wayv + riize — smut. dead dove, do not eat. death! implied stalker. overworked!reader. slight hallucinations from lack of sleep.
You hadn’t slept in days, work consuming your every waking hour. Sleep deprivation was bound to take its course if you weren’t to rest your head against some variant of a pillow. Overworked and severely underpaid, you were simply happy to be home.
Shoes left abandoned by the front door, you’d go through the motions — body on autopilot as it hauled itself further into the dark apartment. Shadows casting on the floor and stretching onto the walls from the street lights. A yellow ghastly glow casting over the furniture.
Throwing your work bag, it slumped against the couch as you walked through the room. Experiencing an intense form of mind fog, the thought of sleep was really the only thought you had. Pushing open your bedroom door, a breeze rushed from the opened-framed and covered your body with small goosebumps. It sent a chill down your spine but you’d continue to move inside. Unbothered.
You would change, slowly peeling off work clothes and replacing the clothing with pajamas. The longer you lingered, the more you realized just how eerily frigid the room was. Glancing around, the space was shrouded in darkness — but from what you could see, the window was cracked. Just enough for the cold winds of the outside world to seep into your enclosed space.
You went to close it, putting all your weight onto the old window until it gave out and closed. A loud thud bouncing off the walls as the window slammed shut. Humming to yourself, satisfied, you looked outside one last time. Eyes glazing over the line of cars parked outside.
Red, white, white, black, blue...blue?
A red oldsmobile cutlass, you’d had never seen the car on the block. But yet again, you had barely been mentally aware for the last week or three. Staring at the vehicle, your brain told you to forget about it. Dismiss it.
Forgetting about the vehicle while slipping into bed, the sheets were as if they were coated in a blanket of ice. The chill making your back arch up slightly at contact before settling in.
You’d lay there for a while, waiting for sleep to come and take over. Drag you into an unconscious state of mind, give your brain a break. But it wouldn’t.
Or maybe you couldn’t let it.
As you laid in bed, staring at your closet — you couldn’t ignore the set of eyes that stared back at you from the crack. Sure, you would try and try to pass it off as your mind playing tricks on him, you were just seeing things. It had been so long since you had a solid night of sleep and maybe, just maybe, it was a piece of clothing-
Did it just move?
The set of eyes moved further into the closet, the door creaking open slightly — and they’d appear again. This time accompanied by a smile. A freakishly wide, toothy grin with a set of eyes.
Your body went into fight or flight — but you froze. You had froze and the door creaked open. Fingers, wrapping around the doorframe as the man in your very closet slowly stepped into the light. A foot, then another one. Connected to a leg, connected to a torso.
He’d slowly reveal himself.
But who exactly was he? You had never seen his face until this night, although see was an understatement. No matter how frightened you were, your body was still tired. So, so tired. The edges of your vision blurry.
All you knew was that he was in your house. Uninvited. Unwelcomed. Unsettling. Your thoughts bounced in your skull as the man just stood there. Staring, his beaty eyes filling your body with fear — pure, raw, unforgiving terror.
You should have moved, should have screamed. You wanted to move, you wanted to scream. Call out for help even if no one else would hear. You wanted to put in an effort to get out, to live, to survive.
But you couldn’t and that would be the death of you.
— —
The pain, it came slow.
The pressure of a grown man’s hands tightening around the tense muscles of your throat. Your breathing became labored, the muscles contracting as you’d attempt to take a deep breath. Your lungs burned at the lack of oxygen, the organ expanding just enough for you to stay alive. Not enough to keep you conscious.
Unfortunately for you, you were alert enough to feel his dull nails dig into the flesh of your neck. Nearly breaking skin before the hands were gone. Gone and giving you a short window of time before they were back. So close to crushing your hypoid bone, teasing. Playing with your life, the man would let go again.
It didn’t take long for your ears to start to ringing, a laugh breaking through the haze. He was laughing — and it was loud. The type of laughter you get from a real good joke, the type of laugh that makes you grip your stomach in pain from just how funny something was.
But you didn’t find it funny. You didn’t see the humor in this moment, and you didn’t understand how anyone could.
Your hands would twitch at your sides as your throat was practically used as a toy. It wasn’t until the hands didn’t touch your neck again, they instead slid down and dipped underneath your waistband.
That was when you moved. You jerked upright and pulled away from the touch before being dragged back. The grip on your neck returning as a single hand made its way into your pajama shorts. Dull nails dragging against your skin once again, like a warning. Leaving red angry marks in their wake.
You knew where this was heading, and it made your blood run dry. The hairs on the back of your neck stand and your limbs twitch with fear.
You didn’t want this, you wanted out. To run and not stop until your head spun and you didn’t know where you were. Run until your bare feet burned from slapping against the ground so hard, adrenaline nulling the pain just enough to keep you going. To feel the concrete of the roads under your toes, the feeling of being free.
But there was no adrenaline, there was no rush, there was no escape.
There was acceptance, there was digust, and you didn’t know it yet or maybe you did. but there was death.
Held firmly in place, Your legs were lifted and the shorts were ultimately discarded. You were completely exposed to the cold air, making your body jerk and shiver. Eyes glossed over before shutting them tight — tears slipping past the waterline and staining your cheeks.
First came the sound of a belt unblucking, metal unzipping and the ruffle of jeans being pushed down. Then a voice, low and threatening.
“I’m gonna enjoy this,” He’d pause, a long silence stretching before something nudged at your exposed bottom half, “and you’re gonna pretend to.”
You were raped in his own home, in the place where you felt most safe. Violated in your own bed, tangled in sheets you thought looked nice sitting on some random store shelf.
You’d scream and cry. Body trembling as your hands went up to push whoever it was, away from your body. Trying so hard to reject him, to not enjoy it. But your body couldn’t tell the difference, so your back arched. Your toes curled and your voicebox would betray you ever so often.
Your entire body would give in, while mentally your mind faught back.
Until it was over, rough ragged breathing right next to youd ear before you were empty and sticky. Cum leaking onto your sheets as you laid there. Crushed under the weight of an intruder, a rapist, a murderer.
The man got up, positioning himself between your legs once more. For a sick, sadistic variant of round two. Back to the original position, with his hands crushing your neck. And this time , you were truly too hazy to fight back.
The pressure increased, but the relief never came. His fingers never left. He continued, and he didn’t seem to be stopping. That same laugh rang louder than any noise ever could. Paired with the sound of your own blood rushing through your head.
Cheeks turning a ghastly shade of purple, your reaction window was limited to a fraction of a second. The second half where the hands loosened and it gave a glimpse of hope.
before the big squeeze.
Your hyoid cracked, throat collapsing under the pressure — like just like an old window shutting. The crack reverberated through the room, followed by silence.
A gurgle, silence, then another one. Silence.
. . .
Red, white, white, black.
— — —
📢 — HELLO. been awhile, and i really needed a d.d scene. i had anton and hendery in mind while writing this which was why i had riize and wayv in the top. that’s all i gotta say really, enjoy? 🥹
what are the last five lines you've written? share and then tag five mutuals!
Oh man, they're sad TT (gave you a little more than five)
Vignette: Sacrifice
Through The Darkness series (cybrsoup collab)
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Oh, his eyes. They’re what grabs Mingi’s attention the most.
They’re wide, dark, and far too alert, flicking from Mingi’s face, to the knife in his hand, to the nearest alley. Mapping exits, weighing risk. The boy likely would have fled already if he didn’t look like the next gust of wind would blow him over.
“I wasn’t—” The boy’s voice cracks from disuse, fizzling out. His stomach speaks louder than he does, growling.
oooou this is fun :33 also I'm sensing an angst trend here....
Burning Sea
Dragon Shifter!Mingi x Princess!Reader
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"We've arrived, your highness," Jisung announced, motioning towards your bedroom as he held the heavy door open for you.
You thanked him quietly, walking into the luxurious bedroom, and as soon as you walked past the threshold, your knees became weak.
"Your maids have already packed everything; you'll be fetched when their caravan arrives." You look over your shoulder at him, nodding your head before watching him walk out of the room, and the door closes.
As soon as the latch clicked behind him, your knees gave out, falling to the ground, and sobs tore through your lips. Your cries bounced off the walls, the pain that had been sitting idly in your chest finally coming free.
tagging ; @last-words-ofashootingstar @sangis-puppy @jitaewoo @yeonlymine @minkieater @everyonewooeverywhere @redemptions @maho6any + anyone else who'd like to join!!!
this is soooo funsies thank u for the tag kay (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
Your first connection was football. Are there any others? Is there anything else about him that you like, other than the fact that he fucks you right and catches a goddamn ball?
You start your trek into campus by thinking of the nights he’s played for you. The bass guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, not a spec of dust on it, maintains its pristine condition even if it’s been used with more than just casual love. His bass is his second baby, he’ll play it for the guys, he’ll whip it out at house parties, everyone fucking knows Yeosang loves his goddamn bass.
Except you.
You find it a distraction. When he’s playing, he could be studying. He could be going over plays. He could be fucking you for God’s sake, not playing his little instrument that will get him nowhere in life. He doesn’t understand why you hate it, he tells you it’s just a hobby, something he likes to do in his free time, when he could be using tools to get himself ahead in life, instead.
Nauseating. That’s probably exactly where all of this is coming from– and fuck, you can’t believe you’re losing him to alder, rosewood and strings.
tagging my babies @chimivx @bananayuyu @everyonewooeverywhere @yestodayys @03jyh23 @jiminbility @ramadiiiisme & anyone else who wants to join!! ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
His car is a little beaten up but it’s nice - you’re sure it’s a newer model, and it smells just as fresh as you expect when you open the passenger door and slide onto the seat, but with the underlying smell of marijuana that he’s clearly tried to hide with the dog-shaped air freshener hanging from the mirror. The seats are comfortable, expensive leather although a little cracked from use; you try your best not to stare at him before you just can’t help it.
Shit, Yunho’s not just pretty, he’s straight up fucking handsome. He’s exactly the type of guy you’d go for.
He drums his long fingers on the steering wheel, along to the song he’s playing on aux, and his lips are moisturised with something that makes them look so gentle and soft that yours part unknowingly in want. His eyes are big, round, and there’s a slight slope to the bridge of his nose, where his glasses rest a bump that you want to run your finger over, and you have an excuse to look at the rest of him when he scratches at his collarbone lightly.
He’s wearing a henley shirt, the first few buttons undone where his nails dip in to scratch at his chest and his skin looks so buttery beneath the fabric, your gaze following down a long torso to even longer legs in grey sweatpants, pausing between his legs at the slight bulge when you remember who he is.
Your thighs tremble, just a bit. You think you should’ve listened to Jongho when he said not to do this.
not the last five sentences but since it’s also wip wednesday this can be that as well
the serum - day 2 - coming whenever i finish it
“She’ll settle soon,” Jongho says. “When she gets used to the feeling again.”
You think they’re talking among each other now, certainly you hear voices, but as the toy pushes deeper you struggle to tune into anything but that. To notice or feel anything but the thick silicone pushing out against your walls. You’re hypersensitive now, having only just cum, and the feeling of being held still in Jongho’s arms, fucked open on a toy—the sound, the smell of sex and sweat and need surrounding you—makes everything else seem quieter, muted, insignificant. You know Jongho is affected too; you feel his length, hardened and pushing against your back and twitching against you when you squirm or shudder or squeal, pressing your face into his chest so the sounds are muffled.
“She can’t take it,” Hongjoong says. “She’s already breaking again.”
“No, she’ll take it,” Jongho replies. He slows down, a milder pace, just as deep but a little easier to bear. The hand on your tummy relaxes too, his grip loosening some, but his hold is still firm. “Relax,” he mutters. “This is just to settle you.”
There’s a movie playing now; you hear the opening theme, something low and melodic and distant, only just permeating through the haze.
also i haven't written anything since the last time i posted but i'll show a bit of what i've been working on here and there...
no warnings in particular except what's implied,, if you find out what that is :p
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“the last one barely lasted the whole winter…” jake recalls, smoke coming out of his mouth as he speaks. “my freezer’s been empty.” jay hears him chuckle, but it doesn’t have humour behind it. he knows jake’s been struggling—last winter was cruel.
“yes, i know,” jay says, nodding his head once. he stares at his friend from the side, the conversation now switching to something more serious. “i’ll take care of it, trust me.”
“i know you, man—you’ve got a soft spot for her.” jake confronts him. “you want to play.”
—
tagging (no pressure <3) @ne0pearl, @yrfairy, @ninety-nite-99 🤍
omg thanks mel for tagging ♥︎ bc this wip is THE reason i’ve been inactive and i’m going to get illiterate allegations when i post it
…
if he were a selfish person, he’d join you on the mattress and remind you that he’s really good at a lot of things. keeping secrets is one of them. fucking while drunk is another. pretending it never happened in the morning could be a third.
but he’s not selfish. he’s responsible, and he’s a loyal friend of ten’s, and would never go behind ten’s back to mess with his things — and that’s the category kun mentally files you under: ten’s things.
…
tagging @snoopyana - yea ik we’ve interacted maybe once but i like ur writing and i’m nosey and tryna see if you have smth cooking over there…is that creepy lmao i’m sorry pls block me
stop i find it very silly, thank you for the tag. and i actually HAVE been doing things within my silent circle. so thank youu for the tag and forcing me to actually look at my docs ♥️ i’ve been working on like three and i lowkey picked this particular fic because i kept revising it…been working on this for uhhh two years question mark
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"have you been making it worthwhile?" what a dumb question really, he never made anything worthwhile. simply going through the motions. never appreciating what he has. or what he had.
when he didn't answer, you felt this fleeting need to fill the silence. you were never good with silence.
"what do you mean anyway?"
he wanted to explain, he really did. but words lost him and mark was left staring. how do you explain that your brain is eating away at itself, slowly.
maybe that's how you explain it. to be so blunt, so honest, so straightforward. that wasn't him. that wasn't how mark went about things, his techniques just had to be difficult. jumping through hoops to get out such a simple sentence, that's how he went about things.
hes so coworker crush in my head you guys…like i sat by him at orientation and thought he was super cute. this fic is also for all the old bitches. #OldBitchesWinning #OldBriizeWinning
contains: vomiting (sohee drinks too much in the beginning), age difference (sohee is 21, reader is an older, unspecified age), changing povs throughout the story, power dynamics, reader is mean to sohee, he calls the reader noona (SAWRI), footjobs (male receiving) (SAWRI AGAIN)
You excused yourself from the table despite no one paying attention. The interns still huddled around the kotatsu, the upper half of their bodies handing around snacks and sake. You took a cup of the warm sake because your boss offered and it was on his tab and he ordered the expensive kind. After one you knew you were done, because it went down smooth enough to cause a problem. The interns didn’t realize it, pouring the drinks liberally and one after the other. They realized you weren’t interested in getting drunk and stopped passing the bottles to you. You took the water, a mocktail, and a few of the appetizers they were sharing.
You were only here on technicality. You were still working the same time the interns wrapped up with the boss on a deal they didn’t really help close but felt the excitement all the same. The mood was high as they came out of the big office, cheering and dapping eachother up. The boss said let’s go get drinks and pointed at you too.
So the group of you walked to The Fat Raccoon, the small bar that was close to the firm. The small place was wedged between two mini-marts, with a ramen bar in the back and a place in the front for people to drink. They had built a good relationship with your job, because every now and then people would come by and spend money to get shit-faced.
The mood was high. The interns didn’t die at their desks and were in the boss’ good graces. You were upset because you wanted to celebrate the end of the work week by going home and watching your favorite television show. Looking at the younger hires made you remember drinking cheap champagne each time you helped with an account. You didn’t care about the hangovers from the amount of sugar because when you’re that age all you need is a nap and an Advil before being ready for the day. Now you think the type of drinking the interns do in front of you would put you out of commission for atleast a week. Now you stuck to drinking mocktails and being bitter about how gracious the boss was and jealous of your subordinates elasticity. The intern next to you huddled closer underneath the blanket of the katatsu and sat politely on his tatami mat before skulling a shot like he had something to prove. The one across from you was already getting sleepy with his head in his hand while swaying side to side. You scoffed behind your sweet drink that had to be chased by water, wondering what you would’ve done if you were their age again.
You were able to pull yourself up from your seated position and grab your bag without anyone noticing. The interns started talking to the boss about how earnestly they’d work and how grateful they are for this opportunity. The owner of the restaurant offered to call a taxi for those who were too drunk and you took that as your cue to leave.
The bells above the door chimed as you pushed past. The short striped curtains grazed the top of your head as you walked past the statue of the mascot raccoon to the black metal bench beside it. The seat was in front of the large window, if you turned around you could see the whole interior of the place. It was small, your firm took up a majority of the space in front with a few straggler seated behind in the long area of the restaurant that doubled as a ramen and drink bar. Your firm was responsible for all of the noise; you could hear the chorus of laughter each time the boss said something from your spot outside.
After looking once, you didn’t have to look again. You saw enough of it when you were at the office. The interns need to please and valiant effort to mesh with the culture of the firm made you cringe. Trying to engage in locker room talk with the older employees, trying to establish a hierarchy amongst themselves. You hated being subjected to the inner-workings of the corporate male psyche during the work week, you thought it was cruel to experience the inebriated version of it when you could’ve been at home enjoying your weekend.
You were focused on the road in front of you, cars lined the curb and the single flow of traffic. Whenever a taxi would stop the single flow of traffic would stop and the cars would honk. You called the wait-and-save taxi. Ten minutes away. You took your pack of American Spirits out of your pocket. You didn’t mind waiting.
You lit the cigarette and brought it to your mouth. You thought about everything aggravating this week that happened. That intern that got your coffee order wrong, the intern that tried calling you Chuckles. Your colleague messed up the records on an account that you had to go back and fix. There was an overarching project that had to do with unaccounted funds that you had to analyze. This project had taken you more than a month, and you knew you’d be working on it come Monday. But here you were, forced to listen to rowdy drunk boys kiss ass in an effort to secure a job. On the exhale you tried your best to let it go. Your ride would be here soon and you would be able to go home. You repeated the sentiment to yourself when you heard the bell above the door ring again and the loud talking spilled into the street before being muffled again.
You were suddenly honed in on your phone and cigarette in place of possibly having a grating conversation with a young drunk intern. You heard two pair of feet, one stumbling and dragging while the other took long steps to accommodate him. You looked at the dirty sidewalk underneath your Mary Jane’s. That dark splotch was probably a stain from throw up. You pressed your feet together, trying to ignore everything else.
By chance you looked up, and it was the boss. Immediately you stood up and hid the cigarette behind your back to bow. The boss wasn’t paying attention, instead focused on keeping the intern fully leaning on him to keep upright. He motioned to the bench and you moved out of the way. The boss took the intern’s arm hanging on his shoulders to guide him down to the bench. He looked towards the row of cars on the curb, squinting his eyes before blowing out a puff of air.
“I parked my car around the corner,” he motioned towards the intern on the bench. “watch him for me will ya—”
“Sure. Of course,” you answered with a smile.
The boss smiled when he realized you knew he didn’t know your name. He didn’t say anything else, just swinging his car keys around his fingers and disappearing around the edge of the building.
Once you stopped hearing his footsteps you sat back on the bench. You put your cigarette back in your mouth and took another long drag. You looked from the corner of your eye to the intern. He was leaning against the armrest, eyes closed and fully slumped. You try to remember what his name was. You just knew him as Kid, the nickname an older partner gave to him that stuck. The name fit, because the intern looked like he was stolen out of a hagwon and had the boyish demeanor to match. He dressed trendy on casual Fridays and looked like he was playing in his father’s closet when he wore business casual. You weren’t sure if it was even legal for him to drink.
He was diligent though. One of the most competent interns, the only one that was staying as late as you were at the office. He worked in the intern communal cubicle, terrible posture as he leaned in close to his computer. Late at night it would be just you and him, glowing screens and clothes ruffled as you both hurried to get one more thing done. You’ve had to send him home a few times, giving him a warning by turning off your computer loudly and bumping around the walls of your cubicle as you got your things together. He never understood, too enveloped in whatever he was working on. You would usually have to fully come into his cubicle, clearing your throat until he turned around in his rolling chair quickly. You’d fix your bag on your shoulder and point to the hanging analog clock. He always look bewildered, looking up from his computer with thick-framed glasses talking about how he lost track of time.
He listened well too, packing up and leaving the office before you if not at the same time. He basically had the permanent staff position on lock, and if he was getting driven home by the boss it was secured.
But despite how good he was, you were indifferent to him. He would be rubbing the back of his neck making excuses like you were his supervisor when you were more worried about falling asleep on public transportation. He was reckless, you’ve had to wake him up on the train a few times, stepping on his shoe or hitting his knee with your bag so he wouldn’t miss his stop. He slept with his backpack hugged tight to his chest, head lulling to whichever side the train lurched.
A full minute passed before you started getting nervous. You thought about corralling him back inside, atleast sitting on the bench in the waiting area, maybe get him a water. But the boss was counting on you, so you would do exactly what you were told. You let your cigarette fully rest in your mouth so you could bring a hand in front of his nose and mouth. You let it rest there, arm almost cramping before you finally felt air against it.
“Thank God,” you mumbled.
Then suddenly, the intern came to life. He opened his eyes so suddenly you jumped in your seat and inhaled too much. You coughed on the exhale, turning away from the intern and patting your chest to try and soothe yourself. Smoke came out in abrupt puffs, your eyes watered as it dissipated into the air. The muggy spring weather made it even worse, you were nearly choking on the air by the time you finally calm yourself.
You look back to the intern to see he’s partially sitting up against the bench. He didn’t even seem to notice that you were coughing a lung out, he was staring at you so intensely he seemed to miss everything else. You instinctually reached towards the corner of your mouth to wipe away some spit that ended on your lip. You kept touching your face, trying to see what he was looking at. Eventually you pulled in another drag and turned away to blow the smoke away.
When you looked back the intern was even closer. He kept jolting himself awake by leaning and looking for more stability.
“You’re not the boss.” the intern says. “Where’d the boss go?”
“Went to go get his car around the block,” you answered. You were still looking at him sway back and forth. “he’ll be back soon.”
“He lives in the fancy building next to mine and I’m too drunk for a cab,” he says unprompted. “so he’s going to drive me back.”
You nodded again, flicking the ash off of your cigarette.
“That’s nice, Kid.”
“I’m not Kid,” he protests. He sits up a little straighter and shakes his head before putting his hand across his chest. “I’m Sohee.”
You understand the defiance. You laughed a little too hard at a joke as an intern at a gathering like this and the nickname Chuckles was yours for nearly a year. You think that the boss almost called you by that name when he dropped Sohee off. But you hated getting a nickname that was something you couldn’t control. So you nodded your head and reached out a hand to pat his shoulder.
“Okay. That’s nice Sohee,” you say.
“What’s nice?” he asks.
You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s going to ask where the boss went again. Cars honk in front of you only because a car stopped for a second. There’s a dog barking somewhere too. You look towards the general direction before you see Sohee move into your line of sight.
“Noona,” he whispers.
He draws your attention fully. You’ve heard the name from him a honorific from him a few times throughout his internship. Technically all of the interns were supposed to refer to you as such because you were older and had seniority above them. Many opted to not address you at all. Sohee was one of the only ones who called you that and didn’t make it feel like you were being made fun of, or that they were forced to respect the hierarchy. Usually it’d be a quiet noona can you help me? when he was trying to figure out a problem or a bow followed by thank you, noona whenever you would help him. You waved him off each time because it felt embarrassing being so respected. But Sohee is so serious saying it this time that you can’t shake your head and tell him it’s not necessary.
You don’t smoke your cigarette, instead narrowing your eyes at Sohee in confusion.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how pretty you are,” he says.
You’re caught off guard. Your cigarette bobs in your slack mouth before you gather your bearings. You shake your head, looking down to relight the end of the dwindling flame. The cars in the road honk again. Someone must’ve taken to long to press on their gas after the light turned green.
“No, you’re so gorgeous,” He nods his head and scooting towards your side of the bench. There’s no place to get away from him. You’re leaned against the end of the bench and he’s inching closer. His eyes are so wide and honest it’s hard to look away. “I love the way you dress,” he says.
You have to laugh to cut through the sincerity. It’s a laugh he doesn’t mirror, instead getting closer to you, almost inhaling the smoke from your cigarette. His nose twitches and you bring your cigarette to the other side of you, past the bench so it doesn’t get to him.
“Sohee I appreciate the compliment but—”
“If I became a permanent employee would you go out on a date with me?” he asks.
Your cigarette is unused again as the flame dwindles. You’re just staring at him, blinking away disbelief as he keeps going.
“I asked Anton from HR and he said it’s okay because you’re not my supervisor,” he says.
You pause. You get another notification on your phone, probably a warning that your ride will leave soon if you don’t go.
“How old are you?” you ask.
“Legal,” he says instantly.
You narrow your eyes tilting your head to the side. Sohee raises his hand in defense before bringing them to scratch the back of his head.
“I’m twenty-one,” he says. He holds up one slender finger on his hand, then holds up another when he continues. “Twenty-two if you count the nine months I was in the womb.”
“I don’t count it,” you say quickly.
When Sohee is silent you motion a hand towards yourself.
“I like older guys you know,” you say.
You haven’t had sex in so long you don’t think you can have a preference. The last guy you were with was a little older than you. It was about a year ago and he fucked you good enough, nothing to write home about. He took you out to dinner first, that was a plus. You don’t really see younger guys doing that, you think. You did humor the idea of having better sex in place of dinner. You could buy yourself whatever food you wanted, good sex was a little bit harder to do alone.
“I’m the eldest boy in my family,” Sohee says factually.
You’re surprised that this was the same one who was dead to the world less than two minutes ago. His quips are fast and barely slurred, knocking you off your feet and rendering you speechless.
Still, you’re steadfast. You wave your hand dismissively, bringing your cigarette out your mouth the knock the ash off.
“This conversation is extremely inappropriate,” you say.
Sohee teeters forward, swaying slightly.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.
You can feel the heat dust across your cheeks as he gets closer. He looks even younger up close, the moles decorating his face like sharpie marks left by friends while he was sleeping. His hair is spiked and fluffy, making him look like someone who’s still learning to take care of himself.
“Am I making you nervous, Noona?” he asks.
This is so juvenile. The playful teasing, the facetious look on his face. He looks halfway worried but the other half proud he can have you like this. He was quiet talking to you, like he was letting you know a secret. You were in disbelief, cigarette bobbing in your open mouth. The ash was accumulating, the ember dwindling out because you haven’t inhaled in a long enough time. You were frozen and Sohee was only moving closer, until your thighs touched his.
“I can do everything someone older than me can do, but for longer,” he says.
Your phone vibrates again. You can’t pull away from Sohee talking to you, eyes wide as he keeps going.
“I’m making you nervous.” Sohee smiles and his hand gets dangerously close to your leg. There’s something boyishly handsome about him, but the situation is so sudden it makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong. He’s blunt like he’s been plotting for this moment, getting drunk only to get the courage to do this. “Imagine all the other things I can make you feel if I can make you nervous.”
The adrenaline from being talked to like this shoots through your veins. You haven’t felt it in so long it makes your heart beat like it’s anxious. Your palms get sweaty too, and you’re embarrassed because a younger man who is your subordinate is making you speechless. There’s still something wrong about this, despite you not humoring Sohee and him acting on his own volition. You have excited yourself periodically, bought toys and used your fingers to fill in the gap of intimacy. But having someone look at you and insinuate things made your entire body feel hot. You squirmed in your skirt, feeling the sweat from the muggy weather and Sohee’s words perspire across your entire body.
Then he starts leaning forward. You stay on your side of the bench but you don’t move away. You let Sohee get closer and closer, until you can smell his sake breath.
“You’re drunk,” you say factually. Before Sohee can come any closer you put a hand on his shoulder, keeping a distance from you. “and like I said before, this is extremely inappropriate.”
You clear your throat and remember that you’re in charge. Despite him dominating your space, all you had to do was put a hand on his shoulder to stop him in his place. Sohee is looking at you with big bleary eyes, bringing his thick lips into a pout.
“You wouldn’t go on a date with me?” he asks.
He looks like a kicked puppy. The confidence is gone almost immediately, and you actually find yourself feeling sorry for an intern. Indifference turns to something that has you shaking your head, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Maybe I’ll consider when you’re sober and when you’re not an intern.” You bring your lighter to your cigarette again, trying to add a break in between you throwing Sohee a bone. “and if you remember this,” you add.
“I won’t forget.”
Sohee jostles himself too much and you can see the moment it flashes across his face. His skin goes pale, his gaze goes blank before it flickers to the floor. He’s in a haze and you pull away immediately.
The hairs raising on the back of your neck tells you something is about to happen and Sohee’s cheeks puffing out ever so slightly tells you the same thing.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” he says.
Sohee’s cheeks puff out again. You see him bring them back in, swallowing to try and recenter himself. He turns towards you looking for help but you turn is body to face back towards the road.
“Do not throw up here,” you seethe immediately.
The quiet voice you had goes straight to assertive. You’re almost panicked, and Sohee is looking towards you again with a sorry look on his face. He forces another frown and you see him swallow a mouthful of spit. You look behind you quickly. You see that the interns are getting up from the table and bowing to the staff before stumbling towards the exit. If Sohee were to throw up here he’d earn a lifetime ban from The Fat Raccoon and a new nickname for the rest of his life. Your taxi is here, you could just leave him. But you see a trashcan on the corner of the block next to your ride and you think quickly.
You get up from the bench and pull Sohee’s shoulder to hoist him up. You pull him until he’s in front of you, then you guide him to the trashcan by a hand between his shoulder blades. You continue to push him without looking at the possible vomit that could appear on the sidewalk. You cover your ears by tilting your head to your shoulder and covering up the other side with your free hand. You only stop when you see his hands gripping the edges of the metal garbage can.
You hear it past the impromptu noise cancelling. It’s a gross heaving sound, then it’s vomit making contact with a plastic bag lining the can and other trash already inside. You can feel his back rattle from the effort, and you pat his back supportively while making a face of disgust behind him. You see your taxi continue to drive and your phone vibrates again. You already know the ride was cancelled.
“Goddamn it,” you say.
You continue to pat Sohee’s back until he’s done. You pat him a little harder after you see the taxi disappear down the street. The flow of traffic continues and Sohee brings his shoulders together and tilting away from you.
“That hurts,” he groans.
You give his back one more hard pat. He actually whines out, body going forward to get away from you.
“Are you done?” you ask.
Sohee still holds the trashcan with an iron grip. His face is still pale, he turns around and looks at you before nodding slowly.
Instantly you pull away, grimacing again when he wipes his face with the back of his hand. You throw your cigarette to the ground and see the end of the flame dwindle on the concrete. Sohee steps on the cigarette uselessly, body swaying because you’re not supporting him.
You see another car pull up in front of the trashcan. You see the passenger door open from the boss leaning over the center console and you see him motion behind Sohee’s back.
“Come on Kid,” he says.
Sohee turns around before looking back at you. Cars have started honking behind him and you can see that he’s getting annoyed. Still, Sohee doesn’t move.
The bell goes off above the door again and you hear the sound of interns filling the streets. They’re loud and stumbling, going into the street to their taxis. Sohee is still there, staring at you.
“Go home Sohee,” you say.
It’s subtle, but you can’t miss the way Sohee finally turns on his heel to stumble to the boss’ passenger seat. He closes the door harshly, and he looks at you while the boss turns the corner to take Sohee home.
Sohee worked hard to get to here. While his peers goofed off at college he put his head to the ground, not looking up until he received his diploma. He walked across the stage not knowing the joy of blacking out on a Friday night or skipping class to do nothing. He put his head to the ground in college, putting academics before every other aspect of his life.
He worked hard to be hunched over in a stuffy cubicle made up of eggshell colored walls and drag his scratchy office chair over gray carpet. He traded part of his youth to be at the bottom of the corporate food chain. Sohee worked hard in college to work even harder, he wanted his brain to become numb because of his workload. His mom called him worried, talking about her only son working himself to death and becoming a mindless cog in the business machine. Sohee had become a caveman—intern get job, job get money, job get promotion. Being at the bottom of the totem pole was ancient text, a story as old as time itself. Sohee told his mom that she worried for no reason before telling her he would only have to work hard until they gave him a permanent position at his job.
Sohee worked himself until his tie was pulled loose from his throat and the top buttons of his dress shirt were undone. The coat of his suit always rested on the back of his chair, or it was his sweater vest or jacket folded underneath his desk. He worked himself to a wardrobe change everyday. Sometimes after a tiring day of work Sohee would make it home and realized he ran his fingers through his hair until it was sticking straight up in a million directions. He stopped being ashamed of the state he was in after his workdays, more relieved than anything else that he actually ended up surviving it.
Sohee had worked too hard to lose his job like this. A month had passed since that night at The Fat Raccoon. He woke up with a pounding headache and the memory of what he had done the night before. He came on too strong, he went to work expecting Anton from Human Resources to call him into the office. He waited everyday for the sexual harassment complaint to be served to his desk. When his boss called him into his office two weeks ago he expected to be let go of then and there. Instead he was offered a permanent position at the firm and assigned to a cubicle diagonal from yours. Sohee cried from relief, the boss patted his shoulder awkwardly and told him congratulations.
Sohee has worked tirelessly since then. He’s had too much to prove, and he’s done everything in his power to do things for you. He still behaved like an intern: getting you coffee, fetching your copies, doing your data entries. He did all of it silently, tacking your assignments onto his workload.
You never reacted. You never looked around the office to see who was responsible for getting your drink order down perfectly. You always were in the bathroom when Sohee set your copies on your desk. He had caught a glimpse of you across the walkway in your cubicle looking at your computer after he stayed late to help you with an account. He watched you go over the account, scrolling over the numbers and double checking. When you were done he watched you go to the edit history, he saw your cursor go all the way down to the bottom where your names would be side by side. You didn’t even look across the walkway to his cubicle. You only closed out of the account and sent off the email to your supervisor that it was ready.
Sohee worked hard. You always seemed to be working harder. You ate at your desk. You were there when he felt himself getting tired, head ducked down and typing. You kept those blue-light glasses on securely; if they weren’t tucked to the neckline of your shirts they were on your face.
You had terrible posture you corrected occasionally. You raised your hands above the cubicle, causing the shirts you wore to stretch and adhere to your frame. When you straightened your back sometimes you would strain against your blouses, especially when they were buttoned and were cinched at the waist. Sometimes when you stretched the right way, pieces of your shirt would become untucked from your slacks or skirts. Sohee could get a glimpse of the soft skin on your side, rounded off where your bottoms pushed into your body. He found himself leaning back in his chair during those moments, eyes peering over the rim of his glasses before he pushed them back up.
Sohee had built the habit of looking into your cubicle whenever he’d pass by during the workday. In the morning you were prim and proper, business casual maintained carefully. His pre-lunch bathroom break you usually had your head leaned against your hand, going over emails and the other tasks you had to complete. During lunch on his way to the break room he always saw you enjoying yours, watching an episode of a show on your phone. Around the time everyone would start leaving you were tirelessly working, eyebrows narrowed and typing quickly. At night when he’d refill on coffee you were usually revising papers, going over physical books instead of digital.
Late into the night, on his way out you were the most disheveled. Hair a little messier, unlike the tidy hairdos you’d always come in with. Things would be littering your desk, accounting books from months ago that you were auditing. Your clothes would be slightly wrinkled, undone in some way. He had to clench his jaw and focus on leaving every time he’d pass by you at night.
This night was different from the others. The end of the work week came and word was spreading around the firm that they were hitting up The Fat Raccoon. Sohee hadn’t been back since that night, and everyone made it a big deal because he was permanent staff now. He got your attention for the first time since that night when a senior partner came and clapped hands over his shoulder while he was sitting at his desk.
“Kid,” Sohee cringed inwardly. He reminded himself that it was friendly. “you’re coming to The Raccoon tonight, right?” he asked.
Sohee tried to make it seem like he had prior engagements. His sister never waited up for him, always going to sleep or going out to enjoy her youth. Right now it was the weekend, so she was probably out partying. Sohee should do the same, but then he starts thinking about the bench outside the bar and how he told you he could make you feel things and he starts feeling sick.
He was terrified to approach you after everything. He didn’t want to overstep, or bring up something he wasn’t supposed to. In his mind you were one step away from talking to Anton and filing a complaint against him.The way he got your attention when The Fat Raccoon was mentioned made him get goosebumps of horror. Without fail, you would look up from your work or lean back in your seat like you were listening in. You’d stop doing the mindless habits whenever you were focusing to pay attention across the walkway.
The firm cleared out a little earlier than usual and the older partners told Sohee they would be waiting for him. He knew they would already be drinking, but still he nodded and said he’d be there soon. He was still talking to his colleague when he looked across from him to see you listening in fully. He stumbled over his words as he told him goodbye, getting a pat on the shoulder and a promise to see him soon.
Within ten minutes of everyone shuffling across the carpet to leave the office, it was just Sohee and you alone. He tried to not think about him receiving your attention today. Embarrassment brushed across his whole body, knowing that mentioning The Fat Raccoon probably brought up those memories for you. He was horrified to learn that you were sober the entire interaction. He’s not sure if his words came out articulated or slurred. The more he thought about it the more horrified he became.
He shook his head, trying to will the thoughts away. He decided he was just going to work a little too late today and tell everyone he lost track of time. He was going to take a longer route to get to the train station to avoid walking by the bar. He went back to the computer, trying to make sense of the numbers.
“You should go,” you said. “don’t hole yourself in on my account.”
Sohee looked across the walkway immediately to you. You were still looking at your computer, still typing into cells.
“I’m pretty busy,” Sohee stammered. He gestured towards his computer and papers even though you weren’t turning around.
“Busy doing my work for me?” you asked.
Sohee wasn’t sure what he should say. You didn’t look at him so he wasn’t sure if you were angry or had a teasing smile. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you tease anyone. You’ve been teased before—by an overbearing drunk guy—but you’ve never done the teasing. Maybe you’re not capable of it. You’re actually mad at him for overstepping and trying to pretend like he didn’t harass you.
“Sorry,” he says.
“No need to apologize. Just hope you know you’re not getting any of my bonus at the end of the year,” you say.
Sohee laughs because he thinks you’re making a joke. You don’t laugh back. There’s the usual silence between the two of you. Sohee hears the carpet cleaners starting on the opposite side of the office.
The loud machinery forces him to push his rolling chair across the carpet. You don’t stop typing as Sohee pulls himself across the carpet. One foot after the other, until he’s outside of your cubicle. Your blouse was unbuttoned a little more, revealing the slight curve of your chest. Sohee focused on your outdated calendar before quietly clearing his throat.
“Are you going to The Fat Raccoon, too?” he asked.
“I’m almost done with this,” you say.
Sohee moves a little forward to see the side of your face. He can see the blue lens of your glasses working in real time as the rest of your face is illuminated by the sterile white documents. He knows he’s in your line of sight but you don’t give. He is horrified thinking about the reasons you refuse to look at him.
“I was wondering if we could talk,” Sohee starts looking at your screen, watching you type in real time. Something about the error in a payment history with a client. He thinks you calculated it to an amount less than ten dollars. He can’t imagine the attention to detail you must have. “about. You know.”
Sohee watches your typing stop. The insertion point is blinking at the end of your calculations. You turn towards him quick enough that Sohee is caught off guard. The offhanded attention was already too much, but having you so close and paying him so much mind leaves him frozen. The hand he had on his armrest to mimic relaxation is rigid. He straightens in his seat seeing your unfaltering gaze. He watches your proficient hands move your glasses until they’re caught in your hair.
“Are you going to get blackout drunk again?” you asked.
Sohee shook his head immediately. He can’t promise to talk to you then have a repeat of what happened last time. He can hear the carpet cleaner finish one corner. The machine is getting closer to where you and him have another bout of silence.
You turn back to your computer, but you don’t type. Instead you go to the edit history again, repeating the same thing he’s seen you do everyday. Your curser highlights Sohee’s name right above yours.
“Don’t drink at all,” you say firmly. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Sohee cleared out of the office quickly. He waited for a second to see if you were joking, but when you didn’t take it back he quickly dragged his chair back to his cubicle. He left in such a rush he didn’t realize he forgot his navy zip-up jacket folded underneath his desk. He still hurried to The Fat Raccoon through the breezy night. You slung the sweater over your bag and queued an email to send on Monday.
Sohee didn’t seem drunk when you approached him outside the bar. He was looking at his hands in his lap, picking at the skin on his fingers and looking around. He caught you as you were in the middle of crossing the street, standing up a little straighter and smiling. He waved to you and he waved back, he got up from his seat and lightly bowed to you.
“Did you drink?” you ask.
Sohee is disheveled. He has the coat of his jacket slung over his arm and the his tie is slightly loose. He’s flushed too, looking wide-eyed and honest as he takes a slow step forward.
“No,” Sohee shakes his head and goes from one foot to the other. “you told me not to.”
“You listened?” you ask.
Sohee is nodding quickly motioning inside. You can see Sohee’s colleagues leaning to the side with their drinks and chatting loudly. They don’t even bother to look up through the large glass window to see you two talking.
“I listened,” he answers.
You’re teetering from side to side in your shoes and smiling to yourself. You can’t help it seeing him be so serious. He looks like he’s about to apologize for getting to close. You see he’s physically caught in a limbo, refusing to take a step forward or sit back down in his seat. He looks at you like you’re the master of the universe and you’re smiling because you’ve never had someone listen to you so diligently before.
“Not even a shot?” you asked.
Sohee shook his head again. You can’t even recall the last time you turned down a shot, especially if someone else was paying. Sohee looked so boyish it made everyone have mind him. He had more people checking on him than you could count, the boss took him under his wing unprompted. You imagine he was stealing your workload to compensate for something.
“Not a single sip of sake?” you asked.
Sohee shook his head again.
“I had water and fries,” he said.
You look past Sohee inside of The Fat Raccoon. You can’t imagine the pressure the older partners tried putting on Sohee to drink. You think about how they probably couldn’t help themselves to drink, looking forward to an excuse to get messy and drunk. You look back to Sohee, who is looking at his jacket pulled over your bag.
“Why do you listen to me so well?” you ask.
Sohee looks back to you.
“What do you mean?” he asks,
You’ve been working at the firm and without a doubt work the hardest. People hired at the same time as you either quit or got promoted. You still sat in the area of the office with the recent hires and the interns. People called you Chuckles for the longest time and you work a thankless job. You’ve lost your youth and what many regard a persons best years to a computer desk. You want to believe good things happen to those who work hard, but Sohee seemingly landed in your lap. He’s so honest it hurts and he looks so fresh-faced you almost feel guilty.
“Why do you listen to me so well? And you called me pretty despite never talking to me.”
“Feels good,” he says. “I really respect how hard-working you are. I know you know what you’re doing.“
You can’t stop yourself from smiling. You step in front of him, the tip of your shoes slightly stepping on his. You know you’re tracking mud and dirt on the pristine pair. You see Sohee look down at your shoes, but he doesn’t move them away.
“I’m basically an old lady, you know.”
“You take good care of yourself.” You can feel Sohee’s feet moving in his shoes. “I thought you were my age until I figured out how long you’ve been working at the firm,” he says.
You blow out a puff of air and look back inside. You don’t think a single person in there has said anything nice to you. Even when you’ve helped them with their accounts you got nothing more than them saying they should’ve been the ones to catch it.
“Even if you were an old lady—which you’re not—I don’t think I’d care,” he says. “I like the way you dress and how hard you work and the way you do everything yourself.”
You like how he speaks when he’s trying to flatter you. The confidence the liquor gave him is gone now. You can’t tell if he’s desperately trying to appease you to stop you from telling HR or if he’s getting all of it out of his system while he can. You opened up the conversation to be praised. You’re glad he pays attention to your outfits after they were ignored for so long. Flattering body lines with your shirts and slacks that hugged your ass. You think if Sohee was drunk he’d get graphic again and tell you everything he’s thought about when it comes to you.
Just as you think about ordering him to go inside and take shots until he’s intoxicated again your taxi pulls up. The car slows to a stop in the same spot by the trashcan. You motion towards the vehicle, and you see Sohee look towards the cab.
“Do you want to go with me to my apartment Sohee?”
He’s nodding and you nod back. You walk in front of him but he goes ahead, pulling open the backdoor for you. You climb in and he follows after, sitting on the opposite side of the vehicle. You tell the man your address and he instantly peels off from the curb, heading towards your building. You guide Sohee’s hand to the crack where your thighs meet. He scoots across the back row of seats to sink his hand deeper between, feeling the heat.
He opened up every door for you. When the taxi dropped you off in front of the building he kept his door open because your building was on his side of the car. He held open the front door after you put in your key, and walked patiently behind you as you went up flights of stairs. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at your ass, panty line obvious each time you took a step. He smelled the side of his hand too, bringing in your warm smell. He held open your front door, keeping a hand high on the door so you could walk through first.
“Your place is so much nicer than mine.” Sohee takes in your entire apartment from the door. “Do you live alone?” he asks.
You nod, hanging up your coat on the coat rack beside your door. You motion lightly for Sohee to do the same and he hangs his on a peg lower than yours. When you take off your shoes he does the same, putting them next to yours.
“I live with my sister,” he says unprompted.
You walk to your kitchen, pulling out one glass before you double back to pull out another. You set both of them on the counter and go to your fridge, pulling out the full pitcher of filtered water. You close the fridge with your other hand instead of your hip.
“Not your brother?” you ask. You pour an even amount of filtered water into both cups. Sohee still doesn’t look at you, still going over everything you have in your apartment.
He stays in the same place, shaking his head.
“Oh I don’t have a brother,” he answers.
You laugh to yourself remembering how he told you he was the eldest boy in his family. You come to the assumption that both of his sister is older. You wonder if she’s your age or younger. You try not to think about it as you hand him the glass of water.
He accepts and bows slightly but you don’t wave your hand to tell him the honorifics aren’t necessary. You instead lean your hip against thr counter, drinking water while looking at Sohee. Seeing him focus on the water calmed the way your heart was beating in its cage.
He drank the water quick, finishing the cup while you were still taking sips. He set the glass gently on your counter, rubbing his hands together.
You reach past him and pull his hoodie off of your purse. He watches you hold the jacket in your hands. You knead the fabric before holding it normally.
“You’re a good listener Sohee,” you compliment.
“My friends would be shocked to hear that,” he says.
“Why?” you ask.
Sohee starts looking at your washer and dryer stacked on top of eachother. He refuses to look at you, hand going to the back of his neck as he smiles playfully. His sharp canines poke out.
“They say I’m a little bit of a rebel,” you watch him avoid using the word jackass. You think about how hard he tries to seem mature as he laughs like he regrets telling you. “my sister actually calls me a brat all the time.”
You fold his jacket over your arm and he looks back to you. He can see a more neutral look on your face. The way you don’t react to him is disarming. He doesn’t know if he could even tease you if wanted to. His jacket is draped across your arm nicely. It’s so close to touching your torso.
“Well, I guess you are a bit of a rule breaker.”
Sohee feels his blood go cold. His heart pounds in his chest, and he reaches for his jacket. You pull it closer to your chest out of his reach.
“What’s the one rule they give us on Friday’s?” you ask.
Sohee’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. You have given him no rules on Friday’s, except for the one rule today to not drink. The way you speak makes him think he messed up, but he didn’t drink so he knows that’s not it. He thinks hard. He remembers the sound of the carpet cleaner and what his mentor told him while he was still an intern.
“Don’t leave things on the ground because they clean the carpets?” he asks.
He can relax when you nod your head.
“I was just moving too fast—”
“Why would you make the job harder for our facilities team?” you interrupt.
Sohee feels shame. He shakes his head.
“I didn’t mean to. I never leave—.”
“Still a mistake, even if you didn’t mean to.”
Normally when Sohee is cut off at work he spends the entire work day thinking of comebacks. He ruminates, getting upset and nearly holds a grudge over it. He’s had to hold his tongue when the interns would make snarky comments about him or when the senior partners would doubt his skills. When you interrupt him Sohee feels the urge to talk more, just so you will cut off his rushed sentences with a calm tone.
You set Sohee’s jacket on the counter. He watches your hands slowly leave the fabric, fighting the urge to ask you to hold his things again. He can’t do anything when he sees your hands go to the buttons on your blouse.
Each button takes a century. You start from the bottom, revealing the hidden belt around your waist. The next reveals your full waistband and your navel slightly above it. The next is your stomach, then your full torso. Sohee thinks his knees are about to buckle so he can look at your body at eye level. He didn’t realize he had thought about you so much until he realizes this is better than he ever could’ve imagined. He has to put a hand on the edge of your counter to keep himself upright. He sees that you have two buttons to go, then he can finally see what bra caused the crease in your clothes today. He can’t stop himself from blinking, and he feels that familiar sensation churning in his gut. He should’ve brought his hand to cover his crotch instead. Khaki pants don’t do well to cover a bulge.
With the final two buttons Sohee feels like he’s going to pass out. He didn’t even make it fully into your apartment and he’s already liable to finish in his business casual. He hasn’t made a sound since you started moving, afraid that the smallest noise will cause you to stop. He knows this is some sort of punishment, because he told you passionately how he wanted to make you feel things when he was drunk. Now he’s gripping the edge of your counter to control himself and you’re unbuttoning your blouse like he’s not even there.
Sohee sees the plain color of your bra when you undo the first of the two. Gray, matching the hue of the buttoned blouse you wore on top of it. It’s a simple bra, no frills or fancy additions. He sticks his other hand in his pocket.
Instantly you take your hands away from the final button. You tsk, and Sohee stops himself. He was just planning on moving his dick so it didn’t poke against his pants.
“Let me see your hands,” you order.
Sohee pulls his hand out of his pocket and lets it rest at his side in a fist. When you decide him gripping the counter isn’t good either, all it takes is a point of your finger before that hand is at his side too. He’s forced to stand straight up, dick embarrassingly twitching and poking against the material of his slacks.
When you decide he is properly humiliated, you finally go to the last button. Immediately your fitted shirt hangs open, fully revealing your plain bra. Sohee is amazed at how well the bra fits your chest. He wants to reach out and touch it, he wants to meld his hands against your skin. But he waits patiently, with his nails digging into his palm. He can’t even offer to help you when your hands reach to your back.
He’s amazed when your chest is free. He is frozen, he can’t take his eyes away. He looks at your beautiful skin, the areola and how you’re not shy. He has to let out a deep breath to not bring his hands forward to drag them against your skin.
You take his hoodie off of the counter and slip it on. It’s a perfect fit, zipping all the way to the top with one swift motion. He can see your nipples poking against the material.
“Sit down,” you motion towards the couch.
Sohee is careful to not cause too much movement in his pants. He shuffles awkwardly to your couch, not knowing where to sit. A quick decision makes him go to the center of the couch, but when you walk calmly behind him and wave your hand he goes all the way to the side.
He expects you to sit next to him. He hoped you would sit directly on him, letting your hips rest heavily on his. But you sit on the opposite side of the couch. Sohee is instantly turning towards you, looking at your nipples poke through his hoodie and seeing you lounge against the armrest of the couch.
He knows he’s not allowed to mirror you. When you reached for your pants he reached for his and you stopped all together before asking him if you said he could do that with faux confusion. Sohee shook his hands and left his hands at his sides because that was the last order you gave him. You took off your dress slacks and left yourself in just a pair of simple gray panties and a pair of gray ribbed calf socks. Sohee ended up with his knees pressed together tightly to let you know he was following your every single order.
Sohee watches your fingers play with the zipper, fingers running between the lips of fabric to play with the metal teeth. Your head tilted back as your hand went lower, ending at the waistband of your panties. You fully lounged against the armrest, elbows propped on top to give you something to lean against. He could feel his dick throbbing as the tips of your fingers went underneath the elastic band before coming back out. Sohee followed up your body when you stopped touching yourself to see that your head was upright again and you were looking at him.
“What do you want me to do to you?” you asked.
Sohee was caught off guard by your question. He visibly swallowed, trying to center himself to be able to answer his question. He knew that a shy I don’t know wouldn’t get him out of this situation. The doting he received around the office never happened with you, and here was no exception. You seemed even meaner here, hands bringing the end of his hoodie up to reveal part of your lower stomach.
“I just want you to touch me,” he says, trying to seem as docile as possible. “I want to see you feel good, noona.”
Sohee knows he said the right thing when your fingers go back to pushing underneath your underwear. He waits to get the order that he can take his own pants off. But you lean your head against the back of the couch, looking at him with a smile on your face.
“Well noona feels good when you follow the rules,” you say delicately. “Will you follow the rules?” you ask.
He nods immediately.
“You just have to be punished this time,” you say.
Sohee hears you sincerely laugh for the first time when you take in the grave expression on his face. Your hand goes deeper into your underwear, and Sohee sees the imprint of your hands against the fabric. He swears he can see the wetness seep through the gray material.
“I’m going to finger myself,” you say it before nodding. “and you get to watch. No touching. Because you forgot your jacket.”
“Because I forgot my jacket,” Sohee echoes.
He sees you nod again the same time your finger disappears against the strain of your underwear. Sohee is in shock when your back arches off of the couch. He thought that you were going to tease yourself, or reprimand him some more. You go straight to the pleasure, pumping your finger in and out. Sohee sees the tip of your pinky peak out from the crotch of your underwear.
His mouth is dry watching you. He didn’t expect you to be so noisy, letting tiny moans and high-pitched whimpers out each time you push your finger in. Sohee thinks you added another finger when you started biting your lip and sliding against the couch.
“Noona,” Sohee says.
He’s wrecked, feeling like he’s the one touching you. He started alternating between spreading his knees and pressing them together when he realized you weren’t paying any attention to him. The sensation of his pants loosening and tightening makes it feel like he’s being touched. Even the pressure of digging his fingernails into his palms does something. The physical pain makes the punishment more tangible, and the pain in his hand mixes with the pain of being frustrated. It’s enough to make Sohee know he’s going to make a mess of himself while fully clothed and untouched.
You lift your head from the armrest to look at him. Your body sunk lower and lower onto the couch, giving him a better view of you. He sunk lower too, hoping he’s be able to graze your body without you noticing. If you inched just a little further down you’d be forced to prop your covered foot on his thigh instead of your coffee table. He needs you to get lost just a little more, because he can’t move. He needs you to decide that he’s been punished enough, or that he won’t be punished further for cumming.
“What’s wrong, Sohee?” you ask, voice weak.
He doesn’t know where to look. Your face is fucked out despite only fucking yourself with two fingers and for less than a minute. Your legs flex, your chest seizes with each movement, your nipples graze against his hoodie and your hands are deep in your cunt. He can’t stop thinking about how you’re covering his jacket with your smell, writhing and sweating in it. He will never put it on the floor ever again. He’ll have it resting on his lap everyday, smelling like you.
You started grinding into your hand, desperate to find the optimum angle to do it on the couch. You grab the back of the couch with your free hand then decide it’s better used to pull down the zipper on your jacket. One side of your chest is exposed only for a second before your hand completely envelopes it. Sohee watches you tease and grasp at yourself, fingers coming to pinch your nipple. Sohee watches the bud roll between two fingers, palms pushing into the soft cushions of the couch. If he could do the same to his dick. He wouldn’t even have to get undressed. He just needs pressure.
Your foot is searching for a place of stability. The floor is too far away and makes your grinds awkward, your socks makes the edge of the coffee table too slippery, and you take too much space of the couch to put it beside you. Sohee watches you slide further down the couch, until you are fully on your back across the cushions. Sohee watches your foot wander, scared to tell you where to put it or reach towards it.
Sohee is still looking at your foot when you bring it down on his thigh. You land on him roughly, but it’s so close to where he needs pressure that it makes him moan. He lets his head hang down to see where you’re anchoring yourself on him. You move his thigh with each thrust, using his body as stability so you can get off. When you’re particularly desperate with a grind your foot shifts to the side. In a split second you move it back, just for it to slip again. He notices the pattern. In each tiny gap of time when your foot is lifted Sohee shifts his body towards you. He looks down at your face to see that your eyes are screwed shut in pleasure, he looks down at your pussy to see that the dark splotch on your panties is bigger now.
He creeps to the side. The other side of your chest is out of your jacket, completely neglected by your hand. Sohee watches your chest move from your desperate grinds against your hand. He creeps to the side again when your moans become more labored.
“You sound so pretty, noona,” he compliments.
He’s happy to see you nod. He knows you know he’s there, because he started letting out tiny grunts of his own just from watching you. But seeing you crack open your eyes to look at him directly before squeezing them shut again makes Sohee feel even closer to his peak.
Everything comes together when he shifts one more time, and your foot is digging into his crotch. There’s enough pressure, the way you move it is just enough. Sohee has enough plausible deniability that he can say it was your fault, he just has to keep his hands to himself.
He’s relieved that you don’t take your foot away and fall into the same pattern over and over again. He can’t believe that you are so invested in his punishment that you don’t notice the hard dick fitting in the arch of your foot. But you thrust too roughly and your foot drags across his dick before you reposition it back to its original place. He has to let out pensive breaths to stop himself from grinding, and eventually he has to look away completely to stop himself from doing something that’ll get him in trouble.
He stares at your ceiling light only for a second before his head lulls towards your body. You’re still lost in it, moaning and grinding into your hand. He finally sees you get enough of the heat when you fully undo the zipper. He’s grateful you keep the jacket on your body and nearly cries from gratitude when your hand starts pushing your underwear down after.
He can’t stop himself from helping when it gets caught on your ankles. You pout in the most childish way, angry that something was interrupting you from reaching your high. Sohee just simply makes the hole bigger in one opening so you can pull your foot out. You keep your underwear around the ankle of the foot that went back to pressing into his crotch. The moment was tense, there was a split second where Sohee was convinced you’d pull away from him and call it a night. But you rutted against your hand again and went right back to chasing your high.
Sohee watched your cunt suck your two fingers back in over and over. You seemed so tight, holding on and refusing to let go. The bottom of your palm bumped against your clit and you were chasing that, repeating the motion over and over.
“Are you close?” he asked.
You opened your eyes again, weakly lifting your head before letting it fall back on the cushion.
He wanted to beg you to keep going, to coo at you and tell you that you fucked your hand better than he could’ve ever imagined. But Sohee felt like he was walking the line, and he felt your foot dig deeper into his crotch. He balled his hands into a white-knuckled fist and just watched, feeling drool seep past his plump lips.
“Sohee,” you whimpered. Immediately he sat up against the couch, looking at you trying to seem alert. The feeling of your foot rubbing against his dick no longer distracted him when you looked at him fighting to keep your eyes open. “Keep looking at me,” you ordered.
Sohee nodded, leaning fulling against the back of the couch to keep an eye on you. He didn’t stop, nails going to dig in his thighs when he saw you finally lose it. Your back arched off the couch and you sped up your hand, digging as deep as you could over and over. Sohee heard the sounds get louder from the speed and the wetness, and your sounds got louder before turning to pathetic whimpers.
When your entire body froze up your foot did too, pointing and adding the amount of pressure he needed to cum in his pants. He was caught by surprise because he was focused on you, and he couldn’t stop himself before he was rutting into your foot to prolong his high. Sohee also couldn’t stop himself from grabbing your leg and holding it close to his body, kissing the bend in your knee while he continued to roll his hips.
“Noona,” he said, screwing his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”
He continued to apologize and whimper, lamenting that he just couldn’t help it. The shame of not being good for you made his high all the more intense, until he felt the wetness sticking to his underwear and becoming uncomfortable against his skin. His hold on your leg kept your foot in place, and he felt you flatten your foot and he rutted against it more. He felt drool smear between his lips and your knee from the motion. He kept rolling his hips, chasing after it like he’d never get it again.
Sohee was still holding your leg tight after the rush went through his body. He was weakened by the tension and the work week, his arms falling limp at his sides as he tried controlling his breathing.
He purposefully kept his eyes closed, refusing to make eye contact with you knowing he had messed up. He got confirmation when he felt your foot press into his crotch again. The excess pressure against his sensitive dick made him whimper and try to move away, but you continued to press. He instantly felt tears spring to his water line, the sensitivity making him shake his head and shiver.
“Noona please,” he begged.
He made watery eye contact with you to see that same neutral face. He already felt the pressure building again from the post-orgasm relaxation, the pain mixing with pleasure as you pressed deeper.
Before something embarrassing could happen, you pulled your foot away. Sohee let out a big puff of air to try and catch himself, and you were getting off of the couch like nothing had happened. You slid your soiled underwear back up your leg, pulled your slacks back up and buttoned them at the top. You only omitted the belt, but you took off Sohee’s hoodie to put back on your bra and shirt. Sohee was still sitting on your couch, while you got fully dressed. He was wide-eyed, still tired and you seemed unaffected. He had a small wet spot forming in his slacks as proof but you were the same. You even folded Sohee’s hoodie all nice and set it next to him on the couch.
After you were done, you opened your fridge. Sohee watched you pull out two beers, putting the cold one in his hand before sitting on your side of the couch.
“That was nice, wasn’t it?” you asked, smiling.
You turned on the television, switching to the show in your recently watched without looking over to see him nod. The show started playing and you took a swig of the beer before putting your head in your hands to focus on the television. Sohee mirrored you, chest still raising rapidly to try and control his breathing.
hai babes, GIVE ME IDEAS!!! like i’ve been in the slums for so long for ideas, send me some stuff and i’ll see if i can work with what i’m given. i really wanna come back too trust, i come on here and i’m like damn…we’re dying🥹
yana i miss you where are you... ALSO writing bl on ao3?? i might need the user cough cough
hii my lovie, i’ve literally just barely been on the internet actually. i needed to get away.. :( BUT I DO PLAN ON COMING BACK. slowly but surely, because i’ve had so many ideas that i’ve written in a literal notebook.
i’ve also been working on that ao3…we might get something on there soon :3
annaxmalina
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
areudirty
stormborns
