Anna was the kind of student who naturally drew attention wherever she went. With her graceful presence, expressive cat-like eyes, long dark hair, and effortless elegance, she carried herself with a quiet confidence that made people admire her without even trying. Despite her popularity on campus, Anna had never been interested in romance—until the first day she stepped into your history lecture. The moment you began speaking with calm authority and genuine passion for the past, something inside her changed. It wasn't a passing crush; it was love at first sight, and from that day forward, her heart belonged to you.
Every lecture became the highlight of her week. She always arrived early, choosing a seat where she could watch you explain centuries of history with infectious enthusiasm. While the other students hurried to leave after class, Anna often lingered behind, pretending to organize her notes just to hear you answer a few extra questions. She admired not only your intelligence but also your kindness, patience, and the quiet warmth you showed to every student equally.
"But wouldn't the logistics of the supply chain have made that specific treaty impossible to maintain?" Anna asked, her voice cutting through the end-of-class chatter with a calculated clarity. She wasn't looking at the textbook; she was looking directly at you, her chin tilted just enough to catch the light.
You paused, capping your marker and glancing at the slide. A small, appreciative smile tugged at your lips. "Now, that is a genuinely good question, Anna. Most people overlook the maritime constraints of the sixteenth century." You stepped closer to her desk, leaning in slightly to point out a map detail, oblivious to the way her breath hitched or the way her fingers tightened around the edge of her notebook.
For Anna, those few seconds of focused attention were the only currency that mattered. She didn't need the validation of the other students who were already halfway out the door; she only wanted the specific, scholarly approval that lived in your eyes. As you explained the nuance of the trade routes, she nodded along, though her mind had drifted from the history of spice trades to the way your voice softened when you were thinking deeply.
The following weeks became a choreographed dance of academic curiosity. Anna began spending her weekends in the archives, digging up obscure citations and primary sources that she knew would pique your interest. She didn't just want to be a good student; she wanted to be the only student who could challenge you, creating a private intellectual dialogue between the two of you that felt, to her, like a shared secret. These exchanges were the highlights of her day, a series of small, earned victories that kept her coming back to the front row of your lecture hall.
However, the reality of your life was a constant, silent presence in the room. It was the gold band that caught the light whenever you gestured toward the whiteboard, and the framed photograph of your spouse that sat modestly on the corner of your desk. Whenever Anna caught a glimpse of it, a sharp, familiar ache settled in her chest—a feeling of jealousy toward a person she barely knew, but a recognition of the boundary that stood between her and the life she imagined with you.
"The archives are technically closed on Tuesdays, but the curator is a friend of mine who owes me a favor involving a very rare map of the Levant," you mentioned casually, glancing up from your notes as Anna approached your desk.
She didn't flinch at the mention of the rule-breaking; instead, she leaned in, her expression one of delighted curiosity. Over the next few weeks, these "extracurricular" research trips became a ritual. What started as a quest for primary sources on the Mediterranean trade morphed into a series of long, wandering conversations that drifted far from the sixteenth century. Anna had developed a talent for the conversational pivot—starting with a question about your academic influences and sliding, with a seamless grace, into questions about your favorite childhood memories or the books you read for pleasure when you weren't grading papers.
"You have a very specific way of describing the architecture of the Renaissance," she remarked one rainy Tuesday, her voice barely a whisper in the hushed atmosphere of the library. "It's so romanticized. I wonder if you've always viewed the world through that lens, or if someone specific encouraged that side of you?"
The question was a probe, a gentle fingertip testing the boundary of your professional perimeter. She wasn't asking about your thesis anymore; she was asking about the architecture of your heart. You found yourself smiling, the kind of genuine, warm expression you usually reserved for your inner circle. "My grandmother was a painter," you replied, pausing to consider the question. "She taught me that the beauty of a building isn't in the stone, but in the light that hits it at four in the afternoon."
Anna lingered on that image, her gaze shifting from the ancient manuscripts to the way the dim library light caught the gold band on your finger. "You're very patient with people," she noted, her tone shifting to something softer, more intimate. "I imagine that's why your home is such a peaceful place. Do you find that the quiet of your private life helps you handle the chaos of the university?"
"It’s a necessary sanctuary," you replied, your voice echoing slightly in the vaulted silence of the archives. You didn't move away, but you did shift your weight, subconsciously creating a fraction of distance that Anna felt like a physical wall. "Between the faculty meetings and the undergraduate crises, having a place where the world just stops is the only way to stay sane. My spouse is the anchor for that. They have this incredible ability to make the rest of the world feel like background noise."
Anna nodded, her expression a mask of polite interest, though the word *anchor* felt like a weight pulling her under. She had spent months meticulously crafting a version of herself that was indispensable to you—the brilliant pupil, the intellectual peer, the only person who truly understood your passion for the Levant. Hearing you speak of your home life with such effortless contentment was a reminder that there was a whole dimension of your existence where she didn't even exist as a footnote.
"Do you think the peonies are too cliché, or is there a timelessness to them that I'm overlooking?"
The text arrived on a Thursday afternoon, punctuating a lecture on the Fall of Constantinople. You didn't have to look at the contact name to know it was Anna; she had a way of phrasing things that made even a question about floristry feel like a thesis defense. The exchange of phone numbers had happened organically a month prior, born from the logistical necessity of coordinating archive hours, but it had quickly evolved into a digital tether. Anna had become a constant, gentle hum in the periphery of your day, a stream of consciousness that flowed from complex historical queries to the mundane frustrations of her dormitory life.
For Anna, the shift was a strategic victory. She had transitioned from the front row of a lecture hall to the palm of your hand. She began sharing the small, jagged edges of her day—the frustration of a broken coffee machine, the anxiety of a looming deadline, the way a certain song made her feel inexplicably lonely. By offering these fragments of her vulnerability, she had carved out a space for herself as more than just a star pupil. She was becoming a confidante, a sounding board, a presence you relied on for a different kind of intellectual stimulation—one that was personal and immediate.
You, in turn, found her perspective refreshing. There was a youthful, unfiltered honesty to her taste that you sometimes felt you had lost in the sterilized environment of academia. When you were planning your anniversary or searching for a birthday gift that wouldn't feel repetitive, you found yourself typing her name into your messages. It felt innocent, a mentorship that had expanded into a friendship. You trusted her eye for beauty and her instinct for the poetic, never realizing that every time you asked for her help in surprising your spouse, you were handing her a map of the very love she wished she could replace.
One evening, the conversation shifted from the domestic to the existential. Anna had sent a photo of a rain-streaked window, followed by a message: Everything feels so temporary today. Does that ever happen to you? The feeling that you're just a guest in your own life?
"You're thinking too much again," you replied, leaning back in your office chair as the blue light of the screen illuminated the deepening shadows of the room. It was a gentle rebuke, the kind of playful nudge that had become the baseline of your digital shorthand. "The rain has a way of making the world feel like a melancholy novel, but remember that even the most temporary storms eventually run out of water."
Anna didn't reply immediately. The three dots of her typing indicator appeared, vanished, and reappeared several times, as if she were editing a confession in real-time. When the message finally arrived, it was shorter, stripped of its poetic armor: What happens when the storm is the only thing that makes you feel alive ?
The weight of the question hung in the air, vibrating with an intensity that felt slightly too heavy for a Thursday night. You paused, your thumb hovering over the screen. For a moment, the professional distance you maintained—that invisible line between professor and pupil—felt dangerously thin. You recognized that specific brand of collegiate angst, the yearning for something profound and unattainable, but with Anna, it always felt more focused, more intentional.
"I don't care if she's a prodigy. I don't care if she's the next great historian of our generation."
The voice didn't come from a lecture hall or a quiet archive; it came from the kitchen, sharp enough to slice through the comfortable silence of the evening. Your wife, wasn't screaming—not yet—but her voice had reached that vibrating frequency that signaled a total collapse of patience. She was standing by the counter, your phone lying face-up between you, the screen still glowing with a notification from Anna about a particular translation of Petrarch. For months, youe wife had played the part of the supportive partner, smiling when you mentioned Anna’s brilliance, but the small things had been accumulating like sediment. The way you checked your phone during dinner, the way your face lit up when mentioning a "breakthrough" in the archives, and the subtle, pervasive presence of a young woman who seemed to occupy every spare thought you had.
The explosion happened over something trivial—a misplaced comment about Anna's "incredible intuition"—but it was the catalyst for everything. your wife finally let it all out, her frustration spilling over in a torrent of words that left you breathless. She wasn't accusing you of an affair in the physical sense, but she was accusing you of an emotional migration. She spoke of the loneliness she felt even while sitting next to you, the sense that you were mentally drifting toward a version of yourself that only existed when you were talking to Anna. The anger was raw, born from a place of deep insecurity and a love that felt threatened by a ghost.
The silence that followed her outburst was deafening. You looked at your wife—really looked at her—and saw the genuine hurt behind the anger. The realization hit you with the force of a physical blow: in your quest to nurture a student's mind, you had neglected the heart of your home. The academic thrill of being admired by someone like Anna had blinded you to the slow erosion of the sanctuary you had once described as your anchor.
You didn't defend yourself. There were no arguments to be made about "professional mentorship" or "intellectual kinship" that could outweigh the tears now shimmering in your wife's eyes. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your voice cracking as you began to apologize. You begged for her forgiveness, your words tumbling out in a desperate rush, asking for *merci*—for mercy—on the only relationship that truly mattered. You held her hands, ignoring her initial attempts to pull away, and promised her that the boundaries would be rebuilt, stronger and more rigid than before.
"The syllabus is the law of the land, Anna. Please refer to the rubric for the grading criteria."
The words felt like cold stones being dropped into a well. You didn't look up from your desk as she stood there, her presence a fragrant, silent plea that used to make you smile. Now, it felt like a liability. You kept your gaze fixed on the stack of essays, the red pen in your hand acting as a barrier between your world and hers. The warmth that had once colored your interactions—the shared jokes about the Levant, the playful nudges about her overthinking—had been systematically replaced by a sterile, professional courtesy. You weren't being unkind; you were being a professor. And for Anna, that was the cruelest thing you could possibly be.
The digital tether was the first thing to snap. For weeks, the steady hum of her messages had been the background noise of your life, but now, the notifications sat unread for hours, then days. When you did reply, the poetic flourishes were gone. Her existential questions about the temporary nature of storms were met with concise, academic answers. *“It’s a common theme in Romanticism; perhaps you could explore that in your next paper,”* you wrote, effectively killing the intimacy of the conversation and relocating it to a grade book. You could almost feel her confusion through the screen, the way she must have stared at the blue bubbles, wondering which version of you had suddenly decided to vanish.
In the lecture hall, the choreography changed. You no longer lingered by her desk to discuss the nuances of maritime constraints. Instead, you began ending your classes with a brisk, "That's all for today," and moved toward the door before the first student could even stand up. You stopped catching her eye during your more passionate tangents. When she would raise her hand, her expression a mixture of hope and desperation, you would call on someone else—someone who didn't make your heart race with a mixture of guilt and nostalgia. You treated her like any other name on a roster, a tactical erasure that left her drifting in the periphery of your attention.
Anna didn't handle the silence with her usual grace. The quiet confidence she had carried since the first day of class began to fray at the edges. She still arrived early, but she no longer sat in the front row; she moved back, as if trying to gauge the exact distance at which you stopped noticing her. Her questions became shorter, stripped of their intellectual playfulness, and her gaze, once an invitation, became a haunting search for a sign that she still mattered. She began to linger even longer after class, her notebooks clutched to her chest like a shield, waiting for a moment of softness that never came.
Anna had stopped trying to win your heart through the archives; instead, she had decided to wage a war of attrition against your composure. She arrived at the lecture today wearing a white ribbed tank top that left very little to the imagination and a denim mini-skirt that seemed more suited for a beach club than a windowless history hall. She didn't sit in the back anymore. She had reclaimed the front row, leaning forward with her elbows on the desk, her chin resting in her palms, watching you with a predatory intensity. She knew exactly why you were staring at the whiteboard, your eyes fixed on a sentence about the Ottoman Empire as if it were the most fascinating piece of prose ever written. She could feel your avoidance, and to her, that tension was a different, more electric kind of intimacy.
It’s one thing to be playing strip blackjack with your roommate for the fun of it, bored out of your mind because the semester’s over and the both of you decided not to go back to your hometowns for reasons out of both your control. It’s another to be playing strip blackjack when you’re down to your boxers and she’s still somehow halfway to getting into her birthday suit.
You probably should’ve told her to take off her jacket and all the accessories she was wearing. Having each one as an individual piece of clothing is the most bullshit excuse you’ve ever heard, more so when you realized she has earrings and socks on.
“Oh come on,” she starts, throwing her hands up in the air. “Are you that scared of me seeing your dick? It’s not that small from what I remem–”
“Fuck you.” You send a middle finger her way. “I'm on eighteen and you’re on fifteen. You hit.”
Playing safe normally isn’t what you prefer doing, the need to throw down another card tempting you. But the odds of getting anything below a three is so goddamn miniscule, you’d be guaranteeing your loss.
And this is not how you thought having Sooin see you naked after God knows how long would go.
Sooin grabs the stack of cards, taking the first off the deck. She doesn’t flip yet, only placing it down next to her two fours and a seven. “I bet this is a six,” she says, tapping on the card.
“And I bet that it’s anything but a six,” you counter, and she graces you with a laugh.
“Willing to bet your boxers on that?” she asks, nodding to said clothing. Your last line of defense to your dignity, pride, ego. But if that saying about a good defense is a good offense applies here, then you might as well use it to your advantage.
“You willing to bet your entire top off for it?” you counter, leaning back on your chair. It’s a gamble, not one you’re sure she’ll bite on, yet you’re desperate. In dire need of a hail mary, and this—this is your one shot to getting it.
Besides, seeing her tits is a major plus.
“Bitch, I’ll bet everything I’m wearing it’s a six.” The way she sounds so confident about it makes you think she’s somehow rigged the deck when though you’ve been the one that’s been shuffling it since the beginning of this whole thing.
She does the job for you, when she slams the cards down on the table. Crossing her arms and smirks at you.
“I’ll even bet something better for you,” Sooin starts, her legs crossing, and the smooth expanse of her skin starts to entice you, her shorts riding up and showing even more of those thighs. “If I don’t get a six, I’ll be free use for you for the entire week,” she states, the glee in her face dropping an offer that only the devil would ever give. “And we got all week.”
“Sooin, what the fuck–” You’ve known this woman for years, since she barged in your life as your roommate in the middle of your sophomore year and called the supposed guest room as hers. With the amount of shit the both of you have gotten up to with all that time—the rare sex with her included—this has got to be the most dangerous thing she’s ever done. “You don’t offer that up like it’s nothing–”
“Sure I can,” she says, rolling her eyes at you. “We’ve fucked before, what’s so difference about this?”
“We don’t have to be betting shit like that.” You dodge the question, your own legs cross to hide the growing erection in your pants. “We can stick to clothes–”
“Boring.” Her fingers twirl around the curls of her hair. “You need some spice in your life. Some flair. And I’m offering it to you.” Her head tilts. “‘Sides, when was the last time you got laid? Was it that Chaeyoung girl–”
“Chaewon,” you correct, shaking your head. Now she has you hooked on the deal being offered. Your entire wager flipped on you, and you can’t tell if she’s being serious or not. “And that’s pretty rich coming from you.”
“Whatever her name is–” She shrugs, avoiding your own question by picking up one of her cards and tapping it on the table. “I’m here offering you a once in a lifetime deal. And we’d both be happy at the end of it.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Anytime you want.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Anywhere you want.”
Taptaptaptap—
“Anything you want–”
“If you don’t get a six,” you enunciate, syllable by syllable. “You’ll just–what, do as I say?”
“If I don’t get a six,” Sooin repeats, hand pausing the drumming of the paper. “I’ll do whatever the fuck you want. No holds barred. No questions asked. You can have me on my knees right now if you win–”
“Jesus Christ, Swim.” Your palm meets your face, in complete disbelief of what she’s saying. You sigh, real fucking deep, gaze going up to the ceiling for a moment, trying to think about the whole thing. Yet your mind’s already made up, and all you can do is ask about the one thing that you’re sure will happen.
“And if you do pull a six?”
“Then you be free use instead.” The answer is instant, and that is where she gets you. When you think about it, it sounds like a win win situation. “Actually, let’s make this easier for the both of us.”
So nice of her, you think.
“If you have a worse hand than mine, you lose.” That’s mildly easier, but still impossible. Besides, only the crazy ones would ever think of hitting on an eighteen. “And the same goes to me.” She points to the one face down on the table. “Shittier hand than yours, I lose.”
“This has to be bait.” The comment slips out, airing out the first thing that came to mind hearing the terms.
“It’s not.” The look of disbelief on your face makes her gape at you. “I’m not joking, it’s not.”
“Sure, and you didn’t rig the deck so you win again.”
“I didn’t rig jackshit, thank you very much. You need to believe in the heart of the cards.”
“Whatever you say, Yugi,” you chuckle. You glance at the deck, and that top card is begging you to take it. Get the whole thing over and done with, the result be damned.
Though, there is an instance of—
“What happens if we both go over?”
“Easy.” She shrugs. “Then we both win.”
Your head leans back in surprise. “How the hell does that even work?”
“I get to fuck you whenever, you do the same. It’s not rocket science.” Another shrug. “Your other head would do the thinking.”
“And I’m starting to think you’re the one who needs to get laid,” you comment, and she graces you with a smirk.
“It’s a win win type of deal.” She ignores the dig, propping her chin up with her hand. “Just depends who wins more.” She gives you a pointed look. “So, you in or out?”
Sooin’s not wrong. It is a win win deal, and you’d be an idiot not to take it.
You sigh.
“Fine.”
Your hand grabs the card, sliding it off the stack and placing it next to your two cards. “Who goes first?”
“Same time?” Sooin asks, fingers ready to flip the card on her side.
You nod, hand prepped to do the same. “This is insane, you know,” you mutter, licking your lips. Foot tapping rapidly—in anticipation or nervousness, you don’t know—and shaking your head at her. “Absolutely fucking crazy.”
“You can always back out.” She takes her time with it, pushing the edges up slowly, her gaze focused on you rather than on the piece of paper in her hands. “Or are you really a pussy?”
Well, those are some fighting words. And you didn’t get raised like a bitch to back off.
“Just fucking do it already, Sooin.”
She smirks, and with a flourish, she turns it over faster than you can. Your eyes land on her hand, and lo and be-fucking-hold, it’s a goddamn eight.
Everything rushes at you, all at once—relief, shock, joy, unease. It’s all there, because on one hand, you just won a bet against Sooin. On the other, the bet’s stipulations scare the utter life out of you.
“Would you look at that,” Sooin scoffs, grinning at you. “We both lost.”
You blink, and you look down to your own hand.
Twenty Eight.
Heart in the fucking cards your ass—
“No fucking way that just happened.” She huffs a laugh, staring at your hands. “Did we seriously both fucking lose?”
“You’re the one that said to believe in the heart of the cards,” you retort, shaking your head at how things have ended up.
“You know what?” She stands up, picking up the cards and fixing them up back into a single deck. “I’m going to hold up my end of the deal.” Doesn’t even let you soak it in, simply takes your hand away from you and places it back onto the set. “That better be the same for you too.”
“What the fuck does that mean–”
“It means,” Sooin cuts you off, placing the deck neatly on the center of the table. “I’m going to be riding the fuck out of you tomorrow. Or, you know–”
She gives you an innocent smile, as if her words are to become a common occurrence in your household for the week. She bends down, her lips so close to whisper temptations in your ear. Whatever you want, she says, your name rolling past her lips. “All week long.”
Leaves you with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder as she heads to her bedroom. Doesn’t bother waiting for a response, instead settling for a—
“Goodnight!”
While you’re over here slumping on your chair, staring at her door and shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.
What the hell did you get yourself into?
—
Sleeping late came naturally to you.
The mental gymnastics you’ve done to convince yourself that everything Sooin said was some sick prank she’s pulling on you, that you’d be waking up to another normal day with her, lazing about and wasting another day doing nothing along with all the other reasons you tell yourself—made you lose your mind trying to instill all of that in your head.
Add to trying to understand why Sooin started that bet at all when she really didn’t have to, aside from the obvious one that your brain is telling you isn’t at all the reason, and you’re almost to a point where you need to admit yourself to a mental asylum trying to figure it out.
You’re almost glad that this didn’t happen during exam week, or else you would’ve been failing all of it left and right with the lack of sleep. Or stamina, if Sooin really was serious.
Which she wasn’t, of course.
You don’t know if you can stop yourself from taking advantage of the bet if she ever gave you any form of a go signal. And if she was, you know she would do the same.
Still, all those days trying to survive the term has made your body’s alarm clock ring, causing you to wake up in the early hours of the morning thinking that there’s some eight o’clock lecture you need to be up for. While you could always stay in, as there is nothing to wake up to this early for the next few weeks, your stomach rumbling tells you otherwise.
So here you are, dragging yourself to the kitchen to make some instant coffee that barely turns you into a functional human being, a bowl of cereal made while you wait for the kettle to heat the water. You would have loved to have some bacon and eggs but alas, someone forgot to do this week’s groceries.
Eventually, Sooin comes out of her room looking the complete opposite of you. It says a lot already, considering you look like a dead man walking and she slept like a baby last night. Arms stretching out as she walks towards you, slumping on the chair opposite of you. Greets you with such energy you’d think she isn't the Sooin you know.
And yet she is, staring at you eating your bowl miserably, a smile on her lips as she leans back on the chair. “You look like shit,” she muses, and she doesn’t need an answer from you to know why.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night.” You play along with it, pretend that everything about last night doesn’t have you in a chokehold.
“I bet.” Her elbow rests on the top back of her chair. “Need a little pick me up?”
She’s dangling the entire thing in front of you, gauging to see just how far you’re willing to keep up with this charade. And if you weren’t so mentally exhausted you could have—should have—said no outright, trying to prevent the impending roller coaster that’s coming your way. And yet your brain decides to make things as ambiguous as possible.
“The coffee can do.” You nod to the kettle, where you are waiting for the stupid thing to finish heating up.
“You sure?” She raises an eyebrow, her eyes glances at the kettle herself. “I’m available to help out, if you want me to.”
The wording isn’t lost on you, making you smile as you raise a spoon full of cereal and milk. “Yeah, Swim. I’m sure.”
She grins, her mouth opening to speak until the kettle finally pings. The both of you take a glance at it, steam rising out of the opening. You move to handle it, but Sooin tells you that she’ll do it instead. Need a cup myself, she says as she passes by, leaving you to eat your cereal in peace.
You take the moment to take a few more spoonfuls as you think up ways of conveniently not run into Sooin for the week, but living with her makes that a daunting task. Being a shut in is always an option, but you’d go insane doing nothing in your room eventually. Or go out everyday until the week ends, check out the mall or go on a quick adventure out of town somewhere.
You can feel your wallet begging you not to do it, making you wonder if you can find another part time for a week at some cafe or convenience store. Whatever to get you out and about and not being with Sooin twenty four seven.
Not that you weren’t against the whole thing. Hell, you want it. In the face of last night, anyone would be stupid not to accept it. Much like you are being an idiot about it.
It’s almost like a slap in the face, when you realize that you could’ve had her on her knees right about now.
The doubt slowly begins to leave your mind, when all the signs point towards Sooin taking it seriously come filling in. You’re being a complete dumbass—no, more than that for wasting a perfectly good night’s rest in exchange for losing your mind for something that really, really should not have been worth losing sleep over.
You’ll be losing sleep over fucking Sooin instead.
The chair you’re sitting on gets pulled away from the table, and the soft, warm weight of Sooin straddles you. Her arms wrap around your neck as she takes a spot on your lap, not allowing you to leave.
“Sooin, what are you–”
“I won last night too, you know.” Her hips roll against yours, making you clench your teeth and tense up. A quick glance tells you that she’s taken her shorts off, leaving her in just her panties and a shirt tight enough to let you know she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. “And since you won’t start, I figured I would.”
She pulls you in for a kiss, and everything you thought of—the denials, the doubt—fully goes out the window when you can finally have a taste of her lips once again. And she’s a force of nature, infecting your mind and body with an overwhelming sense of Sooin; how she smells, her grinding on your cock, her lips exploring yours for the first time.
“You taste like milk,” she says, a quiet chuckle coming out of her as your hands find her waist. She keeps her pace tortuously slow, your cock twitching and aching and wanting more.
“I did just have cereal.” Stating the obvious, obviously. “What else did you think I’d taste like?”
“I don’t know–” she teases, arms coming down to undo the tie of your shorts. “But I’d be happy to find out. We have all week, remember?”
You raise your hips, helping her fish your cock out from your clothing. “Right,” you sigh out, her hand caressing your length, lightly gripping it and giving you a few exploratory pumps. “All week.”
Sooin smiles, pecking your lips once more. “There he is.” She straightens up, her hand finding a rhythm in her strokes, and your cock hardens at her touch. “Guess a woman’s touch makes you fold quick, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up, Sooin,” you laugh, a hand coming down to squeeze her thigh. “I can feel you dripping through your panties, you know.”
“Blame a girl for finally being able to fuck her roommie again, why doncha.” Her words make you the last time you two fooled around.
“I don’t remember that.” You do. Of course you do. It was a drunken affair on both your ends because of some party she was attending at her rich best friend’s house on the other side of town. You weren’t even supposed to be there, but someone apparently needed to pick her up. One thing led to another, and you’re waking up on her bed, tangled in her sheets.
“That’s a shame.” She knows you’re lying. You both acted like strangers for a better part of a month, and the only thing that got things back to normal was yet another party.
Sooin pulls her panties to the side, lining herself up with your dick. Circling her wet folds around your tip, getting you slick with her juices as she slowly plunges down on you. “Here’s a reminder then.”
A deep moan rumbles out of you, head tilting back as her heat begins to wrap around your length. “Jesus, Sooin–” Your grip on her hips grow firmer, your eyes watching her face morph into an expression of such pleasure that the only thing you can do is stare and admire every small microexpression she makes.
“God, I’m going to enjoy this,” Sooin sighs, eyes fluttering shut for a moment when she nearly bottoms out on your shaft, her walls hugging you so fucking tightly. “Sit back and enjoy, yeah?”
She takes a minute to get used to you filling her, let you stretch her out and leave you simmering in her heat. Doing these little rolls of her hips that gets you twitching inside of her, moans coming out of the both of you. “Missed this filling me up so fucking well–”
“So you did just want to get laid,” you tease, taking your hands off her momentarily to push them underneath her shirt, wanting to feel her skin instead of fabric. “Could’ve just asked.”
A scoff escapes her, her fingers giving your scalp a quick tug. “Excuse me for not wanting to get in between you and that Chaewon chick–”
“Sooin, nothing happened.” Her questioning look makes you repeat your words.
“Uh huh.” She presses her weight down on you, bottoming out and taking your entire length. You let out a groan, eyes closing at the sheer pressure of her cunt taking you. Another tug of your hair gets you quickly opening them back up. “And I didn’t watch you mope around the day after.”
“What? No–” You shake your head, confused to where the hell she was trying to take this conversation. You would think she would prefer that you focus on her considering your balls deep in her cunt, and yet Sooin continues to surprise you. “She was just a fling, okay? Nothing else happened.”
And she was. You met her at a party, you two had sex, you went your separate ways. You moping around the day after was because even after getting laid, it didn’t change the fact that you flunked your exam before it. It’s a miracle you managed to tell her all of that while her pussy pulses around you, her grinding on your cock making you stutter your words.
Fingers tap on your neck, her gaze narrowing at your explanation. “So you don’t have feelings for her?” She slowly begins to bounce on your lap, and the insanity of what’s happening right now is starting to get to you. Interrogated about some girl while getting fucked by your—well, an important girl is something to cross off the list.
“Sooin, we fucked. That’s it.” You squeeze her hips, biting your lip at the sensation of Sooin clenching around you. “Can we pl–please go back to focusing on this?”
She doesn’t answer you. At least, not verbally. Her rhythm goes faster, harder, fucking herself on you like she’s chasing her own high. Her weight presses down on you, pulling herself close to your chest, her breath hot in your ear as her moans consume your senses.
“You fucking focus,” she mutters, her hold on you tightening, ass dropping down on your lap. She’s insatiable, so much more different than the last time. Frantic in how she rides that you can barely hold on with your life. “Just–sit still, stay hard, and make me cum you son of a–”
It’s sending you to the edge fast, barely being able to hang on. Even when you’re trying to hold off and fight back against what your body is demanding you to do. Sooin's increasingly erratic movements; bouncing and grinding and fucking herself on your cock until all you can think of is filling her with your load.
“Don’t think I can, Swim.” It comes out shaky from you, amidst all Sooin’s moans and skin against skin hitting against each other. Arms wrap around her waist, pulling her in and saying her name. Sooin, Sooin, Sooin please—
“Go ahead.” Her words are a shot to the brain, an unraveling of your entire nervous system and turning a singular thought into reality.
“Cum inside me.”
It’s stupid how quickly you crumble at those words. Your mouth finds her neck, biting down gently as your cock unloads inside her. Each spurt comes with a content moan from Sooin, singing straight into your ears. Euphoria consumes your senses, nipping and marking her neck as your eyes threaten to roll back from the pleasure.
“That’s it,” she coos, her grip vice-like around you, each throb of your cock filling her cunt full of your load. She puts her entire weight on you, unable to leave her warm embrace as you try to fuck your load deeper into her. “Fucking needed this–”
Sooin bites her lip, savoring the entire thing, basking in the afterglow of it all. The grin on her face tells you exactly how much she’s enjoyed it, and you can only imagine what else you’ll be looking at for the rest of the week.
“So,” she starts, lips finding your cheek to leave a gentle little peck. “Coffee?”
You chuckle, licking the spot where you’ve left a red mark on her neck. “Sure, Sooin.” Watch her slowly pull away, your cock leaving her walls and letting the cum that you’ve dumped inside her to spill down to the floor.
Neither of you do anything to clean it up right now, considering—
“Coffee sounds great.”
—
You don’t see Sooin until the late afternoon, coming back to your apartment after a day of finally doing her turn to do the groceries. You would’ve tagged along if not for the fact that you had to do the laundry this week around, and pair it up with helping her stock the cupboard full of what she bought and you’re sinking down on the couch.
“I don’t think we needed that much for this week,” you complain, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Buying almost double of what you two normally get makes you wonder where the hell she got enough cash to buy that, but her reply gets you to scoff in disbelief.
“Supermarket had a sale,” she grunts, sliding down next to you, head on your lap as a makeshift pillow. “Thought it’d be smart to buy as much as I can.”
“Your wallet agree with that?”
“Nope.” She pops the syllable, taking out her phone, tapping away at the screen. “Not like my wallet can’t handle it. At least we won’t have to worry about things here for a while.”
A while is an understatement. She bought enough for you both to stop buying any essentials for a month. And while you know she can afford much more than that, you had to convince her that you're not going to freeload off her in your own place.
Because for all the oddest reasons, the fact that she has fuck you money to spend yet only splurges it on things she likes is such an odd combination. Exactly how she ended up taking your guest room instead of getting her own place.
You remember her words clear as day. Too expensive and high maintenance. Which is, again, a weird thing to say when she can pay people to handle it for her, but she says it's for her own good more than anything. Gotta learn to be independent some day, might as well be now, she said.
“Look at you, being a responsible adult,” you tease, finger reaching down to poke her cheek. She immediately swats it away with a roll of her eyes.
“Fuck off,” she chuckles, eyes never straying from her phone. “We’ve been needing to stock up on all that stuff anyway.”
“I don’t think we needed that much instant ramen though.” Your gaze flicks to the stack of it by the counter. “Seriously, that might be a little too much.”
“To you, maybe,” she says, turning her phone horizontally. “I’ll be eating some too, you know.”
“You mean all of it?” The light jam of her elbow to your ribs gets you laughing.
The conversation ends there, and the only thing left to fill the empty silence are the shooting that comes from her phone and whatever it is that you’ve decided to watch on the TV. It stays like that for a while, and your boredom continues to grow at each passing second, each passing commercial, each movement of Sooin’s head on your lap—
The thought of asking her to, you don’t know, do something to her sounds inane. Breakfast’s events come flooding your memories, and as much as you want to do the same thing to her, you want to test the waters first.
Your arm comes to rest at her stomach, playing with the hem of her top. It gets her to flinch in surprise, gaze flickering up to you.
“What are you doing?” There’s a knowing glint in her eyes; one that tells you that an answer doesn’t need to be told, when she already has an idea of what you want. An eyebrow raises when you slowly drag your fingers upward.
“Nothing,” you say, resting your palm on one of her breasts, covered in layers of fabric. Your eyes are still watching the television—some old cartoon about a cat and mouse—while your fingers play around her chest. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Sooin lets out a scoff, biting her lip to stop the grin on her face as she comes back to her phone. “Do what you want.”
Well, alright then.
Your hands wander; kneading her breasts with light squeezes, running your hands through the curves of her body. They eventually find themselves pushing under her top, wanting to feel the smooth expanse of her tummy up to her tits.
She doesn’t make a single complaint throughout, allowing all this to happen. When you run up and down her body, all she does is let out these hums. When your fingers pull her bra down so that you can play around with her nipples, her legs squirm and push together.
And when you ask if you can use her mouth, she hits you back with another question:
“Are you asking or telling?”
A quick tug of your drawstrings, a little repositioning of Sooin’s head as you take your cock out, already at half mast, and pointing it to her mouth, tongue out and waiting. “I’ll be quick,” you say, a laughable lie as you know you’re going to be taking your sweet time with her.
She does fuck all about it, keeping on with her game as your hand rests on her hair as you thrust languidly into her wet mouth. Your shaft growing to full length the longer you stay inside her throat, and she shifts to get into a more comfortable position. As comfortable as she can get, having a cock in her mouth while her hands are busy playing.
Her cheek bulges, her throat takes you deep, her tongue flattens under your length. Yet her eyes never stray from her phone, hearing the sounds of combos being hit and encouraging cheers from her phone. She mutters words you barely understand, and as much as you want to pull out and ask, she hasn't told you to stop.
That only gets you to push it further, a firmer grasp on her head to drive your hips forward. Spit begins to accumulate around her mouth, dripping down to coat you; a sound akin to a whine vibrates around your shaft as her focus on the game breaks.
Her head fights back against your pushes for a moment, your grip relaxing to let her talk. “Let me finish this match first,” she mutters before her lips meet your tip, wrapping around you and keeping you in her mouth.
It’s absurd, how warm her mouth is. Managing to get you squirming without moving an inch, only the sliding of her tongue up and down the tip of your cock. Tongue swirling and cheeks hollowing gets your thighs flexing from the sheer pressure that she’s inflicting upon you. Your fingers come back resting on her hair, gripping her dark locks, wanting—needing to take back control.
So you do. Hands start to push and pull her around your cock, and she’s spluttering; fingers stumbling around her phone, causing it to fall down to the couch. They find your thighs, steadying herself as she manages to fall down to her knees, using her mouth for the sinful pleasure that she offers. Even with the spittle that starts to fall down her chin, the glare that her eyes are piercing you with, and the slight whine she makes as you so rudely interrupt her game, she makes no movement to stop you.
Hell, it feels like she’s leaning into it. Decency thrown out the window as more drool comes to coat your cock, bobbing her head faster than the pace you’ve set. The annoyance in her eyes fading away for this hunger that you’ve caused.
And you relish in it. Your hips thrust up just as her head comes down, your moans and praises of her lips meshing with the dirty noises that she creates, pushing you further down to your end.
“Sooin–” Your head leans back, hissing in a breath when you make her take you deep, throat convulsing around you. The sheer suction makes you weak, your thighs shaking, the grip on her head loosening. Sooin takes it as a chance to pull away, and you’re already missing the warmth of her lips around you.
“Don’t tell me when,” she says, stroking you with both hands and all that spit on your length makes it feel all so much better than it should. “Just cum in my mouth whenever, alright?”
Sooin takes you back in, and it’s taking everything in your power not to cum right then and there. Her enthusiasm is starting to take control, shining in her eyes and in her actions when her pace grows feral. The squelching and sucking grows insistent, getting your legs to lock up and grow rigid around her frame.
Your hands can’t stop themselves from taking hold of her hair, your breath ragged as you thrust into her mouth. Wanting some semblance of dictating when you inevitably let your load flood her, you take the reins back from her and start to pound away at her tight, wet throat.
Stopping has left your mind; the only thing that needs to be done is feed her your cum, using her mouth as she wants you to—as much as you can for the whole thing. And that single realization gets you to emptying your seed straight into the back of Sooin’s throat.
Each single pump of your hips elicits a moan from you, her hums at every pulse of your cock vibrating around your length. She takes every shot of your cum without complaint, milking you for everything you’re worth. Swallowing it all, even when some manage to spill over, leaking down her lips as the remains of your load begin to tide over.
Sooin makes a slow journey upward, releasing you with a wet pop. “Someone was pent up,” she teases, swiping what she couldn’t swallow off her chin and thumbing it into her waiting mouth. “You made me lose my game, by the way.”
“Yeah, well,” you breathe out, watching her run her tongue across your length, cleaning up any spit and seed that’s coating your length. “Pretty sure you can win the rank back easy.”
Her eyes roll, shaking her head at you with a smile. “Sure, I can.” She taps your cock against her swollen lips, giving the head a chaste kiss. “Can I go back to playing, or do you still need me here?”
“You and your games, Sooin.” Nodding at her with a chuckle, she gives you a few taps on your thigh before she rises up from the floor. Walking away from you for the moment to wash her hands, she comes right back to lay her head on your lap, phone in her hand and continuing her game.
As if she’s ready for you to do the same thing all over again.
The next two games she played resulted in her getting a day ban from going idle too much on ranked games. You tell yourself it wasn’t your fault that it happened.
Not at all.
—
The kiddies gloves come off after that, and the both of you decided to take full advantage of the situation you’ve ended up in. Your reluctance to follow through with this whole free use bet slash arrangement’s faded, and now every waking hour or so is spent with your cock inside of Sooin in some way, shape, or form.
You were eating dinner when Sooin got on her knees to blow you under the table, making sustenance a forgotten necessity in favor of the carnal pleasures of bending her over the table and railing a load into cunt instead.
She’d be in the shower sometime after, and she’s trying to ignore the fact that you jumped in with her, wedging your cock in between her thighs. Lathering her hair up with shampoo as you thrust between the heavenly flesh that she’s blessed with. Painting the shower wall with your cum just as she starts to soap herself up, and you join her in taking a shower after.
Can’t say you two didn’t take an hour in there, considering she wanted a round getting pounded. You’re surprised that you still had hot water by the end of it.
Her bed’s been shared by the both of you by the time you two were heading to bed, Sooin making you remember just how good of a lay she was by wringing a load out of you, the view of her ass rippling as she rides you making her achieve her goal embarrassingly quickly.
And you get her back by waking her up that morning with gentle kisses planted across her neck, your hands roaming around her body and ending up between her legs, two fingers knuckle deep inside her. Getting the sheets wet and ruined by the end of it, and you two end up complaining about who’s gonna do the laundry for it (you will).
The second day was infinitely worse than the first one, when breakfast became brunch due to Sooin wanting you on your knees, eating her out as an alternative to the morning coffee you two normally make. It ends up with the two of you swapping places, using her throat and coating her face with your cum at the end of it.
In reality, it ended when she was fucking herself on your cock right next to where your coffee was brewing, back arched and bucking back against you. It left the both of you tired, and how brunch was the only thing that made the both of you pause.
Absolute fucking degenerates, and it’s only been day two out of seven.
Which was why you invited Sooin out to pay her back for everything she bought by taking her to the mall and—
“Anything I want?” She doesn’t believe you when those words come out of her mouth. Not with how ‘frugal’ you are, or however she puts it when all you actually do is build up your savings.
Excuse you for being a responsible adult.
“Within reason,” you correct, hands on your hips, stern face and all. “I’m not as rich as you are, Miss Bottega Veneta.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waves you off, already turning around and walking away from you. “Come on, I know just the place where I can mooch off you.”
“Please don’t tell me it actually is Bottega Veneta.” You can hear your bank account crying out in protest inside your wallet. Quickly catching up to her, you two walk to the elevator. “I literally can’t afford that type of thing.”
“Relax,” Sooin laughs, pressing the up button. Your eyes glance up to the top, where the arrow lights up. “We can check out the department store first. I can probably get something in your budget, you stingy fuck.”
The elevator dings open, conveniently empty. “I’m not stingy,” you refute, entering the elevator first, finger pressing the fourth floor while Sooin follows suit, leaning back against the wall. “I’m trying to budget things. You know, like any adult would?”
“Oh come on–” She’s rolling her eyes at you with a grin. “We’re in college. We can afford to not be adults sometimes.”
“You can,” you argue, hands in your pockets, turning to face her. “I’m on a scholarship and you’re rich enough to probably buy this mall.”
“Let’s not go that far.” Her tone makes you think otherwise, because for all you know she actually could right this second. Another ding rings out, and the elevator doors swing open to your floor. “Come on–” She’s hooking her arm around yours. “Let’s go, Mister Sugar Daddy.”
“What the fuck did you just call me–”
The next hour consisted of you following Sooin around, browsing through the numerous bits and bobbles, clothes and accessories, doodads and thingy-ma-jigs that get her attention. Started off with checking out a new set of tableware (which was maybe needed), to a new TV (definitely not needed), whatever new phone just released (“Sooin, you just bought a new one.”).
You end up by the mattresses, where Sooin jokingly said about buying a king size so that you two can actually fit in the bed and then some. As to which you replied by asking her how the fuck you’ll fit the damn bed into either of your rooms.
And when you start walking towards the clothing section, the oddest combination of dread and excitement settle in your body. Not because you were scared of what Sooin would choose to try out (seeing her in a bikini would be a dream come true for you) but of what she would try to pull with you knowing the bet.
Because you just know she’s going to pull some shit that might get the both of you kicked out the store and the mall.
So when she picks out a few clothes and heads to the fitting room to try them out, it’s no surprise when you get pulled into one of the stalls when no one was watching. You almost let out a yelp but her hand covering your mouth muffles the noise.
Sooin shushes you, a finger on her lips, waiting for you to show some semblance of relaxing before pulling away to close the door behind her. Hanging up the clothes on the wall rack, you were about to ask her the most obvious question on the planet, yet she speaks before you do.
“You know why I pulled you in here,” she states, pulling her jacket off and adding it to the rest of the clothes that she might not ever try out.
“In public?” Because of course you have to ask the second most obvious question.
“We have a room that can be locked and it’s big enough for two,” she answers, pushing you down to the small little chair tucked away in the corner. “Private enough for me.” She’s on her knees, fingers making quick work of your belt buckle and your zipper. One quick tug and she has your cock in her hands, at half mast and lazily stroking you with a sensual smile and a raise of her brow. “Relax, I picked the furthest room for a reason.”
“Couldn’t wait for us to get home before we do this?” It’s not a complaint so much as it is an observation. Your hands are already moving to weave through her locks when she takes you in her mouth, cock slowly growing harder in her mouth.
“We can do it quick,” she mutters, almost inaudible when her lips stay attached to you. “‘Sides, ever wanted to see ourselves fuck?”
Your eyes glance towards the wall, glass ordaining and reflecting you both; Sooin blowing you zealously, that smoky look she gives you through the mirror making you throb in her mouth. Scoffing and shaking your head, a grin begins forming in your features. “Fuck it.” You nod to the wall. “Up against the mirror, Swim.”
Sooin grins, standing up and turning around to face the mirror. Her hands rest on the wall, chest flush against it as she pushes her ass back against you, the shorts she has on pulled down to her ankles along with her underwear to show that beautiful, beautiful fit ass of hers that are paired with her toned legs that you’re wishing would be wrapped around your head again.
Oh, well. Much important matters at hand right now, such as rubbing your tip against her dripping folds. It gets her wiggling her ass back at you, Sooin’s heated gaze through the mirror telling you to hurry the fuck up and dick her down.
You’re pushing in, warm, wet heat enveloping your every inch and a soft moan escaping her lips. Letting yourself be taken away into the tight vice-lip grip she has on you until you bottom out against her the plush cushion of her ass.
Allowing yourself to take your time with her, even for just a small moment, you pull back, taking inch by inch of your shaft out of her until the very last possible moment where you could ram back in, and gasps and grunts begin filling the small space.
She grows louder first, the dirty curses and quiet gasps that can no longer be contained make you thrust faster, pound her harder until the sounds of your skin hitting hers begin to join. And even with the danger of getting caught, her eyes continue to plead with you.
More.
Your grip on her waist tightens, and you’re hammering into her without a care in the world. The sounds no longer matter to you, nor do the dangers of someone unlocking that door and finding you both.
The only thing that’s important to you is to have Sooin leaving this room satisfied and possibly unable to walk, and you’re damn well going to make sure that happens.
You reach out, a palm moving to cover her mouth as your strokes become faster, angling yourself higher to deep that spot that gets Sooin to fall apart in your arms. And you feel the change happen; her moans become loud whines, arm gripping up to yours in an attempt to hold herself together.
Yet you don’t want that. What you want is for her to become undone and flooding your cock with her juices, so you lean in close. Hot breath tickling her ear as you whisper those wants of yours and making them into reality.
She’s quivering in your grip, her eyes shutting tight as your words start to dirty her already filthy mind. “Fuck–” Her voice comes out muffled in your palm as you continue to spout out for her to cum on your cock, to make her wet the floor with how much she’d be squirting all over you.
It does a number on you too, when you feel her walls clench around you so fucking tight that every thrust is a battle of your willpower. She spurs you on, driving you forward into this animalistic urge to rut into her cunt until you spill your cum inside her.
And when her eyes snap open, you can see the need clouding them. The shrill scream that comes out of her is barely contained by your hand covering them, and she’s trembling in your arms, tightening up around your cock that the next thrust in sends you straight spiralling into your orgasm.
Each messy thrust you make spills more of your load inside her, her own dripping down her leg as you trap her between yourself and the wall. You’re leaving pecks on her neck as you fuck your cum inside her, taking your palm away from her mouth, her satisfied sighs music to your ears.
“That was–” You take a deep breath, inhaling her scent; the post-sex smell of her skin that’s bundled with the powdery notes of her perfume calming you down. “Fuck.”
“That’s what we did, yeah.” Her hand comes up to scratch the back of your head, massaging your scalp. “Still think that bet was a mistake?”
“I think we’re a little past that, Swim.” You gently remove yourself from her, and white starts to drip down her legs. “What you might want to ask yourself is if you still want to try those clothes.”
“Nah.” She pushes herself off the wall, fingers coming down to take a dollop of your cum. “Did you have to cum so much?” Even with her complaint, she’s taking it into her mouth for a taste. “Now my panties are gonna be ruined.”
You’re tucking yourself back into your trousers back up, shrugging at her. “Wonder who I have to blame for that,” you say, and that incites a chuckle out of Sooin.
“Right, my bad for wanting a quickie,” she replies, pulling her underwear and shorts back up. “I’ll be sure to tell you to cum down my throat next time so we don’t mess up more of my clothes.”
She gently shoves you away, shooing you off the stall first with a playful smirk. “Head back to the mattresses, I know what I want to get.”
“Sooin, we don’t have space for a bed.”
“Yeah, we do. We’ll just throw away our old ones.”
—
Depending on how you look at it, things either got better or worse the longer the week went on.
Nothing productive has happened inside your apartment the moment you two managed to fit a King size bed into your room, and if there was, it wasn’t for long once one of you got hold of the other.
Getting woken up every morning by her wet mouth enveloping your flaccid length, throating you until you blow a load straight down her stomach or being awake enough to pull her up and get her riding you in bed has become a daily occurrence.
Your breakfasts, lunches, and dinners all end up a messy affair, with her getting you to eat her out or you getting her on her knees after eating. Which oftentimes lead to someone getting bent over or fucked on the chair.
And don’t even get started on when it happens before you two eat. That only gets you even hungrier for food, and even more starved to continue fucking after.
The risque and riskier kinks start happening, when she gets you to plow her right in front of the apartment window, not a care in the world whether anyone sees or not. And you get right back when you get her to suck you off in the apartment stairwell after grabbing dinner outside for once.
“You know that there’s a camera watching us, right?” she asks, not a hint of concern in her face as she follows you to the letter, knees hitting the floor and hands playing with the button of your pants.
“The same camera that we’ve been telling the landlord’s broken?” Your hands pull her hair into a makeshift ponytail. “Yeah, I know.” And you’re fucking her face until you paint her pretty face in streaks of white.
Sooin’s uncaring of it in the end, your cum dripping down her face as you walk back up the steps, onto your floor and into your apartment. The sight has you immensely fucked in the head, and that gets her fucked somewhere in the apartment again.
You two just do it anywhere, everywhere. Not a single place in your apartment is unsullied, a single area in your apartment building untouched. The rooftop, the parking lot, the fucking lobby—you’re not even sure how you managed to get away with that without getting caught.
You’re sure Sooin finds ways to, of course.
The pair of you keep on going and going and going, the days blurring by full of the filthiest sex you’ve ever had in your entire life. Your dick has never felt more thankful while simultaneously begging you to take a fucking break because really, when are you not fucking Sooin nowadays?
It’s second nature at this point. Wake up, fuck, eat, fuck, take a nap, fuck, do some chores, fuck, sleep—it’s a whole process that runs on either one of you telling the other how they want to get laid, where she wants your load, why you’re asking her how foldable she is or the like.
There aren't even any sort of verbal cues anymore. Simply walk up to the other and do what sort of debauchery in mind, finish and go back to whatever it was you were doing.
That last part might need some work, considering neither of you can successfully do that.
Jerk off to her face while she’s playing another game on her phone and watch the cum splatter all over her cheek, stain her hair, have it drip down her phone and all she’ll get angry about is the last bit because she lost her game, that stress released by having her bouncing on top of you until she cums.
Sooin on the phone with one of her friends (you can’t be sure whether it’s Anna or Gawon) when she spots you walking out of your room one morning, gesturing for you to get between her legs and eat her out. You’re amazed at how composed she sounded all throughout, especially when you turn her legs into jelly at the end and the most she’s ever let out was a scream that she disguised by saying that there was a mosquito in the room.
Fucking her in an alleyway on the way home from having lunch at the local ramen shop, the sun in the air adding the high of getting caught up a notch. Getting her on her knees to swallow your load right before you two would’ve gotten caught by some random passerby.
Her getting back at you with the magical treat of her mouth, sucking you off while you drove home. Almost ended in a disaster if you hadn't pulled over in time, another batch of your cum sent straight into her gullet.
Can't go an hour go by without one of you getting handsy, and it's like an average day for you now. Part of your daily life, constantly having sex with her, being readily available to fuck and get fucked.
And to think you were against this whole thing at the start.
So when the last day comes by and you’ve fucked another load into her while she did the dishes, you’re left asking:
“What happens when we wake up tomorrow?”
Sooin pauses, blinks, shrugs. “Dunno,” she answers all casual-like. “What do you want to happen?”
It’s unfair how she leaves the ball in your court. Like she wants to hear your answer before she commits to hers, pretending to not care when she doesn’t bother to even look at you, her attention on the television playing some movie.
“Well,” you ponder, pursing your lips in thought. “We’re either gonna keep fucking or we go back to not fucking.”
“That’d be a shame.” She points the remote to the TV.
Your head turns toward her. “What would?”
“Not fucking.” The channel swaps. “We should keep it going.”
“What?” It’s the fact that she looks so unbothered that’s making you question how serious she is. You sit up straighter, entire chest tilting toward her now. “You’re serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her knuckles rest on the side of her head. “We’d probably need to stop with the random quickies when the semester starts, and it’s not like we can’t go back to not fucking with the amount of sex we’ve had the entire week.”
Your jaw hangs low, unsure of what to say. Thanks Sooin, that’s such a good idea. Maybe we should also put a label on us too? Sounds like such an insane thing to pull, and you’ve grown quiet to the point that Sooin takes a glance at you.
“You don’t gotta say anything.” She nudges you with her elbow. “It’s a good thing we got going. Long as you’re good, I’m good.”
“And that makes us, what–” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies?”
She laughs. Says sure, it’s not like she’ll be looking for anyone else when she’s got you. Long as you don’t go looking for no Chaewon’s or Chaeyoung’s or whatever name they got she’ll be a-okay.
And you’re scoffing, smiling and agreeing to the whole thing with a kiss to her cheek; getting her to roll her eyes at you and give you another, harder nudge with her elbow.
“Okay, man,” she chuckles. “The kiss was a bit much.”
“Oh come on–” you let out a laugh. “You can take my cum on your face but you draw the line with a kiss on the cheek?”
“Well, when you put it like that–” Sooin lands her gaze on you, smile playing on her lips, mischief in her eyes. “It does sound a little stupid, doesn’t it?”
She closes the distance between you, pressing her lips against yours for a quick kiss. “Happy?”
“Yeah, Swim.” You tap your finger between your lips. “Maybe one more for good measure?”
A shove. “Don’t push it, asshole.” A beat passes. Her hands fumble around your sweatpants.
“We can do one more round for the road.”
—
When the morn comes around after a late night of getting Sooin to ruin the bedsheets again (you’ve discovered that she’s a squirter when you pound her ass up, face down), you wake up to a Sooin-less bed, and that alone gets you up and about. Spot her eating a sandwich with some strawberry jam filling, fighting to stay awake as she stares at her laptop.
Greet her a good morning and sit down next to her on the couch. “What’s got you up so early?”
“Gotta get my schedule sorted out,” she mumbles, taking another bite of her bread. “Why didn’t you tell me we already could?”
“I did.” You slide down the sofa, getting more comfortable. “Like two days ago.” You’re not about to tell her that you reminded her of it while she was getting fucked on top of the laundry machine, of course.
You know when your life is on the line.
She lets out a groan, complaining about her classes being so early, getting the shitty professors and the shitty schedule and all you can think about are her luscious thighs peeking underneath your shirt she has on.
Reaching out, fingers resting on the soft skin, caressing upwards to feel more; all to be stopped with a slap on the wrist.
“Not now, dude,” she says, her hand coming back to slide a finger across the touchpad. “I really want a decent schedule for next semester.”
You blink. Your brain catching up to what you’re body is doing and you remember:
Right. Bet’s over, no more fucking for the fun of it and all the shenanigans that it entails (shame, you’ll miss it immensely). It’ll be a smooth transition (it won’t, you’re already suffering withdrawals not being balls deep inside her right now) from not having sex all the time.)
“Alright, alright,” you relent, taking a glance at the kitchen counter. “Want some coffee?”
“Please,” she replies, making you groggily stand up to make two cups. She stops you with a glance and your name, making you turn back to her.
“Fuck me when I’m done with this?”
You chuckle, roll your eyes and wave a hand in the air.
A/N: A quick fic because Anna Tanaka has me in a chokehold.
Tags: smut
Trigger Warning: Alcohol
Anna Tanaka x Male Reader
You press your back against the double hinged doors, pushing through whilst carrying a heavy crate of beer. You grunt in effort as you lift the crate onto the counter, releasing a sigh of relief as you step back, elbows perchiing on the sink behind.
“Looks like it won’t be as busy today, sunbae.”
You turn your head, and watch as she saunters her way to the crate with an exaggerated sway in her hips. She crouches down in front of you, her shirt riding up and exposing the small of her back. Your eyes drop before you can stop them, admiring the dimple. You look back up only when her head turns to you.
“Pass me the beers.”
You push off the sink, and walk to the crate. You pull out one beer, and place it in her open hand. Again and again. The movement is almost mechanical. Your eyes stay trained on her—the soft curve of her chest from above, and her thighs, all tense from crouching. You breathe sharply through your nose, your grip on the neck of a beer bottle a bit too tight. You want to put your mouth there. Between her legs. You don’t even try to take it back.
After the last bottle, she rises to her feet so slow it’s almost performative. You know you’re staring, but you can’t wrench your eyes away. She stands up tall next to you, fluttering her eyelashes, a small smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
Anna Tanaka is a shameless flirt. Has been since she first stepped foot into this small, decrepit place your boss calls a bar. Throughout orientation, her eyes stayed on you. Only you. And she made no effort to hide it, either. She even personally asked for you to train her.
Not that you’d object. One look at her and you’d have said yes to anything.
Both of you stare out to the rest of the place, watching the few patrons already here. Jackasses in office suits, nursing a couple beers that will later evolve into buying tequila shots or whiskey bottles. A lone man at the other end of the bar. Looks like he’s been crying. Not your problem as long as he pays and doesn’t make a scene. There’s one person dancing to some shitty bar music you no longer care to remember the name of.
It’s a wonder you haven’t gone deaf yet with how terrible and loud it is.
“It’s rarely busy on a Wednesday night Tanaka. People who come into bars on a Wednesday are here for two reasons: one,” you lift your index finger. “They fucked up so bad at work, they have to drown their sorrows. And two,” you lift another finger. “Their home life is so shit, they’d rather be anywhere else.”
She looks over to you. “So what does that make us?”
You meet her eyes, holding her gaze far longer than necessary. “We’re the exception. We’re here to make money.” You flash her a toothy grin, one that she reciprocates.
You glance over her shoulder, and you see someone wave for service. You point with your eyes. She scoffs before making her way over, and you watch as she taps her fingers across the counter, the other hand coming up to her hair, shaking it loose.
You gulp unconsciously.
Her forearms press against the hard counter. She’s on her tiptoes, leaning closer to hear his order, and you can’t help yourself. Your eyes travel from her long, toned legs to her ass. Her skirt is so short that it rides up, revealing its curve and the panties underneath.
Black. Lacy.
You grip the counter harder than you intended, standing there for a second, jaw tight, cock already half-hard, reminding yourself that you’re here to work.
Once your breathing is under control, your eyes travel up and meet hers.
She’s smiling that sultry smile that tells you this was all on purpose. Her eyes travel lower to your tight jeans, biting her lower lip before turning her attention back to the customer.
It started with mindless flirting. She’d tell you that you look good, and you’d say that pigtails suit her, like you haven’t been thinking about them all shift or imagining wrapping them around your hands. And it evolved from there. Your hand lightly grazing against her lower back, her pressing up against you to light slaps on her ass and not so light gropes on your balls. You never complained.
A new customer pulls your attention to the edge of the bar.
“Behind.”
You try and squeeze past her except she arches her back and presses her ass against you and the sound that leaves you isn’t professional or controlled or anything close. You feel yourself strain against your jeans.
She doesn’t look back, but you see the way her thighs press together and you know she’s just as affected.
She later joins you in making a drink and she has the audacity to press up against you. Her chest presses against your arm as she reaches for a whiskey glass. You feel the stares from behind, the daggers thrown at you by men who thought they had a chance with her.
You breathe out slowly, head tipping back.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Tanaka—”
“And you’re a willing participant sunbae.” She’s right, but you’re not going to answer her. “Pass me the bottle.”
You grab it without looking, handing it over and ignoring the way her fingers linger on yours for a few seconds. You watch as she pours the content into a shaker, watch as her wrists snap back and forth, and you can’t help but imagine it’s your cock in her hands. And that thought has your pulse thrumming in your ears, and your throat dry.
She leaves your side, moving to serve the customer, and already you miss her scent.
The alarm on your phone rings out. 6PM. You finish serving your customer before you walk behind her, one hand on her waist, mouth grazing against her ear, your breath washing over her. If the customer she just served had anything to say, he didn’t, not when it’s clear she’s enjoying you behind her, her eyes slightly rolling back, a shaky breath escaping.
“6PM. Evening rush.” You gently blow against her ear, your hand tightening on her waist. “Want a shot?”
She turns her head slightly to look at you, eyes travelling down to your lips. For a moment, you see it, the composure slipping. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, her cheeks flushing. Her breath is warm against your mouth, and you push yourself further into her.
“Y—yeah.”
Your free hand reaches down, grabs two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila from under the counter. Your eyes stay on her as she turns her head, watching you pour two shots and making a mess of the counter. The hand on her waist travels up, slowly. Fingertips grazing her exposed midriff, between the valley of her breasts before planting themselves at the base her throat. She swallows hard, and you can’t help the smile on your face. You put the bottle down, take a shot glass, and hold it to her mouth.
“Open up.”
Her head tilts back, resting against your shoulder and you’re hit with her scent, surrounding you. Vanilla and sweat mixing together. Intoxicating and arousing. You harden at her feel and smell, your cock pressing firmly against her ass.
She can’t help the moan escaping her, quiet like a whisper. Only you and the person she just served could hear her.
You tip the shot into her mouth. Watch as her face grimaces at the taste and burn, her throat working it down to her stomach.
“Good girl.”
A drop of tequila lingers on her bottom lip, threatening to make its way down her chin. You place the shot glass down on the counter hard, moving your thumb to swipe at the offending drop.
She watches, eyes half-lidded, as you press your thumb against her lips. They open without resistance, sucking with fervour.
You groan in her ear, loud and obnoxious. If she sucks your thumb like this, you can’t imagine what she’d do with your cock.
A squeaking barstool interrupts your little performance. The customer adjusts himself, the drink already gone.
“Take this,” you push your shot glass of tequila towards him. “On the house.”
You turn to face her again, your lips coming down and pressing on her temple. Your voice is soft yet rough, your arousal seeping through despite your best efforts to cover it. “Let’s finish our shift early.”
She nods enthusiastically. Whines when you step away just as more customers enter the bar.
The next couple hours were hectic.
You go through through the motions. Taking orders, mixing drinks, and the occasional wave to the security guard to kick someone out. There are too many bodies. The room smells like sweat and a concoction of perfume that don’t mix well. You watch people move to the dance floor, grinding all over each other as if they won’t have regrets come tomorrow morning.
The bass from the speakers vibrate throughout the bar, the music muffling the orders from the patrons. The floor and counter is sticky from spilled drinks, and other liquids you don’t want to know about.
And through it all, Anna is the only one that makes working these shifts all worth it.
The two of you work in sync, moving around each other like it’s a practiced dance. Neither of you speak, already knowing what the other needs. Whenever you go high to reach something, she’d go below you, occasionally brushing your cock with her arm. She doesn’t look back at you as you shoot a glare in faux annoyance, stuck standing in that awkward position until you’ve calmed yourself down. 6 months of training, of teasing and being teased—it adds up.
A patron flags you down. “I don’t want you. I want her!”
Your expression turns cold. “I’m sorry sir, she’s busy with a customer right now. You can wait but it could take a while.” You turn to her, watching as she makes eyes to some nervous university student, chin propped up in one hand, the other placing featherlight touches against the back of his hand. You smirk despite yourself, watch as he goes red in the face, stuttering incoherently. She smiles, eyes turning into crescents as if she was genuinely interested. He pulls out his wallet, slaps more bills down onto the counter as a tip.
You chuckle, turning back to the man. “Or you could get a drink now and enjoy the rest of your night.”
He grumbles his order, turning around to look for someone more willing as you move off to make his drink.
It’s simple really. You deal with the sleazy, old men that come to leer at her, some of them don’t even bother removing their wedding rings. And she takes care of the young, and shy interns or students who don’t know what to say to someone as hot as her. You protect her from unwanted advances and she rakes in huge tips.
Simple. Effective.
Eventually, activity at the bar slows down. Besides the men eyeing her up, no one has come up for drinks in the last five minutes.
You lean against the wall, eyes darting from a group of girls making a nuisance of themselves on one of the tables to a man being overly aggressive with the DJ. The place is getting warmer, unbelievably so. Everything feels damp, your hands are clammy from doing nothing, and it feels like you’re breathing in sweat more than anything else.
“Sunbae…” You turn to Anna, pushing through the doors, walking up and joining you against the wall. “You were right. AC is down."
You suck air through your teeth. “Of course it is. What did the boss say?”
She leans against you, head resting on your shoulder. She takes one of your hands, intertwines her fingers through yours.
“Nothing much. Can’t do much about it now he said. Technician’s coming in tomorrow.”
She keeps talking. You don’t hear any of it though, eyes trained on the way her hand melds perfectly with yours, how your thumb instinctively rubs the back of her hand as if you’ve been in a long term relationship.
Your eyes travel up her arms, glistening with sweat, rivulets finding their way down before falling on to the floor. Her crop top sticks to her like a second skin, the top of her breasts shining against the strobe lights. You watch her face, and how matted her hair is, sticking to her forehead, and you think you want to see her like this again. But in bed.
“Seriously?”
You swallow thickly. “W—what?”
She turns, properly facing you now. “Tell me.” One leg moves between yours, a constant, pleasurable pressure on your cock that you can’t help but release a rough moan. “Tell me what you’re thinking about. It must be good if it has you like… this.”
You smirk devilishly. “Are you sure you can handle my fantasies?”
Your hand moves from your side, presses against her navel. Your thumb swipes against the smooth plane before you bring it to your mouth, tasting her.
It’s tart. And addictive all at the same time.
Anna’s eyes grow wide, pupils swallowing the colour of her eyes. Her breathing becomes shallow and the flush on her cheeks from the heat in the air, darkens further in lust.
You lean down until your mouth brushes against her ear. You start whispering just as your hand on her stomach inches its way down.
“I want you so bad. Ever since you first joined. Your constant teasing…” your hand dips underneath the hem of her skirt, “… made it so hard for me. How are you going to repay me?”
“I—I—” She doesn’t finish.
You press down against her pubic bone, and the sound that escapes her is a revelation. Far better than whatever sound your mind concocted. Her eyelids become heavy and her breathing erratic against your face. Her lips are parted, and you stare at them for the longest time, trying your best not to kiss her right there.
Your hand travels lower against her panties. Soaked through. You leave your hand there, rhythmically tapping against her core in time with the beat of the music, and you watch as her composure slowly falls away.
She’s pushing herself onto your hand, grinding against you in such a way that it’s not obvious to those on the other side of the bar. The movement is light and miniscule, bouncing on her tiptoes for more friction.
You laugh in her ear, mocking. “Is that enough?”
Her eyes flutter shut, head falling and resting on your shoulder. Both her hands have a hold on your arm, keeping your hand right where it is.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t affected by all this. The top of her hair right under your nose, the smell of her shampoo filling your lungs. Her chest touches yours, her erratic breathing pushing her tits into you. The soft mounds a sharp contrast to the stiff peaks of her nipples poking you. What’s affecting you the most though is the wetness coating your hand. It’s soaking through the lace and it’s sticky and the fact you’re the root cause feeds your ego.
“Hey, you two.” Her eyes snap open, body frozen against yours. You both turn towards the voice. Your co-workers come through the door, one on their phone, the other struggling to carry a new crate of beer. “You’re on break. Take—”
You don’t hear the rest.
Anna forcefully pulls your hand out of her skirt, her grip tightening on your wrist so that it’s almost painful. She drags you through the doors, ignoring the puzzled look from the others. She doesn’t stop, not until you’re in the storage closet, shutting and locking the door behind you.
You’re already on your knees as she turns around. Your hands finding her waist, pushing her flat against the door.
You hear the sharp intake of breath, feel her thighs quiver as your breath washes over them. She looks down at you, her eyes screaming, begging you to follow through. You press a kiss on the inside of her thigh, and she’s snapped, her head hitting the door with a heavy thud.
You take things slow. A soft kiss against her knee, a lick up her thigh followed by quiet suction, and eventually, your teeth grazing against her core. You repeat this on both legs. 10. 20 times. You don’t know. But the painful strain in your pants and the way her fingers thread through your hair means she’s done waiting.
“Pl—please sunbae… please…”
Her sentences are incoherent, too lost in the feel of you to properly say what she wants. But you know. And you’re excited to give it to her.
Your hands travel down from her waist, and climbs up underneath her skirt. Her skin feels hot against yours, and you suddenly remember all the times you’ve touched her prior to this moment. Like when she used the shaker for the first time, her small hands encompassed by yours as you taught her your technique. Or when she brushed hair out of your eyes during that one shift, her fingers lingering against your temple longer than necessary.
You’re not stupid. Her signals were obvious. And so were yours. Both of you were bound to fall off the edge at some point.
Your only regret is that you’re going to fuck her in the dirty storage closet of your workplace.
Your hands find what they’re looking for. Her panties. You pull them off slowly, watching as it clings onto her lips before peeling off. You inhale her scent, breathing in deeply. It’s intoxicating and it makes your head dizzy. Your tongue darts out your mouth, one long lick and you can’t wait to taste more.
“Oh… fuck…”
You stay down, tasting every inch of her, focusing especially on her clit, sucking and flicking it with your tongue. Her arousal starts coating your mouth as you keep going despite the ache in your jaw and the lack of oxygen as she clenches her thighs around you.
Soon enough, her legs start to give out, back sliding down the door. Your hands quickly move, throwing one leg over your shoulder before making their way to her ass, holding her up as you continue eating her out.
Her moans are loud, unrestrained. She’s repeating the same word like a chant, slowly devolving into broken noise. They used to be measured, coming out every few seconds or so. Now it’s an endless stream of curses and your name spilling out of her mouth. If it weren’t for the loud music at the bar, you’d surely be caught by now.
You can’t see her, face covered by her skirt but all the signs are there. The way her walls flutter around your tongue as you push in. Her thighs shaking incessantly around your ears, and how her grinding has become more forceful. She’s lost all semblance of control, the dull ache from her grip in your hair turns into searing pain. It’s like she’s forgotten you’re a person; you’re a toy, your sole purpose being to help her reach her high.
“Fuck… fuck…”
You’ll gladly be a toy if it meant seeing her like this again.
You lap at her folds, tasting every inch of her like she’s some delicacy no one’s heard of. The pressure of your tongue is consistent, driving her crazy. It’s enough to keep her on edge, just not enough to push her over it. The hand in her mouth leaves, and the music from the bar is replaced by her.
You move up, tongue darting over her clit with precision, circling it with the tip. Or you press it flat, feel her shake at the constant stimulation. You replace your tongue with your mouth, sucking on her clit gently. Her whimpers grow louder, pitched higher, and she’s arching her back, pressing herself firmly into your mouth.
She goes quiet first, her body frozen. And then she breaks. Her whole body convulsing, thrashing hard enough that you’re losing your grip. Her mouth is open in a scream, and you feel her arousal coat your chin and stain your shirt.
Your mouth returns to her folds, lapping as much as you can while she whimpers, oversensitive. Her grip on your hair loosens, her arms like jelly as she tries to push you away.
You eventually relent, lowering her down to the floor, her leg falling limply from your shoulder. You remove yourself from under her skirt, and already you miss her smell and taste.
It’s the first time you’re actually seeing what you’ve done. She’s folded against the door, her exposed stomach glistening from exertion, chest heaving, an attempt to get as much oxygen into her lungs. Your eyes move to her mouth, lips parted, tongue partially out as she looks at you with glassy eyes. Her hair is matted against her forehead and her cheeks are flushed a deep crimson.
You crawl over her, hand moving behind her neck before you kiss her. It’s messy and languid, her tongue gently caressing yours. She moans against your mouth, tasting herself on you—sweet yet tangy—and she wants more, kissing you with so much fervour, it catches you off guard.
“I—I taste so good…”
Only now you realise this is your first kiss with her. And it’s in the back of the bar, with her cum all over your mouth. You don’t know what you expected your first kiss with her to be like but it certainly wasn’t this.
You move your lips down as she tilts her head up, sucking hard against her skin. She moans, hand coming up and cradling your head against her as you leave a bruise. You swipe your tongue along the column of her throat, all the way up to the shell of her ear as you use your free hand to free yourself from your jeans.
You’re harder than you’ve ever been before, the head is swollen, red, and dripping precum in the small space between you.
You slowly get to your feet, one hand on your cock as you shuffle closer, the jeans around your ankles making it awkward and annoying. And Anna’s staring at it the whole time, her glazed eyes focusing, tongue wetting her lips as she swallows thickly.
Her head is still pressed against the door as you press the head of your cock against her lips, coating them with your precum. She opens without resistance, letting you push all the way until you’re at the back of her throat. She gags around your length before closing her lips around it, tongue flicking underneath the head. You rest a hand against the door, the other pulling her hair into a ponytail as you start slowly thrusting into her mouth.
The haze of her orgasm has made her pliant, more willing to your advances. If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t consider fucking their face like you are with her. She just brings that side of you out.
“Fuck… your mouth feels so good.”
You hear a muffled mewl at your praise, and she starts working harder, timing her head bob with your thrusts. She pays extra attention to your tip, circling her tongue around it and flicking at the slit. You watch the way her lips cling to your cock as you pull out, at the spit escaping from the corners of mouth, dripping slowly down her chin.
Her arms that were limp at her side, suddenly gain strength, and slowly makes their way from her toned, sweaty midriff to her crop top. She pulls on the neckline, releasing her breasts from their confines just as the spit falls, landing in the valley between. She pushes her tits together, coating them in spit, twisting and pulling at her nipples. She moans, and the vibrations along your length almost sent you over the edge.
You grab her head with both hands, forcing yourself further down her throat. She’s gagging at the intrusion, cloudy eyes that were staring up at you now squeezed shut with tears threatening to fall. Your pace turns brutal, the slap of your balls against her chin drowns her gagging and the patrons outside. Occasionally, her head bangs against the door. She doesn’t complain though, hands moving to your ass, pushing you further in until her face is flush against your stomach. You keep her there, amazed at how well she’s doing. How she swallows around you, massaging you, and how, despite your attempts to pull away, she traps you there, refusing to let you leave despite her tears mixing with her mascara down her cheeks.
You breathe heavily through your nose, the grip on her head loosening, replaced by gentle pats on her head. “Good girl.”
She swallows around you, tries to push you in deeper. As if your praise was the encouragement she needed to deepthroat you further. But eventually, she had to let you leave.
Your cock is slick with a mixture of her saliva and your precum. You look over at her, chest heaving, coughing every few seconds. You don’t give her much rest though, already pushing back in, slower, gentler. You’re not chasing the high, only the feel of her wet mouth around you.
The suction, the vibration of her moans all becomes too much. Your hips stutter, the rhythm of your thrusts breaking.
You pull out immediately, catching your breath, your hand resting on the door, keeping you up.
“W—why did you stop?” She looks up at you with wide eyes, the flush on her cheeks spreading down her neck to the top of her breasts. She tries reaching for your cock again, mouth almost over it before you press two fingers against her forehead, stopping her in her tracks.
You don’t say anything. Instead, you reach your hand out to her, and you see how quick the decision was made in her eyes. She takes it without hesitation, allowing herself to be pulled up by you. Her hand is small in yours, dainty too. Like she doesn’t belong in a place like this, making drinks and relying on tips to get through the months.
Her feet are still unsteady as she stands, her hand reaching out and landing on your chest as she steadies herself. Your free hand instinctively wraps around her waist, pulling her flush to you.
You stare at her for the longest time, memorising her features. The tiny freckles along her nose, her deep, dark eyes that you could get lost in if you let yourself. She’s staring at you like she belongs to you, waiting for you to do something, and it tightens something in your chest. Your eyes start mapping her face and you see what you’ve done to her. The mascara streaks down her cheeks, the smudged lipstick across her parted lips. She’s still panting, her breath washing over you.
You let go of her hand, placing it where your heart is. You caress her cheeks, wiping at the mascara before doing the same at her lips. You watch in silent surprise at the way her mouth automatically opens wider as your thumb brushes against it before entering. Her lips, red and swollen, wraps around it, sucking on it gently. Her cheeks hollow as she stares into your eyes with a sultry look.
You’re breathless, eyes dilating at the scene, your cock hardening too, especially when her free hand reaches down, stroking you against her stomach, twisting at the head.
You close your eyes, your forehead finding hers as you let her continue sucking your thumb and stroking your cock. The sensation is wonderful. Her soft, lithe hand feels exquisite on you, the way she squeezes at the head or rapidly jerks you off at the base and it reminds you of when she uses the shaker.
“Anna…”
You slowly open your eyes, removing your thumb from her mouth. You place both your hands on her cheeks before closing the distance.
The kiss is different. It’s not an act of passion or an in the moment kiss. It’s one that highlights how much she’s liked you in the time you’ve known each other. All the emotions poured into it as if words aren’t enough to tell you everything.
You just hope you were able to show how much you care for her through yours.
You begin to move, stepping out of your jeans, hands still on her face, and your lips still attached as you drag her further into the closet until her back is pressed against the shelves. A groan escapes her as her back softly slams against it before she finds your mouth again. The spare pint glasses on the shelves start shaking as you push her further into it.
You both separate, foreheads touching as you both breath heavily in the space between. Both your eyes fall to your cock, twitching against her folds, leaking precum, and the pair of you moan at the sight. You hold it by the base, sliding it along her folds, and she pants against you, her head falling onto your shoulder, biting you gently to muffle the sounds spilling from her mouth.
“S—sunbae…”
You don’t wait any longer. You continue rubbing yourself on her as your other hand finds the back of one of her thighs. You lift it high. Until her foot is beside your head, and her leg is sandwiched between your bodies.
“F—fuck…”
You push inside, groaning at the overwhelming heat and tightness. Her orgasm has left her wet and dripping, making it easier to slide in further. Anna exhales shakily against your mouth, her breathing uneven. Her hands find your shoulders, nails digging deeper the further in you go. When you finally bottom out, your pelvis pressed flush against hers, do you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and you watch as her eyes flutter close, head falling backwards, knocking a few tumblers down.
You stay like this, enjoying the feel around you, the way her walls flutter along your length. You look down at where you join, and her name comes out your mouth subconsciously.
“Anna… look.”
And she does. Watches as you start grinding. She’s moaning softly, and her eyes start dilating. The hands on your shoulders move down to your chest, weakly pushing at you. “Move.”
You start slowly, pulling all the way until your tip before slamming all the way in. Your thrusts are heavy and hard. She takes your whole length with every stroke, and every time you bottom out, a whimper spills from her mouth, broken and desperate. Her back arches against the shelves, and the way she clenches around you as you pull out—like she’s trying to stop you from leaving—is overwhelming.
“Y—you’re so deep…”
Her eyes roll back at a particular hard thrust, jostling her against the shelves. More glasses tip over but you don’t care anymore. Your entire focus is on her.
You fuck her faster, harder. Her walls start fluttering around you with no rhythm, trying to milk you. She breathlessly repeats your name, eyes closing in pleasure, hands grabbing the uprights. The slap of skin on skin, and your panting, drowns everything out, even your ringing phone.
You see everything. The way she bites her lip in a futile attempt to stay quiet, her tits bouncing with every hard thrust. You look down, and you can see where you connect, how she has a tight grip on you, how she stretches around your girth. Every time you pull back, more of her arousal escapes, running down the one leg she’s standing on.
“Shit… don’t stop—please…”
The leg on your shoulder starts shaking violently. Your hand moves, gently grabbing the ankle, thumb soothingly caressing it while you plant soft kisses against her calf. The smooth skin feels wonderful against your lips, and you imagine how great it would be to have them tangled with yours in bed.
“M—more…”
Your other hand grabs her breast, kneading the flesh, her nipple poking through your fingers. You hold on as your pace increases, your hips snapping against hers. You’re breathing heavily, eyes travelling to her face where her eyes are closed, tears spilling.
Her walls clench around you erratically, her moans growing louder, becoming more high pitched, more desperate. “I—I’m gonna c—cum…” Your thumb and index fingers find her nipple. You pinch and pull and that’s all it takes.
Her orgasm hits her hard, back arching high, a scream tearing from her throat. It’s so loud, you had to cover her mouth. Her pussy strangles your cock, gushing around you, and you feel wetness on your thighs.
You keep your pace steady, ignoring her oversensitive gasps. Her hand claw at your shoulder, and she tries to remove her leg. You hug her leg, keeping it on your shoulder as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm, her tears flowing freely now.
Her flushed cheeks, parted mouth, and her glazed over eyes. She’s so distractingly beautiful like this that you temporarily lose your rhythm.
You feel your balls tighten, pleasure coiling at your spine, and the fact that she whispers your name—all broken, desperate, and rough—sends you over the edge.
You slam into her one final time, burying yourself deep. And you cum. The orgasm is blinding, your vision blurring as the pleasure rips through you and you empty yourself inside her, filling her with rope after rope of cum. She moans brokenly as she milks you for everything you have and more.
For a few seconds, nothing exists except the two of you. Your heavy breathing mingles in the space between you. Her slick skin presses against you, and you wish you could stay like this forever. But reality comes back—Anna’s chest moving up and down quickly, the mess between her legs, and your legs start shaking too.
You pull out slowly, and she whimpers at your loss. You slowly lower her leg onto the floor, catching her as she falls forward. You gently bring her down to a sitting position, back against the shelves as you take a seat opposite. Your cum starts leaking out of her, mixing with her arousal, staining the floor underneath.
She starts laughing breathlessly, her foot tapping against your thigh as she looks at you with what can only be described as adoration in her eyes. “My legs are numb.”
You chuckle under your breath. “Sorry. Guess I got a bit carried away.”
Her hand moves to her hair, ruffling it slightly before it makes its way between her legs, scooping up your cum with two fingers. You watch as she plays with it. “Don’t be. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” She puts her fingers in her mouth, cleaning them before pulling it out with a loud pop, showing you the evidence.
“You’re going to be the death of me Tanaka.”
She moves, crawling towards you with an exaggerated sway of her hips and a predatory grin on her lips. She settles on your lap, fingers gently grazing your cock back to full mast. She leans toward you, until her lips are inches from yours.
— in which you and ohyul are in a toxic situationship, both lacking the self discipline and ability to leave each other alone, maybe it’s the adrenaline or the club lighting that leads you both back to each other continuously. Whatever it is, he’s like an addictive poison that you need to fight out of your system
warnings: rough language used, inappropriate language, angst, toxicity, insults, name calling, situation-ship au, smau, features cortis, meovv, clubbing, bad self discipline, self sabotaging, sinful behaviour, do not encourage
