mel.

he streamed league of legends, valorant, and occasionally genshin impact. his following was modest; his view count unimpressive for someone so unfairly good at what he did.

you were shocked that the guy even followed you back.

working up the courage to dm him took another week. you'd rehearsed the message three times before finally sending him a compliment about his recent stream—where he tried to pity build and somehow made it viable.

he left you on read for almost two full days. you hadn't known a guy could be so cold until you met sunghoon.

when he finally responded, it was a single, effortless "ty." if he thought that would dispirit you, he clearly underestimated your persistence.

from then on, it was like luring a cat with their favorite treats. you'd drop hyper-specific references that catered to his most recent interests, send him niche memes, and casually ask about his raid strategies until he finally broke and sent you a five-minute voice note explaining particle effects like it was life or death. his voice was softer than you expected, a little breathless when he got passionate, as if he forgot he was talking to you and not his twitch chat.

you couldn't have achieved more in life.

you broke sunghoon.

months later, that same scrawny, sleep-deprived lab partner is sprawled in his gaming chair in front of you. rgb lights highlighting his sharp features in blue and purple, catching along the curves of his jaw. he's wearing his usual black hoodie, silver-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose while he focuses on his second monitor.

you're kneeling between his spread thighs under the desk, the carpet soft against your knees. on one screen, his guild is mid-raid, boss health bar ticking down, teammates yelling callouts through his headset. he hasn't missed a single mechanic.

his free hand rests casually on your head at first, fingers combing through your hair like he's petting a cat. soft, innocent enough for you to lean into his touch.

you hear him hum softly before tightening his grip.

he angles his hips forward a fraction, feeding another slow inch past your lips without sparing a single glance at you. his voice stays perfectly even when he speaks into the mic.

"yeah, taunt on cooldown. i got the aggro reset, don't worry."

you hollow your cheeks, swirling your tongue the way you know makes his thigh twitch. a tiny hitch escapes his lips, but is gone in a second. he adjusts his headset like nothing had happened, thumb brushing against your cheek almost tenderly.

"sorry guys, cable got caught," he mutters to his team. "we're all good now."

but under the desk, his fingers slide into your hair properly now, holding you still while he rocks slow, controlled thrusts that let him stay seated and look entirely normal from the angle he has his webcam at.

the thrill of it burns low in your stomach: his friends hearing only his calm responses while you're pathetically drooling around his length, trying not to make a sound.

when the boss finally dies and the raid cheers, he mutes. only then does he lean back, glasses fogging at the corners, and finally looks down at you with those hooded eyes.

"good girl," he praises quietly, voice wrecked in a way his discord friends will never hear. "took me so well while i carried."

he pulls you up by the wrists, spins the chair, and hauls you onto his lap in one fluid motion. your thighs bracket his as he leans in and kisses you like he's starving, teeth and tongue and little rough groans he muffles against your mouth.

his setup is everywhere around you: shelves lined with scale figures of his favorite anime characters, a half-built lego kit deserted on the side table, and rows upon rows of manga. he's spent years alone in rooms like this, studying every frame of hentai, every doujin panel, and every moan cadence. now he uses his knowledge just as well as he memorizes titration curves and reaction rates with unnerving accuracy.

one hand slips under your shirt, fingers finding your nipples and rolling them with godly precision that makes your back arch every time. his free hand dips beneath your skirt, stroking through adorable, soaked panties before pushing them aside.

"been this wet since you crawled under my desk, huh?" his lips brush against your ear in a sinful whisper. "knew you would. always do when i ignore you a little."

he doesn't rush. he never does.

years of edging himself to animated girls meant he could drag this out until you're a trembling mess.

two fingers slide in slowly, curling against that spot that makes your thighs shake, thumb circling your clit in lazy, perfect loops. he watches your face the entire time—studying every flutter of your lashes, every awestruck look on your mouth—like he's speed-running your tells.

when you start clenching around his digits, he pulls them out, replacing them with the thick head of his cock, sinking into your soaking folds in one long, unrelenting thrust. your forehead drops to his shoulders as he wraps an arm around your back, holding you flush against him while he bottoms out.

"fuck," he breathes, the first real crack in his composure all day. "still so tight."

with that, he fucks right into you with deep, measured drives, hips snapping just enough to grind against your clit on every stroke. his hoodie bunches around his waist, your nails digging into the fabric over his shoulders.

somewhere in the haze, he reaches over and clicks his second monitor on again. a paused hentai scene fills the screen—some pretty anime girl easily folded in half, expression blissed out.

"compare for me," he murmurs against your throat, his filthy voice vibrating against your skin. "tell me if i'm doing it better than him."

you can't even form words, just a string of broken whines as he angles deeper, hitting that spot over and over with devastating accuracy that mirrors his perfect aim in games.

his endurance is disgusting; he's barely panting while you're falling apart on his uncharacteristically big dick.

when you finally cum, it's with his name on a sob, clenching so hard he finally groans, burying himself to the hilt and spilling his seeds inside you with slow, pulsing drags.

he doesn't pull out right away, though. the nerd knew how to fuck incredibly well. instead, he just keeps you in his lap, one hand rubbing your back as he watches you recover from your high through his glasses. his figurines watch from above like silent, approving sentinels.

"next time," he starts, lips gently brushing against your temple, "i'm photographing you next to the new scale. need better reference from the tremble in your thighs."

you laugh weakly against his neck.

he smiles, that rare, real one he does only for you, tightening his arms around your waist.

the antisocial geek who once ghosted you for days is gone. in his place is this quiet, awkward boyfriend who still blushes in public when you hold his hand, yet ruins you every night like it's his final boss clear.

🦭 mels note: hello! my initial plan was to get this idea done by valentines day as a surprise for you all but i got busy and ended up finishing it today :( besides that, i hope you enjoy! 𝗆𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗎𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗈𝖺𝗁….

"missed your face," he started, voice rough from a long day of dragged-out meetings. his eyes drop immediately to your thin tank top clinging to your chest, no bra, cute nipples passing through the fabric.

"fuck, look at you."

you bite your lip to suppress the noises threatening to escape, knees drawn up, phone propped against your headboard. "you're late."

"blame the traffic." he leans back into his desk chair, spreading his thighs. the camera catches the obvious bulge pressing against his slacks. "see that, baby? been hard since the airport, thinking about this."

a familiar heat coils deep in your stomach. you slide one hand under the waistband of your sleep shorts, teasing yourself through soaked cotton.

"show me."

he doesn't even hesitate. you hear the buckle of his belt clink, zipper rasping through quietness. you watch his hand palm himself over black briefs, the thick outline almost obscene against the fabric. when he finally frees himself, he's already leaking—tip glistening an angry red with every vein prominent.

your breath hitches. your fingers finally slip beneath your panties, rubbing loops on your clit with the same rhythm he's using on himself.

"fuck, baby," he groans, head lolling back for a second before his gaze finds yours again. "let me see. spread for me."

your fingers hook into your shorts and panties, sliding them down. with every inch, you slowly began revealing to him how wet you already were, how your fingers shine when you pull them away. his hand speeds up.

"that's my girl. so fucking pretty when you're dripping for me."

you moan, dipping two fingers inside, imagining it's his instead. "wish you were here. want your mouth, your cock."

"i know." his voice cracks. "next week i'm burying myself so deep, you'll forget what it feels like to be empty. but right now..." he angles his phone lower so you can catch every stroke, thumb swiping against his slit. "right now you're gonna cum watching me fuck my fist thinking about your tight little cunt."

the words hit you like a train. your hips jerk forward, fingers curling, chasing that delicious spot that makes your back arch.

"hoonie—"

"yeah, just like that. fuck yourself harder. pretend it's me splitting you open."

you moan his name shamelessly, loud enough that the neighbors probably heard. he mirrors you—strokes turning sloppy, breathing ragged.

"gonna cum" he warns, abs tightening. "gonna cum all over my hand, wishing it was your pussy milking me."

"please." you gasp desperately. "cum for me, baby. wanna see."

his hips thrust upwards once, twice, before spilling with a choked groan, thick ropes painting his stomach and hand. the sight pushes you over the edge: thighs trembling, back arching, clit pulsing under your fingers as you clench around nothing and cry out his name.

panting, you lift your soaked fingers to your mouth, slowly licking them clean, tongue dragging along every digit while staring directly into the camera.

sunghoon's gaze flares, chest still heaving. "good girl," he murmurs, voice wrecked. "next week, i'm tasting you myself."

🦭 mels note: doja cat's song cyber sex has been stuck in my head for around a week and i couldn't help but think of hoon!! ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა short n sweet one for today as a reward for finishing my essay...

he streamed league of legends, valorant, and occasionally genshin impact. his following was modest; his view count unimpressive for someone so unfairly good at what he did.

you were shocked that the guy even followed you back.

working up the courage to dm him took another week. you'd rehearsed the message three times before finally sending him a compliment about his recent stream—where he tried to pity build and somehow made it viable.

he left you on read for almost two full days. you hadn't known a guy could be so cold until you met sunghoon.

when he finally responded, it was a single, effortless "ty." if he thought that would dispirit you, he clearly underestimated your persistence.

from then on, it was like luring a cat with their favorite treats. you'd drop hyper-specific references that catered to his most recent interests, send him niche memes, and casually ask about his raid strategies until he finally broke and sent you a five-minute voice note explaining particle effects like it was life or death. his voice was softer than you expected, a little breathless when he got passionate, as if he forgot he was talking to you and not his twitch chat.

you couldn't have achieved more in life.

you broke sunghoon.

months later, that same scrawny, sleep-deprived lab partner is sprawled in his gaming chair in front of you. rgb lights highlighting his sharp features in blue and purple, catching along the curves of his jaw. he's wearing his usual black hoodie, silver-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose while he focuses on his second monitor.

you're kneeling between his spread thighs under the desk, the carpet soft against your knees. on one screen, his guild is mid-raid, boss health bar ticking down, teammates yelling callouts through his headset. he hasn't missed a single mechanic.

his free hand rests casually on your head at first, fingers combing through your hair like he's petting a cat. soft, innocent enough for you to lean into his touch.

you hear him hum softly before tightening his grip.

he angles his hips forward a fraction, feeding another slow inch past your lips without sparing a single glance at you. his voice stays perfectly even when he speaks into the mic.

"yeah, taunt on cooldown. i got the aggro reset, don't worry."

you hollow your cheeks, swirling your tongue the way you know makes his thigh twitch. a tiny hitch escapes his lips, but is gone in a second. he adjusts his headset like nothing had happened, thumb brushing against your cheek almost tenderly.

"sorry guys, cable got caught," he mutters to his team. "we're all good now."

but under the desk, his fingers slide into your hair properly now, holding you still while he rocks slow, controlled thrusts that let him stay seated and look entirely normal from the angle he has his webcam at.

the thrill of it burns low in your stomach: his friends hearing only his calm responses while you're pathetically drooling around his length, trying not to make a sound.

when the boss finally dies and the raid cheers, he mutes. only then does he lean back, glasses fogging at the corners, and finally looks down at you with those hooded eyes.

"good girl," he praises quietly, voice wrecked in a way his discord friends will never hear. "took me so well while i carried."

he pulls you up by the wrists, spins the chair, and hauls you onto his lap in one fluid motion. your thighs bracket his as he leans in and kisses you like he's starving, teeth and tongue and little rough groans he muffles against your mouth.

his setup is everywhere around you: shelves lined with scale figures of his favorite anime characters, a half-built lego kit deserted on the side table, and rows upon rows of manga. he's spent years alone in rooms like this, studying every frame of hentai, every doujin panel, and every moan cadence. now he uses his knowledge just as well as he memorizes titration curves and reaction rates with unnerving accuracy.

one hand slips under your shirt, fingers finding your nipples and rolling them with godly precision that makes your back arch every time. his free hand dips beneath your skirt, stroking through adorable, soaked panties before pushing them aside.

"been this wet since you crawled under my desk, huh?" his lips brush against your ear in a sinful whisper. "knew you would. always do when i ignore you a little."

he doesn't rush. he never does.

years of edging himself to animated girls meant he could drag this out until you're a trembling mess.

two fingers slide in slowly, curling against that spot that makes your thighs shake, thumb circling your clit in lazy, perfect loops. he watches your face the entire time—studying every flutter of your lashes, every awestruck look on your mouth—like he's speed-running your tells.

when you start clenching around his digits, he pulls them out, replacing them with the thick head of his cock, sinking into your soaking folds in one long, unrelenting thrust. your forehead drops to his shoulders as he wraps an arm around your back, holding you flush against him while he bottoms out.

"fuck," he breathes, the first real crack in his composure all day. "still so tight."

with that, he fucks right into you with deep, measured drives, hips snapping just enough to grind against your clit on every stroke. his hoodie bunches around his waist, your nails digging into the fabric over his shoulders.

somewhere in the haze, he reaches over and clicks his second monitor on again. a paused hentai scene fills the screen—some pretty anime girl easily folded in half, expression blissed out.

"compare for me," he murmurs against your throat, his filthy voice vibrating against your skin. "tell me if i'm doing it better than him."

you can't even form words, just a string of broken whines as he angles deeper, hitting that spot over and over with devastating accuracy that mirrors his perfect aim in games.

his endurance is disgusting; he's barely panting while you're falling apart on his uncharacteristically big dick.

when you finally cum, it's with his name on a sob, clenching so hard he finally groans, burying himself to the hilt and spilling his seeds inside you with slow, pulsing drags.

he doesn't pull out right away, though. the nerd knew how to fuck incredibly well. instead, he just keeps you in his lap, one hand rubbing your back as he watches you recover from your high through his glasses. his figurines watch from above like silent, approving sentinels.

"next time," he starts, lips gently brushing against your temple, "i'm photographing you next to the new scale. need better reference from the tremble in your thighs."

you laugh weakly against his neck.

he smiles, that rare, real one he does only for you, tightening his arms around your waist.

the antisocial geek who once ghosted you for days is gone. in his place is this quiet, awkward boyfriend who still blushes in public when you hold his hand, yet ruins you every night like it's his final boss clear.

🦭 mels note: hello! my initial plan was to get this idea done by valentines day as a surprise for you all but i got busy and ended up finishing it today :( besides that, i hope you enjoy! 𝗆𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗎𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗈𝖺𝗁….