Here we have the big horny story. It is just about all smut. Enjoy
Length 4.1K
Jihyo x Momo x M reader
Walking around New York, Momo and Jihyo had their sights set on one thing. That was finding a man who could satisfy their needs. At the moment, the pair were still wearing the clothes they had performed in, tight body suits, cropped jackets, and sweatpants. The look undoubtedly brought attention to them, considering their figures. The attention their bodies got let them look in the right places for what they were after, and after walking around in the cold for quite a while, they had found it.
They saw you walking along the street, their eyes drawn to your pants. They had noticed a large bulge as you walked toward them. Jihyo licked her lips and turned to Momo, who gave a slight nod. With things settled, as they passed you, Jihyo took your hand and dragged you along with them toward a small alley. You couldn’t believe what was happening. After an initial resistance to being grabbed, you had noticed it was the attractive Twice members doing it, and you followed along. In the alley, they sprang into action. Jihyo spun you around, pushing you into Momo.
The pair shared a smirk between themselves as they trapped you between their shapely bodies. “Don’t you want to give us something nice and warm to drink? It’s cold out here,” Momo said, pressing her bust against you. With no distance between the two of you, you saw how her bodysuit dug into her skin. The Twice members had their hands running over your body. You felt Momo reach into your pants, her gentle hands stroking your cock. “Ooh, you have something nice and big for us.” She chirps. Momo looks past you for a second, “Did you hear that, Jihyo? We have something good to play with.”
“Yeah?” Jihyo giggles. She moves her hands down your body, gripping your shaft. “Oh, you’re right!” You feel Jihyo squeezing your cock, before she runs her hand along your shaft. “Oh, he’s so big.” Jihyo’s words soon shift back to you. She stands on her tiptoes and whispers into your ear, “We’re going to have a lot of fun together. I hope you can handle us.” You gulp at the statement. The two vixens were going to have their way with you; there was little doubt about that. The pair pushed you against the alley wall, Momo nipping at your neck while they pulled your pants down. You felt the cold hit your body instantly, but that initial cold was followed by warmth. You look down to see Jihyo squatting before you, her warm breath against your cock, and a smile on her face. “We really hit the jackpot. Maybe we should take him back to meet the others.” She said before grabbing your length and slapping it against her face. “Momo, look,” The older woman turned her head, catching what Jihyo meant. Your cock nearly ran the length of Jihyo’s head.
Momo turned back toward you, her hand cupping your cheek as she turned your head toward her. “You might ruin us with that thing. I hope you take responsibility and treat your new sex toys right.” You shudder. Jihyo’s warm lips had wrapped around the head of your cock, her tongue sweeping from side to side as she got her first taste of you. Momo glances down at her leader, “I’ll have my turn later, right now, I need you to do something for me.” Momo pulled the top of her bodysuit down, revealing she wasn't wearing a bra.
Introduced to the cold, her nipple began to harden immediately, the pinkish brown nub poking out now. “Have a taste,” The older woman ordered, pushing her tit into your mouth. She moans audibly. Your tongue swirled around the hard nub; one of your hands found its place at the small of her back while the other went to Jihyo.
Twice’s leader smiled as she felt your hand on the back of her head. She relaxed her throat and placed her hands on your thighs. Jihyo eagerly bobbed her head, her tongue running along the underside of your cock. She pushed herself to take as much of your cock as she could, ramming it into the back of her throat. Your legs felt like they were going to give way as the pleasure built in your body. You gripped Momo’s waist tightly and bit down on her nipple. The pain made Momo moan; she was enjoying it. “You like being rough, don’t you?” She cooed. Momo pulled herself away, stretching her sensitive flesh as you held on. “Fuck, that’s good,” she groaned.
“I think it’s time I had a taste of you, though.” You release the hard nub and let Momo squat down beside Jihyo. Jihyo wraps her lips tightly around your shaft, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks on your cock. She slowly pulls away, a loud pop as she releases your cock. You huff, trying to catch your breath as you stare at the beautiful woman. Strands of saliva remained, connecting your cock and her lips.
Jihyo brings her thumb to her lips, wiping them before scooting over to give Momo some space. They eye each other, Jihyo’s eyes drifting between Momo’s bare breasts and her eyes. Momo stared at Jihyo’s plump lips, seeing them glisten under the sun. The busty women leaned into each other, their lips meeting and tongues intertwining. The sight made your cock twitch, something that they noticed.
They inched closer to you, continuing their kiss with your cock in the middle. Your legs shook as you felt their tongues lap at the head of your cock, their warm appendages rubbing against every inch of it. You placed your hands on their heads, struggling against the overwhelming pleasure you felt. Jihyo and Momo weren’t the type to focus solely on one spot, however. They began to move along your cock, kissing and licking it. “S-shit,” you mutter, they knew exactly what they were doing to you.
“Are you going to cum already?” Jihyo asks you. You struggle to reply as Momo takes her turn, sucking on your cock, taking it into the back of her throat. Your cock twitches in the older woman’s throat. You can feel the sly smile from Momo as she stares up at you. She has a look on her face that’s daring you to cum down her throat. The kind of expression where she knows you’re about to break. Jihyo notices the look and turns to you with a big grin. “You are going to cum, aren’t you? Don’t worry, Momo and I can share.” Those words send you over the edge. You cum down Momo’s throat, filling the older woman’s mouth with your semen. Momo drinks it all down. When your climax starts coming to a close, she holds it in her mouth, letting it all gather as she slowly backs away.
Momo stops with just the tip left inside. She grasps your shaft with both hands, stroking it, milking any drops you may have left before finally popping you out of her mouth. She opens her mouth wide, letting both you and Jihyo take a gander at the mouthful of cum she has. Momo rises slowly, grabbing Jihyo’s shoulder and letting your cum drip into her mouth. The erotic sight is enough to make your cock twitch with excitement. Jihyo slowly rose, eventually crashing her lips into Momo’s, where the two continued to swap your cum.
When they broke apart, they stared at each other before turning to you. As much as they wanted to continue right here and now, they knew how hard it could be to fuck two women without a proper bed, especially when neither wanted to just wait on the sidelines. They rushed you over to their hotel, practically throwing you on the bed before discarding their jackets and sweatpants. Momo was about to strip off her bodysuit when Jihyo stopped her, saying it was better to keep it on. In your opinion, Jihyo was right. There was something about seeing the pair in their bodysuits that was more arousing than seeing them naked. Maybe it was the fact that Momo’s bodysuit rode up high, her puffy lips almost fully out. Jihyo’s bodysuit was just as erotic; it was basically sheer. You watched her slip her black bra out. Her mocha nipples are completely visible despite the fabric.
They crawled over to you, climbing onto the bed on either side. They each placed a single hand on your cock, stroking it until you were full mast again. You watched as they licked their lips. Silently, Jihyo gave Momo a slight nod before slowly making her way up toward your head. Momo, in the meanwhile, straddled you, pressing your cock against your stomach and trapping it with her wet folds. She rocked her hips, back and forth, making you moan as she held herself back, waiting for Jihyo to be in position. “I hope you're good at eating,” Jihyo said, a slight giggle in her voice as she straddled your head. She remained inches above your mouth, and you watched as she moved the bottom of her bodysuit to the side. She rested herself on your face, letting you drag your tongue along her slit. Jihyo cooed, enjoying how you started. She rocked back and forth gently as you lapped at her folds, but you both wanted more. You grabbed Jihyo’s thighs and held her down as you pushed your tongue inside her.
The leader of Twice arched her back, letting out a roar as you took initiative. Watching this go on, Momo decided it was time for her to join in on the fun. She aligned herself with your cock and impaled herself on it. You moaned into Jihyo's cunt, making the younger woman coo just as Momo let out her own roar. “He’s so big, Jihyo,” She told her leader. It feels like he’s rearranging my guts.
Momo placed a hand over her lower stomach. “I feel so full,” she said, with a wide smile.
“I can’t wait to have that cock myself. Ride him good,” Jihyo replied, pulling Momo into a kiss. The Asian woman's lip-locking ended quickly as Momo began to lift herself off your cock, driving herself back down once only the tip was inside. Momo’s moans filled the room quickly as she got into a quick pace. Her heavy mounds bounced inside her bodysuit as she rode you. You could feel her walls squeezing down on your cock.
“It feels so good,” Momo moaned as she rode you. “I can feel him ramming into my womb, Jihyo. Oh, fuck,” She continued. Momo was pushing every inch of your cock inside her tight cunt. Waves of pleasure were crashing over both of you. It was hard for Momo to continue at her pace, but she kept going.
It was hard for you to focus on Jihyo as the pleasure continued rolling in; all you could really do was hold Jihyo down, your tongue rubbing against her walls as you moaned. Jihyo leaned forward toward Momo, pulling her into another kiss. As their tongue tangled, Jihyo pulled Momo’s bodysuit down, letting her tits flop out, the soft flesh bouncing freely as the older woman impaled herself on your cock. Jihyo grabbed one of the heavy orbs, squeezing it roughly as she felt your tongue pull out and smack against her clit. “His tongue is pretty good, too,” Jihyo groaned. “Maybe we do introduce him to the others.”
“Do you hear that?” Momo moaned, not daring to stop as she neared her climax. You felt her walls tightening around you, clamping down on your shaft and refusing to let go. “We might have you meet everyone else, have them experience this nice fat cock.” Momo’s words began to slur, her mind wandering as pleasure overcame her. “Big, fat cock. It’s stretching me so much. I want you to cum inside me, fill this pussy up.” You didn’t need to be told twice. As Momo continued to bounce on your cock you began to thrust into her. Momo cried out with pleasure; she could feel your cock filling her to the brim. She leaned forward, placing her hands on your chest to support herself as she came. You pushed your hips upward, wanting to be completely buried in her when you came.
Momo felt your warm semen flooding her cunt, the thick spurts filling her womb as you stayed connected to you. “It’s so warm,” she mumbled.
Jihyo watched on as Momo came, the older woman’s body shaking as you dumped your load into her. Jihyo felt jealous; she wanted to experience that too. That being said, Jihyo was having a good time too. She rocked her body, her nectar dripping into your mouth as you made her cum. It wasn’t the explosive finish that Momo had, but it was satisfying nonetheless, especially considering she felt your tongue lapping at her slick folds; occasionally, a smack against her clit made her gasp.
Soon, it was time to switch, though. Momo climbed off of you, your cum dripping from her cunt onto your crotch. It was of little bother to Momo, who figured you’d come inside her again soon. “Give me a little break,” Momo said, her chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath.
“More for me then,” Jihyo chirped as she set herself up on all fours, shaking her ass back and forth to entice you to take her. You got behind Jihyo quickly, rubbing your cock against her wet entrance. You glance at Momo, the older woman was lying on her back with your cum spilling out of her. You wished you had been able to look at her when she was riding her, but the sight of what you had done to her was good enough for now.
You return your attention to Jihyo. Twice’s leader was pushing herself back on your cock, letting the tip stretch her cunt. “Mmm, come on, big boy, fuck me up. I want you to make this pussy yours.” You drool at the thought of making Jihyo yours alone, then come thoughts of doing the same to the other members. You grab Jihyo’s waist, digging your fingers into her soft flesh and driving your cock into her. “Fuck!” Jihyo yells as you nearly split her in two. She feels your cock rubbing against her womb, her jaw goes slack, a long moan flowing from deep inside her as you begin to drag your length out of her. “That’s it, fuck me like I’m a piece of meat,” Jihyo muttered. You couldn’t see it, but you could almost make out the smile on her face, given how she said that.
You push yourself back into her warm, tight cunt. Jihyo’s soft ass presses against your crotch. You enjoy the moment, enjoy having the leader of one of Korea’s most popular girl groups ever moan wildly and beg for your cock. You take further control of her, grabbing at her body suit and tearing it at the chest. Jihyo’s tits bounce freely now that you’ve torn their restraints. You grab the heavy mounds, squeezing them tightly in your hands as you thrust into her wildly. Your bodies collide over and over again, your cock meeting her womb and reshaping her cunt. The loud smacks echo around the room, mixing with Jihyo’s powerful moans.
“Oh, god, I’m cumming,” she whined. Each thrust dug away at Jihyo, her walls quivering before squeezing down on your slick shaft. You continued to fuck the young woman, turning her mind to mush as you neared your climax as well. Jihyo could feel your cock begin to throb inside her. She knew your climax was coming. “Cum inside me,” she ordered. “Dump all that thick baby batter in me. Make me a mess,” she moaned, barely able to hold herself together. You weren’t going to follow along that easily this time.
You squeeze her soft mounds tightly, nails digging into Jihyo’s tan skin. Your thrusts become quicker, rougher. Jihyo’s body tries to lurch forward, but you're there to pull her back onto your cock every time. Jihyo’s moans continued to rise as her walls clamped down on your cock, her nectar coating your cock as you pistoned in and out of her. “Fuck! Please cum, cum in me,” she mumbled, her body giving out on her momentarily. “Please fill your fucktoy with all your cum,” she begged. You reached your limit after a few more thrusts. You impale Jihyo on your cock, giving her what she desires. Your cum painted her walls before it filled her womb, just like you had with Momo. Jihyo’s body shook, the pleasure she got from you giving her a creampie sending her over the edge and spiraling into another orgasm. Her walls flexed around you, milking you of your semen. Her soft ass remained pressed against you, your cum dripping from her cunt as it overflowed. As your cock throbbed, dumping the last of your load inside Twice’s leader, you massaged Jihyo’s tits, moving them along in a circular motion.
“I feel so warm, so full,” Jihyo mumbled. The moment you let go of her tits, Jihyo falls forward onto her face. You drag your cock out of her, leaving her cunt gaping, a river of cum flowing out onto the bed.
Jihyo turns onto her side, sliding her hand between her legs and touching herself. “That was amazing,” She says while trying to catch her breath.
“Yeah, and look,” Momo replies, pointing toward you. Jihyo shifts her eyes and notices that you’re still hard. “Poor thing still has more to give,” Momo told her partner in crime.
“He does,” Jihyo said, thinking of what to do next. She brings her dirtied fingers to her lips, taking small licks of your salty cum before figuring out what she wanted to do next. Jihyo smiled to herself and crawled to Momo, setting herself on top of the older woman, their large busts pushing against each other as Jihyo lines up their cum-coated cunts. Jihyo looks over her shoulder at you, “Well? Pick your poison, big boy.”
You take a moment to enjoy the sight of their painted pussies pressing against each other and split the difference, sliding your cock between their body. The girls giggle as you tease them, your shaft brushing against their clits. It felt nice sliding between their bodies, your cock quickly made them slick. As much enjoyment as you got from fucking their bodies in this way, it wasn’t a replacement for their cunts. You move lower, slipping inside of Momo. The older woman groans, reveling in the feeling of your cock stretching her out again. Jihyo watches with glee, taking in every detail of Momo’s moaning face. “You love having this cock inside you,” she said to her fellow Twice member.
“I-it’s so good,” Momo stutters.
“I know it's good. It's great for little sluts like us. He just keeps going and going.” Jihyo said before planting her lips on Momo’s, her tongue invaded the older woman’s mouth. Momo accepts the kiss, her hands settling down at Jihyo’s waist.
Pleasing one woman was good, but pleasing both would be better. You make Jihyo moan in Momo’s mouth by slipping two of your fingers into her warm cavern. You spread them out, rubbing her walls and teasing her G-spot. Jihyo pushes back against your hand, pushing your fingers in deeper. While your fingers work on Jihyo, you take the time to ravage Momo. The older woman’s body was already sensitive after cumming once. This second round felt even better than the first with her new sensitivity. She could feel your cock hitting her womb, the sensation sent stars into her eyes as she neared her climax yet again. Just as she was about to reach it, though, you pull out, switching to Jihyo’s cunt.
The older woman was about to complain, but you stuffed her mouth with your fingers, giving her a taste of your fluids combined with Jihyo. Without a word, Momo sucked on them, her tongue lapping at your digits. You continued to switch between the women, robbing them of more orgasms, until you began to reach your limit. When that began, you moved Jihyo off of Momo and told them to have their heads near the bed’s edge. They followed your instructions well. You placed your cock, between them, giving each woman one side to clean. You thrust between the mouths slowly, enjoying it as they gave your cock a lashing with their slick and skilled tongues. At times, Momo and Jihyo would team up, sucking on your balls as they jerked you off.
You repaid the pleasure they gave you in kind, sliding your fingers deep into their sticky cunts while your thumb teased their clits. The women moaned, the pleasure building up inside of them as you curled your fingers, rubbing their G-spots until their walls tightened around your fingers. From then on, you slid your fingers in and out, fucking them as they finished cleaning your cock and took turns sucking on the head. You push them over the limit first, your fingers pressing against their G-spot once more as your thumbs press against their clits. Their hips shoot upwards as they cum, nectar squirting out and staining the already ruined bed.
Close to your climax, you take turns with the Twice members, sliding your cock down Jihyo’s throat a few times before doing the same to Momo. The women eagerly accepted your cock, watching with glee as it slid down the other's throat, making it bulge. When it was time for you to cum, they moved their head closer to each other. Jihyo shut her eyes and stuck out her tongue, Momo copying her quickly.
You jerk yourself to their slick and sweaty bodies, your cock throbbing as you recall what you did to both of them. A second later, you paint their faces in a thick layer of cum, Momo got the first few spurts, your cum landing across her closed eyes and chin mainly. As you move to Jihyo, you become a little more accurate, your cum landing in her open mouth and across the bridge of her nose. The women rolled onto their stomachs once you were done. “Can you pass me my phone?” Jihyo asked. You did as asked and brought the leader her phone. Jihyo went to the camera and stretched out her arm, giving a small piece sign along with Momo as they snapped pictures of their cum-covered faces. Satisfied with what she had taken, Jihyo sent the pictures to the Twice members’ group chat along with the message, “We found a good one, come over if you want a taste for yourself.”
Jihyo carefully dropped her phone on the ground and lay her head on the bed. Her body tingled pleasantly from all the orgasms she had experienced. Momo was much the same, her body tired, but feeling good. You stared at the women, your cock twitching as you saw them stained with your cum. Jihyo lifted her head, noticing you were still hard. She giggles. “They’ll be here soon enough. If you want to keep yourself ready, why don’t you use these?” Jihyo said, rolling onto her back and crossing her arms under her tits, pushing them up.
“Or you could use these,” Momo chirped, offering up her own tits. You couldn’t say no to that offer. You mounted Momo, using her heavy mounds to keep you hard. The soft flesh felt wonderful as you slid between them. You made the valley between them slick, and received even more pleasure as Momo raised her head, taking small licks at the tip of your cock when it poked through. Jihyo was not one to be left out, though. She got onto her knees and offered you her tits, bringing one up to your mouth. You sucked on it greedily, your tongue swirling around her nipple as your hand slid down her backside until you reached her ass. You kneaded the soft flesh as you enjoyed yourself. You hardly noticed as the door to their hotel room opened, and in came the rest of Twice, eyes wide as they saw Momo's tits being used like a fleshlight and Jihyo cradling your head as you sucked on her tit. Just as quickly as they came in, they dropped their clothes, ready to join in on the fun.
You press a finger to your ear, take a deep breath, and push into the side door—into the nightclub proper.
There’s a half-second where you go completely deaf before your hearing returns to you. The noise hits you all at once: the hissing spray of the fog machines overhead, the thumping of the bass that threatens the warranty of the surround-sound speakers, the cheers and jeers of the crowd, the rhythmless thumping of bouncing bodies. Everything is a shade of red-orange. You have to hold up a hand to your face to stop one of the strobe lights from blinding you. As you take your first few steps into the scene this evening, you smoothen out the creases of your blazer and nod.
This is SAXO—the most prestigious nightclub on this side of Seoul. Belonging to a collection of different spots all under The Kingdom Collective, hundreds—if not thousands—of warm bodies find their ways at SAXO’s doorstep to drink, spend, and party to forget their pitiful lives for even just a few hours.
But not you. Not you.
You take a deep breath. Really feel it in your chest. And when you exhale slowly, letting the drag of air on the way out tickle your nostrils, you lock in as time slows down to a blur all around you.
You scan the room.
Slashed purse at Table Fourteen. Half-filled beer bottle at the DJ’s mixing pad. Fingers thrusted at the bar area.
Index to thumb, you snap. Then it all comes back to life.
You strut over to Table Fourteen and grab the idiot with curly hair by the inside of his belt, preventing his escape. “Huh? What—?”
Smack. You backhand the son of a bitch and take the opportunity to grab the wallet he was just holding as he stumbles backwards onto the floor.
You sift through the I.D. cards and glance at the group of unaware ladies who are now looking at you in confusion. “This must be yours. Keep an eye on your things please. Our staff can only do so much.”
After the ponytailed woman nods at you in silent gratitude, you whistle and call over a triad of bouncers. They immediately swarm the perpetrator and have him pinned with his arms behind his back. “You know the drill. Put his photo up on the wall. Then give these ladies a bottle from the top shelf. On the house.”
The same lady from earlier gasps and shakes her head. “No no, it’s fine. Getting my wallet back’s more than enough.”
But you calm her down with a gesture of your hand and signal to one of the bouncers. “Hennessy. On me.”
When her drunken friends scream in elation over hearing this, the lady smiles and lifts her glass up to you. You salute with two fingers before trudging towards the dance floor.
Cutting through should be easy, but the ongoing rave makes the crowd feel like an actual ocean.
Shoulders bumping. Backs pressing into you. Whispers exchanging at decibels higher than they should be. You don’t part the crowd—you know better than to do that. Instead you run your hand through your hair and get with it. Get with them. You go with the flow. Head bopping. Arms in the air. Swaying and shimmying past person to person. All until you reach the elevated podium.
One of the bouncers stationed at the front sees you and snaps into a straighter posture, but when you lift both your hands at him he learns to relax a bit. “First night?”
He glances left and right to make sure you’re talking to him. “Y-Yeah … s-s-sorry, boss.”
“Relax. Take it easy. Just remember: make sure everyone’s having a good time. The safe way.”
“Y-You got it!” he wheezes, unclipping the velvet cord so you can pass through. You pat him on the back and squeeze his shoulder before jogging up the steps towards the sound booth.
Pressing fingers against your ear to fold it shut, you dip forward and jab your waist at the DJ. You give him no time to complain. This sudden motion makes the wire connecting his headphones to his laptop coil around his bottle of beer and would have sent it toppling onto the mixing pad had you not swiped it up in time.
“Jesus Christ—you fucking scared me. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a set here?” Hajoon groaned, unraveling the wire.
“I said no drinks while you’re on set. This is the third time this week.”
He flaps his lips in mockery, snatching the beer back from you. Downs it in one go. Sighs in contentment. Then shoves it back to your chest, dampening the fold of your blazer. “Whatever, bossman. Learn to loosen up a little. Here—ready for the drop?”
As soon as he pushes one of the doodads on his device, you hear the music start to quicken and pulsate throughout the room. You can feel the hastening thrum in the back of your throat. When you think you can’t take the tension anymore, Hajoon flicks his wrist and throws his hands in the air.
“Everybody make some noise!”
Then the drop happens and everyone’s cheering to the beat. Tongues out. Fists pumping. Bodies yielding.
Hajoon jabs you with his waist and wraps an arm around your neck. “You see that, bossman? That’s the kind of magic we fucking enable each night. So will you cut me some slack? If it helps, I’ll cut back on the drinks too. I only got to sneak one in because you sent a newbie to guard me tonight.”
You peel his sweaty arm off you and dust yourself off. “We’ll see. Maybe play some good music first, then I’ll think about it.”
He hisses. “So fucking cold. But that makes me respect you all the more—not gonna lie.”
You ignore him and duck under the cord to rejoin the shifting masses. The new bouncer doesn’t even get a chance to say goodbye as you slither your way once more through the crowd to get to the other side of the room where the bar is.
“I fucking told you—we paid for our table in advance. What do you mean we need to show you ‘proof of purchase’? Fucking bitch. Your place is already expensive—.”
“Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem here.”
The gravitas you exude is enough to silence the four men trying to overpower and intimidate your bar staff.
“Is there anything we can do for you?” you repeat, making sure they hear you over the second beat drop Hajoon just laid out for the people. “You can relay it to me directly.”
One of the guys tugs on the sleeve of his complaining friend, but he swats him away. He’s the only one who still looks arrogant despite his face being as red as a raspberry. “Ya … who the fuck are you? Are you their manager? I’d like to speak with the fucking manager.”
“You’re talking to him.”
“O-Oh … oh, then good,” he flinches. “Like I was saying—your club’s trying to fucking scam me and my friends. Bleeding us dry, huh? We paid for the table reservation fee AND the three-hour extension for our table. And they say we can’t get more fucking drinks?”
You gesture to the poor girl just trying to do her job. She hands you one of her small tablets and you begin scrolling through records. “Says here you paid in full and still have some credit for your tab. What do you want to order?”
He scoffs. “Was thinking of getting me and my boys a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Each. But you’re all ruining our fun, so maybe we’ll just—.”
“You can’t afford it.”
The man raises a brow. “Excuse me? The fuck did you just—.”
“I said. You can’t afford it,” you utter once more, diction sharp enough to penetrate through their thick skulls. “The table’s a million won. You already spent nine-hundred thousand on other liquors. Four bottles of this gin will cost you two-hundred-and-forty thousand more—over your cap.”
“I can—.”
You point to the lanyard one of his friends wears. Then to the knock-off Ray Bans on his other friend’s forehead. Then to the crumpled envelope in his right pocket. “Keep burning your stipend money and you’ll be out of college faster than I can kick you out of this club.”
His little group inhales so tensely through clenching teeth over what you just relayed to them that their little leader starts to physically fume in the well-deserved embarrassment. “Y-Yeah? Well fuck you, asshat. Let’s go, guys. We’re leaving—.”
You hold your arm out to stop his lanky body in time, grabbing some middle shelf liquor in the same stroke. “Here. Bit over your tab, but on me. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
You don’t get the privilege to see his dumfounded face. You salute the woman working the bar before heading towards the back wings.
This was you. This is your nightly life as the manager of SAXO. It’s never dull. Not with the constant flow of people like these it isn’t.
When you lean against the wall adjacent to the restrooms, one of the bouncers notices you and offers you a seat by one of the empty tables along the balcony area, but you reject it with a shake of your chin. Hard to patrol when seated. Hard to monitor without a vantage point. There’s never any rest for the wicked, so you don’t allow yourself any either. Instead, you fix the grip of your watch against your wrist and check the time.
Twelve-fifty-three.
Glancing back up, your hairs stand on edge.
You find yourself as if you were on the roof of the building. Atop SAXO. Where the humdrum of the club below can blur enough to the point that it can almost be considered silence. You take what you can get. In this spec of solitude amidst your night to night affairs for work, you enjoy being able to stare up at the evening sky and just gaze. Stargaze.
When you look at the stars, you never really focus on a single fixed point. There are many stars out there, constantly burning, some already having died out, some whose light have yet to reach your eyes. They all look the same to you. Same shining orbs. Same glow and halation. Same patch of freckles that dot the expanse of the universe. But once in a while, once you let your guard down—if you can even let it—you find yourself drawn to a star that calls to you. Grabs your attention. Not brighter. Not differently-colored. Not even more attractive.
It just pulls you in. And before you know it, it’s all you look at. It’s all your weary eyes focus on.
It’s all you see.
That’s the same thing she does to you.
Chests lift and drop. Shoulders form waves that veil her visage. Strobe lights paint everything around her in a light haze. She whips her head around, hair fanning out downwards. Dip of the chin. Rise of the nose. Lock of the eyes.
She isn’t just looking at you. She’s caught you.
And the pull of her lips into a smirk is enough evidence of it.
You know very well that meeting someone’s gaze at the club is a death sentence. You know their appearance now. How they act. What they do. Where they are. You can track them down around the dance floor. Pinpoint their table. Vibe check their company. Note how intoxicated they are. Check to see if they’re hitting on someone. Or if anyone’s hitting on them.
But when someone catches you staring? That isn’t just a death sentence.
It’s an execution. And she drops the guillotine on you the moment she bites her lip.
You look away. You just meant to look respectfully. You hope you did. You didn’t linger, did you? If you did, it was just out of appreciation. Admiration. She’s beautiful. That much you can glean from an initial glance. Not enough to mark her in your mind, but enough to make her relevant in your field of view.
You’re an idiot. You look again.
Honey blonde hair, dark at the roots. Freshly threaded brows. Slender nose—sharp at the tip, softer around the sides. Oval-framed visage that looks soft upon a caress but sharp upon provocation. Lower lip so plump you forget she has two to form the curve of her smirk.
But really. What catches you are her eyes.
Because they’re staring right at you now.
You look away. For good this time. You’re certain because you push off the wall and walk a few steps away from your initial perching position. Not stopping until you’re sure that she isn’t looking at you anymore
You brush past a pair of heaving girls rushing to the toilets to vomit.
Nope, still looking at you.
You lean over a group of college kids playing King’s Cup and ask them how their night is.
Nope, still looking at you.
You run a hand across the bar counter to inspect its cleanliness.
Nope, still looking at you.
She won’t fucking stop looking at you. And you hate it.
Because you can’t stop looking at her either.
She shifts. Hands behind her head, hips swaying in a figure eight to the music. You’re still pissed at Hajoon, but you have to thank him for the boppy track he’s put on now. It makes her thrust her elbows out. Side to side. Doing a little spin. And when she comes back around, she smirks at you again.
It’s only then that you scan the rest of her. Filling out the form of her figure.
Buckled corset tight around her petite frame. Red pants dotted with silver buttons that you just know jingle with even the slightest movements. Nails painted silver. Armband dripped in gold. Boots that cheat her height and allow her to look taller men in the eye.
But really. What catches your attention this time isn’t in the seen. It’s in the unseen.
At the swell around her cleavage that’s threatening to spill out.
You look away. But you’re not sure you’ve done so because you can still see her in your peripheral. Like what happens when you stare at the sun for too long like a dumbass and it imprints its afterimage so fucking deep into your retinas.
You move over to the receiving area where there’s still a line steadily being processed by your diligent staff. A pair of bouncers recognize you and one of them dips their shades to greet you. You hang around them for a moment. Cross your arms. Return to the crowding dance floor. Let out a sigh.
Holy shit she’s moving towards you now.
One guy’s blatantly looking down her top. Another’s grinding against her. But she pushes past them, body still enslaved by the beat. But honing in on you like a beacon.
You make the mistake of looking her in the eyes again. She smirks wider. Like she’s got you in her clutches with a lasso, she shimmies through the sweaty bodies around her until she’s parted from the crowd.
You snap behind your back, and time pauses.
You scan the room.
Wide hips flaring out of the confines of her fitted leather pants. Gait so resonant you can almost hear its cadence amidst the blasting music. Face dyed a myriad of colors, but her expression remains unchanging.
“Are you just going to keep staring?”
It didn’t work.
She’s right in front of you now. Three steps away. You fail to realize it until she points it out. “Not much of a dancer?”
“I dapple. Just not tonight. Just not here.”
“I’ll only believe it when I see it. Too pompous to join the crowd? Are we not good enough for you?” she remarks, voice lilting like a tease towards the end.
“Got business to attend to—always. Can’t mix work and play.”
“Didn’t seem that way when you were eye-fucking me just now.”
The bouncers on either side of you flinch. You can tell because of the way these two burly buffoons fucking twitched. She can tell too because she’s two steps away now and pressing the matter still.
“I wasn’t eye-fucking you. Just patrolling. Just work.”
“Is your job supposed to be undressing wasted girls like me in your mind? You’re doing a terrible job then. I’m pretty fucking wasted right now, but I don’t feel very naked.”
“You’re not—.”
She’s one step away now.
“Hm?” she raises, and so does her brow. “Too on the nose for you? Or are you still ‘working’?”
Her hand finds its way to your chest as she presses into your clavicle, wiping away that one bead of sweat that rolls down your blazer. Your eyes never leave her face. Even as she tugs on and adjusts the rise of your collar. “What’s it going to take to be supervised by you? Directly.”
You tilt your head to the side. When that isn’t enough, you step as far back as you can before bumping into another velvet cord. Then you sigh. “Respectfully. Hands off. I’m an employee here.”
Her eyes widen like she just caught something. “Part of the background? Boring. Someone like you being off-limits—such a waste.”
You don’t know how to respond to that. That’s fine. Because she doesn’t let you. “Is it company policy to not mingle with your clientele? I just saw you getting real handsy with a group of girls earlier. You’re making me jealous just thinking about it.”
The implication of that statement is something you just keep to yourself.
Before she can move closer, you hold your hand out. “If there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know. But this?” you pause, pointing your finger to her then back to yourself. “Not a chance.”
She clicks her teeth and backs away too. Finally. But her eyes are what do you over. She’s rolling them at you. Mockery. Frustration. Disappointment. “You’re no fun. Keep eye-fucking me then. Hope you get a kick out of it.”
Before you know it, she seamlessly rejoins the crowd, dancing with the masses once again.
What the fuck was that? What the fuck just happened?
You don’t know. You’re not sure.
All you can think of is finishing your patrol so you can get some rest. You want to make sure everything’s in order for the evening before you leave the rest to your second. So you continue on your nightly routine. Just like nothing happened.
But god forbid this woman is making it difficult for you to pretend like nothing happened.
You can’t explain it.
When you patrol the lower tables—the ones closer to the dance floor—you see her spiraling around the edges of the crowd. Not really lingering too long at any one spot. Like she’s trailing you. Following you. You had to make one of the customers repeat themselves when you got distracted by the way she ‘fixed’ her top, flashing you enough skin to imagine the rest of what’s hidden beneath it.
Over by the entrance, while you were in the middle of resolving a dispute over fake I.D.s, she was hovering behind you. At a safe distance. Behind the barriers and bouncers. She’s watching you work. Observing how you tell someone off without needing to raise your voice. Smirking at you, twirling her hair, staring at you as she’s playing thoughts in her mind that you can only assume are no good.
Even when you sneak away to relieve yourself at the staff washroom. The moment you come back out, she’s sipping on a glass of whiskey. Staring daggers at your surprised face. With that gaze of hers that short-circuits your brain. She doesn’t say anything. Just sips. Just drinks. Just relishes in your flushed state as you hurry yourself away from her.
She’s not even meddling. She’s not even provoking.
She’s just there.
She’s going around you, but god does it feel like you’re the one orbiting her. Because this woman knows she’s got you.
She’s got you good.
“Anything else I missed? I’ll leave the cleanup and closing to you. Like always,” you tell your second, who’s already writing things down on his notepad. “And Minho, please, for the love of god, will you stop wearing those ridiculous ties?”
Minho peeks up from his sheets and pokes the yellow rubber-ducky tie with his pen. “This? My mother bought it for me, boss. It’d be a waste not to wear it.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “At least wear it somewhere else. Well—whatever. Before I go, make sure to keep an eye out on Table Nine. Got a feeling they’re runners—.”
“Boss!”
The beckon rings like a siren. You register it immediately and are ready to strafe past Minho when you see one of the serving staff runs up to the both of you. Panting. Completely out of breath. “Boss, there’s … ha … there’s a commotion on the dance floor!”
Your eyes first dart over to Hajoon. But oddly enough, he’s not trying to hit on anyone again this time. Instead, he’s watching something. Watching someone.
In fact, everyone on the dance floor’s watching someone. Noticeably so now that you realize there’s a small circular parting in the center of the crowd.
You follow the staff over and freeze at the outer edge of this commotion.
You see her.
She’s dancing like she owns the place. Like she owns the dance floor. Hajoon’s got his hands on the beat, but she’s got her hands all over her body. She’s being a diva right now. Bathing in the glow of the lights shining down on her. Feeling herself. Basking in the attention that’s being dripped all over her.
She ropes in one guy at a time. Dancing with him. Swaying next to him. Grinding on him. She slides her back up and down the front of one of them. Wraps her arms around the neck of another. One of the poor blokes makes the mistake of moving in to kiss her. She immediately bites his lip and gets a kick out of his pained reaction.
Your fist is clenching tightly by your side, and you’re not sure why.
Before you know it, you’re pushing—no, shoving—people aside just to get to the center of it all. Just to get to her. Tugging on the length of your necktie, when you make it to the lady in question, you hold out an arm to stop the next guy from entertaining her, and just grab her by her arm.
“What the hell are you doing?” you demand. She reeks of alcohol and sweat. “You’re drunk. You’re making a scene.”
“Yeah? Is that not allowed?” she prods, stepping closer to you. She shrugs your grip off and crosses her arms. “Didn’t think it wasn’t, but hey, made you look didn’t I? I knew it was the only way to grab your attention.”
You glance past her. To Hajoon. The man scrambles for his headphones and changes up the music, inviting everyone to return to the dance floor and party like there’s no tomorrow once again. Back to the regular routine of things.
But you don’t let up on her.
And she doesn’t let up on you.
Because her hands are now resting on your waist.
“Saw you talking to shorty over there,” she announces, pointing at Minho with her lips. “Thought you’d be off the clock now, manager. Didn’t think you’d eye-fuck me again that quickly though.”
“I was not eye—.”
She pulls you in. Whether it’s with her hands or with her gaze, you can’t tell. “Just shut up and dance.”
You indulge her.
You lied. You’re not a very good dancer. And she notices this. She leads you both. At times she lets you do your stupid little shindig while she’s busting out a move. Other times she’s holding you by the wrist and guiding your hands to either her shoulders or her hips.
And you’re starting to come undone.
How could you not?
Every run of her fingers across one of your shoulders to the other. Every bump of her butt against your crotch. Every nick of her knee against your thigh. She’s toying with you. She’s building you up. Leading you on. Because she knows.
She knows you can’t do a single damn thing about it.
You don’t keep track of time. But after what feels like an hour of working the dance floor with you, she finally pulls away enough to give you your own personal space again. She walks you over to the wings to where her table is. Table Twenty-Three.
First thing you see are two couples engaged in a contest to see who could be the sloppiest when making out.
“Don’t mind them. They won’t get naked. At least, they told me this isn’t that kind of club,” she explains. She casually reaches over one of the couples, who you are pretty sure are sneaking in some fingering on the couch, and grabs one of their drinks. She sniffs it. She reels. But she downs it anyway.
“Are we done here? Had your fill yet?” you ask. Unsure of where you’re trying to go with that.
“Yeah. Be seeing you.”
What?
You swear you almost hear yourself say that out loud. You don’t know what face you’re making, but it must be an entertaining one—for her at least.
“Was fun. Maybe we’ll come back here again.”
She followed you around. She stalked you like a hawk. She dragged you into her little shenanigans in the middle of work. All for this? All for nothing?
It was your turn to feel dumbfounded tonight. Dumbfounded because you were a fool for expecting anything bigger to have come out of this.
You bit your tongue enough to bleed iron into your tastebuds before nodding stiffly. “Right. Right, be seeing you.”
To add insult to injury, she waves at you with a smirk as you lug your body towards the staff exit.
---
“Boss, Table Eleven’s going red.”
You know that signal. You know that queue.
In moments, you’re already halfway towards said table, when your shoes screech against the polished floor. Stopping yourself.
“Hm? Care to join us?”
It’s her again.
Honey blonde hair pulled behind her. Black ribbed plunging half-sleeve top baring a fraction of her upper midriff. Bandeaux bra on full display. Exposed skin moist from collecting the condensation dripping from her glass.
You clock the empty vodka bottle on the table. You scan the eight different people gathered around the table with her. You take note of her challenging half-lidded stare.
“If you’re done with that drink, I’m taking it.”
“Tsk, we’re just playing spin the bottle. Is that not allowed?”
“Your little ‘game’ is disturbing everyone else. Take a hint,” you warn her, eyes fixed on her face that remains unflinching before you.
“It’s a fucking club. Of course we’ll be loud. Don’t want your customers having fun, manager-nim?”
The way she addresses you makes your blood boil all the more. “Give me that—.”
She beats you to it and spins the bottle. Lo and behold it lands with the snout facing you. The bottom facing her.
Smirking, she taps her lip with her newly painted red nail. “Five shots of scotch. In a row. Think you can do it?”
The crowd around her table is clapping and leering at you. But you ignore them. “I’m not playing—.”
She loops an arm around you and blinks innocently. Twice. For just a moment. “Aren’t you supposed to be the life of the party? Let’s get this night started properly. Shots! Shots! Shots!”
They begin to mimic your chant. “Shots! Shots! Shots!”
The other tables begin to chime in. “Shots! Shots! Shots!”
Soon even some of your serving staff applaud you. Egg you. Even when you give them the eye.
You glance at the bottle of scotch conveniently already at the table. You glance at the clubgoers surrounding you now. Then you glance at her.
“I don’t drink. Not anymore.”
You get booed in a heartbeat.
Shrugging, she dips down and fills up one of the shotglasses for herself. “Suit yourself.” Before you know it, she’s already drank one. Then two. Then five. All down the hatch.
Just as you are about to leave this brewing cesspool, someone tugs you from behind.
You’re not one to take that lying down. Ready to unwrap your arm from them and shove them to the ground. But the lightness of the grip is what throws you off.
And it’s enough hesitation for her to pounce on your lips and kiss you.
You don’t pull away. You can’t.
She’s holding your face. Both hands. One on each cheek. When you tug upwards, she follows, moaning into your mouth. But where you expect her bare tongue, something liquid is in its place. When you realize what’s happening, it’s already too late.
She just snowballed five shots of scotch right into your mouth.
When the taste of liquor hits your tastebuds, something fires in your brain. Something reflexive. Something ingrained. You rip your lips from her and spray out the alcohol. The two dudes behind you are fucking pissed, but you apologize sincerely and call for some staff to help clean the mess.
Returning to her, you grab her by the elbow. “I told you I don’t fucking drink—.”
“That wasn’t a drink. That was a taste,” she corrects you, smirking once more. Using that fucking gaze on you again. “Taste of me. Don’t get too drunk now.”
You’re unable to react. You let her kiss you once more on the lips and giggle before rejoining her posse for the night.
“Are you alright, boss? You look—.”
“Don’t just stand there, Minho. Get me some damn water,” you snap as you feel the liquor burning your tastebuds still. Thank god it didn’t drip into your throat. A taste was more than enough to give you goosebumps.
As Minho disappears towards the bar, you just watch as this woman pours cognac down her throat. Straight from the bottle. While looking at you.
With a smirk.
“B-Boss …? Boss!”
“What is it newbie? I don’t have all night,” you huff at the bouncer. You could have been nicer to him. Nicer about it. But doing arithmetic manually on a calculator and a physical spread sheet for hours would put anyone in a fuckass mood. “What do you need from me?”
“S-S-Someone’s um … stripping—.”
You don’t even have to ask for context.
As soon as you burst out from the break room, your eyes immediately train on the sound booth. On Hajoon.
On her.
You claw through the crowd. Is it to get closer to the unfolding scene? Is it to stop it? You’re not sure. You don’t fucking know. All you can picture are the things that will spread about your club after tonight if this continues.
When you make it to the divider, the newbie watches your back as you jump over the cord. From the first few steps up towards the elevator platform alone, you get a clear view from the side.
The twin-tailed little brat’s undressing in the fucking DJ booth. And Hajoon’s just letting her. Of course he fucking would.
Her tail point fur jacket hits the floor first. Pools at the ankles like shorn elegance. Pure irony though given the debauchery that persists to unfold. Her hair whips forward. Then back. She’s dancing in place like she’s boxed in a tight circle. Hands draw forwards and slide down Hajoon’s chest as she sways downwards herself too. When she shoots back up, she makes the extra effort to jut her butt out.
If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have slapped the fucking tease out of her voluminous rump.
It’s a miracle they’re still contained within her shorts. Those things are cut closer to her crotch than her knees. You cut her some slack. It compliments her plain white crop top that exposes the expanse of her navel.
Your focus drifts to the jewel affixed above her belly button. Sparkling. Beckoning to you.
When you glance back up again, she’s caught you once more. “Eye-fucking me up close this time? Get in line, manager. This one’s a public show.”
Hajoon notices your arrival and lifts up his beer, nearly fucking spilling it on his setup like an idiot. “Yo, bossman! Where’d you pull this baddie? She said you knew each other? You two banging or something?”
But the woman between you both hushes him with a finger and whispers something you can’t hear from all the music. Hajoon licks his lips when she pulls away and winks at you. “Fine shit, man. Fine fucking shit! Let’s turn this party up!”
As the tempo of the song speeds up, so does her dancing. She’s got a way with her body—you’ll give her that. Even as you walk back down, you can’t help but take a peek. When you do, you see her flex and swirl that torso of hers like she was goddamn built for it.
She locks eyes with you a final time before digging her thumbs into the hem of her top. “Think you can handle this?”
Just when you lunge for her, she chuckles and puts her hands back down. “Did you really think I was a slut? Disappointing. And here I thought you cared about me more than that.”
Clenching your teeth so hard they could shatter, you pick her coat off the floor and dump it in one of the chairs behind Hajoon. The last thing you see before heading back is her playing up the role she’s taken on for the night and acting as Hajoon’s eye candy for his set.
She manages to catch you in the crowd and licks her lips, biting her tongue midway.
“Fucking brat.”
“Fuck me—boss!”
You quite literally snap your pen. The ink fountains forward but you’re faster. You wrap it up in some of your old quarterly reports. Cursing under your breath, you dump the blotting mess beneath you and drag your fingers across your face. “What the fuck is the problem this time, Minho?”
“It’s her. Again.”
That’s not possible. It’s almost five in the morning now. Club’s been closed for an hour at least. What the hell was she still doing here?
No matter. You push out of your chair. Don’t bother to put your blazer back on. Just lower your head and allow Minho to accompany you to the scene of the next crime.
You hear it before you see it—the sound of glass breaking.
Then it all comes into view.
The closing staff standing frozen outside the bar. The three bouncers exchanging looks at each other in an attempt to figure out what to do. Hajoon who’s finishing his order of truffle fries while recording the whole thing.
Not a single one of them dared to stop her.
“All of you. Out. Now.”
Your command echoes throughout the now empty club. All eyes are on you as you tug on your tie and tilt your head to the side. Vein along your neck threatening to pop. “I said. Out. Now.”
“Manager, she’s been causing—.”
You raise your palm up to one of the bouncers. “I’ll take it from here. Leave closing to me. And Minho, go take our closing staff out for some fish sticks. Use my card.”
“Boss …”
You toss him your credit card and gesture for them to get the hell out of here. They look confused. They look concerned. But by the end of it, they all feel relieved. Even Hajoon whose set finished earlier tonight tagged along with your staff to freeload. You let it slide. You have bigger fish to fry.
And she reminds you of this with the sound of another glass item shattering across the floor.
“Oops. That one was accidental this time.”
You saunter over to the bar and lean on the counter. Arms folded against each other. Eyes trained on this little goddamn devil in front of you.
Her outfit surprises you.
You thought you had her figured out. The more comfortable she got here at SAXO, the less you’ve seen her wear. But tonight, she’s all covered up. Long sleeve leopard print. Matching ankle length tights. Pink nails. Some glitter sprinkled across her eyes just above her splash of blush. For someone’s who’s been clubbing all night, she looks like she just came fresh out of the shower.
She smirks. “You just love eye-fucking me, don’t you?”
“Cut the charade. It’s just you and me. What the fuck is your deal?”
She raises a brow. Runs a finger across the convex surface of a bottle of Patron in her hands. Contemplating. “Does it always have to be something in here?”
“There’s always something with you.”
You could never understand her. Even if you tried. She does everything she can think of to be an absolute thorn in your side. But she never acknowledges you beyond the provocation. She pushes and pulls. But she never reaches. And you’re not sure what irritates you more.
The fact that she keeps doing this each night. Or the fact that you want her to reach you.
You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t enjoyed the attention.
Looking at that flirty smile of hers that dances dangerously across the boundary of your tolerance, you can’t help but acknowledge it. She’s played you. She’s played you good. Attention-seeking. Body-chasing. Mind-filling. Every night—every fucking night—she’s on your mind. What she’s up to this time. What she’s wearing. If she’s looking at you. Looking for you. Testing you. Teasing you. Tempting you. You’ve thought about what it might be like if you weren’t surrounded by other clubgoers. What you might say to her if you had the chance to pull her away in private. What you might do to her if you were away from any prying eyes.
And now, as you’ve said, it’s just the two of you. There was no need to pull on any acts.
That’s what you want to believe, at least. It’s immediately shattered once you see the bottle smash onto the floor. Spilling alcohol across her boots.
“Oopsie,” she utters without a hint of fucking remorse. “That didn’t taste good anyway. I’m doing you a favor.”
As she reaches out for another battle, you exhale roughly. “What … What do you want from me?”
“Want? From you?” she repeats, swinging her next victim between her knuckles. Just waiting for one wrong move to let it slip and shatter. “You’re already doing what I want you to.”
“Which is—?”
Shatter. “Entertaining me.”
She doesn’t even pick up the bottles anymore. She’s just flicking them off the shelves.
“Ooh, expensive.”
Down goes the Armand de Brignac.
“Expensive?”
Along with the Magnum Moët & Chandon.
“And oh, most expensive.”
And so does the Rosé 1959 Dom Pérignon.
“You see what I mean?” she spins around and leans against the remaining shelf with alcohol still lining the higher echelons. Prodding at you as if you’ve already proven her point. “This is why I’m having so much fun with you. You can’t do anything to me, can you? You’re not allowed to.”
“You just manage—.”
Your hand’s already gripping her wrist. Pinning it to the corner ledge. She gasps. And for the first time since you’ve met this lady, she flashes you a look you’ve never seen before.
Fear.
“You,” you pause, trying to control your breathing. Your eyes are scrambling for something to look at but they’re stuck on her. Just her. “Do you know … how much fucking money … all of this … is going to cost me?”
“H-Hey … relax. If it’s really that much—?”
“Don’t try to slither your way out of this one. I asked you a question. Answer.”
She trembles. You can feel it in her pulse. You can sense it as you tighten your grip. “I-I … I don’t. But I swear, I didn’t think—.”
“What? You didn’t think it was ‘this serious’? Thought you were still ‘playing games’ with me?” you retorted, scoffing mid-sentence. “Where the fuck have you been living all your life? Under a rock? Top shelf liquor is so fucking expensive to import. I bet recovering all of this is going to cost more than the clothes you’ve been wearing here, or the fucking dingy ass pad you live in.”
“Stop, I-I-I was just—.”
“Just? Was just? Just having fun with me?” you fill in. “I run a fucking business here. And god forbid, you have been really bad for it. Just fucking terrible. This?”
You gesture to the liquor seeping into the cracks between cabinets and the counter. Mixed scents of shattered spirits wafting between the two of you.
“This is the last straw. I’m—.”
“Going to punish me?”
What was that? What the fuck was that?
There it goes again. The glint in her eye. The pull of her lips. That snarky tone of hers when she says, “Going to write me off? Report me to the police? Call my parents or something?”
It’s almost like she’s nudging you. Pushing you past your bloody fucking limits.
Like she’s challenging you.
Like she’s enjoying it.
“Go on. What are you going to do with me? Squeeze an apology out of me? Fine me? Blacklist me?” she lists, shaking off your grip when she knows you’re stunned and crosses her arms. Just under her bust. Highlighting it. “Go ahead and try. I fucking dare you.”
“Make me.”
There’s at least seven different things you could have done in this moment. Each likely more effective than the last as you play them out in your head. But when you’re face to face with her like this, bodies inching closer to one another, you can’t fucking take it anymore.
It’s time to show her who’s in charge.
It’s time to show her her place.
“Strip.”
“What?”
“Don’t make me say it again,” you press, stepping so close to her that your feet are now directly parallel to hers. “You’re right. Maybe I’m here as your ‘entertainment’. Then if so, let me ‘entertain’ you some more. Could bring you to the station down the street. Could make you call your lawyer or something. Could even just ban your sorry ass from SAXO myself. But that’s no fun, is it?”
“Strip. Now.”
Her mouth is taut. But it quivers. And you catch that.
“Ya … Isn’t this harassment, manager? I don’t think you’d want a case against you and your little club now, would you?” she tries to bargain.
But you see through her chicanery and subterfuge. “After all you’ve done, this is child’s play. Strip. I’m not repeating myself again.”
Growling, she rolls her eyes and pushes you away. “Fine. Pervert. But I’m not doing it with you around—.”
“Oh, you will.”
You turn around only to remove yourself from the slimy pools of spilt liquor on the floor. Vaulting over the bar counter. Dusting your hands off. You face her again. Arms crossed. Eyebrow cocked. Waiting.
“Are you for real right now? Are you fucking serious?”
“I am. You love putting on shows, don’t you? Then put on a show. Just for me,” you fired back. Smirking. “What? You’re the one who said I kept ‘eye-fucking’ you. Shouldn’t you have expected this much from me? Strip.”
You see her knuckles go white. But you also see her mask crack.
Then you see her do as you’ve told.
She whips her hair back. Of course she does. This little princess always has to have her hair fixed. The bangle earrings she’s wearing doesn’t make it any easier for her either. Digging her thumbs against her ribs, the same way she did on the night she got into the sound booth, slowly, she starts to peel upwards. You watch as the cloth of her patterned print top tantalizingly comes undone. And you get an unfiltered view of her compliance.
She hooks the hem of her top around the back of her neck, flashing the elastic band she’s using for a bra. “There. Happy?”
You shake your head. “I said strip.”
“You said strip, and I did. This is the best you’re getting out of me—.”
“How much do you make in a day?”
“What? I’m not some fucking hooker,” she chimes. And you appreciate the sass now. Because the raise of her voice makes the soft spots of her body ripple ever-so-slightly.
“Never said that. I just asked—how much do you make in a day.”
“I don’t work.”
You chuckle again. “Then you’ve got no frame of reference for how much this all costs. How much is your top.”
“My top?”
“Yeah, how much is it.”
“I don’t fucking know. Just bought it off an app. Around ten thousand won I guess?”
“A shot of that first bottle you broke costs six times that amount. A bottle can last about twenty shots. Each. Is the math computing?”
You see the exact moment the life drains from her eyes when the math, indeed, computes.
Whistling, you click your teeth to draw her attention back to you. “Strip. Before I start thinking stripping isn’t enough.”
She’s moving. She’s stripping. But she’s doing so in a way that feels different. As her top fully comes off, she doesn’t throw it. She folds it on the countertop. Not minding your direct view from above her bra. She does the same for the tights, peeling them off like a second layer of skin, folding it on top of the former.
The fur belt around her waist remains for a while. She’s using it to cover her crotch. And you realize why.
She’s wet.
“Do … do I have to also … the underwear …?”
“What part of ‘everything’ do you not understand?” you clarify mockingly. You know she’s not getting away without undressing all the way. She knows it too. “If you don’t hurry up, my second might come back to check on me. Want him to see you like this too?”
She glowers. Even though it’s a lie. “Fuck you.”
The panties come off first. Only because the belt’s in the way. It stretches against her ankles like a spiderweb when she tries to move away from the puddle she’s standing on. You catch a glimpse of the inside. It’s darker and more prominent—the stain.
Leaning forward, she holds the counter for support before grunting to take off her panties fully now. Folds it beneath her previous layers.
“Now the bra.”
“I fucking know,” she grunts back. You know she doesn’t need a reminder. But you let her know anyway.
Her bra isn’t the usual. Not a hook type. Not a strap type. Not even a clip type. It’s an elastic type. Just comes over the chest. Supports it naturally as gravity does its thing. Your knowledge of women’s undergarments is proven almost immediately right as you watch in utter astonishment at the way her swell of a chest comes loose from her final piece of clothing.
The recoil into one another. The ripples. The gentle sag.
You hate to admit it. But it’s fucking perfect.
She forgets to put it aside. To fold it. She just tosses it to the counter because she’s got her hand and arm across her bare tits now. You let her. Because this allows you to dip forward and tug on the long end of her belt.
“Hey, what—?”
“Walk with me. Walk to me.”
You tug on her belt. Lead her like it’s a leash. And she follows. She resists a bit, and you feel it against the tightness of the garment. But you tug back and she winces. Then moves again. Until she’s all the way out of the bar area and is now hovering next to you by one of the tables in the wings.
You clear the surface of the sturdy glass and gesture to it. “Get on.”
She doesn’t question you. Not while she’s naked. Not when you hold her dignity in her hands. In order to mount the table, she had to let go of her chest, and when she lays down, you finally get to see it.
Her full form. Naked. Unadorned. Natural. All of it for you to see.
All of it laid bare.
“God, if you weren’t such a fucking brat, you’d be perfect,” you whisper. You mean it.
Her smooth pale skin. The shape of her chest and the sheen of sweat across it. The quiver of her thick full lips. The spread of her legs. The clasp of her thighs against each other. The bare and kempt state of her nether bits.
They’re all right there. Laid out on the table. On full display.
Just for you.
“Yeah? Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s told me that,” she replies. Halfway between a smirk and scorn. You then realize you had said it out loud. She chuckles. Gestures to you with a finger. A hither-to motion coupled with that stare of hers again. Those ‘make me’ eyes. That ‘fuck me’ gaze. “Gonna do something about it? Or is that against company policy again, manager?”
Oh she’s asking for it now.
You loosen your tie. You kneel on the table. She looks frightened for a moment—worried the glass might break. But you prove her otherwise when you lean forward between her legs so your face is level with hers now. Hovering above it.
“I’ll show you what a fucking tease like you deserves.”
You press your lips against her and feel no resistance. Instead, she welcomes you. Her own soft hydrated folds part for you. Nibble on you. Suck you in. Her tongue is a welcome mat that unfolds into a stretch of red carpet for your own tongue to gloss and strut all over. She whimpers and moans the moment she gets her own tongue caressed in velvet. But she doesn’t complain. Doesn’t react.
Doesn’t resist.
Her hands come around your neck now as she pulls you further in, and you take this opportunity to get a little handsy yourself.
You go for her tits. God, how could you not go for her tits?
You’re cupping them. Fondling them. You know better than to just squeeze them like a child—no. You lift them up. You caress down the inner curve of each, polishing down and along her cleavage. If you weren’t kissing her right now, you’d have smothered your face between them. Sniffing them. But you save that for later. For now, you register the sensation of her in your head.
Hefty. Heavy. Fucking heavenly.
She gasps sharply when your right pinky hits her left nipple. You notice when you peek open an eye that she’s hard. Both of them are. Both of her nipples. They’re stiff and rounded little peaks that tempt you to oblivion. So you succumb.
One pinch and she forgets how to kiss you. Another and she’s gasping for air, breathless in your clutches. A third and she’s arching her back upwards.
“Fuuuuck,” she groans, her face getting flushed. “Do that again …”
You press your pointer to her nipple. Thumb on the other side. Wind her up by rubbing them together. Before pinching on the supple tip and pulling it upwards. Polishing it. Relishing it. Treasuring it.
She shudders more intensely now. You do the same to the other side and she’s willingly showing you the column of her neck as her body lifts from the table. “God … shit, you’re … you’re actually good with the—AHHH!”
You lick her neck.
One stripe. Two. Slow. Tracing over the parts that make her quiver. Prolonging over the parts that make her moan. You lick upwards to her chin. Over her lips. And press a kiss on them before repeating the cycle.
Her eyes flutter open and close, unable to focus. Whenever your gazes meet, she doesn’t turn away. She stares deeper into your soul. The facade from earlier having crumbled completely.
She reaches for your chest. However she can in this tightened position. She runs her hands across your pecs, down to your abdomen, where she then hitches her fingers into your waist and belt, and unbuckles it.
While you’re licking her nipples now. suckling on them, teasing them with the sharp of your tongue alternating with the long flat wall of it, you notice she’s grinding against your thigh. There’s a noticeable dampness. A moisture. Permeating your supposedly waterproof slacks.
You chuckle and bite down on one nipple. And this makes her scream in absolute ecstasy.
One hand moves from your fly to the back of your head, gripping your hair, guiding you to where she wants you to kiss, suckle, and lick across her full fucking tits. The other unzips you. Hastily pushes your pants off. And tries to get you out of your clothes this time. When the back of her palm hits your bulge however, she freezes.
“Wait … wait—NGHHH—stop, I-I want to see this …”
You withdraw from the addiction that are her breasts and wipe the slobber from your lips against the cup of your shoulder. “What?”
“Your dick. I … I just want to see how it looks like, ok …?”
You push up from the table, nearly slipping from how sweaty your palms have gotten, and right yourself so she can sit up against the edge and be leveled with your crotch. Taking a deep breath, she palms over your bulge that’s on the verge of bursting against your boxers.
“Oh. Oh wow, you’re …” she stutters. Fails to find the right words. She looks up at you and blushes. Nothing like the incessant little prick she’s been previously. Instead, she has this yearning look on her. Like she wants to know. Wants to see. Wants to feel.
So you let her.
You don’t even move. You let her do it herself. Nails digging into your waist, prying your black underwear downwards until it slides off. You flick it off once it’s just around one heel, and you present this woman with the unadulterated direct view of your cock.
She doesn’t speak.
Her face hovers closer and closer until her left cheek presses against your semi-erect shaft. “Fuck … you’re bigger than my face … I-I … I don’t know if I can …”
“You’ll work it out. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you manage to.”
She licks her lips and bites her tongue. “Mmmh, yeah? Make me then.”
One palm on the top of her head. Another beneath her chin to angle it the right way. You press your swollen tip against the entrance to her mouth and groan. “Then fucking take it.”
You push open. Burst into the warmth. Get enveloped by the wet velvety walls past her little locked lips.
She whimpers from the first breaching. You take it slow. Knocking down an inch more. Then two. Then she’s taking you halfway in. Then, you’re knocking against her uvula at the back of her throat.
Her neck stiffens rigidly against your persistent hand, but she’s not strong enough to break free even if she tried. So you keep her there. All the way down. Lips forming a tight ring around your base as she gags and hlurks and spews her own saliva out from the small tears in her vacuum sealed mouth. You keep her there for god knows how long, taking pleasure in both the physical sensation of her mouth and the knowledge that you’re finally getting to see her use it for something other than provoking you.
Once her eyes redden beyond reason, you let go of her head, and in moments, she spits you out with a guttural groan as she could breathe properly again.
“Nguh … ha … ha … You fucking psycho … Could have—I could have choked to death on your fucking dick,” she spits out, smudging her hand across her chin. “But … ha … that was good.”
“Good?”
She bites her lip and nods, gripping your cock now with a hand. “Yeah … fucking delicious. I want more.”
“Then suck it like a good little slut.”
Knees spread, bending at an angle now, she closes the gap and licks up from your base to your tip before suckling on the head. Just a few swirls with her tongue. Before she throats your cock herself.
No prompting. No input. No hesitation.
Her head and neck work in tandem to bob her salivating mouth back and forth along the length of your shaft. Lips cruising down your sensitive skin. Tongue flattening and caressing your underside. Whenever her lips meet her hand that’s gripping what she can’t reach, it makes this popping sound that you want to hear more and more.
She’s got no technique. She gags too easily. But fucking hell—the raw and primal energy she exhibits is relentless. It’s fucking intoxicating.
This woman’s moaning in between violent gags, and you notice it whenever her nipples bump into your thighs. You smirk. You push deeper into her, making her eyes go wide, hit the back of her throat, and force her to adjust while sucking you hard and fast still. But this time, her nipples graze your inner thigh each time and you see her eyes melt from their initial panic and hesitation.
When she pulls you out with a loud smacking sound, she’s gasping, panting, eyes wet, lips swollen, but tongue licking up your precum on the tip oh-so-fucking-hungrily.
“You taste so … fucking … good, mmm,” she murmurs, stroking your first few inches, thumb rolling over the head. “Who knew the uptight manager was packing so fucking much?”
“Consider yourself the exception and not the rule,” you barely get out in one full breath as her stroking is getting more intentional rather than lazy.
“Lucky me then,” she mutters, blowing your tip a kiss. She licks up once. Then twice. Then circles around ridge of your head. Playing with it. Toying with you. Face disappearing beneath you as her eyes almost glow. “This is all mine—.”
The doors to the club open and you hear footsteps.
Time doesn’t afford you the luxury to curse. You’re both scrambling. For clothes. For refuge. Anything.
You only manage to put your pants back on. Not even to fix your underwear. Your belt’s not even buckled. When you see who it is walking into the open space of the club, he shoots you a weird look. “Boss?”
“Already done? Thought you’d all be enjoying spending my money a bit more,” you reply, hands in your pockets to stop your slacks from falling down. “Where are the others?”
“Um, home, boss. It’s six in the morning.”
“Right, right.”
“Boss, you haven’t been drinking again, have you?”
You gesture to yourself with a thumb jutting up from your waist. “Me? Why would I be?”
But Minho shakes his head, one hand smoothening the folds of his brown and white checkered tie that reminds you of brownies. “Nothing. Just making sure. Did you manage to sort out the issue? With the lady?”
You nod. That’s all you can give him. That’s all you really want to give him. Because your dick’s being bent at such a bad fucking angle in your tight slacks that you want to just let it free again. It would rather be inside somewhere else too. “Told her off. She got scared easily when I talked to her alone. Said she’ll ‘behave’ more—whatever that means.”
“Is she still here?”
You freeze. Muscles behind your thighs tighten. “She left just after you and our staff did.”
“Then why is her fur thing still there?” he asks, pointing to the peeking belt the woman left behind. If Minho hadn’t pointed it out, you wouldn’t have seen the terrible fucking hiding spot she chose. On all fours behind one of the table’s walled legs. Buck naked.
As Minho approaches, you casually just pick up the belt with your left hand and tug on it. Even when it goes taut. She gasps and shakes her head nervously, but you continue as you stare down at her. “Must have left it. I’ll hand it back when she comes back. I know she will. Leave it to me.”
Those final four words are always enough for your second to stop in his tracks, just a few meters away from your table, and nod. “Got it. You should get some rest too, boss. If, you know, only if you can. I don’t want to pressure you if it doesn’t—.”
“Thanks, Minho. I appreciate it.”
“And hey, if you ever need someone to talk to or share the workload from admin—.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Go home, Minho. I’ll see you tonight.”
He nods and salutes you with three fingers. “See you tonight, boss.”
Once you’re certain your second’s walked out the door and is well beyond the entrance of SAXO, you pinch the bridge of your nose and feel the other end of the belt shifting between your knuckles.
“Is he always like that? Sounds like he sucks your dick more than I do.”
“He’s enthusiastic. He’s a godsend,” you tell her, helping her up to her feet. But you don’t let her go. Not the belt. Not her waist. You pull her in until she’s arching her stomach towards you. Dipping backwards. “And you? I’m not done with you yet. Let’s head to my office.”
Her drool-covered mouth shifts into a smirk. “Yeah? Make me—.”
You crash your lips onto hers and she jumps into your arms. You lift her up by her thighs and support one arm around her lower back as you stumble across the wings of the club to get to the staff-only area.
Kicking the door open, you slip in before it can close. And you feel her tongue lapping at your lips and teeth as she grips your head firmly like she doesn’t want you to leave. Oh boy, do you have no plans to leave her at all.
You hasten down the corridor. Shoulder bumping into the water dispenser. Then, you fish for your keys and unlock your office.
Once you’re both in, your elbow flies to the button and it locks with a click. She pulls away from you and presses her forehead against yours, caressing your cheek. “Hmm, you’re sexy like this. Taking control. Not holding back.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she giggles lowly as you put her on your desk. Her ass is compressing against your laptop as she sits on it. She takes a moment to look around. At the only light hovering above you both. The two sofas on either side of the front of your desk. At the pictures, certificates, and permits on one wall. “Never done this before. Banging in the backrooms of a place.”
“Who said I was going to fuck you?”
She slaps your neck and points her chin at you. “Really? You worked me up like this just to—.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Her sentence is choked off immediately when you rub two fingers against her clit. Her hand instinctively flies to your neck, holding you for support. You rub steadily in circles, occasionally swiveling over the hood, swiping back and forth over her sensitive little button. And which each motion, you watch her progressively soften her face up from a glower, to a whimper, to a moan.
“Yeah—NGHH MHHH—yeah I think I-I like you like this best.”
“Like what?”
She inhales through her clenching teeth. You’re still swiping down her clit with your thumb like you’re flitting through bills at the bar counter during closing time. “L-Like you … hnghh … like you know just what to do.”
“Do I?”
“I-I-I don’t know. I’ll … mmh—give you a point for the kissing, but—.”
She interrupts herself with a moan. The culprit? Your tongue.
“But what?” you raise, licking once more from her entrance all the way to her hood. Her pussy tastes like it smells. Sweaty. Musky. Bit of tang.
Tastes like need.
You feel her fingers knit through your hair. “But … I nghh … but I was the one doing most of the kissing …”
Palms to her thighs, you keep her legs parted. Eyes up to see her reaction. Nose bumping into her button as a tease at first, but now you’re intentionally grinding the pad of it against her clit. Tongue swiping up and down her slit like a credit card that won’t register at the terminal. “Go on. I’m sure I’ve got more points in there somewhere.”
Her fingers dig into your scalp. “I’d … I’d give you two points for all … the fucking things … mmm you did to my … to my tits …”
You kiss her clit. Suckle on it. Pin the hood between your flaps as you peel it back gently with the sharp of your tongue and swirl around her now-exposed button like it’s your favorite M&M. “I sense a but there.”
As you say that, you grip her ass now, finger jammed between her plush bottom and the edge of your laptop. “Continue or I’ll stop.”
“But it’s not fair because—AHHH—because I-I … I’m always sensitive there anyway …”
You figured. But you don’t excuse her.
Your tongue flattens itself against her and does this perpetual motion that makes her feel like you’re never running out of tongue. Up and down. Side to side. Rotations in both clockwise and in reverse. You don’t let up. You never let up. Not until you feel her dribbling that delicious nectar against your chin. Not until she’s moaning up a storm from just your tongue alone. Not until she’s yanking your fucking head lose.
You press your cheek to the side to catch your breath. Rest your tongue. “How many points am I getting for this?”
She dunks your head back against her pussy. “Shut u-up and just eat me … please …”
You smirk. That’s what you want to hear. You slow down your pace though. No longer giving her endless stimulation. No longer lapping her up like a hungry dog. You take your time. Build your pace. Get her closer and closer to that fucking point of no return. But don’t send her off into the deep end.
“What am I doing? Tell me,” you say between medium-paced strokes. Like you’re enjoying a vanilla soft serve. Taking your time. But not letting the cream melt off. “Lost your words? You were so full of them—.”
“You’re teasing me,” she pushes, groaning with her back arching up. “Please … fuck … please …”
“Please what?”
“Please … eat my fucking pussy out like you own it!”
That’s all you need.
You slide your wide palms up from her butt, down her thighs, until they’re behind her knees, pinning both of them next to her face, folding her in half. Her back arches. Just the perfect height for you to lean forward and eat her the fuck out.
“OHHHH FUCK YES! Shit … shit … too much—TOO MUCH!”
But you don’t stop.
Your tongue hones in on her clit. Spreading around your saliva and her juices like a butter knife against smooth toast. She’s trembling, then shuddering, then palpitating. And that’s your queue to keep it steady. You lap at her like you’ve been starving for days. Even when your tongue numbs. Even when your jaw slacks. Even when your mouth is now full of her fucking scent and flavor.
You. Don’t. Stop.
“Fuck—CUMMING!”
She’s a squirter. She’s a goddamn fucking squirter.
When she erupts she glazes your face with a warm spray. It lasts for more than ten seconds. Not stopping until the mess she’s made is dripping down onto your long-sleeves. She can’t breathe. She’s forgotten how to. So you decide to not be a dick and let her have a moment to herself first.
And the moment she’s regained her senses, she looks up at you and sits up. “That … ha … ha … felt amazing. You were amazing.”
But you hold your hand out against her thigh and push her back into that folded ball, knees to her head, ass up in the air.
“What—?”
“Hold it. Hold yourself like that for me.”
Reddened at the face, she nods and tucks her hands beneath her knees to hold herself in position—in offering—for you.
Now that? That is a picture-perfect moment.
You press your thumbs to the highest button. By your neck. You pop it open. You do the same for the second. Pop it open. You have about eight of these. And you take your time with each one. Because you know she’s watching you. Waiting for you. Wishing she could be the one to just rip your polo from you and finally see your bare body. You know that much. You know it because while her mouth may lie, her eyes? They don’t.
Her eyes never lie.
Once you’re finally pulling your arms through your sleeves and dropping the polo on the floor, she groans when she sees what’s underneath. “Are you kidding me? That must be fucking hot in there. You wear that every night?”
You don’t answer. You pull your undershirt off. Shove your slacks down with your boxers. And step forward. Pressing your hands next to her knees, which are next to her face. You lean in and grin. “Manager’s choice.”
You slap your cock against her pussy like you would her lips, and she responds with a tremble. Her pussy has a life of its own. It’s throbbing. Pulsating. Even after an orgasm. Such a fucking greedy little hole on an insatiable little brat. But no matter. You’ll feed her soon enough.
You grind into her. Rub your length against her folds. Poke your tip into her receding belly button. Make her feel the heat between her legs. Giving her the appetizer.
Her eyes flicker with the fire of someone who just can’t fucking wait to burn. But you don’t move. Not much. Not anything beyond some grinding and dry humping. If you can even still call it ‘dry’ at that point. Considering your underside is being conveniently lubricated with each caress of her pussy.
“Are you going to fuck me or just stare me to sleep?” she spits. You have to admire her spunk despite how she’s folded on your desk like this. “Maybe I should call your little errand boy to do me instead. Maybe he won’t waste my time—.”
“Beg.”
She falls silent. Like you pushed the right button.
“No.”
You slap your shaft against her pussy and wake her up. Like you slapped her across the face too. “Beg. Or I can just walk out of here, head to a strip club, and fuck one of the girls there instead.”
“Like hell you could. They don’t allow that.”
“I could. I know people.”
She bites her lip. “Fuck you. I’m not going to beg. You either fuck me or you don’t.”
You pull away. Motioning just the slightest bit for your undershirt. But immediately, you feel a grip against your arm.
“If you put that fucking undershirt back on, I will never forgive you.”
You chuckle. “Yeah?”
She spreads her legs. Wider. Lifts her butt. Higher. Makes it so her body is parted not just in invitation, but also so you can see her face clean down the middle. Past her tits. Resting against the fan of hair draped behind her like a veil.
“Please. Fuck me. Or whatever—.”
You push your dick in.
The enlarged tip meets some resistance already, noted by the pitch of her moan. There’s a ring. A tight fucking ring at the entrance. And for a heartbeat you’re afraid you might rip something. But just like her attitude, her body learns to cave in to you.
You’re in now. Not just the tip that flares at the base of her. Not just the first few inches that part the tight clenching walls of hers. But all the way in.
You’re pressed in so deep that there’s nowhere else to go. And your cock isn’t even fully inside her.
Her eyes widen. Whites glowing as her pupils dilate. “Shit. Fuck. Y-You’re stretching me … T-T-Take it slow—please—AHHH!”
You don’t take it slow.
Pressing her hands firmer against the back of her own knees, using that grip to slide her closer to you. You pull out and then ram your cock deep inside her. Once. Twice. Repeatedly. Faster. Gaining pace. Gaining momentum. Knocking on her womb with everything you’ve fucking got.
And she is just a mess.
“Is this what you fucking imagined when you were messing with me? Is this what you fucking wanted when you were acting like a little brat every night? Answer me,” you demand, pressing into her thighs now, gripping them, pounding incessantly. You haven’t had sex in god knows how long. It only felt right to dissolve completely into the temptation of her. “What? Lost your words?”
Her eyes can’t focus on any one thing, drifting here and there. Mouth agape. Tongue firmly planted between her lips. She’s moaning with each of your thrusts. So you fuck into her faster to hear it. To hear more. You’re immediately rewarded by the change in pitch, the change in frequency, and the added percussive of her tits slapping together.
Sweat dripping down your face and neck, you grip her ass from the side and slap it. Watching the pink blossom. Feeling her skin heat up. You spank her again. And again. And again. Until she finally screams her reply.
“YES! Fuck … fuck … FUCK—YES! Pound me like this. Keep fucking going. NGHHH you’re going to fucking ruin me!”
“Yeah? Then get fucking ruined.”
You press your thumb to her clit and start rubbing it fast. No direction. No patter. Just fast flicks and rotations.
“FUCK! YOU’RE—.”
Smack. Smack. Smack. Your hips meet the swell of her ass as she’s bouncing on your dick. Matching your pace. Meeting each upward thrust of yours with a downwards stroke of hers.
“C-CLOSE! Don’t stop—DON’T FUCKNG STOP!”
You pull her ass off the edge just to knock her knees into your desk. Her eyes are glazed over. Pure fucking bliss. You’re working double time with your heels and your waist to deliver blow after blow deep into her pussy. She’s clenching. Squeezing you. Craving your fucking release. But you don’t stop. You don’t give her that luxury. Not yet.
“Who’s fucking your little pussy right now?”
“MMMH … wh-what—?”
“Answer me! Who’s fucking ruining your little pussy right now?” you grunt, fucking the daylights into her while fiddling with her clit.
“Y-You … AHH!”
“Yeah? And who’s going to make you cum? Answer me.”
There’s less hesitation this time. She spits it out, “You! Fuck ….fuck I-I-I can’t—.”
“And who fucking owns you? Tell me. Say it. Moan it. Fucking scream it—.”
“YOU FUCKING OWN MY PUSSY, MANAGER!”
That was it.
You smudge your thumb against her button, really grind into it. You force whatever remaining strength you have left to thrust specifically upwards into the soft spongy spot that kept making her lose her breath. And you lean in to kiss her. Passionately. Sloppily. Possessively.
Claiming her. As you claim her squirting orgasm all over your cock.
She can’t even moan. Just whimpering into your kiss as she lets go of her shaking legs. You grab her ankles and feel her feet tensing into a point. But she slaps your arms and pulls them closer to her, tugging on them like reigns so she can feel your full erect length stretching her pussy down to the final spasm of her release.
One arm behind her back, holding her close. The other lifting her leg up so her knee’s hooked over your shoulder. One hand gripping her waist. The other palming her clit. You send her into a state of borderline catatonia as she moans and groans and scrambles to try and break free as you overstimulate her senses. But you don’t stop. You chase after your own release while inside her clenching and spasming death-grip of a pussy.
“Going to fucking—.”
“GIVE IT TO ME! GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING LOAD!”
You burst.
Your whole body’s tensed. Did you know that? You didn’t up until you allowed yourself to let go. To let it all loose. The first shot burns your tip with how rapid it fired out. With how tight she’s clamping around you. The next few shots spread pleasure all over your stomach, racing up your spine, and then finally scattering across the back of your head. The last few shots send your mind into a daze as your first orgasm in arguably months finally escapes you. Finally finds its place. Finally fills her the fuck up so bountifully.
Unsheathing yourself from her warm, sweating, and pulsating orifice, you let your cock droop against your thigh. Semi-erect still. Sensitive to the cool air of your office. Dripping an ounce or two of leftover cum.
And she’s there. On your desk. Unmoving. Naked, heaving mass. Sweaty all over. Arms flayed out to the side. Chest rising and falling unsteadily. Nipples perking from the cool. Ass hanging off the edge. One knee pointed upwards. The other outstretched with her leg to keep her steady.
There she is. Cum dripping out of her like a mark. Like a signature.
There she fucking is. No masks. No games. No resistance.
Completely laid bare.
---
The door to your office bursts open. But you’re not flinching this time. You’re focusing on transferring your hand-written computations from the pile of papers next to you. Digitalizing them.
“What’s the matter this time, Minho? We haven’t even opened yet.”
“Sorry for not knocking boss, but it’s Hajoon. He … let’s just say he ‘pre-gamed’ a little too hard and is um, throwing up all over Table Thirty-One—.”
“Well, clean it up. Do I have to be the one to deal with every single mess?”
Minho’s eyes lower to his polished shoes. “I … You’re right. I’ll handle this myself.”
He pauses. Looks at you now. You know this despite being deep in your sheets. You can see him from your peripheral. “And?”
“Boss, are you … eating something?”
You shrug. “Haven’t had a meal all day. Haven’t caught any shuteye either. All the damages. All the losses. Marking them all down first.”
“Want me to grab some food then before we open? What are you craving?” he asks with a smile. And you can sense that he’s quite hungry too.
“Think that American place a few streets down’s still open? I could go for a sloppy joe right about now.”
He snaps and winks at you. “You got it boss. I’ll be on my—huh. There’s that sound again.”
“Must be a leak in the vents. I’ll call plumbing later.”
Minho grins and nods. “Always one step ahead, aren’t you, boss?”
You nod in reply and return to your sheets. There’s a brief pause. Then, Minho’s finally disappeared behind your closing door.
In moments, her head resurfaces from underneath your desk. Face sweaty, half dripping with cum half drying in it, thick lips pursing and bubbling over the tip of your cock.
“You like it sloppy, don’t you? Mmmmh,” she teases while wiping your thick shaft against her softer features. “Who could have guessed?”
You reach down to lift her chin and say, “If you’re going to pay off your debt, you might as well get back to it. We’re opening in two hours. So unless you want my staff to wonder why one of our clubgoers is walking around ruined like a cheap little whore, I suggest you make it worth my while.”
Giggling with that same teasing energy of hers, but just converted into something else now, she nods and kisses your tip again.
CW: mlm, riding, top!Choso, you’re both whiney, handjob, p in a, overstimulation, cumming dry
You were on top of Choso, leaning back with your hands over his thighs grinding his cock back and forth inside you. Both of you letting out breathy whines and moans.
“You’re so tight,” Choso whined, his hands digging into the pillow covers behind his head.
“You’re so biiig Cho,” you breathlessly moan.
You bounce yourself faster on his cock, your own dick matching your bounces, leaking precum on Choso below you. He was so pretty, his pale face flushed a dark red hue, sweat lightly coating his skin. His eyebrows were furrowed together with glossy eyes, tears threatening to spill.
“You about to cry Cho?” You tease, a breathy laugh leaving your lips. “You look so cute.”
He slightly frowns, reaching one hand out to cup your balls in his hands, slightly massaging them while with the other hand he twists his hand around your wet tip.
You lean back and let out a high whiney moan, thrusting your hips to meet his hands. Trying to chase the extra pleasure.
“Yeah, s’what I thought.” He muttered as he thrusts his hips up into you, perfectly hitting your prostate. “Don’t be mean, you’re too cute to be mean.”
Your hips move faster, both to chase the pleasure on your cock and on your g-spot. His cock thickly spreading you out, hitting every right spot.
“I’mma cum, hah!” You cry.
“Yes, pleasepleaseplease, please cum on me pretty boy, I’ll fill you up so good, promise!” He pleads, making you finally find your peak.
Your fluids spurt all over his chest, his tongue stuck out trying to catch whatever he could into his mouth. He keeps on stroking you through your orgasm making you whine at the overstimulation.
The overstimulation pushing you into another orgasm, dry cumming immediately after once again as Choso fills you with his load.
“You just cum dry?” He asks with a chuckle.
Your face flushes even more than it already was. “You kept stroking me!” You whined out.
“Heh, only on the first round too, you gonna tap out early?” He asks.
Read it on Fanprose! Follow me on Fanprose!(and send me pocas)
The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s a culmination of the inevitable. It’s because of genetics - in both the weird way that you get rigid and sensitive every time she wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, and the way the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly).
That’s not in any way a fault of either of you. You’re both as bad as the other, and the argument is that two wrongs make a right. So, while you may have been ogling those legs every time she passes by your door, she’s been standing in the kitchen, watching as you cross in little more than your briefs.
So, you’re not exactly, entirely sure how it got from that to this. Asa is standing close, in a living room of friends, and she smiles at you. Her eyes go hooded and sleepy - all pupils - and you can hear the party counting down the minutes to midnight.
Your heart beats faster when she lifts up on her toes.
Maybe you meet her half of the way. Either way, her lips are on yours. It’s easy - because fuck if this girl can’t kiss - it's a sensation unlike any you've ever felt before. It's electric. The kind of chemistry that belongs in a lab where some sort of experiment has gone spectacularly right. The way you slot together, open your mouth, and taste her. And then she parts her lips to welcome you more, the tip of her tongue is teasing over your lips and then meeting yours, and somewhere between hello and goodbye, you grab her hips and hold her against your front because you need more.
Fuck, you think, all the girls you've met in your life, so help you fucking god - you never knew what you were missing before. "Fuck, Asa," you whisper into the kiss when it gets so deep, you think your lungs may give in.
Then she moans into the kiss, her fingers combing up the back of your neck and threading through your hair. "Mm," she hums to you, breathless and soft, "what?" She pulls back to check you’re still with her, the both of you breathing hard.
You swear you were drunk five minutes ago, but now you’re stone-cold sober, staring down at this girl you’ve known for most of your college years, and all you want is for this moment to last forever. You want her everywhere, want to feel more of her skin, and taste more of her lips, and have her pull on your hair until you spill out everything you can give her.
For a split second, you hesitate. And you can see Asa realising the same thing.
"Asa," you say again, only there's something else in your voice now - a different set of intentions. It hangs in the air between you; it might be fear or caution, and a hint of something darker. Desire, something urges you to admit. You don't. You don't want to say it out loud.
And because Asa is Asa and has never known a single moment of restraint, she doesn't give you time to think twice. Her fingers twist harder in your hair, and when she pulls you down to meet her - holy fuck - the kiss turns ravenous.
"Tell me I can do more than just kiss you," she whispers onto your mouth, and if you hadn't already lost the ability to breathe, you do then.
You're nodding, and thinking you'd let her choke the life out of you if she asked. The kisses continue. It's wet and messy, filthy in the best kind of way that leaves you wanting so much more.
So, with hands on her tiny waist, and your mouth hot against hers, you lead her backwards toward your bedroom. There's a quick moment when she fumbles for the doorknob, and you help without even giving it a thought. Then the two of you are stumbling inside, and you're praying that you left your bed in a half-decent condition.
You get her down onto the sheets with the lights off, your hand already travelling up the side of her body; you barely feel the way she shifts to kick her shoes off. Asa sits up as you kiss down her neck, licking and biting and savouring the soft noises she makes into your ear. She tugs her shirt over her head while you're working the button and zipper on her pants. These clothes will be gone in near record time.
You will drink that body in. Drink it until you choke on it.
You barely have a moment to kiss over the tops of her breasts, or to dip your tongue between the valley and wonder what she might taste like there, when Asa is moving you. Her fingers wrap tight again into your hair, and she doesn't so much as force, as urge you down her torso, helping you push her jeans down and off. Then your mouth is trailing down her bare skin, your lips mapping out the shape of her abs - and fuck, your tongue is so close to the spot that you really want to bury your face in between her legs, but she just whines, impatient.
“Lower, please -” The words barely make it out among her shaky gasps and moans. You look up over the planes of her body, all those enchanting contours that almost capture your attention so wholly that you don’t notice her dark eyes. They’re looking right down at you with intent. Her hand lowers and her thumb meets your jaw. “Come on, aren’t you curious?”
"Like you wouldn't believe," is the only reply you give before you drag her underwear down her legs and are met with the most incredible view you'll ever witness.
"Is that what we're calling it?" You trace your thumb through her folds, spreading them wide to take in every pretty inch of her glistening cunt. You feel her shudder at the touch - good - you want to test her patience first, see just how much she needs it. More touches follow, your fingers following the seam of her cunt, and a shudder courses through her.
"Hey," she groans, and arches up. You have to push your hand flat to her lower stomach just to keep her from lifting off the bed completely.
"You're impatient," you accuse with a slight laugh, and she cracks one eye open to glare down at you.
"If you weren't down there with your mouth so close to where I need it, I-"
"Where do you need it?" you ask, keeping your words quiet and mouth so close to her that your breath fans over her most sensitive parts.
Asa sucks in a sharp gasp at the tease. "My clit," she breathes out, "please, please -"
Yeah, alright, you think. You're a pretty weak man at the best of times; any hope of making this last has already been shot to shit. You lean in, planting a soft kiss against the little bundle of nerves, and Asa's entire body goes rigid in shock.
"Oh, god -" she whimpers when you lick up her cunt, settling into it like this is something you've been starving for - like she's oxygen, and you've been drowning for years. "Jesus fucking Christ-"
"Hmm?" Your tongue swirls over her clit, and your fingers pinch her thigh. "Did you just compare me to a deity?"
"The way you're using your mouth," Asa has the audacity to laugh, "I'll get on my fucking knees for you."
Every thought in your brain goes a little haywire. You hum and the vibrations go straight through her, making her whine and grab at your hair. She pulls you back in close, and her thighs tighten to your ears. You don't think she's ever really been that religious, but her sudden appreciation for the things above? Fair enough, you'll take it. "Careful," you rasp out onto her pussy, and without warning, you drop your mouth over her clit and suck.
"Ohhh -" Asa throws her head back. "Ah, fuck -" she sighs, canting her hips forward like she wants to bury your face right into her cunt. And far be it from you to refuse such a pretty invitation.
You groan into her folds, lapping at her wetness. You can feel the tension building in her legs, how she's starting to tremble. "Almost," Asa gets out, breathless and stuttering. "Like that," she directs, angling your head a little to the left, grinding your nose into the space just above her clit as your tongue flickers over it. "Right there," she pants, holding you in place. "Yes - oh! Fuck!"
And you're used to praise, but when Asa's thighs close tight around your head, when she has to stifle a scream in the pillow, you think you've just found a brand new favourite form of it.
You kiss her soft thighs when she finally lets you up for air, and then slide back up her body to look down at her. Her eyes have gone glassy, and she's gazing at you with complete, undiluted want. Your cock is aching for some relief, but damn if this isn't the best sight you'll ever see.
"I have plans for that cock," Asa warns with a lazy smile, tracing her finger down your chest and then lower. It stops at the band of your jeans, and you swallow at the brush of her knuckles against your hips. Her eyes turn dark again as she looks at your lips; she licks her own. "Want you to fuck me so hard I can't even think straight."
"Shit, Asa." Your fingers ghost along her neck, along her jaw, and you tilt her head up. "Think we've gone a little too far this time. Can't go back."
"Hmm, good." She lifts up, and all the air leaves your lungs as she pushes you over, back to the bed, her leg tossed over your lap. Your hands come to her thighs out of sheer instinct, and you realise Asa is already trying to undo your pants. "Finally get to see if you're as hung as I imagined."
"And just how often have -"
"Not enough," she tells you with her focus set on freeing your cock from the constraints of your underwear. "All the goddamn time." Asa watches your dick hit against your stomach with a grin that's absolutely diabolical. "Fuck, yes," she whispers. "Perfect."
There's this freeze frame of this little thing perched across your thighs, bottom lip between her teeth, and one hand around the base of your cock, and if you die tonight, that'll be fine. You'll take that memory with you anywhere and everywhere for the rest of your existence. Because then she looks up at you through her lashes, smiles, and leans forward to let a stream of her saliva spill over the head. Her hand pumps you once, spreading the wetness, and the moan that drops from your mouth is beyond your comprehension.
She bites her lip again, eyes watching your face. "Just like I imagined," she says and twists her wrist, "big and thick. Perfect for fucking me full."
"You little -" you start to say, and Asa just winks, like she already knows what she does to you, what you think of her, and what you need to happen next.
The way she looks at it, it's worship - eyes never leaving the sight of you, biting her lip and rolling her hips at how she thinks you'll feel inside of her.
"Fuck," she breathes, and her pussy slides right up the length of your cock. "So fucking big." The first stroke of her along you, and your mouth falls open; she just holds your shoulders for balance, tilting her hips to grind her clit against you, and fuck. "You feel that, don't you," she whispers, "dripping all over you. I'm so fucking wet - you're making me lose my mind."
You wrap your arms around her waist, flattening a palm over the base of her spine. With the low groan in your chest, you pull her closer, lifting her up. "Then let me inside," you growl. "Let me feel you."
"Yeah," Asa nods quickly. The head of your cock slips a little and catches on her entrance, "You want in?"
"Fuck, yes.”
She dips down, and you see the exact moment she takes you inside of her cunt - how her eyes go black and hooded, and her lips part. There's this long groan that trembles out of her - all honey-sweet and so perfect. "Oh fuck," she cries, "oh my god."
She's tighter than you could ever have imagined - your whole body shakes with the effort not to blow your load right then. But somehow you manage, and Asa rests her forehead against yours, breathing in short, heavy pants. She takes a moment, and you give it to her. But then she pushes back and rolls her hips, working her tight cunt down your length. You're about to lose your goddamn mind at how soft she feels. "Asa…"
"Mmm?" She hums, and the motion sends a shiver through the two of you.
"You're so ti -"
"I know. Can feel you. Stretching." She laughs a little, just one short huff. "Fuck, you're huge."
You fist the sheets, your knuckles turning white, and you're struggling with every breath to not grab hold and pound into her like an animal. Like your body is fucking begging for you to do. Like maybe if you weren't so desperately into this girl that you've lost any and all rationale - and you might, just for this, tell her how you feel.
But then she rises up your cock, gripping your shoulders for leverage, and your brain just fizzles. You're left completely and utterly fucking addicted to her, unable to do anything but feel.
Every drop back down, she takes you further in, every shift of her thighs to bring you deeper, has her head tipped back in pleasure. You love seeing her like this - all fucked-out and loud and messy. You love every fucking second of it.
"Am I taking all of you?" Asa asks eventually, head forward again, the words punched out as she begins to circle her hips once she's flush against you.
You're gripping her thighs as you tell her, "No. Almost." And she gasps at the knowledge.
"Too deep," she's whispering to you, trying to roll again but finding herself way too full. "Babe, oh -" Asa's mouth falls open again as she squirms, and fuck, the look on her face is priceless. There's just so much pleasure written there, you can't help it; your hips start to move to help meet her, and she just falls apart. "That's it," she keens, loud and desperate. "Fuck me full."
There's very little that remains between the two of you - just sweaty bodies and hungry lips and the sound of moaning. You push up into her, watching her cute tits bounce each time she gets more of you in her tight, tight cunt. The little noises of surprise she makes every time your cock brushes something deep inside her drive you crazy.
"Gonna ruin me," she tells you, breathless and honest, and her eyes roll when you drive into her particularly hard.
"You're already ruined," you say, trying to focus and not fuck up the rhythm you've worked into. "Don’t care if you are."
“You haven’t seen anything yet.” She throws her arms over your shoulders, and when you push her down your cock again, she sinks her teeth into the bend of your neck. "Oh, fuck," she moans, "just a little more. Ah!"
You pull her close, and with her legs around your hips, it's only one more rough, needy, snap into her tight, twitching heat that has Asa quaking in your arms. Her mouth is leaving damp kisses across your shoulders, your throat; she mumbles nonsense as she fucks back on you to get herself through her orgasm. The aftershocks have her cunt clenching, squeezing, and you can feel the warning that you're going to pop start to trickle up your spine.
"Asa," you mumble into the crook of her neck, hands under her perfect ass, "I can't hold it, if you keep -"
"It would be so fucked up if you cum inside me," she says, breathless and riding the last waves of her climax, her grin pressing into your collarbone. She nips you with her teeth, grinding down a little harder. "Totally would."
"Asa," you warn.
"Not saying you should, but..." She pulls away, her hands on your jaw, and gazes deep into your eyes. "You're going to feel so fucking good when you're finishing in me."
"I shouldn't."
"You shouldn't," she says, sitting upright again. "But..." She lifts and then she turns, throwing her leg over your body and you get the perfect, pretty view of your cock burying deep inside her from behind. Holy fucking shit - her little heart-shaped ass hits your stomach as she takes you again, watching you the whole time over her shoulder, like she wants to see you fall apart.
"I hate you," you grunt, letting your hips snap up into her. She takes it, again and again.
"You say the sweetest things." She meets you in the middle, and she looks back at your face again, those eyes - it's like she's looking straight into your soul, licking her lips. "Cum in my pussy, c'mon, I know you want to. It's okay."
"No -" But your cock is inside her, hitting her in exactly the right spot to make her mewl. She's fucking gorgeous, and her words are going to be the end of you. She's grabbing her ass, pulling the cheeks apart for you and showing you just how well she takes you. And you can't, you really cannot. "Asa." you warn her, not that it seems to do any good.
"Mhm?" She smiles, innocent and sweet, and you know right then and there that you're already done for.
She can probably feel you swelling inside her, twitching, getting harder, bigger. She doesn't stop riding. "You're gonna cum for me, aren't you?" You’re still not sure if it’s a warning or a dare, but then she seems to make the intention all the more concrete. "I can feel it. You're going to make the biggest mess inside me. Bet if I asked nice enough, I could probably have you do it every night."
"Asa -" It’s all in fucking vain.
"It would be so good," she purrs, leaning back, forcing your cock to the absolute base inside her - you feel the head of it hit home deep, and it's too much for you.
The sound that leaves your lips is probably closer to a death rattle, and it sets Asa right off again. She starts laughing in delight, and the shift of her body makes you jerk up into her - fuck, you've lost the fight. Lost it with her last teasing taunt. Maybe a long time before that. White-hot pleasure shoots up your spine, and you're spilling into the warm, clenching embrace of her cunt - just as requested.
"Oh fuck -" She moans and rolls her hips. "That's so much, holy shit. I can feel it, all warm."
Your fingers dig hard into her waist, trying to hold her there while you fuck up into her and flood her full.
"God, that's so fucking hot. You couldn't even stop yourself - didn't even want to - fuck, look at you."
You have just enough sense of self to slide your eyes up to hers and - damn her, really - to see her watching you with the most satisfied grin, knowing full well she's responsible for your undoing. And hell if she isn't making the best damn view out of it, because she lifts and she leans and she shows that pussy to you. Leaking, dripping, a perfect white mess in between her legs. She plays with it, making a mess of herself.
"I have a New Year's resolution, you know?" she says, almost off-handed. You stare up at her in a daze, your brain spinning, struggling to make sense of anything, when she pushes your cum up with her fingers - playing in it. "Want to do this, like, a lot."
"Most resolutions never make it past January," you warn.
"Yeah," Asa cocks her head, amused, "but I don't think this one's gonna be a problem."
College classes are bullshit, you thought as you stared at your phone screen, class schedule on display. Not living in the city, you took a two-hour commute — every day — just to arrive for one class that’s only for an hour. An hour. Then it’s the same stupid commute home at 8. That’s it. For the majority of the week.
For Fridays and Saturdays? Oh yeah, they’re fine, most definitely.
“Christ, 7 to 7 on Fridays and Saturdays?”, you whined out loud. You swiped a few more at the screen in disbelief, hoping it was a glitch, just a minor typographical error by some overworked coffee-for-blood intern half-asleep over the keyboard. But no. An internship at the local clinic, and four hours of a course on clinical research and ethics. 7 to 7. You heaved a sigh and tightened the straps of your backpack. Why they couldn’t put some of the classes during your weekdays is a mystery as clear as muddy water.
Finally leaving the ornamental front gate of your college campus, you trudged along a brick path that ran alongside different shops and stalls that were neatly positioned just before the train station. You pass by different hobby shops, neat textile stands, and a couple of establishments you haven’t got the time or the money to try.
You reached the last stand of food and saw beside it a newly opened cafe, complete with a jazzy new logo, neat brutalist walls, and those hip, one-word, obscure names all cafes seem to have nowadays: Fors. Its grey walls seemed to hold more life inside as you peeked into the windows beside the main entrance. Orange lights and the buzz of customers gave the cafe that inviting feeling of stepping into something new, despite its seemingly uninviting exterior. You decided to indulge in that, thinking of buying a small pastry for the road.
The cafe wasn’t all that big, situated on this gravel lot with a neat side garden facing the street, but it definitely maximized the space. Brick stepstones were inlaid to lead to the heavy wood-and-glass door, with its sleek black “Welcome” sign hanging. The larger cement wall extended to the right of the door, sporting this large, seamless circular window, its wedges smoothed out to serve as momentary seating or a place to take a photo, as the neat sidewalks and the bunched-up shops outside, with the shadow of the nearby bridge, serving as the background.
Your feet crunched on the gravel as you took the brick path towards the door. Fixing and undoing your pack straps, you pushed the door inward. The bell overhead rang. The staff, all clad in matching navy blue polo shirts and cream-colored aprons, looked toward the entryway and offered a warm welcome. Fors was a spacious cafe, its cashier and brewing station situated to your left atop slabs of the same cement. Just past the cashier was the cold glass display, chock-full of illuminated pastries and cakes, each with its price. To the right of the cashier and pastry area was the front-of-house. It was designed to be sunken, so there was a small downstep to reach the various chairs and tables for customers. Off to the side, where the large circular window had been, were these velvet couches and small coffee tables, basking in the natural light. On the opposite, far end of that were more tables distributed evenly, orbiting the cafe’s large shelves filled with books. The sconces attached to the walls leaked out the same orange light that caught your attention, tying all the elements together cohesively.
To be truthful, you weren’t a big fan of cafes. More specifically, you weren’t a big fan of how cafes tried hard to be “commercially unique”, going so far as to rename the sizes of coffee cups or complicate coffee orders with a dash of this or that, a dollop of foreign syrup, a shot of exotic bean grounds. You had your gripes, too, with this new wave of muted, minimalist, and sleek aesthetic that all cafes seem to go for nowadays. You’d always wonder which Heaven a cafe’s soul goes to whenever it loses its life and trades it for cold, stone floors.
However, you never turned down a good old croissant. It’s simple, not too crazy — plain. Seizing the moment, you walked to the cashier and placed your order.
“Would you like a regular coffee with that, Sir? It comes in three sizes, Micro, Mean, and Maxim,” the young female barista pointed up at the overhead menu with the drink sizing.
“Yeah, I’ll have the…uh…the Mean.” You cursed internally.
“Okay, that’ll be $25.50.”
I will never return here, you thought as you weakly handed over your card. After a few taps and prints, you took it back alongside the warm croissant and ventured down towards the seats.
Scanning the area, most customers were seated near the circular window, hoping to get a shot for Instagram or whatever. So you walk past them and take a window-side wood seat with a small square table. Comparatively, this window was a bit dirtier, with blurry fingerprints streaking and dotting the pane.
“Guess they neglected you, huh, buddy?” You softly asked the window, pulling out the seat. “Well, don’t worry, I’m not much for circle windows,” you whispered as you finally sat down to wait for your coffee.
“You usually talk to inanimate objects, or just windows?”
On the table directly in front of you, nearer to the books, there was a woman. Fair. Olive-shaped face. A gentle and delicate nose with a smooth bridge. Subtle smirk. Silky deep-brown locks styled in a wolfcut that flowed just down to her shoulders. Time-stopping.
“No, just—just windows…” You sighed.
The woman’s gaze was sharp. You felt it cut you four different ways as she scanned your appearance, searching for…something. The slicing ceased as her gaze fell back down to the opened laptop in front of her.
You gulped a bit as you shifted in your seat, uncomfortable with the sudden connection this stranger initiated. But hey, with a knockout of a woman such as her, you found it hard to complain. She sat down like grace and hard work combined, a delicate posture accenting the way her fingers typed swiftly, her eyes twinkling from the laptop light. She seemed around your age, with smooth skin sculpting and defining her cheeks and neck, with waves of her hair flowing downwards in subtle curls.
“You usually stare this long at strangers?” she piped up again, never taking her eyes off the laptop screen.
You cursed under your breath. “No, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. That’s weird,” you said with a shift of your head away from her general direction.
What is wrong with me? You thought. Your heart raced just looking at the woman; any longer and you’d die. But fuck, this girl’s beautiful, you awed silently.
And so, like addiction and relapse and all that, your gaze flowed and waned, wandering and detouring, but ultimately landing back on her.
Her brow was raised, still immersed in whatever she had on that laptop. Her eyes narrowed a bit further. Then it happened. Seemingly frustrated, her nose scrunched like something she didn’t mean to do and instantly corrected. The crinkles at the top of her nose bridge eased as her expression settled. It happened for a split second, but you caught it.
Then you felt a slash, the gash quickly rising from your arms and up to your face. Warmth flushed your cheek. Her almond eyes lacerated you. You were leveled.
You nervously smiled, getting caught again. You fiddled with the complimentary Fors creamer and sugar, hoping that mindless actions would undo the last three minutes of awkwardness. You drummed the table a bit, conveniently looking to the counter, waiting for this dumb century-long coffee.
Coffee beans must’ve still been harvested from exotic red-soil countries, you mused.
The woman suddenly stood up, chair whining against the floor. Grabbing her sling bag and books in one hand, and holding the corner of her still open laptop with the other, she strode shortly and stopped at your table. She set her belongings on the table, occupying more than half of your table space, and sat directly in front of you, resuming her nonchalant typing, not even acknowledging you with brief eye contact.
“Uh…”
“It’s self-service.”
“Excuse me?”
The woman nodded to the cashier. “That’s probably your coffee right now, cooling away.” Right enough, your eyes found a pastel grey mug sitting alone on the countertop.
“Excuse me,” you said with a half-hearted smile as you peel away from the table. And so you walked over, grabbed your now less-hot-than-desirable coffee, and stopped just before you reached your table. The woman still sat there.
Okay, I’m still in it, you rejoiced silently.
You took a seat again, placing the coffee just beside your croissant and the newly placed leather books. You craned your neck subtly, trying to read the titles on the spines.
“Law books,” she answered.
“Law student,” you responded in understanding.
So she was older, you thought.
She gave a nod as you took a seat, trepidation hanging over you as you thought of how to fill the silence.
“Got a paper due?” you asked meekly.
“A digest, yeah.”
“Cool, cool,” you said with a sip of your coffee.
“You?”
“Me?”
“Your major.”
“Gotcha. I’m a nursing student.”
“Hm. Younger.”
“Well, not that young,” you replied sheepishly.
“Young enough.”
“I mean, it’s not like we’re ages apart,” you replied. “You’re what, four years ahead?”
“Flattering, but no. I’m 37,” she winced.
You almost spat out your coffee. “Shut up.”
That made the corner of her lips lift a bit, and her face rose to look up at you instead of her work. The edge of her gaze stung less.
“Yup, 37. Majored in Poli Sci. Left for a bit. Came back.”
“But you look…” You pointed at all of her.
“Yes?”
“Absolutely not 37,” you said in awe, wrapped in a jest, but you caught yourself.
“I’m sorry.” You played it cool. “You’re just…wow.”
She laughed a single melodious laugh, her nose scrunch more visible now. Then you noticed it — the lodged maturity in her laugh, the seriousness seeping through her smile as her face eased back into a composed smirk, the intensity in the corners of her eyebrow. Her brown gaze stabbed you, but you didn’t mind.
“So you do laugh.”
“I do. Unfortunately.” She released a short sigh, thought for a bit, and decided to shut her laptop. “Kazuha.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Kazuha,” you offered your hand. She shook it firmly, but friendly.
“So how do you…?” you motioned up and down.
“Exercise and diet. Mainly genetics, too. Aren’t you supposed to be an expert on this, Nursing?”
“Oh shut up. You’re lucky I don’t quiz you on…” You leaned closer, tilted your head, and read off the spine of one of her books. “…torts, obligations, and civil proceedings.”
“I’m sure I can handle it.” She sized you up.
“I’m sure I can handle it,” you repeated sarcastically.
“Christ, you’re a child,” she scoffed slightly.
“Hey, a child you specifically chose to sit next to.” You pouted with false-surrendered hands. “Pretty sure that’s illegal.” You leaned back a bit.
Her gaze sliced down to your arms and back up to your eyes.
You relented immediately.
“Obviously, I’m kidding. Thank you for sitting here,” you said as you leaned back in towards her. This rewarded you with another laugh, the melody ringing in your ears as she chuckled.
“I’m 23,” you eased her mind.
She nodded with a slight smile. “Alright.”
“Alright?”
“Alright.”
Kazuha stowed her laptop, piled the cluttered paper, and stacked the uneven books. With a sling of her bag and a grip on her books, her tall frame stood before you, hips cocked to the side.
“Nursing. 23.” She repeated your details back to you, seemingly memorizing and rehearsing the information. “I’ll see you around then, 23. Enjoy the coffee.” The older woman pivoted and strode away, her heels tapping across cement.
Alright, you smile to yourself, satisfied. You took a sip of your coffee and finally dug into the croissant.
Kazuha sliced the back of your head with one last peek at you. You never noticed.
-
With a zip of your duffel bag, you neatly fold and store your scrub top and the casing of your stethoscope, ready to head out. Packing most of your things, you venture out of the clinic, eager to start that commute home. Your ID beeps at the employee monitor as you say goodbye to your clinical instructor, hoping to split before they have any “last-minute tasks” for you. With a dash across intersections, you quickly navigate past the rabble of people also rushing to head home. Like obstacles, the buzz of people filled your night commute; a group of teenagers on skateboards, similar college students probably on their 5th Red Bull, businessmen guffawing as they turn off work mode, and you — this aquamarine smear in a mosaic of muted clothes and the scattered bounces of car lights. Pulling out your phone, you cross off the last item of your to-do list and walk down the same street-lined shop, the last stretch before your commute.
You glance at the familiar shops, giving an occasional wave at the vendors you’ve personally gotten to know while studying. You see Mr. Lee, resident loudmouth teokbokki monger, as he shouts out his low prices over his steaming boiler of rice cakes. Just further down, Mrs. Bang, the no-nonsense street food mogul and local grandmother of all, fans the coals just under sizzling skewers and tin-foiled sweet potatoes. Across Mrs. Bang’s side, the Kim brothers chase off young kids staying too late at their neon-highlighted computer gaming lounge. You chuckle a bit, staring at this picture of comfort. Miles and miles of pavement and hours of train tracks separate your college from your house, but walking down this lane has always felt like home.
You walk a few more meters and come up to Fors again, its human vibrance sheltered by its grayscaled exterior. The circular window, an amber eye staring back into city streets and cloudless nights. Words and conversations spill through the glass door, decoding long enough whenever the door opens for a customer and vanishing as quickly as it shuts.
You were never a cafe guy.
You take a few strides past Fors, walk the crossing, and stand just before the steps leading down into the subway and, eventually, home. Something gnawed at the back of your mind.
You were never a cafe guy.
You could go back now, just to check. No harm done.
You were never a cafe guy.
It’s only a few steps. You check your wristwatch. 7:23. Two hours before the final train.
You were never a cafe guy.
You still had a lot of studying to do.
You were never a cafe guy.
You didn’t even have any money left.
You were never a cafe guy.
And you never will be, if they didn’t have…this.
Her hair is whimsical, flowing through the air in slow-motion curls and waves. A million love songs play as a part of her face, now comes into view. Her skin is bright and rose-cheeked and warmed by orange cafe beams, a stained-glass display of jaw-drop, devotion being the only appropriate response. Her lips are sweet and kind and lightly pouted, as if inviting a reply only lips can make. Her name flits from your mouth like a short kiss you never want to end, like those you make before leaving for work or wanting to stay in the moment. Cherubs softly sigh as she scans the room, gracing each customer with a momentary glimpse of her— those split-seconds freeze as you find yourself actively trying to pause the world and the hands of time, just to commit the image to memory. Her eyes shatter the last of your inhibitions as you physically feel weak in her gaze. Daggers dig into your torso, then your face, your beating heart bleeding true onto your sleeves. Your chest rises and falls as you try to steady your breathing from the sprint back.
“Hey,” you pipe up.
“Hey.” Her smile twinkled in the sea of strangers, like faraway lights beckoning you to come close. A smirk rises from her lips as her wolf cut cascades down her cheeks. You notice something.
“Hoop earrings.”
“Working eyes.” Kazuha’s scoff turns into a laugh as she turns her attention back to her books.
You come up to the empty seat across from her.
“Taken?”
Kazuha shrugs with a brow raised. “Maybe.”
Crap.
“Really?” You drop the bravado a bit, concerned.
She suddenly laughs, hand immediately coming up to cover her grin. She gestures with an open palm toward the empty seat.
You nod, pulling out the chair and taking a seat, face-to-face with Kazuha again. Well, face to book. A dark green leather-bound book with spidery gold lettering blocked her face from view – Environmental Law.
You lean back a bit, breathing finally evening out. Now, with you sitting down and thinking clearly, you realize the next step is unknown to you. She was right there, just a few feet from you, and yet the distance was canyon-like. You glance back down at your watch – 7:31. Maybe not too late to catch that train.
Her voice cuts through cafe conversation.
“So…” Environmental Law is lowered for a bit, her sharp eyes now coming into view. “You ran all the way here just to see me?”
“Just to see you?” you echoed sheepishly. “No, of course not. I was just, you know, walking. Then I realized I hadn’t eaten yet. So, I wanted to grab a bite to eat before that train ride home. So, yeah,” you finish with a shrug.
“Uh-huh.” Her eyes narrow for a bit as she scans you up and down. “You beelined here, didn’t you?”
You exhale and admit. “Yeah…”
A short giggle leaves her, but a smile stays. She closes up stupid Environmental Law and sets it aside, along with her other law books. She leans forward, her knit sweater accentuating her slim waist and graceful frame.
“Am I a bite to eat, 23?” Her voice suddenly takes on this sultry lowness. Blood rushes to your cheeks as you are hit by her sudden boldness and the obvious double entendre.
“No! I just mea—“
Kazuha bursts out a quick chuckle, her hand waving it off as she makes light of the conversation. “Jesus, chill out!” She smiles at you, satisfied with the jest.
“But did you? Beeline here, I mean?” She asks again, her voice rising with a slight tone of hope. The contrast jarred you.
For how brief you’ve known her, Kazuha’s voice was markedly unique. Hers was a symphony made by madmen — confident, clear, contradicting. Her voice could be light and easy, with a small rise in pitch. But then, it’d have this surprisingly low quality to it, like a sudden flip of sentience and suave — and Kazuha seemed to abuse that switch.
“You’re going to be dangerous, huh?”
“Pretty much,” she says with sly eyes and a smirk.
-
“So yeah, graduated, did ballet, hated it, got confused, then took time off.”
“Mhm…yeah.”
“Then got back here to take up law finally.”
“You liking it…?”
“Mmm…just a bit lower, please.” Kazuha’s fingers interlace in your hair, pushing you a bit lower, down her open legs.
You chuckle as you give a compensatory lick lower on her wetness, nearer her smooshed asscheeks. “I meant law,” you say in between pecks to her pussy lips and kisses to her smooth thighs propped up on your shoulders.
“Fuck yes!” Her grip tightens when you hit a spot right at the crease of her ass, using your tongue for all its worth. “Yeah, I’m-I’m liking it, yeah.” She giggles through strained breaths.
You hook your arm around her left thigh, come back down towards her pussy, and start rubbing the bud at the top of her splayed lips. Your tongue takes care of business nearer the entrance, lapping up the leaking lubricant.
“Fuck, yeah, right there! Yes, yes, right there!” Kazuha’s mouth widens as her neck arches to the ceiling of her quiet flat, her slender throat on display, moonlight streaking through her blinds, the strips of light dying to touch the scene.
You maintain the pace Kazuha liked, rubbing faster only at her clit. Heaven collapses onto you as her strong thighs smother you, the soft flesh clamping down the sides of your head.
“You’re dripping.” You can’t help but smile through suffocation.
“For you,” Kazuha breathes out your name, caressing your head with surprising sweetness. “Oh fuck!— You make me so wet.”
You grip her outer thighs, your fingers sinking into the plump skin, as you lower them from your head. Her pink pussy lips are spread for you, liquid still dripping down the ring of her ass. An idea pops into your head.
“Shit! Yes!” Kazuha’s head snaps back onto the pillow as your tongue trails from her asshole and up to her clit in one long, deep lick.
Your head finally comes into her view. “Really?” you coo, intrigued.
A laugh rises through her exhausted breath as she nods with a smile. “Mhm…” Her voice softens in erotic embarrassment.
You lean back down and, after a few more coaxes with your index and middle finger, her hips buck against your head as her sex twitches in orgasm. You drown in the erotic liquid and the salt in her sweat that was beading down her navel. You open your mouth wide, tongue flat in acceptance of the fruit of your hard work. The older woman’s legs wrap around your head, humping in response, as if trying to get another orgasm going.
With the added juices, you slide your tongue down her pussy lips and back onto her tight rim. She shrieks in delight with the repeated contact, the tip of your tongue circles and teasing entrance, baiting her for a bit before letting her cunt settle down from the high. You sit back up, satisfied with your work.
Kazuha lies there for a few moments, recollecting. Her tits bounce ever so slightly with each inhale and exhale. With a flick of a switch, her post-orgasm vulnerability vanishes, leaving only a deep need to retaliate. She rises to plant a few kisses on your neck before pulling you lower, her mouth now close to your ear.
“My turn.”
She adeptly reverses your position, with you now lying down on your back, your bare chest and boxers subjected to her gaze. Kazuha straddles you, the tent in your underwear lightly touching her pussy.
With you now on the bottom, Kazuha leans down, her lips seeking a target. First, they land on your cheek. Then the side of your mouth. Your jaw. Ear. Jugular. Pecs. Her face stops near your now-hardened nipple, eyes staring back up at you. Her open mouth breathes warmth onto you. Your cock twitches visibly at the possibility, now straining even harder. This catches her attention. Her sharp gaze widens.
“Really?” She echoes.
Fuck.
You admit with a slow nod.
Her pink tongue slowly darts out, dragging across the hard nub.
Sparks fly immediately. You jerk in pleasure, your torso rising on instinct, inadvertently bumping your nipple back onto her tongue. You squirm in the unexpected gratification, your breathing quickens as you grip tighter on her pastel blue bed sheets.
Hunger consumes her now. Her mouth latches down onto your left nipple, tongue coating the sensitive nerve endings with slick saliva. She licks repeatedly, around the nub, alternating clockwise and counter. She releases you with an open-mouthed gasp, her tongue coming down to poke and flick the nub lightly and minutely, just enough for you to feel the stimulation — and ultimately crave more.
A neural pathway must have short-circuited because the words that came out of your mouth surprised even you.
“The other one, too. Please…”
After a few last licks, Kazuha smirks up at you. She kisses your left nipple one last time as she shifts a bit, eager to focus her attention on your other erect bud. Saliva coats your right nipple now, Kazuha working hard to keep it moist. Seemingly satisfied, she now blows a cold breath onto it.
“Kazuha—shit!” Your abdomen flexes in response to the cool feeling. Your fingers find her hair, tightening and coiling a few strands before loosening. “Sorry,” you whisper.
“It’s alright,” she whispers back, a comforting smile manifests on her cheeks. “You feel good?” Her gaze is a different kind of sharp now — less edge, more eager. Less cut, more care.
You nod back, letting her continue. And she does. She brings her index and middle finger to your mouth now, eyes wide with this concentrated gaze, lashes batting and beckoning for you to give in.
You open up a bit, her fingers now brushing against your lips. Her lithe fingers dance around your tongue, sliding and slipping, making sure you taste her skin. Without breaking eye contact, she brings out her now-wet fingers and places them back on your left nipple. She traces circles around the center, cutting across occasionally, rubbing your nipple for you. You squirm again, the nerve endings overloaded with the pleasurable stimuli, your body needing to do something to try and regain control. But Kazuha was everything — consent and control. She coaxed and cooed whenever she tried new things, making sure you were alright with it. But the moment you said yes, her disposition steeled. She would fixate on those boundaries she could cross and punish you for it, building you up for your eventual breaking down.
With her fingers focusing on your left nipple, you finally see her plan: her mouth latches onto your nipple on the right. Surges of electricity course through your chest and up your spine, wetness now coating both of the nubs. You curse out in pleasure as you feel the onslaught of sensation, Kazuha pushing and driving you further. She giggles at your response, and you feel her mouth curl into a smile as she licks and sucks at your areola. Your hard dick flexes painfully, begging, pleading, for release as it strains against your boxers. Kazuha looks up at you with an erotic open mouth, her tongue flicking your nipple. Her eyes dart to your cock and back to you, debating whether to give you a journey into that one last frontier you’ve been wishing she’d venture to.
“Should I?” Her low voice inquires in faux apprehension.
Not able to take it anymore, you snap. “Kazuha, you fucking better,” you whisper.
She laughs in surprise, gasping at your boldness. Her eyes sharpen for a moment, but glaze over with this newfound warmth. Kazuha leans over, her gorgeous features becoming clearer. She lowers and gives you a sweet kiss, lips pressing against yours firmly, but not hungrily. The sentiment of the kiss caught you off guard, but you reciprocated. You close your eyes and let yourself go.
A few seconds deep into the liplock, Kazuha pulls back. Like magnets, your lips chase and follow her, both of you now sitting up, with her on your lap. You stare at her face again, this beauty staring back at you in the middle of her muted apartment. Once again, those seconds play in slow motion. The curl of her hair stops mid-fall; the blanket flows off her waist like linen waterfalls; her lips, like sweet fruit, accent the light pink tinge of her cheeks. Her body was on yours, graceful, toned, and fragile. You’ve begun hoarding those moments.
Her thumb caresses your cheek, and the world resumes its turning.
“Hey, you okay?” Her voice is sultry, sweet, almost a soft squeeze on your shoulder.
You hold her hand and rub her palm for a bit. “I can’t help but try and memorize every detail of your face…” You trail off.
“Eh?” she squeaks, her voice high now. She shifts back a bit. Much to your dismay, you sense the warmth in her fade a tad, that stinging facade of the Fors cafe girl flooding back in just a smidge.
“No, I just meant— You’re beautiful,” you stammer through, trying to save the conversation from, well, whatever it was you were trying to save it from. “From when I saw you the first time, you were just so— “
“God, shut up.”
Her lips collide with yours. You feel her smile through the kiss as her lower lip lightly bites yours. “Just lie back down, okay?” Kazuha says, with a flat palm, lowering you back onto the mattress.
Her nails run down lightly on your sternum and down to your stomach, your abs tightening suddenly at the mix of tingles and sensuality. Her fingers stop at the band of your boxers, just a few inches from the large tent, aggressively trying to find much-needed contact from Kazuha’s anything at this point. She hooks both thumbs as you also lift your hips a bit, helping her remove the last roadblock to your sexual resolution.
Your cock stands proudly, throbbing and flexing for the older woman, putting on a show so she could finally touch the whole you. You stare at Kazuha, her lips coming to a pout, eyebrows rising as she evaluates your length. You gulp.
“Relax. It’s bigger than I thought.” Kazuha croons. “Biggest I’ve had,” she mutters under her breath, quiet enough to escape you.
She wraps her fingers around the tense muscle, her cool skin grasping and pumping it slowly. Kazuha watches you, observing every squint, twitch, and groan she can make you perform for her. You moan out her name in weakness, the vowels slipping off your tongue like honey. With a quick swoop, both your lips reunite, her tongue slipping inside to tangle with yours. You share a hot breath as Kazuha pulls back, her nose nuzzles yours for a bit before she dives back in to make out with you. With a sigh, she pushes against you, kissing harder as she grows more insatiable, before peppering smooches down your neck and back onto your right nipple. Her tongue comes out, flicking at it once more before going to your other nipple. Her mouth licks in a constant circle while her other hand lies across your chest, finding your erect right nipple. Your head pounds from the overstimulation — a tongue and a hand on your sensitive pecs, her smooth left palm jerking your length, and a pair of eyes that stare up at you as you go insane. Waves upon waves of signals and zings course through your brain and spine, tingling and rushing through your veins as you grow increasingly numb and sensitive at the same time. You stiffen up unconsciously, puffing your chest and giving Kazuha more space to wreak havoc. You feel simultaneous wet corkscrews from both her tongue and her precum-lubricated hand.
Then, for whatever fucking reason, Kazuha speeds up.
“Zuha! Wait!” you croak with weak knees. A tightness starts in your abdomen and starts rising at the base of your steaming length. You buck erratically into Kazuha’s palm as she pumps you relentlessly. The pleasure builds, you feel this tightening in your core as you breathe quicker now.
“Zuha, please!” you manage to moan out, but the older woman jerks you off anyway. Her palm travels your length, squeezing and twisting, stopping just at the tip, and starting back down at the base. With quick strokes, you feel your orgasm building and rumbling along your length.
Then, nothing.
A pit forms in your stomach as your eyes widen, taking in a motionless Kazuha with a stupid, teasing, edging smirk. “Wait, no, fuck! Zuha, you can’t do thi—“
Her warm, silky mouth suddenly plunges on your thick length, tongue slipping down your shaft and reaching the base in one smooth stroke. With a quick maneuver, Kazuha lies between your spread knees, hands reaching up to stimulate your chest one last time before you eventually…
“Fuck!” You unknowingly grip Kazuha’s hair tighter as you slam her mouth deeper onto your meat, her nose meeting your navel. Your cock releases a shot of cum into her mouth, the pressure immediately releasing and gratifying. You hear a slight audible gag as your cock keeps going, dumping and firing off strands of white into her (very receptive) throat and pink tongue. Kazuha bobs for a few moments, making sure to pump every last rope out of you, before releasing your cock from the caverns of her mouth.
Kazuha sits back as she angles her face slightly upward. Her erotic clavicle and neck flex for a bit as she gulps down your seed. She sighs after swallowing, tired and satiated, for now.
The once-spinning apartment has now slowed to a stop, the blue bed and the ravishing woman now clear instead of a sex-hazed blur. Kazuha tucks a stray lock behind her ear, her eyes satisfied with the hurdles she just put you through. Your head collapses back down onto her pillow, sweat soaking just under your chin and neck.
The sheets crinkle and fold as Kazuha plops herself beside you to your left, your two naked bodies touching shoulder to shoulder.
You turn your head to look at her. She looks back.
“So…” she begins. “Zuha’s new.”
“Hey, you try moaning out a three-syllable name,” you retort.
“Oh, Kazuha! Fuck, yes, yes, Kazuha!” she yelps out suddenly, eyes closing in dramatized pleasure as your eyes widen. Her face returns to normal as she playfully shrugs. “Not so bad to me.”
You push her shoulder. “You’re so dumb.”
She squeals, laughing at you, her voice taking on a new pitch and decibel. Her eyes smile at you, a blade sheathed momentarily.
“I like it, though. ‘Zuha’.” She repeats the nickname, testing it out for herself and being satisfied.
You can’t help but beam. “Okay then.”
-
You stir awake to the sound of the bedroom door closing. Your eyes focus for a bit, taking in Kazuha’s apartment walls. A plant in the corner. Pictures of friends on a desk nearby. Pastel blue living room.
Kazuha smirking in the doorway.
She wore classy cat eye sunglasses perched atop her forehead, her round eyes visible and scanning. A pair of pearl earrings glint slightly in the panel of Sunday sunlight streaming through the window. She wore high-waist jeans, a simple white shirt, a brown wool cardigan, and boots. She held a cardboard cup holder, two coffee cups in stow — Fors coffee cups — and a paper bag with the cafe logo in her other hand.
You, on the other hand, were still naked, comfortably under her covers.
“You’re up early.” You rub your eyes for a bit.
“It’s 10.”
You whip around to find your phone. 10:07. You text back home that you were fine. Your gaze lowers to the coffee in her hand. She catches it.
“Yeah, figured I’d do something nice for you while you were knocked out.” Kazuha shrugs sarcastically, stepping away from the door and into the hallway leading to her living room.
“Thanks!” you call out.
“Just get dressed! I don’t want crumbs on my bed.”
You sigh a few more times, streaks of the midnight adventure seeping through your closed eyelids. You can’t help but smile, your heart feeling heavier and fuller.
This thing with Kazuha? It was thrilling. But at the same time, waking up in her apartment for the first time was calm and still — it was certain. Your heart races, not for the chase or the “game”, but for the serenity of something stable.
You hold yourself back a bit. This has to be superficial, you think. Who wouldn’t be infatuated with a natural beauty taking an interest? You’ve literally only known her for a day.
But you’ll be damned if you don’t try and stretch that into years.
You rise out of bed, slip on your boxers, and look around for your shirt. You rifle through your bag and through some of Kazuha’s clothes from last night — still nothing.
“You must really like cold coffee, huh?” Kazuha pipes up from the living room, impatient but teasing.
You sigh, walking out into the hallway, shirtless, bashfully covering yourself.
It didn’t take long for you to see exactly where the shirt went. You see Kazuha facing away from you, fiddling with her microwave, wearing your white shirt. It hung low on her frame, hugging her shoulders but flowing loosely down, giving her a boxy sort of look. Your eyes trail down the shirt and see her legs, extending gracefully. Kazuha was a tall woman, taller than average, standing just a few inches below you, but her legs went on for miles. Her hips curved sensually, followed by those strong thighs that wrapped around your head previously, then her smooth calves, all the way down to her feet. Her hips were cocked again, the swell of her ass accentuated by her black panties, as she was preoccupied with the appliance.
“You had pants on a while ago.”
“Perceptive.” She snorts. “More comfortable this way.”
You hear a metallic clang and the closing of a microwave door. The appliance beeps, its internal timer being set before a constant drone picks up as it stirs to life.
“I expected shorts but not…” You can’t help but ogle the curves of her thighs as they transition to her legs. You slightly drool at the sight.
“Stop staring and take a seat.” She tilts her head to look back, her eyes meeting yours.
You scoot over to her kitchen area, taking a seat on the corner nearest a window. On the table are the two coffees she bought from Fors, you take off their tops, trying to discern which one was yours. You place the latte near you and Kazuha’s americano on her side of the table. With a ping from the microwave, Kazuha brings a tray over — two croissants. She plops the pastries in the middle of the table, taking a seat across from you. You stare at her a bit before deciding to inch your chair closer to her side. You were now sitting to her left.
“There’s enough room for both of us, c’mon.” She bumps your shoulder playfully.
“I know. Just wanted to be closer.” You shrug, sheepishly.
“You’re a sap.” She chuckles briefly as she nudges the tray of croissants.
“Thanks, Zuha.” You lean over to try to kiss her cheek.
She clicks her tongue as your lips land on her palm instead. “Eat.”
“Bossy.”
“Insisting,” she corrects.
You pick up a croissant, take a bite of the flaky pointed end, place it back on the tray, and chew in front of her.
“Happy?” you ask through munches.
“Jesus, just eat!” she whines with a small laugh, hitting you on your shoulder.
“You don’t really talk much, huh?” you say with a sip of coffee.
“You don’t really stay quiet much, huh?” Her nose scrunches as she acts irritated.
“Not in my nature. Learned that a long time ago.” You shrug.
She sighs as she looks into your eyes, a small smirk plastered on her face. “I rarely talk to people, let alone have breakfast with them. So I stay quiet most of the time.”
“So, is this a first for you?”
“Not exactly. Just…the first time in a long while.”
“I see.” You tap your fingers a bit on her table. A few silent seconds pass. But you can’t help yourself. “How’re you liking it so far?”
“You’re really annoying, do you know that?” She replies snarkily.
“Wow, tell me how you really feel. Am I right?” you chuckle, poking her side a bit.
“And you’re really stupid.”
“That I can accept a bit.”
She laughs at you, her hand reaching up to cup your cheek. Instinctively, it seems.
“But,” Kazuha thinks hard for a bit. “…you’re charming,” she finishes honestly.
Your chest pounds as her hand comes into contact with the side of your face. Your stomach feels full, butterflies fluttering and drifting up your throat, trying to crawl out of your mouth in the form of stutters and stammers. Your brain kicks into overdrive again, trying to encode the sight before you.
Her nose was adorable, the folds on her bridge on the verge of scrunching. The corner of her lips rose, a smirk about to form again. Her lashes batted, as her eyes were softer now, their edge now an old friend you dare not reunite with.
Kazuha senses what you were doing; her nose now actually scrunches in amusement before smoothing, like reflex suppressed. She rolls her eyes and averts her gaze as she scoffs, a hint of light pink appearing on her cheeks. Her hand lowers from your cheek, landing back on the table, near her coffee cup.
“So…” you cough a bit. “I thought you hated ballet.” You nod across the kitchen, motioning towards a wall in the living room. On it, hung a picture of a younger Kazuha, mid-pirouette.
Kazuha follows your gaze and clicks her tongue. “Ah. Yeah. I think it’s all I’ve ever known, and I don’t really have any other pictures.” A somber quality to her voice reached you.
“Why’d you do it, anyway?”
“Well, my father was a prestigious man.” Kazuha puts on a fake gruff voice. “Only the best for my little girl. The best schools, the best clothes, the best lessons. It was either the best or nothing at all.” Kazuha laughs it off, but continues. “I liked it at first. Then, I got confused. Did I like it? Or did my dad like it, so I liked it too? Maybe decided I didn’t like it. Told him about it. He obviously wasn't happy. We stop talking. I moved away. Next thing I know, I’m back here, all dressed in black, staring at his casket being lowered.”
Shame fills you. “Oh no, Zuha. Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even mean to…” You wrap an arm around her, and her head rests on your shoulder.
“No, I know. It’s alright.” Her voice stiffens a bit, trying to play it tough. “It’s just not really a conversation over coffee.”
You nod silently as your thumb strokes her shoulder.
Kazuha blurts out, the moroseness in her now absent. “I was close to getting married once.”
“Excuse me?” you gasp, shock evident in your voice.
“I know, right? Had a ring too!” she lays her palm flat, staring at the bare space the ring used to inhabit. “But stuff happened, so I don’t really go for that anymore— the commitment thing.” Her voice softens as she trails off.
“Oh.”
A few awkward minutes pass by without a word being uttered.
Your heart beats a little bit faster, nervous and ashamed, for even yearning a little bit. Her eyes wander upwards, trying to catch your expression.
“Hey, look, this was—“
You cut her off. “So! You like croissants too?” you cough, bypassing that conversation for now. You prod at both of your croissants with a fork.
Kazuha pouts but nods slowly. “Uh, yeah. Croissants, pastries, bread, in general.” Kazuha eyes you but plays along, her voice sullen now.
Given where you are in your life now, you’ve always appreciated honesty. Playing social games has been a pain, so to speak, and you’ve always made it a point to be clear. Now, you reassess.
So you nod.
And then you sigh.
And then you speak up.
“Look, Kazuha. This…” You motion to both of you. “Don’t you want to try?”
Kazuha breathes deeply, the conflict obvious in her brows. “Dating?”
“We don’t have to go out all the time! I’ve got school, I know you’ve got law. We can just, y’know, hang out— like see each other at the end of the day.”
“But—“
“And, I’ll respect your time. If you just wanna stay here and not meet up, I’ll understand.”
With pursed lips, Kazuha slightly nods, still trying to think about the proposition.
“What about the sex?” she inquires innocently, despite the subject matter.
“Oh. No, no, we don’t have to. I’m fine without it.”
Kazuha stifles a laugh, a smile coming back to her cheeks, her face brightening now.
“You’ll be fine without it?” she says with a roll of her eyes, a brow sharply rising now.
You blush suddenly. “I mean, yeah. I don’t want to pressure you.”
“You really are a sap,” Kazuha confirms. There was a certain sweetness to her voice, like a slow realization of you.
Her face is a few inches from yours. You’re still shoulder-to-shoulder. The seconds tick by as millennia. You study her face in the pause.
Her eyebrows.
That’s what made her gaze so sharp. Those eyebrows that furrow, arch, or dip with every expression passing through her. They’re angled when she’s thinking, pointed when she’s scoffing, and rounded whenever her nose scrunches. Together with her eyes, her brows complete her blade.
The ambient sounds of Kazuha’s flat unwarp as temporal flow is restored. Her eyes move minutely across your face, and you feel small cuts on your lip.
“What is it?” you whisper.
“I’m worse, y’know, when we become closer. You just don’t know me yet,” she whispers back.
“Give me a chance to then.”
Your lips meet again that morning in her flat.
-
A week passes by after that day. Then a month. And then three. And, true enough, you’ve consistently met up with Zuha. You’d catch up with her after her classes, she’d sometimes wait after you clocked out, or you’d just stop by her flat. You’ve settled into that familiar routine, taking into account your commute time and all that. Although you have spent many a night at Zuha’s place, too, when she points out how you’ll only be cramped in that train ride (albeit while her lips are on you). But, all in all, Zuha was a part of your day.
And yet, she remained mysterious.
You’ve been observing her on the days you spent time together in her apartment. And, honestly, you felt perplexed.
Zuha was the type of person who had this cold exterior, especially when it came to her studies, but at the same time bawled over her 7th watch of The Lion King (getting through Mufasa’s death was always a trip through all the stages of grief).
She’d keep all her notes and digests organized, but she’d highlight like a maniac afterward — a mosaic of colors, lines, arrows, offshoot notes, and tangent case references. It was incomprehensible, but Kazuha would read them and judge you for not understanding.
She’d shut down most jokes you make, rebutting and parrying with a deadpan expression, but then she’d drop a few dad jokes, grin sweetly, and then assert that she’s just funnier than you.
She’s clumsy, but only once. She’s precise in a way that ensures she won’t make the same mistake twice. She mispronounces words, looks them up on Google, and then she practices. She overcooks a dish, tries again angrily, and then proudly serves it when she gets it right. She knocks over furniture sometimes, but then arranges them in a way that allows her to perform chaînés across her apartment.
Which brings you to ballet.
Each movement of hers seemed like a calculated performance. An afternoon at hers was a quiet recital just for you. You’d see ballet in everything she did — the way she’d gracefully bend to pick up a dropped spoon, or the way her lines extend when you stare at her putting on jeans, or the way she’d unscrunch her nose and tuck a strand of hair neatly behind her ear. You’ve been wondering whether she still likes ballet. You’d watch her and just be stuck.
She’d catch you staring sometimes, too. You felt it whenever you got cut. She would raise an eyebrow, a small, confused smirk forming. Then a roll of the eyes. A rare middle finger. But most commonly a blush.
Was the age gap between you and her apparent? Surprisingly no. Both of your personalities jived, and Zuha never made a point of talking down to you, and you always respected her whenever she knew something you didn’t. Being with her was refreshing. She had an impulsiveness about her that was such a thrill ride, but then you’d also have these deeply meaningful conversations that went on for ages. She was the perfect woman, in addition to being the perfect girlfriend.
And, you’ve had girlfriends before, but it was always the high school crash-and-burn ones. It was never a “go straight to their place after school to cook dinner” type. I mean, you’ve never even introduced anybody to your parents.
Not until your 10th night staying over at Zuha’s flat.
-
“You never told us it was a girl!” Your mom squealed on the other side of the video call. All this time, you’ve told her you’re staying over at a friend’s but never bothered to specify a girl. But then, Zuha accidentally walked behind you a few minutes ago, her feminine form obvious through the video. Your mom was now seated and audibly excited.
From the background, you hear your dad laugh. “So that’s where he’s been!”
“Yes, okay, she’s a girl. But that’s enough! I’m just staying over here to bypass the stupid commute times!” You whine, uncharacteristically.
Zuha sat in front of you and to the right, sitting just outside of the phone’s view.
“Remember when you kept sneaking in to stay over, ‘hon?” Your mom sighs, reminiscing.
“Yeah, we were around his age then, too, ‘hon,” your parents laugh. Zuha is dying, her stomach flexing as she giggles silently.
“Well, where is she? Show her to us!” Your mom whines, insisting.
“Oh, I don’t know, Mom. She’s kinda bu—“
“Wait!” Zuha protests, suddenly and swiftly walks over behind the couch to lean over your shoulder. Her face now comes into view and on camera.
“Oh, honey. She is gorgeous.” Your mom gasps in shock. “Wow.”
Zuha giggles lightly and greets your parents respectfully.
Your dad now walks over, puts an arm around your mom, and chuckles. “Kazuha, please, drop the honorifics. At this point, we’re just glad you’re our son’s girlfriend. Welcome to the family!”
You fake a yawn. “O-kay, guys! It’s getting pretty late, we should probably—“
“No! I want to keep talking to them!” Zuha’s voice rises, her pearly whites widely on display as she teases you. Her nose scrunches momentarily. You mentally take note of it.
You hear defiant cries from your phone, too.
“Christ, fine, fine!” You hand your phone and walk over to the kitchen to prepare a side dish. Zuha stays behind, entertaining your folks with a couple of stories about you. After having their fill, their conversations shift from you to her: where she came from, her childhood, her hobbies, and then finally, ballet.
Your ears (and your parents') perk up as soon as you hear Zuha talking about her old ballet school, how strict the recitals were, and how dedicated her classmates were. You feel the tinge of joy Zuha had for ballet, and you couldn’t help but gush at her passion. You hear your parents exclaim as they look up Zuha on their cellphones, surprised to see how much of a slight celebrity Zuha is.
And it was true, shortly after your first morning together, you looked her up. And, real enough, Zuha had her own Wikipedia page and YouTube videos with thousands of views. She was an astonishing performer. Her lines were clean, graceful, and full of training. Interestingly, you’d also sometimes catch her watching her old recitals. She’d tuck them away whenever you got close, laughing shyly, so you never really got around to asking her about it.
So, conversation aside, you had to focus on dinner. You fix up a small salad for a few minutes and set it down on the table beside the sukiyaki Zuha cooked. You motion over to her, she nods, and says goodbye to your parents, handing you back your phone before sitting down at the table. You check back on the video call.
“Alright, guys, you’ve terrorized me enough.” You joke.
“She’s a keeper, honey.” Your mom whispers sweetly.
You look up from your phone and see Zuha preparing a plate for you first, oblivious to what your mom just said.
“I know, Mom. She is.” Your heart swells.
“Okay then, just text us every time you’ll stay over there, alright?”
“Mhm, I will. I promise.”
“And use protection!” Your dad calls out in the background.
“Go to bed, Dad!”
The video ends, and you awkwardly chuckle, tucking away your phone. Zuha inches her chair closer to the table, waiting for you.
“So.” You finally take a seat in front of Zuha.
“So.”
“Did you hear any of that?” You wince a bit.
“Hear what?”
You shake your head as you release a sigh, laughing at the whole situation. “I’m sorry, Zuha. They just get excited from time to time.”
“Oh no, don’t be. They’re cute. They really love you.”
“Yeah, I do too,” you say, satisfied. “Thanks for being kind to them.”
“Of course.” She lets go of her fork for a bit to take your hand, her thumb rubbing your outer palm.
After a few silent stares, both of you start eating, eager to just dig in and finally head to bed.
The older woman pipes up suddenly, mouth half full. “Gotta say sorry to your dad, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh. ‘Cause we won’t use protection tonight.”
-
Your relationship had its ups and downs, too, no doubt about that. You’d argue, but she had her ways, and you had your own ways of ensuring it never got too out of hand (Bread. It was bread.) or too long (Not going to bed mad, and all that).
Fighting was normal. Fighting with Zuha, however, was not. Fighting with Zuha was hard. When she knew she was right (and that was most of the time), she was bulletproof. She was stubborn, argumentative, and smug. She’d have these three absolutely solid main points, a dozen supporting statements, and a recommendation or two on how you could change your behavior. It was incredible, really, peeling back a layer to envision how she was in her classes.
You’d try arguing back, but she was quicker. A stern “no” and you’d immediately fold. You couldn’t get a word in, even if you tried.
Which made you really savor those moments you were right.
-
So, the crux of the problem was that Zuha thought you were, and you quote, “at times too taciturn, apprehensive, and slow to move”, end quote.
“I told you to see to it already. Did you listen? No. You never do.” She rolled her eyes but remained planted in front of you, arm crossed, eyebrows jagged and sharp as ever.
“Okay, Zuha, that’s a bit unfair. I swear, I gave them to you. I bought them, then gave them to you right after.”
“Absolutely not. If I had them, then we'd already be there in the damn cinema!”
Yes, this argument was about tickets. To an animated movie. About talking animals.
“No! I’m absolutely sure I gave them to you. I triple checked those tickets, Zuha. I know how much you looked forward to the movie, so I made sure not to mess up.”
“So where are the tickets, then?”
“Zuha, I don’t know. I gave them to you, and that’s the last time I saw them.”
“The absolute negligence.” She muttered to herself, shaking her head and walking toward the other side of the living room.
“Hey, c’mon. We can just stream it. I’m sure a couple of pirate sites already have it up. Let’s calm—“
You heard the metallic hum of her gaze being unsheathed. “Calm down? You wanna run that by me again?”
“Shutting up.” You mumbled.
With a few careful strides and a sidestep, you avoided the fuming area that is Zuha and got to the bedroom. Looking to lie down for a bit and just zone out, you hauled the large clothes pile that Zuha always kept cluttered. You grabbed a couple of shirts and blouses, set aside the heavy leather coats, and hung a couple of the jeans and trousers she had worn in the past few days.
Then, something fell out.
You hung the jeans by the belt loop and looked around. And there it was. On the carpeted floor.
Two obviously-folded movie tickets. From her pants. Your face melted into a smile as memories of the day you gave it to her flooded back.
“Zuha!”
“What?” A shout.
“Come here for a minute.”
You heard her steps bounding down the hall.
Her eyebrows were weaponized, her graze fresh off the grindstone.
“Look what I found.” You sat on the bed, leaned, and crossed your arms. Smug.
Her blade swung wide and almost caught your neck. But they landed on the tickets on the floor.
“Now, for my cross-exam, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, could you tell me what those are?”
Zuha was frozen speechless, her tongue poking the side of her cheek now. “You don’t cross-examine the jury, smart ass.”
You clicked your tongue a few times. “Zip it, Nakamura. I have the floor. Now what, pray tell, are those you see on the floor? Are they movie tickets?”
“You could have put those there to—“
“Now, now, if I remember correctly,” you put on a fake, wondering tone amidst your lawyerly bravado, “you must only respond with a yes or a no during the cross-examination.”
She scoffs, eyes darting around the room. “Yes, they’re movie tickets.”
“And those pants are yours, correct?”
“Yes.” She grumbles.
“So were you, or were you not, the latest recipient of said tickets?”
Silence.
“Ms. Nakamura, I’m gonna need an answer from you.”
“Ugh, fine! Fine, fine! I had them last then. It’s my fault we couldn’t go.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.” You took a bow at the four walls of her room and the imaginary spectators of your stupendous legal victory.
You poked Zuha in the side. “How’s that?”
“I’m giving it to you this once.”
“Giving what?”
“The satisfaction of proving me wrong.”
You reveled in the honor. “Christ.” You took a step back, letting the privilege sink in. “This is the best day of my life.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get you next time.”
“Is this what law school’s like? It’s kinda easy, don’t you think?”
“Alright. I take it back. You’re done. Shut the fuck up.” Her voice was harsher now.
“Shutting up.”
“Sit down.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The satisfaction was stripped away instantaneously. Your obedience and your “taciturnity” were now the most salient parts of you once again.
Standing in front of you, Zuha placed both hands on your shoulders, locking eyes with you.
“Z-Zuha?” You gulped.
“Look. I’m sorry for calling you negligent. Or that you don’t listen. That’s not true.”
Your hands found her waist on instinct, rubbing her sides sweetly. “Hey. That’s alright. I know you really wanted to catch that movie.”
“Let me make it up to you, then.” Her fingers trailed along the length of your arms and stopped at your knees. With her eyes fixed on yours, she got on her knees, tantalizingly slow, positioning herself between your legs. Her hands crept up and down your thigh, feeling the soft material of your baggy shorts. Eventually, her palms wound up in between your legs, settling on your clothed bulge, growing and stiffening.
Fighting with her was hard. But you were right where you wanted to be.
-
To add on to your list of perplexities, Zuha was a total freak despite the exceptional discipline she exhibits when it comes to studying, cooking, or any other area in life. Hell, she was even more adventurous than you. (But to be fair, you were pretty vanilla, so the bar is already low.) You were already pretty exploratory, letting her do the nipple thing, but then Zuha took it further.
It started with a few slaps on her ass, then the occasional “put a finger in it” from her, and then your tongue. But now, most of the time you go out with her ends up in “alleyway ass-play”, as you refer to it in your mind.
When the mood struck her, you’d know. She was unbelievably teasing with it too — a small raise in her eyebrow, pupils darting to an unseen corner, a bump of her shoulder. Then she’d amp it up with a small kiss on your cheek, nails lightly digging into your bicep, deep whiffs around your neck, or, if unheard, a moan of your name. Then, with discreet shuffles, you’d be on your knees, tongue worshipping Zuha’s ass.
You figured you must have been totally whipped, always letting her reach orgasm and delaying yours until you guys got home. But every time, you’d still put an arm around her and kiss the top of her head sweetly. It was Zuha — of course, it was fine.
-
For example, this one time, you waited outside the Law building, tucking your clinical notes inside a clipboard to prepare for tomorrow’s case presentations. You adjusted your scrub pants a bit, allowing your top to finally untuck. You heaved a sigh, a 12-hour shift evident in the ache of your shoulders and neck. You rubbed your eyes and did a few stretches, willing the fatigue to leave your body before Zuha sees you. With a few minutes left before 5:30, you finally sat down on the building steps with your back to the door, eyes heavy with sleep (or lack thereof).
With a scuffle and the sound of metal turning, you heard the conversations of the law students finally seeping through. An onslaught of corporate attire swarmed you — heels clacked, oxfords tapped, ties swished, and pants swooped. Future lawyers, entranced in their own legal world, threw around jargon, judicial loopholes, and jurisprudence issues, all while flowing down the steps. They courteously gave you a wide berth (probably resonating with that same tired look you had) as you waited for Zuha. The flock thinned out soon enough as the remaining stragglers trailed off away from the steps. You looked around, slightly worried, as the campus became increasingly sparse. But, with your feet weighing a million, you stayed sitting for a few more peaceful minutes.
“You better not be falling asleep.”
Zuha.
You stood up to turn around, following her voice. The ache in your joints dissipated instantaneously as your pulse quickened.
“'Cause I definitely can’t carry you home.”
There she was.
She stood at the top of the steps, with a strong amount of swagger, wearing this deep blue three-piece suede suit. She wore black tapered high-heeled boots, accentuating her long, slender stature. Her fair skin glowed with the contrast of the suit’s color, making her presence literally illuminating. Her neck was fully on show, ditching the traditional collared polo top and only wearing the blue vest. Her nails were colored a dark red, beautifully manicured and shaped, as her hand lay on her cocked hip. Her eyes twinkled alongside her earrings, like stars beginning to show in the waning sun. And her brow, proudly raised and basking in your jaw drop and ogle. Her silhouette was sharp, slender, and confident, armed with her sling bag and a clipboard containing the structure of her defense.
The surge of law students prior has been erased from your memory; they could never compare with what you were seeing. You continued to stare, speechless, but remembering — encoding. Zuha did tell you about the mock trial and how they all had to dress formally to simulate real court proceedings, but you never expected…this. You swooned internally, feeling weak in the knees and in her gaze.
Zuha scoffed playfully, shooting a finger gun. “Hey. I take it you’re speechless? I know, I know, I clean up pretty nice, if I do say so myse—“
“You’re breathtaking.”
Her eyes widened as she stopped fronting. A blush crept up her neck and on her cheeks. She tucked a stray hair back behind her ears.
“Oh. I mean, I was just kidding…” Zuha trailed off.
“No, I mean it.” You climbed up one step closer. “You’re absolutely breathtaking…”
You felt cuts across your body and your face as Zuha stared back, shy and nervous and on guard.
“Come on, it was just the makeup. And these clothes were really just lying around unused.” She excused herself.
“Zuha.”
“Plus, you see me all the time. Without all the makeup and the jewelry and all that.” Her eyes avoided your gaze now as you stood with her atop the steps.
“Zuha.”
“What…?” She spoke in a small voice, seemingly terrified of what you had to say — the confident law student, mortified at the notion.
“I mean it. You really are— and not just today, but all the time.” You cupped her cheek. “I am so in love with you.”
Zuha breathed out, glassy eyes taking you in, a pout suddenly forming. After a beat, she finally leaned in to kiss you, crumpling your shirt to pull you in. You kissed back, holding both sides of her face as she hummed in glee. Her hands trailed up to your shoulders, criss-crossing just behind your neck as you pulled her closer by the waist now, deepening the kiss. You felt her lips curve into a smile as she pulled back slightly to stare at you, her gaze soft and sweet.
Zuha whispered out a joke. “So this is all it took for you to kiss me like that, huh?”
“I mean, you’re gorgeous all the time.” You chuckled and planted a peck on her lips. “But yeah, you look great in that suit. Jesus.”
“Hey.” Her thumb brushed along your cheek. “I appreciate you. I know I’m weird with affection, but I’m trying. It’s okay when it’s you.”
You smiled lightly as you held her gaze. “I’m yours, Zuha. No way around it.” You shrugged.
She leaned in again, and you pursed your lips on instinct. But this time, she tilted your head down, planting a kiss on your forehead. You blushed at the unfamiliar gesture as you coughed awkwardly.
“So how’d the trial go?” You asked Zuha as you both finally stepped down and away from the Law building, your arms linking.
“Yeah, it went great! We all had a chance to speak before the bar, and it all went smoothly. My notes really came in handy with the defense, what with all the different cases I got to reference.”
Zuha then went off on a tangent on how the mock trial works and how they’d be scored. She brought up different parts of the courtroom and what role they played in legal proceedings, how a cross-examination was supposed to be done, and why technicalities are basically bulletproof if a law hasn’t been amended yet. You nodded along to her voice, half listening and half swooning as her lips moved.
“…so we really had no choice but to call for a short recess just to finally get the defense straight.” Zuha finally finished.
Zuha lagged for a moment, quietly registering what you said. Then she bumped your shoulder appreciatively. “Thanks. I’m really liking it, too.”
Both of you finally reached a T-junction, with the road extending on both your left and right. A few convenience stores lined the street as the nightlife started to grow.
“Did you want to eat something before we go? Or just share the pint of ice cream we have at home?”
“That pint sounds kinda tempting, but that’s not dinner. Hey, I thought you were Mr. Health Guy, out here making people’s lives healthier?” She chided with a smile, poking at your scrub pants.
“Hey, I’m off the clock!” You whined.
Zuha thought for a moment, but her eyes ultimately landed back on you. Something was off.
“Hey, did you really like this suit?” She raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Of course. It fits you perfectly, Zuha.” You answered slowly, suspicious of the sudden question.
Her eyes look past you, in between the different convenience stores. Her grip on your forearm tightened slightly.
“Do you wanna take it off me?”
“Dammit, Zuha, I knew it!”
“Come on. We’ll be quick.”
“We’ll be caught.”
“We’ll be quiet,” Zuha affirmed, steadfast. Her legs extended as she dragged you into a small passageway just beside a store. The path was dimly lit (of course) with only a blinking lamp post on the far end.
“Plus…” Zuha started as she pulled you into the shadows, her arms squeezing both your shoulders. “It’s not for me.”
“What do you mean?” You whispered.
Zuha turned around, planting both palms on the brick wall of the building. She arched her back, the suit jacket trailing off her sides, showing off the round shape of her ass. The suede shimmered slightly, drawing lines where her legs and juicy thighs met the outline of her butt. Your meat suddenly flexed in anticipation.
“As a thank you. For waiting for me.” She said with a bite of her lip. “And for everything else.”
You approached her slowly, your hand coming in contact with her waist. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Think of it as payment. For the times I only let you get me off.”
“You’re crazy.” You said, head leaning in to take a whiff of her neck.
Zuha moaned at the proximal contact. You moved both your hands to hug around her waist, feeling the sleek material of her vest. You made a slight U-turn, fingers trailing upwards to cup her chest as you kissed the spot below her ear. You finally closed the distance with the tent poking through your pants as you brushed your bulge at the cleft of her asscheeks.
“Mmm, fuck, that for me?”
“I’m yours.” Your right hand squeezed her tit as your left pushed against her fit stomach, bringing her whole arched body closer to you. Your cock rubbed against the material of your scrub pants, grinding against her plump ass and poking in between from time to time. You leaned against her shoulder, face buried in her fragrant vanilla-shampooed hair, grunting as you finally had your way with her.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry for leaving you— fuck— hanging all the time.” Her palm crumpled the hair on the back of your head as she turned slightly to kiss your cheek. You ground your cock harder against her, gripping her flesh tighter as if she’ll disappear right before you orgasm. You moaned in unison as you humped her. But you needed more. With a quick release, you pulled down your scrub pants and boxers, exposing your straining dick to the night air. You brought your shaft closer as you humped along the groove of her ass.
“Fuck, did you take it out? Oh God, fuck, yes, that’s so fucking hot. I can feel how hard you are.” The older woman mewled as her hair became disheveled, the thought of your bare cock rubbing against her ass exhilarating her to a new height.
The soft feel of the suede and the roundness of her butt were the perfect velvet cushion to hump and grind against as you held her in place. Beads of pre-cum slicked the length of your shaft, making your strokes extra slippery and smooth. Zuha cried and whimpered your name as she felt your entire length run between her cheeks. You drove your meat further, alternating between a long stroke and a deep push between her thighs. You crept both of your hands underneath her vest, feeling for the bottom of her bra. You snuck a couple fingers in, rubbing and pinching at her hardened peaks.
“Holy fuck, you’re amazing. Yes, yes, oh God yes, just like that, just like that.” Her fingers tightened around your hair.
With a sudden bang and the sound of hollow plastic falling, both of you froze. Your eyes panicked, darting to the end of the passageway where the convenience store was. A cat had knocked over several empty water jugs and plastic gallons of oil. A bell rang, and the store owner stared at the ruckus, a frustrated cry accompanying his irritated hair scratch.
He was now facing the alley.
Toward the both of you.
Any closer — any noisier — and you’d both be caught.
“Hey, wait, wait,” Zuha says with slight concern.
You buried your face back in her hair, adrenaline flowing as your dick did most of the thinking. You gave her a hump.
Zuha lightly smacked your cheek. “Hey, c’mon!” She snapped at you quietly.
But you didn’t listen. You grinded against her more aggressively now, your dick smacking her ass.
“Fuck!” Zuha croaks out.
The store owner’s head snapped towards the alley. You saw him squint, trying to make sense of the shadows.
“Fucking stop it, I swear.” Zuha released a warning alongside a breathy moan.
You brought one of your hands to her mouth, covering her lips but leaving her nose. You continued grinding now, slowly but surely, savoring the unexpected audience. Zuha seemed to notice this too; her complaints now coos and moans into your hand.
The store owner shook his head and finally knelt down to fix the spilled containers. He headed back in shortly after.
Zuha smacked your shoulder this time. “You really are an idiot, huh?”
You held her hip with one hand now, watching your shaft bump up against the blue velvet material. You brought your other hand to her throat and pulled her back towards you, your chest and cock now pressing flush against her.
“God, you’re lucky I like you.” She breathed out, turning her head to the side to meet your lips as you mashed your member against her.
“I like you a lot, Zuha.” You murmured against her temple, hugging her a bit harder, a bit of sentiment breaking through the sex-fueled cracks of your resolve.
“Yeah? I bet you do.” Her hold on your hair loosened as her hand traveled downward, finding your thick rod. She stroked it a few times, spreading precum along the length. “Mmm, fuck, you’re so big. You feel good?”
“God, fuck yes.” You brought her hand back up to your hair as you took charge, breathing in the scent of her sweat as you angled her face towards you. Zuha gasped out an open-mouthed moan, feeling you drive your erection further between her thick ass. You shove your tongue in her mouth as she groans out your name, meeting her in a raspy and sloppy kiss.
You rubbed back against her harder, feeling the rising pressure in your groin just steaming to get out. She responded in kind, meeting your humps halfway, colliding against you with the velvet feel of her pants.
“Where do you wanna cum?” She rasped out.
“M-mouth..?” You requested through clenched teeth.
“Fuck.” Zuha said with an accidental gasp. “Great choice.”
You humped erratically now, the piston-like rhythm now lost to impending release. Zuha’s body rocks alongside yours as she welcomes the roughness. After a few awkward humps and grinds, you feel a surge travel up from the base of your cock to the tip, your meat flexes as you finally groan out in pleasure completed.
“Cumming?”
“Mhm, y-yeah.”
You leaned back a bit, hand wrapping your cock to keep the stimulation going. Zuha quickly whipped around and crouched, hands on both your thighs, as she opened her mouth. You leaned forward a bit, tip now coming in contact with her tongue. The LED lamp’s light crawled through the shadows from the end of the alley, lighting up Zuha’s clear face as she looked up at you while steadying herself.
You stared at Zuha, at the stray lock of hair that traveled down her face, the slightly scuffed suede suit now a juxtaposition to the raunchy situation you were both in, and her delicate lips now parted to accept your release. You stroked yourself faster, groaning as your knees shuddered and spine tingled, until you finally climaxed. You spurted out a rope of cum, shooting half into Zuha’s mouth and up diagonally to her right cheek. You let out a strained growl, another wave shooting out and splattering on her tongue, the orgasm hitting you way harder than expected. Zuha stroked it for you, aiding you in emptying your balls deeper into her mouth. She helped you ride out your orgasm, catching each drop with care.
With a gulp, she smirked. “Well?”
“Fuck— thank you.” You gulped, exhausted and palpitating, your cock still out.
She giggled before rising from the cement to pat you on the chest. Her hand slid up to the side of your face as she leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek.
“Of course.” She cooed, her thumb stroking your jaw gently.
You zipped up awkwardly, patting down the crumples and folds of your shirt. “So now do you wanna go home?”
-
Zuha could be confusing at times, but in the short span you’ve known her, you were aware that your feelings had grown ever clearer — you already loved her. It was easy, exciting, and expected.
Sure, Zuha was a woman of opposites within herself, but with you, it was different. You got to fill in whatever gaps Zuha had, and you enjoyed the “work”, so to speak.
You’d ease tightly-wound nights she spent studying with instant cocoa and a few back rubs. Funnily enough, you could now also recall off the top of your head different cases she’d said mattered to her defense. You’d have breakfast ready for her whenever you had to leave her apartment early, and you’d be there in the evening, picking up scattered clothes she’d be too tired to pick up.
And she filled you, too.
Zuha was quick with a quiz or two on your recent lessons and cases. She’d roleplay as different patients with varying diagnoses, practicing how quick you could diagnose and plan interventions. On your down times, she’d buy you more bread, masking the sentiment with a flashy grin, but secretly making sure you never forgot to eat. She’d click her tongue and fume for a moment whenever you food-stained your shirt, but you would always catch her preparing the washing machine right after. Her age is apparent in those moments.
You already loved Zuha, but telling her was a different thing altogether. You’ve noticed it for a long time, how she would dodge conversations about it, simply skirt around the topic, or silence you with a kiss. She never talked about love, or loving, or falling in love, and so you’ve always chalked it up to her not being used to it, what with her alleged marriage (you were still very curious about that) not being the best and how she’s never really needed to love another. You knew she was trying to open herself up, and you would be there every step of the way.
However, you also knew this thing with Zuha was different. It had to be. Sure, it’s only been a couple of months, but forehead kisses and buying groceries together seemed to convey otherwise. You’ve already considered Zuha’s flat your place too, and she wouldn’t have it any other way either. You’ve already shared countless nights together — snoring, arguing, or kissing. If that wasn’t love, then you don’t know what the hell you’ve been doing with her all this time.
And so, since it was now also your 4th month together, you planned to tell her tonight.
-
With a click of your phone, you send a reply to Zuha, reminding her to stay safe on her way home.
She texts back a smiley face with sunglasses and finger guns. “You know it.”
For the 5th time now, she’s had to stay a bit late on campus, so you decided to go ahead and prepare dinner for when she arrived. You run some plates under the faucet after finally setting down tonight’s dinner: a few well-seared cuts of beef, beautiful and silky mashed potatoes, a yogurt bowl with mixed berries for dessert, and a nice bottle of wine you bought on the detour home. Then, as you both ate, you’d tell her you love her. Boom — sparks fly, she’ll tell you she loves you too, and then you’ll be a hero. After dinner, you’d lead her to the couch and bring out your secret weapon to seal the deal: a pint of ice cream and a Disney movie. You hum to yourself, satisfied, as you fold a few of the clean laundry that piled on the corner stool of Zuha’s (and yours) room.
You hear the faint jingle of Zuha’s keys as the door finally swings open. She steps in, this wonderful woman wearing an oversized army green parka over her baggy grey hoodie, loose jorts, and dark leggings that pair with her beat-up sneakers — stylish as always. She pushes her glasses up her nose as she readjusts the strap of her (obviously heavy) duffel bag. Her gaze scans and lands first on the food on the table and then finally on you. Her face beams as her eyes turn into crescent moons of glee, and her nose scrunches for an imperceptible second.
She smiles at you. “Sorry, I’m late.”
Your arm wraps around her waist as your other hand cradles the back of her head. You lean forward and plant your lips on hers. Her arms snake and cross just behind your neck as she leans into you, surrendering to your kiss.
“Mmm, you missed me?” She whispers with a smirk, her eyes shimmering.
“I always do.” You kiss her forehead. “I made dinner.”
“Thank you.” Her fingers run through your hair appreciatively. She pecks you one last time before leaving the embrace to turn around and behold the dinner.
“You’ve always been the better cook.” Zuha shrugs. “Meat and potatoes? What’s the occasion?” She chuckles.
“You tell me.” You smiled as you led her to the table, pulling the chair out and seating her. You pop the wine bottle and fill her glass halfway.
“And wine? Seriously, what’s up with you?” She gasps lightheartedly.
“C’mon, Zuha. It’s our 4th month together.” You tease.
She gulps down an eighth of the wine with wide eyes. “Oh gosh, no, yeah, I knew that!” She smirks with a cocky brow.
“Yeah, so just sit back and let me serve you.” You put the wine off to the side, stab a couple of pieces of the meat, spoon some of the silky spud, and lather the rich demi-glace over the ensemble. You graciously offer the plate up for her judgment.
She picks up her fork and tries the meat. Then the mashed potatoes. Then the meat with the sauce.
“Holy God,” Zuha mutters with a full cheek.
You burst out laughing. “Good?”
She nods vigorously, the strands of her bangs bouncing in unison. “More than good— Christ.”
“Well thank you, Zuha. I appreciate that.”
“No, you! I appreciate you. You have to make this for me all the time.” She scarfs down another bite.
“Zuha, slow down.” You say with a chuckle. You take a bite off your own plate and relish in your recently learned dish (thank God for YouTube). “So how was school?” you continued.
The older woman then goes off on a tangent about how a certain law was amended just yesterday, effectively disassembling the defense they had set up for their next trial. She vouched for her argument’s validity, citing more and more cases you had no knowledge of, and expressed her exasperation with the amendment. How they knew which laws to amend to throw a wrench in Zuha’s defense really irked her.
Despite the obvious anger dormant in her, Zuha glowed. She was passionate, fiercely intelligent, and dedicated. And that’s what you loved — Zuha just being herself.
And so you finally work up the courage.
“…but, it’s fine. That’s the law, I guess. If that’s what the law says, I’ll just have to find another theoretical basis. Which is a lot of work. But, I’ll manage.” Her brows finally ease as she catches herself in the zone. Her gaze rises, cuts your jaw, and meets back with you. She displays a goofy, toothy grin.
“Hey. I love you.”
“What?” Her voice ups in pitch as she abruptly stops chewing.
“I said, I love you.”
Zuha’s mouth hangs slightly open. The faint jazz music from the nearby speakers floats through the dead air.
You chuckle once, slightly nervous. “Zuha, I love you.”
“N-no, yeah. I know, I know you do.”
You chuckle again, a bit weaker now. “Well, I mean…I was expecting something more than ‘I know’.”
“No, I-I do…y’know…” Zuha attempts to complete her sentence but trails off after her stuttering, her disposition now uncharacteristic of the confident woman you met.
“Yeah…” you nod slowly, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. “So can you say it back?”
“What?” Zuha tries to tame her ragged breathing.
“…say you love me?” Unconsciously, your voice verges on a plea now. Your hands cramp and your fingers freeze, desperate to cross the meager distance of a few centimeters toward her clenched hand. “Is it too early for that? Or, am I pressuring you? Is that why you can’t say it yet?”
“No, it’s not that. Look, I do, okay?” She sighs, her gaze now dull and inaccurate, rarely meeting yours. “But I…”
“What’s wrong?”
An inhale. “I’m afraid of saying it…”
“Afraid of saying it? W-why…?”
“Because saying it makes it…”
“Makes it what…?”
“Real.”
The mood vastly changes now. The apartment suddenly has this uncomfortable weight, like a heavy load on your shoulders, and you’re quickly getting exhausted.
Your breathing quickens as your eyebrows finally fall into a furrow. “So this…” You pointed at both of you. “…wasn’t?”
“It’s not like that.”
“So what is it like then?” You whine now, letting go of your cutlery, appetite now obviously extinct.
“I just meant that saying it makes it…official.”
“There it is again, Zuha. So was this all unofficial for you? I mean— what the hell even are we then?”
“We’re…”
“I’ve practically moved out and lived here, Zuha. ” You push back the plate. “Was all this nothing to you?”
“It’s not nothing.” Zuha’s voice finally settles into a whisper.
“We sleep together, we go to class together, we go home together, we do laundry together— Zuha, we buy groceries together. And all this time you’ve been afraid of making it ‘real’? So what is this? W-what’s— What are we doing?” Your forehead crinkles as you gulp, studying her face.
Nothing.
“Did you even know it’s our 4th month together?” You continue, voice shaky now.
She looks away, her face turned to the side, looking toward the different dishes that were drying.
“Zuha.”
Her eyebrows furrow a bit more in response, and her chin trembles slightly. But she doesn’t reply. She looks down instead.
“Kazuha.” You drop her nickname.
She looks up at you, her eyes suddenly now crystal-like with the tears finally building. Her chin wobbles as her bottom lip quivers into a pout. Her eyebrows lose all their pointedness as her gaze is disarmed.
She cries.
Dammit. You immediately scooch your chair out to walk over to her. You lean down and wrap her in an embrace.
“You’re mad.” Her voice is a shaky tantrum as she laments the loss of her nickname. The once cool and sleek woman, now a fragile sobbing mess in your hands. Almost like a child, the older woman whimpers into your chest.
So, you press your lips against her forehead as you try to console her with a few gentle hushes. “No, no, no, I’m sorry. I’m not mad, Zuha.”
“Then why’d you call me Kazuha?” Her lips form a pout again as she looks up at you. Your heart aches as you stare at her.
You breathe out a sigh slowly. “Because I’m serious, Zuha. I need you to talk to me because this matters to me.”
“Okay.” Zuha sniffles a bit, her gaze studying yours, then she finally nods. “But I’m Zuha. I’ll always be Zuha now.” She adds while pounding your chest gently with her clenched fist.
You kiss her forehead a few seconds longer before you part. “Oh, jeez, who’s the child now?” You chuckle softly.
Zuha rolls her eyes as she sniffs, her cheeks are flush and her hair is messy. You carry your chair over to her side of the table so you can now sit in front of her. She dabs a few tissues on her nose and the corner of her eyes before sitting up straight. She tries looking at you, but her eyes wander, failing to hold contact.
You reach over to squeeze her palm. “I’m not mad, Zuha. But I am serious. I need to know now.”
She lets go of a long-withheld sigh. She studies your face, weighing her thoughts and words precisely. “I’m scared because the last time I told someone I loved them, they hurt me. And I never make the same mistake twice, you know that about me. So, I just—“
Her breathing hitches a bit before she’s able to gather herself, her tears now refusing to run down her cheeks.
“I never told you…even if I knew I felt it. I was afraid because if we made things real, then it’d be real enough to hurt me. And I never ever want to get hurt again.” Her brows come together in worry, her head now looking down at her lap.
You ease back in your chair. So she did love you back.
“But…” Zuha starts again. “I’m also afraid because I know you want the real thing. And I think the real thing you see is us staying here together and living our lives here. And I don’t think we can have that because…”
You nod slowly, nervous about what comes next.
“…because I’ve been taking ballet classes again.” Zuha finally confesses. “M-my old ballet school…they’ve always been asking me to come back and try again, saying they’ll save me a spot.”
“Your ballet school…” You murmur. “…in the Netherlands.”
She nods, eyes a bit red from the sobbing, but scanning your face for your reaction, gauging whatever emotions you feel.
“Huh. So all this time you’ve been coming home late…?”
Zuha nods with a nervous bite to her lip, moving slowly toward her duffel bag on the floor. She unzips the bag to pull out her ballet shoes, a faded rose pink with minimal wear — obviously new.
“You’ve been taking ballet for weeks, then.” Your voice comes out weak. Defeated.
“…yes.” Zuha’s voice was weaker and tinier.
You remain quiet for a second. “You told me it was for school, Zuha. You lied.”
“I was gonna tell you, eventually.”
“Zuha—” You speak, voice teetering on annoyed now. You take a small sigh. “When was 'eventually' going to be?”
“I don’t know, alright? I was working up the courage, but then…” She bites her lip. “Loving you made it more complicated.”
“Complicated? How?”
“Because I knew loving you would make the decision harder.”
Oh. The decision.
You finally let go of the weight of the apartment on your shoulders.
“So you’ve decided.” You say, flatly.
“It’s—it’s not like that. You know it’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like, Zuha?” Something was rising in your chest now. You feel your eyebrows furrow and grow heavier, this deep burning feeling churning in your stomach. You scan Zuha, immediately rifling through the numerous details of her face you’ve memorized, hoping — pleading — to have just the faintest idea of what was on her mind. (Looking back, your gaze sharpened that day. She felt it too.)
“I was just looking to try it out...” Her words stumble and trip. “But I can’t really drop school again, and my family’s still staying here, plus I don’t have the money for another apartment and tuition, and I absolutely won’t forgive myself if I force you to come with me. I mean, your parents are here, and I know you don’t want to leave them. I also know you want to set up a clinic here, and I know you’ll be shelling out money you don’t have to try and follow me now. So I don’t…” Zuha racks her brain in the pause but ultimately fails. “…I don’t know.”
You click your tongue on instinct. Zuha winces a bit.
“I’ve always been honest with you, Zuha.” Your anger is slowly cooling now as you feel yourself pull back from the conversation — indifference. Zuha’s eyes suddenly widen as you stand up.
“N-no, wait, hey, please. Don’t leave. Where are you going?”
“I’m not going anywhere, Zuha. I just need to think.”
“No, please, please. I can be more honest with you, please.”
“I know, but…” You sigh out, half hurt, a quarter tired, and on the verge of tears, and a quarter frustrated. “It’s time you’ve been more honest with yourself, Zuha.”
You gather the plates from the table slowly as Zuha sits there. Her puffy eyes stare at you helplessly, watching your every move with a pout on her face. She was desperate to forget all that had happened and just hug you. But she doesn’t. She knows you. You’ve always needed time and space whenever you guys get into a big fight, and she’s always respected that.
You decide to sleep with your back turned to Zuha.
-
Your phone buzzes you awake. 5:45. It’s a Friday.
You try to rise from the bed, but you feel a weight sprawled across your chest. Zuha.
In the toss and turn of the night, her arm was now wrapped around you, gripping your side of the covers tightly. You look down and see a pajama’d leg also interlocked with yours. You sigh as you stare at the top of Zuha’s head, burrowing closer to your side.
“Zuha, I have to go.” You whisper.
She shakes her head.
“Zuha, I need to leave.”
“Please, I’m sorry.”
“Zuha, I meant the clinic.”
Her fingers finally loosen. “Sorry, I thought you meant…”
“Oh, Zuha.” You squeeze her forearm. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.” You urge as you finally stand up. You stride a bit, looking around for your bag before you hear the mattress groan. Zuha snatches your hand, her bare face finding your gaze. Her face remains angelic despite the puffiness around her eyes and the pink hue of the tip of her nose. Her straight hair flows down smoothly, making it hard to decipher whether or not she slept at all or was simply blessed with a higher power’s favor to always wake up perfect. And yet her lips were still in a pout. A weak one, but you know it was there.
“About our conversation last night…”
“It’s fine, Zuha. We can talk about it when you’re ready.” Your eyes wander around her flat, thinking back to your first night, a far cry from the very night you just had.
She reels you in gently, slowly, like you were some boat about to be moored. You resist at first, but let her pull you in an embrace. You stand at the foot of the bed while she kneels to try to stay upright.
While her arms envelop your waist, you kiss her forehead, unsure about whether or not a kiss on the forehead was allowed or if the rules of your and Zuha’s “arrangement” have forbidden that and only allowed for quick hugs and gentle hand presses.
Zuha pulls you downward lightly, kissing you back on your forehead.
-
Five days pass by after that. Scant conversation was all that remained in Zuha’s apartment. A few scattered pecks here and there and a couple of hand squeezes that lingered a little too long also served as words unsaid. You’d sometimes share a brief gaze with Zuha, too, paragraphs and essays of what you wished to say would pour out telepathically, but it never sufficed. The conversation never came.
You’ve been going home more frequently, too. Your parents seemed to understand not to talk to you about it, only settling for small hugs and pats on the back whenever the topic shifted to Zuha or when you thought of her. Your room was never scarce of her, though. On your bedside, you kept a framed picture of Zuha from your 2nd month together, one where her goofy grin was evident, and her nose was scrunched as she watched a movie. The picture helped you sleep soundly.
Did you still love her? Of course. You’ve thought long and hard about dropping everything and going with her to the Netherlands, but it just wouldn’t work. There’s not enough money in your name for a plane ticket, let alone the funds needed to basically start living there. You couldn’t even bear to explain to your parents how your schooling would work. Ultimately, your paths have officially diverged. You know ballet’s a strict sport, and so you know long distance will only delay the inevitable. Heck, it might just cause a larger rift, now that you think about it. You already envision the long arguments over the phone about selfishness, not having enough time for each other, setting priorities, and timezone contradictions that would end in either tears, the “End Call” button, or, as you expertly predict, a breakup.
Now, here you are, finally clocking out of the clinic and walking down that same street toward the train station, dreading the old commute. You pass by the food stands, ignoring the scents and aromas of crackling food over coal heat, and stride faster down the sidewalk. Your eyes wander for a bit until you see Fors. You observe the cafe for a bit. It was busy as ever, catering to the nightlife now.
You see customers exit the establishment with paper bags in hand, and you briefly remember Zuha. Has she eaten? Probably not. You sigh for a moment, but after a couple of backtracks, end up trudging in to buy a croissant anyway. You tuck away the bread neatly and reroute to her apartment.
Up a couple of alleyways and bypass roads, you spot her apartment with the lights still off. Being a quarter past 5, she was still probably at school, packing up last-minute books and notes. And so, you let yourself in.
Zuha’s perfume was comforting. It floated through the apartment so much that you could smell her everywhere. Her apartment was still the same, but one part of the wall in the living room was now bare. You walk over to where the couch is and see an overturned picture frame. You flip it back up to see Zuha, the same picture that got her wide smile as she was locked in a spin. You sigh, staring at the picture — at the woman you love. You stroke your thumb over her cheek as you sigh deeply. You make the decision to hang it back up.
You sit down on the couch now, taking everything in: the smell, the hazy stovetop light, the different plants, and the ballet picture. In the quiet stillness of the apartment, your heart aches loudly. You gulp at the thought of not being able to give Zuha what she wanted, how she had to second-guess her dreams just because she ended up loving you too.
And then you feel it. Your bottom lip trembles.
God, fuck, no, you think to yourself as you shake your head, sniffling harshly to try and stifle the waterworks. You pull out your phone instead, hoping to just doomscroll and bypass emotions flowing out of you. You open up Instagram, only to close it back down. Your thumb shakes, obviously confused at the conflicting stimuli your body and mind seem to both be shouting. You settle on TikTok, but that doesn’t work either.
“Here are 10 simple date night dishes you could make for your—“
You’ve gotta be kidding me, you shout internally. You immediately exit the app, flinging your phone on the opposite end of the couch. You cross your arms for a bit, pinching the bridge of your nose as you sniffle.
But you can’t resist. Your fingers leap out.
You reach over to grab your phone, and you pull up YouTube, scroll for a bit, and find a video. Kitri Variation - Bolshoi Ballet. You hesitate, but something tells you to hit play.
The mix of warm and cool lights spread across the large wooden stage as the audience hushed straggling whispers and phrases. The camera wobbled a bit, zoomed out, but then focused shortly. From what you could see, the theater was grand and large, housing hundreds of red suede seats that surrounded the wide stage in a semi-circle. The stage was tall as it was wide, sporting these huge columns of burgundy curtains that cut the performance into sizable chunks and interludes. With the whole place now settling into quiet, music finally commences. A few booms and crescendos of classical music filled the theater as the strings started to pick up. The plucks and twangs of instruments invited the audience to a trance-like state, focusing on the next performer striding toward the center.
And there she was — Kazuha. Younger, a bit shorter, but with her shining smile still preserved and untouched after all these years. The spotlight cast a graceful shadow on the floor.
After a beat of silence, Zuha erupted in movement. She leaped and pounced and fell and zig-zagged across the stage. Her arms were graceful and strong, and would occasionally whip into shape. She’d perform on pointe, showing off her balanced and calculated lines while maintaining this air of pomp. With a couple of dips and hops, her face came into view. Her adorable face showed off a wide grin as her nose scrunched.
You chuckle softly, the light from your phone illuminating your face and part of the darkness that shrouded the living room, beyond the reach of her lamp in the corner and the kitchen lights. The lights bounce off the tears slowly creeping down your cheek. You laugh helplessly. “Jesus, I look so stupid.”
You keep watching, though.
You chuckle, glassy-eyed, as Zuha flitted through the stage with a smile, visions of the time you spent with her flooding your mind. You remember the smirks she’d make or the glares she’d produce. Hell, you remember her laugh whenever she had to take care of you when you were too sick to function.
As the music finally kicked up a notch, signaling a climax in the performance, Zuha fell into a series of fouetté turns, rotating on one leg while her other leg whipped around to propel her.
And she spun.
The video ended with roars of applause and cheers as Zuha took a small bow at the end before retreating offstage.
You put the phone down to finally wipe some of the tears running down the corner of your eyes, sniffling weakly as you groan out a laugh. The tremble in your lip slowly starts to settle. You lean back on the headrest, your stare landing on the apartment ceiling. You rest your puffy eyes before slowly drifting off to sleep, clutching the Fors paperbag close to you.
-
The next thing you know, you hear your name.
“Hey.”
Your eyes shift for a bit, discerning reality from sleep.
You feel a poke on your cheek.
“Have you been here long?” You open your eyes to see Zuha staring right back at you, her arm atop the sofa headrest, her eyes wide as she observes. She wore a plain white t-shirt paired with some high-waisted jeans — a casual day at school, it seemed.
You’re groggy, but you take a quick glance at the time. 7:12.
“I guess so.” You whisper as Zuha adjusts when you finally sit up.
“Hey, your eyes.” Her hand travels upward to cup your cheek. “Have you been crying?”
You shake your head minutely. “I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong?” Her eyes fall down toward your unlocked phone. On her video. On the hanging ballet portrait.
You scan the emotions running through Zuha. She stalls for a bit, digesting in silence. Then a sigh.
“Could you tell I was nervous?” She nods toward your phone.
“No, not at all.”
“Well, I was. My knees trembled before and after I got on that stage. Puked a couple times, too.”
“You were incredible, Zuha. You’ve always been incredible.”
She smiles subtly. Her eyes were puffy as well.
“Hey, listen—“
“You should do it.” You cut her off.
“What?”
“The Netherlands.”
“You want me to…go?”
“Yes. And I know you never really meant to ask for my permission, Zuha.” You cup her face. “But, I’m sure you’d still be a heck of a lawyer if you decide to come back, though.”
She briefly bites her lip, processing what you just said.
“You never had to lie to me, you know? I don’t want you to think for a second that I would have stopped you from going back to ballet. I’ve seen the way your eyes light up whenever we talk about it. You also know I’ve caught you watching your old videos before.”
Her head droops, but you lift it back up gently. You smile through the blade of her eyes.
“Look, I love you, Zuha. Not just the idea of being with you.” You rub a stray tear away from her eye. “And if loving you means you have to go away…” You bite the corner of your lip slightly as you nod. “Then that’s fine. My love stays the same.”
You try to slow time, but only muster up the power to stop the physical environment. Clocks halt, cars brake, stars stall. But not Zuha. Zuha breathes slowly as she locks eyes with you.
“I love you too,” she speaks in a whisper, getting shy at the overdue reply. “Oh God, I love you. I’m in love with you. You have my whole heart.” Her eyes are stunted waterfalls as she pouts up at you, finally baring herself wholly to you. This was Zuha — not the ballerina, not the lawyer, not the daughter. Just Zuha.
She gasps, revitalized by newfound oxygen, as if saying I love you back was a long, foreign feeling to her lips that she’s finally found again.
She inhales more now. “Gosh, I love you, and I’m sorry for lying to you— for going behind your back, for coming home late, and for not telling you. I-I should have told you because I owe that to you. Because I shouldn’t hurt you. Because I love you.”
You sniff back a sob, but you ultimately nod. “Zuha, I already forgave you the morning after you finally told me. I only wish you'd been more honest with me. I would have understood, y’know?” Her eyebrows crease, but you kiss the top of her head, whispering into her hair as you hold her close. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, you big baby.”
She rubs her eyes with the back of her wrists, chuckling stupidly as she realizes how her puffy eyes and tantrum must have looked: childish. She grins as her nose scrunches, but she wills it away.
“You don’t have to keep hiding that.” You flick your thumb lightly at her forehead. “Just…grin whenever you want to, laugh whenever you want to, do ballet whenever you really want to.”
A slight pout from her as she breathes out.
“The Zuha I know doesn’t need permission from anyone,” you continue.
She scoffs it off faintly with a shake of her head. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m serious, y’know. There’s a Zuha inside you that’s tough and enduring.” You slide a part of her locks behind her ear. “Not like Lawyer Kazuha. No, this Zuha is even tougher. This Zuha’s been tough for a very long time. And she doesn’t care what other people think. At least, that’s what she hopes for. Because deep down, she’s sweet. She’s warm. She laughs. She adores sleeping in. But she hides these things by being tough, thinking that letting them slip through the seams means weakness.” You take her face into your palms. Your thumb grazes her cheeks slowly. “But it’s not. I’ve seen her let go and just be herself. And in all of those moments, I’ve always thought of how tough she is, tough enough to laugh and be foolish and joke at her own expense. Tough enough to be vulnerable and to keep chasing passions despite the things she’s gone through in life. Tough enough to allow herself to scrunch her nose.” You tap the end of her nose gently.
“I love you.” She says in a low whisper. “And I missed you.”
You chuckle. “I know, Zuha. I love you, and I missed you, too.”
She buries her face into your chest as you wrap her in a small embrace, inhaling your scent as you breathe. Her hand reaches up from her side toward you, but she accidentally hits the paper bag.
“That for me?” Zuha’s face suddenly beams, like the tears that had just fallen were inconsequential to the now more important matter: bread.
“It’s for us, you selfish girl.” You chide as you prop yourself up on the couch to open the bag, pulling out the two croissants and placing them both on a plate of Fors tissue paper. “It’s still fresh…” You poke a floppy part in Zuha’s croissant. It doesn’t bounce back. “…you can have mine instead.”
Her nose scrunches for longer now. She gives a grin, flashing off her pearly whites, before opening her mouth.
“What?” You ask.
Her eyebrows furrow as she pouts, her cheeks rounding out her face. She points to her mouth wordlessly, almost cartoonishly impatient.
“Jeez, you really must have missed me if you’re acting like that.” You set aside your own croissant to focus on Zuha’s. She hums lightly as she opens up once again.
“Feed me both croissants, and I’ll show you how else I’ve missed you.”
-
The reuniting kiss with Zuha is all tongue, teeth, and tension. Her hands immediately trail upwards to crumple the hairs on the back of your head, pushing you towards her mouth. She releases a sloppy, hot exhale as your lips separate, sounding off whenever both of you reposition. You feel her pushing against you, pressing her lips further and further, licking, sucking, and sometimes biting.
“Zuha, wait.”
“Mmph. Fuck no.” She straddles you now, both hands on the sides of your face as she makes you look up at her. Her thumb presses lightly on your chin, making your jaw push back and opening your mouth.
Then she spits inside.
“Oh, fuck.” You wheeze out as you drink the warm saliva Zuha just produced.
“You like that?” A husky whisper.
You nod profusely.
She dives back in to make out with you and then pulls back again to spit more in your mouth. Zuha repeats this for a while, roughly rocking against your clothed crotch. A chorus of names and whispers fills the small apartment, the church-like atmosphere accentuated by the warm orange glow of a lamp off to the side. This was worship and sacrilege at the same time — you gnashed teeth, spoke in tongues, and sought salivation.
“Ugh!” You groan out as Zuha pulls back on your hair sharply, your head slamming back on the sofa. Her arms wrap around your head as she looks down on you, her wavy hair draping downward. With vigor, Zuha grinds her hips in a circle, sliding against your stiff member, her eyes watching your every reaction.
“Oh—oh fuck, yes.” Her mouth forms an “O” as she gasps your name, her breath colliding with yours. She moans into your mouth, holding you close, teasing you with a kiss, but only ever gracing you with light brushes against your lips.
Zuha suddenly rips your hands off her slim waist, lowering them down to her ass, the roundness of her cheeks ever felt through her tight denims. You squeeze courteously as you both moan in unison. You hear your name and other profanities spill forth from her mouth, her words slurring and seething as she desperately sated herself on dry humping you.
You inhale quickly as you abruptly stand up, carrying her lithe body as she clings onto your shoulders. “Mmm, room time?”
“Fucking do me on the kitchen counter.” She breathes out.
You shove your tongue into her mouth as you march over toward the kitchen. You hear the separate thuds of Zuha’s heels fall to the floor as she tightens her legs around you. With restraint, you finally withdraw from her lips (Zuha’s tongue was quite persuasive) and plop her down on the tiled countertop just beside her small rice cooker as you work on unbuttoning her jeans. Zuha leans back as she bites her lip, her gaze a blade waiting for your next move. You finally slide her pants off, revealing the smooth skin of her hips, her round, muscly thighs, and the wet spot on her light-colored panties. You take a deep whiff of her scent, the salty, sweaty, heady musk invading your nostrils, making your cock flex painfully. You release a rugged breath as you help Zuha lift her ass to slide off her panties. You consider fucking her there and then, but you fall to your knees and succumb to your baser desires.
You give her shaven pussy a long experimental lick.
Zuha squeals out at the surprise. “Oh God, yes, yes, I needed this, too. Oh, I need you so much.”
You hook your arms around her thighs, falling into the usual motions of routine. She was atop, in all her sexy glory, and you were down there once more, adoring and venerating the wet folds before you. You keep up a consistent stroke, tonguing and licking her clit as you rub two fingers across her splayed pussy. You alternate a few times, kissing her sex and licking the inside of her meaty thighs, watching Zuha groan or mewl depending on where your tongue dared to go. After a few more licks, you switch to a slower pace while sucking on her nub. Her leaking juices drip down the grooves of her crotch and the crevice of asscheeks, making the rim of her ass glisten. Zuha moans out slower now, her chest rising and falling as the tempo shifts. You coat your index and middle finger with her liquids before slowly entering her warmth.
“Jesus, fuck!” She nods as you look up at her, her right hand confused whether to tense and pull on your hair or ease and grip the back of your neck.
She opts for the former.
Your scalp stings, but the joy of pleasing Zuha far outweighs any pain she inflicted. You trail your fingers from her pussy and down to her tight rim. She squeals in surprise as you lose count of how much your name has been recited this night. With careful entry, you breach her tight asshole. A different kind of warmth wraps your fingers now — a hotter and tighter muscle, so paradoxical it keeps you inside when you want to pull out but eagerly sucks you back in when you want to penetrate. Zuha quickly verges on her release, the stimulation of all her holes making her legs twitch and squirm on your shoulders. Her voice picks up in pitch now as she closes her eyes in pent-up libido, her brows harshly furrowing and pointing to her ceiling, her hair flowing wildly with some sticking to her neck and forehead sweat. Bringing your other hand into play, you lick on her swelling clit as you finger both her holes.
“Motherfucker!— I’m yours, I’m all yours. Take me, make me cum. Please!” She runs her fingers through her own hair, her body twitching and her breath ragged as she locks you deeper between her legs.
With a final rub of your thumb on her clit, she cums. Wasting no time, you immediately get to work slurping up her pussy lips as her orgasm continues. You indulge in the tangy, salty mix of sex and love Zuha was offering, licking in long vertical strokes, making sure to cover wherever you haven’t covered yet. Her twitches die down slowly as her high subsides. Your tongue ventures lower again, reaching her puckered rim as you eat her out gently, matching her easing sighs and exhales, helping her return to baseline. Her eyes finally catch your gaze, staring at you and the highly obscene act you were committing.
“You feel good?” You whisper as you kiss the inside of her legs before rising up from the tiled floor.
Her arms wrap around your neck to pull you in. “So much fucking better now.” She whispers before smiling to kiss your cheek. She exhales deeply, angling your head to the side to kiss your neck sweetly.
You reach the smooth line of her back, fingers running up and down to feel her body, toned with constant discipline but curvy enough to grip and squeeze erotic flesh. You help remove the white t-shirt and throw it across the room. Zuha does the same, trailing her hand up from your abdomen and to your pecs before pulling your shirt off. Her palm briefly brushes your hardened nipples. You wince unexpectedly.
“Still sensitive?” She coos sweetly.
You chuckle and nod.
Her plotting eyes stare at you, a trance-like gaze taking over now, as she brings her hands to your shoulder blades, making you puff out your chest. Without breaking eye contact, she lowers her head to lick your nipple.
“Zuha.” You seethe through gritted teeth.
“Hm?” She continues to lick, spreading saliva around the areola. She licks the other one now, wrapping her lips around to suckle gently.
“Oh fuck, Zuha.”
“What is it?” Her head moves with each long lick, positioning and repositioning her tongue to get better angles. She releases the bud from her mouth to look up at you. “C’mon, tell me.” Her voice is a raspy whisper now.
“That feels good.” You wince out.
“What does?” She licks counterclockwise on your areola, avoiding the center. “This?” The flat of her tongue travels across your nipple.
“Or…” Zuha pulls back a bit. “…this?” She wraps her mouth around your whole nipple, her steaming mouth suckling while her tongue flicks the hardened tip.
“Gah, fuck! Y-Yes, Zuha, both. Both feel good.” Your brain processes the electricity traveling down your chest and up your spine. You were ticklish, but you felt yourself leaning in closer to Zuha.
Expertly, you feel her legs leave your lower back as her feet stop at the waistband of your boxers. She continues the assault on your sensitive bud, all while pushing your underwear downward, releasing your flexing shaft.
You let out an impressed chuckle. “Um…”
“Ballet.” Zuha boasts with a strange mixture of horny pride evident in her voice as she speaks.
You comply, kicking the boxers away, your rod now level with her steaming pussy. With her other hand riding up your chest, her fingers roll your left nipple as her mouth latches onto the right. You squirm slightly, the warmth of her tongue slathering across your pebbling nip, as you grip the overhead handles of the cupboards. Her right hand sneakily slips in between your bodies, tracing down your abdomen and finally to your hard cock. You jolt forward on instinct, roughing your erection along Zuha’s palm. She giggles sweetly, her breath betraying how amused she is at the situation. She stops licking your chest for a bit to spit on her hand before returning it to your impatient shaft. She coats the length with her spit and works you, twisting and pulling along, her thumb glossing over the slightly reddened tip.
“God, it was always so fucking big.” She leans in, a hand on the back of your head, pulling you closer. Your foreheads touch now, your breaths colliding as her chest rises and falls. Her vanilla-scented hair was a mess, covering most of her features, but she made sure you could see her face in open-mouthed pleasure. She jerks you off for a couple more minutes, matching each moan you make with her own, before rubbing your cockhead against her slick entrance. You both groan simultaneously. You take the hint and prop both Zuha’s arms around your neck as you step in closer, palm guiding the tip, aiming at her core. You push your shaft a few times, the underside rubbing the ridge of her pussy lips, coating and lubricating it, teasing her in the process.
“Please.” She whimpers.
“Begging?” You chuckle, surprised. “That’s new.”
“Shut up. I’ve just been really needy…” She whispers, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
“No, no, I like it. It’s hot.” You give her a peck, once on the lips and once on the forehead.
“Fuck me then. Please.”
With a long stroke, you thrusted in. She cries out with a whip of her head, hitting the hanging cupboards with a thud.
“Shit!” Zuha laughs through the blunder, planting a kiss on your lips to keep the mood going. Her arms hook speedily around your neck as her legs interlock just at the small of your back.
“Careful.” You hiss through the kisses you trailed along the side of her jaw. You grip her waist as you thrust forward, fucking her against the cupboards more carefully now. You pull back to feel your length smoothly retreat from her tight groin, her heat contrasting with the temperature of her apartment. You slowly push back in, drawing out a long moan from Zuha, her brows furrowing as she shuts her eyes.
“Yes, yes, fill me— God.” She cries out, her nails scratching and gripping your traps as her shins push you forward. You tighten your hold on her sides, squeezing and bruising her waist, your digits digging into her curves. You fuck her deep and strong, leaning into your strokes as you show her how much you missed her. You hear her walls squelch around your cock with every entry, lubing up and down your meat. The sound is erotic, your bodies the instruments, her cries the accompaniment.
Zuha is tight and accepting, but also combative — she would bite your earlobe, pull on your hair, or scratch the line of your back. When your lips strayed too far, she’d pull you back in. When you’d deviate from the angle she likes, she’d lock her legs tighter. It was a struggle for control, really — a competition to show who’s missed the other more, and you’ve definitely missed her.
And so you slow down abruptly, shocking Zuha.
“W-what are you—“
“Ballet, right?” You grip her full thigh, shifting her right leg to prop it on your shoulder, pulling her body toward you in the process. She jerks forward with a deep groan as you remain locked inside her, her body finally angling sideward to accommodate the new position. You pressed against her deeper now, the position granting you new grounds to explore.
“Oh fuck— oh fuck, you’re so deep…” Zuha’s moans come from her diaphragm now. “You’re so deep in me. Oh God, oh God yes, yes.”
You take a look at her thighs, how perfectly succulent they are, inheriting the roundness from her ass as it tapers off to her sexy, toned legs. Her calf rests on the left side of your head as your cock spears her in twain. You were in the middle of it all, bearing witness to Zuha’s undoing. Her head rests against the tiled kitchen wall with her arms spilled over past the rice cooker and sink, steadying and gripping with all her ability.
You place a hand on the knee atop your shoulder, simultaneously reaching down to palm her exposed breast. You start slow at first with experimental strokes, feeling out the new angle and Zuha’s novel tightness. You allow her left leg to hang free in the space between your legs, finally giving you the most amount of access you could have, driving your midriff and groin flush against the inside of her thigh.
“Holy fuck.” Zuha whimpers.
“Are you okay?” You gulp, sweat dripping down your forehead.
“You’re splitting me. You’re hitting me so deep. Oh shit— Christ!” Zuha doesn’t even stare at you now. Her lids remain closed, brows scrunched in permanent euphoria.
You tighten your hold on her wanton thigh while rolling her hardened nip between your fingers. With every mewl and cry, you thrust back deeper into Zuha, analyzing the subtle changes in her face and expression, evaluating how you could switch up every pound, every rail into her greedy sex. Your cock strains each time you thrust, the tense muscle invading her warm walls repeatedly, driving itself to find release.
“Jesus, I could fuck you like this every day.” You release a quick exhale.
“Shit, yes, please. I want that, oh fuck I want that.”
“Yeah? You want me to fuck you like this every day, Zuha? You wanna be bent over, split in half, every time, hm?” You pick up the pace.
“God, yes!” She yelps now.
“Mhm, yeah? You want me to pound away at you, while you just take it? You want me to just fuck you over every surface in this apartment?” You time your thrusts right, creating a rhythm from the constant thud on the cupboards.
Zuha grips you, nails digging into your forearm, as you rough your way into her, your cock pulsing eagerly, hitting just the right spots to have her droning on and on with an incohesive hum.
“Answer.” You whisper low, a hand coming down to slap her ass cheek.
“Yes! Please, oh please…”
“Yeah, I bet you’re gonna miss me when you’re in the Netherlands, huh? You want me to fuck you there, too, hm? Fuck you all around your small flat just before class? Fuck you until you leak cum while you’re practicing?”
“Y-yes!— Fuck, fuck, fuck, I want that, please. It’s you, it’s you, I only want you, it’s so different when it’s you. Shit— I need you and this fucking cock of yours. Oh fuck! My fingers aren’t enough, please.” She pleads, whispering rapidly.
“You only want me, huh?”
“Oh God, yes, I only want you...” Zuha gulps, her breathing now ragged and exhausted. “J-just— Come with me to the Netherlands. I can’t take it when you’re not here. Come fuck me there, too.”
The words stumble from Zuha’s lips unintentionally. Was she delirious? Maybe. Her slurred speech definitely didn’t help her case. You’re stunned, so you suddenly miss a beat, breaking the rhythm. But hearing her only wanting you made you grind harder, so you compensate on your next pump. You rub a particular spot, which makes Zuha twitch accidentally, her vice walls clamping around your meat. You lurch forward to steady yourself, your chest rising and falling.
“Fuck it. I’ll follow you all around the world just to have you like this.” Your fingers gloss over her trim thigh muscle, gripping her skin tightly as you plough over and over again. She winces a bit as your digits sink deeper into her curves. “Bent. Twisted. Gripped. Chased. Owned.”
“I-I’m yours. I’m yours…”
Having had enough of splitting her in half sideways, you ease up on the pistoning of your hips. You gently lower Zuha’s shin off of your shoulder, putting her leg down, allowing her to regain her balance gracefully, all while you remain hilted in her. The corkscrew sensation of her slick sends tingles through your thighs as you groan out softly. Zuha now grips the countertop while she’s bent over, her hair flowing down her bare back, apple-shaped ass fully exposed and impaled. You push the remaining length of your meat in her, gripping and bringing her waist up as you press against her back. Zuha leans her head on your shoulder.
“Hey.” She whispers.
“Yeah?” You whisper back.
“Say you love me...”
“I-I love you, Zuha.” You thrust once.
She bites her lip in the process of suppressing a moan. She rolls her hips slowly. “Again.”
“G-God— I love you, Zuha.” You pull back only to slam back in firmly.
“You…wha—what do you…What do you love about me?” Her eyes close as she cries out.
“Well…I love your neck.” You lick the length of her neck up to her earlobe. You grip her waist tighter, fingers ridging on the sleek lines of her abs. You thrust once. This makes her whimper and hiss.
“I love your tits.” You cup around to the front and take her breasts in both your hands. “How they feel, how soft they are, how hard your nipples can be.” You run your fingers across the sensitive peaks as you ram it in her again. She emits a shaky moan.
“I love this ass of yours.” You bring a palm down hard, striking the pound of flesh. A mix of a gasp and a scream falls from her mouth, her body in a rigid arch as you support her from behind. “Love how huge it is, how round your cheeks are when I cup it, and how tight it can be.” You reach down with your thumb, making a circle motion at the rim of her ass, teasing entrance and reaping the sounds Zuha makes.
“And I love your pussy.” You hold her sides once more before giving a shallow thrust. “You grip me so well, so hot and tight around my cock like this. Love how much you’re leaking all over me, how good you take me each time.”
Zuha hisses, sucking air. “Yes-yes-yes, I’ll take all of you.”
You finally thrust hard and quick, your thighs banging repeatedly on the base cabinet doors. Zuha lurches forward when you go faster, holding tighter on whatever she can grip, her body being pushed and pulled by the force of your rod poking her insides.
“God, yes, you do me so good, you do me so fucking good.” Her lips are filthy, speaking ill and cursing.
You bottom out over and over again, pressuring her velvety walls as you thrust to the hilt each time. The sound of skin and flesh slapping against each other intoxicates you, riling you to keep going. You look downward, eyes trailing from the line of her back, to your lubricated length — it was hypnotic seeing her pussy lips spreading to accommodate your length and girth, how each push forward sends your meat disappearing deeper within her body. You slap an asscheek. The plump curve jiggles at the contact.
“Jesus Christ, Zuha, you’re amazing.” The bumps and bangs of your legs on her kitchen cabinets have surely annoyed some of Zuha’s neighbors, but you don’t care. Back and forth, her body meets yours precisely, a moan clawing its way out of her throat each time you penetrate. But the pleasure eventually reaches an apex. You feel her walls clamp on you tighter. She hums and mumbles incoherently, desperately attempting to fill the silence and verbalize the torrent of feelings passing through her. She’s close.
“You gonna c-cum?” You wheeze out.
“I’m gonna fucking cum again.”
“Shit, okay, okay, just hold it! I’m close—“
“Fuck, please!” She begs, her tone coming out a little harsher than she intended. Zuha’s hand grips the back of your head as she angles her face sideward. Her tongue surges into your mouth in between dirty whispers. “Just cum with me, please. Oh God, I can’t take it— Please, cum with me.”
You pound away at Zuha, her cheeks bouncing and recoiling as you railed her harder. Her head lurches forward weakly, consciousness slipping as you prolonged her edge. You close your eyes to feel more of her, how her wet pussy wraps each inch of your length, how each texture sparks a sound from Zuha, how warm you’d be if you just stay planted inside. Your breathing quickens as you feel the coil deep within you.
“Z-Zuha! I-I’m—“
“Yes! Yes! Oh my God, yes!” Zuha lets herself go. “T-Tell me you love me!”
“What?—“ You’re confused, but your thrusts are on autopilot.
“Tell me you love me…When you cum, tell me you love me.”
This spurs you on. “Shit! I-I love you— Holy fuck!— I love you, I love you so fucking much…” Your fingers dig into her sides as you pursue a deeper stroke.
She winces. “Oh fuck, right there, yes, yes, I love you, I love you…”
The tension in your core finally shatters as you orgasm vehemently. You burst deep between her twitching legs and her grasping cunt. You cum forcefully, sending off copious ropes of your seed, painting her insides white. You groan weakly, repeating her name like a hymn or prayer a devotee would voice whenever their faith was tested or whenever they fell to their knees to sing praise. You hump at Zuha erratically, groaning as you dump everything you had inside her, an offering to the temple that is her body.
Zuha’s voice is gone at this point. She cums, a silent gasp in the sea of hair splayed on her face. She twitches and jerks occasionally, the onslaught of orgasm writhing out of her in surges. Her voice reaches a new pitch, exhales leaving her in short, vulnerable bursts. Her slick flows down your length, her walls clamping down on you as she rides her high. You hold her closer, hugging her as she pushes and shudders back, desperate to keep your length breached and wedged in her pussy.
The burden of the orgasm — the best orgasm you’ve both had, ever — finally dissipates for both of you. You wobble forward, hugging Zuha’s slim body as you lay your weight slightly on her. Zuha steadies both your bodies by propping her arms on the counter. Your palms trail down her arms to hold her hands. Your breathing syncs up as your forehead touches her back, just a few inches before her nape. You remain hilted, your cock still warm.
“Well.” She breaks the silence.
“Yeah?” You kiss a spot on the midpoint of her spine.
“Probably can’t get to ballet class tomorrow.”
You chuckle as you stand closer. Her walls squeeze slightly at the minuscule movement. You kiss up to the back of her head now, smooching her hair, then to her ear, then to her cheek. Her round eyes land on you, her stare dull, disarmed, diminished — glazed with the afterglow of sex, but made soft with a deep lingering affection — affection you can now confidently name love.
“You alright?” You laugh gently as you softly bump your head on hers.
“Never been better.” She gives you a peck. “So that’s what it took for you to fuck me like that, huh?”
“Shut up.” You chuckle. You pull out of her walls, a moan coming out of her as you depart. “Could’ve told me you loved me sooner if you wanted it that bad.” You say with a small smack of her thigh.
She gasps in fake hurt. “You diss me as you pull out? I rescind my declaration then.” Zuha turns around slowly, still leaning on the counter for stability. “Plus, I’m the one usually surprising you when we fuck— Oh, sorry. When we make love.” She chides. Zuha leans back, the light catching her angle and casting subtle shadows across her body. Her tall, athletic frame is made a thousand times better by the fact that she is still fully naked. Her toned and sculpted midriff is completely on display, the result of consistent training and commitment, creating the prominent lines you were gawking at. You make a mental note to ravish them later.
“Gosh, you’re really sexy.” You blurt.
A grin appears. Her nose scrunches for longer now, crescent eyes accenting the dimples on her cheeks as she laughs. She lightly punches your shoulder, but quickly reels you back in by the forearm. She wraps herself around you, your forearms tangling around her neck in an embrace. “You’re sweet.”
You kiss her crown lightly, whispering slowly. “You’re beautiful.”
She sighs, her gaze studying you, a stiletto point threatening to pierce, but no cuts come. She sheathes the blade, a pout surfacing in its place. “I’ve always…loved…that about you.” Her lips linger on the word “love”, its utterance a paradox between novel and natural. She says it carefully, like setting down delicate china you bring out only once in a while — fragile and vulnerably open to destruction. “The way you’d just tell me things. Me. The things you say are to me, and not just to who I think I am or who I think I should be. To Zuha.”
You smile lightly at the nickname you gave her. “Zuha suits you better. Plus, I don’t know you any other way.” You scramble around her kitchen, wearing your boxers and shirt, piling up garments, and gathering other flung articles of clothing (Zuha’s panties landed on a plant).
“Wouldn’t want it any other way, either.” Zuha raises her arms in a stretch, her abs and back muscles flex as she wrings out the (s)exhaustion from her system. She walks by you, giving you a light peck on the cheek before sashaying into the bathroom.
You stride down the hall and back into her room, the place where it all began. The space was the same, except her sheets were pink now, a more lush color compared to the pastel blue you had lain on that first night. You dump the pile in the basket and tidy up some more scattered socks and pants. On Zuha’s side of the bed, propped up on her end table and adjacent to her earrings, you see a new, smaller picture frame: you. A picture of you on your 3rd date with Zuha. You were holding two large paper bags of groceries, vegetables, and cartons peeking out the top. Hooked on your elbows were more bags — one with paper towels, another with soap and sponges. And in your mouth, wedged between your teeth, was a Fors croissant. You chuckle once as you adjust the frame.
“I think that’s when I realized I was falling in love with you.”
You turn around to see Zuha adjusting her pajamas, her shirt clinging to her slim frame, wet hair tied in a high bun, a towel hanging from her shoulder. She gives a small smile before hooking the towel off to the side of the door.
“But this was when…” You start.
“Mhm. Barely a week since we started dating.” She kicks around a loose carpet tuft. “I guess I’ve loved you since then.”
She shifts around awkwardly, but continues. “Hey, about that night you told me you loved me.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t even think for a second that I hesitated because I wasn’t serious with you— with us.”
“I know.”
“Good. Because I was. I am. I just…I was just scared.”
“I know, Zuha. I know you were. But I appreciate you telling me. Thank you.”
“Okay, good,” she says with a nod.
Zuha gracefully moves over toward the bed, shifting the sheets and making space for you. She sits, propping her back on the headboard, and brings the covers up to her knees, eagerly waiting for you.
You comply, scooching beside her and leaning back similarly. She lays her head on your shoulder, her gaze only pointing straight ahead.
“Did you mean it?’ You ask.
“Mean what?” She asks back.
“You wanting me to come with you. To the Netherlands. Or was that just…sex?”
A deep inhale, then a long sigh. “Of course I want you to come with me.” Her voice is smaller now, knees locking closer, and fingers gripping tighter. “I could barely handle you not coming home, not coming to me. How much more could I take being so far away from you?”
You take note of the new tone in Zuha’s voice. There is this strong vulnerability to her now, and her honesty only serves to strengthen her person, not weaken her fortitude. Her posture is small, but her heart is larger now. Long past inhibitions about baring so-called “weaknesses”, acknowledging strong emotions, and leaving ample space to be herself have now been dissolved.
“Oh, God, I want to come with you too. But I really can’t just up and leave my parents, Zuha. I barely have enough to help with rent if I do come with you.” The reality resurfaces and weighs on both of you. Zuha still had to leave, and you still had to stay.
“I know.” She mumbles.
You put an arm around her as she tucks her head on your chest, nearer your chin.
“But I don’t want to break up.” She murmurs against your shirt.
“I don’t want to, either.”
“Do we really have to choose?” A quiet whine leaves her lips.
“We might have to.” You rub her shoulder, tracing circles on her soft skin.
“If we do…break up,” Her voice cracks a bit, but she recovers with a sniffle and a cough. “I’d rather we do it on good terms now and not down the line when we’re at each other’s throats or over the phone.”
You exhale gently. “I’d rather have that too.”
You two stay silent for a while.
“Do you want to break up?” A whisper from Zuha so small you think twice about hearing it. She doesn’t look at you.
“Never.” You whisper, too. You stare at the back of her head and the curve of her cheek, her lashes moving as she blinks.
Zuha suddenly sits up, propping her palms flat on your chest, head looking toward you now. The blade returns to her eyes, lamp light glinting off her gaze. “So we don’t. We never will.”
“Can you do long distance?”
“I will if it’s you.”
“What happens if we both get busy? And we fight? And we lose time for each other?”
“I’d still want you.”
“Be realistic, Zuha.”
“I am.” Do you still feel the cuts of her gaze? You do. Swift slices of her pupils gash your arms, neck, and lips. She shakes her head with a sigh. “I’d still want you. The same awkward, speaking-to-windows, lukewarm-coffee-loving, nerd in scrubs. We can make it work.” Her hand cups your cheek now, minuscule lights like flecks sprinkle her pupils — tears.
You lean your head into her palm, savoring the warmth of her skin stroking your face.
She takes a gulp. “If we get busy, then we get busy. If we fight, then we fight. If we lose time, then we lose it. But, I’m still coming back to you.”
You shift on the bed a bit, linking your arms around her neck, allowing Zuha to put her chin on your chest. Her body lies on top of yours as she stares up at you while hugging your torso. You breathe slowly with her.
“Zuha, I’m still coming back to you, too. But I don’t want to lose time for you. I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t want to see us that way.”
“I don’t want to, either! But I’d rather have that than not have you at all.”
“Oh, Zuha.” You take her face in your hands, thumbs adjusting stray hairs and tucking it behind her ear.
“No! You can’t— Don’t do that. Don’t ‘Oh, Zuha’ me.” She veers her head away from your grasp, eyes staring at you for a beat. She bites her lip, stifling a sob. “I just got you back…” She chokes up, a free tear sliding down the side of her cheek.
You hush her gently as you bite back a sob of your own. “I know, Zuha. I know.”
“And don’t—“ She gulps, trying to find the words. “Don’t think I’m childish for finally wanting something for myself, enough to be selfish about it— enough for me to throw tantrums over it like a stupid kid.”
“Zuha, I would never.”
“I just…” Her brows furrow as she looks up. “Why can’t I have what I want?” Her face vanishes into your chest, tears soaking your shirt as you rub her shoulder blades.
She cries.
There it is: the plea Zuha has just breathed into existence. A whine in the face of the world. A conniption so ego-tistical, so selfish, and so immature, it’s childlike.
And so you respond in kind.
You stiffen up your upper lip, extinguishing the bawl attempting to bubble and rise. You grab her palm, urging her to look up at you. “Fuck it. Let’s do it. Let’s just give it a shot.”
-
“…and you’ve got your room key?”
“I do.” You tap your chest, feeling the keycard you slipped into your breast pocket earlier.
“Passport?”
You show your phone camera a slim browned-leather keeper. “I have it here, Mom.”
“Extra money?” Your dad pipes up now.
“Enough for dinner and a cab back to the hotel.”
“Good man.”
“Do you have enough data for your maps?” Your mom stutters now, the nerves evident in the shakiness of her question.
“I’m not that dumb, guys. I got this.” A chuckle leaves you.
“Alright. Just be safe, and come home safe. Good luck.” With a sigh, your parents slowly let you go. The phone clicks off.
Now, finally, on to the agenda. The show had just finished, with droves of people moving across the wide theater lobby, walking briskly to wherever their plans tell them to go. The carpeted floor effectively muffles the numerous footfalls, isolating only the sounds of conversation. Hushed words fly, whispers creep, and voices adjust. You remain silent, though, this stalwart constant standing still in the blur. A few shoulders whip past you, polite apologies making their way into your ears as compensation. A few adjustments to your gait and stride, and you’re all good. Nothing could really ruin your mood now.
You spot an empty bench in the atrium, this comforting spot illuminating to ease the aches of pacing. The sleek padded cushion groans, catching your full weight as you lean back to stretch. Your legs are crossed as you check the time. 8:22. You could stay a few more minutes. Or hours. You just had to know.
And so you go through the routine of anybody who’s socially awkward and unfortunate enough to be stuck in a public place: check your phone, stare at the ceiling, go to the bathroom (without actually peeing), and then back to the phone. It’s a cycle, really. A cycle you’re very much proud of, because you’ve gotten quite good at appearing like a normal person on the outside. A few pretend phone calls? Amazing play. Pseudo-interest in the shows playing next week and all the minute details of their posters? Absolutely masterful.
Did you appear like a person who knew what they were doing and not someone wandering around, grasping at straws, clawing at a glimmer of a slim chance? You hope so. Did they notice you awkwardly pacing and going up and down the hall? That’s not the point. The point is to masquerade as someone who’s not…afraid.
In truth, the pit in your stomach is growing. Afraid of what, exactly? Well, nothing, to a degree. You were afraid to find out that you flew exactly 5330 miles, gulped through the jet lag, lugged bags across stations, navigated across language barriers, and fumbled through faux pas, for nothing. Not even for a glimpse, a sideways glance, or a chat. You were worrying that, because of the past years of being broken up, and despite constantly grinding to make your own, striving to complete internships, acing departmental exams, and graduating with flying colors, it would all have been for nothing. You guys would still end up as nothing.
Why couldn’t you have what you want?
You slump on the bench, your unkempt appearance, tousled hair, and untucked shirt now obviously inappropriate for the formal setting and the more well-dressed theater goers leaving the maroon-carpeted lobby and down the polished mahogany exit steps. You don’t care anymore. You just absolutely had to wait.
So you wait.
And wait.
And wait.
The crowd thins out, save for a few pairs scrambling and hoping to catch the few remaining tickets for tomorrow’s performance. The buzz of talk soon dies down, replaced by the sound of rain falling and the crisp crash of tires driving over puddles and gutter water outside. You barely noticed the rain before, but you do now.
If only your mom could see you. I knew it. I told you you’d forget something, she’d say.
“Sorry, Mom.” A mutter from you. “Sorry, little umbrella.” Back at home, your umbrella ruffles in acceptance of the whispered apology.
Then you feel it.
You touch a finger to your right cheek, tracing an invisible line from your face to your lips. A cut.
Confusion fills you. Your breathing slowly picks up now. This was familiar. You’ve felt this before, this gash. It was this stinging feeling like a subtle paper cut, the type of paper cut you’d only feel after a substantial amount of time, but even then, the damage was already done. You unexpectedly blush as if blood were leaking from the slice. You feel your face heat up as your heartbeat quickens, the blood pulsing just beneath the surface. It becomes harder to gulp, too, as your throat dries, your voice stagnating and burrowing deep within your courage.
You turn to where the cut came from. Long-dead abilities revive within you. The sound of precipitation distorts as things come to a dead halt. Raindrops disobey gravity. People freeze in place, their stride suddenly stopping.
And yet she still walks toward you. Even if you stop time, she still walks toward you. Even if you’ve been broken up for all those years, she still walks toward you.
note: Frat!Gojo x Male!Reader. MLM because I said so. Also, trans Gojo slightly implied because this is my world, and I do what I want. Gojo being drunk and dumb while his poor boyfriend has to pick him up.
Gojo was campus-famous—the most popular guy, some said. Everyone thought they knew him: big dick, player, flirty, cocky. Untouchable.
And did Gojo play into it? Of course he did. He loved it.
Basically, everything they said was true… well. Maybe not. But that didn’t matter. What people believed was more important than what was real.
It was another party, and, of course, Gojo had been invited. He was the life of the party — why wouldn’t he be? The second he stepped inside, it was like the music turned up just for him. Girls were already crowding close, hands sliding over his chest and arms. Guys clapped him on the back, laughing too loudly, acting like they were lifelong friends because everyone knew being Gojo’s friend automatically made you cooler.
He was wearing something casual, comfortable — like always. A white shirt tight enough to show every line of muscle, stretching across his chest and shoulders. Grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, the band of his boxers peeking out whenever he lifted his arms, and the shirt rode up with it. A black hat sat backwards on his head, white hair poking through the opening. Effortless.
The party blurred on — bass heavy, lights low — when suddenly a camera flash went off from somewhere in the crowd.
Naturally, Gojo posed.
He lifted one arm, flexing his bicep with an exaggerated smirk. The silver chain around his neck caught between his teeth as he curled his tongue against it. His shirt rose slightly from the movement, “Calvin Klein” on his boxer waistband clearly visible. A silver bracelet flashed on his wrist as he winked one bright blue eye at the camera.
Perfect shot.
Hours later, though, he was absolutely wrecked.
People were still dancing, still shouting over the music. Gojo felt like he could hear colours and see the air moving around him. Everything was warm, hazy, and funny. He was giggling at nothing, swaying a little where he stood — but he kept glancing down at his phone.
Was his boyfriend busy?
He wouldn’t ignore him, right?
One text: babe
Another: babeeyyy
Third: daddy needs you here xx
And then they just kept coming, each one less coherent than the last.
babydrunkcomeJacobs housebaby car
He was texting like he knew ten words total. Could you blame him? A few minutes later, someone yelled over the music, “Yo, someone call over y/n?”
Y/n was liked. Admired. But he wasn’t a jock. People weren’t constantly watching him, measuring him. And that was good.
Because when Gojo heard it, he straightened a little and called out, “Oh—” hic “—it’s my… my buddy. Pickin’ me up.” His words slurred together as he pushed through the crowd, laughing at nothing.
Outside, the night air hit him hard. He stumbled down the steps and practically collapsed against the passenger door of the car.
Y/n didn’t even get to step out before Gojo was pressing his phone against the window, showing him the picture — the flexing one. The wink. The chain between his teeth.
“Look,” Gojo grinned, flushed and glassy-eyed. “Aren’t I hot?”
He was bold tonight. Too bold. Probably because he was drunk. Because people couldn’t know about them.
Y/n’s car was expensive. The kind of expensive that made people pause mid-conversation and glance out the windows. Even the ones lingering outside couldn’t help staring, trying to figure out who it belonged to. The headlights alone screamed money.
But Gojo didn’t care about the car.
All he saw was the silhouette in the driver’s seat. His boyfriend. His ride.
If he were sober, maybe he would’ve felt bad about dragging y/n out at one in the morning with a string of cryptic, barely literate messages about being drunk. Maybe he would’ve realised how concerning “baby car” sounded with no context.
Poor y/n was probably worried sick.
From inside, he watched Gojo lean his full weight against the passenger door, phone still pressed dramatically to the glass. He could already tell how gone he was. Y/n’s shoulders drooped slightly, a slow exhale fogging the inside of the windshield. Of course. Of course this was how his night was going to end.
The window slid down just enough.
“Very,” he said smoothly, answering the question Gojo had asked seconds earlier about being hot. “I see it.” His voice was steady, controlled in a way that contrasted sharply with Gojo’s loose energy. “Now get in.”
God. Even slurred and swaying, Gojo reacted instantly to that tone. It always did something to him.
Y/n knew what was coming next before Gojo even opened the door. He’d either keep shoving the phone in his face to admire the picture again, or he’d dissolve into half-coherent rambling about how everyone at the party loved him. Maybe both.
And his boyfriend would listen. He always did.
He’d nod at the right moments, hum like he understood every tangled sentence, even when Gojo’s words blurred together. He’d keep one hand on the wheel, and the other ready in case Gojo leaned too far into his space.
Because for all the campus bravado, for all the “player” rumours and flexed biceps and camera flashes — this version of Gojo was his. Drunk. Clingy. Needy. And completely unaware of how soft he looked when he smiled just for him.
Gojo fumbled with the door handle, finally getting it open and collapsing into the passenger seat. He was grinning like an idiot, his eyes glazed and his cheeks flushed. The car smelled like y/n— that musky scent he always wore. It made Gojo feel warm and tingly inside.
Y/n didn’t say anything as Gojo practically fell into the passenger seat, but his eyes were glued to him. Tracking every movement. Making sure he didn’t hit his head, didn’t twist wrong, didn’t hurt himself in some careless, drunken way.
"Didja see?" Gojo slurred, shoving his phone under his boyfriend's nose. The picture was blurry due to his shaking hand, but he could still make out everything. The flex. The wink. The chain between his teeth. "I'm, like, so hot. Everyone thinks so."
His boyfriend flinched slightly when the phone was suddenly shoved inches from his face. He looked down at the picture again.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice softening despite himself. “Very hot.” It was practically a coo. He reached over to roll the window back up and pulled the door shut fully once Gojo was inside. The tinted glass sealed them off from the world, muting the noise of the party behind them. Privacy restored.
“Look at you,” Y/n added, glancing at the screen again before meeting Gojo’s flushed face. “Flexing in the picture. The man, aren’t you?”
He giggled, then leaned over to rest his head against y/n's shoulder. His hat fell off in the process, white hair sticking up every which way. Gojo didn't seem to notice or care.
He didn’t react when Gojo leaned heavily against him. He was used to it, the way Gojo folded into his space as if he belonged there. The man reached down when the hat slipped off his head, tossing it carelessly into the back seat without looking.
"You're here," he mumbled, nuzzling into y/n’s neck. "You came. I told ya I needed you, right?"
His words were running together, not making a whole lot of sense. But his hand found his boyfriend's thigh, squeezing it like he needed to make sure this was real. Like he needed to touch him to know he was actually there.
Gojo’s head tilted, nuzzling into his neck, warm and clingy. “Of course I came,” y/n muttered, voice low near his ear. “The texts ‘baby, car, Jacobs house’ aren’t really that comforting.”
"I danced with this girl," Gojo said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But I didn't, like, actually dance-dance with her. I just, like, grinded on her a little. 'Cause the music was bumpin' and I was feelin' it, y'know?"
He was rambling now, words tumbling out in no particular order. Y/n just had to listen and try to make sense of it. Which he always did. He was just so good at handling Gojo when he was like this — drunk and talkative and all over the place.
"Oh! And then I took a picture," Gojo said, holding his phone up again. "Lookit. I'm, like, the man. The strongest. Everyone says so."
He was still grinning, still proud of himself. Still acting like he was the shit, even though he could barely string two sentences together.
"But you're, like, the strongest too," Gojo said, his words starting to slow down a little. "'Cause you're, like, actually here. And you're, like, way hotter than anyone at that party."
He was drunk, and he was being sappy. But he meant it. Every word. Even if he couldn't quite say it right.
৻ꪆ firelord!zuko drabbles — deux (18+, smut w no plot)
a/n ୭˚. ᵎᵎ i like zuko lol hi finger me timbers
“f—fuck..mmhh..i-im sorry!—”
the ever mighty and oh so powerful firelord whimpers out of his mouth, face planted into the silk sheets of his oh so grand bed in his oh so grand private chamber. his ass was propped up, three long fingers pumping in and out of his hole, arms cuffed in metal that was bended by his lovers metalbending prowess.
you were beyond irritated, not admitting it but showing it through how ruthlessly you plunged your fingers in knuckle deep, scissoring his gummy insides before pulling them out and then repeating it over, and over, and over.
zuko moans, tears pricking his eyes at the overstimulation as he tried rutting into the sheets despite his cock being untouched but spent with how may times he’s orgasmed from just your fingers deep inside him. he was a mess, crown discarded onto the floor, hair spilling everywhere, teary and drooling into the silk pillow cover at the delicious pressing on his bundle of nerves by your long fingers. you kept quiet, listening to his sounds as you felt yourself tighten up painfully, as you slapped his plush ass, making him moan out in pain and pleasure as you spank him again.
“count.”
zuko cries out, his lips babbling up to ten, his ass jolting with the last spank, moaning as his skin burned, his skin a bright reddish pink, and you placed a soft kiss onto his skin, and he whimpers, throat hoarse.
in all honesty, the only reason you were annoyed was because of the fact that he silenced you during a council meeting with the other commanders and military generals of the fire nation about a rebellion group in the west forming and demanding payment. you had reasoned to discuss and resolve it with proper negotiation but another general had argued with you saying brute force and a display of power would resolve it efficiently and in one go instead of taking representatives and talking. the argument between you and this fellow general that disagreed had been going on for a straight half an hour with everyone else including the firelord in attendance just observing and quite afraid of how and when this would ever end.
what threw you off, was when the general had said that you were inexperienced and you should refrain from input, the second you opened your mouth, zuko had raised his hand and dismissed everyone.
you were boiling, sparks were emitting from your hands and steam was waving off of you as you refrained from burning the entire room down altogether. everyone in attendance was quick to note this and all of them had left all at once, afraid of your wrath and fury that would cause them all to probably reduce to an entire pile of ash.
the firelord that you were fingering had finally whined, signaling to you that he was cumming for the nth time, and you take out of your fingers from his hole, causing his body to slump fully down into the mattress. he heaved, sighing softly as his lower half lays flat in the pool of cum from his cock that was left untouched. you hum for a second, watching him with your own untouched and rock hard cock, before you pull him into your embrace, and he winced ever so slightly, his spanked skin pressing against your leg.
you kiss him, holding his waist as he leans into you, his hair a mess, lower half sticky with release as he presses into you.
“you still mad with me?” he mumbles into your lips, and you trail kisses down his jaw to his neck, causing him to sigh softly as he gently presses the back of your head deeper.
“..no, but don’t silence me again,” you paused, “..but i’m glad you did,” you admit sheepishly, looking up at him.
zuko huffs out a soft laugh, and you nip his cheek in between your lips softly.
“i’ll make it up to you.. but you are welcome,” he say softly, before his arms wrap around your neck, and your breath catches in your throat as his hips provide friction against your cock, making you huff out a laugh, pulling him into a kiss.
Pleasee Leona with a male cat beastman boyfriend who's the opposite of him, constantly grooms himself, is very into fashion, very feminine etc. He could even be Vil's friend
【❝Like… Y'know, Nyah❞】
【Synopsis: In which Leona spoils his pretty kitty】
【Featuring: Leona Kingscholar】
【Tags: male reader (reader is more feminine presenting tho), cat beastman reader, Pomefiore reader, Vil and reader are friends, established relationship, cute fluff, one or two suggestive comments (I can’t help it with Leona lol), jealous Leona, lowkey sugar-daddy Leona, kinda cockblock Vil, just cute fluff for the most part, possible typos/spelling errors, please let me know if I forgot any tags】
【Word count: 1.1k】
【a/n: hi hi anon!!! I loveeeee Leona (and Vil, so I was glad to see him here too) so I really enjoyed this request! I really like the dynamic between Leona and reader and had a great time picturing it in my head as I wrote — like I was literally grinning and shit lol! Anyway, I don’t have too much to say about this one, but I really had a great time writing it and I hope you enjoy anon! (*⁰▿⁰*)】
‧₊˚ ┊ Leona is almost constantly exasperated by you, but in a good way (he loves you no matter how much you manage to get on his nerves lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ You're not as annoying as Vil — he wouldn't be dating you if you were lol — but that doesn't stop you from giving him a headache from time to time
‧₊˚ ┊ That being said, Leona isn't gonna tell you to stop being friends with Vil just because he isn't particularly fond of him
‧₊˚ ┊ Leona will, however, get all pissy if you spend more time with Vil than with him (jealous boy lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ He knows you and Vil bond over stuff he's not into — fashion, makeup, gossip, etc. — but he wants you to do that stuff with him bc he's your boyfriend, not Vil >:(
‧₊˚ ┊ So, for the sake of Leona's pride, please don't call him out when he insists that you try out your new eyeshadow palette on him rather than going to Vil instead
‧₊˚ ┊ He will pout and huff and complain the entire time, but the second you suggest going to Vil, he shuts the fuck up and lets you do your thing (he likes when you groom him like this — it's a sign of love and affection for cats both big and small to groom one another, so he secretly likes it when you pamper him lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ Leona will not, however, let you dress him up — he's leaving all the cutesy stuff in your very capable hands (he much prefers seeing you dressed in his clothes, but that's for his eyes only)
‧₊˚ ┊ He will let you do his nails, but won't let you paint them — like, you can file them and put a clear gloss on them, but that's it
‧₊˚ ┊ On the other hand, Leona love love loves paying for you to get your nails done (his kitty has to have a nice set of claws, after all)
‧₊˚ ┊ It doesn't matter how long or garishly decorated your nails are, Leona always loves them and never fails to give your nail tech a very handsome tip for the job well done (he loves it when you use said nails to scratch up his back too lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ Being the rich prince he is, Leona has no problems going clothes shopping with you even tho your style is vastly different from his (he just sees it as an excuse to spend money on you lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ He's of no help when it comes to helping you pick out clothes, by the way — he will always tell you look good in everything and if you can't choose what to get, then he'll tell you to just get it all since he's paying (he loves waving around that black card of his lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ This mf always has the most smug grin on his lips when you go shopping because he gets to show off his cute little boyfriend to the world (he loves having you clinging to his one arm while he carries all your bags in the other — he's just so proud to literally have you on his arm lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ When you're out and about, no one dares to look at you sideways for being a more feminine presenting guy because of big, scary Leona glaring at anyone that so much as glances at you for too long (he's very protective lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ Of course, Leona will treat you to some super expensive, high quality sushi after a long shopping trip (he's gotta keep his kitty happy and well-fed and that means feeding him all the fish he desires lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ Being a lion, Leona prefers red meat, so he'll get some wagyu while you get fatty tuna or something (idk shit about sushi or fish bruh please forgive me)
‧₊˚ ┊ You better believe that Leona has a hand on your thigh the whole time he drives the two of you back from the mall like, chill bro ain't nobody tryna take him from you (Leona driving one-handed awakens something feral within me that I can't explain lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ He will absolutely make you do a little try on haul for him when you guys get back — yeah, he already saw you try everything on already, but he wants you to put on a little show for him lol (he says you owe him after he paid for everything lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ After that, he'll pull you in for a literal cat nap (all that shopping and carrying bags really tires a guy out lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ Lions can't purr, but you can and Leona loves teasing you whenever the low rumble starts reverberating from the back of your throat
‧₊˚ ┊ You always, without fail, purr whenever you tuck yourself against Leona's side for a nap and he always, without fail, will make fun of you for it (lovingly, of course)
‧₊˚ ┊ His playful teasing usually gets him a retaliatory bite at his neck from you, but a quick nip at your ear is enough to get you to back down (real alpha type shit)
‧₊˚ ┊ When the two of you sleep like this, your tails will sort of automatically curl around one another — often times wrapping around a leg or waist (and somehow he still denies that he's clingy lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ Unfortunately, you are often unable to sleep over with Leona thanks to your very strict Housewarden
‧₊˚ ┊ Vil may be your friend, but he's not about to let you go around breaking the rules and casting Pomefiore in a bad light, so you have to report back to your dorm before curfew if you don't want him marching over to drag you back himself (he has done it before and he as no qualms with doing it again lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ Leona has tried to sneak in and stay over at your dorm over at Pomefiore, but Rook always manages to catch him before he can get anywhere close lol (he's lurking and stalking when you least expect it /ref)
‧₊˚ ┊ Oh well, any time with you is time well spent and at least he can get you all to himself wherever Vil is away (he feels so smug whenever he does get to spend the night with you lol — take that, Vil)
‧₊˚ ┊ Despite being something of a literal cat person himself, Leona wouldn't consider himself to be all that fond of cats — you, however, are the exception
‧₊˚ ┊ Your cat-like antics are endearing to him even if he rolls his eyes and huffs when you get the zoomies (he seriously has no idea how you have so much energy lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ Oh well, Leona loves you and loves spoiling you no matter how much you annoy him (you don't actually annoy him, by the way — it's more like mildly irritating in an endearing/cute kinda way lol)