Fic-chive

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

the night air is a blade against your cheeks, yet it cannot cut through the slow, molten burn that has settled low in your belly, a burn that started hours ago and has only grown heavier, wetter, more insistent with every passing minute.

you stand outside sohee’s building, shoulders hunched inside your jacket, the wool pulled so tight across your waist it feels like the only thing keeping your body from splitting open and spilling its shameless want onto the pavement.

your thighs are already slick, the inside seams of your stockings darkened where the heat has been leaking steadily, silently, traitorously, ever since you kissed your boyfriend’s sleepy forehead and slipped out with a whispered lie about needing to go to a sleepover with your best friend. each pulse between your legs is a dull, greedy fist unclenching and clenching again, a rhythm older than thought, older than guilt.

the soft buzz of your phone in your pocket again, another heart, another “miss you baby”, another message you will answer tomorrow with a smile and a kiss and a mouth still tasting of someone else.

it wasn’t your fault you were carrying this sickness. this cruel, wordless hunger that wakes you before the sun, that slicks your folds while you are still half-dreaming, that tightens like wire around your spine in lecture halls and grocery lines until you have to dig your nails into your palms just to keep from rocking against the nearest hard surface.

your boyfriend, anton, your sweet, patient, beautiful boy, tries so hard; he kisses the tears from the corners of your eyes, murmurs love against your throat, laps at you with gentle devotion until you cum, once, maybe twice, his fingers laced tenderly with yours.

but the moment the last shiver leaves your body the hunger surges back twice as vicious, a starving animal that gnaws at your ribs while he sleeps, leaving you to grind helplessly against his mattress in the dark, muffling broken sobs into the pillow so he never wakes to the truth of what you are.

six months ago sohee discovered it by accident, or perhaps by instinct.

a house party, too much vodka, your boyfriend somewhere in the living room calling your name while you were already bent over the bathroom sink, skirt rucked to your waist, sohee’s hand clamped over your mouth and his cock driving into you with a force that rattled the mirror on its hinges.

four orgasms tore through you in under twenty minutes, each one wrenched out harder than the last until you were squirting in helpless, violent arcs that soaked his hoodie, the waistband of his sweats, the cheap tile beneath your feet. when he pressed his palm just beneath your navel and thrust himself to the hilt something inside you cracked open like a fault line and, for five impossible seconds, the hunger went perfectly, blissfully still. you blacked out with his name muffled against his fingers, limbs liquefied, vision whited out, the sickness finally lulled into silence by the brutal, perfect fit of him.

since that night you have betrayed every promise, every week, sometimes multiple times a week too, slipping away to feed the beast only he can quiet.

your boyfriend’s best friend since high school, the lazy-eyed boy with the careless mouth who laughs when you beg, who calls you filthy names and still fucks you until your body forgets its own name. only sohee can empty you out, leave you boneless and drifting in the soft, floating aftermath where nothing claws or burns or demands.

your phone vibrates again and you silence it with trembling fingers, feeling the fresh rush of warmth coat the inside of your thighs like liquid confession.

you had messaged sohee, texts piling up in a one-sided stream:

‘please, i need you, sohee, it’s bad tonight, answer me’, and called, the phone ringing into silence, his voicemail a cold, mechanical rejection that stung almost as much as his indifference.

but you’re here anyway, driven by the ache, the need, the addiction that’s consumed you since the night you met him, a night that feels like both a curse and a revelation, etched into your soul like a brand.

standing in the flickering light of the building’s entrance, your hands shaking as you fish the spare key from your bag and slip it into the lock. the one you had forged in a quiet act of desperation months ago, when sohee’s gaming marathons stretched into endless hours of unanswered knocks, unanswered texts, leaving you stranded on his doorstep, heart pounding, body thrumming with an ache that clawed at your core like a beast caged within your flesh. relentless, unyielding, a persistent, pulsing need to be filled, to be touched, to be seen, a fire that burns without end, no matter how many times you try to douse it.

the door creaks open, and the apartment yawns before you, a shadowed crypt of neglect, the air heavy with the stale scent of burnt ramen, the faint chemical tang of energy drinks, and the sour undercurrent of unwashed dishes festering somewhere in the gloom. no light spills from the hallway, no warmth greets you, only the faint hum of electronics and a sharp, muffled curse slicing through the silence.

“fucking idiot, i told you to go left,” sohee’s voice, low and laced with venom, punctuated by the rapid, staccato click of his keyboard, the rhythm of his world, one that spins without you, oblivious to the need that drives you here, night after night, like a moth to a flame that singes but never consumes.

you step inside, your heels clicking softly on the worn floorboards, the sound swallowed by the oppressive gloom. you’re dressed for him, always for him, hyper-feminine in a way that feels like both armor and surrender: a delicate pink dress, soft and clinging to your curves, lace trim grazing the tops of your thighs, lips glossy with cherry shine, lashes heavy with mascara, every detail a fragile plea for his attention, a desperate bid to be enough for a boy who’d rather grip his mouse than your body, your low self-esteem woven into every careful curl of your hair, every swipe of blush across your cheeks, a futile attempt to be seen in a world where you’re nothing but a shadow.

the bedroom door is ajar, a sliver of blue light spilling from his monitor, casting flickering shadows across the chaos—bedsheets twisted on the floor, an empty ramen bowl teetering on his desk, its broth a congealed ghost, a crumpled energy drink can glinting faintly in the glow.

sohee sits there, hunched forward, a fitted white tee stretched across his lean frame, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, the waistband dipping to reveal a sliver of taut, pale skin, damp with the faint sheen of sweat from hours in this chair. his hair was a messy tangle of dark strands, the tips tickling his neck, somehow still maddeningly alluring, a careless beauty that makes your breath hitch, your core clench, the ache sharpening like a knife twisting in your gut.

his headset clamps over his ears, eyes glued to the screen, fingers dancing across the keyboard with a grace that sends a shiver through you. slender, quick, precise, moving with an effortless dexterity that you can’t help but imagine inside you, fucking you with the same skill he pours into his game, if only he’d care enough to try.

he’s a loser, a gamer boy lost in his virtual empire, but god, he’s beautiful, the kind of beautiful that breaks you, makes your body beg, your pussy weep, even as he ignores you.

he doesn’t notice you at first, too deep in his match, jaw tight, lips parted as he snarls another curse into the mic, “move, you fucking moron,” the words sharp, slicing through the haze of your lust like a lash.

you stand there, trembling, the ache in your core a living thing, pulsing with a need so intense it’s like your body is screaming, your panties already soaked through, clinging to your skin, your thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to quell the fire, a relentless, unadulterated lust that won’t rest until you’re filled, until you’re fucked senseless.

when his eyes finally flick to you, it’s not with warmth or want but with a cold, cutting irritation, a darkening in those sharp irises as he registers what your presence means—the never-ending hunger that clings to you like a second skin, the lust that spills over in the way your hands twist in your dress, the way your breath catches, your body vibrating with raw, primal need.

“fuck, you again?” he snaps, voice low and edged with venom, his fingers never pausing on the keyboard, the game’s frenetic soundtrack a mocking counterpoint to your desperation.

“i’m this close to winning, you can’t fucking wait?”

his words are a blade, carving through your fragile self-esteem, but they only make the ache worse, the barbed wire of his cruelty coiling tighter around your insides, your pussy throbbing with a need that drowns out the shame.

you shake your head, a small, pathetic gesture, your voice barely a whisper, “sohee, please, i can’t. i need–“ but he cuts you off with a scoff, his lips curling into a cruel, mocking smirk, the indifference in his gaze a wound that festers deeper than his words.

“pathetic,” he mutters, eyes flicking back to the screen, the click of his mouse relentless.

“fine, get over here. but i’m not pausing this for you,”his tone is a command, not a kindness, a dismissal wrapped in permission, and you hate how it sets your skin alight, the ache flaring into a fire that burns hotter at his cruelty, your hands trembling as you lift your dress, your soaked panties sticking to your skin, a testament to how deeply you’re caught in this toxic spiral.

you settle down onto his lap, the worn leather of the gaming chair cool against the backs of your thighs. your back presses flush to his chest, his body heat seeping through the thin cotton of his tee, heartbeat steady and indifferent beneath your shoulder blades while yours ricochets like a trapped bird. the monitors bathe you both in shifting violet and crimson, the game’s frantic soundtrack bleeding into the room, gunfire and explosions and the low, constant chatter of his friends through the headset that never leaves his ears.

sohee doesn’t speak.

he doesn’t need to.

one arm stays locked on the keyboard, fingers flying, wrist flicking the mouse in sharp, precise arcs, while the other slides down between your spread thighs without ceremony. the second his skin meets the mess you’ve made, he hisses through his teeth, a soft, scornful sound that vibrates against the shell of your ear.

“jesus fuck, you’re disgusting,”

he mutters, so quiet only you can hear, the words brushing the shell of your ear like a slap. no one in the call catches it; the mic stays angled away, for now. his fingertips come away glazed, strings of you stretching between them before he wipes the excess on the inside of your thigh like you’re a rag. then he’s back, parting your folds with two fingers, spreading you open just enough to make you feel how swollen you already are, how ready, how pathetic.

you bite down on your lip hard enough to sting, trying to trap the sound that wants to crawl out of your throat.

it doesn’t work.

the moment his thumb settles on your clit with just the right amount of pressure a broken sigh spills free, soft and wet and desperate. he circles once, slow and mean, dragging the slick up and around, coating you until every nerve is screaming. your hips jerk without permission, chasing the touch, thighs trembling over his.

he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t slow the game. his gaze stays locked on the center monitor, jaw tight, lips parted around silent curses at whatever idiot is feeding on the other team. the only sign he’s aware you exist is the way his fingers move; deliberate, mechanical, perfect. thumb still rubbing those cruel circles, he gathers more of your wetness and drags it downward, painting your entrance before he pushes two fingers in to the knuckle in one slick thrust.

the sudden, filthy stretch you’ve been aching for all day, the one your boyfriend could never give you because he’s too gentle, too careful, too in love with you to treat you the way your body demands. sohee doesn’t love you. he barely likes you. and that’s why it feels like heaven when his fingers bottom out, curling once, hard, against that spot that makes your vision white out.

every stroke is deliberate, unhurried, like he’s testing how little effort it actually takes to unravel you. the wet sound is soft at first, a quiet, obscene squelch each time he drags out and pushes back in, coating his knuckles, dripping onto the leather beneath you. you squirm helplessly, thighs trembling over his, hips rolling forward to chase the pressure because it’s never enough and it’s already too much.

you bite down on your lower lip until you taste gloss and blood, trying to cage the sounds clawing up your throat. a breathy moan slips free anyway, high and broken, but still too quiet for the headset to catch.

his curses keep spilling into the mic, low and vicious, “fucking die already, useless,” and every sharp syllable lands between your legs like another stroke, feeding the ache instead of killing it.

he picks up speed without warning, fingers driving deeper, curling on every inward thrust to scrape that spot that makes your vision flicker. the squelch turns louder, wetter, unmistakable now, and your hips buck hard, grinding down onto his hand like you’re trying to take more than he’s willing to give. another moan tears loose, louder this time, and you slap your own palm over your mouth to smother it.

sohee doesn’t even flinch.

he just spreads you wider with those two fingers, stretches you open for a heartbeat, then forces a third in alongside them. the burn is instant, perfect, a deep, filthy stretch that makes your back bow and your toes curl in your heels. your head lolls against his shoulder, eyes rolling back beneath fluttering lids, tears gathering hot and useless at the corners. your cunt flutters wildly around the sudden intrusion, walls rippling, trying to adjust, trying to swallow him deeper.

the orgasm hits like a wave breaking over jagged rock, sudden, violent, merciless. your entire body seizes, thighs locking rigid over his, pussy clamping down so hard on his fingers you feel the pulse in your throat. slick gushes out around his knuckles, hot and shameful, dripping down his wrist, pooling beneath you on the chair in a dark, spreading stain.

for two breathless seconds the ache goes quiet, a cruel, fleeting mercy, like the world narrows to nothing but the white-hot throb behind your eyes and the way your body shakes itself apart on his hand. your breath catches on a silent scream, tears finally spilling over, rolling down your temples into your hair.

the aftershocks still ripple through you, thighs twitching, cunt fluttering weakly around the three fingers he keeps buried deep, unmoving for a moment while the rgb lights strobe across your wet cheeks and parted lips. two seconds, maybe three, of that cruel, blessed quiet where the ache finally shuts up, where your body feels almost sated.

then it creeps back in.

a slow, treacherous heat unfurling low in your belly, the familiar pulse waking up again like it’s mocking the orgasm you just had. your hips give a tiny, involuntary roll, chasing the fingers that haven’t moved since you came. a soft, pathetic sound slips from your throat before you can stop it.

sohee feels it, of course he does.

he knows your body better than the boy who tucks you in at night and whispers i love you while you stare at the ceiling and count the minutes until you can sneak out. he knows one is never enough, knows the second the high fades you’ll be grinding down again like a desperate animal.

his fingers start moving while the next round is still loading, slow at first, dragging out with a filthy twist before slamming back in, rougher now, no pretence of gentleness. the squelch is louder, wetter, your cum and fresh slick coating his hand all the way to the wrist. your hips follow the rhythm without permission, bucking helplessly into every thrust, chasing that brutal pressure that only he gives you.

“not enough, huh?” he mutters, voice low and disgusted, meant only for you. his thumb finds your clit again, grinds hard once, twice, and your back arches off his chest.

the loading screen flashes and he uses the countdown. his hand suddenly leaves the mouse, snakes up to your throat, long fingers wrapping around it in one swift, vicious squeeze. your breath cuts off instantly, head jerked back against his shoulder, pulse hammering against his palm. his lips brush the shell of your ear, hot and cruel.

“fucking slut,” he hisses, so quiet the mic will never catch it, grip tightening until black dots bloom at the edges of your vision. “can’t even let me play without begging for more.”

he shoves a fourth finger in alongside the others without warning.

the stretch is blinding, a deep, burning ache that punches the air from your lungs and shoots straight to your lower stomach. you feel it there, a heavy, obscene pressure, like he’s rearranging your insides with one careless hand. your cunt spasms around the impossible fullness, walls fluttering wildly, slick gushing out around his knuckles and dripping down his wrist in thick, shameful rivulets. your legs kick once, heels scraping the floor, toes curling so hard they cramp.

he releases your throat the second the game drops back in, fingers flying to the keyboard again like nothing happened, but the ones inside you never stop, pumping hard, fast, merciless.

your second orgasm barrels through you before you can brace for it, sharper than the first, ripping a broken cry from your raw throat. your whole body locks up, thighs clamping around his arm, pussy clenching so hard on his fingers it hurts, another flood of cum soaking his sweatpants, the chair, your dress. your vision whites out for a heartbeat, tears spilling sideways into your hair, mouth open on a soundless scream.

the second orgasm is still pulsing through you when he keeps going, four fingers driving into you with the same ruthless rhythm, knuckles slamming deep, curling hard against the front wall of your cunt like he’s trying to punish it. the burn is vicious for the first few seconds, raw, oversensitive flesh screaming at the intrusion, but the ache underneath it is already waking up again, greedy and shameless, licking at the edges of the pain until they blur together.

your hips won’t stay still. they roll forward on every thrust, chasing the stretch, the pressure, the way he refuses to give you even a breath to recover. your own hand has found its way under the neckline of your dress without permission, fingers pinching and twisting your nipple hard enough to make you gasp into the humid air. your tongue slips out, just the tip, resting against your lower lip like a dog panting in summer heat, eyes half-lidded and glassy, tears drying on your temples.

he hits that spot again, again, again, the same brutal hook of his fingers that drags over your g-spot with every stroke. it makes your head swim, makes the room tilt, makes pleasure coil so tight in your pelvis you feel it behind your urethra, a deep, swelling fullness that presses outward like something alive trying to escape.

a shaky moan slips free before you can stop it, high and desperate. sohee’s head tilts a fraction, the only warning you get.

“be. fucking. quiet.”

each word is punctuated by a vicious thrust, fingers slamming in so hard your whole body jolts forward in the chair. you bite down on your lip until you taste blood, copper blooming sharp across your tongue. your free hand scrabbles for something to hold onto and finds the soft waistband of his joggers, bunching the fabric into a white-knuckled fist as your hips buck wildly, riding his hand like you’re trying to fuse yourself to it.

the pressure builds impossibly fast. a sudden, involuntary tightening low in your abdomen, muscles grabbing at his fingers and then letting go in frantic little pulses. your lower stomach cramps, thighs trembling harder, the opening of your cunt fluttering around his knuckles like it’s trying to push him out and pull him deeper at the same time. there’s a split-second of pure urgency, a hot, terrifying fullness right behind your pubic bone that makes you panic and crave all at once.

then it breaks.

the pressure drops like a dam bursting. a sudden, heavy push from deep inside, and warm fluid gushes out of you in a hard, forward arc, soaking his wrist, his forearm, splattering onto the floor between his spread legs. your pelvic muscles let go completely, spasming in violent waves, each contraction forcing another pulse of clear liquid out of you in rhythmic, humiliating spurts. your left leg starts shaking uncontrollably, thigh jerking against his, lower abdomen cramping in sharp, fluttering bursts that feel almost like pain.

you can’t breathe. can’t think. your vision tunnels to static and rgb light, mouth open on a silent scream, tears streaking sideways into your hair. the overstimulation is immediate and brutal, every nerve lit up and screaming, clit throbbing so hard it hurts where his thumb still rests against it.

the last spurt leaves you in a helpless pulse, warm fluid streaking down his forearm, dripping from his elbow onto the already ruined leather. the chair is destroyed, dark, spreading stains blooming across the seat, soaking through to the foam and his favourite grey sweatpants are plastered to his thigh in a cold, sticky patch that clings every time he shifts. you feel it cooling against your bare skin, the evidence of what your body just did, what it always does when he touches you.

sohee makes a low, disgusted sound against the back of your neck.

“messy slut,” he mutters, voice rough with contempt, but his fingers don’t stop.

if anything he drives them deeper, four thick digits spearing into you with wet, punishing thrusts that force another helpless gush of fluid out around his knuckles. each stroke is met with a small, shameful pulse, more slick leaking in rhythmic spurts every time your wrecked cunt tries to clamp down and fails.

the overstimulation is brutal, a hot, stinging ache that makes your thighs jerk and your breath hitch on tiny, broken sobs, but the hunger underneath it is worse. it’s already clawing back up your spine, greedy, insatiable, whispering that fingers aren’t enough, that you need to be stretched wider, filled heavier, fucked until your legs give out and the ache finally shuts up for good.

you need his cock.

you need it so badly your hips are rocking again without permission, grinding down onto his hand like an animal, chasing the promise of something thicker, longer, something that will press against your cervix and stay there until you can’t remember your own name. a pathetic whine vibrates in your throat, muffled against the heel of your palm, but he hears it anyway.

his fingers slow just enough to make you suffer, curling deliberately, dragging across that spot again so another weak spurt of fluid leaks out and drips off his wrist. your walls flutter uselessly around the intrusion, overworked and trembling, but still trying to pull him deeper.

“greedy little thing,” he says under his breath, barely audible over the constant clack of his keyboard and the low laughter of his friends in the call.

“just squirted all over my shit and you’re already begging for my cock.”

your answering moan is small, desperate, impossible to hide.

your hips roll forward again, shameless, chasing the slow drag of his knuckles, and you feel the hard line of him beneath the soaked fabric of his sweatpants, thick and half-hard and so close you could sob.

he lifts you just enough, one arm hooked under your thigh like you’re weightless, and the sudden emptiness inside you is a physical ache, a hollow, pulsing void that makes you whimper before you can stop yourself. slick drips in slow, syrupy strands from your cunt, landing on the soaked leather with soft, wet sounds that feel louder than the gunfire still blasting through his headset. the rgb lights strobe across your trembling thighs, painting them violet, crimson, violet again, every shift of colour catching on the sheen of sweat and cum coating your skin.

he doesn’t look at you.

he shoves the waistband of his sweatpants lower with one impatient jerk, cotton catching on the sharp jut of his hipbones before his cock springs free and lands heavy against his stomach.

it steals the air from your lungs.

thick in a way that feels almost violent, flushed a dark, angry red that borders on purple at the swollen head, veins thick and raised along the shaft like cables under silk, the slit already glistening with a fat bead of precum that trembles, then spills over, sliding slow and obscene down the underside.

he fists himself once, lazy, spreading the precum in a slow, deliberate stroke that makes the whole length gleam wet under the shifting colours. his eyes flick to you for half a heartbeat, just long enough to watch your lips part, to see the way your tongue touches your bottom lip without permission, then snap back to the centre monitor. the smirk that curls the corner of his mouth is small, cruel, and utterly satisfied.

“turn around,” he mutters, voice flat, already clicking again. “i’ll give you what you’ve been waiting for.”

your knees are shaking too hard to trust, but you move anyway, turning in the narrow space between his body and the desk, dress rucked up under your armpits now. you straddle him properly, knees sinking into the ruined leather on either side of his hips, and the heat radiating off his skin is a shock against your raw, oversensitive thighs.

his left hand never leaves the keyboard.

his right hand grips your hip hard enough that his fingertips dig crescents into your flesh, and he lines himself up with no ceremony, just the blunt, impossibly thick head of his cock nudging your entrance, smearing your own slick and the remnants of your last orgasm over your swollen folds.

you lower yourself onto him, feeling an actual slow, searing burn that starts where he’s stretching you open and radiates outward in white-hot rings, up into your belly, down the backs of your thighs, behind your knees. tears flood your eyes instantly, spilling over before you can blink them away, rolling in hot tracks down your cheeks and dripping off your jaw onto his shirt. your breath comes in tiny, wounded gasps, each one catching in your throat as another fraction of an inch forces its way inside, parting raw, overworked walls that flutter and spasm and still try to pull him deeper.

you’re only halfway down and you’re already full, forehead pressed to the damp cotton over his collarbone, nails carving burning crescents into his chest through the thin fabric. every vein drags like a ridge of fire, every subtle shift of his hips making the head nudge deeper, pressing against places so far inside you that your vision tunnels, black at the edges. sweat beads along your hairline, rolls down your temples, drips from your chin. your thighs tremble violently, muscles jumping, trying to spread wider and failing because there’s simply no more room, no more space for your body to give.

he still doesn’t look at you, eyes locked on the centre monitor, jaw tight, tongue touching the corner of his mouth in concentration while your entire world narrows to the impossible, exquisite split of being opened on his cock. your cunt clamps down hard, a frantic, milking spasm that drags a low, barely there, hiss from between his teeth, and his smirk widens, lazy, cruel, triumphant, because he can feel exactly how ruined you are and it still isn’t enough to make him pause the game.

you sink the final stretch, ass finally meeting his thighs, his cock buried so deep you feel the pulse of it behind your navel, a heavy, unyielding pressure that sits low in your pelvis like he’s rearranged everything inside you to make room for himself.

tears stream freely now, dripping off your chin in steady drops, your breath coming in shallow, open-mouthed pants against the hollow of his throat. you can’t move, can’t think, can only shake there impaled and stuffed so full it feels like he’s in your ribcage, your heartbeat fluttering wildly around the thick intrusion.

he gives you four full seconds of nothing.

then shifts your hips a fraction to the side so his left hand never leaves the keyboard, and starts fucking up into you with short, vicious, perfectly timed snaps that match the clack-clack-clack of his cherry mx blues like a metronome made of cruelty.

each thrust drags that fat, ruthless head across the spot your boyfriend has never reached, a spot that makes your spine bow and your toes curl and your vision white out in sheets. the wet sound of your cunt taking him is louder than his switches, louder than the explosions in his headset, louder than the broken, high-pitched noises you can’t swallow anymore.

you feel him, every inch, every pulse, the thick, unyielding girth stretching you to the brink, the tip pressing against your cervix with a pressure that’s both pain and pleasure, a raw, primal fullness that makes your thighs tremble, your acrylic nails digging into his thighs first, clawing through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, leaving crescent marks in his skin as you try to anchor yourself against the onslaught.

you’re getting hotter, sweat beading on your brow, dripping down your spine, soaking your dress, your body trembling as you try to bite your lip to suppress the sounds, to keep the moans from spilling out, but it’s no use. your voice fractures into high-pitched squeals, low, desperate groans, incoherent pleas.

“sohee, please,” the words lost in the haze of your lust, your body rocking against him, each movement sending jolts of sensation through you, the pressure building, a coiling tension in your core that winds tighter with every thrust of your hips.

you get louder, too loud, your moans fracturing into cries, and suddenly his hand leaves the keyboard, snaking around your throat with a swift, ruthless grip, fingers tightening until your breath catches in a soft, startled gasp, your head spinning as the edges of your vision blur.

“shut the fuck up, you whore,” he growls, his voice a low, vibrating snarl in your ear, the words dripping with venom, sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you, your pussy clenching harder around him, the degradation only fueling the fire, making you wetter, needier, your body betraying you with its eager response.

a particularly shattered cry tears itself from your throat, high and raw and utterly wrecked, the kind of sound that has no business existing outside a locked room. it spills into the headset like liquid, crystal-clear, impossible to pretend was anything else.

the discord call falls into a frozen hush for half a heartbeat, nothing but the faint electric hum of multiple headsets breathing in unison, the distant, arrhythmic clack of someone else’s keyboard echoing like a ghost in the background, then a low, drawn-out whistle slices through the tension, sharp as a knife’s edge. this is followed by a choked, incredulous laugh that builds like thunder, another voice muttering “no fucking way” in a tone thick with disbelief and amusement, and suddenly the dam shatters, unleashing a rolling wave of crude, masculine laughter that crackles through the speakers like wildfire through dry brush, each burst layered with the weight of mockery and unspoken envy, saturating the air with a sensory storm of humiliation that coils tight in your chest, hot and suffocating, even as it sends fresh sparks of forbidden arousal racing down your spine to pool between your legs.

sohee’s lips curl slowly into that lazy, cruel smirk, a subtle twist of his mouth that deepens the shadows on his face, carving lines of indifference and triumph into his features as if he’s savoring the taste of your degradation.

his hips keep snapping up into you in that same short, vicious rhythm, the fat head of his cock dragging mercilessly across the spot that makes your spine bow and your vision fracture into white-hot shards. the smirk that crawls across his mouth is slow, lazy, devastatingly satisfied, the kind of expression that belongs to someone who just won a bet he never even told you he placed.

he tilts his head just enough for the mic to catch every word, voice perfectly calm, perfectly flat, like he’s reading the scoreboard instead of buried balls-deep in the girl who’s currently sobbing his name.

“see, told you she was a slut,” he says into the mic, loud enough for his gaming friends to hear, their laughter crackling faintly through the headset, a humiliating chorus that burns hotter than your shame.

“came to see me and hopped straight on my dick.”

tears prick your eyes, humiliation creeping up your cheeks in a hot, burning flush, but you can’t stop, your hips bouncing harder, faster. the creak of his gaming chair grows louder, a relentless rhythm that matches the wet squelch of your pussy, the way his cock fills you, every vein, every ridge dragging against your sensitive walls, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core.

“moaning while my friends can hear you, fucking whore,” he snarls, his breath hot against your neck, his hair tickling your skin as he leans closer, the words slicing through you, making your pussy clench tighter, your body trembling with the intensity.

“bet you’d want them all to stuff those holes for you. maybe then you’d stop humping me like a dog every fucking second.” his hand tightens on your throat, just enough to make you dizzy, your acrylic nails scrabbling at his desk now, clawing at the edge, leaving scratches on the wood, and he slaps your hand away with a sharp, “don’t touch my shit,” his voice a vicious snap as he protects his precious gaming throne.

“greedy little slut, i bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he sneers, his voice loud enough for the mic to catch, his friends’ laughter faintly audible.

his words are still ringing in your ears, cruel, filthy, perfect, when the next orgasm starts gathering low in your pelvis like a storm you can already feel breaking.

you mewl, a small, pathetic sound of denial, shaking your head against his shoulder, but your body has already chosen its truth. your cunt spasms around him in greedy, fluttering waves, milking the thick length of him with every desperate bounce, every mindless grind, every shuddering breath. the laughter from the headset is a distant, tiny roar now, but it doesn’t matter; nothing matters except the way he fills you so completely that every shallow snap of his hips feels like it’s rearranging your insides, the fat head of his cock dragging across that spot again and again and again until pleasure becomes a living thing clawing its way up your spine.

he’s so deep.

deeper than anyone has ever been, deeper than you thought a body could take, the blunt, swollen head kissing your cervix on every perfectly timed thrust, a pressure that blooms into a dark, exquisite ache behind your pubic bone. every vein along his shaft drags against your raw walls like it’s branding you, every ridge catching on places so sensitive you see sparks behind your eyelids. your hips roll helplessly, chasing that pressure, chasing the stretch, chasing the way he refuses to give you more than the game allows and somehow it’s still too much.

the coil winds tighter, vicious and unstoppable.

your lower belly cramps with it, a hot, urgent fullness that makes your breath hitch in tiny, wounded gasps. your clit throbs against the coarse hair at the base of his cock, every grind sending white-hot jolts straight up your spine. tears spill sideways into your hair, mixing with the sweat at your temples, your mouth open on a continuous stream of broken sounds, high-pitched squeals melting into low, animal groans that don’t even sound human anymore.

you’re close.

so close your vision tunnels, the rgb lights strobing red and violet across the tears clinging to your lashes. your nails carve fresh crescents into his chest, dragging down until the cotton rucks up and your fingers find hot skin, slick with sweat. your thighs clamp tighter around his hips, trying to pull him deeper, trying to fuse yourself to the source of the only relief you’ve ever known.

and then it hits.

a sudden, violent clench low in your pelvis, your cunt locking down so hard around him that his rhythm stutters for the first time all night. your back bows off his chest, spine arching impossibly, head thrown back against his shoulder as the orgasm rips through you like a riptide.

pleasure explodes behind your eyes in white-hot sheets, every muscle seizing, thighs shaking so hard your knees skid on the soaked leather. a gushing flood of slick forces its way out around his cock, warm and unstoppable, squirting in messy, rhythmic pulses that soak his stomach, his sweatpants, the chair, the floor, until everything beneath you is drenched and shining under the shifting lights.

your whole body convulses, wave after wave, your walls fluttering and spasming in frantic, milking waves that try to drag him deeper even as the overstimulation starts to burn. tears stream freely now, dripping off your jaw, your voice cracking into a raw, continuous sob of his name, “sohee, sohee, fuck, sohee,” until the syllables lose all meaning and it’s just sound, just desperation, just the wrecked evidence of how completely he owns you.

sohee’s eyes flick to you, part shock, part cruel amusement, his lips curling as he takes in the sight of you—still going, still cumming, your pussy squirting in relentless waves, your body pushing past its limits, insatiable, unstoppable.

the last aftershock is still rippling through your ruined body, a trembling, liquid echo that leaves your thighs jerking and your cunt fluttering weakly around him, when sohee decides the game is finally, irrevocably over.

the headset lies discarded on the desk like a corpse, wires tangled, his friends’ laughter reduced to a faint, dying pulse in the background, irrelevant now, swallowed by the thick, humid roar of blood in your ears. both of his hands clamp onto your hips with a violence that steals what little breath you have left, fingers sinking into soft flesh until bone meets bone, until you know the bruises will bloom tomorrow in perfect, violet replicas of his grip.

the shift is instantaneous. no more shallow, controlled snaps timed to keystrokes.

he slams you down onto his cock in one savage, merciless stroke, bottoming out so hard your teeth clack together and a raw, guttural scream rips itself from the deepest part of your chest, echoing off the walls like a wounded animal finally set free.

the gaming chair shrieks beneath you, metal joints groaning, leather splitting at the seams, threatening to collapse under the sheer brutality of his rhythm. your breasts spill completely free of the soaked dress, bouncing with every punishing thrust, nipples dragging across the damp cotton of his shirt in sparks of oversensitive fire that shoot straight to your clit and make your spine bow like a drawn bowstring.

the outline of him is visible in your lower stomach, a thick, obscene bulge that rises and vanishes with every stroke, a living proof of how deeply he’s carved himself into you. his palm flattens over it, pressing down hard, cruel, forcing you to feel the shape of his cock moving inside your body like a second skeleton.

“look at this, whore,” he growls, voice shredded raw, all lazy gamer-boy detachment shattered into something feral and ancient. his other hand cracks across your ass with a full-force slap that detonates white-hot across your skin, the sting blooming into molten pleasure so intense your cunt clamps down hard enough to wrench a rare, startled grunt from his throat.

he fists your hair in one brutal yank, wrenching your head back until your neck is a straining, elegant arch, scalp screaming, tears streaming sideways into your ears in hot, endless rivers. pain and pleasure braid together so tightly you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

he fucks you like he hates you, like he’s trying to split you in half and watch the pieces scatter, each thrust so deep your vision fractures into constellations, your cervix battered into a dull, exquisite ache, your walls stretched raw and trembling around the impossible girth of him. the wet slap of skin on skin is deafening, a primal, rhythmic hymn that drowns out your own wrecked sobs, drowns out the creak of the chair, drowns out the blood thundering in your ears.

drool slips from the corner of your parted lips, glistening on your chin, dripping in slow, silver threads onto his shirt. your tongue lolls uselessly, eyes rolled back to whites, tears and sweat and slick painting your face into a ruined, devotional mask. you’re floating deep in subspace now, suspended in a velvet dark where nothing exists except sohee: the salt of his sweat under your nails, the sharp bite of his cologne laced with fresh exertion, the chemical ghost of red bull clinging to his breath, the relentless, punishing stretch of his cock carving you open from the inside out until you’re nothing but a vessel for him, a shrine built of trembling flesh and desperate, endless want.

you’ve cum so many times the numbers have dissolved into meaninglessness. the chair is a swamp beneath you, leather gleaming wet, puddles of your release cooling on the floor in dark, spreading lakes. every thrust forces another helpless gush out around his cock, squirting in messy, violent arcs that splatter his stomach, his thighs, the desk, the monitor, until the room reeks of sex so thick it coats your tongue like a second skin.

he grunts with every stroke now, low and animal, the first real sounds he’s made all night that belong only to you. the chair rocks dangerously, legs screeching across the floor, metal screaming, but he doesn’t care. he uses you like something bought and paid for, hips snapping up to meet every downward slam with brutal, perfect force, forcing you to take every inch, forcing your body to give and give and give until there’s nothing left but the wet, wrecked shell of you impaled and trembling.

you love the way he’s splitting you in half, love the way pain melts into pleasure so intense it feels like dying and being reborn in the same breath, love the way he’s finally, finally looking at you like you’re the only thing in the universe worth destroying.

your voice is gone, reduced to cracked, hiccupping sobs and high, desperate whimpers that spill out every time he bottoms out. your nails rake down his arms, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach, leaving red trails that make him hiss and fuck you harder, faster, deeper. your thighs are jelly, trembling uncontrollably, toes cramping inside your heels until the straps cut bloody lines.

he has you exactly where he had you the first time, that night months ago when he fucked you so stupid the beast inside you finally curled up and purred, quiet for once, sated, trembling, believing the lie that it could ever be enough.

your body is a live wire stripped bare, every nerve scorched and singing, thighs shaking so violently they can barely hold your weight, cunt stretched raw and fluttering around the impossible girth of him, so overstimulated that even the air feels like teeth against your skin. for one merciful heartbeat the insatiable hunger inside you seems tamed, lulled into a heavy, dazed silence by the sheer brutality of being stuffed so full you can taste him at the back of your throat.

but sohee doesn’t give a fuck about mercy. he never has.

he wants you broken beyond walking tomorrow, wants your legs to give out the second you try to stand, wants you curled on his floor whimpering while he queues up another twelve-hour session uninterrupted, headphones on, your ruined body nothing more than background noise he can ignore.

“take it,” he snarls through clenched teeth, hips snapping up into you with fresh, vicious force, each thrust a deliberate punishment. “fucking take it.”

your body is going limp, melting against his chest like wax under flame, nerves fried to cinders. a weak, trembling hand snakes out on instinct, fingers scrabbling at the sweat-slick plane of his lower stomach, trying to slow him, trying to beg for a breath that isn’t a sob. he swats it away like it’s nothing, the sharp crack of his palm against your wrist ringing out, and punishes you instantly by driving deeper, harder, the fat head of his cock punching against your cervix with a brutality that makes your vision white out and your spine bow.

you try again, both hands pushing feebly at his chest, nails scraping uselessly over damp cotton.

“s-sohee, i-i can’t—” your voice is a trembling whimper, cracked in half, barely audible over the wet, relentless slap of his hips against yours. “it’s t-too, fuck, much—”

he slaps your hands away again, harder this time, the sting blooming bright across your knuckles. his eyes are black under the strobing lights, pupils blown wide, mouth curled into something between a snarl and a smile.

“don’t fucking lie to me, you needy bitch,” he spits, voice raw and vicious, still contempt.

“you always come crawling back for more. you’ll be on my dick again before the sun’s up, crying for it like the desperate little whore you are.”

he fucks you through the protests, through the tears, through the way your body tries to curl in on itself. each thrust is deeper than the last, harder, faster, the stretch so overwhelming it feels like he’s trying to turn you inside out. your cunt clamps down in frantic, overstretched spasms, trying to take him, trying to survive him, squirting again in helpless, humiliating pulses that soak the ruined chair and drip in warm rivulets down your thighs.

you’re sobbing openly now, head lolling against his shoulder, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, body jerking with every brutal stroke like a doll he’s shaking apart. your hands fall limp at your sides, fingers twitching, no strength left to fight, only to take.

a faint ping slices through the haze, the discord notification, a new avatar blinking into the lobby like a ghost rising from the digital grave.

anton.

sohee’s headset is off, tossed aside in a careless heap on the desk, but the mic is still hot, the call never ended, every sound, every gasp, every wet slap of skin hanging in the open air like an invitation to ruin, a forbidden broadcast of your betrayal echoing into the void where innocence goes to die.

sohee freezes for half a heartbeat, his cock twitching deep inside you at the delicious, forbidden realisation, a dark thrill that sends a fresh pulse of heat through your core, then a predatory grin spreads across his face, slow and vicious, like shadows lengthening at dusk across a forbidden threshold, his eyes gleaming with the kind of cruel delight that stirs something primal and broken in your soul.

he doesn’t mute. doesn’t leave the call. doesn’t even slow his rhythm. instead, he leans back in the wrecked chair, one hand splayed possessively over the obscene bulge of himself in your stomach, fingers pressing down just enough to make you feel the imprint of his dominance, and starts grinding slow, deliberate circles that force fresh tears from your eyes and a shattered whimper from your lips, the motion a torturous drag that rubs every vein, every ridge against your raw walls in a way that makes the shame twist into something darker, hotter.

the knowledge that anton, sweet, oblivious anton, might hear you unraveling for another man sending a forbidden rush of arousal crashing through you, making your cunt clench despite the exhaustion, making you want it more because it’s so wrong, so filthy, the ultimate aphrodisiac wrapped in guilt.

anton’s voice filters through the abandoned headset on the desk, soft, confused, heartbreakingly innocent, a gentle lilt that cuts through the haze of lust like a knife through silk, landing in your gut with a twist of horror and heat.

“sohee hyung? you there? i thought we were queuing up…”

sohee’s hips snap up once, hard, forcing another wrecked moan from your throat that echoes crystal-clear through the speakers, a sound so raw and filthy it could shatter glass, a betrayal broadcast in real time that makes your skin prickle with shame even as it sends a fresh wave of slick gushing around him.

“say thank you,” he murmurs against your ear, low and commanding, voice dripping with the kind of dark honey that makes your cunt clench despite the exhaustion, a command laced with the thrill of exposure.

“thank me for fucking you properly. say it loud.”

your tongue is thick, words slurred and jumbled, brain fogged by the haze of subspace and the relentless overstimulation, but you try, you always try for him, the syllables tumbling out broken and wet, each one a confession of your darkest desire.

“th-thank you… f-f-fucking me… making… feel so… so full… s-so good…”

he presses harder on your stomach, forcing you to feel every pulsing inch of him buried inside, a cruel reminder of your betrayal, the bulge shifting under his palm like a living testament to how completely he’s claimed what anton could never touch.

“good little slut,” he praises, loud and clear for the mic, his voice carrying through the open call like a blade unsheathed, slicing through the air with deliberate cruelty.

then, casual, conversational, like he’s discussing the weather while his cock drags slow and deep inside you, stirring the shame into something intoxicating

“and anton will never be able to fuck you like this, right? this pussy only cums for me.”

your body answers before your brain can, cunt spasming hard in greedy waves, another helpless gush of slick squirting out around him as shame and pleasure detonate together in a firestorm that leaves you shaking, sobbing, grinding down despite the burn, making the wrongness feel so right, so arousing that you want to drown in it, want the listener on the other end to hear how completely you’ve surrendered, even as the guilt twists like a knife in your chest.

anton’s voice cracks through the headset again, small and trembling, laced with the exact moment his world crumbles, a gentle tone filtering through the speakers abandoned on sohee’s desk, close enough that it cuts through the haze of lust and lands like a knife in your gut, piercing the veil of your darkest desire with the sharp sting of reality.

“babe?”

just that one word, soft, wounded, hanging in the air like a fragile thing about to shatter, his innocent confusion wrapping around your throat tighter than sohee’s hand ever could, a sound so heartbreaking it should stop everything, but instead it ignites the shame into an aphrodisiac so potent your cunt clenches harder, another wave of slick flooding out as the wrongness makes you wetter, needier, the thrill of being caught fueling the fire until you’re burning from the inside out.

sohee laughs, low and filthy, a sound that vibrates through his chest into yours, a dark rumble that sends shivers racing across your skin, and snaps his hips up harder, grinding deep, forcing another wrecked, slurred moan out of you that spills straight into the open call, a betrayal broadcast in high definition.

“hear that, anton?” he says, voice dripping with mock sympathy that’s laced with triumph, never slowing, never stopping, his thrusts turning even more deliberate as if to punctuate every word.

“that’s what she sounds like when she’s finally getting fucked right. by me.”

the line is silent for an eternity compressed into seconds, a silence so dense it has texture, like oil poured over water, thick and suffocating, heavy with the collective held breath of strangers and the boy who once traced constellations on your back with gentle fingertips, the boy who believed you were made of light.

every heartbeat in the room feels magnified, every wet shift of sohee’s cock inside you, every tremor of your ruined thighs, every tear sliding sideways into your hair amplified into something obscene by the knowledge that anton is listening, really listening, to the sound of his entire universe collapsing in real time.

then anton speaks again, and the voice that reaches you is not the soft, wounded thing you continued to expect, not the shattered cry of betrayal you had braced for, but something lower, steadier, laced with a darkness that curls hot and treacherous in the cradle of your belly, a tone you have never heard from him before, one that makes your overfucked cunt clench involuntarily around sohee’s cock even as fresh tears flood your eyes.

“is that true, my love?”

the question is quiet, almost conversational, yet it lands like a hand sliding between your legs in the dark, curious, possessive, hungry. a pause, thick enough to choke on, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, everything suddenly possible.

“he fucks you that good? better than me?”

another breath, slower this time, deeper, the kind of inhale a man takes when he’s tasting something forbidden for the first time and realising he likes the flavour.

the dorm room was dark except for the purple led lights sohee liked to keep on. you were already melted into his bed, limbs heavy and head spinning in the best way after three big hits from the joint. everything felt warm and fuzzy, like you were floating on a soft pink cloud. sohee sat cross-legged beside you, still holding the joint between his long fingers, watching you with that gentle little smile.

“how you feeling, baby?” he asked softly, voice low and soothing. he brushed some hair out of your face, thumb stroking your cheek. “you look so gone right now. cute.”

you giggled, the sound slow and dreamy. “so high… everything is spinning… sohee, i feel floaty.”

he chuckled and took one last hit before setting the joint in the ashtray. “good. that is what i wanted. just relax, okay? i am going to take care of you tonight.”

he laid down next to you and pulled your smaller body against his tall frame, spooning you from behind. his arm wrapped around your waist, hand slipping under your soft oversized t-shirt to rub slow circles on your tummy. every touch felt electric because of how high you were. even the fabric of your panties brushing your skin made you whimper quietly.

“shhh, i got you,” sohee whispered against your ear, lips brushing the shell. “you are safe with me. just let me guide you, yeah?”

you nodded, head lolling back against his shoulder. he kissed your neck slowly while his hand traveled lower, sliding into your panties. his long fingers found you already soaked and he hummed happily.

“so wet already, baby. being high makes you extra sensitive, huh?” he pressed one finger inside you gently, then two, curling them just right. “feel that? nice and slow. tell me what feels good.”

you moaned softly, hips twitching. everything was amplified. his breath on your neck, the warmth of his chest against your back, the way his fingers stretched you so perfectly. he kept the pace steady, whispering praises the whole time.

“that is it… you are doing so well. just breathe and feel me. my pretty girl looks so cute when she is this high and needy.”

he turned you onto your back carefully, hovering over you with that soft caring look in his eyes. he pulled your panties down and settled between your legs, kissing down your tummy until his mouth reached where you needed him most. the first lick made you cry out, the sensation so intense you grabbed his hair.

“easy, baby,” he murmured, tongue circling your clit slowly. “i will guide you through it. just let go. i want to make you feel really good.”

sohee ate you out like he had all the time in the world, long tongue licking broad stripes, then focusing on your clit with gentle sucks. every time you got too loud he would hum against you, the vibration sending sparks through your hazy body. his hands held your thighs open, thumbs stroking the soft skin while he guided you closer and closer.

“you taste so sweet when you are high,” he whispered between licks. “come on, baby. cum for me. i know you are close.”

you fell apart with a broken moan, thighs shaking around his head. he kept licking you through it, gentle but firm, until you were whimpering from the overstimulation. only then did he pull back, lips shiny, and crawl up to kiss you deeply. you could taste yourself on his tongue and it made you dizzy all over again.

“good girl,” he praised, voice husky. he freed himself from his sweatpants and rubbed his cock against your soaked folds. “you want more? want me inside while you are still floating?”

“yes… please sohee,” you breathed, reaching for him.

he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, groaning at how tight and warm you felt. once he bottomed out he stayed there for a moment, forehead pressed to yours. “feel how full you are? that is me taking care of you.”

he started moving in long, deep strokes, guiding your legs around his waist so he could hit that perfect spot every time. one hand stayed on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin while he watched your face with heavy-lidded eyes.

“look at me, baby. stay with me. feel every thrust. you are so pretty when you are this high and taking me so well.”

your second orgasm hit even harder, waves of pleasure rolling through your floaty body. sohee followed right after, burying himself deep and moaning your name softly as he filled you up. he stayed inside you, rolling onto his side and pulling you on top of him so you could rest against his chest.

the high was still strong, making everything soft and dreamy. sohee grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around both of you, his long arms holding you close while he stroked your back.

“how do you feel now?” he asked, pressing lazy kisses to your forehead.

“warm… safe… love you,” you mumbled, nuzzling into his neck.

he smiled that bright sohee smile and hugged you tighter. “i love you too. my cute high baby. next time we get high i will guide you even slower… make it last for hours.”

sungchan had you pinned to the mattress, his tall broad body completely covering yours as he fucked you deep and slow. his big hands held your thighs open wide, hips rolling in that steady rhythm that always made your eyes roll back. sweat glistened on his chest, dark hair messy from how hard you had been pulling it.

“fuck, look at you,” he groaned, voice low and raspy. “taking my cock so well like always. such a good girl for daddy.”

you whimpered underneath him, nails digging into his shoulders as he hit that perfect spot over and over. sungchan leaned down and kissed you messy, tongue sliding against yours before he pulled back just enough to look at you with those dark hungry eyes.

“you know what i keep thinking about lately?” he whispered, thrusting harder, making the bed creak. “i keep imagining you pregnant with my baby. your belly all round and pretty, tits full and heavy… walking around our apartment in one of my shirts because nothing else fits anymore.”

you moaned louder at his words, clenching around him. sungchan smirked, clearly pleased.

“yeah? you like that thought too?” he pressed one big hand to your lower stomach, right where he was deepest. “right here. i want to fill you up until you are carrying my kid. maybe even twins. imagine how cute you would look holding our baby while i rub your swollen belly.”

his thrusts got deeper, more purposeful, like he was trying to reach your womb. you were a mess underneath him, crying, shaking, babbling his name as he kept talking.

“you would be the best mommy,” he murmured, kissing your neck, then your chest, sucking on your nipples like he was already imagining them leaking. “so soft and sweet, rocking our little one to sleep while i watch. then at night i would lay you down and fuck another baby into you because i cannot get enough of you like that.”

“sungchan— please—” you sobbed, legs wrapping tighter around his waist.

he groaned and sped up, pounding into you harder. “gonna cum so deep inside you tonight, baby. gonna pump you full until it sticks. you want that? want daddy to breed you and make you all swollen with my kids?”

“yes— yes please— i want it,” you cried, tears slipping down your cheeks from how intense it felt. “want your babies… want to be full of you—”

that broke him. sungchan growled and buried himself to the hilt, cumming hard with a long moan. you felt every hot pulse as he filled you up, so much that it started leaking out around his cock. he stayed deep inside, grinding slow to push it further in, like he was making sure it took.

but he was not done. he flipped you over onto your stomach, pulled your hips up and slid back in with a wet sound, fucking his cum even deeper.

“one is not enough,” he panted, voice hoarse. “need to give you more. imagine you holding our baby in your arms, all pretty and tired, and i come home and breed you again while the little one naps. you would look so fucking beautiful like that.”

you came again with a broken scream, clenching around him so tight he groaned loudly. sungchan followed right after, filling you for the second time, hips stuttering as he emptied everything he had.

afterwards he collapsed beside you and immediately pulled you into his arms, big hand gently rubbing your tummy like you were already pregnant. he kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, all soft and loving now that the heat had settled a little.

“i mean it, you know,” he whispered against your hair, voice gentle. “i think about it all the time. you holding our kids. our family. you being the mommy to my babies. it makes me so fucking crazy for you.”

you nuzzled into his chest, still trembling and full of his cum. “i want it too… want to have your babies, sungchan.”

he smiled that big bright sungchan smile and hugged you tighter, one hand still protectively on your stomach.

“good girl,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. “then let me keep filling you up every night until it happens. daddy is going to take such good care of you and our little ones.”

this is how you guys have been sitting together for way over a decade now.

eunseok had moved into the house just down the street from yours when you were six. he was silent, the vast look on his face as he stood on the sidewalk with a stuffed animal in hand.

it took a few stolen cookies and a long game of hide and seek for you guys to become ‘us’.

growing up not just near each other, but you grew into each other. he was the keeper of your secrets like how you were of his.

he was the shoulder you could lean on and the automatic plus-one to every terrible family gathering.

you're seniors in highschool now, navigating through college applications and the sudden quickening pace of the future together, but nothing has changed.

nothing, except eunseok's heart.

when did the shift happen? you don't really know but maybe it wasn't a shift at all but a slow, diastrophic movement that had always been happening, only now strong enough for him to finally recognize it.

it started subtly. eunseok stopped seeing you as just ‘you’. he started breaking you up into pieces to better understand you.

tonight, it was about the loose strand of hair that kept falling across your cheek while studying.

sighing with frustration, you absentmindedly blow the strand of hair away just for it to sit right back where it had been before. eunseok notices this. he paused his scrolling to attend to you. tightening his arm around you, pulling you closer against his chest.

his gaze lingering, following the line of your neck, and the way that your hair rests perfectly on the curve of it. tracing the outside of your ear with his thumb, a small gesture so familiar that you don't even register it. but for eunseok, it was sudden. it was like electricity jolting from him to you. a dangerous reminder that the fabric separating platonic intimacy from desire was tissue thin.

he cleared his throat and looked away, keeping his arm there. back to his phone, back to scrolling but the moment was echoing in his mind.

eunseok was in love with you. it was the simple, yet brutal truth that hit him with a force stronger than an oncoming train like he was forced to stand still on the tracks before it.

but he can't say it. he won't say it.

the reason being what he considers a core memory. a sharp and cold one, one that he tried to keep filed away but he is always being reminded of it.

“why can't guys just be good friends without wanting anything more? it's nice having someone who just gets you, you know? like you, eunseok! you're really like the brother i never had.”

brother—that word had created a wall—not a flimsy one like it was made of cardboard, but a solid wall shielding what you considered safe and a familiar comfort. one that you had built without realizing and eunseok knew that trying to scale it would result in the destruction of everything that you two were together. so, imagine if he tried putting dynamite to that wall.. that's his worst fear.

eunseok had reclassified his feelings then. now, it wasn't love; it was admiration. it wasn't pining; it was appreciation.

expect, it really wasn't.

-

“you've been staring at that one paragraph for like thirty minutes.” he murmured, voice low and rumbling against your hair.

“it’s boring,” you complained, sliding the book away from you. “let's watch something instead!”

adjusting your position, swinging your legs onto his lap. leaning your back on the armrest. exposing your messiness to him and he just settled his hand on your shins.

a casual and grounding type of contact, but your level of casualness with him was like a knife turning into his gut.

“you've got a smudge of ink right here,” he said, reaching to brush the pad of his thumb across your cheek. it was an intimate movement, one that spoke of deep, shared history together but he knew to you, it felt different than it did to him.

his eyes dropped, taking in the line of your jaw and the shape your lips made while speaking, talking about some random details about the movie you had put on the tv; he found you quite mesmerizing.

it was no secret that eunseok found you attractive—he'd always been a physically and verbally expressive person, often commenting on things like your outfit or your hair.

“seriously, your hair looks really good today. like, super soft,” he said, tone completely even. he wasn't trying to show emotion, like he was bored.

eunseok was taught to act tough, to be the role he was born to play. he wondered about when he showed 'too much' emotion, he was conditioned to feel like it makes him less of a man,

“thanks, seok. i tried to clean up a bit for once.”

he just smiled, genuinely. trying not to reach the aching in his chest. an easy grin that expresses the admiration of attraction, maxing out his extent of risk-taking. just letting you know that he notices you, physically, but the meaning behind the compliments would remain locked away within him.

he kept the attraction surface-level, filtered behind what was seen as just some friendly teasing. eunseok thought that if he just showed the attraction and not the yearning, he'd be able to keep you close to him forever.

you had decided on an old horror movie, and just ten minutes in, you had already started to drift asleep. somewhere along the way, while scrolling through movies, you had flipped around, and now your head is leaning heavy on eunseok's shoulder,

and he didn't dare to move even though the position was starting to cramp his neck. continuing to watch the screen, but his attention was entirely on the weight of the presence right beside him.

feeling your breath on his collarbone, he looked down at your face. beautiful and peaceful, but in sheer darkness. the painful consequence of his choices became absolute.

what would it be like? he wondered.

what would it be like to be able to lean down and truly kiss you goodnight right now? not an awkward, friendly kiss on the cheek you'd give each other on days like your birthday. but a real, possessive kiss. what would it be like to hold your hand in crowded places not as a buddy, but as something that's earned? to be the person you confided in about the future you're building together and not the future you'd eventually be building with someone else.

that thought, was the worst of all. the thought of you getting to do everything he wanted to do with you, with someone else. the thought of someone else being everything he wants to be to you.

he knew with a certainty that sent chills down his spine, that you are destined to fall in love with someone who wasn't him. and when that day comes, he knows he'll be the first one you go running to, eager to introduce to the lucky guy to get that “big brother approval”.

it grew, a slow and quiet devastation.

eunseok adjusts his position slightly, carefully tucking you into the blanket. he was the gaurdian of your beautiful, complicated relationship and his role determined his survival, even if it meant sacrificing his true happiness for yours.

leaning his head back against the cushion, and right before he closed his eyes, the only thing that was on his mind: he dreamt that you felt it too

letting the sound of the screams from the tv fade into the background as he drifted into sleep.

some of you is better than none of you, he thought.

those words were a vow that whispered into the darkness in the air that stayed between you two. he had you beside him, warm and trusting, tethered to him by years of memories.

it was the only way eunseok knew how to love you—in comfortable, agonizing moments, forever wondering what it's like to be loved by you.

the party was loud and packed, bass thumping through the crowded living room of someone’s fancy apartment. colorful lights flashed across faces you barely knew, and the air smelled like mixed drinks and too much perfume. you had shown up hoping for a fun night out with friends, but the second you spotted him across the room your stomach dropped.

eunseok stood near the kitchen island, tall and effortlessly cool in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up. those sharp glasses sat perfectly on his nose, dark hair falling just right over his forehead. he held a drink loosely in one hand while he laughed at something a friend said, that same confident little smirk playing on his lips like in every video you had tried to forget. your ex-situationship. the one who had never quite let you go and whom you had never quite gotten over.

panic hit you instantly. you turned on your heel and slipped behind a group of people, heart racing as you weaved toward the hallway. maybe if you hid for ten minutes he would never notice you were here. you kept your head down, dodging elbows and drinks.

you rounded the corner too fast and collided straight into a solid chest. strong hands caught your waist to steady you before you could stumble back.

“careful,” a familiar low voice said, smooth and amused.

your eyes flew up and met his. eunseok looked down at you with that exact sharp, unbothered gaze, glasses catching the dim light, one eyebrow raised. his hands stayed on your waist a second longer than necessary, warm through your dress.

“funny running into you here,” he murmured, that teasing edge back in his voice. “or should i say… bumping into you.”

you tried to step back but the hallway was narrow and his tall frame blocked the way without effort. “eunseok. hi. i was just… heading to the bathroom.”

he tilted his head, smirk deepening as he scanned your face. “you have been avoiding me all night. i saw you duck behind those people the second i walked in. cute.”

heat rushed to your cheeks. he leaned one shoulder against the wall, still close enough that you could smell his cologne. “i was not avoiding you,” you lied.

“sure,” he chuckled softly, low and dangerous. “and i did not spend the last three months remembering exactly how you sound when i kiss you.” his fingers brushed your side lightly, slow and deliberate. “come on. let me get you a drink so you stop trying to disappear on me.”

before you could protest he was guiding you back toward the kitchen, one hand at the small of your back. he grabbed a fresh drink and handed it over, eyes never leaving yours. you took it with shaky fingers. your back soon hit the counter and he caged you in, tall frame leaning in just enough to make the rest of the party fade away.

“you look good tonight,” he said quietly, voice dropping. “too good to be hiding from me.”

his gaze dropped to your lips, then back up. the tension crackled between you like electricity. he reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your jaw.

“tell me you do not feel it too,” he whispered. “tell me you have not been thinking about this every time my name pops up.”

you could not answer. your heart was hammering too loud. eunseok noticed. his smirk turned softer, more dangerous. he leaned in slowly, giving you one last second to pull away, then kissed you.

the first touch was soft, teasing, just enough to make you chase him. when you did, he deepened it, tongue brushing yours in a way that made your knees weak. he kissed like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was doing to you. one hand cupped your cheek while the other stayed at your waist, holding you close but not trapping you completely.

he pulled back just enough to speak against your lips. “still trying to run away?” he teased, voice husky. then he kissed you again, slower this time, nipping your bottom lip gently before soothing it with his tongue. you made a tiny sound and he smiled into the kiss, clearly pleased.

every time you tried to catch your breath he came back for more, kissing you deeper, hotter, until your head felt dizzy and your hands were gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright. he tasted like the drink and something dangerously familiar. his glasses fogged slightly from how close you were, but he did not care. he just kept teasing you with slow, deliberate kisses that left you aching for more.

“eunseok…” you breathed when he finally let you have air.

he pressed one more lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another just below your ear that made you shiver. “mm? you were saying something about the bathroom earlier?” he murmured, clearly enjoying how flustered you looked. his thumb stroked your hip in slow circles. “or were you just looking for an excuse to hide from how much you still want this?”

you were hot all over, lips swollen, breathing uneven. he looked perfectly composed except for the faint pink on his cheeks and the way his eyes had darkened behind those glasses.

he finally stepped back, giving you space even though his gaze still held you in place. the smirk returned, soft but knowing. “go on then,” he said quietly. “i will not stop you tonight. but we both know you are not really done with me.”

you shake your head. “nope. i figured the universe would go easy on me.”

he hums softly, the sound almost lost in the patter, and rummages through his bag. out comes a tiny, slightly dented umbrella. the kind clearly meant for one person, maybe one sohee, but definitely not for two.

still, he flicks it open with a soft click and holds it between you. “it’s small,” he says, “but better than nothing.”

you grin, stepping closer. “so, what’s the math on this? two people, one umbrella…”

he tilts his head. “math?”

“yeah. geometry, physics…. something like that. there’s no way both of us stay dry. one of us is doomed.”

sohee laughs, quiet, genuine, the kind that feels like the first warm thing in the cold rain.

“then we’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

you both step out together. the umbrella tilts slightly toward you every few seconds, sohee subtly adjusting his arm to cover more of your side. the rain drips from his sleeve, darkening his hoodie, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“sohee,” you say, nudging his elbow, “you’re getting soaked.”

“it’s fine,” he answers lightly. “you fit better under the angle.”

you scoff. “that’s not how angles work.”

he smiles without looking at you, voice barely audible under the rainfall.

“it works for me.”

the city glows in soft reflections, puddles rippling with light, signs blurring into watercolor. and when your hands brush, just once, warm and unsure, neither of you pull away.

by the time you duck under the overhang of a small cafe, both of you are laughing, breathless and wet and flushed from the cold. sohee shakes the umbrella, then looks at your dripping sleeves. “you’re soaked,” he murmurs, sounding faintly guilty.

“so are you,” you reply. “guess umbrella math really doesn’t work.”

he huffs out a laugh and wordlessly pulls off his hoodie, holding it out.

“here,” he says. “it’s warm. mostly.”

you hesitate, and he raises an eyebrow. “what? i’ll be fine.”

so you take it. it smells like rain and something soft… faint detergent, maybe, or just him. when you slip it on, it nearly swallows you whole, sleeves hanging over your hands.

sohee glances at you once, quickly, then looks away, fighting a small smile. “it looks better on you.”

inside, the cafe hums with quiet music and the smell of espresso. you sit by the window with two steaming mugs between you, raindrops tracing slow lines down the glass.

outside, the umbrella rests closed and forgotten by the door.

you nudge your cup toward him. “for the record, i think we solved the math.”

he looks up. “yeah?”

you nod, grinning. “turns out two people under one umbrella equals one person with a really big heart.”

for a moment, he just stares at you, cheeks pink, lips parted. then he laughs softly, shaking his head. “that’s not in any textbook i’ve read.”

“then it’s an original theory,” you say, taking a sip. “you can name it after yourself.”

sohee’s eyes soften, that quiet, half-smile kind of look, and he says, almost to himself,

“maybe i will.”

outside, the rain keeps falling, but for once, neither of you mind.

2025 © csenarios , all rights reserved

their entire personality seemed to change whenever you positioned yourself to take photos, and a part of you felt unsatisfied with how it looked— staged. nothing about them felt natural, but you could still feel their passion through the photos.

you weren’t used to situations like these yet so you didn’t know how to tell them what you wanted to see out of them. you just thanked them and went around to look for your next subjects.

it was always safe to have a lot of photos so you spent your time going around and taking photos as well as scenic shots of the venue. however, the venue was big and going around by yourself was far too overwhelming. you found yourself even avoiding the crowd and going to less populated areas to take photos.

when a big event started, you decided to take a break.

you walked towards a rest area that was far from the bustling crowd. compared to everyone in the convention, your energy was low and you were starting to get tired by the minimal social interaction you had to make.

there was an empty table near the corner, quickly walking towards it before anyone else did. you pulled out your laptop and took your sd card from the camera, inserting it through an external card reader as you open your laptop.

you looked over the photos you took, it was filled with cosplayers in their element. the photos were pretty and you particularly enjoyed seeing the various textures in their outfits— it just didn’t feel fulfilling for some reason.

you had enough for your portfolio but you didn’t feel like any of it fit with your personal style. with how long you’ve been walking around, you didn’t want to feel like you just wasted your time.

a heavy sigh escapes your lips, tearing your eyes away from your laptop when you suddenly noticed an eye-catching looking man dressed in an orange tracksuit, the tips of his hair colored orange with some kind of headgear wrapped around his forehead.

there was something eye-catching and different about him compared to the other cosplayers you’ve encountered, not too gaudy and not too much, and he didn’t seem to be putting up some kind of persona like everyone else was.

everything about him seemed natural, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him out of fascination.

the guy seems to have noticed your eyes on him, but instead of getting offended, he smiles at you, waving at you as if he knows you.

shoot. you bow your head at him shyly, embarrassed to be caught staring so openly.

”did you want to take a photo?” he asks in a friendly tone, pointing down at the camera on your hand.

”o-oh, me?”

he chuckles, nodding. “yes, you,” he sang teasingly, now making his way towards you. he sits across from you, not wanting to invade on what looked like your workspace.

”i’m sohee, lee sohee.” he extends his hand towards you with a smile on his face. a friendly gesture, you assumed.

you place your hand in his, smiling back, “i’m yn.” sohee shakes your hand cheerfully, chuckling before he pulled away.

“are you sure you’re okay with getting your photo taken?” you glance around, everyone was in their own world and chatting among themselves. it didn’t seem like the ideal area for any photoshoot.

he follows your line of sight, understanding your hesitation. “i don’t mind, really,” sohee shrugs, “i’ve been going around by myself because the event i came here for was rescheduled for tomorrow.”

”so i guess you could say i’m kinda bored right now,” he laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

you couldn’t help but laugh along, finding him a little adorable. “does that mean you’ll be here tomorrow? with the same outfit?” you ask softly. your hands start to get busy, transferring some files onto your laptop so you’d have more space in your sd card.

he nods, “yeah, although i was planning to go around in comfortable clothes tomorrow. you know, this hair color was a nightmare to get to work and i didn’t want to do it all over again tomorrow.”

curious, you take another peek at his hair. it was splotchy at some spots, but to you it looked natural for some reason.

sohee notices your eyes on his hair, smiling widely. “it’s chalk!” he exclaims cheerfully before he catches himself, “—or, no, not chalk. it is chalky but not, you know what i mean? what’s it called again…?”

you laugh to yourself, waiting for him to remember what it was called. you decide to give him a helping hand, “hair spray?”

his eyes light up, nodding rapidly. “yeah! that! my sister got it for me but the yellow didn’t work so we used orange instead,” he pouts slightly, touching his spiky hair.

”you could’ve fooled me into thinking this was what you looked like everyday though. you looked really natural,” you giggle, smiling as you insert your sd card back to your camera.

sohee chuckles softly, watching as you fiddled with some camera settings and changed your camera lens. he glances at your expression, finding a small smile on your lips. he couldn’t help but mirror your smile.

”should we go with that?” your eyes suddenly meet his and he felt his cheeks heat up, “uh, for the vibe of the photo, i mean.”

you glanced down at your camera before looking back at him with a cheerful smile on your face, “sure! let’s go with that.”

you put the strap over your head, pressing the viewfinder close to your eye to check the framing. you adjust the lens so its focus was on sohee, deciding to try out a few tricks since it was a practice shoot anyway.

he seemed a bit stiff now that the camera was on him, eyes shifting nervously as if he didn’t know where to look. “does it look okay?” he asks timidly.

you nod, giving him a small smile. “you look great, sohee. just relax a bit more,” you spoke softly in hopes that it would alleviate his nervousness.

sohee turns his head away from the camera, looking at some far-off place. his shoulders were stiff and his hands were frozen solid, even his face was tensed up.

”i’m taking the photo,” you announced, counting down in your head before clicking the shutter. sohee’s unsure movements caused some motion blur on the photo, his hand going up from the table to his head.

”s-sorry! i was kinda nervous,” he spoke quickly before adding, “it’s my first time getting my photo taken with such a huge camera. it must’ve turned out badly, huh?”

you smiled, giggling to yourself. “not at all,” you reassured, checking the photo you just took. “how about telling me some stories while i take photos? maybe you’ll feel more relaxed?”

sohee plays with the hem of his tracksuit, “t-then, can i tell you about the character i’m dressed as?”

you nod in response, getting into position for another shot. sohee’s body seemed to relax, a slight grin on his face as he thinks about what he wants to talk about.

”so i’m dressed as this really cool character called naruto,” he starts, glancing at you as he continued, “he’s a ninja and he’s, like, the coolest guy ever! he’s got this super strong fox inside him and he trained with all these huge frogs at one point!”

you chuckle at his excitement, taking photos in between his stories. “what do you like the most about him? is it just because he’s strong?”

sohee ponders for a bit, and you can tell he’s thinking of a sincere answer. he places his hand on his chin, “well, that’s one of the reasons. but he didn’t always start off strong and talented, you know? he worked hard to get where he is now and though the world wasn’t very kind to him, he still uses the power he has to help other people and i think it’s admirable.”

you listened to him, nodding along as you took photos of him. he seems to feel less conscious around your camera now, even trying out some poses which makes you feel a little proud.

”oh! there’s something i want to show you!” sohee beams at you, shifting in his seat slightly. you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him through the viewfinder, helping him out by centering him in the shot.

sohee puts his hands together, elbows sticking up. his expression was focused as he made unfamiliar hand gestures with his hands. you haven’t checked the photos yet but you already had a good feeling that they turned out well, wanting to check it with sohee a bit later.

meanwhile, sohee kept excitedly doing hand motions while his hands were pressed together, his brows furrowed in concentration. you kept taking photos of him, and you notice how comfortable he was starting to get around you as well.

he turns towards you, a wide, toothy grin plastered on his face. “am i doing good? you haven’t said anything in a while,” he jokes. before you could catch yourself, your finger clicks on the shutter, a clear image of sohee’s blinding smile now burned in your brain.

you put your camera down, somewhat flustered. “sorry, i got too absorbed,” you mumbled, getting up from your seat to go around his side of the table.

”um, here,” you showed him the photos you took, bending forward slightly so he could see.

sohee kept exclaiming out of awe, commenting on how good the photos turned out or how he doesn’t remember doing a pose like that and then being amazed. he peeks at your expression, noticing a creeping blush on your cheeks.

the corners of his lips kept curling up, his eyes now focused on you instead of your camera screen.

as you looked through the photos you took, you also felt the same excitement and joy sohee was expressing in his photos. a part of you wanted to keep taking photos with him as a subject, but you didn’t want to take up too much of his time.

you pulled away, but your eyes kept lingering on sohee. something about him just kept drawing you in and you had no idea what it was just yet.

sohee smiles at you, “want to walk around the convention with me? a change of scenery would be good, right?”

”huh?”

he laughs shyly, scratching his scalp as he avoids your eyes. “i guess what i mean is, um, i’d like to be your model for a while more. is that no good?”

you blinked, staring at him until his ears and cheeks start to turn red. if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he just wanted to spend more time with you.

”you can say no, i won’t mind! i’m not a really good model anyway, but, you know,” he stammers out, “you’re kinda cool so i kinda wanted to tag with you for a bit more. what do you think?”

”o-oh! i don’t mind! i really don’t mind! i wasn’t too familiar with the venue anyway so i was kind of lost earlier. i-i appreciate it if you would, really!” you rambled on, trying to hide how happy you sounded, or the growing smile on your flushed face.

the tension leaves sohee’s body at your reply, smiling widely. he stands up next to you, already rearing to go.

”shall we, yn?” he asks softly.

you nodded, slightly panicking as you pack up your stuff. sohee watches you carry your bags, the straps almost slipping off your shoulder from how heavy it must’ve been.

”do you have more equipment in your bag? i can help you carry it, promise i’ll be careful. it’s, like, expensive, right?” he offers, holding onto the strap of your backpack and a noticeable amount weight was taken off of your shoulders.

”are you sure? it’s a bit heavy, you might get uncomfortable,” you mumbled but your words didn’t seem to discourage sohee at all.

he smiles brightly, carefully shouldering the backpack, “it’s alright, ninjas can wear backpacks too.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of what he just said, finally easing up. surely, you can trust him with your stuff for a while.

sohee chuckles, walking next to you as you head back into the populated venue.

ㅤyou and sohee began to walk through the venue, listening as he continued to talk more about the story of his character and how he started watching the series. you almost forgot about taking photos until sohee himself reminded you of it.

”here’s a pretty spot. what do you think?”

the lights were bright and colorful at the area sohee was pointing at, you were sure you’d get some impressive shots without much effort, but you were more curious about how sohee would look more than anything.

sohee takes the initiative, standing by the bright lights. he turns his head towards you, smiling just as brightly.

you step a bit closer, adjusting the lens to remove the focus on the lights. you hastily press the shutter in the midst of adjusting the lens, ending up with a slightly blurred photo of sohee.

”ah!” you exclaimed. the small furrow in your brow made sohee think it wasn’t a good reaction at all.

he doesn’t move around much, watching in amusement as you tested various angles and focus. sohee kept noticing how easily pleased you get when you find something that works or when it works out unexpectedly.

his smile starts to get more relaxed, eyes focused on you more than anything.

when you finally put the camera down, sohee walks towards you, returning your beaming smile. he thinks that you must’ve gotten some great shots, and he also couldn’t stop wondering how else he could make you smile like that again.

you walked side by side, arms touching. sohee made sure to keep up with your pace as he looked at the photos you took earlier. he glances at your expression, somewhat satisfied with himself.

”am i really that great of a model?”

you looked at him, tilting your head back just to meet his eyes. it was only then you realized how close you were, yet for some reason you didn’t want to pull back.

”i-i would say so!” you quickly insisted, afraid that he’ll lose his spark. “i’m not sure if the photos i took captured how fun and interesting you are, but i hope my skills gave it justice,” you mumbled shyly.

sohee holds back his laughter, listening to you with sincerity. he kept thinking how adorable you were when you talk about something you’re passionate with. he wonders if this was how he seemed earlier, because if so, then he understood you fully.

the two of you passed by a scenic area surrounded by soft lights and flowers, a set that was meant for taking photos. sohee glances at you from the corner of his eye, smiling to himself as an idea pops in his head.

”don’t you want your photo taken, miss photographer?” he asks softly.

you paused a little, looking at him. “well, i’m not really as photogenic as you are, sohee,” you whispered, somewhat feeling shy at the idea of having your photo taken.

sohee stops in his tracks, gently pulling on your arm as he positions you in the middle of a floral display. you stood around dumbly, staring at him with shock and confusion in your eyes.

he simply lets out a chuckle, his hand pointed towards your camera. “may i?” he smiles, “i’ll take a good picture of you, i promise.”

you take the camera strap off of your neck and handed your camera to sohee. he handles it carefully, his touch a bit clumsy but he made sure he was holding onto it tightly above anything else.

”so i just point and shoot, right?” he asks, smiling at you as he gets into position. sohee stares at the display screen, smiling even wider when he sees you clearly.

you nod wordlessly, your mind running through possible poses you can try to do but didn’t have the confidence to.

sohee noticed how tense you seemed, looking at you past the camera. “don’t be nervous, it’s just me. i was a newbie earlier too,” he reassures you gently.

”sorry, i’m not used to having my own photo taken,” you nervously played with your hair, tucking it behind your ear as you look elsewhere. you hear the soft shutter of your camera, indicating that sohee took a photo of you just now.

”you looked really pretty just now,” sohee spoke quietly, but was loud enough for you to hear. “keep doing what you were doing just now, i like it,” he smiles, cheeks slightly rosy.

you couldn’t help but blush at his compliment, covering your face out of embarrassment. he takes another photo, and you wondered if he was being sincere or if he’s just having fun with you.

”what was that for?”

”i thought you were trying to do a pose,” he shrugs, fighting back the desire to click the shutter button when he sees a pout on your lips. sohee laughs softly to himself, deciding to change the topic before you walk away from the set.

“what did you think about the convention? did you have fun?” he knew you probably weren’t much of an anime fan, yet you still found your way here— and he wonders if this was the universe’s way of repaying him for the cancelled event he came here for in the first place.

”it was pretty fun, i guess. everyone was kind to me even though i didn’t know anything about them or their characters.” the conversation helped you feel comfortable, deciding to put a little more trust on sohee.

”and, if anything, i’m glad i got to meet you,” you added quickly, the corners of your lips curling up. you hear the shutter go off again, letting out a small laugh.

sohee kept clicking on the button, making you laugh even harder. his teasing seemed to really tickle you in all the right places as your laughter hasn’t stopped for a minute.

”i guess you’re really glad, huh?” he grins, watching you calm down after your laughing fit. your cheeks were flushed from laughing too hard, and the smile on your face was too beautiful to ignore. sohee takes one last photo, mesmerized by how pretty you looked.

you step away from the set, walking toward sohee who was staring at your camera screen. “does it look funny?” you asked, trying to get his attention. he seemed frozen in place, blush creeping up to his ear.

”sohee?”

”huh? oh! oh, no!” he blushes, backing out of the camera gallery after staring at your photos. “i-i think it turned out pretty,” he mumbles shyly, “really pretty.”

you chuckle, taking your camera back from him. sohee watches as you checked the photos he took with a smile on your face, his heart skipping a beat.

he knew he can’t just let it end here.

”yn?” sohee starts, his voice small and timid, “do you want to come with me tomorrow?”

you froze, staring at him in surprise, “tomorrow? you mean to the event you wanted to go to?”

he nods sheepishly, “i really like hanging out with you, and i’d be happy if you say yes.”

you were speechless. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was asking you out on a—

”date?” you blurted out absentmindedly, covering your mouth with your hands when you realized.

sohee chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. “i guess it is a date, huh?” he joked, “bet no one’s ever asked you for a date to an anime convention.” you knew sohee said it in a joking manner but his tone sounded a bit sad.

”i don’t think it’s a bad thing,” you quickly spoke, “a-and besides, you’re the only person i’d agree to go with if it even matters.”

his expression brightens up immediately, wide eyes staring at you. “really?! really, really?” he spins around, arms thrown up in the air as he holds onto his head. you watched him squirm around in elation, small noises escaping his mouth.

sohee turns back around, a huge grin on his face. “then, i’ll see you tomorrow?”

you chuckled, nodding, “yeah, i’ll be here.”

”then, um, should we?” he awkwardly reaches into his pants pocket, fingers playing with his phone.

you realize what he was implying a beat too late, quickly grabbing your phone from your jacket. sohee chuckles when you hastily hand him your phone.

after you exchange contact information, the smiles from your faces doesn’t seem to be going down any time soon. sohee laughs shyly to mask his giddiness for tomorrow’s date, turning around to walk side by side with you again.

your heart was beating fast and you wondered if he can hear it when you were this close to each other. you turn your head slightly to look at him, only to realize that he was looking at you as well.

you both turn away from each other, and after a short silence, began to giggle quietly. your cheeks were heating up, playing with the camera hanging from your neck.

you were already excited about tomorrow, thinking about what camera you should bring. maybe you can bring a more compact camera, one that was easy to bring around and use— and maybe even take a photo together with if everything goes well.

ㅤwhen it was time to say goodbye, sohee parts ways with you at a nearby bus station. he stayed until the bus began to leave, immediately sending you a message.

”i had a lot of fun, miss photographer. thank you for spending time with me today! ^o^”

you see the message he sent, laughing to yourself quietly. you pondered about what to say, lips curling up when one thing comes to mind.

”want to watch naruto together when we get home?”

the apartment is dead quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the occasional drip from the leaky faucet you’ve been meaning to fix for months. it’s past 2 a.m., the kind of hour where everything feels too loud and too still at the same time. you’re on the couch in nothing but one of eunseok’s oversized button-ups, unbuttoned halfway, sleeves rolled up, hem barely covering your ass. knees drawn up. arms wrapped around them. staring at the dark tv screen like it owes you money.

he’s been watching you for twenty minutes straight.

not saying a word.

just sitting in the armchair across from you, legs spread, elbows on his knees, chin resting on laced fingers. staring. intense. unblinking. like he’s trying to see straight through your skin to whatever’s making you fidget and bite your lip tonight.

you finally crack.

“…what?”

voice small. shaky. barely above a whisper.

he doesn’t answer right away. just tilts his head slightly. eyes never leaving yours.

“you’ve been quiet all night,” he says eventually. voice low. calm. almost gentle. “kept looking at me like you wanted to say something. then looking away. then looking again.”

your cheeks burn. you hug your knees tighter.

“i didn’t—”

“don’t lie to me.”

the words aren’t harsh. just flat. final. the kind of tone that makes your stomach drop and your thighs clench at the same time.

you swallow. look down at your bare knees.

“i just… missed you today.”

he exhales through his nose. soft. almost a laugh.

“i was literally right next to you all day.”

“i know but—” your voice cracks. tears prick fast. embarrassing. “you were so quiet. didn’t touch me once. didn’t even look at me for more than two seconds. i thought maybe you were… mad. or bored. or—”

you cut off. lip trembling.

he’s across the room in one fluid motion. suddenly he’s kneeling between your legs, hands gentle on your knees, spreading them just enough to fit his shoulders. your breath hitches.

he doesn’t kiss you. doesn’t speak right away.

just stares up at you, close enough that you feel his breath on your inner thighs. eyes dark. searching. intense enough to make fresh tears spill over.

“look at me,” he says. soft. commanding.

you do. instantly.

his thumbs stroke the sensitive skin behind your knees. slow. soothing.

“you think i could ever be bored of you?” voice quieter now. almost reverent. “you think i could sit in the same room as you and not want to touch you? taste you? ruin you until you’re crying my name so loud the neighbors file a complaint?”

you whimper. thighs tremble.

he leans in. nose brushing the inside of your thigh. inhales slow. groans low in his throat.

“fuck. you’re already wet just from me looking at you.”

his hands slide up slow, pushing the shirt higher until your bare cunt is exposed. glistening. swollen. aching.

he doesn’t touch you yet.

just stares.

long. hungry. unblinking.

“been staring at you all day,” he confesses. voice rough. “every time you bent over. every time your skirt rode up. every time you bit your lip when you thought i wasn’t looking. i was so fucking hard i could barely walk straight.”

your breath shudders out.

“why didn’t you—”

“because i wanted to see how long it would take for you to break.” thumb finally brushes your clit once. feather-light. you jolt. sob. “wanted to see how long my shy little girlfriend would sit there dripping and needy before she begged.”

tears fall faster. you’re shaking.

“please—”

“please what, baby?”

“touch me. please. need you. missed you so much—”

he groans. wrecked. finally leans in. tongue flat. long slow lick from your entrance to your clit.

you cry out, high, desperate, broken.

he eats you like he’s making up for lost time. slow. thorough. sucking your clit. tongue dipping inside. fingers sliding in two, then three curling against that spot until your hips buck and your sobs turn to screams.

you come hard shaking, squirting on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head.

he doesn’t stop.

keeps licking. slower. lapping up every drop. until you’re oversensitive. crying harder. pushing at his head.

“eunseok—too much—please—”

he pulls back. lips shiny. climbs up your body. kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself. tongue claiming every inch of your mouth.

“not too much,” he murmurs against your lips. “you can take more. you always do.”

he flips you onto your stomach. pulls your hips up. ass in the air. face pressed to the couch cushion.

slides in slow, inch by inch, letting you feel how thick he is. how deep he goes. how perfectly he stretches you.

you sob into the cushion. fists clenching fabric.

he starts moving.

slow. deep. deliberate.

every thrust drags against every sensitive spot. every pull-out makes you whine. every push-in makes you cry harder.

“look at you,” he growls. hand fisting your hair. yanking your head back so you have to arch. “crying so pretty while i fuck you. this is what you needed, huh? needed me to stare at you until you broke. needed me to remind you who you belong to.”

“you—you—you—”

“say it.”

“yours,” you sob. “only yours—please—”

he speeds up. hips snapping. couch creaking. your screams turning to hoarse, broken cries.

“gonna come inside,” he snarls. “gonna fill you up so full you’ll feel me for days. so every time you sit tomorrow you remember who owns this pussy.”

you come again violent. walls clamping down. squirting around him. soaking everything.

he follows, buries deep. comes with a low, guttural groan, hot pulses flooding you until it leaks out around his cock.

stays inside.

pulls you back against his chest. arms locking around you. kisses your tear-streaked face. soft now. possessive.

“no more thinking i’m bored,” he whispers. “no more thinking i don’t want you. i want you so fucking much it hurts.”

you nod. wrecked. smiling through the sobs.

“i know.”

he kisses your temple. still buried. still dripping.

“good girl.”

and he holds you tighter.

the summer of 2003 in osaka is trying to kill you both slowly.
the heat clings like wet silk, humid enough that your thighs stick together when you walk, that every breath feels borrowed from someone else’s lungs. cicadas scream from the trees outside the karaoke place like they’re mocking how loud you’re about to get.

the booth is tiny. barely enough room for two people, let alone the way shotaro has you sprawled across his lap now. your back is to his chest, legs spread wide over the armrests, white pleated skirt shoved up to your waist like an afterthought. the baby-tee is rucked under your tits, nipples hard and visible through the thin cotton from the second the air-con blasted you both. your mary janes are still on, one dangling precariously off your toes, the other kicked somewhere under the table.

shotaro hasn’t sung a single note.

he’s too busy ruining you.

his cock is buried inside you; raw, thick, stretching you so wide you feel every heartbeat pulse around him. he hasn’t moved in minutes. just sits there, hips flush to your ass, letting you feel how deep he is, how perfectly he fills every empty space you didn’t even know you had. one arm is locked around your waist like a steel band, keeping you impaled. the other hand is between your thighs, two fingers lazily circling your clit, slow enough to tease, fast enough to keep you trembling on the edge without letting you fall.

you’re crying already.
quiet, hiccuping sobs that fog the cheap plastic mic on the table. tears streak black mascara down your cheeks. your lip is swollen from biting it to keep quiet, but every shallow breath makes a tiny, broken sound slip out anyway.

“taro… please…” your voice cracks. high. needy. pathetic.

he hums against your neck. teeth graze the spot where your pulse hammers. “please what, baby?”

“move… need you to move…”

he chuckles low, dark, vibrating through your back. “you’re already so full. feel that?” he rolls his hips once, tiny, cruel, just enough to drag the head of his cock over that swollen spot inside you.

your whole body jerks. sob tears out louder than you mean it to. thighs shake. cunt clenches around him so hard he hisses through his teeth.

“fuck—still so tight,” he breathes. “even after i’ve been inside you all day.”

he’s right.
he fucked you awake this morning, slow, deep, spooning you from behind while the cicadas were still quiet. fucked you again in the shower, harder, water running cold because he wouldn’t stop long enough to turn it hot. fucked you once more on the train ride here, standing in the corner car, your skirt hiding the way he was grinding into you the whole way.

and now this.

he finally starts moving.

slow at first, long, dragging thrusts that make you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch pulling out and sinking back in. the couch creaks under you both. the table rattles. the mic rolls off and thumps to the floor.

you’re sobbing openly now, high, desperate, echoing off the padded walls. every thrust punches another sound out of you. tears stream. mascara rivers. your nails dig into his forearms wrapped around your waist.

“look at you,” he growls against your ear. hand sliding up to cup your throat, not squeezing, just holding. reminding. “crying so pretty while i fuck you in public. anyone walks past that door, they’ll hear exactly what a needy little slut my girlfriend is.”

you clench around him at the words. sob louder.

he speeds up. hips snapping harder. deeper. the wet slap of skin on skin fills the booth louder than the muffled bass from the next room. your mary jane finally falls off, clatters somewhere. your thighs tremble. your whole body shakes.

“taro—gonna—gonna—”

“come,” he orders. thumb finds your clit again, rubbing fast, merciless circles. “come on my cock. let the whole building know who’s making you cry like this.”

you shatter.

hard. violent. walls clamping down so tight he curses loud, broken. squirting around him, messy, soaking the couch, dripping onto the floor. screams muffled against his palm when he clamps it over your mouth mid-orgasm.

he doesn’t stop.

fucks you through it, harder, deeper until you’re oversensitive, sobbing, begging into his hand.

“one more,” he snarls. “give me one more while i fill you up.”

you shake your head. tears pouring. “can’t—too much—”

“yes you can.”
his hand leaves your mouth. wraps around your throat instead squeezes just enough to make your head spin, make everything sharper, hotter. other hand on your hip, fingers bruising, yanking you down harder onto every thrust.

you come again. impossible, blinding. body convulsing. walls fluttering wildly. squirting harder. soaking everything.

he finally snaps.

buries himself to the hilt. comes with a low, guttural groan, hot, thick ropes flooding you so deep you feel it in your stomach. grinds slow, cruel circles, pushing every drop in while you twitch and sob against his neck.

stays inside.

doesn’t pull out.

just holds you, arms locked around your waist, chin tucked over your shoulder, breathing ragged against your skin.

kisses the tears off your cheeks. soft now. possessive.

“you’re mine,” he whispers. “all summer. every summer. every fucking day.”

you nod. wrecked. smiling through the sobs.

“yours.”

he kisses your temple. still buried. still dripping.

“let’s go home.”

and he carries you out, skirt still bunched, cum leaking down your thighs, mary jane dangling from one foot, past the front desk, past the other booths, past the cicadas screaming in the heat.

because in 2003 osaka,
in a city that never sleeps,
no one dares look too long at the boy carrying his crying, ruined girlfriend through the neon streets.

they already know who she belongs to.

it was three in the morning when you woke up to your phone buzzing. your phone should’ve been on do not disturb, but something in the back of your head told you to deactivate it. you had posted yourself on your instagram story, something you wanted two people in your life to see. 

one of them was your ex boyfriend. it was recent, the wound was still fresh on your skin. it was your first serious relationship, the first time you went through the ups and downs of loving someone. it was for the better, you being alone. you found yourself getting easily annoyed with him and the spark you hear all the old married couple’s talk about was gone. you actually could’ve argued the spark was never there. he was boring and too shy for his own good, not sure of himself. it was cute at first, but you grew tired of seeking validation. you thought that if you waited long enough, he’d boldly talk to you the way you needed. you wasted half a year waiting for your ex to step up. you actually didn’t reach out to him for a long time after the breakup, but it was one of those days where you wanted nothing more than to lay next to him. you figured if you posted on the page you knew he was stalking you might get him to reach out to you. 

you convinced yourself you were only posting for your ex. solely to get attention from him, so you could fall asleep next to him. but in the back of your mind you were thinking about someone else. when you reached to your beside table to check all your notifications you found out that someone else was thinking about you too.

baby, i got a discount for you.

missed call

i miss your pretty face.

(2) missed call(s)

just say pull up and i will.

you couldn’t help but smile at your phone. it was almost crazy how easy it was to get shotaro’s attention. all you had to do was post yourself and he was groveling at your feet. you looked through your phone at the several emoji reactions and messages you received from him. 

any rational person would think that shotaro was crazy for bugging you. you have to admit in any other situation with any other person you definitely would’ve considered shotaro to be annoying, or blocked him a long time ago. but he was cute and gave you free weed. it didn’t hurt that he was a good flirter, always making you giggly with his kind words. you ex actually had a problem with shotaro, how he approached you. it got so bad that he would insist on getting you all of your weed. but now your man wasn’t you man anymore and shotaro seemed to be very available.

while you looked at the notifications on your phone, your screen was taken up from shotaro calling you once again. you sat up in your bed, and subconsciously fixed your appearance as if he was standing there before you. you cleared your throat and accepted the call.

“hey taro.” you said.

hey baby.

you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling at his words. you liked how unashamed he was in his flirting, how it was present in not only his words but his tone as well. too many men were the doting type, hoping to woo girls by being a gentleman. but you liked the approach shotaro took with you. bold and not bashful, calling you gorgeous and other pet names even though you barely gave him time of day. the only time you reached out to him was to get a discount on weed.

“hey taro.” you said again.

you could hear him laugh on the other end of the line. he always had you shy and giggling, repeating your words like a nervous schoolgirl. 

what are you doing right now?

“i was sleeping, actually.”

right now, though?

you sighed.

“i’m not doing anything right now, shotaro.” 

you hear silence on the other end of the line. you bite your lip, suddenly hoping he’ll offer to come over.

okay well i got some new shit for you. can i come by?

you looked at the state of yourself and how you probably looked like you just woke up. seeing someone who is as flirtatious as shotaro this late at night is a bad idea. but the idea of being the first person to try his new shit sounds enticing. so you let out another sigh into the phone, trying to make it seem like you’re contemplating on saying no.

“you know where i live.” you say simply.

i’ll text you when i’m outside.

you can’t get a word out before he hangs up. you made your bed in a rush. you went into the motions of tidying yourself up, trying to find the perfect balance of intentional and unintentional. once you’re done, you move from your bed to your couch to wait for him. 

when it came to dealing with plugs, you never knew when they’d show up. so you’re sitting on the couch trying to contain your excitement. the best part was when you waited for him to come over, knowing that he was probably breaking all types of traffic laws to get to you faster. the anticipation of the night made butterflies form in your stomach. they ricochet off the walls and bumped into eachother, making you itch with adrenaline. you had to let your leg bounce to get rid of the restlessness you were feeling.

you are left waiting for only five minutes when you get the text.

outside pretty.

you are embarrassed to admit you got up from your couch as fast as you did. you walked to the door and opened it for shotaro.

he gave you that flirtatious smile that made you uncharacteristically shy. he had his backpack slung over one shoulder, with a beanie that was pulled all the way down to his eyebrows. his plaid shirt and gray sweatpants made you think that he just threw on whatever to get here as soon as possible. it thrilled you, the thought of shotaro tripping over himself just to come and serve you. he looked you up and down before tilting his head to the side.

“can i come in?” he said.

you opened your door and he walked past you, smelling like something musky. you trailed behind him as he walked through your house like he owned the place. 

shotaro placed his backpack next to the couch before sitting on it. he instantly sank into the couch getting comfortable while you stood in front of him. he manspread while looking you up and down again. you were in normal clothes, still looking half asleep but shotaro looked at you like you were the embodiment of sex. your tv was the only light source in the room, catching the side of shotaro’s face. his body casted a shadow of the wall next to the couch, and you saw yourself on the wall before he reached a hand towards you. you looked back at him, staring at the smirk that played on his lips.

you thought he was going to eat you alive when he beckoned to you.

“come here, pretty.” shotaro said, spreading out his legs a little bit more.

you obliged, sitting on the couch positioning your body to you were completely facing him. shotaro took off his beanie and ran his hand through his hair. he let his head rest back on the couch and turned his neck to look at you. you saw his adam’s apple, how it bobbed with each word he spoke. the light from the television perfectly lit up his face and neck. you were paying so much attention to every part of him, maybe you wanted to eat him alive, too. shotaro’s smirk turned into a different expression, one that was more serious.

“i missed you,” shotaro said. he touched your hand that rested in your lap. “you got another plug or something?”

shotaro knew you would never stop coming to him, but he did have competition. there were other drug dealers in your town, many that would be more than happy to give you a discount on their stuff. shotaro told himself that he gave you your weed for free purely from a business standpoint. he was all about customer service and customer loyalty. the money he lost from giving you weed for free he would just make up for it by overcharging stupid high school kids.

shotaro knew that you would never go to anyone else, but he still felt his chest swell with pride seeing how fast you shook your head.

“no. nobody else. i was just taking a tolerance break. i’m also going through s break up right now.” you said.

shotaro thought it was so cute seeing you run off at the mouth. you didn’t have to mention the tolerance break, or your stupid scrub boyfriend shotaro hated. you were rambling just because of the way shotaro was looking at you. he watched you pull your hand away to bring your arm up to the back of the couch. you let your head rest on your fist as you looked at him. 

your attempt to look relaxed was shattered when shotaro put a hand on your bare leg. 

“your man isn’t around anymore?” shotaro asked innocently. 

his smile was inviting and so was his hand. you shook your head.

“i broke up with him.” you said sheepishly.

“aw.” shotaro fake pouted. “wanna tell me why?”

“he was too shy.” you said.

suddenly couldn’t think of the reasons you broke up with your ex. all you could think about was shotaro’s hand on your knee and how the light from the tv made his eyes look so pretty. his fake pout turned into a smile as you shuffled slightly on the couch to get closer to him.

he slowly rubbed your knee and you cursed yourself for freezing underneath his touch. he looked at you teasingly, getting your heart rate to speed up.

“he should’ve been the most smug bastard on earth with you as his girlfriend.” shotaro said honestly. 

you look down at his hand on your knee to smile. you can hear shotaro laughing lowly as he returns to let his head rest on the back of the couch.

his hand still rests on your thigh. he’s so close to the line where your two thighs touch. you imagine shotaro squeezing his hand in between your two thighs. if he could show you how bold he can be. you forgotten what it felt like to be so close to someone who you knew without a doubt wanted you. 

shotaro rests his head on his other hand, copying your movement.

“your instagram story was cute, by the way.” shotaro says.

you look up from his hand to look at his chill expression from the couch. 

“thank you.” you say. his hand is so warm.

“who was it for?” shotaro asks.  

this catches you off guard. for the first time you see shotaro trying to feign emotions, pretending to not be bothered by the thought of you entertaining your ex. you gain some of you composure back, leaning into your fist with a smile.

“i didn’t have you pegged for the jealous type, shotaro.” you say it with a smirk, one shotaro gives back to you.

“just wanna know who you were missing more.” shotaro says. 

“i missed you.” you said quietly. 

“oh yeah?” shotaro said.

his hand that was touching your knee moved up to your mid thigh. you scooted closer to him so it was easier to let his hands roam your skin. something about how he touched you made you lightheaded. shotaro laughed dryly at your reaction to him. you were so reactive to everything he did. he already considered himself to be a cocky person, but the way he always had you by barely doing anything made his ego grow tenfold.

“yeah.” you sighed contently.

shotaro’s touch on your legs get a little heavier. they sneak up a little higher too. shotaro leans in closer to you, moving his hand to grab yours. shotaro looks at the way your thighs touch and rub together as he talks to you.

“how much did you miss me?” he asks. 

his voice gets lower, words dripping with honey as he wedges his hand between your thighs. you jump at the feeling of his knuckles crammed between your legs. you can feel his knuckles indent your pillowy skin. you’re so distracted you almost forget his question.

“alot.” you whisper.

shotaro hums in acknowledgment as he moves his fingers closer to you. shotaro’s finger finds your clothed heat. your squished thighs made it hard for him to move his hand, but he’s nothing if not determined. you are already feeling the effects of your arousal between your legs, and so can shotaro. he tsks at you when he withdraws his hands from in between your legs.

“oh i can tell.” he says knowingly.

you try to be nonchalant about the situation, looking down at shotaro’s lap. he’s all spread out for you looking as enticing as ever. you put a hand on his knee and shotaro follows your hand and up your arm, until he’s looking at your face.

“you getting bold, baby?“ shotaro said. 

he moved his leg slightly, letting your hand creep further up. you applied some pressure behind your hand. his thigh was solid underneath your touch. you looked to shotaro to gauge his reaction. his look egged you on, his head motioning for you to come closer. you listened, scooting so close your legs were touching now. shotaro used his hand to play with the thin strap of your shirt on your shoulder. he experimentally brought it to the end of your shoulder, resting on the rounded edge. one simple move would have the strap falling down your shoulder, revealing your chest. you thought about being exposed in front of shotaro, him being able to see the body he probably thought so much about.

“can you show me how much you missed me?” shotaro asks.

shotaro looks at you and you feel your lips gravitate towards his. they look glossy in the blue light from the tv, you wonder what they taste like. you missed him and his flirtatious comments, how confident he always makes you feel.

you nod your head and shotaro keep eye contact with you as he moves his hand back to between your thighs. you mirror hid movements, until you can feel his hardened length underneath the cotton fabric of his sweats. you squeeze his dick and his hand dips underneath your elastic waistband. 

you both gasp at the contact. feeling shotaro’s finger tease your clit makes you more eager to please him. you close your hand around his shaft repeatedly, reveling in the sounds he makes and feeling him twitch against your palm.

“i’ve needed you for so long.” shotaro says. “i thought you’d never breakup with that fucking loser.”

his normally even voice is whiny and desperate as he bucks his hips up into your hand. this entices you, giving you the gumption to put your hand in his sweatpants. he’s wearing no boxers, and when you take him in your hand you can feel precum that dribbled down from his shaft. you use your index finger to massage his tip and shotaro uses his hand that’s not touching your slit to bring you forward.

shotaro guides you forward, until you have one hand on his dick and the other clutching the armrest of your couch. your knees are still on the couch as shotaro brings his hand to your chin, guiding you in for a kiss. you follow his lead, and you move your hand from the armrest to his shoulder. you fist the fabric of his flannel and start stroking shotaro slowly to show him how much you really missed him. he shows you by bending his fingers inside of you after adding another one. your sloppy kisses are interrupted by moans and expletives. shotaro is the one that pulls away from your lips, resting his forehead against yours. he pulls his fingers out of you to thumb the elastic on your waistband. you can feel his wet fingers make contact with your skin as he looks at you.

“can i see you take these off?” shotaro asks.

“can you take off yours too?” you ask, quieter than shotaro. 

he nods his head and he lifts his hips off the couch to unclothe himself. you look away on instinct, focusing on getting your own garment off. part of you didn’t want to look away, you wanted to see it all. you wanted to see shotaro free himself from the confines of his sweatpants and see his dick react to the air of your apartment. the thought of seeing shotaro get undressed seemed a little too intimate, so you instead just focused on the sound of his dick hitting his stomach with a small slap. your pants and camisole was off quickly. 

you found out that shotaro didn’t think it was too intimate at all to watch you get undressed. he focused on your boobs the most. you saw shotaro’s hand hesistate before reaching towards you.

“can i touch you, baby?”

you nod and shotaro’s hand goes to tweak your nipple. when you gasp shotaro looks at you and pinches a little harder. you keep eye contact as he keeps the pressure. the pain is almost unbearable, but shotaro releases the sensitive skin. as if he’s trying to apologize shotaro then takes your boob into his hand, massaging the skin. 

you go back to your previous position on the couch, leaning over him. he brings you in for a kiss and he tastes like mint and fruity candy. his spit mixes with yours and his tongue is almost as soft as his lips. he’s gentle but assertive with you, letting his tongue explore your mouth. 

when you grab shotaro’s dick, he almost bit your tongue off in surprise. he hisses into the kiss when you grip him a little tighter and pick up the speed. shotaro almost yells out loud when he sees you drop your head to his lap. 

“you don’t have to.” shotaro says.

you look up from his lap to give him a smug smile. shotaro’s chill plug facade almost breaks when you take his hard dick into your mouth.

“holy shit,” shotaro whines. “you’re so pretty. so sexy.” 

you want to tell him the same thing. you want to tell him about all the times you caught yourself staring at him, how many times you’ve thought about his pretty smile. you wanted to tell him about his pretty lips and pretty voice and the pretty sounds he making for you. even his dick is pretty, the perfect size for you to take all of him. shotaro bucks his hips and moans, praising you the whole time.

“i’ve thought about you everyday.” he sighs.

you position your mouth differently. the change causes shotaro’s tip to touch fuck your cheek instead of your mouth while you get used to him. you expected the position change to only last a second, but shotaro looked at your cheek. he used his hands to change your fast pace to a slow one. you could practically feel shotaro’s eyes burn a hole in your cheek when the skin of your cheek was being pulled taut by his dick. shotaro ran a quick hand over the protruding piece of your cheek. with a groan, shotaro leans his head back to rest against the couch. you look up to shotaro, watching his adam’s apple bob when you go back to taking him down your throat.

“fuck. even your mouth is pretty.” he says. 

you start letting out your own sounds when you feel shotaro’s hand grip your ass. he plays with it, kneading your supple skin. his hand travels to your slit, and he sticks a finger inside. you moan still with his sick in your mouth and he bucks his hips again. 

with the parts you can’t reach you use your hand. shotaro clears your hair out of your face but doesn’t guide your head anymore. he thinks watching you do your own thing is way better. watching you might become one of his favorite things. he lazily fingers you, he just needs to feel you around him. your sopping wet but the angle makes it hard for shotaro to pleasure you. when shotaro makes eye contact with you he has to pull himself out of your mouth before he finishes down your throat. 

“i’m gonna cum if you keep looking at me like that.” shotaro says.

you want to tell him it’s okay if he cums in your mouth but you’re too shy to request such a lewd thing. shotaro must see the thought cross your mind as he pushes his hair back with his hand.

“i don’t do stuff like that unless you ask for it.” shotaro says. 

when shotaro pulls his fingers out of your pussy he uses the same hand to bring your body that’s still laying across his legs back to the doggy position. he takes his hands from you mouth and he kisses you roughly. his lips are still soft, and you are out of your mind as you take his lips into your mouth and suck on them. you can still smell yourself on his fingers, wet as they hold your face. you pull away from him. a string of spit connecting your lips is broken as you speak.

“can you fuck me?” you say. 

your eyes are wide and blown out, mirroring shotaro’s as he nods his head.

“how do you want it?” he asks.

“put your ass in the air for me baby.” shotaro says as he gets up from the couch. 

you listen to his request, putting your face on the couch where shotaro was sitting to put your ass even higher in the air. 

you can feel the couch dip underneath his weight. shotaro uses gentle hands to perfect your form. a hand pushes down on your lower back to help with the arch, another hand spreading your thighs so he can slot between them. he uses his dig to slap your ass, teasing your slit with the tip. you both are holding your breaths, trying to grasp what’s about to happen. shotaro leans forward, so close until his abdomen is pressed against your back. you moan when you can feel his tip between your folds, collecting slick.

“ready?” shotaro asks.

you respond by pushing your hips back, shotaro goes upright to hold your hips in place. he starts off slow as he tried to comprehend how lucky he really is.

“i wish i could see your face, honey.” shotaro says after he bottoms out.

you moan as he puts his leg up, hitting something inside of you that you didn’t know existed.

“you gonna let me fuck you again so i can see that pretty face right?” shotaro asks. 

he picks up speed and a sound you didnt know you could make comes from the back of your throat. you forgot he asked you a question until he thrusts deep, you have to grip the armrest of the couch to stabilize yourself.

“right?” he asks again.

“yes.” you moan.

shotaro resumes his fast pace. he places a light smack to your ass, living for the recoil. 

“you feel so good.” shotaro says.

you have a vice grip on the couch and use your hold it to stabilize yourself. you use all your strength to push your hips back to meet shotaro’s he stills his movements and you look back to see shataro rests his hand on his hips and he watches you fuck yourself on him. he sees you looking back and smiles at you.

“just like that. must’ve really wanted this huh?”

you nod your head and continue to push your hips back, entranced on hitting that spot inside of you. shotaro puts his hands back on your ass as you start picking up the pace.

“giving me a show and everything baby.” shotaro says. 

his voice is getting a little whinier and his sentences are becoming rushed. shotaro knows your close by the way you clamp around him. he uses a hand to rub your clit and you completely stop, pleasure taking over everything. shotaro resumes the pace he had before, so hard and fast the sound of slapping skin overpowers the show playing on the television and overtakes your mind. you reach back and shotaro grabs it, pinning your hand to your back. he still rubs revolutions onto your clit as you completely come undone, yelling out his name. 

“love this ass,” shotaro says. “can i cum on it?”

“yes.” you yell.

shotaro pulls out and guides your hand that he holds to his dick. you get the hint quickly and stroke him as fast as he massages your clit, matching his pace. 

you and shotaro are both moaning as your orgasms are prolonged. shotaro shoots ropes over your ass and back, fucking himself in your hand. you can feel your own wetness as it coats shotaro’s hands. he puts in one finger and you leave your arch to sink lower and lower into the couch. you are on the edge of overstimulation when shotaro pulls his fingers out of you.

you are face down on the couch, breathing hard trying to catch your breath. you imagine shotaro is doing the same, leaning on the armrest as his chest heaves. 

you’re caught up in the comedown that you didn’t notice shotaro go into your kitchen. he wipes off your back and ass with some paper towels. he helps you sit up and he smiles at your dazed expression.

“everything alright?” he asks with a smile on his face. 

shotaro helps you put on your own clothes before he looks for his own. after you’re both dressed he sits on the couch and guides you to lay your head on his lap. he plays with your hands in complete silence. the atmosphere you two have created isn’t awkward, you just wish one of you would say something.

shotaro reaches for his backpack, upper half of his body leaning forward to grab it. his upper body comes so close to you that your nose almost touches his chest. you smell the same musky scent from when he first came into your apartment. you take it in, feeling like something has been ripped away from you when shotaro comes back up. a new smell fills your nose, but it’s familiar nonetheless.

“this is that new shit i was talking about. it’s a hybrid of that one strain you like.” shotaro says. 

he puts the baggie in your hands. it’s easily half an ounce, maybe even more than that.

“thanks shotaro. it’ll take me forever to get through all of this.”

“i hope you like it.” shotaro says.

you look up at him as he watches the television. it’s weird seeing him in this light. he seems softer, more shy than the man you were dealing with a few minutes ago. this shotaro hesitates to touch you, hands hovering over your hair that he wants to feel between his fingers. this shotaro plays with your hands and compares the sizes, humming contently when you thread your fingers in his. this shotaro also ignores his phone as it sits on the coffee table blowing up with notifications.

“i think someone is trying to talk to you taro.” you say.

“probably just someone seeing if i’m awake. don’t worry about it.” shotaro says. he’s unbothered as he plays with your hair and watching whatever show is playing on the television. you begin to nervously play with shotaro’s hand, moving it back and forth in a repeated motion to feel some comfort.

“i won’t be mad if you leave.”  you say quietly.

shotaro stops playing with your hair for a split second. you swear you can feel him stiffen underneath you, and the air in the room changes. shotaro only pauses for a second before he continues to play with your hair.

“you can just come back once you’re done, right?” you ask. 

you look up to see shotaro already looking down at you, smiling.

“really?” shotaro asks.

you nod your head and he squeezes your hand before bending down and kissing your forehead. it’s quick, but it’s a delicate kiss, soft like you are made of glass. when he pulls away you hand him his phone off the coffee table, trying to see who is messaging him.

“one of my regulars wants me to run some stuff to him. he only lives fifteen minutes away.” shotaro says.

you get up from the couch to find shotaro’s clothes that were randomly thrown around your living room. he thanks you for each article of clothing you find, and he is slow putting on his clothes, like he is trying to stall.

shotaro is slow all the way to your door. when you tell him to be back soon and drive safe he moves with a pep in his step.

the dorm hallway is quiet after midnight, the kind of quiet that makes every creak sound like a confession. your door is cracked open again, same as every night this week because you tell yourself it’s for ventilation, but really it’s so you can hear his footsteps if he ever walks past.

he never does.

sohee’s room is three doors down. you know the exact number because you counted the steps from your bed to his the first night you followed him back from the library. you know he leaves his sneakers outside the door when he showers because the soles are worn on the outside edge from how he drags his feet when he’s tired. you know he keeps the window open a sliver even when it rains because you’ve watched raindrops slide down the glass while he scrolls his phone shirtless, back turned, spine a perfect curve you’ve traced with your eyes a thousand times.

you’re not crazy.

you’re just… thorough.

your room looks normal enough to anyone who might peek inside: fairy lights, plushies arranged by color, a desk covered in glitter pens and half-finished stickers. but the drawer under your bed is different. polaroids of him; blurry shots from across the quad, clearer ones from the café when you sat two tables behind him, one perfect close-up of his sleeping face when he dozed off in the study room at 2 a.m. and you stayed until the janitor almost caught you.

you touch yourself to those photos every night.

tonight is no different.

you’re on your back, legs spread, hoodie rucked up under your tits, fingers circling your clit slow and teasing while you stare at the newest addition: him laughing at something on his phone, head thrown back, throat exposed, adam’s apple sharp. you zoom in on his mouth. imagine it between your thighs. imagine him looking up at you with those lazy eyes while he licks you open.

a soft knock.

you freeze.

another knock, gentle, almost polite.

your heart slams so hard you feel it in your clit.

you pull your hoodie down. wipe your fingers on the sheets. crawl to the door on your knees like you always do. peek through the crack.

sohee.

hood up. black sweats hanging low. holding your student ID, the one you “lost” two weeks ago after you deliberately dropped it near his locker so he’d have to pick it up.

your stomach flips so violently you almost come untouched.

he’s looking straight at the crack like he knows you’re there.

“open the door,” he says. voice low. calm. no question in it.

your hand shakes when you twist the knob.

he steps inside before you can invite him. closes the door. locks it. the sound is louder than it should be.

you back up until your calves hit the bed. sit. hard. thighs pressed together to hide how wet you are.

he doesn’t sit.

just stands there. towering. looking around your room like he’s cataloguing every detail, the plushies, the stickers, the open laptop with his instagram still pulled up (you forgot to close it again).

his eyes land on the drawer under your bed.

your breath catches.

he crouches. slow. deliberate. slides it open.

the polaroids spill out like secrets finally catching air.

he picks one up, the close-up of his sleeping face. thumb brushes over the image of his lips.

“you took this?” voice quiet. almost curious.

you can’t speak. just nod. tears already prickling because you’re caught and you’re terrified and you’re so fucking turned on you can feel your heartbeat between your legs.

he flips through more. doesn’t look shocked. doesn’t look angry.

just… amused.

“you’ve been following me,” he says. statement. not question.

another nod. tears spill now. hot. fast.

he sets the photos down. stands. walks over to you. drops to one knee so he’s eye-level.

grabs your chin. gentle but firm. forces you to look at him.

“why?”

your voice cracks. “because… you’re perfect. and i’m—i’m just—”

“a stalker,” he finishes. thumb wiping a tear off your cheek. “a pretty little stalker who touches herself to pictures of me every night.”

you sob. once. loud. broken.

his thumb presses harder against your bottom lip. parts it.

“you’re shaking,” he murmurs. “scared?”

you nod.

“wet?”

you whimper. nod again.

he smiles slow. dark. satisfied.

“good.”

he stands. pulls you up with him. spins you. pushes you face-first against the wall, gentle enough not to bruise, hard enough you feel owned.

hands slide under your hoodie. palms flat against your stomach. then higher. cupping your tits. squeezing. thumbs flicking your nipples until they’re hard and aching.

you moan. high. needy.

“been watching me for months,” he whispers against your ear. teeth grazing the shell. “taking pictures. touching this pretty pussy while you stare at my face. did you ever think i’d notice?”

you shake your head. sob again.

“i noticed.”

one hand slides down. between your thighs. fingers finding your soaked folds through your panties.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you’re dripping. just from me being in the same room.”

two fingers push the fabric aside. slide inside you, slow. deep. curling immediately to that spot that makes your knees buckle.

you cry out. loud. desperate.

he clamps his other hand over your mouth.

“qu iet,” he orders. “don’t want the whole floor hearing how much of a desperate little stalker you are for me.”

he pumps his fingers slow at first. then faster. thumb circling your clit. you’re shaking. sobbing against his palm. tears streaming. hips rocking back against his hand like you can’t help it.

“come,” he growls. “come on my fingers. show me how much you’ve wanted this.”

you shatter.

hard.

walls clamping down. squirting around his fingers. soaking his hand. thighs. the floor. body convulsing. muffled scream against his palm.

he doesn’t stop.

keeps fucking you with his fingers through it harder. deeper until you’re oversensitive. crying harder. begging against his hand.

he pulls out. turns you around. lifts you onto the desk, papers scattering. laptop almost falling. he doesn’t care.

yanks your hoodie off. tits out. nipples red from his earlier attention. he latches onto one, sucking hard while he shoves his sweats down. cock springing free. thick. flushed. leaking.

you stare. eyes wide. tears still falling.

“it’s… big.”

he smiles. dark. proud.

“you’ll take it.”

he lines up. pushes in slow, inch by inch, watching your face twist. watching you cry harder. watching your tiny body stretch around him.

“fuck—so tight,” he groans. “look at you. taking me so well even though you’re crying.”

he bottoms out. stays there. grinding deep. letting you feel every inch.

you’re sobbing openly now. nails digging into his shoulders. legs wrapped around his waist.

“move—please—”

he does.

slow at first, long, dragging thrusts that make you feel everything. then faster. harder. desk creaking. headboard knocking. your sobs turning to screams.

he fucks you like he’s been waiting for this longer than you have.

“you’re mine now,” he growls. “no more hiding. no more watching from the shadows. you want me? you’ve got me. every fucking day.”

you come again, clenching so hard he curses. squirting around him. soaking the desk. thighs shaking.

he follows, buries deep. comes with a low, broken groan. hot pulses flooding you until it spills out around his cock.

stays inside. grinding slow. pushing it deeper.

pulls you into his chest. arms locking around you.

kisses your tear-streaked face.

“no more locking yourself away,” he whispers.

“you’re coming with me tomorrow. to class. to practice. to bed. everywhere.”

you nod. wrecked. smiling through the sobs.

“yes, sohee.”

he kisses your forehead. soft now. possessive.

“good girl.”

and he stays inside you the rest of the night, holding you close, breathing you in, making sure you feel him every time you shift.

because now that you’ve let him in…

shotaro’s favorite sound in the world isn’t your moans.

it’s the little broken hiccup you make right before you start crying.

you’re already a whiner outside the bedroom, pouting when he takes too long to text back, tugging his sleeve in public when you want attention, voice high and needy when you’re tired or hungry or just want him closer. he acts like it annoys him, rolls his eyes, calls you dramatic with that soft smile that never quite reaches mean. but inside? he’s addicted. every tiny complaint, every teary “tarooo” makes his cock twitch in his pants.

tonight you’re on your knees between his thighs, bedroom lit only by the string lights you insisted on hanging last week. he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed except for the zipper open and his dick out; thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. you’ve been sucking him for twenty minutes, slow and messy, spit dripping down your chin, mascara already smudged from how deep he pushed earlier.

you pull off with a wet pop, gasping. eyes glassy. bottom lip trembling.

“‘s too much,” you whine, voice cracking. “jaw hurts… can’t anymore…”

shotaro’s hand tightens in your hair, not yanking, just holding. thumb stroking your cheek like he’s comforting you. but his eyes are dark. pupils blown. breathing shallow.

“you can,” he says quietly. almost gentle. “you’re gonna keep going until i tell you to stop.”

your lip wobbles harder. tears well up instantly. one slips down your cheek, catches on his thumb. he smears it across your skin like he’s painting you.

“see?” he murmurs. “already crying for me.”

you sniffle. try to speak. voice high, pitiful. “tarooo… please…”

that’s it. that’s the sound.

his cock jumps against his stomach. he groans, low, wrecked. free hand wrapping around the base and stroking once, slow, like he’s trying not to come just from looking at you.

“fuck, baby,” he breathes. “look at you. whining like that… tears everywhere… makes me so hard i can’t think.”

he pulls you up by the hair, gentle enough not to hurt, firm enough you feel owned. sits you on his lap, thighs spread over his, your soaked panties pressed right against his bare cock. you whimper again, loud, needy, and another tear falls.

he catches it with his tongue. licks it off your cheek. groans against your skin.

“keep crying,” he whispers. “don’t stop. i want to hear it while i’m inside you.”

you nod frantically. already rocking against him, desperate. he hooks your panties to the side, lines himself up, and sinks in slow, deep, watching your face the whole time.

your mouth falls open. brows pinch. tears spill faster. high, broken whine tearing out of your throat as he bottoms out.

“there it is,” he breathes. hips rolling once slow, grinding deep. “that’s my girl. cry for me while i fuck you.”

you do.

sob after sob. hiccuping. clinging to his shoulders. nails digging in. body shaking every time he thrusts, slow, deliberate, dragging against every sensitive spot until you’re a mess.

he loves it.

loves how your walls flutter every time a fresh tear falls. loves how you clench harder when you whine his name. loves the way your voice cracks higher, needier, the more you cry.

“so pretty when you’re crying on my cock,” he murmurs. one hand cups your face, thumb catching tears. the other grips your hip, guiding you to ride him deeper. “no one else gets to see this. just me. only i make you fall apart like this.”

you come first, shaking, sobbing, clenching so tight he has to bite his lip to hold back. tears streaming. voice wrecked. “tarooo—please—too much—”

he doesn’t stop.

fucks you through it, harder now. chasing his own release while you keep crying, keep whining, keep giving him exactly what he craves.

“gonna come inside,” he growls. “gonna fill you up while you’re still crying for me.”

you nod desperate, teary, wrecked. “yes—yes—please—”

he buries deep. comes with a low, guttural groan, pulsing, flooding you. hips grinding slow circles to push it deeper while you tremble and sniffle against his neck.

after, he doesn’t pull out.

just holds you close. arms locked around your waist. one hand stroking your hair. kissing the tear tracks on your cheeks. soft now. gentle.

“good girl,” he whispers. “my pretty crier.”

you hiccup. bury your face in his neck. still whining softly.

he smiles against your hair dark, satisfied, completely obsessed.