#lee sohee

You’d thrown on one of Sohee’s shirts, it hung loose on your shoulders, brushing the tops of your thighs, and pulled on the tiniest pair of sleep shorts you had. The fabric was barely there, soft and worn in, and your skin still felt warm and sensitive from the long, sticky day. Now, curled up on the cool hotel sheets, you scrolled aimlessly through your phone. Your eyes were heavy, mind too tired to focus on anything. A few minutes passed before you heard the soft click of the bathroom door. Sohee stepped out, towel slung around his neck, rubbing it lazily through his hair. His white tee clung slightly to his damp skin, collar stretched just enough to show a peek of his collarbone and the curve of his chest underneath. His checkered pajama pants hung dangerously low on his hips, the waistband of his boxers peeking above the fabric, and when he raised his arms to dry the back of his hair, his shirt lifted just enough for his abs to catch the light.

You looked up from your phone, gaze trailing slowly across his frame. He didn’t notice, too busy yawning and tossing the towel onto the back of a chair. Then he turned toward the bed, rubbing his eyes as he walked over. Without a word, he climbed in next to you, the mattress dipping with his weight, his warmth immediately soaking into the space between your bodies. You turned your phone off and looked over at him. Sohee was already settling in, arm behind his head, the other draped over his stomach, lids heavy as he looked up at the ceiling. He let out a soft groan. “I’m never letting Wonbin plan anything again.” You snorted. “You say that every time.” He didn’t answer, just smiled, slow and lazy, eyes flicking over to you.

You shift closer to him, cheek resting against his bare arm for a moment as your hand drifts beneath his shirt. Your fingers brush over the ridges of his stomach, warm, smooth skin stretched over soft muscle. He tenses just a little, inhaling through his nose, but doesn’t stop you. Your fingertips trace lightly down the line of his abs, then up again, slow and aimless. “You look so good right now.” you murmur, voice barely audible in the quiet. Sohee turns his head toward you, eyes half-lidded, lips curving into a lazy, boyish smile. “Yeah?” You nod, and before you can say anything else, he leans in and kisses you, soft and slow, tasting of mint and sleep, lips brushing yours like he’s savoring you. You hum into his mouth, hand still resting under his shirt, feeling the way his stomach tightens every time your fingers move. The kiss deepens. Slowly at first, like neither of you meant for it to go further, but it does. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, holding you there as he kisses you harder, more open, more hungry.

You gasp into him when he pulls you suddenly, until you’re straddling his lap, legs on either side of his hips, the soft pressure of his bulge pressing up right between your thighs. His hands are everywhere now, warm palms sliding under your shirt, roaming your back, your sides, until they cup your tits, squeezing softly, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin fabric. His mouth doesn’t leave yours, kissing you like he’s starved, teeth catching your bottom lip, breathing heavier with every second. “You’re so soft,” he mutters against your mouth, hands sliding up your bare waist, thumbs drawing lazy circles into your skin. “So warm…” You grind down just a little, teasing, and his head falls back with a soft groan. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re gonna kill me.” You smile into his neck, kissing under his jaw, hands tugging gently at the hem of his shirt. He lets you pull it up, arms raised, and the second it’s off, his mouth is on you again, hungrier now, messier, lips dragging down your throat as his hands slide under your shirt again, pushing it up until your chest is bare.

His thumbs brush over your nipples again and you whimper, hips rocking against his automatically, the fabric of your shorts soaked against the hard line of his cock through his pants. Your body’s moving on instinct now—grinding down on him harder, wetter, needier, your tiny shorts doing nothing to muffle the heat or friction between you. Your hands find him again. One slides behind his neck, fingers threading through his hair, tugging just a little. The other presses gently to the front of his throat, not tight, just there, feeling the pulse beating fast under your palm. Your lips brush against his ear, breath shaky as you whisper, “Please, Sohee…want you so so bad right now.” His whole body twitches beneath you, like your voice alone punched the air out of him. You grind down harder, your clit catching perfectly against the outline of his cock through his pants, and he moans, sharp and breathy, hips bucking up into you.

“Fuck…just like that, baby,” he gasps, his voice breaking, hands gripping your waist tight. “Don’t stop—don’t stop.” You’re not sure you could even if you wanted to. You’re soaked through your shorts, the pressure between your thighs building fast, your body chasing it like it needs to finish now or it’ll tear itself apart. Sohee’s eyes are on you, half-lidded, lips parted, letting out these soft little whimpers every time your hips roll just right. His hands slip under your shirt again, squeezing your tits, dragging his fingers over your nipples like he’s trying to make it even worse—make it more. You can’t take it anymore. The drag of your soaked sleep shorts is almost too much, too thick, too dull.

Your hand slides down between you, and Sohee watches with his mouth parted, eyes dark and glassy as you hook two fingers into your waistband and tug your shorts to the side—just enough to expose the soft cotton of your panties beneath. They’re drenched. You settle back down onto him, the heat of your pussy pressed directly to the thick bulge in his pants now, only one thin layer between you. The second your hips roll forward again, Sohee chokes on a moan. “Fuck—fuck, baby,” he gasps, hands flying to your ass, squeezing hard as he guides you. “Just like that—just like that.” You nod into his neck, lips parting against his skin as your hips rock in slow, needy circles. His hands are so big on you, gripping and pulling you down, moving you back and forth against him.

And then he’s kissing your neck, sloppy, hungry, open-mouthed kisses that turn into sucking. Hard. His lips latch onto the skin just below your jaw and you whimper, clutching at his shoulders as your body bucks into his. “You’re so hot.” he whispers into your neck, voice hoarse, breath hot. “You feel how wet you are, baby? Fuck—can’t even think.” You’re soaking through your panties, the pressure building fast and hard and messy. Every grind sends a jolt through your core, your clit catching perfectly on the seam of his pants. Sohee bites down gently, just enough to leave a mark, then kisses it, his grip tightening on your ass like he can’t get you close enough.“You gonna cum like this?” he whispers, dazed. “Grinding that soaked little pussy on my cock, hm?” Your moan gets caught in your throat, and your thighs tremble around his hips. “S-Sohee—‘m gonna—”

He groans, low and desperate, guiding your hips faster, grinding you down harder. “You close?” he breathes, voice raw. “Cum for me, baby. Come on, I got you.” And you do, your orgasm hits fast, soaking through the fabric, body seizing up as you cry out his name, trembling in his lap while he holds you down, cock pulsing through his pants from how fucking wrecked he is under you. You feel him come seconds later, hips jerking up into you with a strained groan, cock pulsing through his boxers as he holds you tight against him, panting into your shoulder. Both of you stay there—trembling, sticky, breathless, clinging to each other in the quiet after. But even as your thighs twitch and your chest heaves, the need in you doesn’t fade.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Sohee grabs your waist and flips you onto your back. Your head hits the pillow, hair fanned out around you, chest heaving. His body is over yours in seconds, pressing you into the mattress, eyes locked on yours like he’s starving. He kisses you hard, all tongue and heat and teeth. One hand braces beside your head while the other slips between your legs, cupping your soaked pussy through your bunched-up shorts. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs against your lips, rubbing slow, firm pressure right over your clit. “My needy girl.” You whimper, hips twitching up into his hand. His fingers squeeze gently over the fabric, dragging slow, teasing circles that make your thighs shake again. Then he starts kissing lower. Down your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones. Lower, tugging your shirt up just to mouth at your tits briefly, sucking a soft mark into the curve of one. You gasp, back arching. And then he’s lower. His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, and he peels them down at once.

You feel the air hit your soaked folds, your legs falling open without thinking. “Fuck,” he breathes, voice thick. “Look at you…” He kisses your thighs first, soft and gentle, nothing like the way he was touching you a minute ago. He trails his lips up the inside of one, then switches to the other, his hands stroking slowly up and down your legs as if to calm you, or maybe himself. And then you feel it, his fingers sliding between your folds, slick and slow, running through the mess you’ve made. You moan the second he touches your clit, hips jerking. But he doesn’t stop, just keeps dragging two fingers through your slick, spreading it. Then his fingers push inside—deep, slow, curling just right. You cry out, hand shooting down to grab his wrist, not to stop him but to hold onto something. “S-Sohee—”. He looks up at you from between your legs with that dazed, desperate look, he’s obsessed with how you sound, how you taste, how you twitch when he curls his fingers again. And then he leans down.

His mouth replaces his hand, tongue sliding through your folds, slow and heavy, then circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your eyes roll back. You gasp, fingers flying to his hair, hips lifting toward his mouth. He groans into you, deep, needy, like you’re the one feeding him now. “Taste so fucking good…” he mumbles against you, tongue fucking into you like he’s addicted. “Wanna make you cum again.” And from the way your thighs are already shaking around his head—you know it won’t take long. His tongue keeps working you over, lapping at your clit in slow, tight circles while his fingers thrust in and out of you, steady, deep, curling just right. You can’t stop moaning. Your hips buck under him, thighs tightening around his head, but he just groans low in his throat and pushes them wider—holding you open like he needs to ruin you.

His fingers plunge deeper, slick sounds filling the room as he fucks them in and out of your soaked pussy, and you cry out when he finds that spot that makes your whole body seize. “Right there—” you gasp, eyes fluttering, hands flying to his hair again. You tug hard this time, fingers curling tight into his damp strands, and he moans against you, soft and wrecked, the sound vibrating against your clit in the most sinful way. “That’s it,” he breathes, not even lifting his head. “Fuck—keep pulling like that.” He pushes his fingers deeper, faster, thumb now rubbing circles just under his tongue. You’re unraveling. Eyes glossy, jaw slack, legs trembling uncontrollably. “You’re so close,” he whispers. “I can feel it, baby—cum on my fingers. Come on. Let go for me.” You try to hold it, just for a second, but his fingers curl up and hit it again, and that’s it.

You break. “Sohee—!” You cry out as your orgasm crashes through you, pussy clenching hard around his fingers, your whole body tensing under his mouth. He doesn’t stop—licks you through it, fingers still moving, helping you ride it out as you sob and twitch, completely wrecked. Your grip on his hair loosens slowly, your chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths as you fall back into the sheets. Sohee finally pulls back, mouth shiny, lips parted as he looks up at you, absolutely wrecked himself.He crawls back up your body like he’s possessed. His fingers are still wet when they trail up your skin, his hand wraps around your throat and he kisses you. It’s hungry, filthy, his tongue in your mouth, his teeth grazing your lips. Your hands slide down his bare waist, and your hips lift, grinding up against the thick, aching bulge pressing against your soaked core. “Please,” you whisper between kisses, breathless, desperate. “Please Sohee…want you in me. Please, please—need it so bad.”

He groans into your mouth, hand tightening just slightly on your throat as his forehead presses against yours. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, baby,” he whispers, voice shaking. “You’re already dripping, you want more?” You nod frantically, grinding up again, feeling the hot drag of his cock through his damp pajama pants, so hard and leaking from how long he’s been holding back. Sohee pulls away to shove his pants and boxers down—just enough to free himself, big and flushed, already twitching. His jaw is tight, chest rising and falling, as he looks down at you spread open under him, sleepy and tired but still wanting more.“So pretty,” he murmurs, running the head of his cock through your folds. “Fucking soaking for me.”

And then he slides in, slow and deep, inch by inch. Your cunt welcomes him so easily, your walls fluttering around him as he sinks into you fully, bottoming out with a low, broken groan. “Oh my god,” you whimper, “Sohee…”, your legs wrapping around his waist, hands flying to his back. “Shit, baby,” he gasps, forehead falling to your shoulder. “You feel too good—fuck, I’m not gonna last if you keep clenching like that.” He holds still for a second, just breathing, buried so deep inside you while your body stretches around him perfectly. Then he starts to move. Slowly, hips rolling deep and steady, his cock dragging along every soaked inch of your walls. His hand is still at your throat, just holding you there, grounding you, claiming you. His mouth is on yours, open, breathless, tongues sliding, both of you moaning into each other.

You tug on his hair with one hand, the other gripping his shoulder like it’s the only thing keeping you from floating off. “Fuck,” you pant, barely able to breathe. “I’m the luckiest girl alive…” He groans into your mouth at that, and his hips start to pick up, thrusts getting faster, harder, the bed creaking softly beneath you. You can’t stop moaning. His name. The filth spilling from your lips. The way he fills you so completely, stretching you open perfectly, his cock slamming deeper and deeper every time he pulls you down onto him. “Sohee—fuck, oh my god—” He suddenly pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in, and you scream, back arching off the mattress. “You wanted this so bad, huh?” he pants, thrusting harder now. “You’re taking me so good, baby…” After a few more punishing thrusts, he sits up, kneeling between your legs, shirtless, sweat-slicked and flushed, his hair a messy halo around his face.

He grabs the backs of your thighs and yanks you down toward him, making you gasp as he slams back in, deeper than before. “Fucking hell.” he groans, eyes dropping to where you’re joined. A creamy white ring around his cock. The wet mess of you coating him completely. He’s completely lost in it, and so are you. The sight of him—shirtless, flushed pink, lips swollen, his abs flexing every time he thrusts into you, his large hands gripping your thighs like he owns you, it makes you feral. You reach down blindly, dragging your hand across his slick stomach, fingers trembling, then scratching lightly across his abs, needing something to hold, to mark, to tear into. “Oh my fucking god, Sohee,” you cry out, staring up at him, eyes wide and wrecked. “You’re so fucking hot.” That does it.

He snaps his hips harder, slamming into you, his jaw tight, his moans getting higher, more broken. His hand drops to your clit and he starts rubbing fast circles. “Cum for me again,” he pleads, voice trembling. “I wanna feel you—fuck, I need to feel you cum on me.” You can’t even respond. Your orgasm crashes down out of nowhere, your body arching, legs shaking as you cry out his name, scratching harder at his abs, barely able to breathe through it. “That’s it, baby—fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—” he moans, voice wrecked. And then he loses it, slamming in deep one last time before he spills inside you with a strangled groan, shaking, burying his face into your neck as he rides it out, hips twitching from the overstimulation.

Sohee lays back against the pillows, sleepy, dazed, arms wrapped around your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself. His cock is still buried inside you, twitching slightly, he’s softening—spent. But your need isn’t done. You cup his face with both hands, fingers brushing his cheeks as you kiss him hard, deep and greedy. You moan into his mouth, pressing your body to his, feeling every inch of skin, every tremble under your hands. Then, before he can even register what’s happening, you sit up, shift your hips, and straddle him fully, his cock slipping out of you for just a second before you reach down, line him up again, and sink down on him in one slow, desperate push. “F-fuck—ahh, baby—wait—” he gasps, hands flying to your thighs as his eyes fly open. He’s still overstimulated, and your heat is so wet, so tight, clenching around him immediately. But you just shake your head, whimpering as your hips start to rock.

“Can’t help it…” you whine, “Want your dick again and again—can’t stop, Sohee…” voice shaky, needy. “Shit, shit—you’re so fucking tight, baby,” he groans, head falling back, his stomach flexing under your touch. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind—”You ride him slow, too sensitive to go fast, but the drag is perfect. Your pussy squeezes around him with every drop of your hips, your legs trembling from how full you feel, how raw your body is after everything. His cock twitches inside you constantly, and every time you sink back down he whimpers, high and shaky. “You feel so good,” you whine, nails dragging down his chest. “So deep… Sohee—fuck, want you so bad.” He watches you, eyes wide and blown out, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to bruise, trying to ground himself.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, hips stuttering up into you without meaning to. “Can’t take much more—but fuck, don’t stop.” You don’t. You keep riding him, messier now, body rocking up and down, chasing one more high, even as your clit aches, even as your pussy clenches too tight from how sensitive you are and his cum leaks from you. Your moans get higher, more broken, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m gonna cum,” you sob, nails scratching down his abs, your body shaking. “Gonna—fuck—gonna cum on your dick again—” Sohee sits up halfway, one arm wrapping around your waist, his other hand slipping down to rub your clit in desperate circles. “Do it, baby,” he begs, panting against your mouth. “Cum on my cock again. Wanna feel you lose it for me—”

You shatter. With a long, broken moan, your orgasm rips through you, body locking up as you clamp down around him, shaking in his lap. He follows almost immediately after, hips jerking up into you as he comes inside you again with a deep, raw moan of your name, his voice cracking, arms holding you tight, his whole body twitching with it. And then you collapse forward against his chest, both of you done. Sticky, sore, trembling. He kisses your temple, arms wrapped around you, breathing shallow and shaky. “No more,” he whispers with a soft, breathless laugh. “You’re gonna fucking destroy me.” You smile against his skin, half-asleep already. “I’ll let you sleep now,” you mumble.“Might have to tie you down,” he groans. You hum, already drifting. “Maybe next time.”

of course, further into your relationship, you and anton talked about this, reassuring anton he deserved everything from the moon and back, which honestly made him fall for you harder, that is if he could even fall any harder. 

now here you are, with your beautiful boy snuggled into your chest in your room.. “and there's this restaurant near there that’s super good, i have to take you, you’d love it, and they also sell these cute matching keychains that we have to get, like imagine how cute they’d look on our bags” he mumbling into the crook on your neck as you play with this hair, softly humming to his words to let him know your listening to every word, “ and there’s a bakery not far from that restaurant that i also wanna take you, i hear the creeps there are really-” the boy continues as he slowly begins to look up at you, only to be met with your eyes staring right back into his. 

instantly,  a tint of pink scatters across his cheeks as he lets out a soft giggle, the corners of his mouth moving up. he dropped his head back down. “what? i was listening. keep talking,” you softly muttered at the boy whilst still playing with his hair. anton brings his head up “it’s just..” he paused “i looked up and…” another pause, he let out a sigh "you're so beautiful, seriously how can you look so beautiful?” he brings his hand up you cup the lower half of your face, you both sat in silence for a bit, admiring each other.

 the silence quickly came to an end when you brought your lips to his forehead, then his cheek, his ear, his eyebrow, and soon you had kissed all over his face, with anton letting out small giggles in between. once you had pulled back, he gave you a pouty frown, you lifted your eyebrow in a questioning expression, wondering what he was frowning about. he quickly spoke up, “you missed” he mumbled, still confused, you were about to ask him what he meant, but before you could do that he softly grabbed the back of your head with one hand and you waist with the other one, pulling you closer to him as he brought his soft pink lips into contact with yours, easing into it with a soft sigh. you were taken aback for just a quick second before slowly melting into the kiss as well. your mouths moved at a steady rhythm, not too fast, not too slow, just perfect. anton held you tight, as if he didn’t, you’d vanish.

 after a little while, you both pull away, lightly gasping for air. you found yourself making eye contact with anton again, he looked back at you with a loving smile. “I love you, you know that?” he said with the softest voice ever as if his voice couldn’t get any softer, you giggled “ of course, i love you too toni” you replied, smiling back at him before placing one final kiss on the tip of his nose “now finish telling me about that bakery” you said in a fake stern voice, anton giggled.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

the silence that follows anton’s question is a fragile veil, drawn taut over the humid chaos of the room, its threads woven from the faint, erratic beeps of the game ending on sohee’s monitor and the ragged cadence of your own breathing, each inhale a shallow rasp that scrapes against your raw throat like sandpaper on silk. the immediate aftermath clings to you like a second skin, heavy and humid, the air in sohee’s room thick with the sharp, musky tang of release and sweat.

your body slumps against his chest, boneless and trembling, the aftershocks rippling through you in faint, involuntary twitches, your walls fluttering weakly, the persistent throb low in your belly, raw and oversensitive from the relentless stretch. slick still leaks from you in slow, cooling trails, pooling on the ruined leather chair beneath you in dark, spreading stains that soak through to the foam, the wet squelch of it shifting under your weight a humiliating reminder of how completely he’s wrecked you tonight, your thighs quivering with exhaustion, muscles jumping sporadically as if protesting the abuse.

overstimulation lingers like a bruise you can’t shake, every nerve ending lit up and protesting even the slightest brush of air against your flushed skin, your clit pulsing faintly with a dull, insistent ache that shame only sharpens into something sharper, more demanding, the compulsion stirring faintly beneath the fatigue despite your mind screaming for respite. dread coils in your chest alongside it, cold and serpentine, wrapping around the lingering heat until they blur, a morally ambiguous haze where guilt wars with the biological urge that drove you here, the emotional love for anton a gentle tether fraying under the weight of your physical betrayal.

sohee’s smirk is a tangible thing, a slow unfurling you sense in the way his chest vibrates against your back, his breath ghosting hot and teasing over the shell of your ear, carrying the faint, acrid tang of his sweat and the artificial sweetness of whatever gum he’s been chewing between matches. he doesn’t withdraw immediately, instead indulging in a few more shallow thrusts, languid rolls of his hips that drag the blunt head of his cock through your oversensitive folds, each glide a spark against raw nerves that sends tremors rippling outward from your core, your clit pulsing faintly against the coarse friction of his pubic hair.

the wet, obscene sounds fill the space, soft squelches that echo in your ears like whispers of your own depravity, and you feel every inch of him, the vein along his shaft throbbing in time with your erratic pulse, a reminder of how deeply he’s embedded, how completely he’s claimed the parts of you that anton’s gentleness could never reach.

“you’re finally getting what you want,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvet rumble that vibrates through your ear canal, tickling the fine hairs there and sending involuntary shivers cascading down your neck, raising goosebumps in their wake.

his hand, still splayed possessively over your lower stomach, presses firmer, forcing you to confront the obscene bulge where he fills you, a firm ridge beneath your skin that shifts with each breath, a living testament to your addiction, the physical need that eclipses emotional love in these stolen moments, leaving guilt to fester like a wound that never heals.

you’re too spent to muster more than a faint, breathless hum, your body a boneless weight slumped against him, limbs heavy as lead, muscles aching from the earlier convulsions, your mind adrift in the foggy aftermath where thoughts fragment into sensations. the dull throb between your legs, the sticky residue coating your inner thighs, the faint metallic taste of blood where you’ve bitten your lip raw. exhaustion pulls at you like gravity, but beneath it, the compulsion stirs faintly, a whisper of that persistent arousal syndrome that haunts your waking hours, implying through bodily twitches what your rational mind denies.

he chuckles then, a dark, resonant sound that rumbles through his chest into yours, stirring the embers of desire despite your fatigue, his amusement a cruel balm over the shame that pricks at your skin like needles. 

“greedy girl finally gets to be stuffed by two dicks in one night. i bet you’re enjoying this.”

you shake your head no, the motion violent and desperate, your tangled hair whipping across your face in wild strands that stick to your damp cheeks. a vehement denial rooted in the shreds of loyalty clinging to your heart, the emotional tether to anton, a soft, patient love built on whispered promises and gentle touches, fraying under the onslaught of this physical betrayal. where dominance eclipses gentleness, and shame amplifies arousal into something voracious. 

but your body, ever the traitor, contradicts you: a deep, involuntary clench of your walls around his cock, a subtle pulse that milks him unconsciously, revealing the subconscious thrill anticipating anton’s arrival, that forbidden corner where desire thrives on exposure and validation, where the fear of consequences only heightens the biological impulse, turning morality into a blurred shadow.

sohee senses it immediately, his smirk sharpening into something predatory, and with one final, lazy grind that grinds his hips against yours, he pulls out slowly, the drag of his cock leaving you excruciatingly empty, your cunt fluttering weakly around the void. slick gushes in a warm rush that trickles down your thighs, pooling on the chair in copious amounts, the scent rising sharp and intimate, a humiliating confession etched in fluid. he eases you down onto the gaming chair with a casual indifference, your body slumping into the worn leather, thighs quivering uncontrollably as the cum leaks out in slow, viscous strands, mingling with sweat to create a slick film that cools against your skin, raising chills that dance up your spine. 

your makeup is a ruined canvas, mascara smudged into dark halos under your eyes, lipstick smeared across your chin like a hasty afterthought, your dress hiked up to your waist, exposing the flushed, marked skin of your core. your hair was a messy tangle from sohee’s habitual grip, fistfuls pulled taut during thrusts that arched your back and tore cries from your throat, a thin sheen of sweat glazing your body, catching the light in a deceptive glow that masks the wreckage beneath.

he saunters from the room without a backward glance, his footsteps a lazy echo down the hallway toward the kitchen, leaving you alone in the oppressive gloom. the mechanical hum of the computer fans fills the silence, a steady drone that amplifies the quiet, making it thicker, more oppressive, your heartbeat pounding in your ears like a drum signaling an impending storm, each thump echoing the dread building in your chest.

fear surges then, coiling around your ribs and squeezing until your breaths come short and labored, triggered by the echo of anton’s tone through the headset. that unfamiliar steel, a quiet dominance laced with hurt, a far cry from the soft-spoken affection you’re accustomed to, the shift unnerving in its intensity, making your skin prickle with anticipation that’s equal parts dread and unwelcome thrill. you’ve never heard him wield his voice like that, a blade honed by betrayal, and now your mind races through scenarios.

will he come, storming through the door with rage in his eyes, or won’t he, leaving you to stew in this limbo of guilt and need? 

you rehearse apologies in the fractured mirror of your thoughts:

it was a mistake, i’m so sorry, i love you, anton, please believe me.

clinging to a veneer of innocence, the emotional intimacy you share with him a lifeline amid the storm, yet the words ring hollow even in your head, undermined by the compulsion that drives you here night after night. the unfulfilled ache that anton’s gentleness can’t quench, his tender laps and laced fingers a soft rain against the wildfire of your needs. guilt twists deeper, a vine choking the breath from your lungs, yet it only sharpens the sensory haze.

 you try to steady yourself, drawing deep breaths that catch on the edges of panic, convincing your trembling limbs that freshening up is the path to salvation, that you can wash away the evidence with soap and water, smooth the tangles from your hair, tug the dress down over your marked skin, pretend this was a fleeting nightmare, a deviation from the love that defines you.

but in this suspended moment, a desperate wish flickers for sohee to help, to shed his smug detachment and offer some semblance of support, a hand to steady you or a word to ease the knot in your stomach, as he reenters the room with a glass of water clutched in his fist, condensation beading on the surface like tiny accusations. of course nothing for you, his eyes alight with that cruel amusement as he takes in your pathetic struggle—legs wobbling like a newborn fawn’s as you push up from the chair, hands gripping the armrests for leverage, the leather slick and unforgiving under your palms, sending you slipping back once, twice, before you find precarious balance. 

he chuckles, the sound low and mocking, slicing through the tension like a serrated edge, cooing in faux sympathy as he reaches out to pat your head, fingers tangling briefly in the messy strands with a condescending gentleness that makes your skin crawl and your core clench in forbidden response.

“fucked you so dumb you can’t even walk now?” his voice drips with venomous delight, the words a barbed hook that lodges in your self-esteem, pulling at the threads until they unravel, shame flooding hot and prickling across your chest, yet inexplicably stirring the embers of arousal, your nipples peaking against the fabric as if the degradation is just another form of foreplay.

“can’t wait to see what your boyfriend thinks when he sees i’ve got you walking like bambi. maybe that will get him to grow some balls and fuck you like a real man. you’re welcome by the way.”

the taunt lands like a slap, your stomach twisting in a vise of dread and unwelcome heat, the moral conflict sharpening. how can you feign normalcy when your legs quiver like this, weak and unsteady, the evidence of your ruin leaking in slow trails down your skin, cooling to a sticky reminder that clings like guilt itself? sohee’s casual cruelty only amplifies the panic, his laughter a dark melody that echoes in your ears, heightening the sensory overload until the room feels too small, the air too thick, the anticipation of anton’s arrival a gathering storm that presses down on your chest, heavy and inescapable.

eventually, his amusement ebbs, fading into a territorial glint as he scoops you up with effortless strength, hiking you over his shoulder despite your feeble protests consisting of weak slaps against his back that lack conviction, your voice a muffled whine swallowed by the fabric of his shirt. the world inverting in a dizzying spin, the floor receding as he carries you to the bathroom like a trophy claimed in battle, the jostle of each step sending jolts through your core, rekindling the ache with every bounce. 

he sets you down on the counter, the cool marble a shocking contrast against your heated skin, biting into your thighs like ice on fire,  before putting you down and turning you to face the mirror with firm hands, one clamping onto your head to force your gaze forward, the other resting possessively on your hip, his body a cage behind yours, solid and unyielding.

“you see that? see how much of a slut you are? how ruined you got by your boyfriend’s best friend’s cock?”

the reflection assaults you, a vivid portrait of devastation under the harsh fluorescent light. eyes glassy with a haze of tears and lingering subspace, mascara tracked in dark rivers down your cheeks like warpaint from a lost battle, lips swollen and bruised from bites and kisses, parted on shallow breaths that fog the glass faintly, neck a canvas of blooming hickeys, purple and red like violent blossoms pressed into your skin, the dress a wrinkled ruin clinging to your sweat-slick curves, hem rucked up to expose the flushed, marked expanse of your thighs and core. 

shame crashes over you in waves, hot and suffocating, your body trembling under his grip as emotional realism pierces through. the love for anton a tender bruise in your chest, clashing with the raw fulfillment sohee provides.

“i did that to you. i made you this way.”

you shake your head, a desperate bid to deny the truth staring back, trying to avert your eyes from the wreckage, but he won’t allow it, his body pressing closer, caging you against the counter, his erection rubbing insistently against your ass through the thin barrier of his sweatpants, a hard, insistent reminder of the power he wields, the dynamic that thrills and terrifies in equal measure. he snakes two fingers around to your pussy, the touch deliberate and invasive, rubbing two slow, deliberate circles around your clit that ignite your oversensitive nerves like fireworks in a storm, the sensation a lightning bolt through your fried synapses, your head snapping back against his shoulder with a shattered moan, pussy twitching and clenching in helpless spasms, fresh slick coating his digits in a warm glaze despite the exhaustion dragging at your limbs like chains.

he withdraws them leisurely, holding them up to your lips in the mirror’s reflection, glistening with your release, the scent sharp and intimate rising to mingle with the faint bleach tang of the bathroom, a heady cocktail that makes your head spin.

“open up. can’t have your boyfriend seeing you look so filthy.”

he taps your lips with the soiled fingers, insistent yet patient, your eyes hazy and unfocused as you comply, parting your mouth with a soft, obedient sigh, sucking on them with a mindless rhythm born from the compulsion, the taste of yourself—salty, tangy, laced with his skin—a forbidden elixir that swirls on your tongue. 

he coos in your ear, the words a degrading caress, “good slut”, that sends shivers racing down your spine, your core clenching around nothing, the praise a twisted validation that heightens the moral ambiguity, making desire feel involuntary, complicated by the emotional love waiting just beyond the door.

he lets you suck for a lingering while, the act almost meditative, the suckle of your lips around his fingers a rhythmic pull that echoes the earlier thrusts, before pulling them away with a wet pop, only to dip them back into your folds for more, repeating the cycle in a slow, torturous loop that imprints the degradation deeper, each iteration a reminder of your surrender. 

it’s so wrong, this suspended intimacy with anton en route, the knowledge a weight in your chest that should spur you to stop, to scramble for words of apology, to reclaim some shred of agency, yet here you are, lost in the sensory vortex, a mix of your cum and his skin swirling on your tongue like a sacrament of sin, the flavor embedding itself in your memory.

“good fucking girl. always listening to instructions.”

the spell shatters with the banging on the door, loud but measured, not frantic. a deliberate summons that reverberates through the apartment like thunder in a bottle, freezing your blood in your veins as panic surges, body locking rigid, heart slamming against your ribs in wild, erratic bursts that drown out everything else. 

you know it’s him, the certainty a cold blade twisting in your gut, the anticipation boiling over into terror that makes your hands shake uncontrollably.

sohee’s smugness peaks, a competitive gleam in his eyes as he presses a few lingering kisses to your neck, lips grazing the fresh hickeys where they bloom like dark secrets under your skin, the touch sending unwelcome sparks racing down your spine, rekindling the ache even as panic claws at your throat. then he saunters to the door, unhurried, his posture a lazy swagger that speaks of entertainment found in chaos.

your fingers fumble with tissues to wipe at the makeup smudges, dabbing frantically at the leftover cum streaking your thighs, flattening your hair in hasty pats that do little to tame the chaos, pulling down your dress with trembling tugs that snag on damp skin. but fear renders you clumsy, the toilet roll tumbling from the holder with a clatter that echoes too loudly, the soap bar slipping from your grasp to skitter across the tile like a fleeing animal, all because your heart pounds in your chest like a war drum, hands quaking with adrenaline, legs wobbly not just from the overstimulation but from the dread heightening every sense. the cool tile under your feet a grounding chill, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead like an accusatory hum, the air thick with the mingled scents of sex and cleanser, turning the bathroom into a confessional you can’t escape.

you stagger from the bathroom into the bedroom on unsteady legs, perching on the edge of sohee’s bed where the sheets still bear the imprint of your body, damp and rumpled, clinging to your thighs like a guilty embrace.

the temperature plunges the instant anton’s presence registers beyond the threshold, a metaphorical frost that seeps through the walls, raising goosebumps along your arms and making you shiver as if winter has invaded the room. the quiet whir of sohee’s gaming system remains a persistent undertone that amplifies your labored breaths, each one a visible puff in the chilled air, chest heaving with the effort to contain the storm within. 

you can’t meet his eyes at first, gaze fixed on the floor where shadows pool like spilled ink, but you glimpse the fury in his stance. it’s the first time you’ve seen him unraveled like this, the soft contours of his face hardened into sharp lines, jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticks visibly, eyes cold as glacial depths, brows furrowed in a thunderous scowl that darkens his expression, transforming the boy who would cradle you in sleep into a figure of restrained rage.

he halts abruptly, his gaze raking over you in a searing, methodical sweep that feels like flames licking at your skin as he approaches you: the dried tears crystalline on your cheeks like fragile salt trails, the flushed hue of your skin glowing with a feverish sheen under the dim light, rosy lips swollen and parted on gasps that betray your turmoil. your heels still strapped to your feet, scuffed from frantic scrambles across the floor, your dress barely concealing your body, clinging to every curve with the tenacity of a lover’s grasp, slick with sweat and release that darkens the fabric in telltale patches. 

he scoffs, the sound low and bitter, slicing through the silence like a whip crack, his head shaking in slow disbelief, as if the sight of you is a punch to the gut, expected yet gut-wrenching, a visual echo of the betrayal broadcast moments ago.

his hand darts out, fingers clamping around your chin with a bruising force that draws a hiss from your lips, pain blooming sharp and immediate across your jaw, radiating outward like ripples in disturbed water, his grip unyielding, thumb digging into the soft underside until fresh tears well up, blurring the room into a watery haze. terror grips you for the first time, genuine and bone-deep, the affectionate boy evaporated into this cold, furious stranger whose touch is a brand, possessive and punishing, arousal intertwined with reclamation in a way that makes your core throb despite the fear.

he leans in close, studying the minutiae of your ruin up close: the mascara etched into purplish bruises under your eyes, the bite marks flowering on your neck like illicit tattoos, lips puffy from sohee’s demanding kisses, your dress now a stained relic, heels bearing the scuffs of desperation. the air between you thickens with his scent, clean cologne undercut by the faint salt of anger-induced sweat, a stark contrast to the raw musk clinging to you, the proximity amplifying the emotional heavy dominance radiating from him, pressing down like a storm cloud.

“seeing as you came wearing the dress i bought you last week,” he says, his voice a steady murmur, calm on the surface but laced with venom that seeps into your veins, raising goosebumps along your arms as the words wrap around you like chains, “this wasn’t some mistake. you got all pretty in something i paid for… to come here and get whored out?”

his tongue prods the inside of his cheek, a tic of restrained fury, jaw clenching tighter, the seriousness in his eyes a brewing tempest that accelerates your heart to a frantic gallop, fear and twisted anticipation blending until you can taste them on your tongue.

“i’m s—” you begin, the apology a tremulous whisper, born from the guilt that gnaws at your insides like a starving beast.

“don’t you dare fucking apologise,” he interrupts, thumb pressing harder into your jaw until the pain sharpens your vision, tears spilling hot and silent down your cheeks. 

“you let him fuck you for months behind my back and think sorry fixes it?”

his gaze shifts to sohee, venom pure and undiluted flashing in the cold blue, the triangular tension igniting like a spark on dry tinder, silent accusations hanging heavy as both men stake their claims over your trembling form.

“what kind of friend are you?”

sohee shrugs against the wall, arms crossed in casual defiance, his smirk a widening crease that gleams with amusement, his energy provocative, taunting, detached from morality as he revels in the power play, viewing anton’s intrusion as prime entertainment, a chance to assert his psychological edge.

“not my fault your girlfriend came crying to me every week, begging for my cock. she needed it. i just gave her what you couldn’t.”

anton’s hold on your chin constricts for a split second, a pulse of rage that radiates through his fingers, then releases as he pivots to face sohee fully, his voice plummeting to an icy timbre that chills the room further.

“shut the fuck up.”

sohee’s smirk holds firm, eyes alight with glee at anton’s unraveling, the once-sweet friend now a vortex of betrayal and fury, the competition a delicious undercurrent that sharpens his territorial instincts.

anton turns back to you, his eyes scouring your quaking body once more, a dark resolve crystallizing in their depths, the hurt morphing into a fierce need to reclaim, to demonstrate his capability through controlled dominance. the betrayal simmers in anton’s veins like poison, a toxic brew of hurt and rage that twists his usual tenderness into something unrecognizable, a shadow self he’s always kept leashed during your intimate moments, the soft kisses, the careful caresses, the whispered i love yous that wrapped your encounters in gentle care. but you’ve pushed him beyond that now, shattered the illusion with your deceit, and he no longer cares about leading with love; the pain demands punishment, a rough, physical reckoning that channels his anger into every brutal motion.

“get on the bed,” he commands, voice hushed yet authoritative, the prelude to a tempest. “on all fours.”

you comply in a scramble, legs faltering beneath you, crawling onto the mattress with knees that buckle like brittle twigs, the bed yielding under your weight, sheets damp and cool against your palms, clinging to your skin as you assume the position. ass elevated, face buried in the fabric, the vulnerability a exposed nerve that thrums with fear and expectancy, shame intensifying the arousal until your clit pulses faintly, body yielding involuntarily to his command. 

anton advances, the atmosphere thickening with his aura, hands coarse as they seize your hips, maneuvering you into the position he wants with a vigor that elicits a gasp, the mattress creaking under his knees as he aligns behind you. now grabbing your hips with a harshness that digs his fingers into your flesh, nails biting deep enough to draw crescent moons of blood to the surface, the sting a sharp prelude that makes you gasp, your body already oversensitive from sohee’s earlier ravages, nerves frayed and screaming.

for the first time in your shared history, anton doesn't do foreplay. no tender traces along your folds, no murmured endearments against your nape; your arousal from sohee’s providing more than enough lubrication, a glistening invitation. he’s learned the hard way that none of that was what you craved, not the gentle buildup but the raw force, the manhandling that treats you like something to be used, broken, remade in the fire of his fury. 

he slams into you in one savage stroke, his longer cock, sleeker than sohee’s thickness but reaching depths that nudge your cervix with punishing accuracy, forcing a choked cry from your throat as he bottoms out, the stretch a burning invasion that steals your breath, your walls clenching in futile protest around the intrusion, slick from before but not enough to dull the edge of pain that blooms into a dark, addictive pleasure.

the thrusts come fast and relentless, his swimmer’s stamina turning him into an unyielding machine, hips snapping forward with a speed and power that jolts the bedframe, the headboard thumping against the wall in a rhythmic accusation that echoes through the room, the creak of wood straining under the force mingling with the wet squelch of your juices as he drives in, each plunge forcing out a fresh gush of slick that coats his shaft and drips down your thighs in warm, sticky trails.

"o-oh… g-god…"

your body lurches ahead with each viscous impact, breasts spilling fully from your dress in heavy bounces that scrape your nipples against the damp sheets, the friction a torturous tease amid the chaos, the noises you make high-pitched whimpers that fracture into sharp gasps, air forced from your lungs in ragged bursts, anton’s low groans rumbling from his chest like thunder, raw and animalistic, a sound you’ve never heard from him before, laced with the grit of his anger.

the sleek sounds from sohee’s direction add to the symphony. the faint, wet glide of his hand stroking his cock in lazy pulls, the soft schlick of skin on skin as he watches, his breaths coming in measured huffs, amusement coloring his voice in occasional low chuckles that cut through the haze, fueling anton’s rage further. 

the build-up is brutal, a slow-growing pressure in your lower stomach that starts as a faint tightness, coiling tighter with every deep thrust, the length of him hitting so deep it feels like he’s pressing against your insides from the wrong side. the sensation grows and grows, a relentless tide that makes your thighs quiver, muscles tensing in anticipation, your moans turning longer, more drawn-out as the pleasure mounts, half pulling you closer to him with desperate rolls of your hips, half trying to push away as the intensity borders on too much, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming fullness.

you never imagined this transformation, the soft boy you knew morphing into a storm of fury, his usual tenderness evaporated into something raw and punishing, the speed of his thrusts verging on brutality, the merciless rhythm battering your core like waves crashing against jagged rock, body shuddering against the tangled sheets as you reach a hand back toward his stomach, fingers trembling in a futile plea to slow the pace.

he catches your wrist in an instant, using his strength to twist your arm behind you, his other hand knotting in your hair, pulling until your scalp burns like fire under his grip, neck craned back, ear pressed to his mouth as he growls, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, words laced with pain and command that send a fresh flood slickening around him.

“move that fucking hand. you want to act like a slut, you’ll get fucked like one.”

“a-an-anton fuck,” you babble, tears blurring your vision, words spilling in shattered fragments, your voice a quivering sob that only spurs him on.

you try again to get him to slow down, the words bubbling up in a desperate whine, “p-please, too-too fast”, used to his gentleness, the way he’d always ease you into it with tender kisses and careful touches, but all he sees in his mind’s eye are flashes of sohee fucking you. 

the images sear like brands on his retinas, fueling the anger until it boils over, his thrusts turning sharper, deeper, hips snapping forward with a punishing rhythm that rattles the bedframe harder, the creak turning into a groan of protest from the wood. your head spins, thoughts fragmenting into sensation alone, fucked so good you can’t form words, just releases of air in high-pitched whimpers and sharp gasps that fill the room like broken music, your cunt clenching around him in helpless spasms, the squelching louder now, obscene and wet as slick gushes with every withdrawal, coating your thighs and the sheets in a messy sheen that catches the rgb lights in glistening reflections.

anton’s voice breaks through the haze, degrading you for the first time, grit roughening the usually soft timbre, turning it into something gravelly and mean that sends a forbidden thrill racing between your legs. 

“so fucking wet,” he growls, one hand leaving your hip to slap your ass with a crack that echoes, the sting blooming hot and immediate, making you arch despite yourself, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the pain twists into pleasure. 

“sohee fucked you good, didn’t he? bet you were a good little whore for him.”

you can’t answer, can’t do anything but whine, the words dissolving on your tongue as another thrust punches the air from your lungs, tears spilling over as shame and arousal entwine, your body betraying you with fresh slick that eases his brutal pace. the pressure in your lower stomach builds slowly, a coiling tension that grows with every deep plunge, starting as a faint warmth and swelling into a heavy fullness that makes your breaths come shorter, your moans turning into drawn-out pleas as it mounts higher, your thighs quivering harder, muscles tensing and releasing in frantic waves.

"sh-shit… deep…"

he drags you up roughly then, one arm banding around your waist like iron, pulling you back until your spine is flush against his chest, the heat of him searing through your dress, his breath hot and ragged against your ear, the squelch of your juices louder in this position, each thrust forcing out a wet gush that trickles down his balls in warm streams. 

“look at sohee,” he snarls, fingers tangling in your hair to yank your head toward the chair, forcing your gaze to meet sohee’s amused eyes, the vulnerability a exposed wire sparking fear and desire in equal measure, his strokes on his cock turning slower, more deliberate, the sleek sound of precum slicking his length a taunting accompaniment. 

“tell him how much of a slut you are.”

you try, but the words fracture into small babbles and whines, your mind a fractured mosaic from the relentless pounding, each thrust grinding him deeper, the angle hitting that spot inside that makes stars burst behind your eyelids, tears gathering at your lashes as overstimulation continues to build. your cunt flutters wildly around him, the pressure growing heavier in your lower stomach, a tight knot that winds tighter with every snap of his hips, your moans turning into long, keening sounds that fill the room, mingling with anton’s low groans and the creak of the bed straining under the force. 

it makes anton angrier, the betrayal fueling the fire, and his free hand cracks across your face in a harsh slap, the sting blooming sharp and immediate across your cheek, forcing another moan from your lips, the pain twisting inexplicably into pleasure, slick dripping in fresh waves that make the squelching even louder, obscene and unrelenting.

“do…as…i… fucking… say,” he punctuates each word with a deep thrust, hips slamming forward so viciously it jars your bones, the length of him driving impossibly deeper, nudging your cervix with a pressure that builds the coil tighter.

you moan and writhe in his hold, the sensation growing from a heavy fullness to an urgent, burning need that makes your thighs quiver harder, your breaths coming in short, ragged pants, the build-up brutal, seconds stretching as the tension mounts higher, your lower stomach cramping with the intensity, half pulling you closer with desperate clenches, half trying to push away as it teeters on the edge of too much.

“tell sohee how much of a slut you are. say it out loud,” he repeats.

“i-i— fuck. a-an-t-ton plea—fuck,” you gasp, the words tumbling out in broken fragments, your voice a trembling thread barely holding together against the onslaught, the pressure swelling further, a hot, insistent knot that makes your hips roll involuntarily, chasing the release even as it terrifies you in its intensity.

“stop fucking sniveling and acting like a little bitch. let my best friend know that you’re nothing but a slut. a slut that cheats on their boyfriend just for some dick.”

“i-i’m a-a sl— fuck anton so deep.”

“i’m a-a slu-slut," you try again.

“can’t hear you, say it louder.”

he makes you repeat it, yanking your hair harder, thrusts digging deeper, leaving bruises on your hips where his fingers press like vice grips, squelches mingling with skin slapping skin, your high-pitched moans fracturing into sobs, anton’s groans turning rougher, more guttural as he loses himself in the rhythm. it's paired with sohee’s lazy strokes, his dick leaking precum in glistening beads that he spreads with his palm, the sleek sounds adding to the auditory chaos, the sight pushing you closer to the edge. the pressure in your lower stomach grows heavier, a coiling tension that starts low and spreads upward, making your thighs quiver uncontrollably, muscles tensing in waves as the orgasm approaches like a distant storm building on the horizon, each thrust adding to the fire until it’s a blazing inferno, your breaths turning into short, desperate gasps, tears streaming as the knot tightens to breaking point.

anton feels it, your walls clamping down in frantic pulses, and he yanks your head back further, exposing your throat, literring kisses up your throat as he fucks you through the cresting wave that continues to build.

“anton, fuck i’m—“

the climax crashes over you in violent surges that leave you shaking, your body convulsing as slick gushes out in hot, rhythmic spurts, squirting around his cock in messy arcs that soak the sheets and his thighs, your thighs quivering so hard they cramp.

a high, keening moan tears from your throat that echoes off the walls, half-scream, half-sob, your hips bucking wildly against him, half pulling closer to chase the blinding pleasure, half trying to push away from the overwhelming intensity that borders on pain. anton pushes through it all with relentless thrusts, his groans low and satisfied as he feels you shatter around him, but he doesn’t stop. 

even as the overstimulation turns the pleasure into a stinging ache, nerves screaming for mercy, your whines turning into babbled pleas.

“anton, too much, please.”

your body twitches uncontrollably, cunt spasming in helpless waves around his length, fresh tears spilling as the pressure builds again almost immediately, the compulsion overriding exhaustion, shame fueling the fire until you’re grinding back despite the burn, your moans continuing to rise in pitch.

"c-can-can't… t-take…"

eventually, his voice cuts through the haze, rough and commanding, “come over and shut her up”, beckoning sohee with a jerk of his chin, the invitation a bridge into deeper degradation, jealousy transforming into reluctant synergy. sohee approaches the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, his energy provocative and taunting as he kneels in front of you, dick hard and curving toward his stomach, precum smeared along the length in shiny trails, leaking in fresh beads that glisten.

you’re forced to take him, anton’s thrusts pushing you forward onto sohee’s cock, the intrusion immediate and filthy, his hands fisting your hair to guide you deeper, using your mouth like a sleeve in the best, most depraved way. saliva spilling from the corners of your lips in messy strings that drip down your chin, pooling on the sheets, your throat convulsing around him as he hits the back with each shove, gagging you until tears stream freely, mascara running in black rivers that stain your cheeks. the taste is salty, musky, mixed with the faint tang of your earlier release still clinging to him, his hips snapping forward to fuck your face with a rhythm that matches anton’s.

bubbles of spit form at the base of his cock where your lips seal around him, dripping down his balls in frothy trails that he smears back up with his thumb, pushing it into your mouth alongside his dick for a moment, making you suck harder, your whines making him push deeper.

“that’s it, choke on it baby,” the nastiness is a sensory overload, your nose buried in the coarse hair at his base with each deep thrust, inhaling the sharp scent of his arousal, anton’s hands roaming your body, possessive even in his anger. the triangular tension is a power struggle where you’re the prize, trembling between fear and desire.

the build-up starts again, brutal under the dual assault, the pressure in your lower stomach returning as anton’s thrusts hit deep, the length of him grinding against that spot with every plunge, sohee’s cock filling your mouth in rhythmic pushes that make saliva drool down your chin in steady streams, the squelching from your cunt louder now, mingled with the wet glucks from your throat. your moans are muffled around sohee’s thickness, attempting to say something to anton—pleas for mercy or more, you can’t tell—but coming out as garbled vibrations that make sohee groan low in his chest, his hips stuttering as the sensation travels through him. 

your body shakes with the effort to hold it back, but anton drives deeper, harder, his voice a growl in your ear.

“you’re a filthy cockdrunk whore. this feels good doesn’t it?” driving impossibly deeper into you, the pressure exploding in a blinding release that has you quivering and shaking, mouth barely able to form words around sohee but he doesn’t care, pushing further as you try to babble a semblance of a coherent response.

“n-need to—“

you can’t take it, quivering and shaking, mouth barely able to form words, his thrusts digging deeper with each word, the squelch turning into a wet, relentless symphony as slick gushes anew, your thighs slick and trembling, minutes of relentless pounding making your moans turn into long, drawn-out wails.

“c-cumming-“

your body convulses in violent waves, a high-pitched moan vibrating around sohee’s cock as slick squirts in hot spurts, soaking anton’s thighs and the sheets again, your walls spasming in frantic milking waves that drag a groan from anton’s chest.

your body slumps onto the mattress, limbs heavy as lead, every muscle quivering with the aftershocks of overuse, your inner thighs slick and sticky with a mixture of cum and your own arousal that cools against your skin in uncomfortable patches, raising goosebumps that mingle exhaustion with the persistent, dull throb low in your belly, raw and protesting yet still greedy, the compulsion a relentless whisper beneath the fatigue despite your mind begging for mercy.

but he still doesn’t stop, pushing through the sensitivity even as you thrash and writhe. each thrust rolling his pelvis against you so the base of his cock grinds directly over your clit, the coarse hair there adding a rough friction that’s unbearable after the shattering orgasm you’ve already endured, the sensation a lightning bolt through your oversensitive nerves, making your hips jerk forward involuntarily even as you whimper, the wet, filthy squelch of him moving inside you filling the room louder than before. 

“still think sohee’s dick is better princess? still think it’s good enough to cheat on me with?”

you can’t speak, can’t breathe, can only choke and drool and whimper around the length filling your mouth, your body shaking between them like a ragdoll, skin flushed hot and slick with sweat that beads and drips.

sohee laughs again, dark and pleased, and reaches around to find your clit with two fingers, rubbing messy, firm circles that make your hips jerk forward involuntarily, the friction a lightning strike through your oversensitive nerves, pushing you deeper onto anton’s cock.

“she can’t even talk,” he taunts, pinching your clit lightly between his knuckles until you keen around anton’s shaf.

“too full of cock to form words. pathetic.”

sohee pulls out of your mouth with a wet, obscene pop, strings of saliva and precum stretching between your swollen lips and the flushed head of his cock before snapping, dripping in thick, glistening trails down your chin to splatter onto your heaving chest. your throat burns, raw from the relentless fucking it took, every swallow tasting of salt and musk and the faint metallic edge of your own tears. you gasp for air in shallow, ragged pulls, chest rising and falling too fast, the room spinning at the edges from how lightheaded you’ve become.

anton is still buried inside you, hips rolling in slow, punishing circles that keep you stretched and aching, every subtle shift grinding the long length of him against that bruised, oversensitive front wall until your cunt flutters weakly around him again, a helpless little spasm that draws a low, satisfied growl from deep in his chest. his fingers stay knotted viciously in your hair, yanking your head back harder, forcing your eyes to the ceiling while your body jerks between them like meat on a spit. the betrayal is still pouring off him in waves. you can feel it in the brutal grip, in the way his cock twitches angrily inside your ruined hole every time he remembers what you let sohee do to you behind his back.

sohee wipes the slick mess from your lower lip with the pad of his thumb, smearing it across your cheek like war paint, then leans down until his mouth is level with your ear. 

“greedy little whore,” he breathes, voice thick with cruel amusement, teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he bites down just hard enough to make you flinch. “bet you’re already thinking about how full you would feel with both of us wrecking that sloppy cunt.”

the words hit anton like a blade dragged across raw bone. you felt the exact second something inside him snapped and then reforged itself into something colder, sharper, more deliberate. his arms tightened around your waist until the bruises deepened, his breath stalled against your neck, and when he exhaled again it carried no heat, only the quiet, terrifying weight of a decision that had already been made.

he did not want this. that was the first truth clawing at him. some broken, still-loving part of him wanted to pull out, to shove sohee away, to gather what was left of you against his chest and pretend none of this had happened. but that part was drowning now, suffocating beneath the flood of images he could not unhear — your voice moaning sohee’s name through the discord call, the way your body had opened so easily for his best friend while anton had been gentle with you for months, believing it was enough. the betrayal was not just that you had fucked someone else, it was that you had chosen the very roughness he had always held back, the very intensity he had thought you didn’t need. you had thrown away everything gentle and real between you for this. for filth. for sohee.

so if filth was what you wanted, then he would give it to you. not out of generosity, not out of lust. out of pure, vengeful grief. he would make the destruction match the crime exactly. he would force you to take the thing you had betrayed him for in the most complete, most humiliating way possible, while he was still inside you, while he still controlled it. he would make sure the memory of this night lived permanently inside your body like a scar, so that every time your cunt ached for roughness in the future, the only thing you would feel was this moment — his cock and his best friend’s cock stretching you open together, the sick wet sound of it, the way he had looked you in the eyes while he did it. he would ruin you so thoroughly that you could never again separate the pleasure you had chased from the man you had destroyed to get it.

anton’s grip tightens in your hair until your scalp stings, a sharp hiss of possession escaping him as he suddenly yanks you and spins your limp body around like you weigh nothing. your knees sink into the rumpled sheets as he tugs you down hard onto his lap, his back braced against the headboard, legs spread wide so your thighs are forced open obscenely over his.

he reaches back over your shoulder without a word, his hand wrapping around sohee’s throbbing cock in a rough, possessive stroke. he milks a thick bead of precum from the tip, smearing the warm, sticky fluid over your already dripping folds and around the place where his own cock is. the filthy sound of the wet, obscene squelching as he coats both their cocks and your ruined hole  fills the room while he stares sohee dead in the eyes.

“since you love my sloppy seconds,” anton spits, voice low and venomous, cracking with raw hurt and fury.

sohee let out a dark, lazy laugh that vibrated against your ear. “fuck yeah i do,” he drawled, eyes flicking up to meet anton’s over your shoulder.

the air between them thickened instantly, heavy and electric, two dominant stares locked hard, something raw and territorial passing between them, charged with the kind of heat that had nothing to do with you for that single suspended second. sohee’s smirk deepened, slow and filthy, while anton’s jaw flexed, his fingers still wrapped tight around sohee’s throbbing cock, stroking it once more in a deliberate, possessive glide that made the tension crackle even hotter.

anton’s arms clamp around your waist like iron bands, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he forces your soaked pussy down onto his cock in one brutal drop, burying himself to the hilt with a wet slap that makes fresh cum and slick squirt out around the base and run down his balls in sticky rivers. your thighs spread wide and trembling over his lap, calves already shaking from the strain.

sohee moves without being told, his thick cock dragging hot and heavy along the curve of your ass, smearing precum across your skin in glossy streaks while his hands grip your hips hard enough to leave marks that match anton’s. you’re trapped between them now, body pinned and spread wide, cunt already stretched obscenely around anton’s length while sohee’s fat head nudges right up against your entrance alongside it, the blunt pressure already threatening to tear you open before he's even pushed inside.

the burning stretch hits as your pussy is forced wider, the rim yielding with a hot sting. you feel them slide against each other inside you, slick and rigid, rubbing together through your thin walls and pulling deep groans from both men.

once sohee sinks deeper the heavy splitting ache settles deep in your pelvis, your walls stretched paper-thin around two thick shafts, every vein and ridge dragging against you at once. the pressure is constant and blunt, making your breath come in short, ragged gasps.

“f-full…”

your body shakes violently between them, thighs trembling, sweat and cum dripping down your skin in messy trails, every breath shallow and desperate as the room seems to hold its breath for the moment.

the sensation keeps building in slow relentless layers, your walls fluttering and clenching around the constant rub of two cocks sharing the same overstretched hole, cream leaking out in thick messy pulses that coat their shafts. you are drenched, sweat pouring down your back and between your breasts, your whole body slick and shining while your consciousness starts to slip further at the edges, the room softening into a hazy blur around the edges of your tear-filled eyes as the overstimulation begins to coil tighter and tighter like a wire pulled taut across your nerves.

anton stares up at your face, eyes dark with months of betrayal boiling over into something feral and broken. his voice comes out rough and ugly for the first time ever, laced with pure venom that cuts deeper than any thrust. 

“look at you, cocksleeve. been letting my best friend use this sloppy cunt for months behind my back and now you’re creaming on both of us like a desperate cum rag.” 

he doesn’t soften the words. he snaps his hips up harder instead, driving both cocks deeper through the fluttering spasms that are already starting to ripple through you, fingers bruising your waist as he forces you to feel every inch of their shared claim while your head falls forward against his shoulder and a broken whimper slips out, “no—too deep—ahh—”

“cry harder, you pathetic cum whore.”

sohee's mouth finds your shoulder again, lips brushing the already bruised skin before he sucks hard, teeth grazing, leaving another dark bloom that throbs in time with your heartbeat. his kisses trail up the side of your neck. wet, open-mouthed, possessive, each one pulling a weak, shuddering sound from your throat.

"bet you're happy, princess," he murmurs against your ear, voice low and mocking, breath hot and damp. "you get the best of both worlds after sneaking around like a little whore."

his hips slam forward again, driving his thicker cock in deep alongside anton’s, stretching you wider with every punishing thrust while your body jolts and another weak overwhelmed sound tears from your throat.

they keep fucking you like that for long dragging minutes that feel like hours, rough and uncoordinated, the wet sounds of your creaming cunt growing louder and sloppier while your muscles locked and released in violent, uncontrollable spasms that rippled through your entire body. the ache deep inside keeps twisting and tightening, waves of heat rolling through your core in slow overlapping surges that make your breath hitch and your nails dig harder into anton’s shoulders, your body clenching around them in helpless fluttering pulses. yet they never slow, never give you a single moment to catch your breath, just keep grinding and slamming through every helpless contraction until the pleasure blurs into something deeper and more overwhelming and your sanity starts to fray at the edges like threads pulled loose from a tapestry already torn apart.

"s-sl-slow….please…slow d-down…“

in the tight enclosed space between bodies your hand snakes out on its own, trembling and weak, palm pressing against anton’s waist in a pathetic attempt to push him back, to create even an inch of relief from how impossibly deep they both are, how every thrust feels like they are splitting you open and flooding you with too much pleasure at once. your fingers twitch helplessly against his skin, every muscle seizing in violent little spasms as the brutal stretch and constant friction of two cocks sliding against each other through your thin walls turns your insides into liquid fire. the pressure is so deep and unrelenting it steals the air from your lungs, forcing out nothing but broken, overwhelmed whimpers while hot tears spill down your cheeks, blurring the world until all you can see is shifting colors and the sharp outline of anton’s face above you.

anton’s eyes flash with fresh rage. he grabs your wrist in one bruising grip and shoves your hand away like it is nothing.

“fucking take it,” he snarls, voice low and vicious, “and move that fucking hand before i tie it up for you.”

he drives his hips up harder, forcing both cocks even deeper, the brutal snap making your walls stretch tighter around them and sending fresh waves of unbearable pleasure crashing through you, so intense your vision flickers white at the edges and your thighs jerk violently against his lap while you sob out another broken string of words.

d-d-de-deep," is all you can manage, the word fracturing on your tongue, barely a whisper, hoarse and broken. your lungs feel crushed, every inhale shallow and stuttering, the weight of them both pressing inward from front and back stealing the space your diaphragm needs.

sohee laughs right in your ear, the sound dark and mocking as he cages you in tighter from behind, his chest pressed flush to your back so there is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from the relentless double stretch.

“what happened to the slut that came to see me tonight?” he taunts, breath hot and wet against your skin.

“the one begging to be fucked like a desperate little whore? look at you now, twitching and trying to push him away when you’re finally getting exactly what you deserve, split open on both our cocks like the greedy bitch you are.”

his thrusts grow meaner, slamming in deep and holding for a second before pulling back, letting you feel the full drag of both of them sliding against each other inside you while your body keeps creaming nonstop, messy and loud, the overstimulation turning sharp and stinging at the edges while the pleasure underneath only grows heavier and more consuming, your limbs feeling heavier, weaker, barely able to do anything except tremble and take.

you can barely hold yourself up anymore, limbs limp and shaking, only their iron grips and the way they keep pounding into you keeping your body from collapsing completely while your consciousness slips further, vision swimming as your mouth stays open on soft broken sounds that barely form words anymore, “t-too much… ah—ahh—f-fuck…” and “f-full… s-so f-f—” over and over like a prayer you cannot stop whispering even as the relentless double stretch keeps forcing you wider, forcing you to take more even though your body is already spent and trembling and trying to pull away on instinct with every weak twitch of muscle.

minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity of punishing rhythm, their cocks rubbing together inside your overstretched cunt with every clash of their hips, the friction so constant and raw that it sends sparks shooting through every oversensitive nerve until your walls flutter continuously around them, clenching and releasing in helpless little spasms that milk them both. every movement sends fresh sparks through your clit and deeper inside, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core until your entire body trembles between them, pinned and owned and slowly coming apart in long shuddering waves that refuse to end. the ache has turned into something thick and pulsing and almost unbearable, your breath coming in short desperate gasps against anton’s shoulder while more tears slip down your face and your mind drifts further into that hazy broken place where nothing exists except the overwhelming fullness and the way they refuse to let you escape it, the way every thrust drags you deeper into the storm of pleasure and pain and shame that has swallowed you whole.

anton’s stare never softens, his hands bruising your waist as he thrusts up harder, voice cracking with raw possession and rage.

“that’s it baby. squeeze both our cocks like the cheating little cocksleeve you are. you don’t get to tap out now after months of making me look like an idiot” the degradation spills out of him raw, every word dripping with the pain of months of lies, and it only makes your walls clamp down tighter, your body answering with another long rolling wave of spasms that leaves you whimpering.

sohee tightens his fist in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to growl against your ear, the words sinking into you like teeth.

“that's right princess. you’re taking two cocks in that greedy little cunt because you couldn’t keep your legs closed. pathetic. crying and twitching like you didn’t beg for this all those nights you snuck out to ride me instead.”

sohee's hand slides around to your clit , fingers circling with rough precision, the touch too much on nerves already raw and screaming. the pressure builds fast, swelling knot low in your belly that tightens with every grind, every deep plunge, the fullness so absolute you feel it behind your eyes, in your throat, in the tips of your fingers. another orgasm crashes through you without warning, violent and merciless, your cunt clamping down so hard around them both that they groan in unison, the contraction forcing out a hot gush of squirt that soaks their thighs and the sheets beneath you.

anton kisses you, desperate, messy, all clashing teeth and saliva, his tongue pushing into your mouth like he's trying to claim the last piece of you that hasn't been taken. sohee's mouth moves to the other side of your neck, sucking another bruise into the skin just below your ear, his thrusts turning sharper, more forceful, driving so deep you feel the shape of him pressed against your lower belly from the inside. the overstimulation is brutal now, pleasure long since curdled into pain, every nerve screaming, your body shaking so hard your teeth chatter, breath coming in short, panicked gasps between kisses.

"t-too much," you manage, the words slurring into a sob, barely coherent. "d-deep—'s too—"

sohee laughs softly against your neck, the sound vibrating through you, and snaps his hips forward harder, forcing both of them deeper at once. the stretch becomes unbearable, a burning, tearing fullness that steals every thought, every breath, your walls spasming so violently they push against the intrusion, trying to force them out even as your body betrays you with another gush of slick.

the pressure coils tighter and tighter in your core after what feels like endless minutes of being used without mercy, your walls fluttering continuously, breath coming in short desperate gasps against anton’s shoulder while your body instinctively tries to pull away again with another weak twitch of muscle that only earns you another bruising snap of anton’s hips.

the heat under your skin builds into something feverish, every inch of you burning as if the air itself has grown too thick to breathe, your eyes rolling back until the room dissolves into streaks of light and shadow. you writhe helplessly between them, trapped so completely that every twist of your hips meets only the solid wall of their bodies, no escape, no mercy.

when your release finally tears through you it unfolds in violent rolling waves that start deep in your belly and crash outward without warning, your cunt clamping down brutally hard around both shafts, spasming so intensely that a massive gush of squirt erupts from your overstretched pussy. the force is so strong it physically pushes both cocks out of you in one wet obscene rush, your holes fluttering and gaping in the sudden emptiness as heavy pulses of release soak anton’s thighs and the sheets below.

your body collapses forward, completely boneless, face pressing hard into anton’s chest while the aftershocks tear through you in trembling waves that leave you barely conscious, eyes heavy and fluttering, the world reduced to the frantic thud of his heartbeat against your cheek and the faint, broken chant that slips from your lips again and again, barely loud enough to be heard, “n-n-no m-more pl-please… n-n-no m-more pl-please…” the words dissolving into soft, exhausted sobs as your strength fails you, your mind drifting in and out of awareness.

the room grew quieter, still, the only sounds your shared breathing and the faint wet sounds as your body continued to leak slowly onto the sheets, the overstimulation fading into a deep bone weary satisfaction. anton stays buried inside you for one long, final second, his cock still twitching against your fluttering walls as though some last stubborn part of him cannot bear to release you. his arms remain locked around your waist, holding your limp frame against him like something he once loved and can no longer bear to touch. you feel the frantic hammer of his heartbeat against your breasts, the hot, uneven rush of his breath on your neck, the faint tremor in his muscles that tells you the rage has finally burned itself out and left only ash behind.

he pulls out of you with deliberate slowness, the wet, obscene sound of it echoing in the quiet room as another thick rush of cum leaks from your stretched, aching cunt and drips onto his thigh. you whimper at the sudden emptiness, your body still twitching with aftershocks, but he offered no comfort. he simply lifted your weightless frame off him and laid you down on the ruined sheets as though you were something fragile and repulsive at the same time, something that had once been precious and was now only evidence of ruin. his eyes moved over you in a slow, unhurried sweep: the black rivers of mascara dried on your cheeks, the purple blooms of bite marks across your shoulders, the dark handprints bruised into your hips, the way your legs remained parted and trembling, cum still leaking steadily from your swollen folds onto the mattress in slow, glistening drops. then his gaze lifted past you to sohee, still kneeling on the sheets, cock hard and glistening, that familiar smug curl beginning to form at the corner of his mouth.

sohee opened his mouth, the first cocky syllable already shaping itself, but anton silenced him with nothing more than a flat, empty look. no words passed between them. the silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the ragged, shallow sound of your own breathing. the rgb lights continued their slow, indifferent shift across the walls, painting everything in shifting hues of blue and violet and red, but none of it touched the cold that had settled in the space between the three of you.

anton stood up without hurry. he wiped himself clean with one of sohee’s discarded shirts, the motion mechanical and distant, as if his hands were performing a task his mind had already left behind. he pulled his clothes back on piece by piece — boxers, jeans, hoodie — each rustle of fabric loud in the quiet, each small movement precise and final. you felt the weight of your own body then, impossibly heavy, limbs useless and trembling, your mind floating somewhere just above the mattress in a hazy grey fog where the compulsion had finally gone quiet and left only the hollow ache of what remained.

still you tried. your arms shook as you pushed yourself up, barely managing to lift your upper body from the damp sheets. your voice came out hoarse and cracked, little more than a broken whisper as you reached one weak hand toward him.

“anton… please…”

he paused at the edge of the bed, back still half-turned, and for a moment the room seemed to hold its breath with you. then he turned, and whatever fragile thing you were holding onto collapses instantly. because the look on his face isn’t anger, isn’t even the kind of hurt you could beg forgiveness from, it’s something stripped raw and exposed, something that looks at you like you’ve undone him in a way that can’t be fixed. the softness that used to live in his eyes is gone, completely gone, replaced with something sharp and unguarded, something that doesn’t try to hide the way his gaze flicks over you, your body, the marks, the damp sheen of everything that still clings to your skin, and recoils, subtle but unmistakable, like the sight of you makes something inside him turn.

for a second, just a second, his eyes shine. it’s quick, almost invisible, but it’s there, a flicker of something wet and breaking, something that looks like it hurts, like this is hurting him in a way he doesn’t know how to hold. and then it’s gone, swallowed down, replaced with something colder, something that steadies him.

“anton i lov—”

“don’t,” the word cuts clean through you, sharp and immediate, his voice rough, stripped of anything soft, like it’s been dragged out of him and left jagged at the edges evidence of the quiet devastation that had taken root in his bones.

“you fucking disgust me. i don't want to see you again.”

it lands slowly, not all at once, but in pieces, each word pressing into you deeper than the last, forcing you to feel it properly, fully, until there’s no space left to misinterpret, no way to soften what he means. it’s not just this moment, it’s everything behind it. everything you let build quietly, everything you hid, everything you took from him while he was still giving you something real. the nights he held you without asking for anything back, the way his hands used to move over you like you were something to be careful with, the way he looked at you like you were worth loving . all of it folds in on itself, twisting into something unbearable now that you know what you were doing at the same time, who you were letting touch you, how easily you let it continue.

something in your chest gives under the weight of it.

the feeling isn’t sharp, not at first. it’s heavy, suffocating, like something thick and cold pouring into you, filling you up until there’s no room left to breathe properly, your lungs working against it, each inhale shallow and strained. your eyes burn, sting with the pressure of tears that won’t fall, like even your body knows there’s no relief in that now, no release that would make any of this smaller.

anton turned away again. his footsteps fell quiet across the floorboards, each soft creak of wood slicing through the room like the last breath of something dying, the only sound left in a world that had suddenly gone still and cold. you watched the line of his shoulders, tense and unyielding, the familiar curve of his back that you had once traced with loving fingers in the dark, the way his hand reached for the doorknob with the same steady certainty he had once used to pull you close at night, to hold you like you were the only thing that mattered. he did not look back, not once. not even a flicker of hesitation, not a single glance over his shoulder to the broken, leaking mess he was leaving behind on the sheets.

the door clicked shut behind him without a slam or a shout. nothing dramatic or loud enough to match the violence that had just torn through all three of you. just a soft, final sound, small and ordinary, yet it landed in your chest like a blade driven slow and deep, twisting until the pain bloomed hot and endless. the silence that followed was worse than anything that had come before it, thick and endless and complete, it wrapped around you like a shroud, pressing down on your ribs until every shallow breath felt like drowning in the cold, grey waters of your own ruin, filling your lungs with the bitter taste of everything you had destroyed.

sohee shifts from his position on the bed, the movement unhurried, almost absent-minded, his body stretching loose again. the space he leaves behind cools too quickly, the heat of him disappearing from your skin in a way that feels abrupt, unfinished, like something has been taken and not replaced.

he drags a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his damp forehead, fingers catching slightly in the mess of it before falling away, and for a moment he just sits there, shoulders rolling once, settling back into himself, back into something familiar and unaffected. his gaze flicks toward you briefly, not lingering, not searching, just a quick, passing look like he’s checking something off rather than really seeing you.

“clean up. you know where the bathroom is,” he says, voice even, casual, stripped of anything that might resemble care, like it’s an afterthought more than anything else, like it doesn’t matter whether you go or stay or fall apart right there in front of him.

without sparing your limp, leaking body even a second glance his body turns away from you completely as he moves back toward his desk, dropping into the chair with an ease that feels practiced, automatic, the soft creak of it filling the space. the glow of the monitor catches his face again, washing it in that familiar, artificial light, flattening everything, making him look the same as he always does.

focused, distant, untouched.

his hand settles on the mouse, fingers flexing once before clicking, the sound sharp in the quiet, followed by the low hum of the game loading back in, pulling his headset over his ears without a second thought. whatever this was, whatever just happened in this room, folds in on itself and disappears for him almost instantly, reduced to something small, something forgettable.

you lay there, twitching faintly, skin sticky and cooling, the taste of both of them still thick on your tongue, the deep, constant ache between your legs refusing to fade. tears slipped silently from the corners of your eyes, mixing with the drying mascara and spit on your cheeks, but you made no sound. the compulsion that had screamed inside you for months was finally quiet, exhausted, sated for the first time. and in its place was only the slow, crushing weight of what you had done.

anton was gone. the one person who had loved you gently, who had truly seen you, who had tried with everything he had to keep you safe and whole. you had destroyed it all, not in secret anymore, not in stolen afternoons or whispered late-night texts, but right in front of him, with his best friend’s cock buried deep inside you alongside his own, the three of you tangled together in the filth you had created. the shame no longer burned hot and sharp. it simply sat there now, heavy and grey and endless, pressing down on your chest until every breath felt like drowning in the slow, merciless ruin you had chosen.

this was your guilty pleasure, you understood at last, in the crushing silence that followed. not the heat, not the roughness, not even the filthy fullness of two cocks tearing you apart. it was the slow, merciless ruin that followed, the kind that hollowed you out from the inside and left nothing but aching emptiness behind. you were tethered to this hunger by invisible threads, frayed and worn yet unbreakable, and the harder you pulled against them, the tighter they bound you, until you were suffocating beneath the crushing weight of your own betrayal.

𐙚 "my good fucking girl," — "so good, angel, you're doing so good," — "cmon, a little bit more, baby,"

𐙚 endless body worship: kisses every inch of you obsessively. soft lips trailing your collarbones, tiny (compared to him) waist, perky tits. "god, look how my hands swallow you whole." praises nonstop: "such a good girl, so brave, so pretty,"

𐙚 dirty talk full of praise: murmurs while thrusting slow and deep. "my pretty princess, clenching so sweet around this fat cock... cum for me,." kisses you tenderly mid-thrust, tongues soft.

𐙚 aftercare king: holds you close post-orgasm, big frame enveloping yours. "you're so perfect angel, i'm so lucky,"

────────────────────────────────────

OSAKI SHOTARO, HONG SEUNGHAN, KIM SUNOO, LEE SOHEE, PARK JONGSEONG, LEE HEESEUNG, PARK WONBIN, LEE ANTON, YANG JUNGWON.

but also : PARK SUNGHOON.

────────────────────────────────────

mean hard dom !

𐙚 intimidating build: tall wall of muscle—veiny forearms, ripped abs—that dwarfs you completely. pins you down with one hand, smirking. "look at you,, pathetic little slut... bet you're soaked already."

𐙚 rough handling: slams you onto his thick cock no mercy, spanking your small ass red— "tiny cheeks barely take my palm... gonna mark 'em up,"

𐙚 degrading inspection: gropes hard—squeezing tits, slapping thighs. "greedy little fucking hole, can't even take my cock, fuck," (also eats you out vicious, teeth nipping clit.)

𐙚 filthy degradation talk: lowk growls (LMAO) while pounding brutally. "feel how i fit in your small cunt? useless whore, made to take my cock," — shit, cum like the desperate bitch you are." spanks between thrusts, no breaks.

𐙚 possessive finish: fills you deep, watching cum drip from your wrecked hole. "good little cockslut,"

────────────────────────────

SONG EUNSEOK, JUNG SUNGCHAN, JAKE SIM, PARK SUNGHOON.

but also : LEE HEESEUNG, PARK WONBIN, LEE ANTON.

────────────────────────────

when you heard that sohee actually dyed his hair blonde, you decided that you hated him.

you had to convince yourself of it. otherwise, you would spend the rest of your life trapped in this stupid, neverending cycle of heartbreak.

“you’d look so good blonde,” you said to sohee the last time he was in your bed.

his arm was draped around your bare shoulders, your cheek pressed against his chest while your fingers wandered through his hair. at your words, he raised an eyebrow.

your heart skipped a beat.

if you hadn’t been so exhausted from the previous round, you might have jumped his bones all over again.

“really?”

his hand moved lazily to your face. he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingers linger against your cheek.

you smiled and nodded against his skin.

he looked down at you with sleepy eyes and a small smile you wanted desperately to believe belonged only to you. for a moment, it almost felt like he was yours.

but he wasn’t.

sohee was only yours after a party. after a bad exam. sometimes before a party. sometimes to celebrate a good grade. otherwise, he belonged to everyone else. never you.

after he failed a job interview and you got dumped by a fling, the two of you found yourselves drunk enough to stop making good decisions.

the rest of your friends called it a night when sohee insisted on another round at his place for new year’s. you were the only one who said yes. you told yourself it was because your heart was broken and you wanted somewhere to put the hurt.

that night, sohee told you that you were beautiful. you told him that he was amazing. somehow, both confessions led to him making you feel amazing as the clock struck midnight.

since then, the two of you have always found your way back to each other. when things were really bad. when things were really good. when you were really drunk.

somewhere along the way, you realized you wanted sohee all the time.

drunk. sober. happy. miserable.

you wanted him on ordinary tuesdays and sleepless thursday nights. you wanted him when nothing remarkable had happened at all. but you knew that wasn’t how this worked. things like this were never allowed to become something else.

there were no spoken rules. still, you knew not to tell your friends about that first night—the one you had convinced yourself would be the only night.

sohee followed suit. he even took it a step further, treating you like less of a friend than everyone else whenever other people were around.

as if distance could erase what happened behind closed doors.

to make matters worse, realizing you had feelings for sohee drastically reduced the number of men you could tolerate looking at. meanwhile, sohee’s roster of girls only seemed to grow.

so the moments you got with him became precious. when you traced the moles on his skin. when he absentmindedly drew shapes against your arm. when you kissed his shoulder and played with his hair. when he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. he was good at lying, too. you had learned that.

“but don’t actually do it, hee.”

you gave his hair a small tug, hoping it would inflict even a fraction of the pain this arrangement had started causing you. imagining sohee blonde made you dizzy.

he hummed before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“why’s that?”

sleep was already pulling at your eyelids, but you decided you wanted one more kiss before it stole sohee away from you.

because i’ll want you all to myself.

when a blonde sohee really stands in front of you and the rest of your friends, you realize it isn’t actually that difficult to hate him.

he’s looking only at you, the same way he looks at you when he tells you you’re pretty. the same way he looks at you when he’s touching you. like he knows. like he knows you love him.

the blonde looks amazing. he looks painfully handsome. the grin on his face is too smug. your stomach turns. you excuse yourself from the table.

one of your friends—the one convinced you and sohee had some catastrophic fight on new year’s—offers to come with you. her eyes dart between you and him. you refuse.

you need air. you need to be alone. you need sohee to stop being blonde.

outside the bar, your feet carry you two and a half blocks before you can breathe properly again. tears prick at your eyes. you press the heels of your palms against them before anything can fall.

sohee listened to you, which is the problem. if he had laughed it off, forgotten about it, ignored it completely, none of this would hurt so much.

but he listened. the realization plants something ugly inside you. something possessive. you want blonde sohee to be yours because blonde sohee exists because of you.

everyone already wants him. you’ve spent years watching people want him.

but now he somehow looks even better than before, and every time someone compliments his hair, you’ll remember that the idea came from a sleepy conversation after sex.

he’s blonde because he listened to you. and now you want him all to yourself more than ever. which means you’ll never have him.

you ask a pretty girl outside the bar for a cigarette. she hands one over without hesitation. you place it between your lips and prepare to ask for a light, but she disappears back inside before you can.

you stare down at the cigarette. you don’t even smoke. you think you just wanted something else to focus on. something that wasn’t sohee.

“need a light?” a voice appears behind you.

your shoulders tense. you don’t have to turn around to know he’s grinning.

“yeah,” you say. you keep your eyes elsewhere. “do you have one?”

from the corner of your eye, you see him shake his head.

of course he doesn’t. sohee hates cigarettes. he hates anything stupid. anything addictive. anything a person could end up depending on.

“no, but my scalp was so hot after all that bleach, i swear it could’ve started a fire.” he laughs.

nothing is funny. tears prick your eyes again. you slip the cigarette into your purse.

“i should probably get back,” you mumble, stepping around him. “they’re probably waiting.”

his hand wraps around your wrist. the touch sends a shiver down your spine.

“yn.” his voice is soft.

you don’t know what he’s about to say. maybe he’ll tell you he knows. maybe he’ll tell you this has gone too far. maybe he’ll tell you he’s sorry. still, you let him stop you. because hope is a stupid thing.

his hand slides from your wrist into your hand. he takes a few steps backward until you’re standing face-to-face.

“do you like my hair?”

of course you like his hair. you love his hair. you told him to dye it blonde, and he listened.

you love him.

suddenly, your chest feels too tight. sohee is looking at you with something bright in his eyes. hope. stars. something you don’t want to name.

this time, you can’t stop the tears.

“you’re mean,” you whisper. your voice barely exists. you drop your gaze to his shoes. he’s wearing the same pair as you. you wonder if he knows.

sohee’s expression immediately crumples. his hands cup your face. he tilts your head back toward him. “what’s wrong, baby?” he asks softly. “why are you crying?”

you think he’s punishing you. you don’t know for what. maybe for loving him. the word baby feels like a knife twisting between your ribs.

he’s never called you that while fully clothed. he’s only ever looked at you like this behind locked doors.

you wonder how many other girls he’s called baby. how many other girls told him he’d look good blonde. maybe one of them is the reason he actually did it.

“i hate you,” you lie. the words come out weak and small.

sohee freezes. his world seems to stop rotating. if you hate him, then he dyed his hair blonde for nothing.

“i’m mean,” he repeats blankly. “and you hate me.”

“yes.”

“then why are you crying?”

“why are you blonde?!” you shoot back immediately.

sohee’s eyebrows lift. to him, the answer is simple. you told him he’d look good blonde, so he went blonde. it never occurred to him that there could be another answer.

before he can say anything, your eyes catch a familiar figure walking down the sidewalk, a lifeline.

“riku! hey,” you call.

the dark-haired boy turns around, confused at first, before his face brightens. “hey, yn!”

he walks over without hesitation. his eyes flick between you and sohee. something passes across his face. understanding, maybe. riku knows who sohee is. more importantly, he knows what sohee is to you.

“it’s been a while,” he says warmly. his hand finds your wrist.

“we should catch up soon.”

you nod immediately. “yeah. definitely. i’m free right now?”

sohee understands at once. his face grows hot. suddenly, he feels stupid. he feels confused. his scalp still feels strange from the bleach, and he’s been worrying all week that he ruined his hair forever for no reason. and now you’re standing here holding another guy’s hand in front of him.

“i think i’m done for the night, yn.” his voice comes out flatter than he intends. he runs a hand through his hair, the hair you told him to dye. “see you later?” the question leaves him before he can stop it, hopeful and pathetic, maybe.

because no matter how strange things have gotten between the two of you, you’ve never gone out drinking and not ended up at his apartment afterward.

“don’t count on it.” you mean it. or at least, you think you do.

for a second, neither of you moves. then you watch his face fall. it’s subtle, but you’ve spent years memorizing sohee. you see it. you watch him turn away and watch his stupid, perfect blonde head disappear down the sidewalk.

and somehow that hurts, too.

sohee thinks you actually hate him. he can’t figure out when it happened. he replays every conversation in his head during the walk home. he wonders if he missed something, or if he said the wrong thing. maybe he should’ve never dyed his hair at all.

the image of you standing with another guy follows him the entire way. riku’s hand around your wrist, and the way you smiled at him. the way you told sohee not to count on it.

for the first time in a long time, sohee goes home alone.

it’s been two weeks since you’ve seen sohee, which means it’s been three weeks since you last touched him.

you can count the days since then, but you’ve lost track of how long he’s been on your mind. each passing day feels more unbearable than the last. you miss him. you miss the scent lingering at the back of his nape and drumming your fingers against the warm, smooth skin of his bare back. you miss the way he sings your name softly when he wakes before you in the mornings. you miss the amber in his eyes that only seems to appear beneath sunlight, glowing like something hidden just beneath the surface.

it’s become a cycle. you stare at the last message he sent, then the only picture you have together, then his instagram, and then back to the messages again. when you wake up, you remember the hurt on sohee’s face the last time you spoke. when you walk to class, you find yourself missing the feeling of his hand against your skin. when you eat, you wonder if he’s eating properly these days. when you lie awake at night, you try to remember what it felt like when you and sohee were just friends.

to you, sohee was always the life of the party. if anything ever went wrong, he could fix it with a joke, a funny face, or a laugh so contagious that everyone else had no choice but to join in. you’ve always been the quiet one, too cautious, too afraid to let go and have fun. the first day you spent with sohee, he made you laugh so hard your sides ached.

these days, sohee only makes you sad.

after two and a half glasses of wine, you confided in riku.

you told him how badly you wanted sohee. how happy he made you. how much he had come to mean to you, and how terrifying that realization felt.

riku told you to be honest with him. he said sohee deserved to know how you felt. he said that maybe sohee felt the same way. but how could you?

if you told sohee that you loved him, you risked losing one of your favorite people in the world. you wouldn’t be able to go to him anymore, not when things were good and not when they were bad. there would be no late-night calls. no comfort. no laughter. no sohee.

a life without sohee doesn’t seem worth living. even if he’s surrounded by other girls, even if he’s never really been yours, he’s still yours sometimes. thinking about losing him entirely only makes you realize how much you need him.

it’s almost two in the morning when sohee gets your text.

he’s standing by the door of his apartment, about to go for a walk in a desperate attempt to clear his head after what feels like the tenth straight night without sleep. his hand is already on the doorknob when his phone buzzes.

sohee barely glances at the notification. he assumes it’s another girl who isn’t you.

two months ago, he probably would’ve answered. he would’ve welcomed the distraction, let someone else occupy his mind for a few hours. but lately, every conversation feels hollow. every face blends together.

because none of them are you.

he pulls out his phone. all your text says is "hi," but it’s enough. it’s enough to make his heart stumble against his ribs. enough to make him abandon the walk entirely. enough to make him shove his phone back into his pocket, lace up his shoes, and start running.

if he takes the shortcut through the park, he can make it to your apartment in ten minutes.

maybe less.

it’s been five minutes, and sohee still hasn’t responded to your text.

before panicking, you remind yourself that it’s two in the morning. he’s probably asleep. you’re the one lying awake every night, tossing and turning and living in a constant state of unrest. sohee is probably sleeping peacefully.

you’re about to give up and call it a night when a knock sounds at your door.

your stomach drops.

with every step toward the door, your heart rattles harder against your ribs. by the time your hand reaches the doorknob, you’re convinced it can’t possibly be him.

when you open the door, sohee is standing there trying to catch his breath.

his cheeks are flushed pink. his blonde hair is messy from the wind, falling into his eyes as his chest rises and falls beneath a thin t-shirt. for a second, neither of you says anything.

then sohee’s face breaks into a grin the moment his eyes land on you.

you want to cry. all at once, you’re struck by the overwhelming realization that you love him.

before any tears can fall, you reach for his wrist and pull him toward you. the second his arms wrap around you, something inside your chest finally settles. you think sohee sighs against your hair.

“you ran here?” you mumble into his chest. he smells like sweat and sohee.

“yeah,” he says softly. his voice vibrates through you.

“why?”

sohee pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes find yours immediately.

“you texted me.”

you stare at him. his arm around your waist doesn’t loosen. if anything, it tightens slightly. there’s nowhere to look except his eyes. your cheeks begin to burn beneath his gaze.

your fuck buddy dyed his hair blonde because you told him it would look good. then he ran to your apartment at two in the morning because you sent him a text that only said hi after weeks of no contact.

you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to do with that information.

“come in,” you say eventually. your face feels impossibly hot. you try to step away.

“it’s been so long. i don’t get a kiss?”

sohee pulls you back against him with the cheekiest grin you’ve ever seen.

your entire face burns, because that’s the problem with kissing sohee.

if you kiss him tonight, you won’t stop there. and if you don’t stop there, nothing will change. you’ll still love him, he’ll still be sohee. and tomorrow morning you’ll wake up wanting even more.

“let’s at least get inside first,” you say weakly.

sohee rolls his eyes, but the grin never leaves his face.

the second his grip loosens, you lean forward and press a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping out of his arms and making a beeline for the kitchen.

behind you, everything goes quiet. you glance over your shoulder.

sohee’s head has fallen back. he’s staring at the ceiling with one hand covering his eyes, a helpless grin spreading across his face. his ears are pink. his cheeks are pink. for a moment, he looks younger than usual. softer.

you have to look away before your heart does something stupid.

sohee thinks you’re way too cute.

he inches around the corner into the kitchen, where you have your head buried in the fridge.

when you spin around, he can’t quite hide his smile.

“want a water?” you ask, pressing a cold bottle against your flushed cheeks. “since you ran and all?”

sohee is standing too close and he’s grinning.

before you can take a step back, he hooks two fingers into the pocket of your hoodie and gently pulls you toward him. your breath catches. your chest rises and falls with anticipation while you clutch the water bottle between the two of you.

“i would love…” he says, his voice low enough to make your heart race. your hands start shaking.

then sohee releases you, reaches past your hands, and takes the bottle. “a water. thanks, yn.”

he twists the cap open and grins. sohee watches your reaction and remembers exactly why you became his favorite girl to play with. you wear every emotion openly—surprise, annoyance, hope. all of it passes across your face before you can stop it.

he loves that about you.

you escape to the couch while sohee drinks his water. settling into your usual spot in the center cushion, you try to focus on the television instead of him to no avail.

your eyes drift to his throat. you watch his adam’s apple bob as he drinks. watch the way his hair falls over his forehead. watch the way the blonde somehow makes his eyes look even warmer.

sohee catches you staring and his grin widens immediately.

you look away first. you wonder if he’s really this happy. you wonder what makes him smile when you’re not around. you wonder why he smiles so much when he’s with you. has it always been like this? or does three weeks simply feel long enough to make you forget? the time apart feels less like three weeks and more like a year.

the last time you sat together on this couch, you barely made it through half an episode of whatever random show he’d put on before his hand was up your shirt and your tongue was in his mouth.

today, you’re determined to talk, like you used to.

sohee drops down onto the couch beside you, close enough that his leg immediately presses against yours. his hand settles on your knee, warm and familiar, and leaves it there.

you put all your concentration into choosing a movie while trying not to think about the fact that sohee’s hand is finally back on your skin.

he leans forward and you feel his breath brush the back of your neck. his chin settles against your shoulder.

“sohee…” you whine softly, nudging him away.

you click on the first movie that looks remotely watchable before finally turning your attention toward him.

“what?” he asks.

he pulls back, but only slightly.

“what’s wrong?”

his leg remains pressed against yours. his eyes shine beneath an exaggerated pout.

you still can’t believe he’s blonde, and back in your apartment. he’s blonde and sitting on your couch and looking at you like that. but he’s not yours. sohee has occupied every corner of your life for months. he’s been inside of you, and still, he isn’t yours. the realization stings every time.

you turn toward him completely and reach up to run your fingers through his hair. the strands are softer than you expected. “your roots haven’t come in yet,” you say quietly. sohee immediately brightens. “i’ve been keeping up with it.” your fingers continue combing through the pale strands. “you have?”

“you haven’t really gotten to see much of it.” he smiles. “i figured i should at least do that much for you.”

your hand stills, and so does your heart. “for me?”

something flickers in his expression. something soft. he wants you to keep touching his hair. he thinks he could stay exactly like this forever, on your couch, with your fingers in his hair.

he nods slowly. “i want to keep this color for a long time, yn.”

his words make you feel a little insane, and you can tell that they were carefully chosen. every time you try to move on, sohee hands you another sliver of hope. like water to someone dying of thirst.

he’s maintaining a difficult, expensive hair color because you once told him it would look good. he wants to stay blonde because you suggested it. your heart takes that information and runs far beyond what he’s actually said.

it imagines permanence and commitment and a future. it imagines him choosing you the same way you’ve already chosen him.

before your thoughts can spiral any further, your hands slide from his hair to his face. your thumbs brush over the moles on his cheek, the ones you’ve always loved.

sohee closes his eyes briefly. he thinks he could stay here forever, too.

then reality returns. you wonder how many other girls have played with his hair. how many have touched his face. how many have looked at him and fallen in love despite knowing better. how many text him at two in the morning. how many he would run to.

your chest tightens.

riku’s words drift back into your head:  the only way you’ll ever know is if you tell him. but you’ve already decided you can’t. so instead, you choose uncertainty. you choose darkness.

“hey.” sohee’s voice is gentle. he brings his hands over yours. “what’s wrong? let me in.”

you pull away first. your hands fall into your lap as you shift against the back cushion. drawing your knees to your chest, you rest your chin on them and look at him. his eyelashes, the slope of his nose. his messy blonde hair. you memorize him instead of answering.

sohee doesn’t know what to do when you close yourself off. he isn’t sure where he stands anymore. not after three weeks, not after the bar. not after tonight. more than anything, he doesn’t want to make the wrong move. so he waits.

“how have you been, sohee?”

he hesitates. he isn’t sure whether to tell the truth. he wants to say the right thing. he wants to make you happy. he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“i bet you’ve been good, right?” you continue. your voice is light, but only barely. “you’ve probably been busy. probably even more popular with that hair.” your lower lip juts out into a small pout. “it’s okay. i already know.”

what you really wanted was for him to say he’d been miserable. that he couldn’t sleep. that he couldn’t stop thinking about you. but that’s not how this works. you know that much.

sohee shakes his head. “i haven’t been busy.” you glance at him, confused. “a lot of…people wanted to see the blonde, sure.” he shrugs. “but it didn’t matter.” your stomach twists. “why not?” he looks down at his hands. “because they weren’t you.” his voice is quiet, almost embarrassed. “you were the one who suggested it.”

the room suddenly feels too warm. you stare at him. you aren’t sure if he understands what he’s saying. you aren’t sure if he’s trying to make you feel this way. you aren’t sure whether to be touched, angry, hopeful, or completely confused. all you know is that your face is burning. all you know is that your heart has been racing since the moment he appeared outside your door.

“why didn’t you text me?” you try to keep your voice steady. you try not to cry. sohee answers immediately. “you told me not to count on it.”

sohee doesn’t know what else he can do to make you understand him.

you stare at him. at his blonde hair and his big brown eyes staring right back at you. he looks softer tonight somehow. maybe it’s because it’s really late. maybe it’s because he’s sitting on your couch after running all the way here. maybe it’s because you missed him so much that everything about him feels overwhelming.

you want to believe that he’s been thinking about what you said ever since the last time you saw him. the possibility makes your chest feel light. thinking that sohee spent the last few weeks upset at the idea of losing you makes you want to smile.

sohee drops his gaze to his hands. “what are we doing here, yn?”

you lift your head from your knees and glance around the room as though the answer might be hidden somewhere between the couch cushions.

it’s almost two thirty in the morning. you’re sitting on your couch with sohee. he ran here because you texted him. he dyed his hair blonde because you told him he’d look good that way. and now he’s asking what the two of you are doing here.

you search desperately for the right answer. what does sohee want you to say? what does he want the two of you to be? would he be upset if you were honest? you don’t even know what honesty would sound like.

“we’re friends,” you try. your voice lifts at the end like a question.

sohee lets out a slow breath. you watch his shoulders sink. his eyes stay fixed on his hands. you have a feeling that was the wrong answer.

the problem is that sohee doesn’t know what answer he wanted, either. he only knows that he didn’t like that one. because how many friends do you have? how many friends make your chest hurt like this?

“was riku a friend, too?” he finally looks up at you, but something about him has closed off, just enough for you to notice. you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing.

“riku is my friend,” you say with a slow nod.

sohee reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before it can fall into your face. the touch is brief and gentle. you wish it lasted longer.

“but you’re a different type of friend, sohee,” you add carefully. immediately, a little brightness returns to his eyes.

“oh yeah?” his lips curl into a grin.

you nod again. you pray he doesn’t ask you to elaborate. you wouldn’t know where to begin.

“and what kind of friend is that?”

you stare at him. sohee watches you think. watches you turn the question over and over in your head like you’re afraid of choosing the wrong answer. he hopes you don’t.

“a friend who sleeps over?” you finally offer. your voice comes out small. your eyes are impossibly wide when you look at him.

for a second, sohee just stares. he hadn’t expected that answer. it feels like you’ve thrown him a rope after weeks of drowning. he refuses to let go of it.

“you can sleep over tonight, sohee.” you nod once, as if convincing yourself. you’re not sure if you’ve made the right decision. if anything, you’re pretty sure you’ve made things worse.

“okay.” sohee smiles.

he looks soft and beautiful. his hair falls into his eyes and his cheeks are still faintly pink from the run over. you want to kiss him.

“just sleep, though,” you add quickly when he starts leaning closer. his grin widens. “just sleep.” his voice drops into a whisper. “no funny business.”

when his lips begin brushing dangerously close to yours, you force yourself to turn your head away with a nervous giggle. “y’know what i’ve been thinking about lately, sohee?”

he pulls back with a disbelieving laugh. one hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “what’s been on your mind?”

you chew on your bottom lip. your eyes stay glued to him and his pretty pink lips, the slope of his nose, and the warmth in his eyes. his blonde hair.

“i was remembering the first time we hung out.” your hand drifts into his hair automatically. “how much fun we had.” your fingers comb through the pale strands. “you’ve always been so fun.”

sohee leans into your touch without realizing it. “we still have fun.”

you shake your head. “not like before.”

a pout immediately settles onto his face. you almost laugh. he always looks offended when you criticize him, even a little.

the truth is, sohee always has fun with you. he’s having fun right now. he’d probably have fun sitting in complete silence if it meant being next to you. but he wants to make you happy. so he plays along.

“okay,” he says. “then let’s just talk tonight.” he shifts closer, resting his arm along the back of the couch behind you. “we’ll stay up like we used to.”

you raise an eyebrow. “just talk?”

“just talk and sleep.”

the smile on his face makes it very difficult to believe him. and judging by the smile slowly spreading across yours, neither of you is convinced.

it’s technically afternoon, but you wake up exactly where you wish you could every morning.

sohee spent hours talking to you and making you laugh until the sun came up. when you dozed off in the middle of a laugh, he woke you gently and guided you through your nighttime routine. the two of you washed up for bed side by side in your bathroom like you used to, and the toothbrush of his that you’d kept for weeks was finally used again.

when it was time to sleep, sohee pulled you into his chest and tucked your head beneath his chin. sleep found both of you at the same time.

sohee wakes up first. he reaches up and pats your hair softly, taking his time looking at you. you’re so pretty. even now, with sleep still clinging to your face, you look calm. happy.

he presses a kiss to your forehead and hopes you’ll allow a friend that much. this is the best sleep he’s gotten in weeks. he isn’t sure he can sleep without you anymore.

“yn,” he sings softly, barely above a whisper. just like always.

his voice drifts into your dream so naturally that you don’t realize you’re awake. your eyes flutter open to sohee. you’ve been tired for so long that you can’t quite tell the difference between dreams and reality anymore. everything feels soft around the edges.

everything feels warm. everything feels right.

“mmmm, my sohee,” you mumble, smiling sleepily. your hands find his face immediately. his skin feels awfully warm for a dream.

sohee melts beneath your touch. he leans into your palms as your thumbs brush over his cheeks and wander into his hair. his eyes soften. a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

you don’t give him the opportunity to say anything before your lips find his.

it’s been so long since you’ve kissed sohee that kissing him in a dream feels perfectly reasonable. except this dream feels strangely real. your fingers are tangled in his hair and his lips are warm beneath yours. when you kiss him again, he kisses you back.

you’ve missed him so much. you kiss him like you might never kiss him again. for something that’s supposed to be a dream, you can feel everything, from the warmth of his mouth to the spit around your lips. when you kiss him harder, he presses your body flush against his. if you think friends can kiss, he hopes your idea of friends can do this, too. your body fits against his like it always has.

if this is a dream, you decide you don’t want to wake up yet.

eventually you pull away just enough to catch your breath. your hands drift back to his face. you brush your thumb across one of the moles on his cheek.

“i love your moles, hee,” you murmur. you lean forward and press a lingering kiss there.

“love your cute nose.” another kiss.

sohee’s heart is beating so hard he’s convinced you can hear it. he has no idea what’s happening. he doesn’t know whether you’re awake. he doesn’t know whether you know you’re awake.

he only knows that every soft confession makes him feel a little more unsteady.

your lips wander to his jaw. your fingers drift lazily over the warmth of his body. “i love…” you begin softly.

your hand slips beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

“i love this too, but most of all…”

“yn.” his voice comes out rougher than he intends. his heart feels seconds away from bursting out of his chest.

he’s still trying to recover from your kiss, from your hands in his hair. from the way you’re looking at him. he doesn’t think you’d ever say any of this so openly if you knew exactly what was happening. and as much as he wants to hear the rest, he’s terrified of ruining whatever this is.

“good morning,” he says instead. he pulls you gently against his chest.

when your ear settles over his heartbeat, reality crashes back all at once. you remember last night on the couch and talking until sunrise. sohee ran to your apartment.

this isn’t a dream. sohee is actually here, in your bed, holding you. all you did was talk and sleep. and it was perfect.

"good morning,” you mumble. your voice is small now. “what time is it?” you make no effort to move from where you’re tucked against him. “don’t know,” he says into your hair. “didn’t want to let go of you to check.”

his heartbeat stays calm, but yours doesn’t. you think you should tell him to check. you think you should move. instead, you stay exactly where you are. it’s been so long since you’ve been held. so long since you’ve slept this well. “sohee,” you mumble against the thin fabric of his shirt. “yeah?” “i just woke up, right?”

he pauses. there’s something fragile in your voice. he already knows the answer you’re hoping for. “yeah.” you relax immediately. “okay. good.” a beat passes. “thanks.” he brushes a hand through your hair. “why do you ask?” you burrow deeper into his chest. “had a crazy dream.” your voice comes out muffled. “it felt real.”

sohee smiles into your hair. for the first time, he thinks he finally understands what this is.

eventually, the two of you climb out of bed. you brush your teeth side by side like you used to, bumping shoulders in the tiny bathroom. neither of you says much. it feels too normal, which makes it feel dangerous.

you find yourself staring at sohee’s back while he changes his shirt. at the broad slope of his shoulders. at the familiar shape of him. you look away before he catches you.

sohee wishes he didn’t have to work. he wishes he could stay here all day, in your apartment, in this strange little bubble where nobody else seems to exist, where it’s just you and him.

when he leaves, he presses a long kiss to your forehead. you look too fragile, too delicate. he almost doesn’t go.

after the door closes behind him, the apartment feels quieter than before. you return to your bed and pull the blanket over yourself. in your imagination, sohee belongs only to you. there are no other girls, uncertainty, or wondering. for twelve hours, it felt like that imaginary world had somehow become real. returning to reality hurts more than you expected.

later that day, sohee texts you. he says one of his friends is throwing a party later this week.