scoffs and scoots over to rest her temple on Nien's shoulder. "Ah, this is nice. Too nice. I want this every day and night now," she murmurs.
"We can do that!" Nien chirps. Seoyeon sighs, dragging her head to look up at her. "I really wish we could."
Nien looks down at Seoyeon. Something catches in their throat as their faces' proximity to each other is viscous and apparent. Eyes dart between each other and their lips. Without thinking, Nien leans in closer, her warm breaths—
"Oh, oh! Whoa!" Seoyeon scoots away as her brain unpauses. Nien gasps and slides away also, though not as far as Seoyeon did.
"Were you...was that...trying to–to kiss me?" Seoyeon asks, her heart beating faster than the most daunting public appearances could make it.
Nien quietly stammers something, then straightens up. "I—yeah, no—I mean, yeah! Yes! I–I was! Why not?" She puts on a determined face, nostrils wide, jaws clenched. It lasts all of three seconds before it melts again, her mouth loosening to a small frown. "Can I?"
Seoyeon wets her lips and gulps, sliding towards Nien. Nien stays in place, her face tilting down to line up with Seoyeon's.
Seoyeon raises her small hand, settling it on Nien's nape. "Do it," she whispers.
Nien exhales through her mouth, gingerly leaning in. She closes her eyes, so does Seoyeon. Hovers closer and closer, they can feel the heat from each other's cheeks now, little breaths tickling. The sunlight through their eyelids dim as their faces block it out. Only centimeters now, she—
"Oop." Their noses bump into each other, sending both women snickering, almost barrelling into something uncontrollable that'll cancel this whole deal.
"Okay, okay. I–I'll go this way? You stay...yeah, yeah," Nien mumbles. Seoyeon chuckles, her eyes fluttering. "Do whatever you need, Nien. I'm yours."
Nien's hearstrings pang with an echo within her chest. She closes her eyes and tries again, tilting her head to the side this time, enough to clear their noses. When her lips land, she nearly moans.
Seoyeon's lips are soft and small. It tastes of her lipstick, along with a trace of coffee. For over thirty seconds, that's all they do. Lips pressed against each other, not a word or breath uttered between them.
They separate to catch their breaths. Nien opens her eyes first, a longing gaze beaming onto Seoyeon's as hers flutters open. "Seoyeon..." Nien palms her cheek, caressing it and sliding down to her chin. "You are so beautiful."
Before Seoyeon can think up anything, Nien goes back in, hesitation gone. She gets more adventurous, putting Seoyeon's top lip between hers, sliding her bottom lip back and forth with her tongue.
Nien unlatches briefly, switching to Seoyeon's bottom lip, doing the same. A breathy sound escapes Seoyeon, her hand pulling Nien deeper. Nien wraps her arm around Seoyeon's back, letting out long hums.
The humdrum of the campus park fades away, noon sunlight replaced with a hazy glow in their heads. They keep going until their lungs are ringing alarm bells, head light from more than euphoria.
Their lips smack loose, both women panting. Their eyes exchange looks of wonder and excitement, along with a hint of anxiety. "How...how did you do that?" Seoyeon croaks.
"I...looked it up. Just...you know. Kinda...curious," Nien whispers.
"Of course you did." Seoyeon takes the reins this time, clutching Nien's shoulders. She isn't as composed as Nien; more impulsive, less methodical. Her mouth stretches around Nien's like she's trying to devour her whole, teeth clicking, tongue jutting around like it's mapping her.
Nien welcomes her all the same, easing back onto the bench to give her more leverage. The added pressure elicits a whimper from Nien, which spurs Seoyeon on. She'd have climbed into Nien's lap right then and there if Nien didn't frantically tap on her back, reminding her of where they are.
Nien's unable to hold back a toothy smile, shaking her head. "No. But...not here."
Seoyeon laughs, flustered. "Not here? What...what did you think I was gonna do?"
"S–Shut up! You know what it is."
Seoyeon doesn't confirm nor deny it, resting her head against Nien's, fingers poking at her biceps. "So...are we—ow! Official? What was that for?" Nien protests as Seoyeon bites her shoulder. The latter snickers, nursing the spot with her fingers. "Mhm. We are."
"Tsch. You hungry or something?"
"Also mhm. Didn't eat breakfast."
"Yoon Seoyeon!" Nien grumbles, gently pushing Seoyeon off her shoulder. "We're getting lunch. Right now. I'm paying. Curry sound good?"
Seoyeon's lips stretch to a thin, shy smile, cheeks blushing red. "Sounds good." Nien can’t help but chuckle, brushing away strands of hair stuck to Seoyeon’s damp forehead. “I think you gotta clean up first though. Your makeup—” Nien bursts out laughing and falls backwards on the bench.
Seoyeon’s face drops in horror, feeling her cheeks with her fingers. “Is it…bad?”
“It’s ruined!”
“God damn it.” Nien continues cackling, pointing at her face. “You knew you’d be bawling so you barely put on any, didn’t you?” Seoyeon asks.
“Uh-huh.”
Seoyeon hits her playfully, playing drums on her thigh while growling. Once she calms down, Nien gets an idea. “Well, since it’s already ruined…” She slides right next to Seoyeon.
Seoyeon internally braces herself for more tomfoolery, arms ready to deploy. “What? What about it?” Nien’s eyes glance between different places to throw her off, seemingly settling on her belly. The real attack is on her cheek, smooching it hard enough to leave a mark. “Ahh! Nien! Really!” Seoyeon rubs the spot, observing the red smudge on her fingers.
“It was already ruined, so this won't hurt!” Nien guffaws in satisfaction, slapping her thighs. “Smartass. Get—you think there’s no payback? Get over here!” Seoyeon snarls and rushes to Nien. Nien’s faster though, leaping to her feet and taking off. “Try me!” she jeers, sticking out her tongue. Seoyeon gives chase, both women laughing and squealing as they run along the park.
Hello! I haven't written anything in a while, who knew uni would be so busy when you don't neglect your assignments? Anyhow, the last four fics I've posted have been written on whims basically, not much planning involved. The last draft I was working on was a Jiwoo fic, and I really got stuck, finally decided to shelf that :( I'll come back to it someday. I have switched up my system a little bit, got a new draft working. Hopefully that integrates better with my sporadic workflow :)
In the meantime, I'll crosspost two fics that was meant to be exclusively for Fanprose. You've likely heard about it from various other authors. I've mentioned it but not really promoted it, didn't have quite the confidence in it yet (sorry jeff). I do now though, so head over there if you'd like. It's community built, community supported, the reading experience is significantly better, along with various other neat features.
I will still treat tumblr as my primary platform though, so I'm not leaving this little blog anytime soon :)
Thank you for reading, have a Nien. Ughhhh she is so damn fine 😩
A/N: A quick fic because Anna Tanaka has me in a chokehold.
Tags: smut
Trigger Warning: Alcohol
Anna Tanaka x Male Reader
You press your back against the double hinged doors, pushing through whilst carrying a heavy crate of beer. You grunt in effort as you lift the crate onto the counter, releasing a sigh of relief as you step back, elbows perchiing on the sink behind.
“Looks like it won’t be as busy today, sunbae.”
You turn your head, and watch as she saunters her way to the crate with an exaggerated sway in her hips. She crouches down in front of you, her shirt riding up and exposing the small of her back. Your eyes drop before you can stop them, admiring the dimple. You look back up only when her head turns to you.
“Pass me the beers.”
You push off the sink, and walk to the crate. You pull out one beer, and place it in her open hand. Again and again. The movement is almost mechanical. Your eyes stay trained on her—the soft curve of her chest from above, and her thighs, all tense from crouching. You breathe sharply through your nose, your grip on the neck of a beer bottle a bit too tight. You want to put your mouth there. Between her legs. You don’t even try to take it back.
After the last bottle, she rises to her feet so slow it’s almost performative. You know you’re staring, but you can’t wrench your eyes away. She stands up tall next to you, fluttering her eyelashes, a small smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
Anna Tanaka is a shameless flirt. Has been since she first stepped foot into this small, decrepit place your boss calls a bar. Throughout orientation, her eyes stayed on you. Only you. And she made no effort to hide it, either. She even personally asked for you to train her.
Not that you’d object. One look at her and you’d have said yes to anything.
Both of you stare out to the rest of the place, watching the few patrons already here. Jackasses in office suits, nursing a couple beers that will later evolve into buying tequila shots or whiskey bottles. A lone man at the other end of the bar. Looks like he’s been crying. Not your problem as long as he pays and doesn’t make a scene. There’s one person dancing to some shitty bar music you no longer care to remember the name of.
It’s a wonder you haven’t gone deaf yet with how terrible and loud it is.
“It’s rarely busy on a Wednesday night Tanaka. People who come into bars on a Wednesday are here for two reasons: one,” you lift your index finger. “They fucked up so bad at work, they have to drown their sorrows. And two,” you lift another finger. “Their home life is so shit, they’d rather be anywhere else.”
She looks over to you. “So what does that make us?”
You meet her eyes, holding her gaze far longer than necessary. “We’re the exception. We’re here to make money.” You flash her a toothy grin, one that she reciprocates.
You glance over her shoulder, and you see someone wave for service. You point with your eyes. She scoffs before making her way over, and you watch as she taps her fingers across the counter, the other hand coming up to her hair, shaking it loose.
You gulp unconsciously.
Her forearms press against the hard counter. She’s on her tiptoes, leaning closer to hear his order, and you can’t help yourself. Your eyes travel from her long, toned legs to her ass. Her skirt is so short that it rides up, revealing its curve and the panties underneath.
Black. Lacy.
You grip the counter harder than you intended, standing there for a second, jaw tight, cock already half-hard, reminding yourself that you’re here to work.
Once your breathing is under control, your eyes travel up and meet hers.
She’s smiling that sultry smile that tells you this was all on purpose. Her eyes travel lower to your tight jeans, biting her lower lip before turning her attention back to the customer.
It started with mindless flirting. She’d tell you that you look good, and you’d say that pigtails suit her, like you haven’t been thinking about them all shift or imagining wrapping them around your hands. And it evolved from there. Your hand lightly grazing against her lower back, her pressing up against you to light slaps on her ass and not so light gropes on your balls. You never complained.
A new customer pulls your attention to the edge of the bar.
“Behind.”
You try and squeeze past her except she arches her back and presses her ass against you and the sound that leaves you isn’t professional or controlled or anything close. You feel yourself strain against your jeans.
She doesn’t look back, but you see the way her thighs press together and you know she’s just as affected.
She later joins you in making a drink and she has the audacity to press up against you. Her chest presses against your arm as she reaches for a whiskey glass. You feel the stares from behind, the daggers thrown at you by men who thought they had a chance with her.
You breathe out slowly, head tipping back.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Tanaka—”
“And you’re a willing participant sunbae.” She’s right, but you’re not going to answer her. “Pass me the bottle.”
You grab it without looking, handing it over and ignoring the way her fingers linger on yours for a few seconds. You watch as she pours the content into a shaker, watch as her wrists snap back and forth, and you can’t help but imagine it’s your cock in her hands. And that thought has your pulse thrumming in your ears, and your throat dry.
She leaves your side, moving to serve the customer, and already you miss her scent.
The alarm on your phone rings out. 6PM. You finish serving your customer before you walk behind her, one hand on her waist, mouth grazing against her ear, your breath washing over her. If the customer she just served had anything to say, he didn’t, not when it’s clear she’s enjoying you behind her, her eyes slightly rolling back, a shaky breath escaping.
“6PM. Evening rush.” You gently blow against her ear, your hand tightening on her waist. “Want a shot?”
She turns her head slightly to look at you, eyes travelling down to your lips. For a moment, you see it, the composure slipping. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, her cheeks flushing. Her breath is warm against your mouth, and you push yourself further into her.
“Y—yeah.”
Your free hand reaches down, grabs two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila from under the counter. Your eyes stay on her as she turns her head, watching you pour two shots and making a mess of the counter. The hand on her waist travels up, slowly. Fingertips grazing her exposed midriff, between the valley of her breasts before planting themselves at the base her throat. She swallows hard, and you can’t help the smile on your face. You put the bottle down, take a shot glass, and hold it to her mouth.
“Open up.”
Her head tilts back, resting against your shoulder and you’re hit with her scent, surrounding you. Vanilla and sweat mixing together. Intoxicating and arousing. You harden at her feel and smell, your cock pressing firmly against her ass.
She can’t help the moan escaping her, quiet like a whisper. Only you and the person she just served could hear her.
You tip the shot into her mouth. Watch as her face grimaces at the taste and burn, her throat working it down to her stomach.
“Good girl.”
A drop of tequila lingers on her bottom lip, threatening to make its way down her chin. You place the shot glass down on the counter hard, moving your thumb to swipe at the offending drop.
She watches, eyes half-lidded, as you press your thumb against her lips. They open without resistance, sucking with fervour.
You groan in her ear, loud and obnoxious. If she sucks your thumb like this, you can’t imagine what she’d do with your cock.
A squeaking barstool interrupts your little performance. The customer adjusts himself, the drink already gone.
“Take this,” you push your shot glass of tequila towards him. “On the house.”
You turn to face her again, your lips coming down and pressing on her temple. Your voice is soft yet rough, your arousal seeping through despite your best efforts to cover it. “Let’s finish our shift early.”
She nods enthusiastically. Whines when you step away just as more customers enter the bar.
The next couple hours were hectic.
You go through through the motions. Taking orders, mixing drinks, and the occasional wave to the security guard to kick someone out. There are too many bodies. The room smells like sweat and a concoction of perfume that don’t mix well. You watch people move to the dance floor, grinding all over each other as if they won’t have regrets come tomorrow morning.
The bass from the speakers vibrate throughout the bar, the music muffling the orders from the patrons. The floor and counter is sticky from spilled drinks, and other liquids you don’t want to know about.
And through it all, Anna is the only one that makes working these shifts all worth it.
The two of you work in sync, moving around each other like it’s a practiced dance. Neither of you speak, already knowing what the other needs. Whenever you go high to reach something, she’d go below you, occasionally brushing your cock with her arm. She doesn’t look back at you as you shoot a glare in faux annoyance, stuck standing in that awkward position until you’ve calmed yourself down. 6 months of training, of teasing and being teased—it adds up.
A patron flags you down. “I don’t want you. I want her!”
Your expression turns cold. “I’m sorry sir, she’s busy with a customer right now. You can wait but it could take a while.” You turn to her, watching as she makes eyes to some nervous university student, chin propped up in one hand, the other placing featherlight touches against the back of his hand. You smirk despite yourself, watch as he goes red in the face, stuttering incoherently. She smiles, eyes turning into crescents as if she was genuinely interested. He pulls out his wallet, slaps more bills down onto the counter as a tip.
You chuckle, turning back to the man. “Or you could get a drink now and enjoy the rest of your night.”
He grumbles his order, turning around to look for someone more willing as you move off to make his drink.
It’s simple really. You deal with the sleazy, old men that come to leer at her, some of them don’t even bother removing their wedding rings. And she takes care of the young, and shy interns or students who don’t know what to say to someone as hot as her. You protect her from unwanted advances and she rakes in huge tips.
Simple. Effective.
Eventually, activity at the bar slows down. Besides the men eyeing her up, no one has come up for drinks in the last five minutes.
You lean against the wall, eyes darting from a group of girls making a nuisance of themselves on one of the tables to a man being overly aggressive with the DJ. The place is getting warmer, unbelievably so. Everything feels damp, your hands are clammy from doing nothing, and it feels like you’re breathing in sweat more than anything else.
“Sunbae…” You turn to Anna, pushing through the doors, walking up and joining you against the wall. “You were right. AC is down."
You suck air through your teeth. “Of course it is. What did the boss say?”
She leans against you, head resting on your shoulder. She takes one of your hands, intertwines her fingers through yours.
“Nothing much. Can’t do much about it now he said. Technician’s coming in tomorrow.”
She keeps talking. You don’t hear any of it though, eyes trained on the way her hand melds perfectly with yours, how your thumb instinctively rubs the back of her hand as if you’ve been in a long term relationship.
Your eyes travel up her arms, glistening with sweat, rivulets finding their way down before falling on to the floor. Her crop top sticks to her like a second skin, the top of her breasts shining against the strobe lights. You watch her face, and how matted her hair is, sticking to her forehead, and you think you want to see her like this again. But in bed.
“Seriously?”
You swallow thickly. “W—what?”
She turns, properly facing you now. “Tell me.” One leg moves between yours, a constant, pleasurable pressure on your cock that you can’t help but release a rough moan. “Tell me what you’re thinking about. It must be good if it has you like… this.”
You smirk devilishly. “Are you sure you can handle my fantasies?”
Your hand moves from your side, presses against her navel. Your thumb swipes against the smooth plane before you bring it to your mouth, tasting her.
It’s tart. And addictive all at the same time.
Anna’s eyes grow wide, pupils swallowing the colour of her eyes. Her breathing becomes shallow and the flush on her cheeks from the heat in the air, darkens further in lust.
You lean down until your mouth brushes against her ear. You start whispering just as your hand on her stomach inches its way down.
“I want you so bad. Ever since you first joined. Your constant teasing…” your hand dips underneath the hem of her skirt, “… made it so hard for me. How are you going to repay me?”
“I—I—” She doesn’t finish.
You press down against her pubic bone, and the sound that escapes her is a revelation. Far better than whatever sound your mind concocted. Her eyelids become heavy and her breathing erratic against your face. Her lips are parted, and you stare at them for the longest time, trying your best not to kiss her right there.
Your hand travels lower against her panties. Soaked through. You leave your hand there, rhythmically tapping against her core in time with the beat of the music, and you watch as her composure slowly falls away.
She’s pushing herself onto your hand, grinding against you in such a way that it’s not obvious to those on the other side of the bar. The movement is light and miniscule, bouncing on her tiptoes for more friction.
You laugh in her ear, mocking. “Is that enough?”
Her eyes flutter shut, head falling and resting on your shoulder. Both her hands have a hold on your arm, keeping your hand right where it is.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t affected by all this. The top of her hair right under your nose, the smell of her shampoo filling your lungs. Her chest touches yours, her erratic breathing pushing her tits into you. The soft mounds a sharp contrast to the stiff peaks of her nipples poking you. What’s affecting you the most though is the wetness coating your hand. It’s soaking through the lace and it’s sticky and the fact you’re the root cause feeds your ego.
“Hey, you two.” Her eyes snap open, body frozen against yours. You both turn towards the voice. Your co-workers come through the door, one on their phone, the other struggling to carry a new crate of beer. “You’re on break. Take—”
You don’t hear the rest.
Anna forcefully pulls your hand out of her skirt, her grip tightening on your wrist so that it’s almost painful. She drags you through the doors, ignoring the puzzled look from the others. She doesn’t stop, not until you’re in the storage closet, shutting and locking the door behind you.
You’re already on your knees as she turns around. Your hands finding her waist, pushing her flat against the door.
You hear the sharp intake of breath, feel her thighs quiver as your breath washes over them. She looks down at you, her eyes screaming, begging you to follow through. You press a kiss on the inside of her thigh, and she’s snapped, her head hitting the door with a heavy thud.
You take things slow. A soft kiss against her knee, a lick up her thigh followed by quiet suction, and eventually, your teeth grazing against her core. You repeat this on both legs. 10. 20 times. You don’t know. But the painful strain in your pants and the way her fingers thread through your hair means she’s done waiting.
“Pl—please sunbae… please…”
Her sentences are incoherent, too lost in the feel of you to properly say what she wants. But you know. And you’re excited to give it to her.
Your hands travel down from her waist, and climbs up underneath her skirt. Her skin feels hot against yours, and you suddenly remember all the times you’ve touched her prior to this moment. Like when she used the shaker for the first time, her small hands encompassed by yours as you taught her your technique. Or when she brushed hair out of your eyes during that one shift, her fingers lingering against your temple longer than necessary.
You’re not stupid. Her signals were obvious. And so were yours. Both of you were bound to fall off the edge at some point.
Your only regret is that you’re going to fuck her in the dirty storage closet of your workplace.
Your hands find what they’re looking for. Her panties. You pull them off slowly, watching as it clings onto her lips before peeling off. You inhale her scent, breathing in deeply. It’s intoxicating and it makes your head dizzy. Your tongue darts out your mouth, one long lick and you can’t wait to taste more.
“Oh… fuck…”
You stay down, tasting every inch of her, focusing especially on her clit, sucking and flicking it with your tongue. Her arousal starts coating your mouth as you keep going despite the ache in your jaw and the lack of oxygen as she clenches her thighs around you.
Soon enough, her legs start to give out, back sliding down the door. Your hands quickly move, throwing one leg over your shoulder before making their way to her ass, holding her up as you continue eating her out.
Her moans are loud, unrestrained. She’s repeating the same word like a chant, slowly devolving into broken noise. They used to be measured, coming out every few seconds or so. Now it’s an endless stream of curses and your name spilling out of her mouth. If it weren’t for the loud music at the bar, you’d surely be caught by now.
You can’t see her, face covered by her skirt but all the signs are there. The way her walls flutter around your tongue as you push in. Her thighs shaking incessantly around your ears, and how her grinding has become more forceful. She’s lost all semblance of control, the dull ache from her grip in your hair turns into searing pain. It’s like she’s forgotten you’re a person; you’re a toy, your sole purpose being to help her reach her high.
“Fuck… fuck…”
You’ll gladly be a toy if it meant seeing her like this again.
You lap at her folds, tasting every inch of her like she’s some delicacy no one’s heard of. The pressure of your tongue is consistent, driving her crazy. It’s enough to keep her on edge, just not enough to push her over it. The hand in her mouth leaves, and the music from the bar is replaced by her.
You move up, tongue darting over her clit with precision, circling it with the tip. Or you press it flat, feel her shake at the constant stimulation. You replace your tongue with your mouth, sucking on her clit gently. Her whimpers grow louder, pitched higher, and she’s arching her back, pressing herself firmly into your mouth.
She goes quiet first, her body frozen. And then she breaks. Her whole body convulsing, thrashing hard enough that you’re losing your grip. Her mouth is open in a scream, and you feel her arousal coat your chin and stain your shirt.
Your mouth returns to her folds, lapping as much as you can while she whimpers, oversensitive. Her grip on your hair loosens, her arms like jelly as she tries to push you away.
You eventually relent, lowering her down to the floor, her leg falling limply from your shoulder. You remove yourself from under her skirt, and already you miss her smell and taste.
It’s the first time you’re actually seeing what you’ve done. She’s folded against the door, her exposed stomach glistening from exertion, chest heaving, an attempt to get as much oxygen into her lungs. Your eyes move to her mouth, lips parted, tongue partially out as she looks at you with glassy eyes. Her hair is matted against her forehead and her cheeks are flushed a deep crimson.
You crawl over her, hand moving behind her neck before you kiss her. It’s messy and languid, her tongue gently caressing yours. She moans against your mouth, tasting herself on you—sweet yet tangy—and she wants more, kissing you with so much fervour, it catches you off guard.
“I—I taste so good…”
Only now you realise this is your first kiss with her. And it’s in the back of the bar, with her cum all over your mouth. You don’t know what you expected your first kiss with her to be like but it certainly wasn’t this.
You move your lips down as she tilts her head up, sucking hard against her skin. She moans, hand coming up and cradling your head against her as you leave a bruise. You swipe your tongue along the column of her throat, all the way up to the shell of her ear as you use your free hand to free yourself from your jeans.
You’re harder than you’ve ever been before, the head is swollen, red, and dripping precum in the small space between you.
You slowly get to your feet, one hand on your cock as you shuffle closer, the jeans around your ankles making it awkward and annoying. And Anna’s staring at it the whole time, her glazed eyes focusing, tongue wetting her lips as she swallows thickly.
Her head is still pressed against the door as you press the head of your cock against her lips, coating them with your precum. She opens without resistance, letting you push all the way until you’re at the back of her throat. She gags around your length before closing her lips around it, tongue flicking underneath the head. You rest a hand against the door, the other pulling her hair into a ponytail as you start slowly thrusting into her mouth.
The haze of her orgasm has made her pliant, more willing to your advances. If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t consider fucking their face like you are with her. She just brings that side of you out.
“Fuck… your mouth feels so good.”
You hear a muffled mewl at your praise, and she starts working harder, timing her head bob with your thrusts. She pays extra attention to your tip, circling her tongue around it and flicking at the slit. You watch the way her lips cling to your cock as you pull out, at the spit escaping from the corners of mouth, dripping slowly down her chin.
Her arms that were limp at her side, suddenly gain strength, and slowly makes their way from her toned, sweaty midriff to her crop top. She pulls on the neckline, releasing her breasts from their confines just as the spit falls, landing in the valley between. She pushes her tits together, coating them in spit, twisting and pulling at her nipples. She moans, and the vibrations along your length almost sent you over the edge.
You grab her head with both hands, forcing yourself further down her throat. She’s gagging at the intrusion, cloudy eyes that were staring up at you now squeezed shut with tears threatening to fall. Your pace turns brutal, the slap of your balls against her chin drowns her gagging and the patrons outside. Occasionally, her head bangs against the door. She doesn’t complain though, hands moving to your ass, pushing you further in until her face is flush against your stomach. You keep her there, amazed at how well she’s doing. How she swallows around you, massaging you, and how, despite your attempts to pull away, she traps you there, refusing to let you leave despite her tears mixing with her mascara down her cheeks.
You breathe heavily through your nose, the grip on her head loosening, replaced by gentle pats on her head. “Good girl.”
She swallows around you, tries to push you in deeper. As if your praise was the encouragement she needed to deepthroat you further. But eventually, she had to let you leave.
Your cock is slick with a mixture of her saliva and your precum. You look over at her, chest heaving, coughing every few seconds. You don’t give her much rest though, already pushing back in, slower, gentler. You’re not chasing the high, only the feel of her wet mouth around you.
The suction, the vibration of her moans all becomes too much. Your hips stutter, the rhythm of your thrusts breaking.
You pull out immediately, catching your breath, your hand resting on the door, keeping you up.
“W—why did you stop?” She looks up at you with wide eyes, the flush on her cheeks spreading down her neck to the top of her breasts. She tries reaching for your cock again, mouth almost over it before you press two fingers against her forehead, stopping her in her tracks.
You don’t say anything. Instead, you reach your hand out to her, and you see how quick the decision was made in her eyes. She takes it without hesitation, allowing herself to be pulled up by you. Her hand is small in yours, dainty too. Like she doesn’t belong in a place like this, making drinks and relying on tips to get through the months.
Her feet are still unsteady as she stands, her hand reaching out and landing on your chest as she steadies herself. Your free hand instinctively wraps around her waist, pulling her flush to you.
You stare at her for the longest time, memorising her features. The tiny freckles along her nose, her deep, dark eyes that you could get lost in if you let yourself. She’s staring at you like she belongs to you, waiting for you to do something, and it tightens something in your chest. Your eyes start mapping her face and you see what you’ve done to her. The mascara streaks down her cheeks, the smudged lipstick across her parted lips. She’s still panting, her breath washing over you.
You let go of her hand, placing it where your heart is. You caress her cheeks, wiping at the mascara before doing the same at her lips. You watch in silent surprise at the way her mouth automatically opens wider as your thumb brushes against it before entering. Her lips, red and swollen, wraps around it, sucking on it gently. Her cheeks hollow as she stares into your eyes with a sultry look.
You’re breathless, eyes dilating at the scene, your cock hardening too, especially when her free hand reaches down, stroking you against her stomach, twisting at the head.
You close your eyes, your forehead finding hers as you let her continue sucking your thumb and stroking your cock. The sensation is wonderful. Her soft, lithe hand feels exquisite on you, the way she squeezes at the head or rapidly jerks you off at the base and it reminds you of when she uses the shaker.
“Anna…”
You slowly open your eyes, removing your thumb from her mouth. You place both your hands on her cheeks before closing the distance.
The kiss is different. It’s not an act of passion or an in the moment kiss. It’s one that highlights how much she’s liked you in the time you’ve known each other. All the emotions poured into it as if words aren’t enough to tell you everything.
You just hope you were able to show how much you care for her through yours.
You begin to move, stepping out of your jeans, hands still on her face, and your lips still attached as you drag her further into the closet until her back is pressed against the shelves. A groan escapes her as her back softly slams against it before she finds your mouth again. The spare pint glasses on the shelves start shaking as you push her further into it.
You both separate, foreheads touching as you both breath heavily in the space between. Both your eyes fall to your cock, twitching against her folds, leaking precum, and the pair of you moan at the sight. You hold it by the base, sliding it along her folds, and she pants against you, her head falling onto your shoulder, biting you gently to muffle the sounds spilling from her mouth.
“S—sunbae…”
You don’t wait any longer. You continue rubbing yourself on her as your other hand finds the back of one of her thighs. You lift it high. Until her foot is beside your head, and her leg is sandwiched between your bodies.
“F—fuck…”
You push inside, groaning at the overwhelming heat and tightness. Her orgasm has left her wet and dripping, making it easier to slide in further. Anna exhales shakily against your mouth, her breathing uneven. Her hands find your shoulders, nails digging deeper the further in you go. When you finally bottom out, your pelvis pressed flush against hers, do you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and you watch as her eyes flutter close, head falling backwards, knocking a few tumblers down.
You stay like this, enjoying the feel around you, the way her walls flutter along your length. You look down at where you join, and her name comes out your mouth subconsciously.
“Anna… look.”
And she does. Watches as you start grinding. She’s moaning softly, and her eyes start dilating. The hands on your shoulders move down to your chest, weakly pushing at you. “Move.”
You start slowly, pulling all the way until your tip before slamming all the way in. Your thrusts are heavy and hard. She takes your whole length with every stroke, and every time you bottom out, a whimper spills from her mouth, broken and desperate. Her back arches against the shelves, and the way she clenches around you as you pull out—like she’s trying to stop you from leaving—is overwhelming.
“Y—you’re so deep…”
Her eyes roll back at a particular hard thrust, jostling her against the shelves. More glasses tip over but you don’t care anymore. Your entire focus is on her.
You fuck her faster, harder. Her walls start fluttering around you with no rhythm, trying to milk you. She breathlessly repeats your name, eyes closing in pleasure, hands grabbing the uprights. The slap of skin on skin, and your panting, drowns everything out, even your ringing phone.
You see everything. The way she bites her lip in a futile attempt to stay quiet, her tits bouncing with every hard thrust. You look down, and you can see where you connect, how she has a tight grip on you, how she stretches around your girth. Every time you pull back, more of her arousal escapes, running down the one leg she’s standing on.
“Shit… don’t stop—please…”
The leg on your shoulder starts shaking violently. Your hand moves, gently grabbing the ankle, thumb soothingly caressing it while you plant soft kisses against her calf. The smooth skin feels wonderful against your lips, and you imagine how great it would be to have them tangled with yours in bed.
“M—more…”
Your other hand grabs her breast, kneading the flesh, her nipple poking through your fingers. You hold on as your pace increases, your hips snapping against hers. You’re breathing heavily, eyes travelling to her face where her eyes are closed, tears spilling.
Her walls clench around you erratically, her moans growing louder, becoming more high pitched, more desperate. “I—I’m gonna c—cum…” Your thumb and index fingers find her nipple. You pinch and pull and that’s all it takes.
Her orgasm hits her hard, back arching high, a scream tearing from her throat. It’s so loud, you had to cover her mouth. Her pussy strangles your cock, gushing around you, and you feel wetness on your thighs.
You keep your pace steady, ignoring her oversensitive gasps. Her hand claw at your shoulder, and she tries to remove her leg. You hug her leg, keeping it on your shoulder as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm, her tears flowing freely now.
Her flushed cheeks, parted mouth, and her glazed over eyes. She’s so distractingly beautiful like this that you temporarily lose your rhythm.
You feel your balls tighten, pleasure coiling at your spine, and the fact that she whispers your name—all broken, desperate, and rough—sends you over the edge.
You slam into her one final time, burying yourself deep. And you cum. The orgasm is blinding, your vision blurring as the pleasure rips through you and you empty yourself inside her, filling her with rope after rope of cum. She moans brokenly as she milks you for everything you have and more.
For a few seconds, nothing exists except the two of you. Your heavy breathing mingles in the space between you. Her slick skin presses against you, and you wish you could stay like this forever. But reality comes back—Anna’s chest moving up and down quickly, the mess between her legs, and your legs start shaking too.
You pull out slowly, and she whimpers at your loss. You slowly lower her leg onto the floor, catching her as she falls forward. You gently bring her down to a sitting position, back against the shelves as you take a seat opposite. Your cum starts leaking out of her, mixing with her arousal, staining the floor underneath.
She starts laughing breathlessly, her foot tapping against your thigh as she looks at you with what can only be described as adoration in her eyes. “My legs are numb.”
You chuckle under your breath. “Sorry. Guess I got a bit carried away.”
Her hand moves to her hair, ruffling it slightly before it makes its way between her legs, scooping up your cum with two fingers. You watch as she plays with it. “Don’t be. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” She puts her fingers in her mouth, cleaning them before pulling it out with a loud pop, showing you the evidence.
“You’re going to be the death of me Tanaka.”
She moves, crawling towards you with an exaggerated sway of her hips and a predatory grin on her lips. She settles on your lap, fingers gently grazing your cock back to full mast. She leans toward you, until her lips are inches from yours.
(Xinyu X Tzuyu X Shuhua X Nien X Male Reader) Wordcount: 15045 words
(Author's note: Thanks for @jmuns-kpop and @azelfty for hosting this prompt. Because of amazing feedback from other writers and my own enjoyment while writing this, a second part will be guaranteed, even if it takes hal a year.)
You sit in the shaded audience hall of your seaside estate in Xiamen. The morning sun slants through carved wooden screens. Before you lies a low rosewood table covered in scrolls and bamboo slips. Tax reports from the newly settled villages around Tainan, manifests of rice and silk arriving from the harbor, petitions from local Fujianese merchants begging for lower duties on Taiwan goods. Your brush moves without a pause, marking approvals and corrections in black ink. The air smells of sandalwood incense and distant salt.
Outside the open doors, the training ground rings with disciplining shouts. Your Green Standard troops drill in neat squares, spears thrusting in unison, bows drawn and released with sharp twangs, officers barking corrections. The red-and-gold banner with your coiled dragon, wave, and crossed sword-anchor symbol snaps overhead in the sea breeze. You glance up now and then to watch the formations shift, satisfied with the crispness after months of Penghu blood and sweat.
A young servant boy - barely sixteen, one of the new household additions - bursts through the side door, sandals slapping against stone. He drops to his knees so quickly his forehead nearly kisses the floor.
“General!”
His voice cracks with haste.
“Lady Xinyu bids you come at once to her chambers. She says the matter is urgent and cannot wait.”
You set the brush down. The ink bead trembles on the tip, then falls. Urgent from Xinyu is never trivial. You rise, robe whispering against the mat.
The boy scrambles ahead. You stride through the middle courtyards, past lotus ponds where carp glide beneath lily pads, past the private theater where musicians sometimes play at dusk, then through the moon gate into the women’s quarters. The garden here is quieter, jasmine heavy in the air, silk lanterns swaying gently even though it is still daylight.
Xinyu’s pavilion stands at the center. It’s the largest and most ornate. Red-lacquered pillars, silk curtains the color of ripe persimmons, carved peonies climbing the screens. Already a small crowd has gathered on the stone path outside. Maids in plain blue ao stand with lowered eyes. Your chief steward hovers nearby, hands clasped behind his back. And then there are the three of them.
Tzuyu waits closest to the door. Her posture is perfect, hands folded inside wide pale blue sleeves. Her long hair is pinned with a single jade hairpin shaped like an orchid. The silk of her robe catches the light so it shimmers like water. She meets your gaze for only a heartbeat before looking down again. She looks elegant, composed, yet you know the quick pulse at her throat betrays her.
Shuhua stands a step behind, arms crossed loosely under her chest so the vibrant green silk pulls taut across her figure. A small smirk plays at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes are sharp and watchful. She has added a thin silver chain with a tiny shell pendant around her neck. Something she brought from the island.
Nien casually leans against a pillar, in soft peach silk, sleeves rolled to her elbows as though she was in the middle of some light chore when the summons came. She twirls a jasmine blossom between her fingers, but the playful tilt of her head does not hide the way her gaze flicks between you and the closed doors of Xinyu’s chamber.
The steward bows low as you approach.
“General.”
You nod once. The crowd parts. You push the curtain aside and step into Xinyu’s receiving room.
The space is warm, perfumed with aloeswood and a faint trace of medicinal herbs. Xinyu sits on the low platform bed, back straight despite the slight curve already visible beneath her loose rose-pink robe. Her hands rest in her lap with her fingers laced. She looks up at you and, for the first time in weeks, there is no carefully schooled calm on her face. Only quiet, radiant certainty. Behind you the three concubines enter in single file, silent, each taking a place along the wall. Tzuyu to your left, Shuhua to your right, Nien nearer the door. The maids withdraw, letting the heavy curtain fall.
Xinyu draws a slow breath.
“My lord, this morning the physician confirmed it. I carry your child.”
The words drop into the room like a stone into still water. You feel the shift in the air at once. The way Tzuyu’s breath catches, the way Shuhua’s smirk vanishes, the way Nien’s fingers still on the jasmine blossom until the petals bruise. Xinyu’s gaze moves past you to the three younger women. Her expression is gentle, almost kind, but there is steel beneath it.
“The household will rejoice.”
She continues softly.
“But the child will need brothers and sisters to strengthen our line. I trust my lord will see to that duty… in due time.”
She looks back at you, eyes shining.
The evening arrives with the slow fade of sunset over the harbor, turning the sea into molten gold. Lanterns are lit along every path and pavilion, their warm glow pushing back the creeping darkness. In the grand banquet hall, long tables are set with lacquered trays. Steamed abalone glistening in ginger soy, crisp-skinned duck glazed with honey, platters of fresh crab from the morning boats, bowls of fragrant rice studded with lotus seeds, and delicate sweets shaped like peaches, symbols of longevity and fertility.
You sit at the head of the main table, Xinyu to your immediate left. Her rose-pink robe has been changed for one of deeper crimson silk. The wide sleeves are embroidered with subtle phoenixes that rise as she gestures. She looks radiant, the faint curve of her belly hidden but somehow announced by the way she carries herself. To your right sit the three concubines in careful order: Tzuyu closest, then Shuhua, then Nien. Tzuyu’s pale blue silk falls in perfect folds, her movements careful. Shuhua’s vibrant green catches the lantern light every time she leans forward. Nien’s soft peach seems almost to glow against her skin. They sit with the practiced grace of women who know they are watched.
A handful of guests fill the other seats. Two wealthy Fujianese merchants who supply your ships, a minor magistrate from the nearby prefecture, and Lady Wei, the wife of a coastal garrison commander. She’s sharp eyed, silver haired, and already deep in conversation with Xinyu about midwives and auspicious birth dates.
The congratulations begin almost immediately. Cups are raised again and again.
“To the General and Lady Xinyu. May the child be strong, wise, and bring endless prosperity!”
Xinyu inclines her head with perfect modesty, accepting each toast with a small smile. The women cluster around her, asking about cravings (none yet, but she jokes about sudden desires for Taiwanese mangoes), sharing remedies, laughing softly over old birthing tales. For this evening, at least, the household orbits her.
Your own conversations pull in a different direction. The merchant across from you leans in, voice low beneath the music of the pipa and erhu players in the corner.
“General, the new trade route from Tainan is open, but the pirate remnants still lurk near Penghu. If we could station another squadron-”
You nod, swirling wine in your cup.
“I’ve already drafted the request to Admiral Shi Lang. Two more junks with swivel guns should suffice. The Emperor wants steady rice flowing north before winter.”
The magistrate chimes in about tax exemptions for settlers willing to farm the interior. You listen, respond, commit details to memory. Politics and business weave through every sip and every bite.
Then the musicians shift tempo. A livelier melody rises. Strings get plucked in quick, playful runs. Nien sets her chopsticks down. Without a word she stands, smooth as water, and steps into the open space between tables. No one seems surprised. In households like yours, especially after a victory feast or good news, a concubine dancing is not unusual. It is entertainment, a display of grace, a way to honor the host. Nien moves as though the music has simply pulled her in.
Her peach silk flutters as she turns, arms lifting in slow arcs, wrists flicking like willow branches in wind. She spins once, twice. The hem rises just enough to show the delicate curve of her calves, then sinks low, one knee bending, head tilting back so her dark hair spills like ink. The lanterns catch every motion, turning her into flickering light and shadow.
You glance at her again and again. Her form is elegant and fluid, unmistakably inviting. The way her hips sway, the intended pause when she extends a hand toward the musicians as if offering herself to the melody…it is artful and practiced, but tonight it feels personal. Her eyes find yours once, twice, three times. Each meeting lasts only a heartbeat, yet in that look there is no coyness. It is direct. Hungry. A silent question.
You look away, toward Xinyu. She watches Nien with calm amusement, one hand resting lightly on her belly. Lady Wei says something. Xinyu laughs softly, then replies. There is no tightness in her shoulders, no flicker of irritation. The pregnancy has shifted something fundamental. Xinyu is no longer merely first among equals. She is the mother of the heir, the uncontested center. The three foreign concubines, beautiful as they are, suddenly seem less threatening. Almost decorative. The dance ends to polite applause. Nien returns to her seat, cheeks faintly flushed, breathing a little quicker. She does not look at you again, but you feel the weight of her earlier gaze lingering.
The evening stretches. More dishes arrive. lotus root stir-fried with pork, clear broth with fish maw, and more wine is poured. Guests begin to excuse themselves one by one. Lady Wei departs with effusive promises to send her best midwife. The merchants bow and leave with assurances of loyalty. The magistrate lingers longest, finishing a quiet discussion about harbor patrols.
Xinyu rises at last, graceful despite the hour.
“My lord, I will retire. The child demands rest.”
You stand and offer your arm. She takes it briefly, presses your hand once, then slips away toward her pavilion, maids trailing like shadows.
The hall empties slowly. Servants clear trays. Musicians pack their instruments. Only the last merchant remains, the one who spoke of pirates earlier. You walk him to the outer doors, sealing the final details of tomorrow’s orders. He bows deeply and then vanishes into the night.
Silence falls over your estate. You turn left toward the moon gate that leads to the inner garden. Halfway down the shadowed corridor, you round the corner.
Shuhua stands there. She leans against a red-lacquered pillar, arms folded loosely under her chest, the green silk of her robe catching the faint lantern light from the garden beyond. Her chin lifts when she sees you. She doesn’t say anything at first, but her face is in conflict with herself. A mischievous smile tugs at the corner of her lips, but her eyes are full of determination.
Shuhua straightens from the pillar as you approach, her arms unfolding slowly. The moon light catches the silver shell pendant at her throat, making it twinkle a little.
“My lord, I dislike seeing you walk these corridors alone at night. Must be tiring, carrying the weight of the household on your shoulders.”
You stop a few paces away.
“It’s a familiar burden.”
She tilts her head, studying you.
“The banquet was long. Everyone fawning over Lady Xinyu and her precious news. You barely touched your wine.”
“I had business to attend.”
A small laugh escapes her.
“Always business.”
She pushes off the pillar and takes one step closer.
“Did you like Nien’s dance at least? She moves like she’s trying to remind everyone she exists.”
You don’t answer immediately. Shuhua’s eyes narrow, pleased by your silence.
“She’s sweet.”
You say at last.
“Sweet.”
Shuhua echoes, rolling the word like it tastes sour.
“How boring. You must be starving for something with bite.”
The air between you thickens. She closes the last distance, stopping so close you can smell the faint jasmine oil she favors. Something she brought from the island, stubborn and defiant against the mainland scents of the estate.
“Walk with me.”
Not a question.
She turns without waiting, green silk whispering as she moves down the moonlit path toward her pavilion. You follow. The garden is quiet. Only the distant lap of waves against the harbor and the occasional rustle of leaves break the silence. At her door she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder.
“You’re still here. Good boy.”
You raise an eyebrow at her attitude, but it’s not unfamiliar anymore.
Inside, the room is smaller than Xinyu’s but brighter. The lanterns hang low, casting warm pools of light across silk screens painted with crashing waves and distant islands. A low bed dominates the center, piled with embroidered cushions and a thin quilt the color of young bamboo.
Shuhua doesn’t hesitate. She turns, places both hands flat on your chest, and shoves. You fall back onto the bed, the mattress yielding under your weight. Before you can sit up she’s on you, straddling your hips, knees bracketing your thighs. Her robe parts at the front just enough to show the smooth line of her collarbone and the dip of her breasts beneath thin silk.
“You didn’t look at me all evening. Every time Nien spun, your eyes were on her. But you’re mine now.”
Her breath is warm against your skin. You slide your hands up her thighs, feeling the heat of her through the fabric. She shivers once, then presses harder into your lap.
“Not slow tonight. Never slow with me. You know that.”
She starts with kisses. Quick, hungry ones across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Then she finds your neck. Her teeth graze just enough to sting before she sucks a mark there. Her hips roll in a slow, heavy grind, pressing her heat against the growing hardness beneath your robes. Your hands move higher, cupping the firm curve of her ass through the thin silk. The fabric is slippery, barely a barrier. You squeeze. She gasps softly against your throat, then bites down again, sharper this time.
“Good. Touch me like you mean it.”
One hand leaves your neck. She reaches between your bodies, deft fingers working the ties of your trousers open. Cool air hits your skin for only a second before her palm wraps around your cock.
“Look at you.”
She whispers, lips still at your ear, voice dropping lower.
“Already so hard for your bratty little island princess. You pretend to be so composed in that hall, but here? Here you’re just a man who wants to fuck me raw.”
She continues to stroke your cock with slow, teasing up-and-downs, then squeezes at the base.
“Say it.”
Her demand is soft, almost sweet.
“Tell me you want this. Tell me you’re going to ruin me tonight while your perfect wife sleeps with your heir safe inside her.”
Her hips rock forward again, grinding her clothed heat along your length. The friction is maddening. You grip her ass harder, pulling her down so she feels every inch of your dick pressing up against her. Shuhua laughs and leans in to kiss you properly this time, all teeth and hunger, no gentleness at all.
You flip her, rolling so Shuhua is suddenly beneath you. Her back hits the quilt with a soft thud. Her green silk robe fans out around her like a bed of grass, dark hair spilling across the embroidered cushions. She gasps once, surprised by your switch, then immediately tries to mask it with that familiar smirk. You brace yourself on one forearm beside her head, caging her in. Your free hand pins her wrists above her head.
“You’re being unusually annoying tonight.”
Shuhua blinks up at you, eyes wide and innocent for half a heartbeat before the mask cracks. She flutters her lashes.
“Me? Annyoing? I don’t know what you mean, my lord. I’m just… keeping you company after such a long day.”
You don’t smile. You don’t need to. You can see the calculation behind her wide-eyed act, the way her thighs shift restlessly beneath you. You don’t particularly care about the quiet tension that simmers between her and Xinyu. Petty jealousies, veiled barbs in the garden, the way the three concubines sometimes glance at your wife like she’s stolen something they never quite had. As long as they keep it away from you, let them claw at each other all they want. But tonight? Tonight she didn’t even give you the chance to choose whose pavilion you’d visit. She ambushed you in the corridor, dragged you here without a word of invitation or permission. You can put two and two together.
You lean closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“I don’t care what games you play with Xinyu. But when it comes to me? Be a good woman. Look pretty. Stay quiet.”
Shuhua’s breath hitches. Then she laughs, clearly defiant, the sound vibrating against your chest.
“Quiet?”
She whispers back.
“That’s no fun. That’s what Tzuyu does. You like it when I talk back. Admit it.”
You don’t answer with words. Instead, you shift your weight, turning her over so she’s on her stomach beneath you. She lets out a startled huff, palms pressing into the quilt as she tries to push up. You plant a hand between her shoulder blades, applying pressure. Your other hand finds the hem of her robe. You drag it up, bunching the silk at her waist until her lower half is completely bare to the lamplight. The curve of her ass, the smooth dip of her spine, the faint sheen of arousal already glistening between her thighs…it’s all exposed. You settle behind her, knees bracketing her hips. Your cock, still hard from her earlier teasing, nudges against her entrance. You lean down, chest pressing along her back, mouth at her ear again.
“The only thing you need to know tonight is how to take my cock.”
Shuhua opens her mouth, probably to fire off another bratty retort. But you don’t give her the chance. You push in with one steady thrust. She chokes on whatever words were coming, body arching sharply beneath you. A raw, broken sound escapes her - half moan, half gasp - as you sink deep, stretching her open in one go. Her walls clench wildly around your length, hot and slick and greedy despite her earlier bravado. You don’t pause. You pull back almost to the tip, then drive in again, harder this time, hips snapping forward. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the pavilion, louder than the distant waves outside. Shuhua’s fingers claw at the quilt. Her cheek presses into the cushion, mouth open, breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. Every thrust rocks her forward, every withdrawal drags a whimper from her throat. You keep the rhythm steady, just like she would if she were on top: deep, punishing, no gentleness. One hand slides up to grip her hip, holding her exactly where you want her. The other tangles in her hair so she can’t hide her face. She tries to speak again, but it dissolves into a moan when you angle your hips and hit that spot inside her that makes her whole body tremble. You lean down once more, lips grazing the nape of her neck.
“Quiet.”
You remind her.
“Pretty and quiet.”
She shudders beneath you, walls clenching hard around your cock. But she doesn’t talk back. At least not yet.
You keep the rhythm harsh, each thrust slamming deep, hips colliding with the soft curve of her ass in sharp, punishing slaps that echo through the small pavilion. The bed frame creaks under the force. The quilt bunches beneath her fists. Shuhua’s earlier pretense of quiet vanishes entirely. Instead, she moans. Loud, unrestrained, throatier than you’ve ever heard from her. The sounds spill out raw, carrying through the thin silk screens and into the garden beyond.
She wants the whole estate to hear. Every cry is pitched just right, high enough to pierce the night, drawn out enough to linger. It’s not pleasure alone, it’s performance. A declaration.
“This is me. This is who he’s choosing tonight. This could be the one who carries his next child.”
Your hand shoots forward, clamping over her mouth. Your palm seals tight against her lips, fingers pressing her cheek into the cushion.
“Quiet.”
Shuhua’s eyes flash. She doesn’t obey. Instead, she bites down hard enough to sting, teeth sinking into the meat of your palm. You hiss through your teeth but don’t pull away. She twists her head just enough to speak around your fingers, voice muffled but dripping with bratty triumph.
“Mmph-make me.”
She manages, the words fractured by another loud, broken moan as you drive in particularly deep.
That’s enough. You decide she doesn’t get to keep that smug little voice tonight. You pull your hand free only to slide it down, fingers wrapping around the slender column of her throat. Not choking…yet. Just firm enough to feel her pulse hammering against your palm. You give a light squeeze, then another, timing them with your thrusts. Each press makes her cough, short, startled gasps that cut off her moans mid-note. Her walls spasm around your cock in response, slick and clenching like she can’t decide whether to fight or surrender.
You pound harder. Relentless. No pause, no mercy. The wet slap of skin on skin grows louder and faster. Your hips snap forward with bruising force, burying yourself to the hilt every time, grinding against her cervix until her whole body jolts. Shuhua’s moans fracture completely, reduced to choked whimpers, then to breathless little ah-ah-ah sounds that can’t quite form words anymore. Her nails rake the quilt. Her back arches sharply, trying to take you deeper even as her lungs fight for air. You feel the heat coiling low in your gut, the telltale tightening. Your rhythm stutters for half a second as you chase the edge. Shuhua feels it too. Her body knows exactly what’s coming. She tries to speak again, voice wrecked and trembling, forcing innocence into the words even as her hips push back desperately against you.
“Please… fill me.”
She whispers, soft and sweet like she’s begging for a favor.
“Inside… please, my lord…”
You see straight through it. The wide eyes, the trembling lower lip, the way she clenches around you like she’s trying to milk you dry...She wants your seed. Wants the chance to swell like Xinyu, to claim the one thing your wife already has secured. After tonight’s attitude - the corridor ambush, the loud moans meant to taunt the entire household - you’re not in the mood to reward her.
No. When the pressure builds to breaking, you pull out quickly enough. Shuhua lets out a sharp, disappointed whine, cut short as you stroke yourself twice and spill across her ass. Thick ropes of cum paint her skin in hot streaks, dripping down the curve of her cheeks and pooling in the small of her back. She trembles beneath you, thighs shaking, breath ragged.
You release her throat. She coughs once, twice, then goes still.
For a long moment there’s only the sound of both of you breathing. Shuhua doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Her face is half-buried in the cushion, hair tangled, cheeks flushed dark. The disappointment is plain in the way her shoulders slump, the way her hips twitch once like she’s still hoping you’ll push back in. But she doesn’t dare say it. She doesn’t dare ask why you didn’t finish inside her. She just lies there - marked, used, unsatisfied - while the night outside stays quiet, as if the rest of the estate never heard a thing.
Eight days later, the morning sun filters softly through the carved wooden screens of the garden pavilion. The air carries the fresh scent of sea breeze mixed with jasmine from the nearby bushes. Servants move quietly, setting out steaming bowls of congee topped with pickled vegetables, fresh steamed buns, salted fish, and fragrant tea brewed with Taiwanese herbs. Xinyu is absent this morning. A maid quietly mentioned that the lady woke with mild nausea and chose to rest in her chambers. No one questions it. Pregnancy has its demands.
You sit at the head of the low table. To your right, in their usual order: Tzuyu closest, then Shuhua, then Nien. All three wear light morning robes.
The conversation flows easily, as it always does at these meals. Nien chatters about a new shipment of mangoes that arrived from the island yesterday.
“They’re so sweet this season, my lord. Much better than the ones we get here in Xiamen.”
Shuhua laughs and teases her gently.
“You say that every time a ship docks. One would think you’ve never tasted mainland fruit before.”
Tzuyu adds a soft comment about the weather and how the garden lotus flowers are beginning to bloom. She serves you a perfectly steamed bun with her usual grace, placing it on your plate without drawing attention to herself.
You eat steadily, nodding at their words, but your mind keeps drifting back to last night.
Tzuyu’s pavilion. The way her long legs wrapped around you, her quiet gasps turning into soft cries as you filled her twice. Two creampies that left her belly slightly swollen with your seed by the time you left her bed. The memory is still vivid: her elegant face flushed, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction, whispering your title like a prayer while her body trembled around you.
You glance at her now. Tzuyu catches your eye for a brief moment, a faint blush coloring her cheeks before she looks down at her bowl. You wonder silently what would happen if Xinyu gives birth to a daughter… while Tzuyu, after last night, carries your son. The first male heir coming from one of the Taiwanese concubines instead of the principal wife. The shift in power, the whispers among the servants, the way the household balance would tilt…You picture Xinyu’s face. That carefully controlled expression cracking into agitation and quiet fury. The drama that would ripple through the inner quarters, the three girls suddenly competing even harder. The thought amuses you. A low chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it.
At that exact moment, Shuhua is in the middle of telling a light, exaggerated story about one of the kitchen maids mistaking a crab for a sea monster during yesterday’s market trip. Her delivery is sharp and funny, the timing perfect. Everyone at the table turns toward you, assuming your laugh was for Shuhua’s tale.
Nien giggles.
“See? Even the General finds it amusing!”
Tzuyu smiles softly, though her eyes flicker with a hint of curiosity. Shuhua’s back straightens instantly. Her shoulders square with visible triumph, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. She usually doesn’t get open favor when all three of you are together. You keep things balanced to prevent open jealousy. But this morning, that chuckle lands squarely on her. She sits a little taller, her emerald robe shifting as she leans forward just enough to emphasize her figure.
“Thank you, my lord. I’m glad my silly story could brighten the morning.”
You don’t correct them. Instead, you take another sip of tea. Shuhua’s eyes sparkle with quiet victory, while Tzuyu lowers her gaze again, fingers tightening slightly around her chopsticks. Nien watches the exchange with open curiosity, popping a piece of fruit into her mouth. Conversation picks up once more around the table. You glance at Tzuyu one more time. She meets your eyes again, before looking away. The breakfast continues with the gentle clinking of porcelain. Nien is now telling a lively story about a mischievous monkey she once saw near the harbor in Tainan as a child, while Shuhua occasionally interjects with teasing remarks. Tzuyu eats quietly.
You set down your chopsticks and reach for the tray of letters next to you which is holding several folded papers sealed with wax or tied with silk threads. You take the tray and begin sorting through them one by one while the girls continue eating and talking around you. The first is a routine report from one of your merchants in Fuzhou: dull matters of silk prices and shipping delays. You scan it quickly and set it aside. The second is a polite note from the local magistrate, thanking you for the recent favor regarding harbor patrols. Nothing urgent. You unfold the third letter. The paper is fine, the handwriting elegant and careful. The seal belongs to a respected Han family from the Tainan region. Tzuyu’s parents, a merchant-official clan that had aligned itself with the Qing after the conquest. They address you with the proper respect due to a victorious general.
“Honored General,
We are overjoyed to hear of the great blessing that has been granted to your household - a child on the way. May Heaven continue to smile upon you and grant your line strength and prosperity for generations.”
“News travels fast.”
You murmur with an amused scoff. The three concubines glance up at you almost simultaneously. Tzuyu’s chopsticks pause mid-air. She must recognize her family’s seal Shuhua’s eyes narrow with interest. Nien tilts her head.
You continue reading. The tone shifts from polite congratulations to something more direct, as expected from ambitious parents who see their daughter as a bridge to greater favor.
“We humbly pray that you will also bestow the same blessing upon our daughter Tzuyu. She is dutiful, graceful, and eager to serve you fully. A son from her would bring even greater glory to your household and secure the bonds between our families. We entrust her completely to your wisdom and care.”
You lower the letter. Your eyes lift and meet Tzuyu’s across the table. She is watching you now, a faint flush creeping up her neck, probably able to guess what the letter of her parents includes. You remember last night vividly: the way she clung to you, the two thick loads you pumped deep inside her, her quiet moans as her body accepted every drop. The thought flickers through your mind again: what if Xinyu bears only a daughter… while Tzuyu is already carrying your son from last night? The potential drama makes the corner of your mouth twitch.
You set the letter down without further comment and pick up the fourth one. This one carries the official seal of Admiral Shi Lang’s command. The handwriting is brisk. You unfold it and scan the contents. It is an order.
“General,
Pirate remnants loyal to the old Zheng cause have grown bold again near Penghu and the southern Taiwan coast. They have raided three merchant junks in the past month and threaten the new settlement routes. You are commanded to take your squadron of ships and two hundred Green Standard troops to suppress these bandits. Depart within ten days. Stabilize the sea lanes and ensure safe passage for imperial trade.”
You read the key lines in silence, then fold the letter neatly and place it on the tray. You take another sip of tea, mind already turning to preparations. Ships to ready, troops to muster, supplies to organize. A campaign of several weeks, perhaps two or three months if the pirates prove slippery.
The morning sun climbs higher as breakfast ends. You leave the garden pavilion with the weight of the military order already pressing on your mind. Preparations for the campaign will take most of your upcoming days.
A few hours later, in a shaded pavilion overlooking the lotus pond, Xinyu sits across from Lady Wei, the wife of the coastal garrison commander who had attended the dinner the night she announced her pregnancy. They play a quiet game of Weiqi on a low rosewood board. Xinyu moves a white stone with elegant precision.
“Your defense is as sharp as ever, Lady Wei.”
The older woman chuckles, placing a black stone to surround a small group.
“One must stay vigilant, especially when new life is growing. How are you feeling this morning? The nausea has passed?”
“A little better. The physician says it is normal in the early months.”
Lady Wei nods knowingly, then adds with a light smile:
“A strong son will make all the discomfort worthwhile. The household will feel more secure once the heir is born.”
Xinyu’s fingers pause over the next stone. The word “son” lingers in the air. She had said the same thing to you many times. She is certain it is a boy. Yet the comment makes her think. She knows you have been spending your nights with the three Taiwanese concubines ever since the pregnancy was confirmed. It is expected, of course. A man of your status cannot be left wanting, and she herself had told you to seek siblings for the child. Still, the reality stings more than she cares to admit. Every morning she notices the faint marks on your neck, the way the girls glance at you with fresh satisfaction. What if one of them is already carrying? What if she gives you only a daughter while one of those island girls produces a son? Her position as principal wife is secure in name, but influence in the household is something else entirely. As the game continues, Xinyu turns the stones over in her mind. She should actively support one of the concubines in front of you. Better to guide the choice than let the competition spiral out of control. Tzuyu is quiet and reserved, but Xinyu suspects it might be a clever front. The girl could be far more calculating than she appears. Shuhua is too wild, too unpredictable. Her sharp tongue and bold nature would make her dangerous if she gained real power. Nien, though… Nien seems the safest. Cute, playful, loveable. She doesn’t scheme openly for status or influence. She simply enjoys attention and seems content with whatever affection she receives. A son from Nien would be easy to manage.
Just as Xinyu settles on that thought, she glances toward the main path and sees you walking toward the outer gates, already dressed for the day’s duties. Dark robe with a military sash, boots ready for the harbor. She excuses herself gracefully.
“Please continue without me for a moment, Lady Wei. I must speak with my husband before he leaves.”
Xinyu rises and walks over to you with slow steps, her crimson robe flowing around her still modest belly. You stop when you see her.
“Xinyu. Are you feeling better this morning?”
She smiles softly, placing a hand lightly over her abdomen.
“Much better, my lord. The boy is behaving himself today.”
You nod, eyes flicking to her hand.
“Good. Take care of yourself…and him.”
Xinyu hesitates only a moment, then speaks with careful subtlety.
“The girls have been attentive lately. Especially Nien. She has such a gentle, cheerful way about her. It brightens the household.”
You acknowledge the comment with a small hum, already thinking about the campaign preparations. Xinyu continues, making it a touch more obvious.
“She would make a fine companion for your nights while I rest. Playful and easy to please. I think you would enjoy her company more often.”
You raise an eyebrow, finally catching the suggestion.
“Nien?”
Xinyu meets your gaze.
“Yes. She seems the least likely to cause unnecessary trouble. A good choice for now.”
You study her for a beat, then nod once.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She smiles again, satisfied that the seed has been planted.
“Go safely with your preparations today. The household will be waiting for your return.”
You bid her farewell and continue toward the gates. Once you are out of sight, Xinyu stands still for a moment, then turns to a waiting maid. She knows your weaknesses well. You can be firm with troops and merchants, but when it comes to the four women in your life, you sometimes let things flow too easily without seeing the undercurrents.
“Call for Nien. Tell her I have a small errand for her in the Xiamen market. She should fetch some fresh Taiwanese mangoes and herbs for my tea. Make sure she leaves soon.”
The maid bows and hurries off.
The midday sun beats down on the bustling Xiamen docks, turning the sea into a glittering expanse of blue. You stand on the raised deck of one of your junks, overseeing the final preparations for the upcoming campaign. Sailors and soldiers swarm the ships, loading barrels of fresh water, crates of dried provisions, bundles of arrows, and extra matchlock muskets. Officers shout orders while carpenters hammer reinforcements onto the hulls. The air smells of salt, tar, fish, and sweat.
You gesture to one of your lieutenants, pointing at a list on a bamboo scroll.
“Double the rice stores. We may be out for two months if the pirates scatter into the smaller islands.”
While the man nods and hurries off, your eyes drift across the crowded waterfront market that sprawls along the docks. Merchants hawk goods straight from newly arrived ships: bolts of silk, crates of tea, Taiwanese fruits, and baskets of wriggling seafood. Fishermen call out their morning catches, their voices blending into the lively chaos.
Then you spot her. Nien moves through the crowd with a small group of maids trailing behind. She wears a simple but pretty peach-colored robe suitable for an outing with subtle floral embroidery that catches the sunlight. Her dark hair is loosely pinned with a few fresh flowers, and her face glows with genuine delight as she examines a stand piled high with ripe mangoes and exotic herbs. She laughs at something one of the maids says, her smile bright and carefree, completely at ease in the noisy market.
You watch her for a moment from your higher vantage point. She looks beautiful, youthful, playful, radiating that innocent charm that always seems to lighten the mood. For a few heartbeats you simply enjoy the sight, the way she tilts her head, the gentle sway of her robe as she reaches for a piece of fruit. Then you remember Xinyu’s words from earlier.
“…Nien. She seems the least likely to cause unnecessary trouble. A good choice for now.”
You hesitate, fingers tightening around the railing. It is broad daylight. You are in the middle of important preparations. Usually, you do not ask for such things so directly, especially not outside the privacy of the estate. And Nien… she is always so bright and cheerful, almost too pure for the kind of raw hunger stirring in you right now. Taking her in some semi-private corner of the market feels almost sinful. Like treating her like a common dockside whore instead of one of your cherished concubines. But the order to depart in ten days hangs over you. The campaign will keep you away for weeks, maybe months. And Xinyu herself planted the suggestion.
You descend the gangplank and stride into the crowded market, your military sash and commanding presence causing people to part instinctively. Merchants bow quickly as you pass. Your eyes stay fixed on Nien. She is standing at a merchant’s stall, happily bargaining over a bundle of fresh Taiwanese herbs when you approach from behind. One of her maids notices you first and quickly bows. Nien turns, and her face lights up with a bright, surprised smile.
“My lord! A wonderful coincidence!”
You nod, suddenly unsure how to steer the conversation. The usual elegance of the inner quarters feels far away in this noisy, public place. Nien tilts her head, still smiling that sunny, innocent smile.
“The mangoes are especially sweet today. Would you like me to pick some for the journey?”
You look at her. At the way her eyes sparkle, the soft curve of her lips, the way her robe clings lightly to her figure in the sea breeze. Xinyu’s suggestion echoes again in your ear. For a moment the contrast hits you hard. She looks so cheerful and lovable standing here among the common people. It almost feels wrong to pull her away for something so base in the middle of the day.
Yet the hunger wins. You step closer, voice dropping so only she can hear.
“Nien… come with me for a moment.”
She blinks, still smiling, though a flicker of curiosity enters her eyes.
“Of course, my lord. Where to?”
You glance around quickly. The market is crowded, but you know this waterfront well. There is a large merchant warehouse belonging to one of your loyal suppliers just a short walk away. The upper floor has private rooms used for business negotiations, and the owner would never dare question your presence.
You gesture subtly in that direction.
“Follow me. Quietly.”
Nien hands the bundle of herbs to one of her maids with a quick instruction to continue shopping, then falls into step beside you. As you lead her through the crowd toward the warehouse, the sinful contrast lingers in your mind. She chatters lightly about the market finds, completely unaware of what you have in mind, while you feel the growing heat of anticipation. The warehouse door looms ahead. A quick word to the guard at the entrance, and he bows, clearing the way without a single question. The heavy warehouse door slides shut behind you with a solid thud, cutting off the noisy clamor of the market and the sharp smell of fish and salt air. In the sudden quiet, the only thing left is Nien. Her soft, feminine scent hits you immediately. Warm skin, faint jasmine from her hair, and that sweet, light perfume she always wears, mixed with the faint tropical sweetness of the mangoes she had been handling. It floods your senses and triggers a rush of memories. Her giggles in the dark, the way her body arches so willingly beneath you, the soft little sounds she makes when you’re gentle with her.
Your lust surges hard and fast, climbing with every step you take deeper into the dim corridor. You never make it to the private room upstairs. Two steps in, you lightly shove her against a tall stack of wooden crates and barrels. Nien’s back meets the wood with a soft gasp. Her eyes widen in surprise. The playful sparkle is replaced by genuine shock.
“My lord…?”
She stutters, voice small.
“Are you alright?”
You don’t answer with words at first. Your mouth is already on her neck, lips pressing hot against that sensitive spot just below her ear. The one you know makes her knees weak. You kiss, then suck gently, tasting her skin. Nien melts instantly. A shaky breath escapes her. Her hands come up to clutch at your robe, but she still tries to hold onto some dignity.
“W-wait… my lord.”
She whispers, voice trembling even as her head tilts to give you better access.
“Shouldn’t we… go somewhere more private? My chambers… or at least upstairs…”
“I can’t wait another second.”
One hand already roams over her body through the thin peach silk. You cup her breast, squeeze her waist, slide down to grip her hip.
“I’m sorry, Nien. I hate doing this to you like this… like you’re some commoner’s whore in the middle of the docks.”
Nien gasps sharply at your words, her body shivering against yours. Then, to your surprise, a tiny, cute laugh bubbles out of her. Nervous but genuine. She pulls back just enough to look up at you, cheeks flushed pink.
“Do you… want me to act the part?”
You blink, stepping back half a pace in surprise. Nien lets out another soft laugh, shy but playful, covering her mouth with her fingers for a moment.
“I love how careful and loving you always are with me.”
She admits quietly.
“It makes me feel special. But… whenever I hear Shuhua moaning so loudly through the estate, or when I walk past Xinyu’s chambers and hear her begging for more… I can’t help but wonder how it feels to be treated rough sometimes.”
You stare at her, caught off guard by the confession.
“I only treat you this way because of how you look and act. You’re always so cheerful and loving… like a beautiful flower that should be handled gently. Shuhua is just exaggerating when she-”
Nien shakes her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips.
“You really don’t believe the three of us talk about these things? Shuhua brags about it all the time.”
She closes the small distance you created, stepping right up to you again. Her small hands reach down and slowly start undoing the ties of your pants, fingers deft and steady despite the blush on her cheeks.
“You can treat me however you want, my lord. Even if that means I’m just an object for you to release your lust into. I’d… appreciate being treated like that from time to time as well.”
Her fingers finish loosening your pants and slip inside, wrapping gently around your already hard cock. The innocent, cheerful Nien is still there in her bright smile, but now there’s a new spark of curiosity and desire in her gaze. A quiet invitation to be rougher, dirtier, to use her the way you use Shuhua.
“So… what will you do with me, my lord?”
She asks sweetly, almost innocently, while her hand works your length.
“Here, against the crates… like I’m just your little dockside toy?”
The contrast between her cute voice and the filthy offer makes your blood burn even hotter. Your hands tighten on her waist, the raw need from moments ago now completely unleashed. You spin Nien around without warning and shove her forward against the stack of wooden crates. You’re careful not to be too rough at first, just enough force to pin her in place, her palms flattening against the rough wood as she braces herself. Nien lets out a sharp little gasp, her body jolting. A moment later she pushes her ass back against you instinctively, grinding softly, silently asking for more. Your hands roam over her body from behind, sliding up her waist, cupping her breasts through the thin peach silk, then moving down to grip her hips again.
She tries to speak. Her voice is a little awkward as she attempts something filthy.
“I… I’m your little… dockside toy now.”
She stammers a little, the words sounding almost cute despite her effort.
“Use me… however you want…”
You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.
“You don’t have to try so hard.”
You murmur against her ear, one hand already pushing her robe up. You bunch the silk around her waist until her lower body is completely exposed. Nien whimpers softly.
“I’m sorry… I’ll learn. I want to pleasure you as good as I can. I really do.”
You line yourself up and push into her in one thrust. Her pussy is soaked. She’s hot, slick, and surprisingly tight around your cock. Nien moans immediately, a sweet, surprised sound that echoes softly in the dim corridor.
“Oh… my lord…”
She pushes back against you again. You start fucking her from behind, slow and deep at first, letting her adjust. But the hunger from earlier is too strong. You gradually lean into it, picking up speed, pounding harder with each thrust. The wet slap of skin against skin fills the narrow space between the crates. Nien does her best to keep up. Her hands grip the edge of the crate stack tightly, knuckles whitening. She’s never taken you this roughly before, and it shows. Her body trembles as she tries to get used to the intensity. Still, she keeps trying to talk, her voice breaking with every hard snap of your hips.
“You… ah!… you feel so big like this…H-hurry… before anyone sees us…”
There’s no real worry in her tone. If anything, the idea of getting caught seems to excite her. Her pussy clenches tighter around you with every teasing word, and her moans grow a little louder, a little sweeter. You grip her hips harder and thrust deeper, the pace turning rougher. Nien’s legs shake. She bites her lip, trying to stifle another moan, but it slips out anyway.
“I… I can take it…Please… don’t hold back… I want to be good for you…”
Her walls spasm around your cock as you pound into her, the contrast between her usual bright, cheerful self and the way she’s bent over crates in a warehouse only making you fuck her harder. Nien’s breathing turns ragged. She’s clearly still adjusting to the rough treatment, but she’s doing everything she can to please you, pushing her ass back to meet your thrusts, moaning softly with every deep stroke, even trying to keep up her awkward dirty talk between gasps.
You grip Nien harder and start fucking her with real roughness. Your hips snap forward with sharp, punishing thrusts, driving deep into her soaked pussy again and again. The wooden crates creak under the force. One of your hands slides up her back, tangles roughly in her dark hair, and tugs her head back. Several of the pretty flowers she had pinned in earlier tumble to the dusty floor.
“Ahh-!”
A loud, broken moan rips out of her, much louder than before. Her body jolts with every hard thrust, but instead of tensing up, she starts pushing back to meet you, her hips rolling greedily. The awkwardness from moments ago has completely vanished. Now her words spill out naturally, filthy and eager, each one making your cock throb harder inside her.
“Yes-! Fuck me harder, my lord…! Use your little dockside whore… I don’t care if someone walks in right now-I’ll still take every inch of your cock!”
You pound into her faster, the wet sounds of her pussy echoing in the narrow corridor. Nien keeps going, her voice growing bolder with every thrust.
“Take my sweetness away… ruin me…! Fuck the cheerfulness out of your cute little flower… Make me your dirty toy every single day… Please-use me like this whenever you want… I’ll spread my legs for you anywhere!”
You’re genuinely surprised by how loud she’s getting…and how much she’s talking. Shuhua has always been the loudest by far while Tzuyu is the quietest, usually only soft gasps and whispered pleas. Xinyu and Nien normally fall somewhere in the middle, depending on their mood. But right now? Nien has clearly surpassed Xinyu. Her moans are high, sweet, and shameless, filling the warehouse corridor without restraint. If she keeps this up, she might even challenge Shuhua for the top spot. The thought sends another surge of heat through you. You yank her hair a little harder, slamming into her with deep strokes. Nien’s legs shake violently, but she doesn’t try to quiet down. Instead, she cries out even louder.
“Harder-! Please, my lord… I can take it… I want you to break me… Fill me up right here where anyone could see… I don’t care-just use me!”
Her pussy clenches rhythmically around your cock, slick and hot, clearly loving the rough treatment. Every dirty word that leaves her mouth turns you on more, the contrast between her usual bright, innocent personality and the filthy things she’s begging for right now driving you wild. Nien’s voice cracks into another loud moan as you pound her without mercy.
“Do you like hearing your sweet Nien talk like this…? I’ll be louder for you… I’ll scream if you want… Just don’t stop-!”
You can feel her getting closer, her walls clenching around you with every rough thrust. Her cheerful, lovable demeanor has cracked wide open, revealing a hungry, surprisingly vocal side you never expected. She’s still pushing back against you desperately, flowers scattered on the floor around her feet, robe bunched uselessly at her waist, moaning and babbling dirty promises without any shame left.
But the rough pace suddenly changes the moment Nien reaches her peak. Her walls clamp down hard around your cock, fluttering and pulsing in strong, irregular waves. A loud, trembling moan tears from her throat. Then it softens, breaking apart into the familiar sweet sighs and delicate gasps you’re used to hearing from her.
“Ah… ahh… my lord…”
She whimpers, voice turning small and breathy again. For a few heartbeats she sounds exactly like the same old Nien - cute, sweet, almost innocent - as if the filthy words from moments ago had never left her lips. Your body reacts on instinct. You slow down immediately, thrusts turning gentler, almost protective. Something inside you refuses to keep pounding such a sweet, soft girl against dirty crates in a random warehouse. Your hips roll slowly, carefully, letting her ride out the aftershocks while you stay buried deep inside her.
Nien’s breathing gradually steadies. Her head rests against the wooden crate, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed a pretty pink. Then, to your surprise, her soft voice returns. Still gentle, still sweet, but now carrying a new, shy request.
“…Please… give me your cum. I want it inside… Fill me up, my lord…”
You blink, caught off guard. Nien has never asked for your seed like this before. The words sound almost too filthy coming from her usual bright, cheerful tone. You wonder if she picked that up from listening to Shuhua’s loud bragging sessions through the walls. You aren’t pounding her anymore, just slow, gentle thrusts, keeping her full while you process the contrast. Her innocent voice begging for something so dirty makes your head spin even harder than the rough fucking did.
“I want to feel it… deep inside me… Please cum for me…”
That sweet, lovable tone combined with her filthy plea finally pushes you over the edge. Your orgasm hits hard. You groan low against her neck and spill deep into her waiting pussy, thick ropes of cum flooding her warmth. Nien gasps and moans sweetly as she feels every pulse, her walls shaking again around you as if trying to milk out every drop.
“Thank you…Thank you for using me…”
Your lust slowly drains away, leaving your body heavy. You slump forward slightly, pressing her gently between your chest and the stack of crates. She’s trapped there, unable to move, your cock still buried inside her cum-filled cunt as it slowly softens.
For a long moment neither of you speaks. Then Nien lets out a shy little laugh.
“I… I enjoyed that very much. I don’t want to ask you to be so rough with me all the time… but whenever you’re in the mood for it… you can have me like this. Anytime.”
You lean down and press a soft kiss to her naked shoulder. The robe had slipped down earlier when you were tugging at it. Her skin is warm and slightly damp with sweat. Your eyes drift to the floor. A few scattered flowers lie among the dust. You make a mental note to buy her new ones on the way back to the estate later today. Her favorites.
You stay locked together like that for a while longer, your body shielding hers, cock still nestled inside her. Then Nien’s usual bright energy slowly returns. Even with you still buried deep inside her, her mind seems to drift far away from sex. She starts chattering again in that cheerful, playful voice you know so well.
“After you come back from your duties today… do you think we could play a game together? Maybe Weiqi in the garden pavilion? Or that new card game the merchants brought from the south? I’ve been practicing!”
You can tell she’s genuinely excited. Not about more sex, but simply about spending time with you. Her tone is light and happy, as if the intense moment against the crates had already become a fond memory rather than the main focus. You smile against her shoulder.
“I’ll make sure I have some time before dinner.”
Nien lets out a delighted little hum, her body relaxing even more against you.
A month has passed. The campaign against the pirate remnants has been grueling. Weeks of chasing shadows across the Taiwan Strait, stormy seas, and tense night raids on hidden coves near Penghu. Your squadron has sunk three pirate junks and scattered the rest, but the work is far from over.
Three days ago, while your ships were resupplying at a small harbor on the western coast of Taiwan, a messenger arrived from Nien’s family. Somehow, they had learned of your presence and extended a formal invitation. You and a small retinue were welcome to stay at their modest but respectable estate near Tainan for the remainder of the campaign. It would give your men safer anchorage and better provisions while you coordinated with local Qing officials. You hesitated for several reasons. Staying with the family of one of your concubines carried political weight. It could be seen as favoritism. It might also encourage the very competition you preferred to keep balanced. But refusing the offer outright would have been a grave insult to a family that had already lost much influence after the conquest. So, you accepted with measured gratitude.
Now you stand in the guest quarters of their estate, quickly cleaning yourself after another long week at sea. Servants bring fresh hot water and clean robes. You wash the salt from your skin, change into a simple but dignified dark silk robe, and make your way to the main hall for dinner. The hall is warmly lit with lanterns and candles. A long lacquered table is set with an impressive spread of fresh seafood, braised pork, fragrant rice, pickled vegetables, and delicate soups. Nien’s father, a scholarly looking man in his late forties named Master Lin, rises to greet you with a deep, respectful bow. His wife, Madam Lin, stands beside him, elegant in a muted green robe, her expression warm.
“General.”
Master Lin gestures for you to take the seat of honor.
“We are deeply honored by your presence. Please, make yourself comfortable. This humble home is yours for as long as you need it.”
You bow slightly in return and take your seat.
“I must thank you again for your generous hospitality. Your offer has made the campaign far more bearable. My men and I are grateful.”
Master Lin is tactful and measured as the meal begins. He speaks of the weather, the recent trade routes, and the stability the Qing has brought to the region. He never directly mentions Nien or any expectations. Yet you can read between the lines. This invitation is strategic. By hosting you, he strengthens his family’s ties to a powerful general and hopes his daughter will rise in your household. Still, he remains polite and respectful.
His wife is different. Madam Lin smiles sweetly as she serves you a choice piece of fish.
“Our Nien has always been such a bright and loving child.”
Her eyes flicker toward you.
“She brings such joy wherever she goes. We pray every day that she continues to bring that same joy… and perhaps even greater blessings… to your esteemed household.”
The hint is gentle but unmistakable. She doesn’t say the words “get her pregnant,” but the meaning is clear. They hope Nien will soon follow Xinyu’s example and give you another child…ideally a son.
You nod politely, murmuring thanks, but inside you feel the weight of the conversation. Eating with Nien’s parents is proving almost as exhausting as fighting pirates. Every smile, every carefully worded comment feels like navigating hidden reefs. As Madam Lin continues praising Nien’s sweetness, her gentle nature, and her “pure heart,” your mind drifts unavoidably to memories that make you feel strangely guilty. The warehouse a month ago. Nien bent over those crates, moaning filthily while you fucked her raw in broad daylight. The way she begged you to ruin her sweetness, to use her like a toy. The flowers scattered on the dirty floor.
And then the night just two days before your departure from Xiamen…You had gone to her chambers expecting another gentle, sweet night. At first it was exactly that - soft kisses, her bright laughter, her body warm and welcoming beneath you. But then, to your surprise, Nien had gently pushed you onto your back. For the first time ever, she climbed on top of you, straddled your hips, and slowly sank down onto your cock. She rode you with shy determination, her small hands on your chest, her hair falling around her face as she moved. Her moans had been softer than in the warehouse, but there was a new hunger in her eyes. She had whispered things she had never said before, asking if she was pleasing you, if you liked the way she took control for once. You can still picture the way her breasts bounced gently with each roll of her hips, the cute, concentrated expression on her face as she tried to ride you to completion.
Now, sitting here at her parents’ table while her mother praises that same “sweet, innocent” daughter, the contrast hits you hard. You feel almost like you’ve corrupted something pure. The cheerful, lovable Nien who chatters about games and flowers is the same girl who begged you to treat her like a dockside whore and then sweetly asked for your cum while riding you.
Madam Lin’s voice pulls you back.
“…and we are certain that with your guidance, our daughter will continue to grow and flourish in every way.”
You raise your cup in a polite toast, hiding your thoughts behind a calm expression.
The dinner continues. The food is excellent, but the conversation is a careful dance. Master Lin steers topics toward safer waters like local governance, the pirate situation, and your recent victories. Madam Lin occasionally slips in another gentle hint about family, legacy, and the blessings of many children. You eat and respond with politeness, all while vivid memories of Nien, both the innocent and the surprisingly eager versions, linger at the edge of your mind.
Your ships slipped into Xiamen harbor just before midnight, the sails heavy with salt and victory. It took nearly two more hours to organize the docking, unloading wounded men, securing captured pirate banners and weapons, assigning guards, and sending preliminary reports to Admiral Shi Lang. By the time you finally mounted your horse and rode toward the estate, the moon was high and the streets of Xiamen were quiet.
As you approach the main gates, you notice something unusual. Despite the late hour, lanterns are lit along every path and courtyard. Warm golden light spills from windows and pavilions. The entire estate is awake. The moment the heavy gates swing open and you step into the main courtyard, you are greeted exactly as expected. Nearly the entire household has gathered. Servants line the sides holding lanterns. Your steward stands at the front with a deep bow. And in the center, waiting for you, are the four women who rule your inner world.
Xinyu stands slightly ahead of the others, her crimson robe flowing around her noticeably larger belly. Three months have transformed her. The gentle curve has become a full, rounded swell that she carries with quiet pride. Her hair is neatly pinned, and though fatigue shadows her eyes, she holds herself with the dignity of the principal wife. Behind her stand the three concubines in a neat row. Tzuyu on the left, elegant in pale blue silk, posture perfect as always. Shuhua in the middle, vibrant green robes hugging her figure, a small smirk already playing on her lips. Nien on the right, soft peach silk glowing in the lantern light, her bright smile lighting up her face the moment she sees you.
As one, they all bow deeply.
“Welcome home, General.”
Xinyu says first.
“Welcome home, my lord.”
The three concubines echo, their voices blending together.
You return the greeting with a nod.
“It is good to be back.”
You step closer to Xinyu, eyes dropping instinctively to her swollen belly. You reach out and gently touch her arm.
“Are you doing alright? You shouldn’t have stayed up so late or woken the entire household just to welcome me. You need rest, especially now.”
Xinyu meets your gaze. There is clear love in her eyes, soft and genuine, even beneath the exhaustion.
“It is my duty as your wife.”
She replies simply.
“And… I wanted to see you return safely.”
You nod, then turn to address everyone.
“Go back to sleep. All of you. The night is late and tomorrow will be busy enough.”
The servants and steward immediately begin to scatter with bows and quiet murmurs of:
“Yes, General.”
Xinyu starts to turn with you as you guide her gently toward her chambers, one hand resting lightly at the small of her back to support her. Before you’ve taken more than a few steps, Xinyu pauses and glances back at the retreating maids.
“Prepare some warm food for the General. Light congee, steamed buns, and tea. Bring it to my chambers.”
The maids bow and hurry off to obey.
The three concubines remain standing for a moment longer, watching as you lead Xinyu away. You can feel their eyes on your back. None of them speak, but the air is thick with unspoken anticipation. They know you have just returned after three long months. They know the nights ahead will be filled with competition once again.
You continue walking with Xinyu, the lanterns along the path lighting your way toward her pavilion. Her steps are slower now, weighted by the growing child inside her. She leans into your touch, the love in her eyes still visible even in the dim light.
You reach the entrance to Xinyu’s chambers. The heavy silk curtains sway gently in the night breeze. Xinyu looks up at you, one hand resting protectively over her rounded belly.
“Will you stay with me tonight, my lord?”
She asks softly, though she already knows the answer may not be simple. You look down at your salt stained robes and travel worn appearance, then gently shake your head.
“I do not dare enter your halls in this state. I smell of the sea and weeks of campaign. Let me bathe first. I promise I will return afterward.”
Xinyu studies you for a moment, then a small, teasing smile curves her lips.
“Very well, my lord. But do not take too long. A wife can only be patient for so long… especially when her husband has been away for three months.”
You give her a nod and a faint smile before turning toward the private bathing courtyard.
The bathing pool is one of the few luxuries you allow yourself. Set in a secluded corner of the inner garden, surrounded by high screens and flowering jasmine vines, it is fed by heated water carried in by servants. Lanterns hang from the wooden beams overhead, casting a warm, golden glow over the rippling surface.
You sink into the pool with a low sigh of relief. The water feels impossibly soft and clean compared to the harsh, salty waves you have lived in for months. Heat seeps into your tired muscles as you lean back against the smooth stone edge, closing your eyes for a moment. The night is quiet except for the gentle lap of water and the distant chirping of insects.
Then, from the corner of your eye, you catch a shadow moving near the edge of the lantern light. Your body reacts instantly. Your hand shoots out toward the knife you had placed beside your folded clothes on the low bench behind you.
Before your fingers can close around the hilt, the shadow steps fully into the light.
It is Tzuyu.
She stands at the edge of the pool, wearing a simple but elegant white inner robe that clings lightly to her figure. Her long hair is loosely tied, a few strands framing her face. She looks slightly more confident than usual. Shoulders straighter, chin lifted just a fraction higher. The change is subtle, but you notice it immediately.
You relax your hand and let it fall back into the water.
Tzuyu has always been quiet and reserved, but right now you cannot help wondering if she has schemed something while you were away. The letter from her parents three months ago still lingers in your memory. The polite but clear urging to get their daughter pregnant. If Tzuyu takes after them at all, she might be here with similar intentions. Yet, just like Xinyu, you can never quite tell with her. Is this quiet confidence a calculated move, or simply her natural grace?
She hesitates at the edge of the pool, fingers lightly twisting the sash of her robe. You watch her in silence, already expecting what is coming. Tzuyu finally meets your gaze.
“My lord… would you allow me the honor of your company?”
She takes one graceful step closer.
“After all, a man of your status should not have to wash himself alone.”
She stands there, waiting, the lantern light casting a gentle glow on her skin and making her eyes shine with quiet expectation. You lean back against the smooth stone edge of the pool, the warm water lapping gently at your chest.
“You don’t have to be so formal when we’re alone, Tzuyu.”
Tzuyu lowers her gaze for a moment, a faint blush touching her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, my lord.”
Then, after a small pause, she adds, almost shyly:
“Since we are alone… it should be fine if I join you in the water.”
You don’t answer right away. You simply watch her. Tzuyu takes your silence as invitation. She reaches for the sash of her white inner robe. With slow, teasing movements she unties it, letting the fabric part. Your breath catches as she begins to undress right there on the other side of the pool. The robe slides off her shoulders first, revealing the elegant line of her collarbones and the gentle swell of her breasts. She continues, letting the silk glide down her body like water, exposing the smooth curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, and the long, graceful length of her legs. Finally, the robe pools at her feet, leaving her completely naked.
You have never seen Tzuyu like this before. Fully bare, standing at a distance where you can take in every inch of her at once. In the dim lantern light of her chambers, it was always darker, closer, more intimate. Here, under the warm glow of the lanterns, she looks almost unreal: tall, slender, perfectly proportioned, with smooth pale skin and long black hair cascading down her back. Her breasts are full and firm, nipples already slightly hardened by the night air. Her waist is narrow, hips gently curved, and between her thighs you can see the delicate line of her pussy.
Tzuyu seems a little shy under your undivided stare. She shifts her weight slightly, one hand instinctively moving to cover herself before she catches the motion and lowers it again. But there’s also a quiet pleasure in her eyes, as if she enjoys the way you’re looking at her. She steps slowly into the pool. The water ripples around her ankles, then her calves, then her thighs as she wades toward you. When she finally stands directly in front of you, the water reaching just below her breasts, she hesitates for only a heartbeat. Then she leans in carefully, giving you time to pull away if you wish.
Her lips meet yours in a soft, tentative kiss. You respond naturally. Your hands rise from the water and find her naked body, roaming slowly over her wet skin, tracing the curve of her waist, sliding up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. She trembles slightly under your touch.
When she finally draws away just enough to look at you, you are too relaxed after the long campaign to take charge. You simply watch her, hands still resting on her hips under the water. Tzuyu’s cheeks are faintly pink. She moves closer, carefully straddling your lap beneath the surface. You feel the heat of her body even through the warm water. Your now hard cock presses against her tight, flat tummy as she settles on top of you.
You let out a low chuckle.
“You said you’d wash me.”
Your voice is rough with amusement and growing desire.
“Not pleasure me.”
Tzuyu’s blush deepens, but she doesn’t look away.
“Can’t I do both?”
The warm water laps gently around your bodies. Lantern light flickers across her wet skin. She is beautiful, elegant, and clearly offering herself to you after three long months apart. You lean back against the edge of the pool, the warm water lapping at your shoulders, and give her a slow smile.
“I’m sure you can do both.”
Tzuyu’s lips curve into a gentle, pleased smile.
“Then I will try my best, my lord.”
Her hand slips beneath the water. You feel her slender fingers wrap around your hard cock, stroking you slowly from base to tip. The sensation is smooth and teasing in the warm water.
“I’ll start with this.”
You rest your arms along the stone edge and watch her. Tzuyu’s naked upper body is beautiful in the lantern light. The elegant curve of her shoulders, the full swell of her breasts with water droplets sliding down them, the graceful line of her neck…She keeps her eyes on you as she strokes, her touch growing a little firmer, a little more confident with every pass.
After a few moments, Tzuyu rises slightly on her knees. She positions herself over you, one hand still guiding your cock. Then she slowly lowers herself. You watch her face closely. Pleasure washes over her features the moment the head of your cock parts her folds. Her lips part in a soft gasp. Her brows furrow slightly as she sinks down. Her eyes flutter half-closed, and a quiet, trembling moan escapes her. It’s clear she has been just as eager for this as you have been for her. Three long months apart have left her hungry too.
You feel every inch as her tight, silky pussy lips glide down your length, enveloping you slowly, warmly and completely. She is wetter than the pool water, her inner walls clinging to you with familiar perfection.
Tzuyu is not like Shuhua. She prefers it slower, especially when she’s on top. She begins to move with graceful rolls of her hips, grinding down deeply, then lifting and bouncing in a smooth, controlled rhythm. Her hands rest on your chest for balance as she rides you, doing her best to make your head roll back with every motion.
For several long minutes she works you like this: slow, deep grinds mixed with gentle bounces, her breasts swaying softly with the movement. The water ripples around your joined bodies in steady waves. Tzuyu’s breathing grows heavier, her quiet moans filling the night air. Then she leans down, pressing her wet breasts against your chest. Her lips brush your ear.
“My lord…”
She breathes, still moving on you.
“I think… I am with child.”
The words hit you like a quiet thunderclap. She continues riding you slowly as she speaks, her voice trembling with both pleasure and nervousness.
“All the signs are there. The missed courses, the tenderness, the way my body feels different… but I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even the physician. I wanted you to know first.”
Tzuyu pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, still gently rolling her hips, your cock buried deep inside her. She searches your face, waiting for your reaction while her body keeps moving on you with that same graceful, needy rhythm.
The night is quiet as Nien stands just outside the kitchen courtyard, hands clasped in front of her peach-colored robe. She had been waiting patiently for several minutes when the two maids finally emerge, carrying a lacquered tray with warm congee, steamed buns, pickled vegetables, and a pot of fragrant tea. Exactly what Xinyu had ordered for you.
Nien steps forward with a bright, innocent smile.
“Let me take that to the General.”
She offers sweetly.
“He must be very tired after such a long journey. I would be happy to bring it to him.”
The maids exchange a quick glance, but they know better than to refuse one of the master’s concubines. They hand over the tray without argument.
“Thank you.”
Nien says cheerfully, balancing the tray carefully as she turns and heads toward the private bathing courtyard. She knows exactly where you are. The lanterns glowing softly in that direction are impossible to miss.
The garden paths are dimly lit, the night air cool and filled with the scent of jasmine. Nien walks quickly but gracefully, her mind already imagining the your tired smile when she arrives with food. She rounds a corner near the moon gate…
… and nearly collides with Shuhua.
Both women stop short. The tray wobbles dangerously in Nien’s hands. A few drops of tea splash over the edge. Shuhua startles, stepping back with a sharp intake of breath, her vibrant green robe swirling around her legs.
“Nien!”
Shuhua hisses.
“Shuhua!”
Nien replies, steadying the tray with both hands. Her usual bright tone carries a hint of surprise and wariness.
For a moment they simply stare at each other in the half dark. They don’t hate each other - there has never been open hostility between any of the three concubines - but Nien has always found Shuhua suspicious, and Shuhua clearly feels the same about the overly cheerful youngest.
Shuhua crosses her arms, one eyebrow raised.
“Going to the bathing courtyard? With food? How thoughtful of you.”
Nien tilts her head, still smiling but with a sharper edge.
“Xinyu asked me to bring it. The General needs to eat after his long journey. Why are you heading in that direction so late?”
Shuhua lets out a short, scoffing laugh.
“Don’t play innocent. You’re trying to get to him first.”
“And you aren’t?”
Nien shoots back, voice still light but now clearly defensive.
“You’ve been waiting for him to return just as much as I have. Don’t pretend you were just taking a midnight stroll.”
Shuhua steps closer.
“At least I’m honest about wanting his attention. You act all sweet and harmless, but we both know why you’re really bringing him food at this hour.”
Nien’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t back down.
“And you act all bold and fiery, but you’re doing the exact same thing. We’re both trying to gain his favor tonight. There’s no point in denying it.”
A tense silence stretches between them. The tray remains steady in Nien’s hands, but the air crackles with mutual suspicion.
Finally, Shuhua lets out a sigh and rolls her eyes.
“Fine. We both want to see him. There’s no use fighting over it right now.”
Nien nods, her bright smile returning, though it’s a little tighter than usual.
“Exactly. So… shall we go together?”
Shuhua hesitates for half a second, then gives a small, reluctant nod.
“Together. But don’t think this means I’m sharing nicely.”
The two women fall into step side by side, heading toward the glowing lanterns of the bathing courtyard. Nien carefully balances the tray while Shuhua walks with her usual confident stride. The rivalry simmers just beneath the surface, but for now, they have reached an uneasy truce. As they approach the entrance to the private bathing area, both can see the warm light spilling out and hear the faint sound of water rippling.
Nien and Shuhua step quietly into the bathing courtyard together, the tray of food balanced carefully in Nien’s hands. They both stop dead in their tracks the moment they see what is happening in the pool. Tzuyu is in your lap, facing you, her long bare back and elegant shoulders glowing in the lantern light. Her hips move in slow, graceful rolls as she rides you. The water ripples gently around your joined bodies. From behind, they can see the elegant line of her spine, the way her muscles flex and shift with every movement, and the subtle bounce of her long black hair.
Tzuyu lets out a soft, needy moan.
“More… please, my lord…”
Shuhua’s expression instantly darkens. Her jaw tightens and her eyes flash with fury. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest, practically vibrating with irritation.
“Tzuyu is such a slut.”
She hisses under her breath, loud enough for Nien to hear. Nien bites her tongue hard to stop herself from snapping back that Shuhua is easily the biggest slut in the entire household. Instead, she feels a quiet wave of sadness wash over her. She isn’t really angry, just disappointed. She had hoped to have you to herself tonight, even if only for a little while. Now she will only get a third of your attention.
While Shuhua is still fuming, Nien sets the tray of food down on a nearby stone bench without a word. She doesn’t want to fall behind. Shuhua makes the decision first. Without saying anything else, she starts pulling off her robe, letting it drop carelessly to the ground. Her naked body is revealed in the lantern light: bold curves, smooth skin, and an unmistakable air of confidence. Nien quickly follows her example. She unties her peach robe and shrugs it off, stepping out of the silk puddle at her feet. Her own body is softer and more delicate than Shuhua’s, but no less beautiful.
Both women move toward the pool together. They step carefully into the warm water, the liquid rising around their legs, then their thighs, then their hips. The ripples they create spread outward, disturbing the calm surface.
Tzuyu is still riding you slowly when the sound of their movement reaches her. She doesn’t stop, but her head turns slightly, eyes widening as she notices the two new arrivals. Shuhua and Nien wade closer until they are only a few steps away from where Tzuyu sits impaled on your cock. The air in the bathing courtyard grows thick with tension, jealousy, and unspoken competition. Tzuyu’s hips continue their gentle, graceful motion as she looks at the other two women, a faint blush on her cheeks. Shuhua stops with her hands on her hips, water lapping at her waist, and stares directly at you with a challenging glint in her eyes. Nien stands beside her, quieter, her expression a mix of envy and shy hope as she watches Tzuyu’s flawless back and the way her body moves on you.
You notice the movement at the edge of the pool and lift your gaze. Nien and Shuhua stand there, both completely naked, the warm lantern light dancing across their wet skin. Shuhua’s body is bold and curvaceous, perky breasts and strong hips cutting through the surface. Nien’s figure is softer, more delicate, her skin glowing with that same innocent charm she always carries.
The moment you see them, your cock twitches hard inside Tzuyu. Tzuyu feels it immediately. Her walls flutter around you in response, and she lets out a tiny, surprised gasp, her hips stuttering for a second before she continues her slow ride.
You can’t help it. An amused chuckle escapes your throat.
Tzuyu’s cheeks flush deeper as she realizes the other two are watching her ride you so openly. Shuhua’s usual confident smirk falters for half a heartbeat, replaced by a flicker of awkwardness. Nien’s bright eyes widen, her hands instinctively moving to cover her chest before she catches herself and lowers them again. They’ve never seen each other fully naked like this. The usual private intimacy of the bedchambers has suddenly become very public. None of them quite know how to act now that they are all together in the same pool. You feel a brief moment of uncertainty yourself. Three naked, beautiful concubines surrounding you after three long months away is almost overwhelming.
You motion with your head.
“Shuhua. Left side.”
You turn slightly and gesture to the other side.
“Nien. Right.”
Shuhua moves first, wading through the water with that bold stride until she’s pressed against your left side. Nien follows more shyly, slipping into the water on your right until her soft body brushes against you. The moment they settle, Tzuyu - clearly not willing to lose her place on your cock - starts putting in more effort. Her hips roll deeper, grinding down harder, her tight pussy squeezing around you with renewed determination. Her breathing grows heavier as she rides you more purposefully. You reach out with your left hand and grope Shuhua’s perky tits, squeezing the firm flesh and rolling her nipple between your fingers. Shuhua lets out a sharp, pleased breath and arches into your touch. At the same time, you pull Nien closer with your right arm, tilting her chin up so you can claim her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. She melts into it instantly, her soft lips parting for you, a tiny whimper vibrating against your tongue. While you kiss Nien and fondle Shuhua, Tzuyu continues riding you steadily, her long legs flexing under the water as she works herself on your cock.
In the back of your mind, the news Tzuyu whispered earlier still burns. The possibility that she is already carrying your child. The thought sends another throb through your length, making Tzuyu moan softly.
You hope Xinyu doesn’t mind you indulging a little tonight. After three months away, and with her own belly growing heavier by the day, she might even understand. For now, you focus on the three women surrounding you. Shuhua presses her breasts more firmly into your groping hand, her usual bratty energy already starting to surface again. Nien kisses you back sweetly, her smaller hand resting shyly on your chest. Tzuyu keeps riding you with quiet determination, clearly trying to remind everyone that she was here first.
The warm water laps around all four of you as the night air grows thicker with tension and desire.
The morning sun beats down on the training ground, turning the dirt courtyard into a haze of dust and heat. You move through the forms, wooden practice sword clashing against your partner’s in sharp, rhythmic strikes. Sweat runs down your bare chest and back, soaking the waistband of your trousers. Your breathing is heavy, muscles burning after weeks of pushing yourself hard since returning from the campaign. You parry a strong overhead blow, then counter with a low sweep that forces your opponent to jump back. The soldiers watching from the sidelines murmur in approval.
Just as you reset your stance for another exchange, you catch sight of a servant hurrying across the edge of the training ground. The man is moving quickly, his face tense. You raise your hand and step back, lowering your sword.
“Enough for now.”
You tell your practice partner, who bows and retreats. You wipe sweat from your brow with the back of your arm and motion the servant closer. He approaches, bowing deeply the moment he’s within speaking distance.
“General, Lady Xinyu… she has gone into labour.”
You straighten immediately, chest still heaving from the exertion. Sweat continues to trickle down your temples, but the fatigue in your muscles is forgotten in an instant.
“When?”
“Just now, my lord. The midwife and her maids are with her. Lady Xinyu asked that you be informed right away.”
You nod once, already turning toward the inner quarters.
“Prepare hot water and clean cloths if they haven’t already.”
You order as you start walking.
“And send word to the physician if he isn’t there yet.”
The servant bows again and hurries off to carry out your commands.
You stride across the courtyard, practice sword still in hand, sweat cooling on your skin in the morning breeze. The training ground and your soldiers fade behind you as your focus narrows entirely to Xinyu’s pavilion. Your mind races with a mix of anticipation and concern. Xinyu’s belly had grown significantly. The child - the one she has been so certain is a son - is finally coming.
As you pass through the moon gate into the women’s quarters, you can already hear faint activity ahead: maids moving quickly, low voices, and the occasional strained sound that might be Xinyu.
The three concubines are nowhere in sight yet, but you know they will learn of this soon enough. The news will spread through the household like wildfire.
You reach the entrance to Xinyu’s chambers. The heavy silk curtains have been pulled back, and several maids hover nervously just outside.
One of them bows deeply when she sees you.
“General… Lady Xinyu is in her bed. The pains have started strongly. The midwife says it is progressing well, but it may take some time.”
You hand your practice sword to the nearest servant without a word and step inside.
The room is warm, scented with medicinal herbs and incense meant to ease the birth. Xinyu lies propped up on the large bed, her face flushed and damp with sweat. Her crimson robe is loosened and pushed up, her swollen belly clearly visible and tight with another contraction. She grips the sheets tightly, breathing through the pain with determined focus.
When she sees you enter, her eyes soften despite the discomfort.
“My lord…You came quickly.”
You move to her side, taking her hand in yours. Her fingers are surprisingly strong as they squeeze yours during the next wave of pain. The midwife, an experienced older woman, kneels nearby, quietly giving instructions to the assisting maids.
Xinyu looks up at you, her free hand resting protectively on her belly.
“It is time. Our child is coming.”
Outside the chamber, you can already hear hurried footsteps, the news spreading fast through the estate. The three concubines will likely arrive soon, drawn by the commotion and the weight of what this birth could mean for all of them.
You stay beside Xinyu, holding her hand as another contraction builds.
A/N: Written for @mysonesecret's 1k word challenge!
“You’re back,” I say, eyes looking up from the couch. “Long day?”
“Mhmm,” Gaeul says, walking in with quiet footsteps. “Just had the 2026 Reading Korea event done.”
“Wanna watch TV? Or maybe play some games?
She shakes her head with a gentle smile. “I just want to read a little and unwind.”
“Then come here first,” I say, patting my lap. “Let’s get that overdue ear cleaning appointment done today while you read. You deserve to relax from all the chaos.”
Gaeul sets her bag down by the kitchen counter and walks towards me, settling comfortably as she rests her head on my lap. Book in her hand and the ear cleaning kit in mine, I thread my fingers through her dark, smooth hair that’s spilt across my thighs like ink, gathering it to the side to expose her ear. With a slight shift of her head to get herself in position, she opens Scythe and starts reading aloud in her soft, steady voice.
I open the box and take out the ear pick, starting slowly and carefully to trace the soft flesh of her outer ear with the cool metal end of the ear pick, before sliding in with careful scrapes.
Working gently, I clear away the invisible weight of her endless practices, stages, cameras and judgmental stares. Each drag triggering a small shiver of pleasure, each curl drawing a soft moan of approval. Between strokes, my free hand brushes the stray strands of hair from her temple, swaying softly from the cool breeze of the air-conditioning.
“This line here is pretty nice,” she says, turning up slightly to look at me when I lift the ear pick off for a brief clean.
I look down at her glassy eyes.
“You’ve been blooming so beautifully,” I murmur, sliding the pick back in. “Aphrodite with your lovely pink hair, Persephone with jet black… The world is finally seeing how radiant you always have been. But right now, you don't have to shine for anyone.” I rub my thumb across her cheek, leaning down to plant a kiss on her forehead.
“Just stay right here with me.”
“If you keep saying sweet things while digging my ears, I really won't be able to finish this chapter,” she chuckles softly, cheeks pink from my affection.
I swap sides to work on her other ear, making sure to be as tender and as loving as possible, removing the weight of her burdens and worries that’s clouding her. The room is soon replaced with deep and calm breathing, her body melting and relaxing further into my lap as the gentle cleaning continues. The silent intimacy wraps arounds both of us like soft silk.
No spotlight, no pressure. Just the soft sound of the metal against skin, her calm presence, and the occasional turn of a page.
When I’m done, I gently tap her shoulder after setting the tool aside.
“All done~” I whisper.
Gaeul closes the book with a contented sigh and turns her head to look up at me.
“All clean. I’ll go shower now—”
“Wait.” Her fingers catch my wrist. “Let me do yours too. It's only fair.”
“No need, baby. You should get some rest—”
Greeted with her insistent pout, I give out a sigh of reluctant defeat. She shifts and guides my head into her lap, mirroring my actions from before, cradling me like a baby between the warmth of her thighs.
“You feel nice,” I mumble, snuggling into her.
With focused care, Gaeul picks up the other pair of ear picks and begins to clean my ears. Free hand threading lightly through my hair, her hands dance across my face softly like she’s playing pianississimo on a piano.
“Read to me?”
I pick up the book and continue from where she left off, feeling her gentle, loving scrapes that sends small waves of comfort through me. With each passing second, the words linger in the soft lamplight, letting them settle between us, seeping into our hearts.
“Love remained mortal, while we became eternal.” I read, turning a page.
Hearing the words, her movements grow even gentler, as though she is savouring this small, shared moment as much as I am. She hums a small approval at the words, pondering deeply about its meaning.
“I like that line,” she says. “Don’t you think it's fascinating? We live in a world that wants everything to be perfect for eternity, and yet real love still feels so fragile and precious, especially in the small moments.”
“I do~” I hum, closing my eyes to let her words simmer within me. “It makes me want to cherish small simple things more, like us right now, cleaning each other’s ears after a long day, listening to you read, or even just us sitting together on this couch in silence, accompanying each other.”
I set the open book against my chest and draw in a slow measured breath, letting my feelings for her come through. “Because love stays mortal and fleeting… and that's what makes it much more beautiful,” I say, turning to the next page.
Time goes by as Gaeul works on my other ear, her soft soothing hums and my steady words forming a dome of shared, sacred space around us, one that at least keeps our love for each other intact and deeply bound.
When she finally sets the tool down, I look up at her. She's smiling at me with a small, quiet affection, her fingers still threaded through my hair, thumb grazing the warm smoothness of my forehead.
I close the book and sit up, speaking the last line I have just seen like a promise I have made just for her and her alone.
“We are imperfect beings, and perfection is not our goal.”
Resting my forehead gently onto hers, I cup her cheeks on both sides and whisper into her mouth.
“Gaeul, I love you. And being here with you like this… it’s more than enough.”
Your life after that took on a dullness that followed you everywhere you went.
Days passed in the slow, unremarkable way they often do after something devastating.
You moved through each day as if you were learning to live without something that had always been there.
The wedding invitation remained on your nightstand, shifted occasionally from one part of your room to another, but never thrown away. Sometimes you turned it face down, other times you tucked it beneath a book as if hiding it might also hide the decision waiting inside it. By evening, it always found its way back into view.
Whether to go should have been simple.
Every sensible reason pointed in one direction.
Don’t go.
Don’t stand in a room dressed for celebration while your chest caves in quietly beneath rented lighting and floral arrangements.
Don't watch Mayu walk toward a future you once built in daydreams.
Don't shake hands with the man who was brave in all the places you had been careful.
Don't become a witness to the fruit of your own absence.
The logic was there, you didn't need to think twice.
Yet grief rarely respects logic.
Because another voice kept answering.
Go because she asked you once, long before any of this, if you would be there when it mattered.
Go because you had spent years loving her in silence, and silence had already cost enough.
Go because some part of you still wanted one final look, even if it ruined you.
You hated that voice most of all.
At night, you lay awake replaying the scene in your apartment with the obsessive cruelty memory reserves for fresh wounds. Her standing by the window. Her saying she loved you. Her saying it too late.
You revisited every expression, every pause, as if somewhere inside them there might be a version of events that ended differently.
But there was none.
Some mornings, your anger made the decision for you.
You would stare at the invitation and think, absolutely not.
Let her marry without your blessing. Let her wonder if you stayed away because you hated her. Let your absence speak where words have failed.
By afternoon, the anger thinned.
Then came the tenderness that was equally unhelpful.
You would remember her laughing in your apartment over that old DVD. The way she straightened the photograph before setting it back. The tremor in her voice when she said she had loved you badly.
And suddenly not going felt less like a choice and more like another unfinished what-if between you.
So the days kept passing, and the answer kept changing.
You tried to imagine each version of yourself.
The man who stayed home, who muted his phone and endured the day by refusing to know what time vows were exchanged.
The man who attended, smiled politely, applauded at the right moments, and died in small invisible ways throughout the reception.
Neither looked admirable. Both looked tired.
By the week’s end, the invitation was bent at one corner from being handled too often.
You sat at your kitchen table with it in your hands and understood something bitterly simple.
There had never been an easy answer.
A thought came to you with the kind of clarity that only arrives after days of thinking of every other possibility.
Maybe this was how moving on began.
Not with speeches, not with sudden strength nor promises and not with waking up one morning mysteriously healed.
You had spent too long living inside alternate versions of your life. Worlds where you confessed sooner. Worlds where she chose differently. Worlds where timing was useful for once. Worlds where one brave sentence from either of you changed everything that followed.
You had built entire memories from ifs.
If you had spoken in university.
If you had kissed her that night after the festival.
If you had stopped answering her calls.
If she had been honest.
If you had been less careful.
If love had ever been enough on its own.
Those versions of life had kept you company, but they had also kept you where you were.
As long as possibility remained hidden, some part of you would keep feeding it, keep polishing it, keep returning to it when the real world felt too much.
Maybe the only way forward was to watch the door close with your own eyes.
To see her walk toward someone else under full light, with witnesses, with vows, with music, with all the ceremony required to kill a daydream properly.
To stand there and know, finally, that no hidden chapter was waiting after this one because grief thrives in uncertainty, it grows in hesitation, unanswered questions, and in things that almost were.
Truth, even the brutal truth, was a pill that was difficult to swallow yet you still could.
You looked down at the invitation in your hands.
The corner was creased. Your thumb had worn a faint softness into the paper from holding it too often.
Maybe this was evidence.
Evidence that something real had existed, even if it had never become what you wanted. Evidence that you had loved deeply enough to be broken by it. Evidence that life does not always reward sincerity, but that sincerity still counts for something.
You exhaled slowly.
Maybe going would destroy the last of your hope.
Maybe that was exactly what hope had become, something that needed ending.
You imagined yourself there. Watching her smile. Watching her choose. Feeling something in you collapse and, afterward, realizing you were still standing.
That possibility felt almost merciful.
Because if you could survive the worst version of it, then everything after might finally become peaceful.
No more rehearsing confessions to an empty room.
No more checking your phone when it buzzed.
No more treating the past with regret.
Eventually it'll only be silence, plain and clean, instead of pain mixed with imagination.
You set the invitation on the table and stared at it for a long time.
Then you reached for your phone and checked the ceremony time again.
Not to make a decision.
But because you already had one.
You arrived in front of the hall an hour early before the main event started.
From the back seat of the taxi, you watched the entrance through the tinted window.
Guests were already arriving in small groups. Men adjusted their cuffs and coat hems before stepping out of cars. Women smoothed dresses at the waist, checked lipstick in compact mirrors, lifted skirts over puddles that weren't there.
Older relatives moved slower, carrying envelopes. Younger couples arrived holding hands until they reached the doors, then separated just enough to look formal again.
At a table near the entrance, two attendants smiled as people signed the guest book, pens passing from hand to hand. Cards were placed into a polished box.
Then everyone disappeared inside.
You stayed where you were.
The driver glanced at you once in the mirror, then wisely chose to not say anything.
The air conditioner hummed softly. Somewhere on the radio, a song played low enough to not be a bother.
You looked down at your hands.
They were steady, which felt insulting.
Outside, another taxi pulled up. A laughing group of friends got out, one of them carrying a bouquet wrapped in pale paper. Someone nearly forgot a gift bag and had to run back for it. Their laughter rang briefly across the curb before the doors swallowed it.
You wondered what it must feel like to arrive happy.
Your gaze lifted to the hall again.
White flowers framed the entrance, the same ones she picked. Gold lettering displayed the couple’s names on a polished board with her name beside his.
You looked away.
There was still time to tell the driver to leave.
You imagined giving an address at random, going home, taking off the suit and spending the afternoon face down in bed while somewhere across the city vows were exchanged without your witness.
Part of you wanted the easy way out.
Another part knew you had not come this far for mercy.
A staff member opened the main doors wider as more guests arrived. Through the gap, you caught a glimpse of warm light, floral arrangements, people moving inside like figures in another life.
The driver cleared his throat gently.
“Sir,” he said, “are you getting out?”
You stared at the entrance a moment longer.
Then you reached for the handle.
You stepped outside, and the city met you with its usual self, traffic continued, a bus sighed to a stop at the curb, someone across the street laughed into a phone call that had nothing to do with you.
The sky remained bright, untroubled. It was almost mocking you with how ordinary the world could stay on the day you were asking it to witness something private and catastrophic.
You paid the driver, thanked him out of habit, and closed the door.
Then you crossed the road.
The suit jacket sat neatly on your shoulders, your shoes clicked against stone with more confidence than you felt.
By the time you reached the steps, another couple had fallen into pace beside you. They were talking quietly about table numbers. You let them pass first, grateful for the cover of strangers.
At the top, the attendants turned to you with the same polished warmth they had offered everyone else.
“Welcome,” one of them said with a practiced smile. “Thank you for coming.”
You nodded.
The other gestured toward the guest book table.
“Please sign in here, sir.”
The pen felt oddly heavy in your hand.
Rows of names already filled the pages. Friends, relatives, colleagues, people who belonged cleanly to this day. You searched for an empty line longer than necessary, then wrote your name in careful strokes.
“I'm glad you could make it.” You looked up, placing the pen on the guest book.
Rin approached you from the entrance, standing clean and confidently in the suit he was about to be wedded in.
You gathered enough will to etch on a believable smile as you reached and shook his hand.
“I told her I was going,” you replied. “I wasn't really planning on missing a big day.”
Liar.
Up close, he looked exactly as he always had whenever you had briefly met him before, put together, honest, easy in his own skin. There was a hint of nervousness there too, but it was the softest kind, the nerves of someone about to promise forever, not the nerves of someone watching forever happen to someone else.
“Looking good,” he said, glancing at your suit.
For one dangerous second, you nearly told him she picked it.
Instead, you said, “Thanks.”
Rin adjusted his cuff absentmindedly, then looked back toward the hall doors where staff moved in quick, purposeful lines.
“Everything’s a blur today,” he admitted. “I thought I’d be calm, but apparently my body disagrees.”
“You seem calm enough.”
“Outside, I’m trying to be calm.” He smiled. “Inside, I’m a nervous wreck.”
You nodded as if that were funny.
Part of you hated him for being kind.
Choosing to be cruel would have been easier and choosing to be arrogant would have been useful. If he had been smug or shallow or unattentive, you could have built an enemy out of him and carried that into the ceremony.
Instead, he was nothing else but a man in love.
Which made your loss feel less like robbery and more like failure.
Rin glanced at the guest book, then back at you.
“Mayu should still be in her dressing room.”
You snapped your head almost immediately before looking away again.
“Oh yeah?” you shrugged as you tried to keep anything from slipping. “I mean, she should be. The ceremony doesn’t start until an hour from now.”
“Would you like to see her?”
Your mind lurched in opposite directions at once.
No.
Yes.
Absolutely not.
More than anything.
You looked past him toward the hallway beyond the entrance where staff moved briskly in and around the place, where somewhere behind closed doors Mayu was preparing to be a bride in layers of silk, powder, nerves, and jewelry.
You imagined her seated before a mirror while hands adjusted her veil. Imagined her laughing too brightly to hide her nervousness. Imagined her alone for one brief second between preparations, staring at herself as if asking whether reflection counted as consent.
“I don’t want to interrupt,” you said.
“You won’t be interrupting anything.” Rin’s smile held no suspicion, only warmth. “She’s been looking for you since she got here.”
That sentence struck harder than it should have.
Even now, even here, she was reaching backward while stepping forward.
You swallowed.
“I’m sure she has enough on her mind.”
“She does,” he said lightly. “Which is why seeing a good friend might help.”
You almost declined again. You should have. There was still dignity available in small portions far from this.
Rin gestured toward a side corridor. “Come on. I’ll walk you there.”
You followed before common sense could catch up.
The hallway behind the main lobby was quieter, carpeted thick enough to muffle footsteps. The noise of arriving guests faded behind closed doors, replaced by distant voices, the rustle of fabric, a burst of laughter from some unseen room, then silence again.
Framed photographs of flowers lined the walls and everything smelled faintly of perfume and the specific smell of polished wood.
Rin walked beside you with the relaxed pace he always had.
He stopped in front of a door, “I’ll leave you here. I’m afraid the groom can’t see the bride before the wedding starts.” he says with an easy grin, tapping the door once with the back of his knuckles.
“Apparently I’m only allowed to ruin tradition after the ceremony,” he added.
You managed something that resembled a smile.
Rin rested a hand briefly on your shoulder, the gesture casual and sincere enough to be unbearable.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “Really.”
He turned and walked back down the corridor, one hand slipping into his pocket, already being called by someone halfway down the hall.
You watched him go.
For a moment, you considered leaving.
The door stood in front of you, ordinary as any other door in any other building. Your hand slowly reached out as the same voice told you to walk away, to run, to keep distance and call it respect.
For once, you didn’t listen. Your hand held the knob and turned it to click open.
The room beyond blinded you with light.
Not brightly in the harsh sense, but golden, softened by bulbs circling a long mirror and the divided daylight slipping through half-drawn curtains. The air carried the mixed smell of sweet perfume, strong hairspray, and fresh flowers.
It wasn’t long before you saw her.
Mayu was sitting in front of her mirror, hands intertwining on her lap with her thumbs tapping against one another— something subtle she did when she was nervous.
For a second, you didn’t move.
You just stood there, half inside the room, as if stepping any farther would push you to run away.
Mayu’s eyes met yours through the mirror.
Her hands stilled.
The small, restless movement of her thumbs stopped like it had been caught mid-thought.
She turned, slowly, carefully, as if even that needed to be done right today.
For a second that stretched longer than it should’ve, neither of you said anything.
“Hey.” you broke the silence first, raising a hand before being unsure what to do with it.
“You came.” her voice wasn’t loud, but it crossed the room anyway.
“I said I would, didn’t I?” you closed the door behind you.
Her eyes grazed over your suit, “You wore it.”
“You picked it for me.” you walked closer, taking each step with intent of not breaking in front of her.
“I didn’t think you would listen.”
“I don’t, usually.”
A faint smile touched her lips but it didn’t stay long.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It pressed in from all sides, filled with everything you hadn’t said in your apartment, everything she had said too late.
Mayu stood.
She moved carefully, gathering a small part of her dress as she stepped toward you, the fabric sweeping softly against the floor.
“I came here to watch you get married,” you said then added right after, “And to apologize.”
Mayu’s lips opened, as if she was about to object but you spoke again.
“I meant what I said back then but I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you, I didn’t mean to scare you away.”
Mayu stared at you as if the apology had arrived in the wrong language.
For a moment, she only blinked then she shook her head once, small and immediate.
“No.” The word came out soft, but certain. “You shouldn’t apologize for that.”
“I want to.”
“You should just be angry at me because you have every right to be.” Her voice trembled on the last word.
You looked away first, toward the table cluttered with brushes, pins, a lipstick left uncapped.
“I still shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
Mayu stepped closer, the hem of her dress whispered over the floor.
“You think you scared me?” she asked quietly.
“You walked out.” You met her eyes again.
“I walked out because you were right.” She drew in a breath, thinking of her words.
“I left because for the first time, I heard what I had done from your side. Not the version I told myself. Not the softer one where I was confused, or overwhelmed, or unlucky.” Her fingers tightened around the folds of her skirt. “The real version.”
You said nothing.
Because there was nothing to defend.
Because truth had already done its work.
“I went home,” she continued, “and I sat on the floor in my apartment and cried for the next hour.”
Despite everything, the image of her nearly loosened you.
“I kept hearing you say I took years from you.” her eyes filled again, though her tone stayed the same. “And I hated that it was true.”
“I didn’t come here to make you cry before your wedding.” You swallowed.
“Too late now.” a weak laugh escaped her.
You looked at her properly then, at the careful makeup that hid the bags under her eyes, at the pearls at her throat, at the veil waiting behind her like a door she was ready to go through.
“You look beautiful,” you said, the words slipped out before pride could stop it.
“W—what?” Mayu’s breath caught.
“I remember you asking how you looked with the dress,” you smiled, despite the moment. “I just figured out what to say now.”
A sound left her that was almost a laugh and almost a sob.
“You’re unbelievable,” she said, covering her mouth for a moment as tears gathered anyway. “You wait until now?”
“I’ve never been known for timing.”
“That much is true.”
She dabbed carefully beneath one eye, trying not to disturb the work someone had spent an hour creating.
You watched her do it and thought, absurdly, that heartbreak required a surprising amount of maintenance.
When she lowered her hand, she was smiling through it. Not long after, you watched you step closer and closer until she stood in front of you.
Her arms then placed themselves around you, pulling you deeper.
For one stunned second, you did not move.
Your body forgot every instruction it had rehearsed on the way here. Keep distance. Be polite. Survive this. Leave intact.
Then instinct took over dignity.
Your arms came around her slowly, then fully.
The dress was softer than you expected, layered fabric and delicate structure beneath your hands. Beneath that, her body trembled with the effort of holding itself together.
You closed your eyes.
This was bad for you in every possible sense.
The scent of her hair, the warmth of her against you, the familiarity so immediate it passed thought entirely. Your hands remembered her before your mind could object.
Outside the room, someone laughed in the hallway.
Inside it, the world had narrowed to breath and heartbeat.
“I hate you,” she whispered into your shoulder.
You let out a soft, broken laugh.
“I doubt it.”
When Mayu pulled back, there were faint marks of her makeup on the fabric of your suit. She reached up slowly, thumb brushing them away slowly as she looked up at you.
“Thank you.” she said. “For having stuck with me for so long, for always being so reliable, for being there when you didn’t want to and for choosing me even when you were scared. And I hope someone else does the same for you, someone that’s braver.”
A smile grew on your lips then, one that was bittersweet to the taste.
A knock sounded at the door suddenly.
“Mayu? Five minutes,” a woman called cheerfully, unaware of what was happening inside.
“I should go.” you told her, still with the same smile.
Mayu’s hand caught lightly at your sleeve before you could step back.
“Wait.” The word came out small, but urgent.
You looked at her.
Her fingers loosened immediately, as if even touching you now required permission she no longer believed she had. She let her hand fall between you.
“I mean...” She swallowed. “Not yet.”
Another knock sounded, gentler this time.
“Five minutes, Mayu.”
“Fine,” she called, though her eyes never left yours.
You nodded your head at her before you turned and your steps led you to the door.
Until you turned on your heel.
She had already turned around too, half way back to the front of the mirror when she heard you from behind.
“Koma Mayu!”
You shouted, not caring for the people on the other side of the door.
She turned around, brow raised at the sudden volume of your voice in the quiet room. Seeing you smile brightly across the room despite the tears welling in your eyes, she didn’t just see the man that stood there, she saw the boy who took the fall for her in elementary, the teenager that always walked her home and the young man that had loved her for years.
“I hope you live a happy life!”
You continued, arm finding itself raised from your side with your fist balled.
Mayu almost laughed at that but she held her expression down.
Then as her eyes gleamed and shimmered against the afternoon light to look back, you shouted again,
“I love you!”
You didn’t cry as you spoke the truth that had been hidden for so long. Instead, a laugh broke through your smile and one that she shared with you.
You waved at her now, one that meant goodbye for now but also meant I'll always be here.
That was when you reached for the door again and after one last look at her, you walked out.
The ceremony started not long after.
You chose to seat with a couple of old and recognizable classmates from way back then, some still certain that it should had been you waiting at the end of the altar but you didn’t say anything to object instead you just accepted their words and said,
“I guess I wasn’t really good with timing.”
That earned you a few small, knowing laughs that didn’t quite reach anyone’s eyes.
The hall was too bright for something like honesty to hide in it. Light spilled over everything in soft gold, floral arches, polished seats, the careful arrangement of a day that had been rehearsed into perfection. Even the air felt arranged, like it had been ironed flat.
Someone beside you leaned in slightly. “Still…weird, right?”
You didn’t ask what they meant since you already knew.
So you just gave a small shrug, the kind that doesn’t invite more afterwards, and kept your eyes forward.
The music began, gentle enough to make everything feel slower than it was.
And then she appeared.
Mayu.
For a second, your mind did that infuriating thing where it tried to protect you by pretending she didn’t know you yet, the illusion broke almost immediately, because there was no version of her that could ever be ordinary again once seen like this.
She stood at the entrance of the aisle, framed by light and white flowers that looked almost unreal against her, silk moved like water around her steps. The veil softened her outline behind the cloth, made her look slightly distant, like she had already begun crossing into somewhere you couldn’t follow.
Her hands were folded carefully in front of her.
You noticed that immediately.
She walked forward, each step was measured, but not effortless. There was something contained in it, something held tightly behind her ribs that no one else in the room seemed to notice.
Except maybe you.
Maybe only you.
Her eyes didn’t immediately search the crowd.
That was the first strange thing.
Instead, she kept them forward, fixed on the end of the aisle where Rin waited.
Rin stood there in a suit that fit him like certainty. He looked steady in a way that made the entire room feel more grounded just by comparison.
When she reached him, he smiled.
He looked like someone ready to take the next step forward and then he extended his hand.
Mayu didn’t hesitate before placing hers in it.
The ceremony began.
Words were spoken.
Promises were made.
The officiant’s voice rose and fell in practiced rhythm, turning something deeply irreversible into something that sounded almost gentle.
You didn’t hear most of it. Well, not really.
When it came time for vows, Rin spoke first.
His voice was steady, warm, unshaken in the way people sound when they believe in what they’re saying without needing to survive it first. He spoke about time, about choosing someone every day, about something like certainty shaped into language.
Mayu spoke next, voice steady like his and sure of the words she was reading off of. When she joked in between them, you laughed with the crowd and didn’t feel that pang that twisted inside of your chest.
Rin smiled at her when she finished speaking. Not the relieved kind. The kind that believed he had just heard something true.
The officiant spoke again, voice lifting toward the part everyone had been waiting for.
Then the question was asked.
It was simple.
It had always been.
And yet the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Rin spoke first.
“I do.”
Applause flickered through the hall like a reflex before silence returned, gentler now, expectant.
All eyes turned to her.
Mayu stood there for a second longer than necessary, not enough for anyone else to notice, enough for you to feel it anyway.
Her fingers tightened faintly at her side as she spoke.
“I do.”
The room exhaled all at once, as if permission had finally been granted for everything to continue.
Someone beside you smiled. “See? Told you it was meant to be.”
You didn’t respond.
Because there wasn’t anything left in that moment that felt worth shaping into words.
The officiant continued speaking, voice smooth again, carrying the ceremony forward. Around you, the hall reacted exactly as it was supposed to. Applause softened into smiles then softened into relief that finally softened into celebration.
Rin and Mayu turned slightly toward each other as instructed, bodies aligning in practiced choreography. There was a brief pause before the next instruction, that small suspended gap where the world waits for something intimate to be made public.
Mayu’s hands remained steady.
That detail stayed with you longer than anything else.
The officiant lifted his hand slightly.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Rin leaned in first.
The moment was gentle, deliberate, and carefully contained, like something placed down rather than taken.
The kiss was brief, not to show too much to the crowd.
The room responded instantly, applause rising like it had been waiting behind everyone’s teeth the entire time.
You clapped with them.
Beside you, someone let out a quiet laugh of satisfaction, same as the other people in the room.
Mayu pulled back after the kiss, her expression composed in the way people learn to be.
She smiled, the kind of smile that was practiced for the occasion.
Rin was smiling too.
The officiant spoke again, voice brightening as he announced them.
The hall rose gradually, chairs shifting, fabric moving, bodies preparing to transition from witnessing to participating.
You stayed seated a moment longer than most as applause continued.
Music began again, softer now, celebratory in a way that required no interpretation.
Rin and Mayu turned toward the crowd.
Hand in hand.
The beginning of something officially acknowledged.
Mayu’s gaze moved across the room again, slowly this time, as if acknowledging each section of the day she had agreed to belong to.
It passed over relatives.
Over friends.
Over rows of carefully arranged approval.
And then, for the briefest fraction of a second, it reached where you were standing.
It didn’t stop.
It didn’t linger.
But it did recognize you before moving on.
The applause did not change.
The music did not falter.
And the ceremony continued exactly as it was supposed to.
When the reception began winding down and each table was called one by one to take photographs with the newly married couple. You nearly forced yourself to leave before it was your turn.
You watched guests rise in groups, smoothing jackets, fixing hair, laughing as they made their way toward the stage where Mayu and Rin sat beneath flowers that had already begun to curl at the edges.
Every few minutes another burst of applause followed the camera shutter.
You checked your watch though you already knew the time. You reached for your coat though you had no real reason to. You considered slipping out through the side doors while everyone’s attention was elsewhere.
It would have been easy as quiet exits always are.
But each time you thought to stand, another table was called, and you remained where you were, caught between the urge to disappear and the strange obligation to stay long enough for her to see you.
Then someone over the mic called for your table.
You stood last, letting your old friends move ahead of you so their figures could become a temporary shield. They joked among themselves as they walked, unaware or kind enough to pretend they were unaware. You followed a step behind, hands in your pockets, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor.
The path to the stage felt longer than it should have.
By the time you reached it, everyone had already arranged themselves with the easy instinct of people who still belonged in one another’s lives. You took the remaining space at the edge of the group.
Mayu and Rin continued to smile as the other people huddled behind their seats.
“Sir, could you move a bit more to the center?” The photographer said, looking at your direction.
You hesitantly raised your hand and they nodded.
A few people shuffled aside to make room, someone patted your shoulder as if that made any of this simpler. You stepped forward, careful not to brush against anyone more than necessary, until you found yourself nearer the center than you had wanted.
Nearer to her than you had planned.
Mayu turned slightly when you approached. Up close, her makeup was still spotless, as if she hadn’t shed any tears during the ceremony and even before. She still looked beautiful in your eyes.
For a moment, her smile changed.
It did not disappear, but it loosened around the edges into something less public and more familiar. Something that remembered smaller rooms, ordinary afternoons, versions of both of you that no one else here had known.
“Thanks for staying,” she said softly enough that only you could hear.
You nodded once.
“Congratulations.”
The word came out clean, you were grateful for that much.
The photographer lifted his camera.
“Everyone closer, please.”
The group compressed inward. You felt Mayu’s arm brush lightly against yours as everyone adjusted for the frame.
“One more smile!”
The shutter clicked.
Then again.
And again.
When it was done, people relaxed instantly, already laughing, already stepping away, already moving toward the next part of the evening.
Mayu looked at you one last time.
There were a thousand things neither of you said, and perhaps that was enough.
“Take care,” she said.
“You too.”
Then someone called her name. Rin leaned in to answer another guest. A cousin tugged at her sleeve for another picture. The current of celebration reclaimed her without resistance.
You stepped down from the stage.
By the time the next table was being called, you were already walking toward the exit. Before you walked out, you excused yourself with reasons everyone pretended to believe, though the truth was simpler than any of them would have admitted. You had already seen everything you came there to see.
The air outside felt different, much colder than the air inside.
You stood at the curb for a moment longer than necessary, as though waiting for your body to catch up with the decision your mind had made minutes ago. Then you raised a hand.
A taxi slowed to the curb. You stepped inside.
The driver asked nothing at first, only a brief glance through the mirror.
You gave him your address, your voice spilling out steady enough to pass for ordinary.
As the car pulled away, the wedding hall receded behind traffic and distance, back into the city.
Streetlights passed in predictable turns across the window, people crossed intersections with groceries, umbrellas, conversations, all the small things of life that were still in motion. No one paused for what had ended inside you an hour earlier.
And the world continued whether you liked it or not.
-
Months passed after that.
You lived in a smaller, quieter version of life. One that asked little of you and, in return, offered to be as predictable as it could be.
Days returned to normalcy, though dimmer at some points, as if something that used to be there had been removed from the room. Work filled the hours in tidy portions. Meals happened when they were meant to happen and nights arrived without much struggle and left the same way.
Mayu remained absent from all of it.
Sometimes your phone would light up and your hand would pause for half a second, an old reflex refusing to change.
But it was never her name.
Eventually even that instinct learned to move on.
You told yourself this was what it was supposed to look like.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like triumph and you weren’t supposed to be healed overnight. Moving on was just the slow return of ordinary things.
And you start to regain the years you had lost, with newer experiences and newer memories that took space in your mind with other people.
-
One afternoon, you found yourself entering the same bakery she brought you along to but without her memories lingering in the air. Warmth wrapped around you immediately, carrying sugar, butter, and something faintly floral from the baked goods cooling behind glass.
The same display case. The same handwritten labels. The same neat rows of pastries were arranged like they had always been waiting for someone to choose carefully.
You approached the counter.
“How may I help you?” The attendant looked up with a practiced smile.
“Um, I was actually looking for a slice that I saw months ago. I’m not sure if it’s still available.”
“What was it?” They asked.
“The Gateau Debord? I think that was how you say it.” you chuckled, embarrassed by your own interpretation.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I’m afraid we just ran out.” The attendant replied.
You nodded in understanding when you heard rustling coming from the back then someone else walked out.
The same girl that had told you about the cake months ago.
She stepped out from the back with a small tray in her hands, pausing mid-step the moment her eyes landed on you.
For a fraction of a second, her expression didn’t change before recognition settled into a place where surprise had taken over.
“It’s you again—” she began, then stopped, as if deciding whether memory had the right to speak first.
You blinked once.
“Hey,” you said, because your brain defaulted to politeness before anything else could form.
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked, setting the tray down on the counter and looked over the display glass.
The other attendant then explained it to her before you could continue.
“Ah, I think I could help with that.” she smiled shyly looking at the two other people in the bakery.
Moments later, you were seated by the window. Outside, the street kept moving in its unbothered rhythm. Cars slid past in muted colors. A cyclist weaved through a gap like it had been there for him alone. Somewhere down the road, a bus sighed to a stop, then carried on without hesitation.
Inside, the bakery held its warmth around you.
A small plate was placed in front of you a few minutes later.
“Here you go, our last slice of Gateau Debord.” The attendant stood in front of your table, her tray folded neatly against her chest as she bowed her head.
“I thought you guys ran out.”
“We did…until I remembered I kept a slice hidden.” The attendant’s voice softened, eyes glancing over to yours then over to the empty seat in front of you.
You looked at her then leaned to the side to see the older attendant still at the counter.
“Does your boss know about this?”
She froze for half a second then she smiled, a little too quickly.
“It’s not exactly…against the rules,” she said, though her tone made it clear she wasn’t fully convinced by her own defense. “It was reserved. Just not officially labeled for today.”
Your eyes glossed over her nametag.
Kawai Ruka.
“Well, I’m really the type to take anything from someone else. I think you should have this.” You pushed the plate back. “I’ll take anything else.”
“R—really?” she said immediately before retracting, “I mean, you could have it.”
Her words came out too fast, like they were trying to outrun her hesitation.
You glanced at the slice on the plate again. It sat there neatly, almost too carefully presented for something that was apparently “not officially labeled for today.”
“I could,” you said, voice calm, “but it feels like something you’re supposed to regret later if you give it away that easily.”
Silence settled between you again, that wasn't uncomfortable letting the bakery’s soft hum fill it instead.
Ruka finally shifted her hands, fingers curling lightly around the edge of her apron.
“It was reserved,” she said again, softer this time, as if repeating it made it more legitimate. “Someone ordered it earlier and never picked it up. So technically… it would’ve been thrown away.”
You looked at her properly then.
“Then why don't we share it?”
Ruka blinked.
The suggestion seemed to reach her a second later than it should have, as if it had to pass through several layers of caution before arriving somewhere she could react from.
“Share it?” she repeated.
You gave a small shrug. “That way nobody steals from anyone, nobody breaks policy, and the cake gets shared between two people who apparently want it.”
Her fingers tightened around the tray she was still holding. For a moment, you thought she might refuse out of habit alone. Some people were so practiced at declining kindness that they mistook it for discipline.
Instead, she drew in a breath and glanced toward the counter where the older attendant was busy wrapping bread for another customer.
“I can take my break now,” she said after a pause.
She disappeared for a minute and returned without the apron, her nametag removed, her hair tied back more loosely than before.
She sat across from you by the window, careful in the way people sit when they are not yet sure they are meant to stay.
You moved the plate to the center of the table.
Ruka reached for a second fork she had brought and placed it beside yours. The metal touched porcelain with a small, clear sound before she took a small piece for herself.
You held in a laugh.
“Is it good?” you asked.
Ruka paused with the fork halfway back to the plate, as if the question required more care than it should have.
She finished chewing before answering.
“It is,” she said quietly. “Though I’m not sure if that’s because it’s actually good or because I’ve wanted to try it for weeks.”
A faint smile touched her mouth, brief and sudden.
You took a bite of your own.
The cake was rich without being too much, layered with dark sponge and cream that carried a bitterness just sharp enough to keep the sweetness level. It was better than you expected, that felt fitting somehow.
“It’s good,” you admitted.
“I told you.”
She seemed to realize what she’d said only after it had left her, and her eyes lowered immediately to the plate between you.
Outside, rain began without warning.
It started as dots against the glass, then steadied into the start of a shower. People quickened their pace. A man across the street unfolded an umbrella too late for him to stay dry.
The bakery lights grew brighter.
“The next time you go here, I'll make sure to have a fresh batch waiting.” she said after a moment.
You looked up at her.
“The next time?”
Ruka seemed to hear herself only then.
A faint flush rose to her face, subtle but noticeable. Her fingers adjusted needlessly around the fork in her hand.
“I mean,” she said carefully, eyes lowering to the plate, “if you come back here again.”
There was something earnest in the correction, and something smaller beneath it that did not want to be corrected at all.
“I guess I’ll come visit more often,” you said, a smile growing.
For a moment, she only stared at you, as if deciding whether that answer was serious or simply polite. Then she gave a small nod, the kind people offer when they do not trust themselves to say more.
Neither of you had noticed how long you had been speaking without names.
You set your fork down.
“I should probably introduce myself before I start promising repeat visits.”
Her eyes lifted again.
“You probably already saw mine,” she said softly, glancing toward where her nametag had been earlier.
“Kawai Ruka,” you said. “I saw it when you were deciding whether you wanted the slice for yourself.”
She let out a quiet laugh before trying to hide it behind her hand.
The laughter stayed in her eyes even after her mouth dropped down.
“And you?” she asked.
You told her your name.
She repeated it once under her breath, then once again more clearly.
“It's nice to meet you.” she said before seeming surprised at herself again.
You reached your hand out then.
“Likewise.”
Ruka slowly raised hers, shaking your hand gently.
Her palm was warm from the bakery, from plates and ovens and the steady labor of the afternoon. The touch was light, careful, as though she was uncertain how much of herself she was allowed to show.
That was when you felt it.
It wasn’t recognition exactly, nor was it memory. It was something older than both. The quiet shift inside your chest when life, without warning, gives you another chance at something you once thought had closed for good.
A breath left you before you could stop it.
Ruka’s eyes lifted to yours. They were clear in a way that made them difficult to hide from, carrying the kind of sincerity that asked for nothing yet still offered something.
Outside, rain pressed softly against the glass. Inside, warmth gathered around the table, around the unfinished cake, around two people who had not expected this afternoon to go into the way that it unfolded.
You held her gaze for one second longer than strangers usually do.
You stared at your phone screen, patiently watching the three dots appear repeatedly.
You sat inside of your kitchen, shoulders tense, elbows on your knees, watching those three dots like they were an oracle with poor communication skills.
When the call was picked up, you immediately pressed the phone against your ear.
“Hello?” Her voice came through.
“Hey, I know it's a bit sudden but are you free today?”
She laughed on the other side, light and airy like how you've heard countless times before.
“That’s weird, I was gonna call and ask the same thing too.”
For a second, you forgot every sentence you had prepared.
All the careful openings, the casual tone you’d rehearsed, the possibility of sounding normal, all of it scattered like papers in wind.
“You were?” you asked, because brilliance often arrives disguised as repetition.
“Yes,” Mayu said. You could hear movement on her end, drawers opening, something set down on a table. “I needed help with something.”
“Of course you do.”
“There he is,” she replied dryly. “I was worried I accidentally called someone pleasant.”
You let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh.
“What do you need help with?”
“One of the bridesmaids asked if I could pick up their dress at one of the shops in the mall, I was wondering if you could come with me. Maybe we could even pick something out for you afterwards.”
You chuckled despite trying to hold it in.
“I find it amusing that they're asking the bride herself to pick it up.”
“Hey, I wouldn't want them to miss it so I'm doing everything I can.
“Very noble of you,” you said. “I’m sure statues will be built.”
“Shut it,” she replied. “Are you coming or not?”
You leaned back in your chair, phone pressed to your ear, staring at the kitchen counter like it might convince you to stay on track.
This was not how you imagined the morning.
You had planned something dramatic in the privacy of your own head, not cinematic exactly, but close enough. Maybe over coffee, with a steady voice. Maybe asking to meet. Maybe finally saying the thing that had lived in your throat for years.
Instead, you were being invited to help retrieve another piece of clothing.
“What time?” you asked.
With unmistakable satisfaction in her voice, “So that’s a yes.”
“I’m just asking.”
“Asking because you're going.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“And yet you're coming with me,” she said.
You pinched the bridge of your nose and looked at the ceiling like it had failed you personally.
This was the oldest trap in your life.
Mayu never pushed hard. She simply spoke as if the outcome had already been decided, then waited for the world to catch up.
“What time?” you repeated.
“Meet me at the entrance of the mall by two.”
You glanced over at the time flashing on the microwave.
10:44.
“At least you were considerate enough to give me time for lunch.”
“Don’t sound so grateful,” she said.
You rose from the chair and wandered toward the sink, phone tucked to your ear, as if movement might disguise the fact that your pulse had not calmed once since she answered.
“You know,” you said, “most people get something back when doing other people favors.”
“Sure, what are you thinking?” then after a second, “I'll hear you out.”
Mayu had said it lightly, probably expecting sarcasm, probably imagining you’d ask for lunch or coffee or the right to complain uninterrupted for twenty minutes.
Instead, your mind supplied one answer with violent clarity.
You.
You swallowed.
“Careful,” you said, forcing your voice steady. “You’re making open-ended offers now.”
“I said I’d hear you out,” she replied. “Not agree.”
“Smart thinking.”
“I know how you work, more than you know.”
You leaned one hand against the counter and closed your eyes.
Ask now.
Say it plainly.
Come with me today, and in return give me one honest conversation.
Tell me if there was ever anything here.
Tell me if I missed my chance or invented it entirely.
Tell me to stop loving you so I can begin the paperwork.
Instead, fear arrived dressed as humor.
“How about we head there earlier? I want lunch,” you said.
“That’s what you want?” Mayu laughed softly.
“For now.”
“You sounded like you were about to ask for something serious.”
“I am asking for something serious.”
You leaned against the counter, eyes closing for a moment.
“Fine, lunch first,” she said. “Then we can go after.”
She said something ordinary, something the two of you had done countless times before. Yet now every simple thing felt altered by the fact that there were only days left before nothing between you could remain simple again.
“What time?” you asked quietly.
“We could meet in front of the mall by noon.”
You checked the microwave clock again.
10:46.
Two hours and fourteen minutes.
That’s enough time to shower, get dressed, rehearse in front of the mirror, abandon it before rehearsing again.
“By noon,” you repeated.
“Yes.” There was a pause on her end, the kind made when someone was deciding whether to add something. “And don’t be late.”
“I'll be there before you know it.”
You looked at the counter, at the chipped edge near the sink, at anything that was not the thought that was subtly rising again.
Say it now.
Just say it while she was a voice in your hand and not a person you could watch yourself lose.
“Mayu.”
“Mhm?”
Your throat tightened.
There it was again, another opportunity.
“I...” You stopped.
On the other end, she didn’t rush to fill the silence.
“You what?” she asked softly.
You stared at the microwave clock as if time itself might rescue you.
10:47.
“I was going to say don’t make me wait outside if you’re late.”
There was a quiet exhale from her end, a toss up between amusement and contentment.
“I won’t,” she said.
You closed your eyes.
The lie had been thin enough to see through. She knew it. You knew she knew it but still, both of you said nothing.
“Good,” you answered.
Another moment of silence settled between you.
You could hear the faint rustle of movement in her apartment, a drawer sliding shut, footsteps across a floor you had never seen but could imagine too easily. Ordinary sounds. The kind people make while continuing with their lives.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
The question came so simply it nearly broke through you.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound like it.”
“I’m just tired.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Your hand tightened around the phone.
Say it.
Tell her the truth for once. Tell her sleep had become impossible. Tell her every hour since the invitation had felt borrowed. Tell her you were terrified of noon because every minute with her now felt numbered.
Instead, you chose another small lie.
“I’m fine,” you said.
She was quiet long enough that you pictured her frowning.
“Alright,” she said at last, though it carried no belief.
You looked again at the clock.
10:48.
“I should get ready,” she continued.
“Right.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you hung up.
The silence stretched, through both ends of the call.
Then, softly, almost as if she regretted saying it the moment it left her mouth,
“You can still tell me things, you know.”
Your breath caught but before you could answer, the line went dead.
You remained in the kitchen with the phone against your ear, listening to the absence she left behind.
Life moved on as you stood in the middle of the mall’s front entrance, eyes drifting around every once in a while in hopes of spotting her at a distance.
The doors sighed open and shut without rest. Cold air spilled out each time, mixing with the bodies moving in and out. Families passed carrying shopping bags that swung against their knees. Teenagers crossed in clusters, loud and careless. Someone argued quietly over the phone near a pillar. Somewhere above you, a speaker played music too bright for how you felt.
You adjusted your sleeves, then your watch, then the collar you had already fixed twice. Every reflective surface became an opportunity to confirm you still looked like yourself and not a man about to make a mess of his own life.
People arrived in pairs, in groups, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder.
You arrived alone.
Your gaze caught on every woman with familiar hair, every coat in the right shade, every stride that almost matched hers until it didn’t. Each false sighting brought the same quick lift in your chest followed by the same small drop.
Ridiculous how hope could rehearse disappointment so efficiently.
You looked toward the street again.
Cars rolled by. The noon light sharpened against glass and metal. A child cried because a balloon had escaped their grasp. A vendor rearranged bottled drinks with enough care.
Then, through the moving crowd, you saw someone slow, turn, and start toward you.
Mayu.
Even at a distance, you knew the shape of her walk, the way her hair cascaded down both sides of her face and the relaxed smile she always wore that somehow made the people around blur into the background.
She crossed through the crowd with the easy certainty of someone who had never needed to search for where she belonged.
A long coat hung open over a simple top and dark trousers, nothing elaborate, nothing chosen to impress. She never needed much help from clothing. Her hair moved lightly with each step, loose around her shoulders, catching the noon light in brief strands. One hand held her bag close against her side. The other lifted once when she noticed you had already seen her.
You tried to look normal.
You failed in ways invisible to everyone except yourself.
By the time she reached you, your pulse had become embarrassingly committed to the occasion.
“Should we get something to eat?”
You nodded before the doors slipped open and you two walked through.
Eventually Mayu dragged you to a cheap fast food place on the second floor.
The kind with brightly colored plastic trays, and even brighter menu boards, and tables that had survived years of elbows, spilled drinks, and stories between people. Oil and salt lived permanently in the air. Children shouted near the corner booths. A fryer hissed somewhere behind the counter with mechanical confidence as the staff scrambled around the kitchen.
It was exactly the sort of place she liked choosing when she had other options.
“You’re getting married in a week,” you said as she studied the overhead menu. “Shouldn’t you be eating anything but fast food?”
“I am but I’m picking up a bridesmaid dress in a mall,” she replied. “Let’s not pretend my life is anywhere near glamorous.”
She ordered first, quick and certain.
You stepped up after her and asked for whatever required the least amount of thought.
When the tray arrived, she claimed a table by the railing overlooking the lower floors. People moved below in slow streams, carrying bags and children and versions of urgency that had nothing to do with you.
Mayu slid into her seat and unwrapped her burger.
“Eat up,” she said. “You got what you asked for.”
You unwrapped yours a second later, slower.
“I don’t remember asking for this specifically,” you said.
“You asked for lunch,” she corrected. “And this is lunch.”
You let out a quiet breath and picked up a fry, more to give your hands something to do than out of any real appetite.
For a while, the two of you ate in silence.
Bite after bite passed, and you finished first.
Mayu was only halfway through hers, eating at the same unhurried pace she seemed to apply to everything. You crumpled the wrapper in your hands and set it aside.
“You inhaled that,” she said.
“I was hungry.”
“Doesn’t seem like the whole truth.” She gave you a look that said she had known you too long for weak revisions.
You reached for your drink and took a sip.
Mayu took another bite, then another, watching you between them but deciding to keep quiet, as if she decided to not let push you further.
Usually she tugged at loose threads.
Today, she let them be.
You looked down at the table. Salt scattered near the tray. A folded napkin. Her phone beside her drink, screen dark. Ordinary objects arranged neatly around the fact that your chest felt anything but orderly.
You glanced back at her.
“This is new,” you said. “Feels like I don’t see you without Rin by your side.”
Mayu's lips curved up slightly, “Yeah, he’s with his parents figuring out the final preparations.”
“Right.” you nodded once, like that explained everything.
She didn’t elaborate. Just took another bite, slower this time, eyes dropping to her food instead of you.
The noise around you filled in where conversation didn’t. A chair scraped. Someone laughed too loudly behind you. A tray clattered somewhere near the counter.
You picked at a fry you hadn’t meant to leave behind.
“He’s been busy,” she added after a moment. “There’s a lot to sort out.”
“Makes sense.”
You watched her for a second longer than necessary. There was something different in the way she sat across from you now. It looked like she was more mindful of your presence than all the times before.
You leaned back slightly in your seat.
“Are you okay?” you asked.
She looked up, a small crease forming between her brows.
“That’s a strange question.”
“You’re getting married in a couple of days,” you said. “I figured all kinds of questions are allowed.”
“I’m fine.” Her gaze stayed on you, steady.
You held her eyes for a moment, then nodded again.
“Okay.”
“You don’t sound convinced.” she wiped her hands with a napkin, slower than before.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
A faint exhale left her, not quite a sigh. “I’m just… tired,” she said. “There’s a lot happening all at once.”
“That part I believe.”
Her mouth curved faintly at that.
For a second, something familiar slipped back into place between you. It wasn’t the past, not exactly, but the version of it that still knew how to sit comfortably in each other’s presence.
Then it faded just as quickly.
She reached for her drink.
“We should go,” she said. “Before I lose motivation to do anything else today.”
You nodded and stood when she did.
The trays were cleared without discussion. The table left behind like nothing had been said there that mattered.
You walked beside her as she led the way out of the food court, back into the steady current of people and noise.
Escalators carried people up and down in patient loops. Storefronts flashed polished glass and seasonal sales. Perfume drifted from one entrance, coffee from another, sugar from somewhere farther ahead. Around you, everyone seemed to know exactly what they had come for.
Mayu walked half a step ahead, one hand resting on the strap of her bag, weaving through the crowd without hesitation. You followed right beside her, arm swinging slightly with every step. Every so often, you could feel your knuckle brush hers.
Each time it happened, slight and accidental, your attention snapped to it with humiliating speed.
Neither of you mentioned it.
She kept walking at the same pace, eyes forward, expression staying the same. If she noticed, she gave nothing away, that had always been one of her sharper talents.
The shop was on the third floor, tucked between a cosmetics store and a place selling polished furniture. Dresses stood in the window on headless mannequins, arranged in careful stillness.
Mayu stopped outside and checked the message on her phone.
“She said it should already be packed,” she murmured.
You looked through the glass at racks of fabric in pale colors and soft light.
“Then this should be quick,” you said.
She didn’t say anything else, instead she slipped her phone back into her bag and pushed the door open.
A bell chimed overhead.
Inside, the store was quieter than the mall outside, softened by carpet and low music. Mirrors lined the walls. Rows of dresses stood in garment bags, tagged and waiting for lives that had not happened yet. A woman at the counter looked up with a practiced smile.
You stood by the door, watching Mayu as she talked to the woman and accepting a paper bag over the counter.
Mayu checked the receipt once, folded it, and slipped it into her bag.
“That’s done,” she said.
You nodded, pushing yourself off the wall. “Just as I thought.”
She turned toward the door, then paused, glancing back at you.
“We still need to get you something to wear.”
“I own clothes.”
“Not ones suitable for a wedding.”
“I’ve attended events before.”
She stepped out of the store without waiting for agreement.
You followed.
The mall noise rushed back in as soon as the door closed behind you. The brightness felt harsher now, like everything had been turned up slightly too high. Mayu moved with the same quiet certainty as before, but slower this time, like she was choosing where to go instead of already knowing.
“You didn’t plan this, did you?” you asked.
“The suit?” she said.
“Yes.”
“No, I knew I wanted to get you something. But I just didn’t expect the lack of stores.”
You glanced around at the row of storefronts ahead.
“There are dozens of stores.”
“Not useful ones.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It’s true,” she said. “Men’s formalwear is usually overpriced, poorly made, or both.”
“You say that like you’ve studied it.”
“I’ve gone shopping with enough people to know.”
She stopped at a mall directory and scanned the list of stores floor by floor.
You stood beside her, watching her finger move down the columns.
“This seems thorough.”
“You’ll be in photographs,” she said. “You should look presentable.”
“I was planning to stand in the back and blur into the background.”
“You’re not disappearing at my wedding.”
The words were simple, said without emphasis. Yet, something in you tightened at hearing them spoken so plainly.
She looked up a second later, as if aware she had said more than intended.
“There,” she said, pointing down the corridor. “Fourth floor.”
You followed her to the escalator.
The crowd shifted around you in steady movement. A child leaned too far over the rail until his mother pulled him back. Someone carried flowers wrapped in paper. A couple argued in low voices near the landing.
Mayu stood one step above you.
You kept your eyes forward.
By the fourth floor, the noise had thinned. The stores were quieter here, brighter, arranged with the careful distance of places that expected people to hesitate before buying anything.
She stopped outside a formal wear shop where mannequins stood in ironed jackets and polished shoes.
Inside, jackets hung in even rows. Mirrors lined the walls. Everything smelled faintly of fabric and wood polish.
A salesman approached.
“Looking for formalwear?”
“For him,” Mayu said.
You opened your mouth, then closed it.
Measurements followed before you could object. Shoulders, chest, sleeves, waist. Questions about size, fit, color, event date.
Mayu answered some of them before you did.
Several suits were brought out. Ones in navy, beige, and the dark hue of charcoal.
You reached for the plainest option.
“Not that one,” she said.
“Why?”
“It doesn’t suit you.”
“That’s vague.”
“It makes you blend in.”
“But that's what I want.”
“If I look at the crowd during the reception, I want to make sure I can pick you out.”
You said nothing.
She handed you the navy jacket.
“Try this.”
You took it and went into the fitting room.
When you stepped out, adjusting the cuff, she was already watching.
The salesman commented on the fit. It flew over your head.
Mayu stepped closer and looked over the shoulders, sleeves, as if checking details no one else would notice.
Then she reached up and straightened the collar.
The touch lasted only a second.
“This one,” she said.
“You’ve decided quickly.”
“I decided before you put it on.”
You turned toward the mirror.
The suit fit well, better than anything you would have chosen for yourself.
In the reflection, Mayu stood just behind you.
Close enough to be mistaken for something else.
The salesman asked about alterations and pickup dates.
Mayu answered before you could.
“Before Sunday,” she said.
You knew why.
As you left the store, the both of you decided to split the cost, neither wanting the other to pay it in full.
The shopping bag swung lightly from your hand as you walked. Beside you, Mayu adjusted the strap on her shoulder and glanced ahead as if already searching for the next task waiting to be handled. She had always moved through days that way, collecting loose ends before they could unravel.
“You didn’t have to pay half,” you said after a while.
“You didn’t have to argue about it.”
“I wasn’t arguing.”
“You were using that tone.”
“What tone?”
“The one that means you act like you're right even before you say anything.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” You looked at her.
She smiled faintly, but it faded quickly.
The fourth floor was quieter than the rest of the mall. Footsteps sounded clearer here. Store windows reflected polished versions of strangers. Somewhere nearby, soft piano music drifted from a speaker hidden in a ceiling corner.
You and Mayu slowed near the railing overlooking the lower levels. Below, people moved in small currents, unaware of how often lives crossed above them without noticing.
She rested her hands lightly on the rail.
“You looked good in it,” she said.
“The suit?”
“Yes.”
“I know, the salesman complimented me about five times.”
“I’m serious.”
You turned your gaze downward.
“I know that too.”
For a moment neither of you spoke. The silence between you was old enough to be comfortable, but lately it had begun carrying thorns in its side.
Then she looked sideways at you.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Your grip tightened around the bag.
“That’s not true.”
“You seem confident.”
“I’ve known you too long.”
The words settled between you like something placed carefully on a table.
You could tell her now.
The mall hummed around you. Elevators opened. Shoes crossed tile. Somewhere a child laughed, somewhere else someone apologized, somewhere else a store clerk recited prices no one wanted to hear.
Ordinary life continued, generous enough to offer cover.
You looked at Mayu beside you, at the woman who would be married in days, at the person who knew the shape of your silences better than anyone else.
Then you said the smallest thing again.
“I’m just tired.”
She studied your face long enough to make lying feel physical.
Then she nodded once.
“Alright.” she said but didn’t sound convinced.
You turned to her fully then.
The shopping bag in your hand suddenly felt heavier, the thin handles pressing into your fingers.
Mayu kept her gaze forward for a moment, watching the floors below as if what she wanted to say might be easier aimed at strangers.
“Actually,” she said again, quieter now, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I just couldn’t find the right timing.”
Your brows lifted before you could stop them.
A hundred impossible thoughts arrived at once, loud and immediate.
Don’t marry him.
I made a mistake.
Did you ever love me too?
Why didn’t you say anything sooner?
Stay.
You hated yourself for how quickly hope could resurrect itself.
“What is it?” you asked.
She exhaled through her nose, almost a laugh but not quite.
“Lets just…talk about it later. We can head to your place, been a while since I last visited.”
You blinked.
The words took a moment to settle, rearranging every expectation that had risen inside you only seconds earlier.
“That’s it?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
A small smile touched her mouth. “Disappointed?”
You looked away toward the floors below.
“No.”
It sounded unconvincing even to you.
Mayu let the answer pass without saying anything.
“I just don’t want to say it here,” she said. “Not in the middle of people.”
You glanced around. A couple stood nearby comparing shopping bags. Two teenagers leaned over the railing taking photos of themselves. A janitor pushed a cart past with the patience of someone who had seen every version of public emotion and none of it impressed him.
“Fair point.”
She turned from the railing and adjusted her bag on her shoulder.
“So,” she said, as if suggesting something ordinary, “can we go to your place?”
Your chest tightened at how casually she asked.
It had been years since she’d last been there. Different apartment now, different neighborhood, different furniture bought out of necessity rather than taste. But the invitation reached backward through time anyway, touching old rooms, old afternoons, old versions of the two of you who once entered each other’s spaces without ceremony.
“Sure,” you said.
Her eyes moved to your face, reading something there.
“If it’s inconvenient, we don’t have to.”
“It’s not.”
That much was true.
Nothing about her was ever an inconvenience.
She nodded once, satisfied enough.
“Then let’s go.”
You started walking beside her toward the escalator. The shopping bag swung lightly from your hand. The suit inside was meant for her wedding.
You wondered what kind of man carried clothes for one future while hoping for another.
As the escalator carried you down through the bright open center of the mall, Mayu stood one step below you this time.
Close enough that if you reached forward, your hand would brush her shoulder.
You kept both hands to yourself.
The afternoon outside had softened by the time you left the mall.
The sharp brightness from earlier had dulled into a gentler light, the kind that turned glass buildings warm and made even crowded streets look briefly forgiving. Cars moved in steady lines. A cyclist slipped between lanes with reckless confidence. Somewhere down the block, someone was playing music from an open storefront.
You and Mayu chose to walk.
Neither of you said it aloud. At some point, you simply kept going past the taxi stand, past the bus stop, past the easy options, and the silence between you agreed.
The shopping bag knocked lightly against your leg with each step.
And again, you were walking beside her like the hundreds of times you have before. Like in elementary through high school, on afternoons where her uniform swayed with the wind, after festivals where she'd complain about walking in a yukata and now as adults where a ring now caught light around her finger.
The ring flashed now and then when her hand moved, a small, precise glint that seemed determined to catch your eye.
You looked away each time.
The sidewalks were busy but not rushed. Office workers moved in loose currents, couples shared umbrellas against a sky that threatened nothing, and delivery scooters stitched through traffic with casual disregard for mortality. Storefront glass reflected the two of you walking side by side, then lost you again as you passed.
“Do you remember,” Mayu said after a while, “when we used to take the long route home just to avoid the hill?”
“You mean when you used to insist on taking the long way.”
“It was tiring to climb all the way, thank you very much.”
“You were just lazy.”
“I was carrying a school bag.”
“You had three notebooks and a pencil case.”
“It was still a burden to carry.”
You almost smiled.
The sound of it surprised you more than it should have. She noticed, though she pretended not to.
“There was also that stray cat,” she continued. “The orange one near the vending machines.”
“It scratched everyone.”
“It liked me at least.”
“It tolerated you because you fed it your leftover lunch.”
“That still counts as liking me.”
“It bit you twice.”
“Affection takes different forms.”
You shook your head. For a moment, the years between then and now thinned into something transparent.
You remembered summer uniforms and damp collars. Rainy season walks under one umbrella neither of you admitted was too small. Her voice complaining about exams she would still ace. The way she always matched your pace without looking down.
“You still walk too fast,” she said suddenly.
“I slowed down.”
“No. I just got better at keeping up.”
The road narrowed as you turned into quieter streets lined with apartment buildings and convenience stores. The city noise softened behind you. Trees planted along the sidewalk shifted in a mild breeze, their leaves making a dry, papery sound overhead.
Mayu glanced at a small bakery on the corner.
“That place used to be a DVD store.”
“You cried when it closed.”
“I did not.”
“You asked the owner if they could at least keep the romcom section.”
“I watched most of them, and I could do it again for the rest of time.”
“You were twelve.”
“A twelve year old that lived for romance and cringy one liners.”
This time you laughed properly, brief and low.
She looked ahead as her mouth curved, letting the familiar comfort of silence take over.
Neither of you spoke for the rest of the block.
You turned down the narrower lane leading to your building.
The neighborhood was mostly residential here, the storefronts giving way to stacked apartments with bicycles chained to rails and potted plants guarding entrances. A woman watered herbs on a balcony above. Somewhere nearby, a television laughed through an open window. The smell of garlic and soy drifted from someone’s open window.
Mayu glanced around slowly.
“Your neighborhood looks so cozy, I wouldn’t mind living here.”
Your building came into view at the end of the lane. It was just some building in plain colors, one that had narrow windows, the sort of place that blended in with the city and didn’t have eyes on it in every corner.
“Come on up,” you said, leading her into the gate.
Both of you ascended the steps, each step audible until the higher floors as it broke through the atmosphere of the building. Eventually, you finally made it in your apartment.
You keyed open the door and held it for her. She stepped inside first, her shoulder brushing close enough to smell her perfume.
You followed after her and closed the door gently behind you.
What had felt like an ordinary home hours ago was now exposed. The coat left over the chair. The papers stacked unevenly on the table in front of the couch. A mug still in the sink. The lamp near the window with its crooked shade you had stopped noticing months ago.
You saw everything through the eyes of someone coming in.
Mayu slipped off her shoes near the entrance without asking where to place them, then straightened and looked around with quiet curiosity.
“Nice place,” she said.
“You don’t have to be polite.”
“I’m not.”
She walked farther in, fingers brushing lightly along the back of the couch as she passed.
“It feels lived in,” she added.
“That’s a better way to say it’s messy.”
“It isn’t.”
She glanced toward the kitchen, then the shelves near the television, then the window where the late light was settling in long bars across the floor.
“It feels like you.”
You set the shopping bag down beside the wall and placed your keys on the counter.
“I’m not sure whether that’s flattering.”
“It wasn’t meant to be either way.”
Her voice had gone softer since stepping inside, as if the room itself asked for quieter language.
You moved toward the sink, taking cups from inside it and rinsing it more for something to do than from need.
“Water?” you asked.
“Sure.”
Pulling the fridge open, you picked out a plastic water pitcher that was left inside all afternoon.
Mayu wandered slowly through the room behind you, as if she had every right to.
Her eyes grazed over books neatly tight together on a shelf that you hadn’t read a single page of, dust gathering on their covers. Not long after, she crouched near the lower shelf where older things had been pushed without much order.
Her fingers paused on a small plastic case.
A DVD.
“No way.”
She stood and held it up between two fingers, laughing under her breath.
The cover showed a the title in big letters above the characters. One of those sentimental films she used to defend with unreasonable passion.
You turned.
“You kept this?”
“It came from one of the boxes.”
“You say that like it answers my question.”
“It survived me moving out by accident.”
“Sure it did.” she looked at the case, smiling to herself.
“We watched this three times.”
“You watched it three times. I was just there.”
“You cried at the ending.”
“I was tired.”
“You still cried.”
“I had allergies.”
“In December?”
“Yeah, and?” you leaned against the counter.
She laughed properly then, the sound filling the apartment too easily.
For a moment, the years thinned again.
You could almost see another version of this room layered over the present. Her sprawled across a couch complaining about fictional men. You pretending not to listen while memorizing every word.
Mayu set the DVD down carefully on the shelf.
Then her gaze moved to the framed photo tucked half turned on another shelf.
She picked it up.
You were in a wrinkled school uniform, looking annoyed at the camera yet still holding out a peace sign. Her beside you in a festival yukata with a stick of candied fruit in her hand.
Her thumb brushed the edge of the frame.
“You kept this too?”
Your throat tightened.
“Didn’t really have a reason to throw it out.”
Mayu looked at the photo for a long moment.
The room had gone quiet enough that the hum of the refrigerator seemed suddenly important.
“You always hated this picture,” she said.
“I hated that you pulled and made me pose for it.”
“You hated smiling in public.”
“I still do.”
“That’s not true.”
She lifted the frame slightly toward you, another laugh escaping her lips again. Her hands set the photo back where she found it, though straighter this time, no longer half-hidden. Then she turned and leaned lightly against the shelf, arms folding across herself.
“When did you move here?” she asked.
“About a year ago.”
“And you never told me.”
“You were busy.”
The answer landed heavier than you meant it to.
Her gaze dropped for a second.
“I still would’ve wanted to know.”
You poured water into two glasses and handed one to her. Your fingers brushed when she took it. Neither of you reacted quickly enough to pretend it hadn’t happened.
“You had a lot going on,” you said.
“That doesn’t mean you stop existing.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Wasn’t it?”
You looked away first.
She took a sip of water, then wandered toward the window. Outside, the last of the daylight was thinning across the neighboring buildings, blurring at the edges.
“So,” you said after a sip of your own, “what did you want to talk about?”
Mayu turned to you and something in the look of her eyes shifted.
“It’s nothing much,” she shrugged but you knew better.
“If it’s just gossip, I will be very disappointed.”
“It’s not,” she said.
Mayu took in a breath, eyes lurking somewhere outside the window before drifting back to you.
“I just wanted to say sorry.”
You frowned slightly.
“Sorry?”
She nodded once, but even that small movement looked difficult.
“For what?”
Mayu looked down at the glass in her hands, fingers turning it a fraction against the condensation.
“For a lot of things.”
The answer unsettled you more than if she had named one.
She set the glass aside and crossed her arms loosely, as if the room had grown colder.
“For disappearing when life got busy. For acting like years between us were normal. For only reaching out when I needed something.” Her voice stayed even, but carefully so. “For today, maybe.”
“You don’t need to apologize for asking me to help.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
You said nothing.
She glanced around your apartment again, at the bookshelves, the couch, the ordinary evidence of a life she had not been part of.
“I also want to say sorry for dragging you along to wedding preparations.”
You furrowed your brows, confused yet no words slipped out of you.
“Especially when I knew you loved me.”
Everything in the room seemed to freeze at once. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant traffic outside, even the late light near the window felt suddenly suspended.
You stared at her.
Mayu did not look away this time.
“What?” The word came out low, stripped of shape.
“I knew.” She swallowed.
Your hand tightened around the glass until cold water pressed over your knuckles.
“How long?”
Her eyes lowered for a moment.
“I don’t know exactly. Maybe longer than I wanted to admit.”
A laugh escaped you, sharp and painful. By then, every line, every word you rehearsed had disappeared into thin air, leaving you helplessly scrambling to gather everything together in the moment
“I’m not trying to defend myself.”
“Then what are you doing?”
She drew in a breath that trembled before it settled.
“Telling the truth too late.”
You set the glass down before it slipped from your hand.
“All this time,” you said, each word careful now, “you knew.”
“Yes.” she said with a small nod.
“And you still called.”
“Yes.”
“You still asked me for favors.”
Her silence answered first.
“Yes, I did.”
Something piercing and bitter moved through your chest.
“You let me stand beside you while you chose someone else.” you said after another breath of disbelief.
“That isn’t fair.”
You looked at her with disbelief so immediate it almost hurt.
“Fair?”
“I didn’t ask you to wait for me.”
“No,” you said. “You just made sure I did.”
Her face changed at that, pain crossing it fast and unguarded.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Then why keep me close?”
“Because I loved you too.”
The room froze.
You said nothing because there was nothing stable enough to say.
Tears had gathered in her eyes, but her voice held.
“I loved you in the worst possible way. Not bravely enough to choose you. Not decently enough to let you go.”
You stepped back as if distance might make sense in return.
“That’s cruel.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to say that like whatever you said makes it any less.”
You turned away, staring at the wall, the bookshelf, the ordinary furniture now made strange.
Memories moved through you with violent clarity. Every late call. Every invitation. Every time she reached for you when lonely, then drifted when life brightened elsewhere. Every hope you had called patience.
Behind you, she spoke again.
“I thought there would be time.”
You laughed once, exhausted.
“There always is,” you said. “Until there isn’t.”
When you finally faced her again, your anger had gone quieter, which was worse.
“So why tell me now?”
Her lips parted, then pressed together.
Because there were only days left. Because she was standing in the apartment of the man she did not choose. Because guilt had finally outweighed convenience.
When she answered, it was softer than all of that.
“Because I couldn’t bear becoming someone’s wife while still being a coward to you.”
You held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away before it could break something in you.
The apartment suddenly felt too small for what had been said. Too full of objects that had quietly witnessed years of your devotion without ever warning you where it would end.
“You should’ve left me alone,” you said, voice softening ever so slightly.
Mayu’s face tightened.
“I know that too.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” You shook your head slowly. “You say you loved me like that’s supposed to explain why you put me through all of that, all of this!”
“It doesn’t explain it,” she said, voice shaking. “I know it doesn’t.”
“Then what does it do?” you snapped. “What exactly am I supposed to do with that now?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came.
You laughed once, sharp and hollow.
“Congratulations, Mayu. You loved me. Secretly. Uselessly. While getting engaged to someone else.”
You hated yourself for saying the words that left your lips, but not enough to take them back.
Her eyes filled completely with tears.
“I deserved that.”
“That’s the problem,” you said. “You think this is about deserving pain. It isn’t. It’s about what you took.”
She looked stunned.
“You took years from me.”
Your voice had gone low again, steadier, which made it harsher.
“You took every chance I had to stop hoping. Every time I almost moved on, you came back just enough to remind me why I couldn’t. You made me watch you pick flowers that will surround your wedding, you dragged me along to pick your wedding cake, and you pulled me in to see you in the dress that offered the rest of your life with someone else.”
Your breath caught, anger tightening every word until it felt sharpened by years.
“And the worst part?” you said. “I let you.”
Mayu flinched like the sentence had struck somewhere physical.
“I answered every call. I showed up whenever you asked. I told myself it meant something because I needed it to mean something.” You shook your head, a bitter smile appearing and dying just as fast. “I made excuses for you so often I started calling it loyalty.”
Tears slipped down her face now, silent and steady.
“I know,” she whispered.
“No.” You stepped back again. “You know now. Knowing now is easy. Knowing while it was happening would have required you to do something.”
She covered her mouth for a moment, trying to hold herself together. When she spoke again, her voice came through unevenly.
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of losing you.”
The answer made something hot and furious rise in your chest.
“You lost me anyway.”
The room went still after that.
Outside, somewhere below the building, a siren passed and faded. A neighbor’s door shut. Life continued with the casual cruelty of things that do not care.
Mayu lowered her hand slowly.
“I loved you,” she said again, weaker this time, as if the confession itself had begun collapsing. “I still do.”
You laughed, but there was no humor left in it.
“Then say it, why isn’t it me?”
The words tore out before pride could stop them.
Her face crumpled.
“Why wasn’t it me standing beside you at fittings. Why wasn’t it me arguing with you over flowers. Me pretending not to hate seating charts. Me waiting for you at the altar while you complained your shoes hurt.” Your voice broke, then hardened around the fracture. “Why wasn’t it me?”
She cried openly now, shoulders trembling.
“I know,” she said.
“No, stop saying that.” You pointed toward the door, then let your hand fall. “Stop acting like understanding is the same thing as changing anything.”
“I don’t know how to fix this.”
“You can’t.”
That landed between you with brutal finality.
She looked around the apartment then, at the shelves, the couch, the photograph she had straightened minutes ago. All the quiet evidence of a life that had once left space for her.
“I never wanted to be the person who hurt you most,” she said.
“You didn’t plan it,” you replied. “You just kept choosing it.”
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, there was something emptied out in her expression. Not relief. Not peace. Just recognition.
“I should go.”
You wanted to say stay.
You wanted to say don’t marry him.
You wanted to say start over, start here, start now.
Instead, you said nothing.
Mayu moved to the entrance and slipped her shoes back on with trembling hands. At the door, she paused without turning.
“For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “if I had been braver...”
You stared at the floor.
“If you had been braver,” you said, “we wouldn’t be discussing what-ifs.”
She nodded once then she was gone.
The door closed gently behind her, almost politely.
You stood in the middle of the apartment, listening to the silence she left behind.
Near the wall, the shopping bag waited where you had dropped it.
Inside was the suit you were meant to wear to watch someone else live the life you wanted.
From living in the same neighborhood to going to the same school in the same classes each year like two people who were joined at the hip.
Some people became friends through grand moments.
Then there was you and Mayu who became friends through repetition.
Through the same routine.
Through the thousand small accidents that eventually harden into fate.
Walking to elementary school because both your mothers trusted neither of you alone near traffic, sharing umbrellas every rainy season because she never remembered hers and always acted surprised by weather, as if clouds always knew the best time to start pouring. Trading lunches because she hated cafeteria food and she just so happened to love your mother’s cooking. Competing over test scores, then pretending not to care. Arguing over nonsense so frequently that teachers began separating you by instinct before attendance was even finished.
When you were seven, she shoved you off a swing because you said her drawing of a rabbit looked like an deformed potato with lopsided ears.
When you were eight, you took the blame when she broke a classroom window with a dodgeball because she cried too convincingly to make the teacher believe otherwise.
When you were ten, she announced to three horrified classmates that she would probably marry you someday since it was the “easiest” choice.
When you were eleven, she denied ever saying it with such violence you nearly believed her.
That was Mayu.
Loud where you were quiet, impulsive where you were being cautious.
By middle school, people assumed you were siblings.
By high school, people assumed you were dating.
By college, people assumed one of you would confess eventually.
Neither of you did.
Or rather, you didn’t.
Mayu treated affection like confetti, easy to throw yet hard to keep track of.
She linked arms with you crossing streets, fell asleep on your shoulder during train rides, stole food from your plate without any moral regard. Called you first when she got accepted into university, when she failed a driving test, when she cried after a bad breakup, when she locked herself out of her apartment wearing slippers and her pyjamas.
You were the person she ran to.
You made the fatal mistake of thinking that meant something romantic.
Maybe it did once, maybe it never did.
Feelings didn’t arrive for you in a singular strike of epiphany.
They arrived like moss, quietly, gradually, spreading over everything before you realized it was actually there.
Somewhere between helping her study for exams and watching her laugh so hard she hiccuped milk tea through her nose, you fell in love with her.
Then stayed there for years.
You told yourself there was time.
There was always another season.
Another graduation.
Another summer festival.
Another almost-confession interrupted by phone calls, friends arriving, bad timing, your own cowardice dressed up as patience.
And Mayu, oblivious or merciful, continued being herself.
You seemingly lost track of time as it passed, lost track of the days where you could’ve said something or just anything in that manner.
Now, time decided to hit you square in the face.
She got a boyfriend.
Right, it stung at first but you thought of the other exes she had and maybe it would’ve ended the same but time hit you with another punch straight to your gut.
She was getting married soon.
And here you were having brunch with her and her fiance.
The cafe was one of those polished places, white walls, hanging plants, wooden tables so smooth they reflected your mistakes back at you. Soft jazz drifted through the room like it paid rent there.
Across from you, Mayu was slicing through her stack of pancakes as she leaned in to the man beside her while he said something you didn’t quite catch.
“You’re staring again,” she said around a bite.
“Sorry, spaced out a little.”
“Sure,” Mayu said, unconvinced.
She pointed her fork at you without looking away from her pancakes.
“That’s what you call it when your soul leaves your body?”
“I call it being hungry.”
Beside her, her fiancé laughed softly.
Takase Rin had the kind of laugh that sounded expensive, low, easy, annoyingly sound.
You distrusted it immediately.
Rin sat with the relaxed posture of a man who belonged wherever he happened to be. Sleeves rolled neatly to the forearms, watch subtle but probably expensive, hair behaving in a way that matched him perfectly.
He looked like the final draft of a person, the perfect and ideal man.
You, by comparison, felt like you still had notes to keep track of.
“I’m glad you came with us today, Mayu has told me a lot about you.”
You smiled politely.
He had the kind of calm that made you suspicious. Nobody should be that at ease before noon.
“I’ve heard you two have known each other forever,” he said.
“Unfortunately,” you replied.
“Since we were kids,” Mayu corrected, chewing happily. “He cried when he lost a race to me in third grade.”
“I did not cry.”
“You looked close enough.”
“It was windy.”
“We were indoors.”
You looked at Rin. “This is what your future will be. She lies casually and with confidence too.”
“I just remember things differently.” Mayu said.
Rin laughed softly, but not in a way that felt performative. He seemed genuinely amused by the two of you, as if watching a language he did not fully understand but wanted to learn.
Across the table, Mayu looked lighter than you remembered. She wasn’t louder nor brighter in the obvious sense, but more at ease. There was something in the way she leaned toward Rin when he spoke, the way she touched his sleeve absentmindedly while reaching for syrup, the way she smiled before he had even finished a sentence. They were small gestures, nearly invisible unless you knew her well.
And you did, a bit too much which was the problem.
“When I broke the classroom window in second grade, he took the blame for me,” Mayu said.
Rin turned to you. “Really?”
You shrugged. “She cried too much.”
“I was being persuasive,” Mayu said.
“You were terrifying.”
“She still can be,” Rin said gently.
Mayu looked offended for half a second, then pleased.
You looked down at your coffee before anyone could notice the expression on your face.
There had been years when you were the person who knew every version of her. The dramatic one, the angry one, the tired one, the one who called at midnight because she had locked herself out. Now someone else was learning those versions one by one, and she was letting him.
It should have been natural but It still felt like being replaced in slow motion.
“Oh right,” Mayu said suddenly. “We’re going to be choosing flowers for the venue, I’m gonna need your honest opinion about everything.”
You looked up at her.
“My honest opinion about flowers?”
“About everything,” Mayu repeated. “Flowers, table settings, invitations, the venue layout, whether the cake tastes off. I need someone who won’t just tell me everything looks nice.”
She tilted her head toward Rin.
“He keeps being reasonable.”
Rin did not seem offended. He simply took a sip of coffee and said, “I thought being supportive was the only thing I should be doing.”
“It is,” Mayu said. “But supportive people are useless when I need criticism.” she looked over back across the table.
“So you’ll come with us?” she continued as she nudged your shin under the table.
You looked between them and understood, with a clarity that felt almost cruel, how differently each of them saw you.
Rin watched with the patience of someone waiting for an answer he believed mattered. There was courtesy in it, and a certain confidence too, as though he assumed you would come because reasonable people usually did when asked.
Mayu looked at you the way she always had, with the casual certainty of someone who never had to question whether you would want to be there.
“I—I guess I could, not much to do today anyways.” You finally said.
“Great! Hopefully you wouldn’t mind tagging along for a couple more days, I could use another voice apart from his.” Mayu chuckled lightly, hand smacking Rin’s shoulder before she leaned in again and wrapped her arm around his.
An unwelcome thought crossed your mind.
Would anything have changed if you had said something years ago?
If you had chosen one of the thousand ordinary afternoons you shared and broken it open with honesty. If you had spoken during the walk home after graduation, or on that summer night when fireworks burst over the river and she had leaned against your shoulder without thinking. If you had said it after she cried over another man who did not know how to keep what he was given.
If you had been brave once instead of patient forever.
Would you be the one seated beside her now, close enough for her hand to find your sleeve without thought? Would her laughter be turned toward you instead of across the table? Would this same cafe be softened by happiness instead of sharpened by regret?
Or would you have ruined the one thing you had managed to keep?
That possibility has always frightened you more.
Losing the chance of romance was always dispensable, losing her wasn’t.
You chose to wait so many times it became your personality, a part of you.
Across the table, Mayu was saying something about peonies with complete seriousness, while Rin listened as though flowers might decide their fate in the future.
You watched her laugh at her own point before either of you answered.
Some things about her had not changed at all.
She still moved through the world expecting affection and somehow receiving it.
Perhaps that was why people loved her.
Perhaps that was why you did.
Rin said something low enough that only she heard. She smiled before he finished speaking and tightened her arm around his.
It would be easy to resent Rin if he were arrogant, careless, dismissive. It would have been easier if he had taken her from you like something stolen.
Instead, he was kind, attentive, patient enough to let her interrupt him, amused enough to enjoy it.
He had not taken anything, instead he had simply arrived while you were still hesitating.
“Eat up, your food is going cold.” Mayu asked.
You were brought out of your own thoughts, finding yourself again in the atmosphere of the cafe.
“Right,” You answered, eyes drifting down to your own set of pancakes that were still untouched.
A sigh left your lips then, a silent prayer, wishing to gather the strength to finally say something soon.
By the time the three of you reached the florist, a part of you was already regretting tagging along with them.
The shop sat on a corner street with tall windows fogged by cool air and humidity, rows of flowers visible through the glass like a carefully arranged art piece. Buckets of roses, lilies, tulips, hydrangeas, eucalyptus, peonies, and flowers you could not identify crowded every surface. The entire place smelled fresh and sweet.
Mayu walked in first as if she had personally commissioned spring.
“Hello,” she called brightly to no one in particular. “We’re here to choose the wedding flowers,
A woman behind the counter looked up, unsurprised in the way service workers often were when confronted.
“Appointment for Koma and Takase?”
“Soon to be Mrs. Takase,” Mayu answered. “But yes.”
They heard a loud sigh behind them then.
Mayu turned first, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just taking in the smell of. . .everything.” You answered, looking at the colors around the shop.
That seemed to be a sufficient answer.
The florist gestured toward a consultation table set with sample bouquets, fabric swatches, candles, and catalogues.
“Please, have a seat.”
Mayu sat first without hesitation, already leaning forward to inspect everything laid out on the table. Rin took the chair beside her. You sat across from them a moment later, feeling less like a guest and more like someone who had wandered into the wrong meeting.
The florist opened a binder and smiled professionally.
“Do you already have a theme in mind?”
“Not really,” Mayu said. “I know what I don’t want more than what I do want.”
“That helps too,” the florist replied.
“I don’t want anything stiff or cold colors,” Mayu continued.
“That helps too,” the florist replied.
“Oh, how about this one. You like lilies, don’t you? I heard they’re in season too.” Rin leaned in, pointing to another side of the binder.
Mayu’s eyes shifted toward the page Rin had pointed to, but before she could say anything, you leaned forward and turned the binder slightly.
“What? You should take a look at the roses. Those are your favourites, I know that.”
The florist wisely pretended to reorganize ribbon samples.
Mayu looked at you first, then at the binder, then back again.
“You’re right but I also like lilies,” she said.
You sat back. “I know. I was just saying roses suit you more.”
Rin’s hand withdrew from the page without saying anything. He didn’t look offended, which somehow made it worse.
Mayu studied you for another second before turning back to the binder.
“Can I see both?” she asked the florist.
“Of course.”
Two sample arrangements were brought over, one built around white lilies and pale greenery. The other fuller, layered with blush roses and cream accents.
Mayu compared them carefully.
“These are nice,” she said, touching one of the rose petals. “But maybe too cliche.”
You opened your mouth.
“She hasn’t finished,” Rin said mildly.
You looked at him.
He had spoken without edge, without challenge, in the same tone someone might use to remind another person not to interrupt a weather report.
Mayu continued as if she had not noticed.
“And these are elegant,” she said, nodding at the lilies, “but maybe a little formal.”
The florist nodded. “We can combine elements of both.”
“That sounds good,” Rin said.
“That sounds expensive,” you said.
“That also sounds possible to do,” the florist replied smoothly.
Mayu laughed once, but her attention had changed. There was a slight tightness around her eyes now, something only visible if you knew her well.
The florist laid out more options, centerpieces with cascading greenery, minimalist arrangements, candles in varying heights, linen samples that all seemed determined to be different shades of white while pretending otherwise.
Mayu picked up two samples.
“Which one looks better?”
You reached for the left one.
“The other,” Rin said at the same time.
“Why?” She glanced between you both.
You answered first. “This one is cleaner.”
Rin nodded toward the other. “That one feels warmer.”
“I hate when you both make sense.” Mayu looked down at them, then set both aside.
“That seems unlikely,” you muttered.
She ignored that.
A few minutes later, the florist suggested they take a look around the shop in case anything else caught their attention.
Mayu and Rin moved into the aisles together, walking shoulder to shoulder between rows of flowers and shelves lined with candles, vases, and ribbon spools arranged by color.
You drifted in the opposite direction without announcing it.
There was no need when no one had asked where you were going.
You paused beside a display of dried arrangements you suspected existed for people who wanted to give their shelf some design. Across the room, Mayu laughed at something Rin said. You did not hear the joke, only the sound of her laughter arriving clearly enough to be unhelpful.
She was looking at table lanterns now, one hand looped lightly around his arm while he held two sample candles for comparison. Even from a distance, they moved easily together, no hesitation over space, no uncertainty over touch. The kind of comfort people built when they had chosen each other plainly.
You looked away first.
Meanwhile, Mayu reached for a small arrangement of chrysanthemums and set it back down.
“What about these?” Rin asked.
“Maybe for the guest tables.”
He nodded, thoughtful as ever.
She should’ve been focused on the choices in front of her, but instead she found herself glancing toward the back of the shop where you had wandered off.
She frowned faintly.
There had been something strange about you all morning, more than strange, actually. Sharp around the edges. Every suggestion Rin made seemed to pull some reflex out of you before you could stop it.
Normally, if you were irritated, you said so.
Normally, if something bothered you, you made a dry comment and moved on.
Today you kept smiling first.
That felt worse.
Rin had accidentally picked a flower from one of the displays and offered it to her. Mayu brushed back some strands of her hair that fell from the side of her head. He idly leaned in, about to place it over her ear.
“Oh, that would make a good bundle for the bouquet toss.” Your voice came in then, interrupting them.
Rin’s hand paused halfway to her face.
Mayu turned first.
You stood at the end of the aisle holding a small basket of ribbon samples you clearly had no reason to be carrying.
“What?”
You nodded toward the flower in Rin’s hand.
“I said that would make a good bundle for the bouquet toss.” you repeated.
There was a brief silence.
The florist, somewhere nearby, made the wise decision to disappear behind a shelf of glass vases.
Rin lowered his hand slowly and looked at the flower. “It was just one stem,” he said.
“I know,” you replied, stepping closer. “I was just suggesting.”
“With what?” Mayu asked.
“A use for it.”
Rin glanced at the flower, then at you, trying to follow a conversation that had clearly taken a turn only two longtime friends understood.
Mayu took the stem from his hand and tucked it behind her own ear. “There,” she said. “Now it has a use.”
“It’s crooked.” you said, looking at her for a moment.
“It’s just a flower,” her expression flattened.
“Yes but—here, let me,” you reached out and carefully adjusted the flower.
Your fingers brushed near her temple as you straightened the stem.
The gesture was small, familiar, thoughtless in the way old habits often were.
Mayu went still.
You had done things like this before across years. Brushed rainwater from her sleeve. Fixed a twisted scarf. Pulled a leaf from her hair during autumn walks. The kind of tiny intimacies that belonged to no category because neither of you had ever forced them into one.
Only now Rin was standing beside her.
“There,” you said quietly, letting your hand fall away. “Better.”
Mayu blinked once, then stepped back half a pace.
“I could have fixed it myself.”
“But I did it for you, deal with it.”
Rin, to his credit, said nothing immediately. He only watched the two of you with an expression that suggested he had entered a room halfway through a conversation years in progress.
Mayu touched the flower where you had adjusted it, as if checking whether it had really changed.
“What is wrong with you today?”
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t seem like nothing,”
“Trust me. If something was bothering me, you’d be the first one to know.” you replied before glancing over to Rin. “No offense.”
Rin gave a small nod. “None taken.”
He said it easily, but the air had already changed.
Mayu’s eyes narrowed.
“You say that like it means something.”
“It means exactly what it sounds like.”
“That’s rarely true when it comes from you.”
You let out a short breath that almost passed for a laugh.
“I’m fine, really. You two can keep looking around. I’ll come back if I find something useful.”
You dipped your head slightly, more habit than politeness, then turned and walked toward the far side of the shop before either of them could answer.
Mayu watched you go.
She told herself it was nothing. You could be strange sometimes. Difficult for reasons even you did not understand. There had been days in school when you refused to speak until lunch because someone beat you at a game you claimed not to care about. There had been weeks where stress made you sarcastic more than sane.
This could be one of those moods.
Still, something about today felt less careless and more deliberate.
Rin picked up a ribbon sample and glanced at her. “Should I be worried?”
“No,” Mayu said immediately.
Then, after a pause, “Probably not.”
He smiled faintly. “Comforting.”
“He’s just being weird.”
“You say that with a lot of confidence for someone frowning.”
She straightened at once. “I’m not frowning.”
“You are.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That expression usually means trouble for someone else.”
Despite herself, she smiled. It faded quickly when she looked back toward the rear of the store.
You were pretending to study centerpiece arrangements, hard enough to make it seem you actually knew where they belonged to. Every few seconds, your eyes moved without meaning to and returned in their direction before darting away again.
Mayu knew your habits the way people knew the route home in the dark.
When you were annoyed, your jaw tightened.
When you were embarrassed, you became overly helpful.
When something mattered too much, you acted as if it didn’t matter at all.
She folded her arms.
“What?” Rin asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
But it wasn’t nothing, it was far from it.
Days later, you found yourself with them again.
This time it was a bakery known for elaborate pastries and custom wedding cakes, the sort of place that did not mind adding an extra tier if someone was willing to pay for it. Rows of glossy fruit tarts, delicate layered slices, and miniature desserts sat behind glass like museum pieces under refrigeration, each tagged with names you could barely pronounce.
What exactly was a Gateau Debord, and why did it cost more than your lunch?
Mayu and Rin were already at the display counter, speaking with an attendant in a clean, crisp apron while you lingered a step behind, pretending to study a tray of macarons you had no intention of buying.
When the consultant noticed you, she smiled politely.
“Right this way.”
She led the three of you toward a private tasting area at the back of the store. A round table had been prepared with small plated samples, forks, glasses of water, and neatly labeled cards identifying each flavor.
Vanilla. Black Forest. Red velvet. Strawberry Shortcake. Dark Chocolate and Milk Chocolate. Vanilla Raspberry. Mocha.
You stopped beside the table.
“Do you really want to try out this much?”
“It’s seven slices,” Mayu said.
“That is too many slices.”
“There is no such thing,” she replied, taking the seat nearest the tray.
Rin sat beside her and loosened his sleeves slightly, as if preparing for serious work.
“You’re both taking this too seriously.”
“It’s our wedding cake,” Mayu said, pointing a fork at you. “Sit down.”
You obeyed, which annoyed you more than it should have.
The consultant gave a brief explanation about flavor pairings, fillings, frostings, and customization options before stepping away.
A moment later, she returned carrying a tray of sample cake toppers.
They were small figurines arranged in different poses, standing hand in hand, dancing, embracing, one with the groom carrying the bride, another with both laughing as though porcelain could improvise joy.
Only one detail remained constant through all of them.
A man in a suit and a woman in white.
A sigh slipped out before you could stop it, not loud enough to draw attention, not dramatic enough to be questioned. You could have said anything, instead you just exhaled again and looked away.
Mayu noticed anyway.
Her eyes flicked toward you for half a second, “Pick one,” she said.
The consultant, sensing the shift in tone, took a very careful step backward. Rin stayed where he was, hands loosely folded, watching without interrupting.
You looked at the tray of toppers again.
All of them were the same idea repeated in slightly different costumes. The same ending, rearranged into poses that pretended variation meant choice.
“Wha—Why me?” you asked, the words stumbling out of your lips.
Mayu frowned slightly, as if the answer should have been obvious.
“Your opinion matters,” she said. “That’s why we brought you along.”
The room went strangely quiet after that, even the low music drifting in from the front of the bakery seemed to recede.
You stared at her.
She said it casually, almost impatiently, the way she said things she considered self-evident. As if she had merely explained why sugar was sweet or why rain was wet.
Your opinion matters.
If she had said it years ago, on some ordinary afternoon when the stakes were smaller, it might have felt warm. But here, with wedding cake samples between you and her fiance seated at her side, it felt like being handed something delicate after it had already broken.
You reached forward then and picked up the simplest one. The couple standing side by side, almost identical height, no dramatic lean, no grand gesture, only standing together in a way that looked more relaxed than tense.
“This one.”
Mayu leaned forward to inspect it.
“That one looks boring,” she said immediately.
“It’s calm,” you replied.
“It looks like they’re waiting at a bus stop.”
Rin took the figurine gently from your hand and turned it once between his fingers, considering it with more seriousness than porcelain deserved.
“I like it,” he said. “It feels simple.”
Mayu looked between the two of you, then narrowed her eyes.
“That’s two votes,” you said.
“That is not how this works.”
“It should be,” Rin answered lightly.
She huffed, then reached for another topper. This one had the groom dipping the bride backward in a dramatic pose you’d only see in movies that suggested either romance or a lower back injury.
“Here, this one’s eye-catching.”
Rin laughed quietly and took the second topper from her hand, setting it beside the simpler one for comparison. He studied both with the same measured attention he gave everything, as if no choice was too small to deserve thought.
“The first one feels more natural,” he said. “This one feels staged.”
“It’s a cake topper,” Mayu replied. “Its entire purpose is to be staged for everyone to see.”
“That may be true,” he said, smiling faintly, “but staged things often feel forced.”
Mayu opened her mouth, then paused. She glanced at the two figurines again.
You watched her expression change in small increments, annoyance giving way to consideration. She always did that when she was close to agreeing with someone and hated it.
“I still think the dramatic one is prettier,” she said at last.
“Whatever,” you chuckled, showing emotion for what felt like the first time since you got here. “I’ll go back out front and look at other cakes. Just tell me if you made a decision.”
You pushed your chair back before either of them could answer.
“Running away already?” Mayu asked.
“Just giving you the freedom to choose things for your wedding, I’ll say what I think when you two are done.” you said, hand raising up to wave at them dismissively as you walked out.
You once again stood in the middle of the baker where the different pastries and sweets were behind glass like museum displays.
The same cake that caught your eye earlier, still stayed where you saw it earlier and still with the name you could barely pronounce correctly even if you tried. You leaned closer to the glass, looking at the chocolate that covered the top the rolls that gave it a rather unique shape and then your eyes glanced over at the two pieces of white chocolate picked and shaped to look like two swans meeting at the center of a river.
“Are you interested in anything, sir?”
Another attendant’s voice came from your side, startling you into place. You turned to look and saw them in the clean apron the other employee wore, they were a younger woman, maybe just an apprentice.
“No,” you said. “I was just reading the price and feeling insulted.”
The young attendant blinked, then smiled politely in the way employees did when unsure whether a customer was joking.
“It’s one of our more popular items,” they said. “The Gateau Debord.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It is French, and not a lot of shops sell it.”
“Makes sense why I’ve only heard of it today.”
They let out a small laugh before catching themselves and explaining what it was made of, from the layers, fillings, and other names of ingredients that flew over your head.
“Maybe it’s more expensive than I thought.”
Their laughter came out easier this time.
From the doorway that led to the back of the store, Mayu could see glimpses of you and the attendant. For what felt like the first time she’d invited you to go with them, she saw you smiling as if there was no actual weight on your shoulders at all, as if there wasn’t a hint of annoyance in your voice whenever you answered.
Her heart grew lighter.
Yet, she couldn’t help but remember all of the other times she’d seen you smile, it might’ve been in the millions at this point and she could still remember most of them, all from different points in time, when you two walked home from school, when you talked about the one teacher you hated the guts of and even then in a more simpler time inside of a different bakery where you bought her a slice when she was sulking over a bad grade.
“It’s one test,” you had said then, setting your bag down across from her.
“I feel humiliated,” Mayu replied, arms folded on the café table. “I missed one question because I changed the answer at the last second. I hate myself.”
“You got an eighty-seven.”
“I could have had a ninety.”
“You need to worry about other things or none at all.”
She ignored that with dignity.
Minutes later, you came back carrying a slice of strawberry shortcake and set it in front of her.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
“You are dramatic.”
“I’m devastated.”
“You can be devastated while eating.”
She stared at the cake as if considering whether grief allowed dessert before she took a bite.
The change in her expression had been immediate and a complete opposite of what she had.
You had laughed so hard you nearly spilled your drink.
Something about the moment back then was engraved within her. The sight of your eyes curling up and the lines on your face appearing as you failed to contain your laughter shifted itself inside of her mind as a memory and the sound of your laughter landing somewhere in her heart.
“Would you like to choose from the samples?”
The voice of the attendee brought her out of her thoughts and back into the back end of the store by Rin’s side.
“Oh—sorry, I spaced out.”
“Thinking about something?” Rin asked quietly.
Mayu looked at him for a second, then down at the two cake toppers still sitting between them.
“Nothing important,” she said automatically.
Rin did not challenge it. He only gave the small, patient nod of someone who knew people often needed room before honesty. Then he picked up a fork and cut a piece from the vanilla raspberry sample.
“You should try this one again,” he said. “You liked it first.”
“No, I—” she started, shaking her head, “I think I’ll take this one.”
Her hand nudged one of the plates closer to the attendant.
The attendant glanced down at the label, then back up with a polite smile.
“The strawberry shortcake?”
“Yes,” she said after a beat. “That one.”
The attendant made a note on her clipboard and stepped aside.
Rin looked at the plate, then at Mayu.
“I thought you said that was too ordinary.”
“I changed my mind.”
“You disliked it ten minutes ago.”
“I can dislike things and then stop disliking them,” she replied.
“That sounds like you don’t trust your judgement.” he nudged her side with his elbow.
“No, maybe I don’t trust yours.” she joked.
Rin smiled faintly, but his eyes lingered on her a moment longer than required
Mayu picked up her fork and cut a neat piece from the slice. When she tasted it, something in her shoulders eased before she could stop it.
It was lighter than the others, too sweet, or maybe too familiar.
She swallowed and set the fork down.
“Well?” Rin asked.
“It’s good.”
“That's it, really?”
“It’s cake, Rin, not some grand art piece.”
He laughed quietly.
Across the room, you were still near the display case. The young attendant had shown you something on a menu card, and you leaned in with exaggerated seriousness as if negotiating a treaty over pastries.
Mayu watched you smile again.
There it was, that same crooked smile that always appeared a second before laughter. The one she had seen after school, on train platforms, in convenience stores at midnight, across library tables, under umbrellas, over cups of cheap coffee and shared desserts.
The one that had become so common in her life she had mistaken seeing it every day.
The attendant returned. “Would you like us to prepare more samples of the strawberry shortcake for comparison with fillings?”
Mayu opened her mouth, but Rin answered first.
“Yes, please.” he then looked at her.
“You don’t have to choose the one that looks the best,” he said mildly. “You can choose the one you actually want.”
The sentence was simple enough, it should have only stayed about cake.
Instead, it landed somewhere deeper and far less convenient.
Mayu looked down at the slice again.
Then, without meaning to, toward the front of the bakery where you stood laughing with someone else as if the world had briefly become lighter.
For reasons she could not name, she suddenly wanted to know what had made you laugh.
Mayu walked out of the back after a short while Rin trailed slowly behind her. She held a small paper bag that had a slice of strawberry cheesecake inside of a container.
You were still at the display counter, speaking with the young attendant from earlier while studying another pastry with exaggerated seriousness.
“And this one is matcha flavored, down to its filling.”
“Here I thought it only belonged to coffee.” you replied, brows raising up slightly.
“Believe me, it's more of our popular flavors. You can find it on most sweets today,”
Mayu stopped a few feet away and watched.
You looked easier here than you had beside her all afternoon. Your shoulders were loose. Your mouth kept threatening a smile and succeeding. There was none of that sharpened tone you had worn around wedding samples and floral arrangements like badly fitted clothing.
Something prickled under her ribs.
“You seem busy,” she said.
You turned, startled enough to be honest for half a second before your expression reset.
“Just learning more about cake flavors,” you said. “Apparently matcha is more than just a hint of grass.”
The young attendant lowered her eyes, smiling to herself.
Mayu stepped closer, the paper bag swinging lightly from her hand.
“Have you been bothering the staff this whole time?”
“Hey, they approached me first.” you replied, eyes glancing down to the paper bag. “See, that you finally made up your mind.”
The young attendant took a careful half-step back and began rearranging napkins that did not need rearranging.
You nodded toward the bag. “What did you pick?”
Mayu held it a little closer to herself instead of answering immediately.
“She picked strawberry cheesecake,” Rin answered before she could answer herself.
Your expression changed in a way so slight most people would have missed it. Mayu did not.
Instead of saying anything about it, she offered the bag to you.
You looked at it, then at her hand, then back at her face.
“What?”
“Take it,” Mayu said.
A small crease formed between your brows. “Why?”
“Because you walked out of the room before you could taste anything,” she answered, “and as thanks for coming with us.” the words followed softly after.
You kept looking at the bag as if it might contain a second, more suspicious explanation.
Mayu extended her hand farther. “Take it before I reconsider.”
You accepted the bag at last, fingers brushing the paper handles rather than her hand with almost comical care.
“Thanks, I guess.” You peeked inside, then looked back up.
“That’s all we have to do here and we have one more place to go,” Mayu said after the silence that settled momentarily.
“I’ll go get the car started,” Rin continued.
He gave the three of you a small nod, then headed toward the entrance with the same steady composure he seemed to carry everywhere.
The young attendant, sensing the private gravity that had replaced the earlier banter, excused herself with admirable instincts and disappeared toward the kitchen.
That left only you and Mayu standing by the display case, pastries gleaming uselessly between you.
You held the paper bag by its handles, still looking faintly suspicious of it.
“One more place?” you asked.
Mayu nodded. “My wedding dress.”
You stared at her, the paper bag in your hand seemed to gain weight by the second.
“Your what?”
“My wedding dress,” Mayu repeated, as if clarifying store hours. “For the final fitting, see if there should be any minor changes. Nothing dramatic.”
“Are you sure you want me there?” you asked, the words leaving your lips faster than you could stop it.Mayu frowned at your hesitation, not offended yet, only puzzled by it.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Because I don’t want to see you in the dress where you’ll offer your future to another man.
Because I don’t want to see you in the dress you’ll walk toward him in while I stand somewhere polite and irrelevant.
Because there are some kinds of beauty that feel too much like loss when they were never yours to begin with.
None of that made it past your teeth.
You looked down at the paper bag in your hand as though the strawberry cheesecake might provide legal counsel.
“I just mean,” you said carefully, “isn’t that usually something you bring people who are helpful? Family, bridesmaids, even your own—”
The words cut cleanly across your excuse.
“I want you there too.”
For a moment, even the bakery seemed to pause. The soft hum of refrigeration units, the clink of trays from the kitchen, the low music drifting from hidden speakers all receded into something distant and unimportant.
You looked at her.
Mayu stood exactly as she always did when saying something she considered obvious, chin slightly lifted, eyes steady, impatience hiding whatever softness had slipped out by accident.
“I just want you to see it too.”
You forgot, briefly, how to arrange your expression.
Mayu seemed unaware of what she had done, or perhaps she was aware and pretending not to be, which had always been one of her more advanced talents. She stood there with that same stubborn steadiness, paper-thin impatience covering something warmer underneath.
“Everbody has seen it already,” she continued. “You don’t have to say anything else.”
Something struck you then.
It arrived so suddenly it almost felt physical, a sharp knock somewhere beneath the ribs.
From all the years you had known Mayu, from classrooms and train rides and convenience store dinners and arguments that somehow became routine, you would never have believed she could be this cruel.
Mayu was not vicious. She was not careless in the obvious ways. She did not enjoy hurting people.
No, this was the older, stranger kind.
The cruelty of sincerity.
The cruelty of asking honestly for something she had no idea would cost you.
She wanted you there and she meant it, thinking that meaning was enough.
And maybe to her, it was.
You stared at her while she waited for your answer, still composed, still certain she was being too generous by including you.
She had no idea she was holding the knife by the handle and offering you the blade.
The bell above the bakery’s door rang again.
“The car’s all cool and ready, should we go?” Rin stood by the open door, one hand resting on the handle, sunlight spilling around him from the street outside.
There were moments in life when honesty strutted to the front of everything else, dramatic and ready to show itself, ready to confess everything. This was not one of them. Once again, honesty took one look at the circumstances and hid itself somewhere behind your heart.
“Do I even have a choice?” You tightened your grip on the paper bag.
Mayu’s mouth twitched. “If it were up to me, no.”
Yours betrayed you with a faint twitch of its own.
“Then this hardly feels voluntary.”
“It isn’t.”
She said it with such plain certainty that a short laugh escaped you before you could stop it. The sound seemed to surprise both of you.
From the doorway, Rin watched the exchange with quiet amusement.
“If we are, we should get going before traffic gets worse.”
He held the door wider.
You looked once at the street beyond him, bright and open in the late afternoon sun. It would have been easy to walk the other direction, easy to invent an excuse, easy to protect yourself with distance, with errands, with cowardice dressed as usefulness elsewhere.
Instead, you looked back at Mayu.
She waited without softening, no pleading, no apology for asking. It was that stubborn certainty that had bulldozed through your life for years and somehow always expected you to remain standing afterward.
“Fine.” You sighed.
“Good,” she said immediately, as if the matter had already been settled ten minutes ago.
Rin stepped aside so the two of you could pass.
Mayu moved first. You followed, still carrying the cheesecake and as you passed Rin, he leaned slightly closer.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you can still run.”
You glanced at Mayu ahead of you, already walking toward the car without checking whether you were behind her because she assumed you would be.
“No,” you said. “I really can’t.”
Rin’s smile turned gentler, as if he understood more than he intended to.
The tailoring shop was exactly how you had imagined it and somehow worse.
Gowns lined the walls in soft rows of white and ivory, some draped in protective covers, others displayed openly on mannequins, satin caught the light in colorful hues, lace climbed sleeves and collars in delicate patterns that looked too smooth to trust to human hands, and beads and pearls flashed whenever someone moved nearby. Every direction contained some new version of elegance and formality.
The air carried the scent of pressed fabric, clean cotton, steamed silk, and something faintly floral that seemed designed to come with the other designs.
You were left outside of the changing room with Rin, still holding the paper bag, while the two of you drifted through opposite sides of the shop as Mayu changed.
Rin paused beside a display of tailored suits, fingers brushing the cuff of one coat. He looked as though he belonged in places like this, calm among expensive things, unthreatened by what could cling onto him.
You, meanwhile, stood near a mannequin wearing a simple suit with nothing special and nothing fancy but it stood on the fine line between being formal and being an accountant.
“Thanks for going with us,” Rin’s voice came from your side so suddenly that you froze in place.
“I—yeah, it’s no problem.”
“It’s probably hard but still, thanks. I’m sure Mayu appreciates it a lot.”
“Hard?”
“Given someone like yourself, you seem to be very busy.”
You stared at him for a moment.
“Busy,” you repeated. “Right.”
Rin’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly, as though he sensed something in your tone.
“I only meant that you must have your own life,” he said. “Work, responsibilities, other plans. Yet you keep making time whenever she asks.”
You let out a breath through your nose and looked back at the mannequin beside you.
“I’ve known her for as long as I could remember, it’s pretty hard to say no to someone like that.”
Rin chuckled softly in his exhale.
“I could see that. I mean, it’s pretty evident in the way she talks about you.”
You turned to look at him fully.
“The way she talks about me?”
Rin nodded once, as if he had said something mild and not casually dropped a lit match into dry grass.
“Might just be her badmouthing me.”
“It is usually fond,” he said. “Though sometimes disguised as criticism.”
“Wasn’t expecting anything less.”
“When she mentions other people, it’s usually short. Functional. Names, schedules, inconveniences. When she mentions you, there are stories.” He smiled faintly.
Rin continued with the same annoyingly calm tone he had.
“She tells me about arguments you had years ago as if they happened last week. She remembers things you said that you probably forgot before dinner. She complains about habits of yours no one else would notice unless they had been watching for a very long time.”
“Didn’t think she’d remember useless details,” you said with a weak breath.
“They weren’t useless to her, at least that’s what I think.”
You went still.
The tailoring shop continued around you as though nothing had changed. A consultant crossed the room carrying a veil over both arms like ceremonial fog. Somewhere in the back, pins rattled in a tin. Soft music drifted from hidden speakers with expensive confidence.
They weren’t useless to her.
You looked down at the paper bag in your hand.
“You’re making her sound more generous than she is,” you said at last, and meant it jokingly.
Rin shrugged lightly. “Maybe.”
“You say maybe the way people do when trying to seem polite.” You let out a short laugh and leaned against the display platform beside the mannequin.
“I forget things she says all the time,” you muttered.
“I doubt that.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“No,” Rin said gently. “I don’t think I would.”
You glanced at him.
He wasn’t smug. That would have been easier to dismiss. He only looked thoughtful, as if he was slowly figuring you out.
“You really enjoy making strangers uncomfortable.”
“We’re not strangers.”
“We barely know each other.”
“Barely is still progress.”
Your mouth twitched almost into a smile before your gaze drifted toward the closed curtain.
“She talks about me that much?”
Rin followed your eyes.
“About you directly and about you indirectly,” he corrected. “There is a difference.”
You frowned. “That sounds worse.”
He shook his head.
“If she is annoyed at work, somehow it becomes a story about how you once handled something badly in school. If she sees a restaurant she likes, she mentions whether you would hate their best seller. If something breaks, she remembers how you used to insist you could fix things and somehow make it worse.”
“It must be annoying hearing my name all the time.” you replied.
“It isn't,” he shook his head again. “It gives me an idea of the kind of life she had before we met and who she grew up with.”
You looked at him carefully then, searching for the hidden edge.
“You’re very relaxed about all this,” you said.
“Abou what?”
“The fact your soon-to-be wife narrates half her life through stories always involving another man.”
Rin considered that with real thought, one hand slipping into his pocket.
“I suppose I never really saw you as ‘another man.’” he laughed quietly.
“I mean you’re a part of her at this point,” he clarified. “Like a hometown street, or a person she hated, or a song she knows each and every lyric to. You’re built into many of her memories. Being jealous of that would be like resenting her entirely.”
You could’ve brushed it off with sarcasm, with what you’ve been using to keep you afloat up to this point, but you couldn’t.
Before you could come up with anything, the curtain rustled.
Both of you turned instinctively.
A consultant stepped out first, smiling in professional anticipation.
Then Mayu followed.
She wore ivory silk that caught the light that hung above. The dress was elegant without trying to be grand, fitted through the waist before falling cleanly to the floor. Lace traced her shoulders in fine patterns, and her hair had been pinned loosely back for the fitting, exposing the line of her neck.
You had known her in school uniforms, raincoats, sweatpants, oversized hoodies, wrinkled office clothes, pajamas during late-night emergencies, and one unforgettable period where she insisted a bucket hat suited her.
None of those prepared you for this.
Mayu, suddenly self-conscious under the silence, frowned.
“Well?” she asked. “Why are both of you staring like witnesses?”
Rin smiled first.
“You look beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes instantly, which meant the compliment was acknowledged.
Then her gaze moved to you.
You opened your mouth and nothing came out.
The consultant looked delighted. Rin looked knowingly. Mayu looked annoyed in the precise way she did when she wanted out from you.
“Well?” she repeated, asking you directly.
You tightened your grip on the paper bag, still hanging absurdly from your hand.
“Are you sure you wanna go with that?” you said jokingly, “There are still a couple of dresses you could try out.”
“What?” Mayu’s expression changed immediately.
“Relax,” you spoke again with a smile growing across your lips, “You look. . .nice.”
Mayu stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind her eyes.
“Nice?” she repeated quietly.
Rin shifted his gaze away, giving the room more space than it seemed to have a moment ago. The consultant, sensing tension she had no training manual for, lowered her clipboard and waited.
“I meant you look good.” you cleared your throat.
“That’s it? ‘Nice’ is all you have to say?” Her voice was calm, but there was something sharper beneath it, something closer to disappointment.
You looked at the paper bag in your hand, then back at her.
“You know I’m not good at this.”
“At what?” Mayu asked.
“Words,” You looked away briefly before drifting back to her.
“Then just say whatever comes to mind first,”
You swallowed a breath.
I’ve loved you ever since.
I’m sorry for being a coward.
The room seemed to narrow around those two unsaid sentences.
You looked at Mayu standing there in ivory silk, waiting with that familiar impatience she used whenever she cared too much to appear vulnerable.
Then you did what you had always done, you reached for something safer.
“You look like yourself,” you said quietly.
Her brows knit together at once. “That doesn’t even mean anything.”
“It does.” Your voice came steadier now, though it cost you. “Everyone else is going to say beautiful. Elegant. Perfect. They’ll say the dress suits you.” You said as you kept your eyes on her.
“But when you walked out,” you said, “it didn’t feel like I was looking at a dress.”
Silence settled across the shop.
“It just felt like you.”
Mayu’s expression changed so slightly most people would have missed it. The tension in her mouth loosened. Something uncertain flickered behind her eyes.
Rin looked down at the floor, giving privacy the only way strangers can.
“That,” Mayu said after a moment, voice quieter now, “was still the strangest thing you could’ve said.”
“It was the best I had.”
“You usually have worse.”
A breath of shared laughter moved through the room, thin and fragile, but enough.
The consultant recovered first. “Would you like to step onto the platform so we can check the hem?”
Mayu didn’t move immediately, she was still looking at you.
“You really think it looks alright?” she asked.
There were dozens of answers available, safer ones, lighter ones, cowardly ones.
You chose a small part of the truth because saying its entirety still felt like thorns lodged in between your lips.
“I think,” you said, “whoever waits for you at the end of the aisle is going to forget how to breathe for a second.”
Rin went still for a second.
Mayu finally looked over, “I think he just did.”
He let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh, not quite anything that could settle the moment.
You stayed where you were, the paper bag still hanging from your hand, your grip tighter than it needed to be like it had been for a while.
The consultant stepped in again, gently reclaiming the moment with professional precision. “If you could step up, we’ll just check the length and the fit along the waist.”
Mayu nodded and moved, the fabric shifting softly with her, catching light in soft waves. She stepped onto the platform, lifting the hem slightly as instructed.
Rin approached a little closer then, attentive in the way he always was. He said something low to the consultant, something practical, minor adjustments to the details that belonged to the future he was building with her.
From the platform, Mayu glanced at you again.
“Could you take a photo of us? My mom wants to see the dress with everything fixed.”
For a second, you thought you had misheard her.
“Me?” you asked, because dignity sometimes survives only as stalling.
Mayu gave you a look that suggested the room contained no one else capable of operating a phone.
“Yes, you.”
She reached for the small clutch set on a nearby chair and handed you her phone. Your fingers brushed hers for the briefest moment before she pulled back.
Rin stepped beside her on the platform without hesitation, one hand settling lightly at the small of her back before she wrapped her arm around his.
You hated how quick that was.
The consultant beamed. “Lovely. Just a little closer, please.”
Rin obliged.
Mayu remained still for half a beat before allowing herself to lean the slightest fraction toward him.
You lifted the phone.
The screen framed them neatly.
“Ready?” you asked, voice sounding how it usually was which was a miracle in its own.
Mayu looked into the camera first, then at the last second her eyes flicked to you instead of the lens.
Rin smiled properly, warm and composed.
You pressed the shutter.
Once and then twice and for a third time because your hand needed something to do.
“There,” you said, lowering the phone.
The consultant asked to see them immediately and began praising angles no one cared about.
“Let me see.” Mayu stepped down from the platform and came toward you, dress gathered carefully in one hand.
You handed the phone back.
She stood close enough for you to smell the clean scent of steamed fabric and whatever perfume had survived the fitting room.
Her thumb moved across the screen, breath gasping heavier at each one.
“Should we also take a picture of you three?” The voice of the attendant slipped through.
“No,” you said too quickly. “I mean, it’s fine. It’s not really necessary.”
Mayu and Rin looked at each other before he shrugged, “I don’t mind.”
You opened your mouth to object again, but Mayu had already turned to the consultant.
“Could you?”
“Absolutely, not a problem.” the woman said, delighted by a complication she mistook for charm.
Before you could retreat, Mayu took your wrist along with Rin’s with her other hand and pulled the both of you onto the platform on both of her sides.
Then she released your wrist as if nothing had happened.
The three of you arranged yourselves with the graceless uncertainty of people who did not belong in the same photograph.
You hovered half a step away, trying to create distance that looked accidental.
Mayu noticed immediately.
“Closer,” she said.
“I’m fine over here.” you replied without hesitation.
You turned to the camera, not noticing the sigh that left her lips.
She once again wrapped her arm around Rin’s as if she had already done it a million times before grabbing onto yours to pull both of you in.
One sharp tug and suddenly you were close enough to feel the cool brush of satin against your sleeve, close enough to smell the faint perfume at her wrist, close enough for the entire situation to become structurally unsound.
You did not trust yourself enough to turn your head so you looked straight at the phone in the consultant’s hands and held still.
And without much further objection, the moment was captured into memory.
The consultant lowered the phone with a satisfied smile.
“Lovely,” she said. “One more, just in case.”
Before you could protest, she raised it again.
You kept your gaze forward, jaw set, every muscle committed to hide any piece of emotion from showing. Rin stood steady on her other side, composed as ever. Mayu remained between the two of you with the widest smile on her face.
The phone clicked once more, then it was over.
Mayu let go of your arm first.
She stepped down from the platform carefully, gathering the skirt in one hand, while Rin offered his arm to steady her over the small step. She accepted it without thought.
You looked away before that simple gesture could become something else in your mind.
The consultant returned the phone. “You three look wonderful.”
She took it and began scrolling through the photos in silence.
Rin approached the attendant, probably to discuss other things while Mayu walked back to you.
For a moment, you let the silence run its course.
Then Mayu turned the phone slightly toward you.
“You blinked in this one.”
“I hope it ruins the entire set.”
“It doesn’t.” She swiped again. “You just look irritated.”
“I was irritated.”
“I know.”
She moved to the next photo.
In that one, Rin stood straight and composed, Mayu smiling between you both, and you looked as though you were trying to keep a breath in.
She stared at it longer than the others.
“You could have smiled,” she said.
“You could have warned me.”
“I did. I said closer.”
“That wasn’t a warning.”
A faint breath escaped her, almost a laugh, though it never fully became one.
She swiped again, this time she stopped.
Your eyes dropped to the screen before you could stop yourself.
The three of you stood framed in clean white light. Rin standing calm and Mayu bright and centered. You were rigid at her side, but your head turned a fraction toward her, so slight it might have happened by accident.
“Delete that,” you quickly said.
“No.” She stepped back before your hand could reach it, lifting the phone just out of range.
“Mayu, it looks bad.”
“So what? I like it.” The answer came too quickly, as if she had already decided it before you spoke.
You lowered your hand.
Mayu looked down at the screen again.
In the photo, Rin stood straight beside her. You stood on her other side, shoulders stiff, mouth set, trying to appear detached, but your eyes had betrayed you. They rested on her with a quiet intensity that no posture could hide.
“Fine, if you say so.” You sighed, voice softening. “Just don't post it anywhere.”
Her thumb hovered over the screen, tracing nothing, eyes still fixed on the photo as though it contained more than the three figures standing inside it.
“I wasn’t planning to,” she said at last.
You glanced toward Rin across the room. He was speaking with the consultant now, nodding politely at measurements and dates and adjustments that belonged to a future already organized for him. He looked comfortable there, part of the scene in a way you never could be.
“Good,” you said.
Mayu kept looking at the picture.
“It doesn’t look bad,” she said quietly.
“It does.”
“It doesn’t.”
“You look happy,” you replied. “He looks like he belongs in a magazine. I look like I’m struggling to keep still.”
That earned a small sound from her, almost amused.
“You always think you look worse than you do.”
“I look exactly as bad as I think.”
She shook her head once, then locked the phone and lowered it to her side.
“That’s not what I meant.”
You knew better than to ask what she had meant. Questions with Mayu often opened doors you had no business entering.
The consultant called her name from across the room.
“One minute,” she answered, but her eyes stayed on you.
There was a pause then, thin and quiet.
“You know,” she said, “you didn’t have to come today.”
You gave a short laugh. “You asked.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It usually is with you.”
Her expression shifted, something unreadable moving through it.
“I mean it,” she said. “You could’ve said no.”
You looked past her toward the rows of dresses, toward the mirrors catching strangers at flattering angles.
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Because you always ask.
Because some part of me is still stupid enough to show up whenever you reach out.
Because I'm still hopelessly in love with you.
You settled, as always, for something smaller.
“You needed another opinion,” you said.
She stared at you for a long moment, then nodded once in the slow way people do when they know they’ve been lied to but don’t intend to argue.
“Right,” she said.
Rin approached then, gentle and composed, carrying the ease of someone who had never needed to brace himself before entering a room.
“They’re going to pin the hem once more,” he said to her. Then to you, “Sorry to keep taking your afternoon.”
You answered with a nod, a dismissive expression crossing your face for a moment.
The attendant beckoned again.
“Be right back.” Mayu said before picking up her skirt and walking away.
Rin nodded at you once before following her, leaving you in the middle of the platform.
You remained where you were for a moment longer, as if movement required permission.
Around you, the shop resumed its careful rhythm. Pins clicked into trays. Hangers hung onto metal rails. Somewhere near the front, another attendant laughed softly at something no one else needed to hear.
You stepped down from the platform at last.
The paper bag was still in your hand, its handles twisted from how tightly you had been holding them. You loosened your grip and found faint creases pressed into your palm.
Across the room, Mayu stood before a mirror while the consultant knelt at the hem, gathering silk in practiced fingers. Rin stood beside them, listening, occasionally answering, occasionally smiling.
Without much further thought, you slipped away to the front of the store. You sat on a lone seat, eyes still briefly at them for moments at a time.
Mayu was still facing the mirror, chin lifted slightly while the consultant adjusted the dress. Rin stood beside her, saying something that made her shake her head in quiet amusement.
Once again, you had found yourself watching her from a respectable distance that you put yourself in like plenty of times before.
Far enough that no one could accuse you of wanting too much.
Far enough that if she turned, you could pretend you had only been looking past her.
Far enough to make yourself believe you still have some semblance of dignity left when there was seemingly none.
With a painful swallow, you waited until they were finished.
You walked out into the cold breeze as you stepped from the store.
Traffic rolled past in steady lines, headlights beginning to wake against the dimming afternoon. People moved around you with practiced purpose, coats drawn close, phones in hand, conversations already halfway finished. Across the street, someone lifted an arm and called for a taxi.
You stood on the sidewalk for a moment, the shop warm and bright behind you, the city cool and indifferent ahead.
Behind you, Rin and Mayu followed.
Rin moved past you without another word and headed for the car. You watched him for a moment as he opened the driver's seat and started it.
Mayu cleared her throat behind you.
You turned slightly.
Mayu stood a few steps away, coat buttoned, hair loosened from the fitting, looking more like herself now than she had in the white dress under showroom lights. In one hand she held a cream envelope.
“I can just ride the bus home,” you said, the words slipping out with a tired breath. “No need to give me a ride.”
“Actually,” she said, lifting the envelope slightly, “I wanted to give you something.”
For a second, you only looked at it.
A heavy paper with clean edges, your name written across the front in handwriting you recognized immediately.
Your stomach sank before your mind caught up.
Mayu stepped closer and held it out.
“We started sending them out in the morning,” she said. “But then I thought it’d be strange to mail it.”
You didn’t take it right away, “You brought it with you?” you asked.
“I knew you were going with us so why not give it to you personally?”
There was nothing sharp in how she said it. That made it worse.
Slowly, you reached out and accepted the envelope.
Your name stared back at you, then so did the place and then finally, the date.
It was a week from now.
“The banquet hall is really pretty,” she added, a little softer this time. “There’s this big chandelier in the middle that shines brighter than everything else inside.”
You let out a small, humorless breath.
“Yeah,” you said. “Sounds like your kind of place.”
She studied your face, searching for something you weren’t planning to give her.
“You don’t have to come if—”
“I’ll be there.”
The answer landed quicker than either of you expected.
You shifted your gaze away from her, toward the road, toward anything that didn’t have her expression attached to it.
“I mean,” you added, voice flattening out, “you went through the trouble of inviting me. Be a waste if I didn’t show up.”
“That’s not why I—”
“I know,” you cut in, just lightly enough to pass as casual, just sharp enough to end the thought. “It’s your wedding. I’m supposed to be there, right? Childhood friend obligation or whatever.”
“It’s not an obligation.”Mayu’s grip tightened slightly around the strap of her bag.
You glanced back at her then, something faint and crooked pulling at the corner of your mouth.
“Sure,” you said. “It’s not like you’ve been dragging me along to your preparations.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m kidding,” you said, though nothing in your tone bothered pretending to match the word.
For a moment, neither of you spoke then you tapped the envelope lightly against your palm.
“I’ll be there,” you repeated, quieter now. “Wouldn’t want to miss it.”
Mayu held your gaze for a second longer, like she was trying to decide if that meant anything more than what you said.
“…Okay,” she answered.
Behind her, Rin leaned slightly out of the driver’s seat, one hand resting on the wheel.
“Mayu,” he called gently.
She turned halfway, then back to you again.
“Are you sure you don’t want a ride?”
“I’ll take the bus.” You shook your head once.
Another pause, another moment where something almost formed and didn’t.
“Alright.” she nodded.
She stepped back, turning toward the car, the distance between you closing and then widening again in the same motion.
You stayed where you were.
Your eyes watched the passenger door open then close before the car turned into motion. And just like that, they were part of the traffic.
You stood there a while longer, the envelope still in your hand, your name written neatly across something that didn’t belong to you anymore.
Around you, the city kept moving.
Because whether you like it or not,
It always did.
That night, you had trouble sleeping.
Your apartment was quiet in the irritating way only late nights could be, where every small sound became louder than it should have been. The refrigerator hummed like it had its own voice, the pipes clicked somewhere in the walls and a car passed outside and faded into distance as if even strangers didn't know how to leave properly.
You lay on your back with one arm over your eyes, then on your side, then on the other side, then back again, performing the same ritual of pretending movement counted as progress.
A breath left you then.
An image flashed itself in your mind, without regard for whatever you were feeling.
Mayu in that silky ivory dress.
Clear as if you were still standing in the shop. The line of her shoulders under lace. The way the fabric caught light when she moved.
Her hair pinned back, exposing the shape of her neck you had spent years pretending not to notice. The faint uncertainty in her face when she first stepped out and asked how she looked as though your answer mattered more than it should have.
You pressed the heel of your palm harder against your eyes.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered to the dark.
She was getting married in a week and you were wallowing in bed.
The girl who you had spent your whole life with was getting married and you couldn't do anything.
The girl you'd love for half of your life was getting married and somehow, someway you still hadn't told her how you felt.
Because you were a coward.
That word had followed you for years.
It had stood beside you in high school when she cried outside the gym after some boy made her feel small, and you only offered her your jacket instead of saying I’d never do that to you.
It sat with you in college when she called late at night just to hear a familiar voice, and you spoke to her for three hours about nothing except the one thing that mattered.
It moved into every apartment you’d ever rented. Rode in every cab after every confession that ended in a maybe. Waited through birthdays, breakups, promotions, holidays, all the seasons where something could have been said and wasn’t.
Coward.
The pressed itself onto you, not dramatic enough to lose her in one grand tragedy, but just enough to lose her slowly.
You turned onto your side and stared at the wall.
Maybe if you had said it years ago, everything would be different.
Maybe she would have laughed.
Maybe she would have kissed you.
Maybe she would have said she knew already and wondered what took so long.
Maybe none of it would have worked.
But who knows what would've happened?
You sure didn't.
Pushing yourself up from the bed, you turned to your nightstand where the invitation sat mocking you.
You picked it up and stared at your name written across the front in her handwriting.
That was the cruel touch, really.She had written your name herself.
Carefully, too, in balanced strokes, familiar curves. The same handwriting that once left notes in your textbooks, shopping lists on your fridge, passive-aggressive reminders on birthday cards.
Now it invites you to watch her marry someone else.
You opened it again though you already knew every word inside.
Date, venue, ceremony, and the reception to follow.
As if there had ever been doubt the suffering would include refreshments.
Your thumb rubbed over the embossed edge until it bent slightly.
You stopped immediately and smoothed it flat again.
Even now, apparently, you were careful with things that hurt you.
You laughed once, low and tired, then sat on the edge of the bed with the card in your hands and the room around you like eyes watching from the dark.
What exactly had you been waiting for all these years?
Perfect timing?
A sign?
Her to turn to you one day and say, By the way, if you've secretly loved me since highschool, now would be ideal.
Ridiculous.
You leaned back, invitation resting against your knee.
A week from now you could wear a suit, smile politely, shake Rin’s hand, and clap while everyone celebrated efficient outcomes.
Or you could not go.
Disappear gracefully, develop a sudden illness then fake your death with moderate effort.
Neither option felt noble.
Neither felt survivable.
You looked once more at your name on the envelope.
Then said quietly into the empty room,
“If I tell you now, I become selfish.”
The silence stayed in its place.
“And if I don’t,” you added, “I stay a coward.”
The idea stayed in your mind right before you eventually fell asleep, and it was still there when sunlight slipped through your blinds the next morning.
You thought it through again while still half-awake, staring at the ceiling now made ordinary by daylight. Whether to attend. Whether to speak. Whether to drag years of carefully hidden feeling into the open and lay it at her feet like something broken but honest.
Part of you wanted it to remain where it had always lived.
Hidden inside long looks you disguised as nothing.
Inside every joke that meant more than it said.
Inside every time you showed up when she asked and pretended it was convenience.
Inside all the words you never chose.
There was a strange dignity in silence. A museum quality to it. Preserved regret under clean glass.
But you couldn’t convince yourself anymore.
Maybe because a wedding invitation was the first real deadline your heart had ever received.
Maybe because losing quietly had started to feel more pathetic than losing loudly.
Maybe because if she married him and never knew, some part of you would spend the rest of your life rewriting conversations in empty rooms.
You sat up slowly, rubbed both hands over your face, and let out a breath that felt older than you were.
You were going to tell her.
Whether it was today, tomorrow, or thirty minutes before the wedding started.
“Stupid — idiot — shit!” The 150kg bench moved up surprisingly easily. The sheer shame of recalling that scene increases your strength, with no apparent limit. You continued doing one more set of three–and a half–reps of it, before retiring the bar.
“Haaah~” a quick break was much needed. You just hit a PR there, though there was no immediate sense of accomplishment. You moved over to the cables, after cleaning your sweats off the bench of course.
“Basic gym etiquette people, please respect that,” you thought to yourself while wiping the shape of your wet ass. Apparently, the one who used it before you didn’t care enough to clean after themselves. Fucking disgusting.
You shook the annoyance off of your head. It happens. Not all people have basic human decency. Carry on. As you grabbed the ropes to do some triceps pushdowns, the memory of that night continued.
“Okay..? Uhm, well, I am honored. That’s for sure, but I’m here just to help you forget her. Not to stay. I’m sorry,” Sooin exclaimed as she gave you the look of pity that night. Like she’s looking at a puppy that was about to be put down. You respected her for being honest, at least.
You cranked the weight to the maximum capacity. Your triceps were screaming to it, the bench earlier put quite a strain on them. Well, better physical agony than emotional misery.
You finished up the day’s workout by doing 3 sets of 10’s, each set with max weight. The pump was glorious. Chest, arms, you probably looked like Chris Hemsworth, not that you’d care at this point. You released the pin off the weight on the machine before taking off. Still secretly annoyed to the unknown for leaving their sweatprint on the bench earlier. Basic fucking manner.
With a heavy mind you walked towards the bathroom. The soreness normally arrives the next day or two, but your head was aching so bad already, not even five minutes after the workout. “You stupid fuck, if I just be patient and think about it with my goddamn head instead of my cock then maybe Sooin wouldn’t be so disgusted,” you blamed yourself for something that might be entirely untrue, as per usual.
The self blame was only the breath of what’s to come. As you stepped your foot inside the bathroom, you’re starting to descend.
“What did I do wrong?” is a question that will never find an answer. Your chest was starting to hurt. Sooin succeeded in helping you forget Karina, that much was true. But you, in turn, were only thinking about her now. Like ditching cigarettes to vape due to it being ‘healthier’.
Your steps weakened. It’s not because you just benched your PR, multiple times–for fuck’s sake it’s not even a leg day. Stumbling deeper into the bathroom, it’s empty. Perfect recipe for a spiral. You tried to swallow it all away, but then you saw the mirror. “Who are you?” you screamed inside your head as you felt your own face. The face of someone who has never done anything right.
Bathing had never been so uncomfortable.
You managed in the end. The loathe of the self was weakening as much as the water washed away the sweat on your body. Hopefully–at the very least, you did feel better after the brisk shower.
You didn’t stay too long in there, lest a spiraling happen again.
It’s almost midnight. The gym was almost empty, except for this one girl you spotted in the corner of your eyes once you got out of the bathroom. Then you remembered something. “Is she the one who didn’t wipe her sweats off the bench?”
As a long time gym goer, the urge to explain things to her was unfortunately a lot bigger than the desire to isolate yourself.
You treaded your steps lightly towards the currently-on-the-stairmaster girl.
“Hello,” you said, coming from her side. (Note that you should always be cautious when you approach a stranger. You can never know what they’re thinking about.)
She didn’t notice at first, focused on managing the tempo of her breaths. So you decided to just wait until she’s finished her workout.
.
.
.
“What are you doing? You’ve been ogling me for the last 15 minutes. Kindly explain yourself before I call the authorities,” she interrogated you right after the machine turned off. Her voice was calm, but you could feel that it's filled with malice. Which, to be fair, you were the only person in there aside from herself. Creep.
Extending your palms that were facing her was the only option you have. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you with the workout, so I just waited. Sorry again,”
She’s not relaxing, instead she inched closer with her menacing aura. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Holy shit she’s pretty. ‘NO!’ You internally shook your head.
“Okay, sorry. It’s just, I wanna make sure before anything, were you the one who used the bench before? If so, then would you please, with great urgency, clean it after use? That goes for everything in the gym actually. That is all. Again, sorry for being rude, and sorry if I accuse-”
“-yes. What are you gonna do about it?”
The abrupt cut off left you in silence for a second or two. Is she serious? Here you are trying your best to sound polite and respectful, only to get brushed off like that.
“If that’s all then would you please excuse me? I need to get going,” she said as she walked past. You were NOT gonna let her pass.
“Sorry, miss,” you grabbed her hands right when she’s by your shoulder.
She looked reluctant to stop before turning her body around. Then you realized something, this woman looked like she descended straight from the heavenly realm to grace the mortals with her godly presence. Her looks scream danger, but you couldn’t help yourself to not stare from such a close distance.
“Get your fucking hands off.”
It was only when you heard that ice cold voice of hers that you let her wrist go. She looked offended. Her eyes expressed herself louder than her words. The eyes of someone thinking about everything but benevolence. You were too deep to give up now.
“Respectfully, I will not let such things pass,” God you sounded like a literal Karen.
To your absolute surprise what she did next was to slap your face so hard that you had to lean to your side to lessen the impact. She hit you way harder than Sooin did.
“And I will not let you touch me again,” she brought herself closer to your wincing face below. Only after you opened your eyes did she finally leave you behind.
She’s heading towards the bathroom–needless to say, it’s separated by gender. You catched a glimpse of her turning her body around before entering. “Oh, and my name is Anna,”
You lost the battle.
=
“So how was it?” Gawon asks with an enthusiasm of a cat hearing their owner opening a can of tuna.
Your gaze is fixed onto the ceiling. Drool almost leaks from the corner of your lips, fortunately the woman beside you nudges your shoulder before it happens. “Huh?”
She raises both her eyebrows in curiosity. “Sooin! Tell me about her!”
“Oh, yeah, uhh, I don’t know.”
“Oh c'mon! There’s gotta be more than that. Have you guys been in contact? It’s been a week! She’s really great(in bed), right?!!" Gawon drags the chair she’s sitting on by her sheer nosy energy–and her long legs, it helps. Gotta give her credits for that.
“Gawon, I just, I don’t know, really. I confessed to her and she said-”
“YOU CONFESSED?!” the whole office briefly turns head towards the source of the sound. She duly apologizes.
Now in a much quieter voice. “Are you serious?!”
If you could fold your face and file it into the desk container beside you, you would. Gawon is the type to never let go. “It was in the heat of the moment okay?! Jeez, and it was your words too that inspired me. Fuckin “sex so good- yada yada” don’t you dare laugh!”
But your warning came a little bit too late. Gawon already erupts into laughter once she hears the word ‘sex’. The office doesn’t even bother to look this time. You had to threat her with your empty lunchbox–the threat being : washing it–to shut her up, to which she thankfully did.
“Happy?” you shade(slang for throwing shade).
“Yeah, sorry sorry. But seriously, I didn’t think you would be so bold like that!” she pats an encouragement pat on your shoulder, which really feels like an insult more than anything else.
“I would blame you if you weren’t my senior, but oh well, shit happens,” your shoulders momentarily raise.
“Well, she gave you the nicest ass you’ll ever have, that’s also thanks to me, junior,” she somehow looks proud of it.
“Anyway, anyway-” you move your head closer to her, positioning your mouth next to her ear before whispering. “What is your opinion about being slapped?”
She jerks her head backwards. Giving you this look as if she’s watching a seal(the animal) clapping for the first time. “Didn’t know you were into that,” she nods in agreement, perchance.
“Yeah me neither,” you go back into your former position. “So there’s this girl I met at the gym…”
=
You go to the gym three times a week. Contrary to popular belief, that much is enough training for most ‘normal’ people. That is, people who don't compete in bodybuilding and/or make the gym in itself their entire personality. Of all three of those days, you seem to meet Anna more frequently than you’d like to.
She still doesn’t clean after herself, probably ever, but she always comes to you after each workout after you met her that night.
“Here.”
“Again?”
She doesn’t answer.
“You know that if I were anybody else I would seriously ban you from going to this gym, right? Actually, any gym in the entire state.”
She hands you her towel and leaves you alone, like she always does. And you always clean after her, like you always do. What are you? Her dog? Or her dawg?
Why would you do it? One might ask. It’s simple really. When you bend yourself to her will, the voices in your head go quiet. And for now, that is all you really need.
Anna goes into the bathroom. It is midnight, the gym has no one else inside beside the two of you. You circle the area to wipe the remnants of her efforts. It is leg day for her, so you mostly deal with ass-shaped patches of sweat.
You usually finish everything up almost the same time as she finishes bathing. She’s taking quite a bit longer than usual today, was her work out really intense?
“Anna?” you shout from the other side.
Silence.
“Don’t tell me she’s passed out in there,” you force your way in–against your conscience, since, who else is gonna stop you but yourself?
Enter the ladies bathroom. It is surprisingly similar to the men’s counterpart.
You scan the place before hearing a voice.
“You call yourself a righteous, upstanding gym-goer, but here you are barging your way into the sacred place, hypocrite much?” Anna is sitting on the floor, naked. You instinctively cover your eyes, though you got a glimpse still.
“Anna!” you quickly snatch the clean towel closest to you, covering her up. She’s shivering under the blanket. One look at her though, and you know she’s not gonna spill the beans. Her face no longer has that intimidating aura to it. She looks, and this is the most polite word that you can think of, pathetic.
“Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to tell me anything, I’ll just wait outside until you’re ready to, y’know, become your usual self … yeah! Okay,” you awkwardly stand up. Anna refuses to look at you, however.
“Wait,” she calls you not even three steps away. There’s something different with how she sounds just now. What was once a deadly calmness has now turned into a silent desperation. This is the first time you hear her in this voice.
You turn around. She still refuses to look at you, but her face is no longer as tense.
“Would you help me take a bath? … I can’t do it myself,” there’s a speck of red slowly filling her pale skin, especially around the cheeks.
This completely destroys your image of Anna. She does have a cute side, after all.
You breath through your nose a bit rougher than normal. Looking down, you find yourself putting on a wide smile. Not something she has to know, yet. You raise your head to look back at her. “Sure.”
Helping her stand on her feet turns out to be a bit more complicated than you initially thought. It’s not that Anna is actually heavier than she looks. It's just that she has zero strength in her two legs, they’re completely limp. You have to position yourself as such to make her hold the vertical position, and this is before you’re even getting in the shower.
You offered her a piggyback, which to no one’s surprise she vehemently denies. She insists on still standing on her two feet like normal, with your assistance that is. In this kind of situation, you feel like there’s really no room for argument. Slowly but surely you guide her towards the destination, one step at a time.
It is already halfway through the bathroom–it being large is more of a bother for this occurrence–when Anna tugs you on your side. “Take it off,” she whines, her eyes repeatedly pointing towards the towel enveloping her body.
“No way. One time is lucky two time is jinxing it, no?” you haven’t got the time to respond when she decides to pull it off herself. Your eyes shot wide open. Albeit being the second time you see her naked, one being an accident and this being her giving the full consent will always feel different. It is now your turn to have your cheeks go red.
For the first time since more than a month of meeting her, you hear Anna laugh. It is a shy little giggle, with her fully leaning towards you. You can feel her heaving chest grazing your abdomen every so often. Damn.
The next few minutes feel like you’re living in a world of slow motion. Helping her clean herself after a work out, a leg day no less, unironically feels like cleansing your own soul. She is pretty. She works out. Her body is smoking hot. But you somehow don’t feel any lust towards her–okay, maybe a little–as you start cleaning.
The gym bathroom provides some kind of a sitting platform under the shower, meant for the elderly and the disabled, which really helps for now. You gently sat her down before turning the shower on. Anna asks for the hottest setting, you oblige. You start from her neck, though you gradually heat it up instead of setting it straight into the furnace setting. You rub her neck and the parts behind her ears, which earns a giggle from her. You continue downwards, showering her body with hot water before rubbing every inch of her using your soapy hands. Anna’s body looks delicate, but it is surprisingly firm. A sign that she takes her work out seriously, she must’ve carved her body for a long time to achieve this build. You treat her body as graciously as you can. Rinsing off, it’s time to clean her lower body, her limp legs.
You tell her to support herself on your back while you crouch down low in front of her. Her lower region is entirely different from her upper part. While her upper body is very nicely developed, her legs almost look like she hasn’t even used them to walk. They’re so skinny. In the gym world you normally call things like this as a ‘chicken leg build’ which means someone doesn't train their legs as disciplined as their upper body. But Anna’s is different, it looks like she’s recovering from something. There are some developing muscles to it, which is a clear sign that she’s been working hard through it. Whatever it is.
Still in your crouching position, you slowly look up to Anna who’s leaning forward with her hands on your shoulders. You look intently at her eyes, without words, asking for permission. She smiles. She looks at you warmly. Those are the eyes of someone who does not give up, so you smile back. You spread her leg as considerately as you can. She’s sweating a lot. You lather some more soap before rubbing her crotch, then raise her up a bit to clean her backside from beneath. That doesn’t take long, but you can feel her hands gripping you very much harder when you clean those parts. You sit her back down to continue rubbing her quads, the hamstrings, her calves, the shins, then her soles. She laughs a bit when it comes to the soles, which makes you laugh in accordance. Then you rinse everything off.
Anna is clean. She is still sitting under the shower—already turned off, with you patting her dry using the towel she unwrapped before. You’re drying her up from behind, so you have no idea what face she’s making throughout the process.
“There, all clean and ready to go,” you say as you once again wrap her body in a now-wet-towel.
“Can you take me home?”
You pause hearing the request. What?
Anna looks up. Eyes scanning at you from below. “What? Are you afraid? Of me, or yourself?” she gives you a wicked grin. There she is, that damn dominatrix in her is flaring back up in full strength.
“Eh, whatever,” you thought. You smile. You fulfill her wish of having a companion for the night.
=
Anna lives alone. It is something you pretty much already expected since the first time meeting her. Although, seeing it for yourself when you enter her house with her under your arms explains more about her. Upon entering, you can see that her house is dimly lit. The minimum light in there makes it seem like the house is cleaner than it is supposed to be. It is very neat though. Then you step further inside. The walls are full of safety handles–you’d normally find those in bathrooms–to the point of it encircling the whole house.
Before you can question anything, Anna tugs your side.
“Put me down,” she’s pointing at a wheelchair parked right beside the door. You don’t even notice it until she tells you, for its color blends into the woody walls of her house. You carefully place her on it, the wheelchair looks a bit worn out.
“Anything else?” you’re crouching in front of her, positioning her feet onto the footplate.
“Strip.”
You huff. “You’re joking,” as you look up, the look on her face is indicating zero playfulness.
“Are you serious?” you frown, gasping.
She doesn’t respond, she’s not playing around.
You stand up and step back, creating a distance as if it would help. “Anna, this is-”
“You saw me naked didn’t you?”
And just like that, she shuts you down entirely. You have nothing else to defend yourself with. Sighing, you slowly take off your shirt then throw it aside. You look at her one more time, only to be greeted with a nod. You sigh a long one before taking off the entirety of fabrics covering your body.
Anna is giggling at your naked body. Not an ounce of awkwardness in those laughter. “See? With great penis comes great fuckability. Come here.”
“Is she fucking joking?”
It’s her turn to sigh now. Rolling her eyes around and slacking her shoulders, seeing how you’re standing there, still, like a statue. A statue with great penis.
“I don’t like repeating my words,” she rolls her chair forward. Closing the distance in no time at all. Since Anna is sitting, your dick is positioned right in front of her face. It is slowly getting harder.
You don’t say any words. Can’t. Even though the girl in front of you is literally on a wheelchair, probably at her weakest state even, her sheer presence succeeds in eliminating your willingness to fight. You cannot say no to her. And then, she grabs your penis.
She’s genuinely smiling at it. Like she just found a long-lost favorite toy of hers. With great interest, she starts jerking it slightly by the base with both of her hands. She does that until you get a full erection. Only then she looks up, with your dick in her hands positioned closely to her face.
Her right hand lets go of your base, moving up. Those dainty fingers of hers are playing with your glans. Her thumb rubs the slit around, spreading the leaking pre cum all over. “You look cute like this,” she’s saying while still looking at your dick.
The fingers on your glans are getting rougher while the hand by the base grips tighter. An involuntary moan comes out of you, immediately warranting Anna’s stare upon your face. You can’t look at her straight, not even if you try, because-
Anna slaps you with every bit of strength her body could muster. The sound of the impact echoes throughout. It leaves your mouth open, your ears ringing, and even your eyes tearing(up).
“I never said you could cum,” a great emphasis is put onto that last word. She moves the hand on your base to yank your balls down. You almost screamed, if it wasn’t for your immediate bite on your bottom lips.
Seeing you wriggling around like a worm meeting salt, she smiles again. “Good,” Anna is yanking your balls one more time before returning her hand to your shaft. She’s jerking you off with this excruciatingly slow tempo for much longer than you’d like.
You wince at the throb of your cock. Normally one would enjoy the sensation of being close to ejaculation, but this is already your third time in the span of an hour. Anna is enjoying edging the life out of you. Your knees are irrelevant at this point. It’s a good thing her house has guard rails all over the walls.
“Anna, please,” you accidentally touch her shoulder at the fifth edge. You should’ve hung onto the rails instead, Anna doesn’t seem pleased.
“Kneel.”
gulp
“Good.”
Anna starts to undress. She’s struggling a bit when it's the pants, but you can’t help her. Since every time you’re about to do so, she gives you the murder eyes. Anna is once again naked for your eyes to see. This is completely different from when you bathe her in the gym’s bathroom. The position has completely switched up. You’re now the one under her mercy, and it doesn’t seem like she’ll let go anytime soon.
“Lick,” she points at her feet.
You don’t question, only do. You raise her feet up, grabbing it by the heels, then lick it from the bottom upwards. She’s giving you a satisfactory smile.
You’re licking her feet like you’re eating an ice cream. But it’s not. It’s warm, like feet. It’s not melting, like feet. It’s salty instead of sweet, like feet. That said, you might like feet more than you like ice cream after this.
“Stop,” she commands. Her feet are soaked with your spit.
“Fuck yourself on my feet.”
You almost couldn’t believe what you heard. But then you look up to see Anna with a devilish grin. So it is real. You have no choice, reluctantly–lies, the idea of fucking her soles is massively turning you on–putting her feet together before lowering it again. You turn her soles inward, facing each other. Her feet are closed, and it’s close to your cock.
You take a peek at her face one more time. She’s already waiting for you up there, her eyes stare deep into your mind. Your hips start to push, along with your hands keeping her soles closely together. The tip of your penis makes contact with the gap between her soles. The sensation is weird, it is both warm and cold. It helps that her feet are already wet from your licks earlier, so you start to move yourself forward.
Multiple ahs and fucks are starting to come out from your mouth. Anna is silent, letting you enjoy the fucking on her feet. Though, that doesn’t last long. Your spine almost shot itself out of your body when she’s suddenly grabbing your head to make you face her.
“Don’t look at anything but me until you cum.”
Your motion is getting rougher. The friction is quickly getting intense. Your spit dried up very quickly, and fucking a feet in dry condition isn’t exactly the best feeling. But your fuck-her-feet energy is exponentially bigger than the pain your dick suffers.
This is probably not the right time to say this, but Anna’s intense eyes are insanely attractive. It was your ego that didn't let you realize that for the entire time you knew her. That is all thrown out the window now, what matters is fucking her feet faster and harder.
“Ah… Anna…!”
She nods. That’s all she needed to do. You explode all over her feet. Your cum splatters up until her quads, some even reaches her pussy. You shot it like a missile. Fuck!
You keep her feet by the base of your dick for some time, your butt is clenching hard while your hips are launched forward. Keeping this position helps you release everything from your cum reservoir, her feet are full of cum spots.
Anna is keeping your head still the entire time you’re blasting off. It’s weird. What she does is cruel, but at the same time, you feel like the deepest point of your entire self is being caressed by this goddess of a woman. You pass out in her hold.
Your eyes shot wide open. Your breath is running. And, your dick is burning up. Ah shit, you recalled it. Must’ve been bruised from how hard you were fucking her feet earlier.
You look around, this isn’t the same room from before. It looks like a bedroom … you are sitting on the bed, under a blanket.
“Hey,” Anna greets you with her usual cold face. She’s entering the room wearing what looks like pajamas made out of satin. Every line of her body is visible for you to indulge.
“You’re out for the whole night. So I brought you here,” she sits on the edge of the bed, with her back turned on you.
“Thanks.”
“For what?” she glances over her shoulder. Expression still flat.
Looking down, you think for a second before answering. “Nevermind. Just, uhm, can I sleep here for the day? Don’t feel like working today.”
She’s fully facing you now. “Sure.”
To your absolute shock, she crawls up to your side. There she lays on your blanketed chest. She’s offering you the view of her hair.
“I should be the one thanking you, you know?”
That is the voice of the cute Anna. It’s melting you down. You caress her hair. “Sure. you mind if I ask what your problem is?”
“My problem? You mean, my attitude?”
You muffle a laugh, that much is obvious. “No no, I mean your condition. I saw your legs, and your house has all these safety handles on the walls. Surely something is up?”
She doesn’t answer, but her idle hands move to wrap around your body. “Promise me you won’t leave me alone?”
“...Yes?”
Only then she looks up. Her eyes are glassy. It isn’t a void as it usually is.
“I have a rare condition that makes the muscles in my legs weak, or even paralyzed entirely. It comes and goes, lasting for minutes, hours, even days at times. It’s called Primary Periodic Paralysis, or PPP for short. I have had this since I was born and it is incurable. My parents…,”
She’s sticking her head onto your chest, face to the side. She’s looking afar, with her usual empty eyes. “They stopped caring when I was in high school. But hey, they leave me with the house, at least.”
You stroke her hair once more. “When your legs don’t work like it used to before~”
The room goes silent. Not even the mosquitoes dare to move under her gaze.
“Joke like that one more time and I will seriously cut your dick off.”
.
.
.
“I’m joking…,” her cheeks were getting very red when she said that, after the long awkward silence.
“Yeah, figures, wouldn’t want to have my great penis gone, would you?”
A crisp laugh breaks the silence between you two. Anna is laughing earnestly.
Suddenly all you see is only her closed eyes. She is crashing her face onto yours, interlocking those sweet lips together. This is yet another side of Anna. The one that is gentle, caring, and loving. The kiss tells you everything you need to know.
=
“So yeah, I think I’m with her now. She can slap me all she likes, I definitely like it…, maybe.”
Gawon laughs her ass off. The office ignores that, save for the blushing of your face.
A/N: Trying something different and wanted to write something high intensity! Enjoy!
“Virgin Strawberry Daiquiri, please.”
You turn your head and look at the lady sliding into the barstool beside you.
“You're late. Want some nuts?”
“I’m five minutes early,” she says, shaking her head subtly. “They’ll get stuck in my teeth.”
“The Sakura I know will always be six minutes early,” you tease, dragging the bowl of snacks back, tossing another candied walnut into your mouth.
She rolls her eyes with that familiar smirk, but her lips curl. The bartender sets her beverage down and she picks it up.
“How’s Yena?” you ask.
“Seriously? We haven't met in what, two years, and the first thing you ask is Yena and not me?” She scoffs, giving her mocktail a small sniff, before tipping it into her mouth. She takes a small sip, appreciating the refreshing sweetness, before setting it back onto the table.
“You’re right here. I can see you’re fine. Yena’s the one I’m worried about.”
“I know, I'm just fucking around with you,” she giggles, licking the strawberry foam that’s smeared across her upper lips. “She's fine, just busy with assignments. She's taking a request in Dubai right now, something about an oil prince’s heir. She’ll be back to Korea soon, saying she'll take a break.”
“She should. We all should,” you murmur, taking a sip from your glass. “It's been a while since we had some free time. Stupid people up there, always overworking us.”
“What's that you're drinking?”
“This? Pineapple Mango Sencha. Want some?” you reply, sliding your glass to her.
She takes it from you and tries, closing her eyes to savour the blend of sweet, tangy and earthy notes. “It's nice~ Since when did you stop drinking alcohol?”
“After our last job together,” you say, grabbing the glass back from her. “Y’know, ever since that mistake from being drunk? Figured it was smarter.” Your eyes focus back on the glass, hand slightly trembling as you reach out to reach for another nut.
“Hey… that wasn't your fault,” Sakura says, reaching out to grab your hand. Her warm touch calms you down, settling the intense tremor of fear stemming from inside you.
“She was my best friend, you know?”
“And she was mine too. She wouldn't want you to blame yourself for it, so let's stop talking about it, okay?”
You look into Sakura’s eyes. For a moment the image flashes across your mind: Chaewon’s head hitting the ground, blood splattering on concrete. But Sakura’s touch pulls you back. You turn your hand and squeeze hers once before letting go.
“R-Right,” you stammer, taking in a deep breath to calm yourself. “Death is a common part of our job anyway.”
“She died in honour, so let's give her that honour.” Sakura raises her glass towards you.
“For Chaewon.”
“For Chaewon.”
The toast fills your heart, or so you hope it would, but it still feels empty. Sakura’s eyes darken as she looks at you.
“Your lips still taste like sencha?”
You smirk. “Only one way to find out.”
———
“Fuck, your lips tastes so good.”
“I could say the same for you,” Sakura breathes heavily against your lips before diving back in.
The kiss turns molten instantly. Her tongue twists and dances with yours, sucking greedily like she's trying to drink the taste of strawberry, pineapple and mango straight from your soul. You kiss her harder, devouring her right back. No alcohol courses through your veins, but it sure may as hell be.
“The sencha… its taste comes lingering,” she rasps, detaching her lips from yours for a short gasp. “And it makes me want more.” She grinds her hips on yours, smashing her lips back onto yours for another torrid kiss.
“Kkura… fuck, I need you right now.” You grunt, your cock growing impossibly hard against the restraints of your pants.
“And where do you think we are right now?” She chuckles, dismounting you as she kneels between your legs on the bathroom floor. “I can't fucking wait too.” Her fingers make quick work of your belt and button. Then, with a sultry look, eyes locked on yours, she leans in and catches the zipper between her teeth, pulling it down slowly. The metallic teeth echo around the small room.
She presses her nose against your bulge, taking a deep shameless whiff. “Fuck, I can smell you through your pants,” she moans at your scent, rubbing her nose along the hard outline of your cock through the fabric. “Two years… two fucking years without this cock.”
She grabs on to the hem of your pants on both sides, tugging everything down in a single yank. Your heavy cock springs out throbbing and leaking, bobbing slightly under the hunger of her eyes before it settles into small twitches of impatience.
“Fuck,” you grunt as she exhales lightly onto the tip, revelling in the tease, preparing for the storm that she'll unleash on your cock.
“Oh my god…” she moans, wrapping her hand around the base, giving it a slow, firm stroke. “Look at you, so hard for me already.” She stares at it reverently, like she's been dreaming about it for ages.
You shiver at the pleasurable squeezes she's giving your manhood, thinking about how much you missed her touch. Looking back down at her, you watch as she leans in and runs her tongue from the base all the way up to your already leaking tip.
“That's my first lick for tonight,” she whispers, before swirling her tongue around the sensitive head. “And the only lick I’ll give you tonight.” She moans loudly at the taste, the excitement of lapping your arousal sending vibrations through your cock. You tilt your head back in pleasure, feeling her wringing out beads after beads of pre-cum from your cock with every slow stroke, each one falling straight onto her greedy tongue like she's addicted.
And who says she isn't?
“Mmm… fuck, I missed this so much,” she purrs, before wrapping her lips around the head. Her tongue never stops the entire time, drawing circles around the circumference of the head, coaxing every physical and audible validation of pleasure she can get from you.
“You're insane, you know?” you grunt, reaching down to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Insanely irresistible.”
“And I’m insanely in need of your cock.”
She sinks lower at your praise, engulfing your cock with the overwhelming wet heat of her mouth. Without any hesitation, she sucks you impatiently, taking you deep as she bobs her head with filthy enthusiasm. Her cheeks hollow as she draws pre-cum from you with an unfound hunger, saliva dripping down your shaft as she works you tirelessly.
“Shit, Kkura… just like that.” You groan, threading your fingers through her hair as her hand strokes what her mouth can't reach. Every bob of her head onto your cock reminds you of the past, how you two would always go down on each other at any chance during missions. One may call it baseless lust, but perhaps you both just wanted to feel alive.
Sensing your discourse, Sakura pulls off your cock with a wet pop. Thick strings of spit stretch from her swollen, glistening lips to your throbbing shaft, and the sight makes your cock twitch more. She grabs your cock by the base and leans her head forward, slapping the heavy, veined length against her cheeks.
“Fuck, what are you doing?” you groan, each impact unleashing a surge of intensifying pleasure unto you.
“Tenderising my mouth with your hard cock~” she smirks, now smacking it on her lips before smearing the messy glaze of her saliva and your pre-cum all over her flushed, pretty face like paint. “I missed your cock so fucking much,” she confesses, stroking you with raw obsession. “Every single night for two years, I was such a desperate slut for it. I’d finger my dripping pussy in hotels for hours, moaning your name into the pillow while I imagined choking on this thick fucking cock… how it would stretch all my holes wide, how it would pulse and throb when you’re about to flood me.”
She dives back down without warning, taking you back in brutally deep. Her head bobs frantically, forcing every inch of your cock past the constricting confines of her throat. “You won’t leave me alone anymore, right?” she gasps, pulling off for another breath before gagging herself full again. Wet, sloppy noises echo around the bathroom stall as thick drool spurt from the corners of her stretched lips.
“Shit, Sakura…” you groan, hips jerking uncontrollably into her face. “I missed you too. None of the pussies I fucked could even come close to this filthy mouth of yours. Nothing feels as good as you. Nothing.”
Sakura’s eyes roll back in pleasure at your words, moaning around your cock as she takes you in over and over again. "You’re the only one—whose cock—tastes this fucking good,” she rasps, spit flowing down her chin in messy streams. “So thick—so heavy—so addictive—”
Then she swallows you whole again, sucking noisily and sloppily, gobbling you with a desperate, hungry rhythm. People who need to use the bathroom may be right outside waiting urgently for their turn, but you both don’t care at this point.
You can’t hold back anymore. You grab on to her head with both hands, tilting her slightly upwards. Her eyes flash with pure lust.
“Harder,” she muffles around your cock. “Use my throat. Fuck my face. I can take it. I want it. I need it—”
You tighten your grasp around her skull and slam her back down, stuffing her words right back into her larynx. You crush her nose against your pelvis, feeling her throat spasm violently around you, rippling and squeezing every gram of your meat like she’s trying to swallow you alive. Her face turns into a deep shade of red, tears streaming down her cheeks as her gag reflex erupts, but her eyes stare up at you with an euphoric, cock-drunk bliss, begging for you to not let go.
She looks like she’d happily stay there forever, choking on you as if her life depended on it.
And you oblige in her indulgence. You hold her there, savouring the way her throat massages and flutters around your throbbing length, milking thick beads of sweet pre-cum straight down into her stomach.
When you finally let her up, all you can hear is the approving sputtering of saliva and violent coughing as thick strands of viscous throat slime hangs down her mouth, dripping messily onto your cock and balls, dirtying the entire toilet bowl’s seat cover.
“You want more?” she purrs, nuzzling her face against your heavy balls, dragging her hot tongue all over them before opening her mouth wide and stuffing both heavy orbs into her mouth. She sucks and juggles them gently within the confines of her mouth, tongue swirling while her fist pumps your spit-drenched cock in fast, slimy strokes.
“More… You mentioned about tenderising, Sakura…” you grunt as finally releases your balls. You tilt her face up to look into her eyes. Her face is a beautiful red, tear-streaked wreck, but the feral hunger in her eyes only burns hotter. “But I think the tenderising should go both ways.”
You stuff her head back down onto you, forcibly impressing her onto your cock like a woman’s who’s been denied her favourite drug for years. You beat and hammer her head onto your cock repeatedly, softening her mouth and throat walls with ferocity, loosening and tenderising all the tight fibres and knots of her oral muscles. Sakura reciprocates in exhilaration as she worships your cock, licking every vein, slurping loudly, humming and moaning happily every time you twitch and throb on her tongue.
The pressure coils unbearably tight in your core.
“I’m close—” you warn, pumping her head with increasing speed and unimaginable depth. Her eyes beg you shamelessly as she hollows her cheeks and bobs furiously, gagging and choking while her throat convulses around you.
Every filthy slide of her velvet throat around you completely shatters your sanity.
With a deep, guttural groan, you explode. Thick, heavy ropes of cum flood straight down her throat. Sakura whimpers in ecstasy but never stops sucking and swallowing greedily, milking every last drop like she’s trying to drain your entire existence through your cock. Her throat works around you erratically, refusing to let a single drop escape until your cock finally softens between her abused lips.
Only then does she slowly pull off, gasping harshly for air. Her lips are puffy, shiny, and thoroughly ruined. She leans forward and presses a kiss right on your cock’s sensitive head before gently tucking you back into your pants with shaky fingers.
“Fuck, that was…” you rasp, breath slowing down from the hazy bliss.
She stands up on unsteady legs and leans forward, pulling you into a deep kiss, letting you taste your own cum on her tongue. When she finally pulls back, she’s smiling with glee, glowing with satisfaction.
“We should get out of here,” she whispers hotly against your lips. “Otherwise I’m going to ride you right against this wall until I can’t walk.”
———
“So, what’s this assignment about?” Sakura asks, lying beside you with her head resting on your chest. Your bodies are still glossed with sweat and the room is heavy with the scent of sex. Clothes are scattered wildly everywhere, and the sheets beneath you are soaked with cum.
“An auction heist,” you mumble, gently stroking her cheek with your thumb. “A very difficult one.”
“Don’t tell me it’s the Terminus Auction?” she sits up quickly, turning to face you. “Isn’t that place heavily guarded?”
“It is, and we should start planning for it. There isn’t much time. The auction happens the night after tomorrow.”
“That soon?” she frowns. “What are we stealing?”
“An encrypted thumb drive. As for its contents, I am not privy to it. Our job is simple: retrieve the drive and get out.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
“Not even the usual exotic herbs and medicines that the First Order loves?”
“Nope. Just the drive. It’s strange, I know, but they did promise us Second Orders a few months off if we pull this off.”
“Then we should make it succeed,” Sakura clenches her fist in excitement. “It has been forever since we’ve gotten any breaks, and I desperately need it.”
“Then get moving,” you smile faintly. “The room is a mess, and we can’t plan anything when everything is wet and sticky.”
“And whose fault do you think it is?” Sakura smirks. She reaches between her legs, scoops some of your cum from her filled pussy with two fingers, and brings them to her mouth. She sucks them clean with a soft, satisfied hum, eyes locked on yours the entire time.
“Fuck… you look so hot doing that.”
“You filled me to the brim,” she coos, licking the last strands from her fingers. “How many times was it? Five? Six?”
“Six,” you grunt in exhaustion. “Your pussy is the best.”
“Mhmm… You made me cum my brains out too~ I haven’t felt this good in such a long time.”
“We can have more fun later,” you let out a tired laugh. “Let’s shower together.”
You both stumble into the shower after calling for room service (had to get your sheets changed), still tangled in each other. Hot water cascades down your bodies as you both scrub the sinful filth off each other, only to press your bodies against each other on the tiled walls for another deep, lingering kiss. The desperation from earlier has faded into something warmer, but the hunger is still there, simmering beneath every touch. Your hands roam over her wet skin while she runs her fingers through your hair.
After the shower, you both end up back on the freshly made bed, half-dressed. Sakura lies on her stomach, wearing nothing but a loosely tied bathrobe, studying the blueprints and floorplans that you’ve spread out across the sheets.
“Alright, tell me what we have so far,” she says with a stern tone, suddenly all serious.
You sit by the side of the bed, dragging your finger across the blueprint right in front of her. “The target is stored 43 floors down in the Hitsumi Electronics Building.”
“When and what will be the extraction method?”
“Substitution of said item pre-auction,” you say. “The auction will happen on level B38’s theatre room, and you will begin your infiltration from there. As per insider information, items for auction will be moved via an automated conveyer system, and up to seven items will be queued in advance.”
“That’s new, I’ve never seen an auction where there aren’t any human handlers.”
“And that’s exactly why I am here. I will be hacking and hijacking into their systems during your infiltration, ensuring that none of their monitoring systems pick you up. In essence, you’ll be digitally invisible.”
Sakura nods slowly, scanning the floorplans as she looks through the routes that you have drawn and indicated.
“There are three layers of security. Biometric scanners at every entrance, facial recognition on the VIP level, and armed private security disguised as ushers. The encrypted thumb drive is Lot 36. You will make your move and infiltrate once Lot 30 is up for auction, which happens after right after the intermission break. Security vigilance is the lowest during that period.”
“The east and west corridor has two guards. I can handle them quietly if needed.” Her finger taps on the T-junction, right before the item conveyer room. “This service elevator here is a weak point. I can use it for exfil once I get the item. What about you?”
“I’ll be in the van located in the opposite building,” you say, pointing at the snapshot of the building across the street. “Throughout the operation, I’ll be your eyes and ears. Once you have the drive, I’ll meet you by the underground parking. My van will be waiting there.”
Sakura is quiet for a moment, studying the timings and routes you’ve marked.
“It’s tight,” she finally says.
“I know. While I am able to disable the alarm, there is no doubt that there will be a failsafe alarm in place. You will only have about a minute window between the thumb drive swap to get to the elevator.”
You look at her in silence. “There can be no mistakes. There will be no mistakes.” You lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of the operation settles over you. The stress is already gnawing at your chest.
Sakura shifts closer, resting her head on your shoulder. “Hey, you’ll do fine, don’t stress about it.” She mumbles softly, gently running her fingers down your arm. “Who’s the one with a two-year streak of successful missions?”
You reply her with nothing but calm breathing that’s nothing but calm.
———
“You’re too tense,” Sakura says. “I can feel it from outside the van.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Sakura says. She’s already in her auction outfit — a deep blue faux fur coat that slips off one shoulder, revealing the black gown underneath accentuating her elegant neckline. Absolutely perfect for a woman as gorgeous as her.
“Look, I’m just making sure that everything works fine.” You reiterate, eyes flicking between all the different feeds from the multitude of cameras that’s spread across the rear of the van. Your fingers dance frantically across your laptop’s keyboard, switching between the auction house feeds that are already live on the screen.
“You’ve barely gotten any rest since we fucked, barely eaten anything all day, and you’ve hardly spoken since I got here.” Sakura reaches and rests her hand on your thigh, squeezing it gently.
“I’m really fine. It’s just me on focus mode. I’m always like this before missions.”
She looks at you worryingly, as if weighing the choice of her words.
“You’re still thinking about… Chaewon, aren’t you?”
Your hands freeze for a split second, before mashing on the keyboard buttons again.
Sakura sighs softly. She crawls over to the glove compartment and pulls out a small silver flask. The moment she unscrews the cap, the sharp scent of whiskey diffuses throughout the entire van.
“No,” you say immediately.
“Just a little,” she murmurs, pulling out two paper cups from the same compartment. She pours a minute amount — just enough for maybe three sips — and holds it out to you. “It’s not enough to get you drunk. Just to take the edge off. You’ve been carrying her death like chains around your neck for two whole years. Even if this mission doesn’t kill you, those chains are. I hate seeing you like this.”
You instinctively take the cup from her, but you don’t drink. You stare into it, watching your own reflection shimmering off the surface of the alcohol. Your face looks clean, shaven, and washed, but it’s smeared with the ragged wrinkles of guilt, sorrow, and worry. It’s as if you are there, but not there.
Lifeless. Soulless. Empty.
“I need you here tonight,” she continues, “but I also need you here. Not stuck in the past. Just a sip or two. For me?”
You stare at her. Her eyes are full of worry, not from the mission, but from her worry for you.
“Let me help you feel alive again. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
She grabs and takes your cup from you, tilting it into her mouth. Just as you think she will swallow it, she lurches forward, crashing her lips onto yours. The whiskey burns as it she feeds it into your mouth, flowing down your throat. Three whole sips, spreading heat throughout your chest almost immediately. You feel the cold suffocating and crushing force that’s wrenching your heart slowly melting away, albeit just a little.
“How was it?” she whispers against your lips.
“Good... My mind feels clearer already.”
“Mhmm~” she hums, before claiming your lips again. She straddles you completely throughout the kiss, settling against you, her hands clasped on both sides of your face. The kiss turns into a hungry one within seconds, tongues sliding against each other, teeth nibbling each other's lips.
“I need you,” she gasps against your mouth. “Right now.”
She reaches under her gown and slides her panties to the side. At the same time, your hands dive to your belt in hurry, unbuckling and freeing your cock. It’s already rock-hard. Without hesitation, she lines herself up and sinks down onto you in one smooth motion. Her pussy is wet and molten, hotter than the alcohol coursing through your blood.
Both of you groan loudly.
“Fuck… yes,” she hisses, starting to ride you immediately. She doesn’t start slow. She starts bouncing on you with the desperate need of filling herself with your cock, making the van rock and shake. You grip her ass under her gown, guiding her movements as she fucks you harder. Moans spill out of her mouth as you invade her warm depths, each drop hitting all the spots that jumbles her rationality.
You grunt when she looks at you with eager eyes, those same eyes that always drive you insane. You pull the top of her gown down, exposing her breasts, and latch onto one nipple, sucking hard.
Sakura moans louder, one hand braced on the ceiling, the other digging into your shoulder.
“Faster,” you growl, the whiskey making you bolder. “Ride me like you’ve can’t live without me.”
“I can’t,” she gasps, bouncing harder. “I can’t fucking live without you. I want you right beside me all the fucking time. Filling me up. Fucking me senseless. Holding my hand. I want to go on dates with you. Please… don’t ever leave me again.”
The van fills with the obscene sounds of wet squelches, skin slapping, and both of you moaning. You thrust up to meet her, hitting that perfect spot deep inside with every stroke. Sakura’s head falls back, lips parted in pleasure.
“Look at me,” you grunt.
Her eyes snap onto yours, and the eye contact is devastating. Full of everything you’ve never said out loud. You rub her clit with your thumb and feel her start to tighten around you.
“Cum for me, Kkura.”
She shatters with a broken cry, her walls convulsing violently around your cock as she breaks. Her whole body trembles and you follow right after, groaning her name as you spill deep inside her. She keeps grinding through it, milking every last drop from your cock.
For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing against each other’s chests.
“More?” she asks.
“We have a drive to steal,” you say, wrapping your arms around her tightly, holding her close. She leans into your neck and kisses it softly, whispering against your skin:
“Let’s quit after tonight. I have so many things I want to say to you.”
You give a small nod and whisper back.
“Me too.”
———
“Blossom, can you hear me.”
“Loud and clear, Spectre.”
“Blossom, I have my eyes on you. Remember the plan. Stay low, but bid a few items to blend in.”
You watch Sakura through the camera feed focused on the theatre, palms sweaty from nervousness. She's sitting in an elegant, poised manner with a regal black eye mask covering her upper half of her face, just like every other bidder tonight.
Your eyes flick towards the item conveyer room, watching as the first item emerge from darkness. It's a grotesque statue that seems to be a hybrid of a human and horse. One would think that it's a centaur, but it's the reverse — the head and torso is the horse’s, a human’s arms and legs for its limbs.
Disturbing.
And yet, paddles fly and bids soar. The first item is bought out at a whopping 3 million yen, earning applause from the audience as an aged burly man claims his prize.
The next item is even stranger: A book said to be written by cicada 3301, titled Liber Primus. Rumours claim that the online puzzle has yet to be solved and the book has yet to be deciphered since its reveal eight years ago. However, this particular hand-transcribed copy is said to hold clues and notes paramount to unravelling the truth within. A baseless rumour, but paddles fly once again.
“This place is full of freaks,” you say, shaking your head at the impulse spending, watching as the unverified stack of scribblings get sold for 4.6 million yen.
“3 fucking million for a weird ass horse-man thing, and now 4.6 million for a stupid book that doesn’t even guarantee the puzzle being solved?” Sakura murmurs. “What even happens when you solve the puzzle? Rich people are insane.”
“I’d say we are insane too. We’re literally about to steal from them.”
“Fair point.”
The auction passes in a parade of eccentricity.
A tree branch rumoured to the legendary god-killing spear Mistilteinn. A fully functional ancient Nokia 3310 loaded with Snake II and Space Impact. A sealed glass jar containing red crimson eyeballs heralding from a reclusive forest clan. Each subsequent item gets weirder than the last, and Sakura occasionally throws in low, casual bids to maintain her cover.
The theatre is pulsing with excitement and tension and every single item is met with an outcry of numbers, each bidder screaming louder than the last. By the time the 28th item is sold, the air is thick with adrenaline.
“Blossom,” you say into the comms. “This is the 29th item. Intermission comes right after. Prepare to move.”
You watch as the next item rolls out onto the stage: an ornate perfume bottle said to contain the preserved aphrodisiac essence of an ancient queen. One sniff and the even strongest man will crumble. Paddles fly. The numbers jump instantly from thousands to the millions, each increase exponentially higher than the last.
“4.5 million,” Sakura bids calmly.
“Blossom, what are you doing?” you whisper.
“Bidding,” she replies under her breath. “There were some staff looking in my direction earlier. Everyone is bidding except for me. I can’t stand out.”
“4.5 million is a lot.”
“I know. Trust me.”
The bids climb rapidly. You watch as her offer gets outbid by a recklessly spending young man, adding 10 million like its peanuts.
“15 million,” Sakura bids.
“25 million,” the man fights back, smirking.
“26 million.”
“36 million.”
“37 million.”
“Blossom!” you hiss anxiously. “This isn’t the plan!”
“Shush,” Sakura grinds her teeth. “50 million.”
The entire theatre goes into a stunned silence as they watch the fierce bidding war between Sakura and the man. The young man hesitates.
“Blossom… we don’t have 50 million.”
“Trust me.”
“50 million. Going once…”
Your fists clench.
“Going twice...”
Sakura’s smiles calmly.
“100 million!”
The insane counter-bid stuns the room. “100 million! Going once… Going twice… Sold!”
“Crazy bastard.”
“Did you predict this, Blossom?”
“No,” Sakura exhales with relief. “My ass was clenched tighter than when your cock is in me.”
“You’re insane.”
“Perhaps~”
You shake your head. “Alright, time to move.”
———
Intermission begins.
The lights in the theatre brighten as bidders rise from their seats, chatting excitedly while staff guide them towards the refreshment area. Security is momentarily distracted by the sudden movement and crowd management.
“Spectre, I’m moving now,” Sakura whispers.
You watch as she slips away from the main theatre with ease, blending into the flow of people before sneaking off into a side corridor. She approaches the T-junction just before the item conveyer room as marked in the floorplan and presses herself against the wall.
“Four guards,” you inform her. “Two stationary on each end, two patrolling. Cameras are looped. You’re invisible. Clear.”
Sakura waits patiently. One patrolling guard turns back before reaching the junction, but the other continues forward, turning the corner and walking straight toward her.
He spots her.
In an instant, Sakura switches tactics.
“Oh thank god,” she wheezes, stepping forward with a dazzling, embarrassed smile and swaying hips as she acts tipsy. “I think I got lost. Do you know the way back to the theatre?”
The guard lowers his raised weapon slightly, visibly charmed. “Gladly, Miss. Follow me.” The moment his back is turned, Sakura draws her suppressed pistol and strikes him hard on the back of the neck, knocking him out cold. She catches his falling body and gently lowers him to the floor.
“Spectre, I’m switching tactics.”
Before you can reply, Sakura screams.
“Help! Someone help me!”
The guards from both sides rush towards her voice. You watch the feeds intently.
“Left guard approaching your blind spot in three… two…”
“—Now!” Your signal comes a split second too late, the whiskey slightly clouding your timing.
Sakura reacts with a delay.
The guard spots her gun and barrels into her, and a brief, violent scuffle breaks out. Grunts and yelps fill the air as Sakura wrestles him down, locking her thighs around his neck in a tight triangle choke. Then a silenced gunshot and the guard stills.
“Shit—Blossom, two more incoming!”
Gunfire erupts in the narrow corridor as the remaining two guards rush in. Sakura moves with deadly precision, rolling to the right as she takes one down, before aiming at the other. However, the guard manages to get a shot off. She hisses in pain as the bullet tears into her abdomen.
“Blossom!” you shout in panic. “Withdraw now!”
She ignores you and strafes to the left, firing a shot that drills through the last guard’s forehead.
“You’re bleeding—”
“I’m fine,” she grunts, breathing hard as she presses hard on her wound. “All guards are down. Confirm if the coast is clear.” She rips the bottom of her gown and ties it around her waist, forming a makeshift bandage to slow her bleeding.
“Let’s withdraw.”
“No,” she says, limping as she approaches the conveyer room door. “Unlock the door, Spectre.”
You hesitate, then curse under your breath and override the lock. The door clicks open.
Sakura slips inside. The room is dimly lit with the conveyer system still humming. The next seven items are already queued up, and the 37th lies right at the end.
“… There’s no thumb drive,” she frowns. “Just a CD.”
“Let’s wait for the next item,’ you suggest, your entire head spinning from the upturn of plans and the lingering alcohol.
“There is no next item,” she replies grimly. “This is the last one, according to the auction handbook. We’ve been had.”
“Take the CD anyway,” you say. “We’re not leaving empty-handed.”
However, the moment Sakura grabs it from the tray, a piercing alarm explodes through the building.
“Fuck! It shouldn’t have triggered this fast,” you mutter. “I disabled it.”
“Spectre, calm down.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
“Spectre!” Sakura snaps. “Focus. Get me out of here.”
You close your eyes and draw in a deep breath. “All hell just broke loose,” you warn. “Guards incoming from your entry point. Run!”
Sakura turns and exits the room, limping towards the service elevator. She fires a few suppressing shots as she makes her way down the T-junction, killing the approaching guards despite her injury. One hand gripping her bleeding abdomen, she grunts as she barely makes it inside the elevator.
“Fuck, two more guards coming your way!” you shout into the microphone.
“She leans to the side and smashes the elevator buttons, gun inching out to shoot a few more cover shots before the doors snap shut just in time.
The ride upwards feels agonisingly slow.
Sakura wheezes and grimaces in pain as red continues to soak through the makeshift bandage, back collapsed onto the walls of the elevator.
“Stay with me Kkura,” you urge. “You're almost there. I’m right outside.”
You watch her body sway from the blood loss, lips growing pale, forehead glistening with cold sweat. By the time she reaches the underground parking and collapses into the passenger seat of the van, blood has soaked through her dress and coat.
You don’t waste a second. You slam the van into drive and surge out past the exit ramp, tyres screeching as sires blare in the distance.
The chase has begun.
The streets are wet from the relentless downpour. You weave aggressively through the late-night traffic, swerving left and right, zooming past the neon signs of Akihabara. Your eyes constantly dart between the road and the van’s mirrors, eyeing the electric reds and blues reflecting across the wet glass.
Sakura’s face is a deathly pale. Blood continues to pour from her abdomen.
“KKura—”
“Drive,” she rasps, one hand pressed hard against the wound, the other gripping the stolen CD like it’s her only lifeline. “Just… drive.”
Sirens close in as the first police cruiser appears behind you, the red and blue flashing brightening through the edges of your eyes.
More join rapidly.
"They’re…” Sakura warns.
“I see them.”
You take a sharp right, the van skidding dangerously on the wet and slippery road. The whiskey in your blood exudes its lingering effects that’s enhanced through your prolonged abstinence, making every movement feel a moment too slow. Your reactions are delayed by that same cursed split second, and it’s snowballing with every turn.
“Left! Left!” Sakura shouts as another police cruiser creeps up on your right.
You swerve a little too late, the rear tyre mounting over a kerb.
“Fuck—” you curse. Sakura yelps from the jerk. She twists in her seat, suppressing her painful groan as she leans out of the window. She fires several shots, blowing one of the cruiser’s tyres, sending it spinning wildly into a road divider.
But more keep coming.
You jam your feet and floor the accelerator, running red lights, surging down the road onto the highway. A bullet shatters your side mirror. Sakura fires again, but her aim weakens and lulls as blood loss takes its toll on her.
“Y-you’re losing speed,” Sakura says, her voice growing softer.
“I’ve got it,” you lie. The alcohol is fucking with your depth perception and every turn feels delayed, every decision a heartbeat too late. Stress and guilt churn violently in your chest as a helicopter’s spotlight sweeps over you, illuminating you like a star on stage.
You swing the steering wheel left and rocket past cars, weaving across the highway, shaking off the circular radiance chasing after you. Bullets barely miss the van, hitting the asphalt as you manoeuvre skilfully with random bursts of slow and fast speeds, derailing their shots.
“The extraction point is just ahead, hang in there.”
You force the engine into overdrive, trying to reach the escape point as fast as possible. When you’re off the highway, you cut into a narrow alley, hoping to lose them in the labyrinth of backstreets. The van scrapes against both walls, sparks showering like fireworks.
For a moment, the sires fade.
“Fuck, I shouldn't have drank,” you mutter under your breath, blaming yourself for the mistake. “It's happening again…”
But once you exit into the glamorous streets of Ginza, the helicopter finds you again. The spotlight shines right into your eyes as the aerial machine emerges in front, its light blinding you.
You swerve out of panic. The van skids and lunges at high speed into a divider.
“Hold on!”
You hold on to the steering as tight as you can, trying to keep the van level, but the force is too much. Metal screams and the world flips violently. Glass explodes around you as the van tumbles and slides into the underpass across the wet asphalt. Both you and Sakura jumble within the confines of the van, barely held in place by the seatbelts. The van finally rolls to a stop, your entire world overturned.
Pain explodes through your body. Your head shakes and your ears ring. You struggle to focus your eyes, but your vision tunnels, seeing nothing but a blur.
The van’s airbag compresses onto your face and chest, forcing a choked cough of blood out from your lungs. The van is mangled.
“Sakura…” You grunt, turning to look at her. Her body is slumped on the door, face full of cuts from the broken glass. Blood continues to flow from her abdomen, visibly lesser now, and her eyelids struggle to stay open. The CD is broken and embedded into her thighs. You grunt and reach to unbuckle your seatbelt, crawling out of the van through the broken window.
You can't feel your left arm.
You drag yourself to the other side of the van, ignoring the deep gash burning the back of your thigh. Sakura is barely conscious. You pull her out desperately, collapsing with her against the wrecked van.
You nestle her body against yours, the warmth slowly fading. Her breathing is shallow. The makeshift bandage is completely soaked through. Her beautiful face is pale, and her lips are turning blue.
You cradle her in your lap, sweat mixing with the blood on both of you.
“I’m sorry…” you say, or sob, or cry. You don't know. Droplets of salt drips onto Sakura’s face as you run your fingers across it, brushing strands if blood-soaked hair to the side.
“I should never have drank.”
“…We almost had it,” she whispers, a weak, pained smile on her lips. “Should’ve stayed in the van longer…”
You laugh softly.
“You should go.” Sakura rasps, her voice noticeably weaker than before. “There's still time.”
You ignore and pull her closer. “Perhaps I should have drank more if I knew this would happen,” you say. With trembling fingers, you reach inside your blazer’s inner pocket and pull out a small metallic silver flask. Sirens blast in the distance, getting louder as seconds pass.
“Fancy a drink?" you ask, uncapping it with difficulty.
Sakura nods faintly, her eyes already losing their light. You take a sip, then lean down and press your mouth to hers, feeding her the whiskey in a slow, deep kiss.
She swallows it weakly, savouring the taste before her throat stops moving. Her eyelids shut and her grip is faint… then nothing.
You stay there, forehead pressed against hers, savouring the last taste of her.
You could still run. But where to? Your life’s meaning is gone.
So you don’t.
You hold her lifeless body tighter, rocking her gently. You stay exactly where you are, cradling her body as boots and shouts for surrender thunder closer.
You don’t reach for your gun.
You press one final kiss to her forehead.
“Let's talk all we want on the other side.”
The last thing you hear is a gunshot and everything fades to black.
Can you believe that?! They asked me the same exact question for at least three times! Jeez.”
You laugh watching Jiyeon sulk. Your wife looks cuter when she is angy–intentional, she’s that cute.
It is three years into your marriage, and you have yet to have a child. It is supposedly by design, as the both of you have agreed to be childfree for the first five years. But, it seems like the talks from last night’s Christmas Eve have gotten under her skin.
“So like, do you actually want to have one or is it just you being annoyed?” you lean on the kitchen counter, watching her scramble some eggs.
“Well, I, uhm. It would be nice to have one that’s for sure,” hesitation in her voice. Albeit you’re facing her back, it is very apparent that she is blushing behind the stove top.
You chuckle at it.
“That can’t do. This is a very serious matter, Ji Suh-yeon. You can’t just say that about having a kid. Very, very serious this is,” your tone is threatening, though you mean it to be playful.
She can feel your hand enveloping her from behind. Your presence looming over her as she leans back. “Heh, scaryy~ is what you want me to say after hearing you say my full government name right?” she elbows you right on your liver–height difference can sometimes be an advantage.
You step back in pain. Lucky you that she didn’t choose your balls as the target of the attack, but still, several grunts are due. “I’m joking babe, damn.”
A smirk of victory is something rightful only to her, as you can see Jiyeon put up her hands on her hips in this pose of pride and satisfaction. What even is she proud about? Well, probably the fact that you’re on your knees right now.
That being said, the view from below and behind your wife makes it seem like you are the one victorious instead. It is her glorious toned legs and butt, which, once you indulge in it, is always a win in any scenario. Lost the fight but won the war, one might say.
“Anyway, I kinda understand it now, you know?”
Still in between grunts; “What?”
“Having children.”
You don’t answer. Let the silence marinate, the answer is best served ready and cooked.
“At first it was fun. Like, reaaally, genuinely exciting, to spend every single day with the love of my life doing whatever we want. Traveling, working, … fucking, heheh-
But after three years, I kinda feel like I’m satisfied, y’know? Like, I really enjoyed it, these past three years have been nothing but the best years of my life. Serious. And now, I think I’m ready … to have a kid …,
To be a mom.”
You get up slowly, cradling her from behind. “Jiyeon.”
“Hm?” she looks up. Those bright, sparkly, innocent eyes that you’ll never get tired of are looking at you with full anticipation.
“The egg is burnt honey…”
“Oh shit!”
~
Jiyeon is hot.
You can hardly think of anything else when she’s laid bare on the bed. Stomach inches away from your face.
Her belly is wet. The result of your affectionate munches–may or may not be caused from the burnt eggs incident, she is your breakfast for the day. You hang on her tits like it’s a pull up bar.
“Ah! Eheheheh! That tickles!” she coordinated her own hands on top of yours with the relentless squeeze on her cute tits.
Her laughter is cute, which really throws this whole situation off if you’re being honest. Any more of that will definitely replace your burning lust love with a strong urge to cuddle, and possibly with an addition of tickles. So you stop squeezing. She looks confused.
“Let’s just make us a child honey,” you get off of her to undress.
Doesn’t take long to be naked yourself, an effort to bring balance to the nakedness in the room. Jiyeon raises her head, smirking at you. Or is she smirking at your cock? You have no idea, not that you’d care either way.
You go back to the bed–jumping on her like a tiger pouncing its prey.
“Kyah!”
Her limbs are all loosely restrained under yours. Due to the nature of gravity–and the fact that you literally pounced on her–your erected cock is bouncing on and off between the two stomachs.
“...”
“...”
“HAHAHAHAH!” a rather vulgar laughter escapes your mouth, but she’s laughing harder.
“That was so funny!” she says, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes.
“Yeah, I did not expect it to ricochet like that,” you too are tearing up from the laughter.
“And like, the feel on my stomach,” she rubs hers in circling motion. “It’s like I’m being massaged by one of those massaging guns y’know. Pfft!”
“Haaah …”
“Heh.
Wanna continue?” she asks.
Of course you do. You lower your head. She closes her eyes. The soft sensation of her lips ignites the romance once more. It’s weird. You’ve kissed her countless times before. Being, well, your wife and all. But you never get tired of it. You never get tired of her taste, of her smell, of her.
You love Jiyeon.
Ah.
A string of drool connects the lips as you unlatch. Her eyes, pearly, pretty, are staring at you. An unspeakable bond is formed, or rather, strengthened. You give her one more quick smooch before reluctantly breaking eye contact. Looking down, she’s already squirming. Rubbing her inner thighs together, her legs fidget closer. Higher, too. she’s rubbing your balls with her inner thigh.
You move down. But not without planting a plethora of smooches all the way. It’s essential for you to taste her entire body before breaking into her most sacred–almost a ritual at this point. An appetizer is crucial in a five-course meal.
She still laughs amongst the moans elicited from the barrage of kisses, but you can feel the weight of expectancy from those. She wants you.
You spend a bit more time on her belly button than the others. You kiss it, lick it, suck it. Let her feel your-
Smack!
“Awch?”
In the middle of her panting breaths, she says; “Cmoon, don’t tease me any long-kyaah!”
In an abrupt motion you bring her legs up, simultaneously lifting her body from the chest down. You sit on your knees and plant her toes on the sides of her head. Putting an armlock around her hamstrings. You effectively folded your wife in this position, presenting her entire crotch right in front of your face. A revenge for the slap earlier.
“Hang on! Waitwaitwai-eEEK!”
You dive in. Who in their right mind wouldn’t? Your wife’s holes are displayed on a silver platter. Of course you’re eating her out.
I’ll eat(you) well.
Start slow. Kissing every area but her folds, including her puckered hole. Her hole is wet, that’s a given, but not so much around it. The objective is to spread everything evenly. The hidden objective is to torture her for the sake of it.
You lap her up like you would an ice cream. Licks, licks, licks, ooh, it’s her ass! Insert.
“Aghhhh!” her ass trembles when your tongue invades the tight hole.
You move your head up and down, stretching the rim with the repeated thrust of your tongue. Not the easiest thing to do, but her hole is very accommodating. A sign of complete trust.
“Ngghh! Fuck, FUCK! Stopstopstop-”
And so you stop.
“Huh? Why’d you stop?! I was close!” she hits your sides with her free hand.
Without any warning you release your right hand to stick your middle finger knuckle deep inside her ass. It silenced her immediately. You start rotating the finger inside, clockwise. Pretending to search her pleasure point–you already know where it is.
“There~” you say, shortly before she squirts uncontrollably.
You wait until her high is over, Jiyeon is quietly enjoying it.
Zero fucks were given as to where she sprays, as your face became the reservoir–not that you’d mind.
.
.
.
“Are you done?”
“Oh fuck you,” she says, weakly. Her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah that’s the main goal here,” you smooch her folds one last time before putting her back down. Must’ve been sore to cum in such a position. A good thing that she’s flexible–years of ballet came in clutch.
You let her rest, as you need one too for a cooldown. Though it doesn’t last long, as she calls you with “Breed me babe, c’mon!” as she’s tapping her own belly.
Well, if she insists, a good husband will oblige.
You approach her. Once again lifting her legs, you’re only half-folding her now, as you hoist her legs up onto your shoulders. You position yourself right below her, hips already sticking. You lean in, watching her sweaty, sweety face. Ah, what a beauty.
“You ready honey?”
She excitedly nods. “I said breed me. Daddy.”
You chuckle. She’s exactly how you would picture a girl getting a sweet treat. Only this time the treat is in the form of a male reproductive organ.
You hold your fully erect shaft, tapping it several times onto her entrance. She giggles. She really is weak to tickles.
You pull your hips back a little. She looks at you, and you look at her. Your tip is already sticking. Eye contact is never broken as you slowly move forward. She gasps, a moan is next. She’s looking at you deeper, somehow. As deep as you are within her warmth.
“Mmhh,” she’s biting her bottom lips, trying so hard to maintain eye contact.
You can relate to her struggles, as you are literally one with each other. It takes a huge willpower to not throw your head back and groan in satisfaction. The pleasure she offers is unbeatable, and you are pretty sure she feels exactly the same.
“Fuck,” you hold it at the deepest point. You lean into her, cradling her jaw to give her a kiss. She does the same, swiftly moving her legs to wrap around you.
“Ah,” a symphony of moaning escapes our lips once they leave each other.
Jiyeon briefly stares at you within that inch of a distance, before releasing her hold from your jaw to throw her hands up. Her armpit’s exposed, complete with a taunting smirk. Jiyeon is stretching her back, arching her flexible body. You are forced to back away, shifting your gaze onto her alluring body. Damn.
You hold her cherry firmly, which earns a chuckle or two, before rocking your hips back and forth. Purposely setting the rhythm slow to see her squirm beneath you. Another sight of her you wouldn’t ever get tired of.
You draw this out for as long as you can. Holding your own desire to completely break her. That’s because you know your wife well. You know that when she can hold it off no longer, it will be herself that’s asking to be broken.
It doesn’t take that long.
“Argh!” she reacts to your tip hitting her deepest point, for the umpteenth time. You never pull any further than about ¾ of your length, letting most of it rest inside. Turning it up and around, stirring her up–body and mind alike.
“Fuck - me - seriously -,” she suddenly grabs your forearm, looking at you with a begging eye. “Please.”
You rock your hips one last time then move the grasp on her breast towards her arching back. Leaning back down, technically hugging her hot–both figuratively and literally–body. You position your mouth right beside her ear to whisper to her. “At your service my queen.”
The room blends into nothing but screams of pleasure and delight once you start to fuck her in the way a beast would. She moans, you groan, the claps, you both bite each other.
Time stretches itself, you feel like you’ve been fucking her for an eternity. At the same time, it feels too short for it to be over as you start to feel that familiar knot in your groin.
“Grrh. Shit.”
She notices. She stops her bites on your neck, tapping your cheek. You understand the signal, lifting your head to stick your forehead onto each other.
“Fuck! Inside, put that baby in me!”
You can’t muster an answer anymore. In response, you pound harder. Her legs locking your back as strong as your pummeling gets until eventually you can no longer move. You thrust one last time, the deepest so far.
You both scream into each other's mouth as you shoot ropes and ropes of baby batter right into her baby factory.
Then silence. Time stops itself altogether. Your world shrinks until Jiyeon is the only one left. Her happy face. Her hot breaths. Her heaving chest. Her limbs, shackling you. Her clammy surface. Her warm, tight, and filled pussy. She is your entire world.
Your hug on her gets tighter. You nuzzle into her neck for a brief moment before lifting your head to look straight at her.
Weakly, you muster. “You’ve been nothing but submissive and breedable tonight babe, thank-”
The echo of a slap is heard throughout the room. Alerting each and every living being in the vicinity with the sole exception of you. You couldn’t even get the chance to see Jiyeon’s tomato face as your consciousness left you way sooner than anybody thought.
“Ah…, oops…”
“Did I seriously pass out like that? From a single slap?”
Jiyeon laughs in the shower. “Yep! So weak! Who would’ve known?”
You laugh in accordance, before flushing the toilet. “Can I join?”
You can hear the water stop. “Sure. No sex though-” she looks surprised when you enter the shower. Jiyeon faces you while looking down and rubbing her lower belly, treating it like the world’s greatest treasure–it is, she is. “I wanna…, feel it. Y’know?”
“Yeah. I know.”
~
Three weeks later. Jiyeon suddenly rushes in the work room, in the middle of your meeting with clients from overseas. You glance at her over the computer screen.
“Honey! I missed my period!” she shouts.
You gasp, along with several clients inside the screen. You try to not show your immense elation. That said, you cannot lie to yourself. A big grin is there for everyone to see. Some who catch it on screen express congratulations.
You go and hug your happy wife as soon as the meeting is over.
~
“What is it honey?”
“I don’t feel like finishing this, it just, I dunno, tastes weird…, urp!”
“Okay, it’s fine. I’ll just ask for a box. Are you not hungry though? You’ve barely eaten anything since morning,” you pull the kimchi fried rice out of her sight. It is her favorite meal, and she’s barely taken a spoon or two.
“Well, I’ll be lying if I say I don’t, but I really don’t feel like eating anything right now,” she frowns.
“-that being said, I do crave a nutella sandwich.”
“Ah, okay. That’s, yeah, we have those at home, let’s go back-”
“-with onions. Raw, uncooked, onions,” her mouth flashes a nasty grin. Must be the pregnancy cravings.
“O-okay…, we can stop by a market on the way home…”
~
Eight weeks later. Jiyeon goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night. She’s been going at it, back and forth, for at least five times in every hour.
You raise your head from the pillow as she comes back to the bed. She turns on the bedlight.
“Honey, I think my breasts swell, it’s been really sore for a few days now. Look,” she’s pulling her pajamas up. They’re indeed swelling up.
“Oooh, my steak too juicy, my lobster too buttery-”
“Not funny.”
“Sorry. Well, how do you feel about it?”
“I dunno…, it just feels weird. I feel, kinda bad, I guess? But not so much that it makes me…, huft, I dunno babe.”
You sit straight up to hug her, still topless. “Hey, I’m always here for you okay?”
She hugs back. You can feel her shoulders slack. “Thanks. Ah, gotta pee again-”
“Need help with that?”
She laughs. Standing up, she farts right in front of your face then sticks out her tongue. “Bweeeh~”
~
Jiyeon is getting bigger, literally. Her entire body is swelling up. She notices it herself in one morning before going to work.
“Babe?”
“Yea?” you stick your head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth.
“I’m getting fat,” she shows you her belly. Her pants couldn’t even be zipped all the way up.
“...so?”
She frowns. Clearly unsatisfied with your response. “What do you mean ‘so’? I’m getting fat! Don’t you hate it?! Don’t you hate it when your wife is getting fat and ugly?!”
There are tears flowing through her cheeks. You take your toothbrush out of your mouth and approach her crying self. “What do you mean ugly?”
“...”
You step closer towards her. “You’re still Jiyeon. My wife. The love of my life. The girl I will ask out 10 times out of 10, no matter what conditions she’s in. You’re never ugly to my eyes honey, ever,” you open your arms.
Jiyeon jumps to it. Quietly sobbing on your chest as you pat her back.
~
It is right around the time for the first trimester to end. Your wife has been looking rough all throughout. You’ve been regularly taking her to Sins, a GP(General Practitioner), since the fifth week, they say this is the time for her symptoms to get worse–worst, even. As a good husband–and how every husband should–you’ve been patiently attending to her every need.
As she wakes up this morning, you’re already in the kitchen. A pregnant woman needs an adequate amount of nutrition to sustain both the body of the mother and the needs of the child. It’s a bit complicated on this front, since Jiyeon’s taste buds have been everything but normal. She’s barely eating anything but her cravings. According to her, all foods taste bland and weirdly metallic–except the food she craves. To tackle that, you’ve been cooking in small portions. Eating small but frequently really helps her to take in those much needed nutritions.
Today, the menu is baked salmon with mashed potato and stir fried asparagus. Jiyeon entered the kitchen looking beat up. She hasn’t had a good night sleep for some time now, bladder problems.
“Mornin’ babe,” she groggily says, almost missing the kitchen counter as she’s putting her arms down.
“Morning! Feeling good?”
“Nope,” she slumps. Her sighs audible through the counter.
“Wanna go out this week? We can go to the beach, been quite a while since last time,” you present her your cooking. Not the best, but you did what you could.
She raises her head to smile at you. “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” she lazily grabs a fork and takes a chunk out of the salmon, wincing once it enters her mouth. Though, she still finished her plate in the end.
You can only smile in response.
~
Jiyeon is well into three weeks of the second trimester. Her tummy is getting bigger. The baby bump is getting more and more apparent as time goes. Weirdly enough, she’s really, really energized for the past two weeks or so. Gone were the days of her in the gloomy, dark aura.
“Babe!”
“Yea?” you lift your head up from the computer screen. Jiyeon is sneaking into your side in the work room.
“Let’s go to the beach tomorrow!” it’s Friday. A weekend date would be a nice change of pace.
You smile earnestly in agreement. Also remembering what she said the day before when you’re consulting Sins the GP.
.
”The mood swings might reduce, conversely, her appetite might increase a lot as the placenta fully took over the role as the baby’s main source of food instead of the yolk sac within the uterus like it was before. But mister husband over here should still be cautious at all times, the growth spurt of a baby is usually very quick in the second trimester-”
“So can we have sex now?” Jiyeon says, out of bumfuck nowhere, without an ounce of shame.
.
You almost spit your coffee remembering that moment.
The beach looks lovely. Almost as lovely as your wife laying beside you, without a single piece of clothing on her pregnant body. You two are lying on the sand, covered with nothing but a thin piece of blanket.
You’re spooning her, just as naked as she is.
“Don’t. Move!” she orders, there’s an elderly couple passing by. The grandpa looks at you for a second and immediately gives you a wink. Dude knows what’s up.
You’re already halfway inside, actually. Much to her insistence.
Recalling it, it was her that wanted to do this.
.
“You bring extra clothes right?”
“Uh, yeah? Do you wanna swim there? I mean, the doctor says it’s good to be physical, swimming is a whole lot of that.”
“Yeyeyeah. Swimming, sure. Noot noot,” she chuckled to herself as she packed up her clothes earlier in the afternoon.
Fast forward to now, you’re fucking your pregnant wife. At the beach, with buttloads of people around, with nothing but a flimsy sheet as a cover. Jiyeon is hardcore.
It would be wrong to say that you don’t appreciate this though. You’ve been sexually deprived for a little more than three months. Which you initially have no qualms about, until she asks you about it. Until she orders you to get rid of your swimwear. Until she told you to fuck her from behind. Because now, you feel like you are at your hardest, biggest erection of your entire life.
She’s not that much different either. Ever since you shifted her bikini thong aside, she’s already drenched. To say that she’s turned on by all of this would be such a massive understatement. Your wife couldn’t even properly speak as you inserted your whole shaft. She’s immediately squirting on you, which you take as a signal to start moving.
The entire ordeal has to be kept in secret, somehow. None of you dare to make a noise, all the more a moan. Jiyeon even has to cover her mouth as she’s squirting earlier.
“You dirty, dirty mother!” you whisper into her shuddering ear as you start moving.
You fuck her in a pace no more than a measly rustle. Nonetheless, the sensation is heaven. Her walls have never been this tight, this hot. You hold on to her swelling breast, twisting her enlarging nipples as you cork your cock inside her cave.
“Fuck,” a moan finally escapes your mouth. You’re close.
Jiyeon can only whimper as she pushes her hips back ever so slightly, chasing her own high as much as you are. You move your hands toward her hips, pushing it back. Your own hips meet it in the middle, crashing forward. Her hand accidentally slipped.
“AH!”
You immediately cover it again. Every pair of eyes focus on your place for a slight second. Shit. You’re throbbing, she’s tightening.
“Shoot!” a kid shouts from afar.
Shoot. Your dick erupts inside.
Shit!. Jiyeon rolls her eyes back as she’s squirting the second time, much stronger than before.
Your body shudders, as seismic as hers.
~
“That was insane,” you say, one hand on the wheels, one hand holding hers.
“We were. I didn’t think you would agree to fuck me right then and there,” she responds, chuckles in between.
“Heh. Well, you asked for it.”
“Don’t give me that! You’re already hard when I put on the bikini back in the house!” she shoots you a teasing look.
“Okay, okay, I’ll be honest. It’s been awhile okay? Can’t hold myself back when you’re wearing something like that. Absolute Cinema,”
“Haha-hands on the wheels you idiot!”
You almost swerve, almost. “Kidding~”
“You fucker-, that was not funny!” she’s seriously angry.
Gulp. “Sorry.”
She throws her face aside, but not letting go of your hands. You’re gonna spend the remaining trip in silence. Or at least you think so before she suddenly, excitedly, jumps on her seat.
“Honey!”
“W-what?”
“It’s moving!”
“What?”
“The baby is kicking!”
~
It’s late into the half of Jiyeon’s pregnancy. And you’re presented with both good news and a bad one.
Good news first. As Jiyeon’s tummy keeps swelling impossibly larger, the doctor recommends you to take a more accurate sonography. Surprise, surprise, Jiyeon is carrying a twin! (presumably)It’s a boy and a girl too! She’s never been more elated to hear something before. While you on her side is crying, the tears of happiness wouldn’t stop coming out.
The bad news is, well, it’s a twin. Jiyeon’s body will be shocked, without a shadow of doubt. Albeit she’s well toned and flexible from her ballet training, Jiyeon is still nowhere near a big girl. Her physiology isn’t exactly the most suited to birth a child, since her hips are actually thinner than most, let alone a twin that is. The only thing the two of you can do to mitigate the risk from birthing the children is to let Jiyeon train her body as best as she could, in this remaining half of pregnancy.
You could only hope for the best for her.
~
Gharlkl!
You pat your wife’s back. She’s slumped in front of the toilet. It has been a rough few weeks. She hasn’t had much sleep, if any. Jiyeon has stopped coming to work ever since the twentieth week. You too spent the entirety of your days accompanying her. You have never felt more grateful for the fact that your work is mostly done from the convenience of your own home. So you can spend more time by her side.
“It’s okay honey, I can-urp!”
You rub her back gently. Your other hand is binding her long hair off her neck, keeping it clean from both the toilet surface and the splash of everything.
You two spend the next 10 minutes in the bathroom.
“You think I can do it?”
You look at her by your side. She’s sleeping to her right, facing you(it is recommended for a pregnant woman to sleep by their side). You don’t answer, but swipe the strands of hairs off her forehead. She’s such a mess, so fragile, so small, so pure.
“I’ve been thinking, y’know. What if I don’t make it? Will you be able to handle everything alone? I mean, it’s a twin, a boy and a girl. You could hardly do housework as it is, let alone do those AND take care of the kids-” she laughs.
“Haaah…, you’ll be overwhelmed…,
-honey? I’m serious, in the off chance that I’m not surviving, I want you to know that it’s completely okay to marry another-”
You hug her. You don’t need to hear those. You don’t want to hear it. Not now. Not ever.
“You will make it honey. I swear it. We will take care of the kids together.”
Silence. No voice comes out of anybody’s mouth after. You can feel warm wet spots on your chest. She can maybe feel those same wet spots on her forehead.
Neither slept that night.
~
“Huufffff. Haaaap. Huuufffffffftt,” Jiyeon is on the mat, doing some light yoga with a trainer in front and you behind her. You have transformed the garage into a makeshift homegym. The car can park elsewhere, lots of parking space in the city anyway.
She has a scheduled workout now. Four to five times a week. One day consisting of yoga and stretching and three consisting of weightlifting, minimum. To your eyes, she’s been cruising through everything, easily.
“Haaaaahhhh~” Jiyeon sits while slumping her body forward in a perfect split. Her pregnant tummy is huge, but she’s still as flexible as ever.
“That concludes the training for today! Do you feel good, miss Jiyeon?” the trainer approaches her, gently tapping her shoulder.
“Y-yes ma’am! Never felt better,” she shoots her a smile. The trainer smiles back in relief.
“That’s good then. I’ve been through pregnancy myself, and I can tell you that the decision to workout, even in the middle of it, is never bad! Oh, you’re on week 30 now right?”
Jiyeon is slowly nodding. The trainer continues to yap for at least 20 minutes before she’s off. Your ears are burning up by the end of it, and you’re pretty sure Jiyeon shares the sentiment.
“Phew. What a woman honestly,” she slowly throws her body on the mat.
“Yeah. It's insane. I bet she doesn’t even notice that her body is very buff. Nien, was it? Cool name. Would be even cooler if she’s more socially aware though.”
You both laugh together, filling the empty space with joy. At least, that’s what she wants you to think.
You understand her. She probably understands that you do. But she has been giving nothing but fake laughs, fake smiles, fake everything. She keeps telling everyone that everything is okay. Everyone believes her, too. With the sole exception of you.
You know for a fact that she is actually terrified.
~
It’s week 35. A little more than a month before what many consider as a normal birth. Jiyeon has never looked so rough. She can barely pass through each day with your help, let alone her workout schedules.
But, she already gained what you think is a mother’s energy. She never gives up when it comes to the babies interest. She eats what’s considered good for their nutrition, regardless of the fact that she almost always vomits it out–then eats some more. She trains very hard, regardless of the fact that her body is literally breaking to accommodate the babies in her. She even helps you out in preparing the kids room, something the two of you had planned long before she even got pregnant.
“What do you think our boy would like?” she’s sitting beside the kids' bed this evening, instead of resting like what everyone else told her to. Jiyeon is looking at you while resting her head on the edge of it.
You look at her from the top of the ladder, currently placing the decoration. It’s an ornament of classic games from your olden days. You like games, so it’s only natural for your son to like it too, right? “I dunno, games perhaps?”
She laughs. Her voice so free, her expression so serene. Jiyeon is so beautiful.
“That’s such a you answer, y’know. Heh.”
“Well that’s because that, right there, is my son!” you jump off the ladder. Landing right in front of your lovely wife. You give her shoulders a rowdy massage. “He might even make annoying his mother as his hobby too, who knows~”
You immediately get a slap. Right on your balls.
Urgh.
You roll around the floor, squirming in front of her laughing face. “That’s a critical hit damn.”
She laughs harder. “Yeah, I would not be surprised if our daughter will be the type to discipline her own father.”
Suddenly she groans. A guttural sound straight from her core. It sounds painful.
“Honey! Are you okay?!” you shot up from the ground to tend her hunched body.
“Nggrrrhh. Cramps. It’s all over my body. Shit, that’s so fucking painful. Fuck!”
You give her a hand to hold. She’s going at it. By the end of those painful moments, you find your hand bleeding from her grip.
~
Week 36. You’ve been regularly going for check ups. It’s getting more and more frequent, contrary to Jiyeon’s struggle to move around. It gets harder to mobilize her past the third trimester. She feels pain everywhere and every time she moves.
She doesn’t even want to go to the doctor today. You have no choice but to oblige. One look at her and you realize that she’s in massive pain for now.
“Let me rest for the day, yeah?” she’s laying sideways on the couch.
You nod.
“It’s so painful, being a mother. Ah, no no, a soon to be mother, y’know?” she weakly laughs.
You nod, slower.
“Why aren’t you answering? Answer me babe…
I-I, I'm scared. I regret this. I regret being pregnant. I don’t want to be a mother! I-
-Idon’twannadie. Idon’twannadie. Idon’twannadie!”
You jump forward to hug her. She’s crying uncontrollably in your hold. You swear on your life you will protect hers.
~
“My water broke! Babe my water fucking broke! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!”
You wake up immediately to search for the car key. Shit. The car is parked across the town square, in the public parking hall. Why didn’t you bring it back home when you had the chance?!
“Babe! Hurry the fuck up! Aaaaaaaarghh!”
You panic. Theoretically, you could run to fetch the car, but that would take no less than 20 minutes. Shit! Should you borrow from the neighbour? They know your wife is pregnant, but then you look at the clock. It is 2am. Fuck!
“BABE!” she shouts. Already sitting up on the bed.
You hurriedly reach for your phone. The GP. That is an option. You call the number, Sins doesn’t respond. FUCK!
You’re desperate. Jiyeon is groaning in pain behind your back. You say fuck it, just call your neighbours. ANY of them would do.
The first choice is Star. The chef across the street. You call his number, to no avail.
You don’t give up. There’s one right beside your house. You never know what his name is, so you name his contact as Duckduck–there’s two big statues of duck in front of the house for whatever reason. You call his number, ‘the number you’re trying to reach is not available right now, leave a message-’’.
Holy fucking shit that’s 0-3. Your wife is starting to cry. It’s been almost 10 minutes since her water broke.
Then you remember a trusted gentleman. An old friend of yours you can always rely on. Emrys. You call his number.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Click,
“Hello?”
“YES!”
“Holy, I know you miss me but chill out my guy. Don’t you have a wife or something-”
“EMRYS CAN YOU PICK US UP MY WIFE IS ABOUT TO GIVE BIRTH! PLEASE!”
“Oh shit. I’ll be on my way! Just, hang on a minute aight?”
“THANK YOU SO MUCH.”
You turn to your wincing wife. “It will be here soon honey, the ride. Let’s do a breathing exercise, okay?”
She nods quickly, biting her bottom lips.
“Breathe in - breathe out - breathe in - breathe out.”
It’s not even five minutes later that you hear a honk from upfront. Emrys has come to the rescue.
You walk outside, Jiyeon is on your left, her hand is holding your body, the other her own stomach.
“Oh shit,” Emrys' eyes widened as he sees you walking with your wife through the door. Never in his life that he’d expect your wife’s tummy to be that big. He immediately gets out of the car to open the door to the backseat.
You and him help your wife enter the car, with much difficulty.
“St. Peter Hospital. Please hurry Em.”
“Will do.”
The ride to the hospital is nothing but chaos. Since Emrys is speeding the shit out of his car, the bumps are felt quite clearly on the passengers. Which in turn hurts Jiyeon’s already hurting tummy. The three of you never stop screaming through the entire trip.
“HERE, WE’VE ARRIVED!” Emrys shouts as he unlocks the door.
“THANK YOU!” you respond.
“AAAAARRGHHHHHH!” Jiyeon…responds.
The hospital crews are thankfully very quick. Immediately bringing in a wheelchair as soon as they see a pregnant woman.
“Should I wait?” Em asks.
“No, this much is enough buddy, thank you so much. You literally saved her life,” you dap him up, it is the crispiest dap to ever dap in the history of dap ups.
~
Your grip never leaves her fist. You waddle through the halls as she is wheeled by the nurse into the LDR Room (Labour, Delivery, Recovery).
The nurse, with your help, positions Jiyeon to her most preferred birth position. She chooses sitting. The doctor arrives not long after, immediately examining her vagina.
“It’s still very early in the labor process, sir, ma’am. The cervix has opened, but only for 4cm. It will open some more, but it might take quite a while. Expect about-” he examines Jiyeon’s body one more time. “5-6 hours. You can rest in the meantime. Now if you’ll excuse me,” the doctor bows to you two.
The nurse does some cleaning here and there, and brings her the birthing clothes to wear later–or now, her choice–before leaving us alone in the room.
“Are you scared?” it’s Jiyeon. Her breaths slowly stabilize.
“Excuse me, miss pretty. I’m not the one that’s pregnant.”
A laughter, small, brief, earnest.
“I am. I am so, so, so, so, so scared right now. Don’t leave me, okay? Don’t let go of me,” she tightens her grip on your hand. You envelop her tiny, trembling hand with the entirety of your palms.
“Never. I’m here honey, I’ll always be here. No need to be scared alright?”
A rosy hue is apparent on her cheeks. “Kissies.”
“Right now?”
“I don’t see a time more fitting than now, honestly-”
You’re not letting her finish the sentence. Your lips wrap themselves around hers. You can feel a bit of the pain she’s been enduring these past few months. The taste of struggles, sour, bitter, metallic. The kiss lasts no longer than the minute passes, but somehow, you find yourself already in the next step of the birthing process.
~
“When it’s time to push, we say push! When it’s time to breathe, we say breathe! Is that understood?”
Jiyeon nods. Her face is paler than the nurse’s gloves. She looks at you with a pleading eyes. A twinge of regret could still be seen from within, but it is overshadowed by the joy, love, and everything else in between. You have only seen that look once before. It was your marriage.
You give your hand to hers, something familiar to hold. It will help the mom feel better, the doctor says.
“Push!”
“AAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH!”
“Breathe!”
“Huuuuffffttttt.”
“Push!”
“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
You honestly have to hold yourself back from screaming as well, as Jiyeon is breaking your fingerbones like it’s a breadstick.
The process goes on and on for about 30 minutes.
“The baby is out! It’s a she!”
You sneak a glance at your wife, she’s already looking at you, smiling. Then you see the baby, still covered in all the liquids. She’s crying.
“Thank God.” Jiyeon sighs.
“Now for the twin!”
“Oh God whatthefuck.” Jiyeon sighs(angrily).
“Push!”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHKK!”
~
“Oh my god, they’re beautiful!” tears spring up on your face. You’re holding the babies. The boy is on your right hand, while your left is holding the girl. They’re crying. Full of love, full of life.
“Aw look! The girl’s got your eyes! And our boy’s got your nose, hahah. What should we name them honey?” you look up. Jiyeon doesn’t respond. Understandable. She needed rest, she’s literally been fighting for her life for the past hour. You give her hand a squeeze. It’s cold.
“Sir, would you kindly step back. Now. And please put the baby into the incubator, thank you sir.”
The turn of events happened so fast. You’re not entirely sure what happened. Suddenly you’re outside. Waiting in suffocating, terrifying silence. The last thing you can subtly hear coming out from the doctors mouth was;
“Patient is going through a severe trauma from the blood loss due to the fourth degree vaginal tear. Immediate care is needed. We’re moving her into the ICU.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Tosh : Its our graduation next week dad, can you come?
Dad : Of course son
Yeon : Duh, of course dad can, i told you. Jeez. believe in your dad, AND your big sis for once.
Tosh : For the last time, youre only older than me for TWO MINUTES Do NOT call me lil bro. Ever.
Yeon : Yeah. thats a whole ass two minutes older than you. Lil bro.
Tosh : YOU! DAD, GROUND HER!
Dad : Im gonna pretend i didnt see anything…
Yeon : :p
Tosh : URGH
Yeon : Anyway, isn’t it the exact same day as mom’s birthday?
Dad : Yeah
Tosh : oh really? I didnt notice sorry. Happy birthday momm!
Yeon : Happy birthday mom.
Dad : Thanks kid, you two are the best thing that ever happened to me. Pretty sure if your moms watching, she would agree with me from up there.
Tosh : Aw, suddenly? Thanks dadd
Yeon : You’re also the best dad. Ever. Thanks dad.
~~~~~~
Writing this has been fun! Special thanks to : @toshyun for introducing Jiyeon to me, @sinswithpleasure for the extra info on tripleS, @limemrys for being such a cutie || special mention : @starconstruction @ducktoo
Cheers!
A/N: Prompt for @mysonesecret. Thank you for hosting!
Fanprose link here.
Enjoy.
There’s this one girl, right?
Always orders the same thing—one iced cafe latte with almond milk instead of the usual whole milk that you use, less sugar and an extra shot. Before, you would make her order whenever she would come visit, nowadays you make it a part of your routine because she—
Always comes in on the weekdays just shy of the arms of your clock meeting nine, her bag slung over her shoulder, greeting you with a shy smile as she orders her regular drink. Sometimes she’ll order a pastry, but most times she’ll just get her latte.
She always pays with her card, oftentimes giving you a small tip after she’s gone and realized she’ll be visiting this place more often than she was expecting.
Always sits down by the window, always sets up her laptop and works (you assume) for a good while before she leaves.
Normally (and by that, you mean never) you don’t keep track of all the nuances. Orders for specific regulars, sure; it’s part of the job. But when you start to notice the little things that she does, you start getting to know her just a little bit more.
Which is odd, when you don’t even know her name.
But what you do know, is that she always takes a deep breath before her first sip. She stares out the window when she looks stuck on something. Doesn’t seem to like getting calls whenever you hear the ringing come from her laptop. And on the extremely rare occasions that she smiles, it makes you pause whatever you’re doing.
And even with all these things in your head, you still don’t know her name. What she does for a living, what she likes about your cafe, whatever.
It’s not like you care, much.
She’s a customer. Considered a regular. Someone you see on the daily for a few hours, even if you two don’t really talk except for when she pays for her order.
So when Thursday comes by and you do your usual routine of prepping your coffee machine, checking the pastries, turning the sign to tell everyone that your shop’s open and serving a few customers that managed to beat the rush hour, you finally had a chance to sneak in her order only a few minutes short of when she usually comes in.
Except she didn’t.
You think—hey, traffic is a bitch and she must’ve gotten stuck or something. She’ll probably come by a few minutes late.
Half an hour goes by and you’re remaking her order because the ice has melted. An hour passes, and now you’re looking up every time the bell on your door rings.
Probably just busy today. Must have a lot of things to do, other places to be. You’re totally not worrying about her at all.
Swear you didn’t screw up any orders the entire day. Or clean the already shiny counter. Or keep making her order every other hour.
Really, it did not happen.
So when the door rang once more minutes before you were about to close, you thought it must’ve been one of the guys who were on the night shift. Didn’t even bother looking up anymore, not when you were already moving to make the order.
“The usual?”
“Please.” That didn’t sound like a guy.
You look up and lo and behold—it’s her. Looking a lot worse for wear. A hand bag instead of her usual one, eyes looking a little red, hair a little messy.
You blink. “Rough day?”
She smiles, scoffing through her nose. “You could say that.”
Your head nods to her spot. “Take a seat, I’ll bring it to you in a bit.”
Her order’s made within minutes, and you walk over to her window seat. Her drink in one hand, a plate of croissant in another, you place it down on her table. “On the house tonight.”
“You’re generous today.” She glances down then looks up at you. “You do this for all your customers?”
“Course not,” you reply. “You’re probably the third.”
“Lucky me,” she muses. She takes another look down at her plate, a hand reaching out to her drink. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” you say, taking a few steps back and looking around. “You’re welcome to stay while I clean up.”
She smiles at you as she takes a sip of her drink, giving you a thumbs up. You take it as your cue to finish up with your closing ritual.
Put the chairs up, pack up any leftover pastries for food donations—you maybe make her a small box of it—and clean the coffee machine, the counter, the floor. All while she’s over at her regular spot, enjoying her iced cafe latte and dessert.
You two don’t make much conversation aside from the fleeting comments she makes—
“You clean your machine everyday?”
“Can’t exactly afford to have the food inspectors shut me down.”
And the curious questions you ask—
“How’s the food?”
“Good. I shouldn’t be having coffee this late, but after today I think I deserve it.”
You don’t question her about it, as much as you wanted to. The chance to ask passes when she’s surrendering her cup and plate to you, her smile looking a little brighter than it was when she entered. “Thanks for the food.”
“Anytime.” You take the glass and porcelain from her, placing it down at the counter then handing her a pack of pastries. “Here, for you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“You look like you could use a pick me up.”
She takes it with a thank you, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Her mouth hesitates, until she speaks.
“My name’s Sakura, by the way.”
You tell her yours, and she lets out a laugh.
“I know.” Her smile turns into a grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Your cup’ll be waiting,” you reply, and she’s out the door with a wave and a smile.
