#deviant

His slicked-back hair had fallen loose, strands curtaining his eyes as he lit a cigarette. The quiet hiss of it catching flame echoed in the otherwise silent storage room, tucked deep inside an abandoned warehouse—sharp and delicate, like a tiny bell.

You couldn’t help but glance over, drawn by the flicker of light, your desire sharp and intrusive as you watched his face glow in the brief flare of the lighter.

The sound of a zipper. A slow, deliberate step. You could already feel the irony in Seonghwa’s adoration—how it slinked toward you, heart baring its teeth, ready to tear into flesh. Desire thickened the air, clogging every breath.

"You know what to do, pretty girl." His voice rasped, deceivingly kind—breathing the words through teeth, grazing a bitten lip still peeling softly

The only permitted movement: rise, kneel, open your mouth and wait patiently. Thickness slides onto the flat of your tongue, half-hard— skin throbbing in asynchronous beats. Seonghwa stations himself there calmly, stuffing slowly until his pelvic bone hit the plush of your lips.

You were emptiness, until he claimed it.

You ceased to be anything else. Only his.

"Don't breathe." A smooth, melodic instruction resonates in the stillness of the room and your lungs immediately cave in. Rubble digs and embeds themselves into the sharp knob of your knees, as your eyes crease together, struggling to keep afloat.

Pulling a lighter from his pocket to flick his thumb against the ignition, and a small shake finally lit the darkness of your surroundings. He waits for the watering of your doe eyed surrealness, falling into the beauty of his fantasy.

"Can't handle it? You're such a crybaby." Seonghwa chides, slapping you left cheek lightly, completely hard and full in your mouth.

The next few minutes are dizzying blackness. A smile peels your face open like deliberate sunlight, the throbbing in your mouth and throat is now a dull ache—a heartbeat filling your airways and you let yourself struggle and cry because Seonghwa thought you were the prettiest when you cried freely.

Your lips felt raw, jaw sore from remaining stationary and set apart— a sudden steady rocking danced into your throat, prodding past tonsils, pushing the thick flesh until you felt filled to your edges.

He pushes you down, sliding his thick faux fur overcoat down his arms, knees saddling near the sides of your neck, readjusting and sliding back into your mouth.

Tears are free falling, draping off the sides of your temples and into your hair, leaving streaks on the surface where your concealer was carefully applied.

His eyes spark, hands moving to grip around your throat, holding you still as he fucked your face. Untapped aggression leaving a pale glimmer of the usually careful and coddling Seonghwa—this was him. His true, unadulterated form.

He tells you that you’re the prettiest little thing he’s ever seen when he cums down your throat.

And you lay still until he says you can come alive again, jumpstarting like a doll with gears.

Like always, the two of you will leave the warehouse and go back to your silk sheets where he’ll fuck you nicely, only occasionally stroking the bruises on your throat with thinly veiled restraint, waiting until it’s his turn for violence.

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