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octoberautumnbox · 15 days ago

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ok i have to hurry up with these fhdlagslgk

criticisms aside (i alr roasted this last night in the server lol, right in front of val's salad no less :nolookk:) it's a well written fic, I highlighted last night how the two little flashbacks and the references to other characters in the world fills it out more, and it's nicely done to give the depth that ppl seem to keep writing yuri with hmmmmm

and again here theres that trademark casualness that comes with her character. I did note that some idols have that sort of convergence into their canon tropes and I'd be amiss to ignore that that somehow happens with yuri too. not that its in any way unwelcome (I'm actually a sucker for it) but its interesting and downright lovely for ppl to write her into this sort of comfort character, where theres either this familiarity of a long history like here or the ease to get to know her like in the recently reviewed You Will Beg. whatever the underlying reasons are, it's such a nice thought for me that ppl give her the time of day to know her or get to know her that she keeps coming off as a personality thats more than easy to get into

it also did remind of the domesticity of it all undeservedly? reminds me of another thing i wrote, how it's so easy and normal and just natural for her to fall into a sort of rhythm, wears away expectations, just exists in a manner that does hope too high or too much

I dont need to delude myself that this was for me it actually really was LMAO ty val hope my eventual kkura hits the spot too when it comes out dhdlagakfjdka

Days with Yuri: Packages

male reader x Jo Yuri

~12k words

A/N: A friend said "yuri fic when" so, here you go I guess? Also a lot of yapping involved, so apologies for that.

Enjoy.

You should’ve expected this to happen.

Jjoyul: Sharing Live Location. HELP NOW ASAP PLS

You blink. You squint.

What the fuck?

You read it again.

What the fuck, that’s not her address.

You: whats going on

Jjoyul: I NEED HELP I SWEAR ILL O U 1

You: with what where are you even are you safe

You sit up from your bed, rubbing a hand on your face in annoyance. Out of all the days, it had to be the day you slept in late for her to fuck about and make you find out instead.

Jjoyul: SAFEST PLACE IN D WORLD RN WILL XPLAIN LATR CAN U PLS COME T_T

You were halfway into typing the word “no” and go back to cuddling your comforter and enjoying some more well deserved sleep until your phone buzzed two more times.

Jjoyul: Image attached. PLSSSSSSS

You groan. Half tempted to throw your phone on the nightstand and forget all about the messages. Half tempted to open the image and hope that you can have an idea on what’s actually going on.

You let the angel on your shoulder win this round and open your phone.

Yuri’s face takes up your screen, sitting down on a couch with an all-familiar pout on her lips, finger pressing her chin, wide innocent eyes, and an adorable little head tilt. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen this type of picture so many times that you feel like she’s recycling old pictures.

You wonder how this brat can be this cute yet so annoying at times because you’re falling for her endearingly irritating tactic of cuteness to get you to help her with whatever it is she needs help with. You were about to press the location text she sent to see where she actually is when she sent one last message.

Jjoyul: ILL EVEN COOK U LUNCH AND DINNER NEXT TIME

Now while free food is nice, Yuri’s cooking is something else. Not that you’d ever tell her that because, well, her ego would skyrocket, but she could cook an egg and you’d think a sous chef made it.

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and all that. Your sleep-deprived brain isn’t helping much in that regard to stop it. Besides, it’s free food on call.

What’s the worst that could happen?

You: fine, be there in 30

Jjoyul: U DA BESTTTTTTT IM AT 221 BTW TELL THE LADY THAT UR HERE 4 ME TYTYTY <3

And so began your quick shower, a salmon riceball for brunch, and you’re walking out the door heading to her location. Said place is an apartment complex that looks similar to yours—tall, muted colors, minimalistic design—and you start to wonder what she’s doing in a place so far away from where she lives.

She was surprisingly close to your place too—a good ten minute walk to wake the legs up—and you’re stepping into the lobby to be greeted by the receptionist.

You tell her that you’re here for a “Jo Yuri” and all she does is raise an eyebrow.

“No packages?” Her head tilts in confusion.

“...No?” You respond. “Am I supposed to have one?”

“Oh, no, no!” The lady chuckles. “She’s been getting a lot lately, I thought you would be dropping off some more.”

She points you to where you can get to 221, and after thanking her, your mind stops to think:

What the fuck is she doing here?

You take the stairs, faster that way since she’s just a floor up, and you’re standing in front of apartment 221.

You take a deep breath, curl your fingers, prep yourself to call the cops if you need to, and knock.

Tap-tap-tap.

Silence greets you. You wait. Then try again.

Tap-tap-tap.

Still, no answer. You air out a ‘huh’ and decide to just–

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-

“Just a second!” Yuri’s muffled voice comes out of the door, and you hear her padded footsteps rushing.

The lock clicks, the handle turns, and you’re greeted to the sight of a disheveled looking Yuri grinning up to you.

“Hey–” She huffs, grabbing your arm and tugging you inside. Her hand is warm against yours, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “You got here pretty fast.”

“It’s a few blocks away from mine.” You turn around to see her already closing the door before leaning back to it, arms behind her back to face you, giving you a chance to properly look at her.

Hair framing that lovable face, smile that radiates trouble, crescents that screams innocent excitement all wrapped in a baggy shirt hanging off one shoulder and some shorts that hides her figure.

Not that you’d know anything about it, you just…saw it a couple of times. Like when you two attended Minju’s wedding as friends.

Totally not as each other’s wedding date.

You definitely didn’t give her that wide-eyed stare when you picked her up. Or notice how beautiful she looked in the white dress which showed off a bit too much cleavage that definitely didn’t do things to both your heads. Or stand a little too close when one of the groomsmen complimented her on her looks.

And you really didn’t hold her hips when she dragged you to the dance floor because her favorite slow dance started playing. Didn’t like how your hands felt perfect on her. Didn’t feel your heart skip a beat when she gave you that smile when it ended.

You swear it wasn’t awkward the next few weeks after.

Nope. You’re absolutely sure that you and her were totally okay for that period of time.

You focus back on Yuri, who’s gotten close enough to lean into your personal space, face almost touching your chest, shirt swinging low enough for you to see a hint of her generous chest. You can even smell the jasmine radiating off her.

She’s too close.

You blink. She chuckles.

You take a step back. She straightens.

Speaking of personal spaces–“Where are we, exactly?”

“This, exactly, is–” She stretches it out, making drum roll gestures, dancing around you. “–drumroll please–”

She stops, expecting eyes and a beaming set of lips looking up to you.

She wags her eyebrows. You sigh.

“Seriously?” You ask. Her smile widens.

You roll your eyes. She grins.

You make drum roll sounds. She makes drum roll hands as she continues to step backward into the middle of the living room before stretching her arms wide and giving a tiny hop.

“Jo Yuri’s brand new, very own home!” She declares, posing like a little kid who won the lottery. “Ta–da!”

The place was semi-furnished, all the heavier things already out and ready to be used like the couch on one end and the flat screen mounted on the wall. But what’s really getting to you are the amount of boxes in the room.

All the colors you can think of, all the different sizes, labeled, unlabeled, packed, unpacked; They were everywhere, from the floor to the kitchen counter. You don’t even want to know what was inside. God forbid she hands you one of them and it just so happens to be her underwear.

She wouldn’t do that anyway. You trust her enough to know what’s inside all the boxes.

It’s still a mess overall though, and as you’re taking it in, you realize:

You’re here to help her unpack all her shit.

“Pretty nice ain’t it?” Everything about her screams pride of what she’s accomplished—she should be—like the hands on her hips and the way she says it.

“Don’t know about pretty, but it is nice.” You look behind her, eyeing the amount of boxes that were basically mocking you at this point. “How much shit do you even have? And when did you move in here?”

“This is like, eighty percent of it, give or take.” Jesus Christ. “I tried doing it on my own but there’s too many and I didn’t wanna bother the movers because they already helped with all the big appliances and I thought–”

Yuri’s making that thinking pose then a lightbulb gesture like she’s in a sitcom. “–Why do it alone when I can do it with my favorite person in the whole wide world!”

“I thought that was Yena?” You deadpan.

She opens her mouth to answer, then closes it. Her eyes look to the side. Her lips make a thinking face. She looks too damn adorable.

She opens her mouth to answer. “My second! Favorite person in the whole wide world!”

“That’s not how that works, Yuri.” Your head shakes. “Not at all.”

“It is to me.” She giggles, picking up one of the smaller boxes. “Besides, this is a lot more fun than getting this done all alone.”

“Don’t I have a say in this?” She pushes said box to your chest. “This is gonna take us all day.”

“You said yes the moment you agreed to my cooking.” She patters back to the couch, sitting on the small empty space it still has. “No take backs.”

Well, she’s got you there. Her cooking’s worth a day of unpacking all her stuff anywho.

“Can I renegotiate to have that lunch and dinner for two days?” You ask, cross legging down on the floor, opening up the box that contained kitchen utensils.

Fitting, considering the conversation.

“If we manage to get this done before–” She pauses, a box in her lap as she picks up a boxcutter. “Before dinner, I’ll make you food for the next week.”

“Say no more.” You let out a chuckle, the prospect of having Yuri cook for you till the next week already makes you salivate as you stand up to head into the kitchen.

As soon as you see the counter, you freeze.

The kitchen’s chock full of boxes.

Fuck.

—

They seemed never ending, but you two managed to settle into a rhythm. You handled everything that was for the kitchen and the living room, she took care of the bathroom and the bedroom.

She didn’t bother with the labels anymore, just ripped the box open and handed it to you if it was different things for her shelves. You open them with care and precision so as not to make an even bigger mess of the already boxed up fuckery mess that is her apartment.

You can hear her in the bedroom, the rustling of the boxes coming out of the doorway when you came back from putting some of the cartons away and into the front door, so you take the chance to pick out something easy to unpack since you’ve been given all the big ones—definitely didn’t feel like you were setup.

So you pick up one of the smallest boxes you could see, sit down on the couch and lay it down on your lap.

The box itself was small, jet-black and discreet, not unlike all the other bright and colorful ones that preceded it. It was tightly wrapped as well, red tape all over the carton in a criss-crossy pattern.

Nothing the cutter couldn’t handle.

You open it up, thinking that it was another-some-set of something that you feel like you can convince her to sell off because she seriously has too much stuff for one girl so you part the flaps and—

Dick.

Surprisingly detailed, with all the veins and contours and curls shaping it, the smooth head at the top staring back at you. Although the color ruined any form of realism, somewhere between vermillion or coquelicot or sienna—fucking red—that was practically screaming out what it is.

You blink. Two, three, four times.

You close the flaps. Your eyes follow, nose inhaling deep, mouth exhaling slowly, mind counting to ten.

And then you open it again.

Dicks.

Multiple, plural, a lot. Some were small, others looked like a lightstick—that’s a vibrator—and there was even something metallic tucked in the bottom, underneath all the bubble wrap.

You squint, hands frozen on the black carton, not trusting them to touch anything inside and holy shit is that a pair of handcuffs?

You don’t even want to know why she has so many because your mind is already being sidetracked to what she’s doing with them. How often she uses them, which one was her favorite—

“Hey, how’s it going with the rest?” Yuri calls out, casually walking back into the living room.

You’re stuck, heat creeping up your ears, brain short circuiting, doing its damnedest to hot wire it back into thinking, acting, anything as you’re left frozen in time staring into the deep abyss of the box.

“What’s up with you?” Her chin rests on your shoulder, a grin on her features, chest pushing against your back and the smell of citrus invading your nostrils.

It wasn’t until she saw what was in the box that made her lose all emotion, utter the Lord’s name in vain and straight up dive bomb into your arms.

“Gimme that!” She screams, her chest flattening against you sending even more thoughts into your head, her hands already snatching the hellish thing from your grasp, one hand closing the flaps and the other wrapping around the carton.

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet.” She mutters, holding it close to her chest, protecting it from you, or vice versa. It didn’t really matter to you.

What matters was whatever the hell ‘yet’ meant.

“Well, I mean, I can-uh-fuck-” You’re stumbling, sputtering. Because what the fuck do you even say when you find a box full of sextoys that weren’t yours? “I can forget this ever happened?”

“Can you?” She asks, glares really. Raised eyebrow, doubtful eyes, the complete package of disbelief written on her. “Can you really?”

No, you really couldn’t. But you don’t even get the chance to tell her before she stands up.

“Just–don’t bring it up.” She sighs, walking away from you and back into her bedroom.

And it wasn’t. Nobody brought it up for a while, the both of you focusing on unpacking, folding, cleaning. It was all you two did, not even bothering to make conversation. Not without bringing up the box again.

Until she started to do something extremely simple.

Be a mess.

And she’s dragging you into becoming one when she keeps brushing past you even if she didn’t have to. You could be sitting down on the couch and she’d walk past you to get the box that was right next to you instead of the ones that were stacked up right next to her bedroom door.

It wasn’t like there was a lack of them, if anything there were too many. And she kept doing it anyway.

Yuri didn’t even do anything that you’d consider odd or anything and she’s already distracting you. Every pass, brush of your hands, glances that were a bit too long.

You were trying to pretend that you didn’t notice anything and gaslit yourself into thinking it wasn’t intentional. To leave her to do whatever she wants because it is her house but this, this was like scratching an itch.

If an itch were to ask her why she had so many dildos, that is.

You were rinsing up a few of her mugs when she plops down the couch, halfway empty of the cartons that were seated a few hours ago.

It was a mistake glancing because–

“Why do I keep so much stuff.” She moans out, the first words uttered after the box. Her arms stretched upward, her shirt riding up just a bit to show that bellybutton of hers.

You tell yourself you weren’t staring. She’s just casually seducing you with an arm stretch and the temptation to ask her about the damn box grows higher.

“That sounds like a you problem than anything else.” You snap back down, focusing back on the cups. “Why’d you even bother moving out? I thought you shared the old place with Nako.”

“I did, I just…” Yuri goes silent for a moment, before she crosses her legs and gives you these adorable little puppy eyes that make you wanna squish her cheeks. “Promise you won’t tell her? Or anyone else?”

“You don’t need to tell me if it’s too personal, Yuls.” You shake the glass you’re holding. “We can always leave it at that.”

“It’s not really for me, it’s more for her than anything else.” She shakes her head, grabbing a nearby plushie of a bear she left on the couch because she needs one for ‘couch cuddles’. You remember getting that one for her birthday along with a new set of guitar strings.

And she wonders why she keeps so much extra shit like her toys—

“Just please promise me you won’t tell anyone?” She hugs said bear, keeping it close to her chest. “Pretty please?”

“Alright, alright, I promise.” You place the mug down on the dishwasher.

“Swear it.”

“I just said I promised.” You give her a look, as if she’s seriously asking you to double down on an agreement made just seconds ago.

“I need your utmost trust on this.” Yuri glares. It wasn’t scary at all, not with the bear looking at you with a permanent smile on its face. You wonder what that bear’s seen. Or felt.

“Wha-Fine.” You sigh, leaning back onto the counter. “I swear on my need for an eight-hour-sleep that I won’t tell anybody about what you will say.”

She narrows her eyes. “That’s not enough.”

“You know how much I need my eight hours.”

“Everyone needs eight hours, idiot.” She shakes her head, an arm gesturing upwards. She wasn’t exactly wrong. You just thought you needed it more than everyone else because you have the tendency to stay up a lot.

“On my rank in League.” You state. “Happy now?”

That seemed to do the trick when Yuri hums for a moment to think, then nods. She knows how much you play that game to a near unhealthy degree back then before you were convinced—forcefully, you may add—to take a step back from it. Looking back, you’re a bit thankful that happened.

Lord knows what you would be doing if you kept that up.

But it doesn’t mean you stopped though. Maybe a long break or two, but you always come back to playing it like a drug. You were simply volun-told how to take the proper dosages.

“Now, what’s the big deal about you moving out?” You move to sit on the couch, facing Yuri who’s now hiding her face behind the bear.

“Uhm,” She stalls. Eyes darting from you to the bear she’s holding, gripping it tighter. “So you know how Nako’s been seeing Hitomi for a while now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They may or may not be doing things when theythinkI'msleepingnextdoor.” She rushes, cheeks reddening at the words that came out as she hides further into her bear.

Silence precipitates the room, giving you the chance to soak in whatever Yuri just said.

“Hold on.” You start, lips unconsciously curving upwards. “You moved out because you couldn’t stand them fucking?”

“It’s more than that!” She shouts, slapping you with the bear in such a weak manner it makes you laugh.

“They’ve been wanting to move in together so I thought I’d move out instead.” She explains, grabbing a small yellow box on the table. “They wouldn’t have to worry about looking for another place if I did.”

“Pretty selfless of you.” You comment, leaning back and watching her rip the carton apart. “What made you wanna do that?”

She bites her lip, hesitating, hands stopping from unfurling the bubble wrap covering something.

“Too much?” You ask again, knowing that this wasn’t about her roommate anymore.

“No, I’ve just…” She replies, before she turns to look at you. “I’ve been wanting to move out for a while now, you know? Nako’s been my roomie ever since uni, and before that I shared my room with my sister.”

“Ah. You have that dilemma.” You remember the decision to do it yourself. Your parents were fifty-fifty on it till you had to convince them it was better than hour long commutes to and from work.

“Yeah.” She nods, going back to focus on the wrap. “You must’ve went through that when you moved out.”

“I mean, sure.” Solo living had its perks. Made you appreciate doing chores yourself, you didn’t have to worry about anyone else’s dishes being left in the sink. You could walk around doing whatever with complete privacy, and no one would bat an eye for it.

“It gets lonely at times but you learn to do things for yourself every once in a while.” You add, leaning back to enjoy the soft cushion, watching her open up a box of books.

“And that’s why you got me, dummy.” She teases, picking up one of the books and giving it a once over. You can see a very familiar tie as the book cover and decide to keep that away for safekeeping.

Because a box full of sextoys isn’t enough for her, you guess.

“You do live pretty close by now.” You nod, standing up to pick up another blue container. “We can meet up more if you want.”

“You just like free food.” She bites, stacking up a few books of varying sizes.

“And you like my company.” You bite back, cutting the tape with the boxcutter, the ripping sound following each stroke. You won’t lie and say that you didn’t like the idea of seeing Yuri more often. Maybe even get a peak of what she’d be doing with one of those toys—

You immediately stop that line of thought and glance back at her after and notice one of the stacks she made was close to toppling. “Might want to put the biggest one on the bottom.”

“Shut up.” She looks down, biting her lip to stop the smiling forming on her face as she starts to fix up her makeshift jenga structure. “Anyway, it took me a while to find this apartment, and the movers were a pain in the ass to talk to.”

“What, they didn’t like that you had so much shit for a single person?” You grin, placing the cutter down. “You can always sell these things online.”

“What am I even gonna sell?” She mutters, arms up in the air as she stops re-arranging her novels on the table. She pauses, stares at the books, then looks up to you staring right back at her.

“Don’t say it.” She warns, shaking her head, eyes widening a tiny bit. “I swear to god, don’t you fucking say it.”

All you do is give her a smirk, extremely tempted to say exactly what you were both thinking. Her hands were already moving to hold onto a small novel, and while it may seem idiotic to tempt physical danger, it also sounds very fun to piss her off.

“The bo–” A thump resonates. A pained shout erupts. A groan follows.

“I told you not to say it.” She repeats, hands on her hips.

“Worth it though.” You grumble, hand rubbing your chest where the book hit you. “You’ll get money on the side anyway, what’s the big deal?”

“Getting to know what to sell is a big deal, duh.”

“You’re unpacking. This is like, the best time to.” You place her novel book on top of one of her stacks.

She slouches, looking like she’s considering the idea when she starts glancing around her towers of books and the rest of the taped up boxes. “Promise you’ll help?”

“If you tell me why you have a box full of sextoys, sure.” You smile, sitting down next to her. Externally, you looked cool as a cucumber. Internally, you were dying.

Why the fuck did that come out of your mouth, you wonder. You should’ve just agreed and be done with it but now the awkward silence was eating you alive.

“...Oh my god.” She groans, leaning back onto the couch. “I thought we already went past that!”

“Did we?” You shrug, taking another glance at her stack of books, pretending that you were completely okay with what you just blurted out. “I never agreed to that.”

“I hate you.” She smacks you with her plushie. “I seriously do.”

You laugh, flailing your arms to protect yourself from a bear. “No–you–don’t–”

She hits you a couple more times before she eventually stops—from exhaustion or from being lazy, you don’t know—and glares. Eyes narrowing, lips flattening, mind deliberating. All the while the bear is just staring at you.

The bear’s got a pretty cool hat you have to admit—

“Fine.” She states, lips slowly transforming into a grin. “If we still finish before dinner.”

“Yeah, I still get food though right–wait.” You stop, jaw dropping slowly. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” She answers, crossing her arms around the bear. “I’ll even give you a live demo if you want.”

“I think I’m good with the story, thanks.” You chuckle bashfully, hands raising in surrender. Not that watching her fuck a dildo wasn’t hot as fuck, it’s simply very bad for your mental and physical health to be given a clear view to that show.

“You sure?” She draws the words out, smirking and teasing. She leans in, her hair falling, getting closer and closer till you can feel her breath on your face. “You don’t wanna see me suck on a strap like it’s your di–”

“Yes I’m fucking sure!” You answer—scream, really—as you stand up, away from any more of her teasing because your hands are starting to get that itch instead of your mouth. You scratch that itch by going back to the mundane job of grabbing boxes.

You don’t notice the grin on Yuri’s face become absolutely feral.

The next few hours were spent unpacking everything else that was still trapped in their boxes, and anything that she thought she could sell she’d leave in the living room. A bunch of books, extra cables, some plushies she has.

You’re sitting down on one of her chairs for a short break when you let your eyes wander the room. Aside from the large cartons that you both decided to leave for later, the place was halfway there to becoming a home.

It inevitably lands back towards her—it always does—where she’s pulling her shirt up to wipe the sweat off her brow. It also lets you have another peek at her waist, the same pair that you held with your own two hands on that wedding.

There’s always that lingering thought in your head on what her bare hips would feel like, caressing them, tracing every inch of skin with your fingers and wondering what her moans would sound like.

Your mind strays, imagining her face when you trail them upwards, moving closer and closer towards her chest, watching her features morph into something filthy. Begging for you to do more. Touch her, kiss her, tame her.

It’s a good thing they’re just thoughts and not actions cause you don’t know if you’d be able to stop yourself from doing all of that given the chance.

Her offer to give a live performance is enough to make your cock twitch. Add your thoughts into the mix and you’re becoming a horny teenager again.

You exhale through your nose, quietly, hiding it through a tilt of your cup and a sip of cold liquid.

“You never answered me earlier.” You let out, getting your mind out of the gutter for once.

It’s been happening too many times today.

“About what?” She peeks over the rim of her glass.

“About when you moved here.” You reiterate, elbows on your knees, placing the cup down on her coffee table. “What’s up with that?”

“Technically I started yesterday.” She scoffs. “But I had this place for a few weeks now when–”

She goes on about how she found out about the apartment through Yena and went with her mother to get an initial view. She got a deal to own it after a few years with a down payment and had the movers prep all her items throughout the weeks and have it all delivered in one go.

“I remember one of the assholes tried peeking down my top when they were moving the couch.” She gripes. “Wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it cause he kept sticking close, the creep.”

“...Do I need to talk to the guy?”

“Mom already handled it.” She answers, standing up to pick up a few leftover cartons, giving you a grin. “But I’ll keep the offer in mind in case I need to move again.”

“Open up one of the big ones while I put these away?” She says, already walking out to her front hall. You could’ve been seeing things but she might’ve been putting a bit more sway in her hips.

“Sure.” Your feet are already moving towards one of them. “Offers always up when you need it!”

And you’re back to the grind. Open, unpack, store.

Except she’s ramped everything up to eleven.

Intentionally bending over in front of you to show off her ass in those short shorts—you’re totally overthinking it when you thought you saw a small indent in her shorts—or giving you another look underneath her top; Her bra’s this dark blue that’s almost black—it’s a bra for fuck’s sake.

The small touches become more apparent. Less boxes, more space, no reason to take the long way and keep walking in front of you for a touch of your forearm instead of anywhere else.

And the looks she’s giving. The winks she’d send your way when she catches you glancing. The bite of her lip when she’s trying to force her way inside a box.

Now this isn’t just mere coincidence anymore.

It’s bothering you a lot; You feel like the air conditioner isn’t cold enough, you’ve been drinking a lot more water in between breaks alongside the snacks that Yuri’s kept feeding you with.

If this wasn’t paranoia, you don’t know what it is.

Then again, you agreed to this the moment she convinced you to help.

You walk back from her bathroom after placing down some medical supplies in one of the cabinets—You really need to have her sell some of her things—where you find her laying down on the floor, now clear of all the rainbow colored cartons save for one last box.

“Want some more water?” You ask, already heading to the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from her cupboard.

“Please.” She lazily throws an arm up towards you.

“Sit up.” You hold out her cup. “Or else I dunk you in it.”

You honestly could. Just shower her in water and soak that baggy shirt of hers, giving you an excuse to ogle her tits–

“Alright, alright.” She gets up to lean onto the sofa seats, grabbing the cup from your hands to take a sip. “Thanks.”

“It’s your house, I’m here to enjoy the free drink.” You sit down on a chair across from her.

“Always food with you.” She smiles underneath the cup. “Too bad you’re getting that story.”

“Speaking of which,” She continues, “Can you get the box from my bedroom? It should be by my desk.”

“Is it that box?” You put the cup down. “It’s that box isn’t it?”

“Are you actually scared of a box?” She giggles. “Yes, you dummy, it’s that box. Now go get it already. It’s important for the tea.”

“Do we really need it?”

“Of course we need it dummy.”

“Just–making sure.” You cough, clearing your throat before doing as she asks, nervous anticipation consuming your thoughts.

You shake your head. You really need to stop with these things.

She wouldn’t actually use them in front of you anyways.

So you distract yourself, focus on getting what you need, and get back to Yuri. It also gave you a chance to look around the place.

Her apartment started to look lived in, her shelves and cupboards full of items, the boxes all folded up and placed near her front door for recycling.

It looked a lot better than it was when you came in, that’s for sure.

You spot it immediately after coming inside her room. It was very her for the plushies to be used as a guitar stand alongside her many, many novels and right next to her keyboard standing near the desk.

Not even a day into living here and she’s already managed to make it into her own. Gotta give her props for that one.

Well, maybe not for some of her clothes still strewn about in her bed.

You can’t stare at it. You won’t. It’ll make you start thinking about what she’d look like in them. What she’d look like without them.

You booked it straight to the box—still black, still closed—your head staring at it, damn near putting holes in it as you walk out of the bedroom to avoid anything else except for the piece of carton in your hands.

Right into even more trouble.

The very first thing you noticed when you came back into her living room was her shorts on the floor.

The sounds registered after. The squelches, the moans, the gasps. All so low, so lewd, so incredibly fucking fucked hearing it all come from her.

You’re almost tempted to go back to her room and leave her be. Pretend you never saw anything, play the dummy that she always call you by.

But you look up, because what you’ve been imagining for so long is right in front of you and the devil in your shoulder is whispering all the dirty things that you’ve been wanting to do with Yuri. Do unto Yuri.

Everything.

And boy, was it a sight.

Yuri made herself comfortable on the couch, legs spread with a hand between her legs, blue-ish black panties that matched her bra pulled to the side with a small silvery object playing in her fingers rocking back and forth into her tight ass. Her other hand’s busy pinching a nipple, her shirt ridden up to her chest along with her bra.

She’s easing into the plug, teasing herself, the tip all wet and shiny from what you think is lube. You can see her tense up every time she pushes it in, mouth trying to bite a piece of her shirt to stifle her moans.

Didn’t really work, but the view.

Hips rocking with every thrust, the plug slowly disappearing into her, thighs shaking, muscles rippling. The hand on her tits hasn’t stopped pinching and squeezing. Everything about her looks so fuckable in all the ways you’ve thought extremely hard not to.

It almost made you drop the box, with the sound of saving it alerting Yuri to your presence.

“He-Hey.” She moans, pushing the entire thing deep, taking all of it into her ass before fixing up her panties. “You were taking too long.”

“I–” You start. Your mouth stays open for a good while, trying to think of something to say. You can’t.

Because you don’t exactly know what to say when someone’s fucking herself on a butt plug in front of you.

“You want-wanted to know about the toys right?” She says, letting the plug settle, hand pulling away from it to cup her tits. “C’mere and give me one.”

You follow, mouth still stuck in that perpetual curse of being unable to move as you sit down right next to her, box in hand.

The box moves from one pair to another. Yours to hers, where the flaps open once more to show her very bright collection of dildos, vibrators, and handcuffs.

Yuri’s planning something devious, or ambitious. Could be one, could be both. She hums, eyes looking through her box, tongue slipping out of her mouth to lick at her lips.

Definitely both.

“Pick a toy.” She asks you, face full of perverse mischief, hand roaming over her wares. “We can take turns choosing.”

You were completely still, stuck from earlier, mind processing; Embedding the image of Yuri playing with her ass into your head like a core memory of hers that you would never delete from your brain.

“Yuri–” You exhale, making her hum—purr, really, but who gives a shit at this point. “Are you seriously asking me to pick a fucking toy?”

“Duh. They’re all clean by the way, so touch all you want.” She answers, rolling her eyes, leaning back into the couch’s arm. Her shirt’s still ridden up, her breasts out in front of you, nipples hard from her earlier teasing. “Or do you want me to go first?”

She’s already reaching out to the black carton, decision made on what she’d be showing you—or using on herself—before you cut her off with yours.

“The dildo.” You say, one of your arms picking it up. It was the same one you first found when you opened it earlier. Red, large, and girthy, something that looked like it would fill her up all the way. “This one.”

You hand it over to her. It looked comically large in her hands, yet she’s all grins and giggles when she brings it closer to her mouth, tongue already lapping at the tip of it.

“Would you believe me when I say that this is the first one I bought?” She’s slobbering all over it, sucking on the first few inches of the toy, tongue flicking and licking to get it all wet and ready for her.

Her eyes are closing, moaning as she takes it deep, likely imagining that she’s throating a real cock. Yours is twitching at the thought of it being yours that she’s fucking her mouth with.

“This became one of my faves too.” She lets out, biting her lip as she lowers it down to her clothed pussy, rubbing it over herself. Her panties are stained from earlier, a wet darker patch of it in the middle. “Other than the vibrator, but I use both anyway–”

She cuts herself off with a strangled moan, her hips raising, arching as she presses the toy into that spot, rubbing it in, wetting it even more with the saliva that stuck to it.

Jesus Christ, is all you can manage to conjure up in your brain as you watch her edge herself with her favorite fucking strap. The thought of pulling her panties aside never seemed to cross her mind because she’s pushing it inside her to no avail.

“God, the things I did with this fucking thing–” She’s babbling, starting and stopping about how she’d always use it whenever, wherever, whoever.

“Fuck, I’d just use this to get off when I needed a good dicking–” It’s probably why she never goes out on dates even when everyone’s telling her to go on them. Who needs a boyfriend to satisfy her if she can do it herself anyway?

“Had to-god-to get the smaller ones cause I couldn’t walk in public with this.” That gets you thinking, pacing, recollecting every moment you’ve been with her if she had one stuffed inside of her pussy.

“Yena even borrowed one of them–” Now the vivid picture of Yuri and Yena sharing the red toy with each other, fucking each other with it, wondering how’d be on top, is painted inside of your mind. “And she still hasn’t given it back, the bitch–”

You might never look at Yena the same again with that.

All the while Yuri’s kept on going, hands never quite stopping with her metaphorical blue balling. Her underwear is completely soaked with her juices, even marking the couch with the damp spots underneath her.

“Fuck, Yuls–” Your cock’s been straining against your pants since she’s started, in dire need of relief from the confines of your clothes. One of your hands comes to undo the draws of your sweatpants to relieve the tension but you’d think the air can get you off at this point.

“Fuck me, huh?” Her tongue paints her lips before a question—a very dangerous one, you might add—comes out of her mouth. “Is that what you want?”

“God yes,” You confess, eyes roaming all over her. From her delectable thighs, her perky tits, her adorably sinful face; It’s all so ruinable. “Wanted you ever since–”

“The wedding?” She cuts you off.

“Even before that.”

“Tell me.”

So you do.

Tell her that it happened at that university reunion party you all attended. It was pretty memorable, considering that’s when Minju was officially announced ‘out of the market’.

Yuri was blonde then, wore this green dress that hugged her curves and showed her off in all the right places. That was the first time you ever saw her outside of baggy clothing or the tamer casual wear she has on.

It didn’t help that she stuck to you like glue for the majority of it all. You and her were making sure Yena didn’t do something stupid when she had a bit too much to drink.

You tell her how much you wanted to pull her into the bathroom and rail her against one of the stalls; You would hike her dress up and pull her underwear down and go to town on her pussy, not caring if anyone walked in and found out about it.

Watch her face morph into a state of euphoria as you give her a nice, thick load at the end of it. Steal her panties so she’s forced to go back out there glowing from the aftermath and dripping with your cum.

Her eyes are closed all throughout, hand lazily circling the dildo over her, clinging to every single word, and all the dirty things you wanted to do to her that day. It gets her even more riled up hearing you talk like that, judging from the way she’s pushing the toy harder through the cloth.

Then she grins, pulling at the fabric covering her cunt at the same time she pushes. Whether it’s to tease you or to pleasure herself, you can say both and you’d be rewarded, just like she’s doing to herself when she stops for a moment to hike up her legs and take off her panties.

It’s left dangling on one of her legs when she brings it back down and spreads them once more, wet pussy out in the open. You wet your own lips at the sight of it, wanting to put your cock in between her legs and feel how hot she would feel.

Even the butt plug is mocking you, the shine of it inside of her ass barely visible because of the grip that she has on it.

“You-you wanna know something funny?” Her eyes are locked into yours while her hands are back to playing with herself, grinding back on her toy. The lack of ruined underwear makes it even better for the both of you. “I had this plug on my ass that day. Fuck, I even had this on ever since we talked about moving in.”

You two were fucking hopeless.

She slides just the tip in, relieving all the built up tension she’s had for the past few whatever long time has passed and the moan she lets out sounded heavenly, the relief of everything crashing down on her.

“It was my first time too,” She continues, slouching down further into the couch to give you a better view of her ass, holes filled up with her toys. “Having it in me in public. I was so fucking horny that day that I probably would’ve let you fuck me in that bathroom–”

The red toy goes deeper inside of her, shutting herself up with her own actions. A whimper rings out, her thighs trembling with each thrust of the dildo into her drenched cunt.

“Wish th-this could be your cock–” She squeals, biting her lip to stop the perverse giggles that were trying to sing out of her. “You’d stretch me out so well–”

You couldn’t take it anymore. All the stories, the teasing, the view of Yuri fucking herself to the thought of you. You’re bursting at the seams, needing to chase your own pleasure this time.

So you stand up, a visible tent in your pants—she’s already eye-fucking it—and grab something different from her collection; A vibrator, all white with teal highlights because of course she has the classic one.

You turn it on, watch it whir for a moment before turning it off. You turn your head back towards her, still fixated on your pants, your cock, before you take a step. Her breath hitches.

Take another, and you stop to take your pants off. Quick, crass, it did the job to relieve your own stress as your length is freed from its confines. Yuri visibly shivers in excitement.

One more, and you’re cock-to-face with Yuri, her gaze finally looking up from one head to another.

“Holy shit.” It’s only two words, but those alone speak volumes. She reaches out, gripping you at the base, before she starts to lazily pump away at your shaft. “You’d ruin me for all my toys with this.”

“Would I?” You ask, moving to grope one of her tits. She felt so soft against your hand, so perfect. You needed to feel every inch of her, squeezing, pinching, tugging. Move from one breast to another, and you’re addicted. “All those toys, and I’d ruin you?”

“You fucking would.” She arches, hand between her legs moving faster, no rhyme or rhythm to it. Only a need to cum, and she didn’t care how she’d achieve that high. She pulls you closer, your cock resting on her face, the tip of her tongue having a small taste of you. “Because a real cock would feel so much more better.”

She starts kissing your cock, making out with the head, lips glued to you. Her tongue’s twirling and flicking and dousing you in her spit. She moans, the vibrations thrumming over you, making you clench your legs.

“Yuri, what the fuck–” You steady yourself by leaving her tits to grip her head, the other still holding onto her vibrator, waiting, begging to be used on her.

“This already beats out sucking on Glassy.” She even has a name for the damn thing, and it’s not even made of glass. “I can feel you throbbing.”

And you were, when she presses you back to her face. You are when she giggles, giving you pecks all over your length. And you still will be when she inevitably goes back to sucking your cock.

Her hands pump what she can’t put inside of her, wetting your shaft, surrounded by the hot feeling of her mouth that shakes you to your knees. She has the perfect grip on you, stroking you just fast enough to keep you aching for more.

You don’t know if she’s practiced on a dildo to suck somebody’s—your—dick. Not that it mattered if she did it for anyone else.

Because it’s Jo fucking Yuri that’s loving your cock right now, and that is a dream come true.

Her cheeks hollow, tightening her lips around you, just like yours hands are around her hair. It might’ve hurt her scalp. In reality it turned her on even more, bobbing her head quicker, taking more of you inside her mouth.

Then you remember: You’re holding onto one of her toys too.

A finger is pressed on a button, and it begins humming low, drowned out by her filthy fucking slurps. She’s too entranced with your cock to notice that you’ve brought it down to her chest, letting it massage one of her tits.

She hums, eyes closing, enjoying all the sensations she’s feeling. It’s all a fucking mess; From her sucking you off to fucking herself on Glassy. And she’s enjoying every single minute of it.

She mutters something; Too hard to understand with your cock in her mouth, too obsessed with your cock to let go of it. Girl can’t even bother to let her lips go off your head. So she speaks with her actions instead.

Her hand leaves the base of your shaft in favor of your forearm, resting there while you move the vibrator from one nub to another. Still set low, massaging her breasts slowly, pressing it into her.

Yuri even incentivizes it. She starts going at you faster, getting messier and messier with spit starting to drool down her chin. She keeps uttering indescribable things while she’s at it, and you can’t understand a single fucking thing.

“You know I can’t understand what you’re saying.” You pull at her hair, popping your cock out of her lips, now pouting at the loss of her new favorite toy.

“I was enjoying that.” She whines, trying to push herself back onto you, pulling your arm, anything to get you back. “You taste so good, I could just suck on you all day.”

“I’m not exactly part of your collection, Yuls.”

“Yeah you are.” She retorts, shaking her head at another attempt to escape your grasp. “I have Glassy, and you are Dummy.”

“Fucking–Seriously?” You’re in disbelief. Known each other for who knows how long and she suddenly treats you like an object. “I’m a toy to you now?”

“Of course not!” She grins, hand finally coming up from her legs with the sex toy. She’s waving it around, drenched in her juices, glistening in it. “I love each and every single one of them.”

The implications are damning, yet your lust-addled brain is too horny to comprehend that fact.

“So who’s this?” You ask, pressing the vibrator into her chest, watching her tits sink in. You so badly want to suck on them, make her cry out when you bite one of her nipples. But you save that for later.

Right now you have other priorities.

“Oh, Cherry?” She has a name for everything. “A friend got it for me when she went to Japan.”

The only one you knew that went to Japan recently was—

“You wouldn’t believe the stuff she has.” She grins, the hand on your arm pulling you downwards, to the dip of her breasts, to her midriff, and stopping just above her clit. “She’s crazier than me.”

“Having toys isn’t enough?” You push the vibrator, making sure to up the setting and make her thighs quiver. “Nothing’s crazier than that.”

“You-You’d be surprised.” She admits in the middle of her moans. “Cherry’s the real reason why I moved out.”

“Yeah?” You bring it lower, the head of it moving directly on top of her clit, and you repeat the same words she told you minutes prior.

“Tell me.”

So she does.

Tells you all about that time when she overheard Nako and Hitomi over the walls of her old bedroom. All the moans they were letting out. They were trying to hide it for Yuri too, when she says that they were a lot more muffled than usual.

She just got the toy you’re holding; ”All the way from Japan.” She comments, and was wanting—dying—to try it out.

“The hearing aid helped out a lot.”

She continues with how she used it in tandem with her other toys. Had it go in the same places you had it while she bounced on top of a dildo while she had another smaller one up her ass.

“I’ve always wanted to have this in my ass but it’s too fucking big–”

Her breathy moans sing out of her lips every few words, drawing her story out even more. Yet the pressure on her clit never really goes away, only being released for a short moment when she gets too lost in the pleasure to keep on talking.

She knows what you’re doing because she’s done the exact same thing to herself. All the words, the actions. It’s gotten to a point where the both of you are getting so close to losing all composure, yet you still want to carry on with this game.

So she carries on, giving you a play-by-play of what she did that night. It’s so detailed it makes your cock harder if that was even possible, made you leak pre-cum right there in front of her.

She’s eyeing it of course, has been since she’s started talking, still deprived of your cock in her mouth. She brings her hand back to your shaft, gripping you, jerking you slow. Another comes back to her pussy, her toy pushing back inside of her.

Her eyes meet yours, and the face she makes for you is extremely tempting; Tongue pushing into her cheek, eyebrows wagging, eyes full of perverse ideas.

A pull of her hair stops her, and with a whine or a whimper, she keeps on going.

She admits how she got a bit too noisy after a while, louder than the couple at the other side of her room. She didn’t stop even when they did, if anything it got her hornier at the thought that they knew about what she was doing.

All her thoughts about that night was how much she wanted to get in on the action between the two. Yuri’s heard them so many times and the one time they took her into consideration her libido was at an all time high.

“It wasn’t the first time, either.” Yuri giggles, confessing that she’s gotten off to the both of them so many times at this point. The realization that she got caught that night made her cum all over her bedsheets.

The morning after was awkward for the both of them, she says. How Nako had to sit her down and tell her to stop being so loud with what she was doing. But that only spurred Yuri on, knowing that Nako was listening in on her masturbating to said girl.

Her hands haven’t been idle; Stroking you faster, fucking herself deeper. Her clit’s being abused by the vibrator that you’ve constantly held there, and you can tell that she’s close to cumming her brains out.

She’s all twitchy, legs and arms and mouth just begging for you to turn it up to the max.

“You are just…” You pause, trying to find a single word in your limited dictionary of horny thoughts. A lot of words spring up to mind, but only one really fits the description of Jo Yuri in this very instance. “Such a slut.”

“Yeah?” She cackles, depraved, debauched, deafening. Her entire being is screaming it, and you are loving every second of it. “Cute innocent Yuri being such a closet perv, who would’ve known.”

“Be-Bet you didn’t think of that when you wanted to-to dick me down at that party.” She’s abandoned Glassy in favor of bracing herself to your arm, the shaking in her thighs intensifying as you turn the vibrator up a notch. “Like–Fuck, like you wanna do me right here on this couch.”

You want to confirm something. It’s been gnawing at you ever since she’s decided to ‘obtain’ you as part of her collection. And just as she was about to cum, you slow down.

“One more.” You press a button, and the humming dims.

“One-one what?” She can’t focus anymore, so you turn the toy down to low and watch her exhale in annoyance. “What the fu–I was so close!”

“One last toy you gotta tell me about.” You answer her, tugging her hair back and making her fall back down into the sofa. “Swear on my rank I’ll make you cum right after.”

She’s taking deep breaths, her entire body having these micro spasms, angry and disappointed at her orgasm being halted as well as urging her to finish the job herself. But she decides to indulge you.

“Fi-Fine.” She accepts, “Which toy?”

You reach down, yanking the toy out of her pussy, a guttural mewl spilling out of her followed by a yelp as you throw the vibrator away and pick her up by the waist. You take her place on the couch, ignoring the fact that there’s a giant damp spot where she sat—you’ll help her clean it up after—and manhandle her into your lap.

“This toy.” Your cock is pressed to her lips, dripping with need. You can feel the heat in her legs. “Tell me everything you want to do to me.”

Yuri takes a moment to regain her bearings. It doesn’t take long for those words to register in her head, and when it does, she looks you dead in the eye, and grins.

“Fucking perv.” She comments, grinding onto your lap, shirt up and thrown out of her frame somewhere into her apartment, her bra following soon after. You can feel the heat radiating off her legs and the cold plug in her ass. “Wanna hear me say how much I’ve wanted your dick?”

“I told you mine.” You slide a hand up to one of her tits. “Tell me yours.”

Her grin’s turned into this lewd smirk. Combine that with a bite of her lower lip, and you might as well forget about what you asked at this point.

“Remember that bachelorette party,” She’s edging herself with your cock now, toys all but forgotten. ”When you came to pick me up after we got in trouble with the club. That’s how long I’ve wanted you.”

She’s on a roll, going over all the times she’s gotten wet to the thought of you. The wedding, the after party, every night, to right fucking now. She hasn’t stopped rubbing her folds—like you haven’t been groping her tits—cock in between as she starts to lose herself one more time to the pleasure.

“Watching me fuck myself, having me suck your cock–” Her eyes are fluttering shut, the utter perversion of her words taking over the both of you, pouring gasoline into the already raging inferno of your libidos. “You could dick me down right fucking now and I’d thank you for it.”

Fuck it, you’ve heard, seen, and felt enough.

You grab her by the waist and lift her like she’s another damn box to unpack, and push into her in one smooth thrust. You’re both gasping at the sensation, her arms wrapping around your neck, yours around her hips.

“So much better than my toys.” She sighs out, finally getting what she wants. What you both want. “You’re fucking throbbing.”

“And you’re so fucking tight.” It’s unbelievable how true those words are, gripping you so snug every movement makes her squeeze you oh so harder. She’s had that dildo inside her for so long that it made fucking her all the more easier, and all the more better. You slither a hand down to have a feel of her ass, giving it a little pinch before you start to lift her up and down your length.

Her moans ring out in your ear alongside the kisses down your neck as you bounce her on your cock as if she’s your sex toy now. She’s not idle at all however, hands tugging your hair, her hips rolling in your palms, tits pressing up against your chest.

“S-Shit, you’re the best.” She gasps, needy pants airing out straight into your eardrums. “Don’t think I’ll ever go back to my toys after having this dick all to myself.”

“What makes you think I’m yours, Yuls–”

��Shut up, you fucking dummy.” She cuts you off, straightening up before bottoming herself down, taking your entire length. “Thought about this for weeks. Got myself off at the thought of riding you.”

“I know you’ve thought about it too.” You can barely understand a word, her pussy almost suffocating you. “Fucking told me all about it, you dummy. And now you’re mine.”

She starts doing the repetitively damning motion of lifting herself up and slamming herself down on your cock. She was slow, enjoying the way you fill her up, taking every single inch of you before she rides back up again.

Her hands are still on your shoulders, staring right into the face that’s enjoying every small bit of Yuri’s doing. Every hip roll, every squeeze, every bounce; It is everything and more that you’ve thought about with her, and you are craving to have more of it.

You snap your hips up just as she comes back down, giving her ass a squeeze. The gasp she lets out when you do add a slap to the same cheek is like getting hooked up on drugs.

“And what does that make you, huh–” You’re grabbing onto both ass cheeks, keeping her steady as you take back control, setting a rough pace that makes her leave scratch marks on your shoulders. You catch glimpses of the cool metal of her butt plug on your fingers, still fitted so snugly inside of her ass.

“Wh-What do you think?” She retorts amidst the cries of bliss that you’ve caused.

“Say it.” A hand creeps down to the metal, giving it a tug before placing it back in. The guttural moan that comes echoing into the room makes your cock throb harder inside her, as if it wasn’t already throbbing enough for her.

“N-No–” She’s lost all control of her body, surrendering it to the pleasure she’s feeling yet she’s still putting up a front to you. Pretending that she hasn’t when you both know she already has.

“Say it, you brat.” Another slap to her ass before the both of you pause.

Yuri stares. Gives you that look you’ve seen a million times by now. Her entire body’s sweating, hair matted to her face, even with the cool blow of the AC. The playful glint in her eyes that never seems to leave, and you can’t help but be lost in them for just a moment.

And utters two words. Two words that caused you to come right down to reality, and snap.

“Make me.”

Your grip moves to her waist, hard, enough to leave marks on them as you start to pound into her needy cunt, as if you want her to regret ever saying those words.

She won’t, and she never will. Doesn’t mean you won’t try.

“Oh my god–” Her hand braces itself onto her couch, absolutely ruined by what you two have done to it. “Give me more, fucking wreck me–”

You don’t stop. Make her perverse moans turn into desperate gasps in the air. Turn her body into mush in your hands as you do in fact, wreck her pussy for anything and anyone else.

Fuck her till she has tears in her eyes from how good she’s taking you. Until her toes go numb from all the curling. Until she can’t take it anymore. Until she begs.

“Say it.” It’s a mantra you’ve repeated all throughout. Everytime you fuck her so close to cumming before you stop, slow down, whatever it took to keep her from reaching that high.

And she’ll keep denying it. Keep saying all these different ways to tell you no and you’ll keep forcing it out of her. Keep fucking it out of her.

It’s a game. Some fucked up, depraved version of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Neither of you want to lose, but the both of you oh so want to win.

So you start cheating.

Your mouth moves to her chest, taking in one of her nipples, twirling the nub over and under your tongue and giving it a messy suck. You can taste the sweat off of her, that surprised gasp ringing in your ear when you give her a bite.

“Yes, fuck–” She moans, hands wrapping around your neck, mixing through your hair as she leans further into your mouth, keeping you locked in her entire frame. You’re hammering into her harder, the couch protesting in silence at the stress it’s received today. “I’m so close, please, please–”

You murmur those two words, the repetition breaking her down, sending the vibrations straight into her chest with a swipe of your tongue over a bud before clamping back down to suck on her tit.

Your other hand isn’t idle, dipping down low between her legs, your hand getting a coating of her juices before you bring it back to her plug, using it against her. Pushing, pulling, teasing her tight, delectable ass.

You repeat those two words one last time, reveling in the fact that you’re ruining her for everything else, just like she said you would. Feel her legs start to tremble, waist start to shake, face start to get a rosy hue from all the teasing. All the fucking.

“Please, please keep going, I-I’ll say it, just–” She’s pleading, demanding, begging, for you to finish what you’ve started. “Just make me cum!”

“Swear it.” You’re making her work for it, pushing that plug all the way in to her ass, making her take every inch of the plug as you fuck her into her much needed orgasm.

You only need her to speak the words you’ve been wanting, no, needing to hear into existence, and you’ll give her what she wants. What her body is naturally telling her to do.

Yet she’s lost all manner of speaking, syllables coming out as broken moans because you’re not giving her a chance to rest. The heat of her pants brushes your face when she brings you up from her chest to meet her gaze. Yuri lets out this silly drunk chuckle, before her lips crash into yours.

It’s needy, it’s soft, it’s messy, it’s her. It’s a way of agreement, and you respond with fervor. Tongues meld, grips tighten around each other’s bodies, an urge to take everything this brat of a woman in your lap is giving you rising deep within your chest.

You accept it, all of it, and you return it in earnest by finally giving her what she wants.

You all but rip the buttplug out of her ass at the same time you bottom into her, and she’s reached that high she’s been denied for so long.

Yuri seizes up, abruptly pulling away from your lips as her jaw slackens, back arching as a silent scream is frozen on her features before she starts to shake, jerk, convulse everywhere. Her thighs, her chest, her pussy. She’s gushing, spilling herself all over your cock, the couch, the floor, and you’re left close to your own end.

Yet you pepper her neck with kisses, holding her as she trashes about on your lap. Give your entire focus on her, one of the most beautiful things you’ve seen, and the moans and whimpers that followed were so…fuck.

In that moment all you know is her, completely enraptured by the view of her being undone. Let her break, and watch her be remade. Her teary eyes return back to you, and she regains her bearings with a cup of your cheeks.

“Yeah,” She lets out a weak laugh, leaning in to press her forehead to yours. “Definitely the best.”

She leans in, pecking your lips. Then another, and another, until she’s showering you with them. She’s following it up with these giggles that sounded suspicious.

“Give you my spare key if you give me yours.” She whispers after leaving a kiss on your cheek. It’s a sign of an unspoken promise between you two. One you wholeheartedly agree to.

“If it’s an excuse to spend more time with you,” You reply, thumbs circling her hips. “Then it’s a deal.”

“Like you would say no after this.” Yuri laughs, before a flicker of realization crosses her face, followed by a short roll of her hip that makes your cock jump inside her. “You haven’t cum yet.”

“Close.” You groan, fingers tightening around her hips, head lolling to the sofa back. “Really close.”

“You gonna cum inside me?” You can see the perverted amusement twinkling in her eyes, lips turning into a smirk. “Make me swallow your thick cum? Maybe cum in my ass. You would, wouldn’t you, perv.”

“Christ, Yuri–”

“You’d cum on my face though, right?” She’s given you all these options but the brat’s already decided where you would cum. “Shut me up with that cock, make me choke on it, fuck my face till you burst–”

You’re not going to fall for it. Not gonna pull her off of you and get her down on her knees and cum all over her—the thought makes your cock twitch—when her pussy’s pulsing around your length, trying to milk you of your cum. You feel like you’d cum when you pull out anyway, and she would probably consider that a waste.

So you grab her hips and flip her on her back, pull her legs up to her chest, and give her another sloppy kiss. She moans into it, even as you shove your tongue down her throat just to get her to stop talking. You didn’t even realize that you'd placed your hand on her neck when you pull away.

“Just shut up and get fucked, Yuls.”

You give her throat a squeeze, firm enough to make her gasp, make her eyes blow out and this shit-eating grin forms as you slam into her, fast and rough, with no regard for her at all this time.

“That’s it.” She’s hooked her arms around her legs, keeping them upright for you, giving you all the leverage in the world to fuck her into the sofa. “Use me as your toy, make yourself cum. Fuck it all inside me, I’ll take it, I promise I’ll take all of it for you–”

“I said shut up.” You clamp down harder on her neck, feeling the vibrations of her gullet as she moans into every harsh thrust. Her walls are clenching around you, drowning you in her juices, making it so much easier to drive your hips down harder, urging you to flood her with your cum.

Yuri’s fucking you up with your eyes too. Her eyes are starting to roll back, jaw gaping in struggling sobs, perky tits swaying at every movement, a desire to slap the flesh stirring deep within you.

But you can’t. Not when you’re so close to filling her up with your cum. Your hips get punchier, unfocused. Keep hitting that spot that gets you dizzy from how tight and wet and amazing she feels, taking the hand out of her neck in favor of pressing down on her legs.

She’s almost folded in half, but she’s taking your cock so well, her wails burrowing the slaps of wet flesh against each other as she experiences another orgasm, and the last few thrusts makes your entire body tense up and you finally let go.

Every spurt felt larger than the last; Each rope of cum being unloaded deep inside her. The pleasure was immense, the feeling of filling her up seemed endless, giving her deep thrusts as if you wanted to fuck the cum deeper.

You don’t think you can ever go back to your hands after this.

You’ve collapsed on top of her, completely spent as you move your arms to rest on each side of her face, brushing a stray strand.

“So much…” She mutters, glassy eyes looking up at you, wrapping her arms around your nape. “It feels so good.”

Ditto, is all you can muster up, too tired to move a muscle. You can’t help but stare at her. The matted hair, the drool on her chin, the sweat of her skin, and she’s positively glowing after being wrecked.

She presses a kiss on your forehead, before dropping back down on the couch. “You’re helping me clean this up.”

“Anything for you, Yuls.” You blurt it out without thinking, and the giggle you hear makes you smile.

“Dummy.” She utters, giving you a small peck on the lips before pushing you up. “Come on, get up. I need to make dinner.”

“I thought I wouldn’t be getting free food anymore.” You chuckle, sliding yourself free from her. The both of you let out differing versions of disappointment in your mouths—hums, moans, whines, groans.

“I’m hungry.” Is all she needs to say. “But we both need a shower first.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“No.” She denies, pouts, thinks, then smiles. “Maybe after dinner.”

#have a yuri #box fic review

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octoberautumnbox · 27 days ago

Text

Bruise

Soloist/IZ*ONE Jo Yuri & (named) Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, fluff?

Word count: 5.5k

a/n: prompt by @msafterhours! ty for hosting once again :DDDD

YALL BETTER TUNE IN TO SQUID GAME 3 TOMORROW

~~~

Dull thuds of feet against trampled carpet. A door that tries to creak open. The stench of lavender amongst iron and spent brimstone. Clear.

She kicks off her heels as you crash onto the couch, only for her to follow. The plastic crinkles and ruffles underneath the both of you, growing stickier with each passing moment you're putting off cleaning up. Instead, you both opt for catching your breaths, taking in the cool breeze of air conditioning, and most importantly, listening intently for how your muscles scream and cry from overuse.

With a grunt, she pushes herself up and reaches for the tiny white envelope on the table. She undoes the wax seal with two swipes of her fingernail and pulls out the letter, scanning carelessly through its contents before tossing it back onto the table and reslouching on the sofa. She's clocked out of work: she clutches her face with her hands, forcing her eyelids shut and her breathing slows to a steady, or steadier, pace.

“Congrats, come home,” or whatever the fuck. The letter is unnecessarily more verbose, unbelievably so, but the important parts couldn't be simpler. It was a job well done, after all, and an invitation like that is always a sight for sore eyes were it not already expected. You stare at the seal in the top-left corner, pushing down your animosity for your employer as best you can.

A hand on her shoulder is all the consolation you allow yourself to give. “Go,” cold, tired, stern. She peeks at you through her slender fingers, and you steal a glance of her eyes crinkling at the corners before she pulls them away. With what sounds like a herculean effort, she gets up from the couch and heads off slowly to the bathroom as you sit and stare at the now-empty spot on the couch. Your eyes land back onto the annoyingly white sheet of paper on the table, silently cursing its bare existence, while the shower comes to life somewhere in the back of the room and of your mind.

Push off the sofa yourself, follow the sound of pitter-pattering water. Your tie comes undone, as do your buttons. She watches through the open door how you slide the sullied clothes off your heaving form, momentarily pausing from scrubbing the vile leftover matter out of her hair. She covers herself modestly with her arms and the shower curtain—she can be as coy as she wants if it makes her feel better—as you lean against the sink and catch your breath.

Dark circles under your eyes, splatterings of rust dotted across your face and arms. Some fresher, redder, more vibrant than others. All marks of victory, and nothing more. The water is cool in your palms, in stark contrast to the heat that blazes off the skin of your back and nape. Wash away your blemishes, wash away your sins. All marks of victory, and nothing more.

You notice a towel on the rack, which you mindlessly reach for. Just then, the water ceases falling, and you knock on the cubicle door. She eyes you, and then the towel, and then you again. It changes hands far too quickly, and a few brief moments later she pulls back the curtain and emerges like brand new. She's wrapped herself in a pristine eggshell-white robe with the bow tied neatly over her tummy, as the towel sips gently from the moisture of her hair.

She places a hand on your shoulder, shoots you a knowing smirk. You switch places: the floor grows only marginally wetter as she steps out to make space for you in the shower, and as you will the water to life again, you hear the faint sound of teeth being brushed from the other side.

~~~

You step out of the bathroom, leaving the dirt and grime of the day behind you. You find her on the couch again, but this time it's stripped away of the sullied plastic covering. She reads the letter deep in thought this time, before finally looking up at you with an expression you can't quite decode.

A knock on the door, your senses switch back to high alert. Though her eyes stay expressionless, they're anything but dull, and all it takes is one shake of her head. You tiptoe over to the door and cover your side of the peephole with your hand. One. Two. Three. And again.

One.

Two.

Three.

You open the door by a crack, and on the other side is an unassuming boy dressed as a staff member of the hotel. He clutches in his hands a tray with a single plate of French fries, which he serves to you and leaves just as wordlessly.

It's fries. Steaming, fragrant, drizzled with cheese sauce and bacon bits over top. And the place is safe, from the staff to the food to the rooms. Still, looking over to her, you can tell she doesn't trust them as much as she did when she ordered them. And the feeling of pity roots snugly against, not in, your heart: you want more than anything for these fries to be as safe as when she ordered them.

~~~

Not even a single speck of dust, only a hauntingly spotless brown ceiling to stare at. She rests her head on your chest and her plate on your stomach, staring out the window to the moon and stars that seem so close yet so far out of reach. She chews carefully, not savoring taste or texture, but only feeling around for the way her body moves to sustain itself. She breathes slow, checking in with how obediently her chest expands as she takes air in and pushes it back out.

The silence makes known a ringing sound in your ears; it's a stark contrast to not even an hour ago when explosions large and small filled them instead. You can only imagine her feeling the same, looking out at the gentle borrowed light of the moon instead of the bright flashes of whites and yellows and reds that demanded to be beheld.

“How much?” you whisper, breaking the silence. Place a hand around her shoulders, pull her close and secure as if you had the right to do so. She looks up, no doubt wondering why it matters enough for you to ask.

“Enough,” she sighs, returning her gaze to the moon, “for a hundred new iPhones every month until I'm eighty. A million of every ring, necklace, and broach my dad could never give my mom.” She pauses, wishfully, “A good, quiet, safe life.”

You sink deep in thought. It's true, there's nothing more valuable than that. The opportunity to leave this all behind and start over is the single most important thing everyone in this line of work works for.

“And a bookstore?” you jest.

And she giggles. “And a café upstairs. And a flower shop next door.”

She brings the next fry to your lips, hoping you'd accept. “And maybe… a husband? Whose name I… know.”

Both of you flinch at it, as if she hadn't meant to say it out loud nor you meant to hear it, but just as quickly you recover and smiles tug at the corners of your mouths.

It's been on your mind for a while, too. Not the high fantasy of a lavish mansion or a vault chock full of gold coins to swim in, not even a two-story, three-bed, four-bath with a white picket fence keeping in two kids and maybe a dog. Just the privilege to hit snooze every once in a while, to have the option of the Wednesday farmer's market, to not seek clearance for exactly five watered down shots at the least horrendous of the closest agency-affiliated bars.

“Sounds like a dream,” you confess, airier and more vulnerable than intended. You've been working this job longer than you care to remember, more missions completed than worth counting, more bones broken and lives claimed than anything that would get you a good afterlife. And yet, all of it has brought you to where you are now: lying at midnight in a bed you can't even appreciate the luxury of, in a hotel you couldn't bring yourself to trust, with the only person you've ever met that you ever truly did.

You sigh, “If you're trying to tell me something, just tell me.”

Your eyes meet under the moonlight, finding tiredness and regret behind each other's gaze. It's been too long, too much, and it's a mystery not even the two of you could solve together why you haven't already quit. But just like that, the answer reveals itself like it was right there beside you all along.

“You've saved enough too. Come with me.” She brings her face closer to yours, planting sweet kisses along your jawline. Her plate is empty, laid to rest somewhere behind her and forgotten like what they do when agents misbehave.

Lock her lips with yours, savor the feeling of being vulnerable with the one person who's ever been worthy of it. She takes your neck in her arms as you position yourself above her, chasing a future she and you want more than anything this organization will ever be able to offer. “And I assume you'll be leaving whether or not?”

She deepens the kiss, licking your tongue and letting you into her mouth. She moans breathily once you start to have your way with her: her grip tightens around you as your hand slides down the middle of her chest. Her eyes flutter shut as you move on to her neck, careful not to suck too hard lest you leave evidence. She spreads her legs just enough to grant you access; rub her folds through the thin fabric that may as well not be there at all. Feel her heat rising as her breath shortens, admire the way she lets you hold her like she's the most precious thing in the world.

“You won't leave me, right?” She begs without begging you to make a promise she knows you can't make. You slide her panties down her smooth legs, and it's nothing but comfort and warmth beneath the cotton blanket you find yourselves under. She gasps at the very first contact of your fingertips rubbing against her clit, and she looks you in the eyes as if not believing that you're considering it for her. Her hips grind slightly against your hand, seeking more of the pleasure you're providing, all the while she grows even wetter at how much attention and care you give her.

She pulls your shorts and underwear down too, thinking two can play at this game. She spits ceremoniously on her palm, the moonlight reflecting off the tiny droplet of saliva collecting in her hand, before she wraps it over your hardening cock as a thank-you. Her strokes are deep and long, leaving no inch dry and untouched, as her body jerks lightly at every swipe of your finger over her sensitive bundle of nerves.

You stay on top of her, spurred on by how affectionately she watches you. Her hands stay on your shoulders, gripping tight as if she might lose you if she lets go. It's happened before, you think, and seeing her reaction under the dim glow of the moon, you feel it's a thought the two of you share.

“Answer me. You won't leave me alone, will you?” She spreads her legs, though absentmindedly. She stares desperately into your eyes, looking for an answer she knows she won't like. As you lean down to her lips, taking claim of her tongue once again, she rubs your tip to her folds, coaxing you in your moment of weakness to give in to hers.

“You know we can't make promises.” Push into her slowly, past her entrance, savoring how her walls part for you. It's heaven hearing her moan like this: airy, light, carefree. She squeezes your cock hungrily, tracing every inch of you with her pussy like it's what everything leads up to. You continue to move, thrusting gently in and out of her, and she can't help but moan and groan at the forbidden pleasure.

She wraps her arms around your neck, keeping you close as if you're the damning secret that unravels her life. She shivers each time you hit her good spots inside her throbbing cunt; she grows wetter and wetter as you keep using her body the way she needs you to. She was always the selfish type, not caring about how it felt for you, but something feels different this time:

“Come find me…?” she whispers into your ear between gasps. She nibbles at your jawline as she shakes, getting pushed closer and closer to her climax. Her back lifts off the mattress and her chest meets yours, begging silently for more contact she knows she can't have.

Fuck her slow, but deep. Part her walls tantalizingly gently, making her groan at how you violate her luscious body. Her smooth skin and beautiful voice all whittle away at your resolve: you're led closer and closer to the idea that maybe, just maybe, a life with her isn't that bad. She squeezes your cock deliciously inside her, wraps her legs around your waist trying to keep you, hugs you tight like she needs you to live.

“Faster…” she begs. Her toes curl and uncurl as you follow, her voice breaking as you speed up. She grinds her hips against you to meet your thrusts, and plants more kisses on your neck during the moments she runs out of breath. Her wetness soaks the bedsheets beneath her, all the while you bring her closer to her climax and yours.

And faster still. You reach too deep into her; with every “mm” and “aah” and “please” she mutters straight into your ear, you feel your resolve crumbling more. The bed creaks slightly as you keep fucking her, all the while thoughts of waking up next to her everyday fill your head.

Her hitting snooze for you. Her hand in yours as you pick out fresh vegetables every Wednesday. Her eyes closed gently as you take your first sips of a fine aged wine.

She kisses you deeply, exploring more of your mouth without you holding her back. Her sultry moans get the better of you, as do the faint ghosts of aloe in her hair. Her skin feels smooth against yours, as if they'd never been touched by blood or gunpowder. You can still taste the cheese lingering on her lips, fading farther away as she lets you nip and nibble on them as you please.

You're in much too deep, you realize. She has her pussy clenching around your cock, her fingers tangled in your hair, her forehead on yours as she greedily kisses you in what would be the last time. And you're not pulling away. “You're really leaving, aren't you…?”

Slow down, catch your breath, give her, and yourself, just a little bit of space. Your nose two inches away from hers, your lips still tingling with the feeling of her love, her beautiful eyes focused solely on you like she'd forget your face if she looked away for even a second.

“Yeah… I am. I'm done,” she confesses. She looks so much older than the last time you saw her in light like this—and it was only last week. She'd just finished scrubbing away the dust and soot of the day from her face, and the bruises on her arms were only almost all better. And yet, she still had just the slightest bit of fight in her eyes, the kind that carried a person through terror and tragedy knowing that the end of the tunnel was near. Now, here it is.

She giggles, “You know they'd get rid of me if I said anything?” She caresses your cheek, admiring you for everything you meant to her: confidant, partner, constant. Anything else is a reach, and the both of you did everything you could to stay behind the line. Despite everything, here she is, admitting so casually to a crime that would get her wiped from the world, saying it so crudely like it was just another day in the life of a commoner who didn't know the lengths agents like you and she went through to protect.

“Is that your plan? Out yourself and take a chance that they'd only throw you on the curb?” you chuckle, the question incredulous as it is weighted. Go slow in her again, try to knock some sense into her. She's not special in the slightest to get away with just a slap on the wrist like that. And yet, you hope with all the heart you have left that she is. “When has it ever worked?”

“We wouldn't—ah fuck—we wouldn't know… Once I leave…”

Shut her up. Seal her lips, swirl her tongue around yours. She can't say what she's about to say, not yet. Anything but that. You speed up, and she reciprocates. She grinds against you, and you wager she doesn't know what you're trying to do.

But do you know what you're trying to do?

She interrupts just a moment, “Switch,” and you have to physically tear yourself away from her to oblige. Only then do you allow yourself to feel the wear and tear of the day and the job again—pulling out of her may very well be one of the most difficult things you’ve ever done.

And yet, she’s nothing but careful with you: she guides you down gently back onto the mattress, making sure your bruises fall onto nothing but cushiony softness. She clambers onto you, her own body betraying the same fatigue both of you tried so hard to ignore. Her hand on your still hard cock, twitching against your palm, and the faint moonlight filtering through the glass window illuminates only half of the most gorgeous face you’ve ever seen.

She takes it in her again, slow and steady. She slides down, feeling herself stretch to accommodate your girth, all the while tiny whimpers escape her lips once more. She takes her sweet time, savoring probably the last she’ll ever have of you—you have to remind yourself of that—as the aches slowly meld with the pleasure of just plainly having her all to yourself like this.

“You always look after me…” she whispers, placing her hands on your chest. It’s a nice change, or separation if you will, that she’s never this handsy in the field. She holds you down, “Can I look after you this time?” and she slides herself up before letting herself drop back. “Mmh—” she whimpers, and it takes everything to not start fucking her again yourself. Instead, settle for the next best thing: swipe at the straps of her nightgown, slip them off her shoulders. It brings the sweetest smile on her face, and as the gown slips down off her shoulders and back, you’re met with the sight of her delicious boobs, all yours to grope and handle like she wants.

“All yours, all of me.” She traces her finger along your arm, and as she reaches your hand, she brings it to her chest. Her breast is soft and pliant, with a perfectly stiff nipple you can’t help but pinch and tug at, and all it does is spur her on further. “More… please,” she pleads, the pleasure getting the better of her, throwing caution to the wind. She never lets go of your hand on her tits, wanting you to touch her forever. She bounces on your cock faster, trying to coax out the release she knows she deserves.

“Fuck… Please, I’m close.” Reach up and take her other breast. Her boobs bounce against your hands, and you feel her body heating up more and more as she rides faster. Her nipples poke against your palms, wanting nothing more than to be pinched hard, pulled, sucked, abused, but you’re too much of a gentleman, aren’t you? You pull her down, and to her surprise, she finds herself laying on your chest. Grip her ass like it’s all yours, thrust into her despite all the aches your body nags at you to submit to. Instead, you follow her, giving her what she wants. It slips in and out of your mind why you’re doing this with her, the memory getting hazier and hazier, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You hug her tight on top of your chest as if this is the way you get to keep her. Her cunt only gets wetter with how hard you try to hold on, and she does the exact same: she wraps her arms around your neck again, wanting to never let go, as she desperately tries looking you in the eyes instead of having them roll to the back of her head.

“I don’t know what your name is,” you confess straight into her ear, “I don’t know how long you’ve been working with me,” you thrust up into her faster, “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again,” she moans as you get rougher, chasing her own release while helping you chase hers, “but…”

And her lips crash against yours again. She grinds against you, trying to overtake your need with hers. She wants to give, wants to serve you, wants to return all the favors you’ve earned from times you saved her ass from whatever stray projectile was hurtling her way. She tries wrestling back control despite almost losing it herself, but she stays on top of you, licking your tongue, controlling the pace. She has to.

“Mmm… you don’t get to say it,” her breath is heavy against your ear, her voice raspy from all the deep moans and rough confessions of pleasure she afforded to you, “you don’t get to tell me you love me without saying my name too.”

She sits back up, plants her feet on the mattress, places her hands on your shoulders again, and bounces on your cock like there’s nothing else in the world to do. “You d-don't know how bad—ahh—I wanna say yours too…”

And you get the feeling she's running out of ways to beg, getting more and more desperate to give you the pleasure she thinks you deserve. Pleasure is splashed across her face: a furrowed brow showing how hard she's trying to outlast you, a forehead beaded with sweat at how bad she wants you to feel good, a lip bitten and next to bleeding keeping herself from saying things she knows she'll regret for all the wrong reasons.

Your breath hitches, and she almost doesn't catch it—she gives herself to you, insistent on making sure you won't want to pull out. She bends back down, pressing her tits on your chest, as she takes your lips one last time. Her tongue wraps around yours again and again, making the most of your remaining time together. She grinds hard on your cock, her slick, warm pussy squeezing around you like it's the only one she'll ever have, and it's this moment she draws her eyes open to find yours.

Her pulling up the covers for both of you. A bowl of fresh vegetable stew in the center of the table between two yet-empty plates. An arm around your shoulder as you stumble up the stairs together, thinking you're supporting her while she thinks she's supporting you.

A flash of blinding white, and your orgasm reaches its peak inside of her. You jerk inside her, and before you know it, you're shooting ropes of hot cum into her throbbing cunt. You thrust as deep as you can go, meeting every single squeeze of her velvet walls with another spurt of your seed, until her eyes glaze over and roll to the back of her head. She lets out a guttural moan as you paint her insides, filling her up beyond what she can keep inside her. Even as you throb and thrust inside her, you feel your cum mixed with her juices running down the underside of your shaft. And her arms wrap impossibly tight around your neck she jerks and shivers uselessly against you, each one the result of another stream of squirt splashing against your crotch.

She collapses on top of you, landing on your heaving chest. You breathe deep to replace the air missing from your lungs, but you can't deny it was the best feeling you've ever had with her, or at all. She lays there peacefully, lightheaded and satisfied, her head placed perfectly dead center of your chest, letting out tiny giggles as she catches her breath.

Place her gently beside you, make sure she's comfy in your embrace. She looks up at you with a love you've never thought possible, but this girl has always been an impossibility come to life. She holds your cheek, finally coming to terms with the fact that she might never have you for herself, and trying to forgive herself for a regret she might never, ever overcome.

“I wanna say it…” she laughs. Her teeth peek out from between her lips, her fingers gently trace your jawline as if trying to memorize it.

“Me too. Stupid rule,” you sigh, and it eases her a bit more. It's common courtesy, after all, to say a person's name when you confess your love—or so you think, who knows how this is supposed to go—so you hold back with everything you can.

She clicks her tongue and lets out a tired laugh, “Fucking ‘Master of Espionage’ can't figure out my fucking name,” and you silently wish you could hear her laugh forever. The smile gracing her features is one you never want to let go, one you want to keep alive for as long as you are.

“That's your job. My job is to make sure the ‘Master of Espionage’ doesn't get shot in the fucking face.”

And she settles. Her eyes give off a light that's betraying her weakness, “Why won't you come with me? Is there something you still need to do?”

It kills you, you don't even know. You don't have an answer for her, let alone a good one, why you can't be with her as she takes the next step into the rest of her life. Or, you couldn't admit that you think she'd never stay with a boring old dope like you who only knows how to pull triggers and crack necks. A young woman as beautiful and sensible as her would be wasted on someone like you—

Like reading your mind, “Stop that. Stop that right now,” she interrupts, and her lips meet yours one last time. She's insistent yet gentle, the way only she could ever be. “I want you… I'll always want you, I think. No matter what you try to convince yourself of.”

“That's cheating.”

“No it isn't,” she giggles again, “I make the rules. Not cheating.”

“Then…” take a deep breath, steel your nerves, “I want you too.”

~~~

“We'll have you on holdover until we can find you a partner.”

“Excuse me?” You can't even begin to believe your ears. It's only been a weekend, you think. And already your partner is…

“Agents can't go out in the field alone. We'll match you with someone and then assign you two a mission.”

It's all but confirmed, then. You try and then fail miserably at forming a cold sweat; it's not like you didn't expect this—in fact, you knew she would. You just didn't think, or hope would be a better word, that she'd go so soon.

You can only stare back at the poor clerk who's only doing his job. Fight down the red that fills your eyes, scold yourself for blaming this guy, or anyone, or everyone, besides you. You're the one who failed to keep her, and there's no one else to point fingers at.

“You can visit the office floor in the meantime, agent. We'd assign you a cubicle, but in reality we'd have you a partner in about ten—”

“Whatever. I'm not doing field work today.”

The clerk clicks his tongue with a bored feeling, whether disapproval or tediousness, you don't care to place. “Fine,” he sighs, “Records department, cubicle 1A4. Welcome back, agent.”

You head off to your desk and slump in the chair.

~~~

Kempt and tidy, albeit showing signs of gray. Your glasses sit elegantly on your face, making the wrinkles look softer and more welcome than they should. You draw your attention away from the image of you in the window and back to the pretty waiter girl walking towards you.

“Ready to order, sir?” Seeing you nod, she swipes her pencil from her ear and spins it before touching its graphite to the paper. She smiles a familiar smile, one you can't seem to forgive yourself for placing.

“A mocha, please.”

“Size?”

“Medium.”

“We say ‘venti’ for that.”

“Whatever.”

“Hot or iced?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Hah, alright. It'll be five minutes, sir.”

She walks away, heading for the counter. For some reason, your nerves are quiet—no alarms blaring, no warning lights flashing. If anything, you're hopeful that it's over and that you could finally leave the past behind you.

And then you see her. She emerges from some back room, exchanging a few words with the pretty waiter girl. They share a giggle before she turns and spots you. Her jaw drops like she's seen a ghost before shooing away the waiter to the kitchen.

She takes careful steps, looking around like there's something to find. She's inconspicuous—she hides it well—and slips into the booth opposite you.

Kempt and tidy, albeit showing signs of gray. Her glasses sit elegantly on her face, making the wrinkles look softer and more welcome than they should. She stares at you, wanting to say a million things yet having none come out.

Do the heavy lifting for her, again: “Hi.”

“I—welcome. You…?”

“Congrats on the whole thing.” You look around: potted plants hang from the ceiling, bright windows let light into the cozy space just like next door. Jazz plays softly in the background like a cliché that fits so damn well.

“Thank you. You look good.” She smiles, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. She looks you up and down, and you feel yourself doing the same.

“Yuri,” you whisper, feeling the syllables roll off your tongue and past your lips. It feels forbidden to say, forbidden to hear, yet those laws were lifted so long ago.

She laughs a beautiful laugh, like old times. “How did you find me?”

“I'm sorry I took so long… But I'm here now.”

“You say that like I didn't wait.”

She holds your cheek again, feeling the wrinkles where there used to be residue of war. It's a different feeling, a strange one, but nothing unwelcome.

You grasp the hand on your cheek, “Is she…?” before watching her give a solemn nod.

The pretty waiter girl appears beside your booth promptly, setting down your mocha and an americano for your old friend. Yuri shoots a tender yet knowing look at her, but she's only puzzled so far.

“Mom, do you know him?” She glares at you, wondering why her mother has her hand on your cheek. The cogs on her head turn slowly, but they turn nonetheless. “Oh my God…”

“And you must be Mihyun,” you tease, taking a sip of your coffee. It's sweet, bitter, and comforting, much like the end of a long journey where you're all but one more dirt path from home. “Mm, good for a ‘venti.’ But I wanted it iced, though.”

She chuckles in disbelief, but the moment you scoot to make space, she tears up. She sobs lightly as you put your arm around her, and Yuri joins on her other side to wrap her in a tight hug.

“It's very nice to meet you, sweetheart,” you whisper, kissing her hair. “And you too, my love.” Find her once again, eyeing you with that signature mischievous smile as if saying how dare you make my daughter cry.

“What did you tell her that she isn't kicking me out of here right away?” you laugh, and Yuri laughs back.

“I told her her dad is a wonderful man, and that he always put me first. For a little while, she couldn't understand why I never took a boyfriend. She liked one of the regulars from a long time ago, the handsome one that looked soft and homey, but I said I knew better and she was nice enough to leave it at that.”

“Sounds like I have quite the shoes to fill.”

“Better start now…?”

“Sangja.” You turn red in the face saying it, and just as expected, Yuri snorts.

“Fuck you. All this time, Agent Box?”

“As if you were any better, Agent Glass.”

~~~

a/n: this might be the most fanfiction-y fanfiction i've written so far bc of that namedrop and also for giving her a gun lmao anywayz tune in for squid game s3 next week y'all!!

a/n: update y'all they gave her a gun 😭😭😭😭

#kpop smut #girl group smut #izone smut #jo yuri smut #jo yuri #izone yuri #fic box

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