𐙚 “Captured” - Cho Seongil 𐙚
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Oral sex (giving and receiving), Voyeuristic, Exhibitionist, Praise kink, Light power play, Overstimulation
You’re sprawled across Seongil’s bed, watching him scroll on his phone, when your eyes catch on the old Polaroid camera tossed on his desk. The chunky, retro thing looks completely out of place next to his laptop and headphones.
“You actually use that?” you ask, sliding off the bed and picking it up.
Seongil glances over, smirking. “Sometimes. Why, you think I don’t know how to work a camera?”
“No, I just…” You hold it up, testing the weight. “Didn’t know you were into vintage stuff.”
“Cute, right?” He props his chin on his hand, watching as you fumble with the buttons. “You can try it if you want. Just don’t waste my film.”
You roll your eyes, but line up the camera anyway, aiming it straight at him. “Say cheese.”
The click and sudden flash make him flinch, and you laugh as the film slowly spits out. “Wow, model behavior,” you tease, waving the picture in the air.
“Let me see that—” he gets up quickly, reaching for it, but you dart back with a grin.
“No way. This one’s mine.”
“Unbelievable.” He grabs a pillow and swings it half-heartedly at you, but you’re already lifting the camera again, snapping another Polaroid of him mid-swing. The photo slides out and you laugh harder. “Okay, you’re done,” he warns, chasing you this time.
You’re cornered against the wall, clutching the camera like a trophy. “Say please.”
But instead of lunging for it, he suddenly lifts his phone and snaps a picture of you holding the camera, flashing you a wicked grin. “Now we’re even.”
You’re still laughing when he reaches out, tugging the Polaroid from your hand. “You know,” he says, holding it up to the light as the image starts to form, “you look cute like this.”
“Messy hair and all?” you scoff.
“Especially like that.” His voice drops, playful but low enough to make your skin prickle.
Something shifts then. The room feels warmer, quieter. He steps closer, the Polaroid dangling from his fingers. “Hold still.”
The flash blinds you for a second, and when your vision clears, he’s smirking again. “That one’s for me.”
You shake your head, suddenly flustered. “You’re terrible.”
“Terrible?” He sets the camera on his desk, leaning in until his nose brushes yours. “Or brilliant?”
The kiss comes easy, playful at first—his lips tasting faintly like soda, his hand brushing along your side as if testing how far you’ll let him go. By the time he pulls back, your breath is already uneven.
“You know what I’m thinking?” he asks, reaching for the camera again.
“That I like you better when I get to keep the picture.”
The second kiss is hotter. Hungrier. His free hand cups your jaw, angling you just right while the click of the camera captures you both mid-kiss. He chuckles against your lips. “Perfect.”
You barely have time to protest before he’s pressing you down onto the bed, straddling your hips. The camera rests easily in his hand, his eyes glittering with mischief. “Take off your top for me.”
Your heart stutters. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He snaps another photo—this time of your wide-eyed face. “Relax, baby. They’re just for me.”
The nickname, the grin, the promise all tumble together, and suddenly your fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt. His eyes don’t leave you as the fabric slides up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra.
“God,” he murmurs, snapping another photo before you can even cover yourself. “Look at you.”
The flash leaves you feeling exposed, but the heat in his eyes has you shivering with want.
Then he tugs you forward, settling you between his knees. “On your knees,” he says, softer this time, coaxing rather than commanding. The weight of his words makes your thighs press together.
When you sink down in front of him, he strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers. “That’s it. Stay there for me.”
His zipper sounds loud in the quiet room. You glance up, meeting his gaze just as he frees himself, already hard. The Polaroid flashes, and you realize he just captured the exact moment you looked at him like that.
“You’re going to kill me,” you whisper.
He laughs low, breathless already. “Not before you take care of me first.”
Your lips wrap around him, slow at first, savoring the weight on your tongue. His groan fills the room, followed by the click of the Polaroid as he tilts it down at you. “Fuck—look at you, so pretty with your mouth full of me.”
Each time you sink lower, his hips twitch, the camera clicking again. He alternates between stroking your hair and snapping pictures, torn between watching through the lens and watching you fall apart on your knees.
By the time he pulls back, you’re messy and flushed, saliva glistening on your lips. He sets the camera aside just long enough to drag you up into a heated kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.
“Your turn,” he murmurs, guiding you back against the pillows. The Polaroid is back in his hand instantly. “Touch yourself for me.”
You hesitate, heat flooding your face, but his smile softens. “Please? I want to keep it. Just for me.”
Your hand slides beneath your shorts, fingers dipping into your own slick, and his sharp inhale tells you everything. The camera flashes once, twice, as you circle your clit under his gaze.
Then he’s sliding down the bed, tugging your shorts off in one smooth motion. “Take one for me,” he says, pressing the camera into your hand. “While I do this.”
Before you can question him, his mouth is on you—hot, eager, relentless. The sudden shock of his tongue makes you fumble with the camera, the flash going off at a shaky angle while his laugh vibrates against your thighs.
“Perfect,” he breathes against you, fingers joining his mouth. “Take another. Show me how much you like it.”
Your free hand grips the sheets, the other clutching the Polaroid as your vision blurs with heat and light. Every snap of the camera marks another wave of pleasure—his fingers curling inside you, his tongue flicking harder, his other hand holding your hips down when you start to shake.
“Seongil—” you gasp, nearly dropping the camera.
“Give me one more,” he urges, curling his fingers just right. “One more, baby, then let go for me.”
The flash blinds you as you arch off the bed, climax crashing over you with his name spilling from your lips. He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, pulling the last bit of release from your body before easing back up, lips shiny, grin smug.
He plucks the Polaroid from your hand, setting the whole messy stack on the nightstand. “These,” he says, kissing your cheek while you catch your breath, “are all mine.”
You laugh weakly, still dazed. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe.” He kisses you again, gentler this time, before tucking the blanket around you. “But admit it—you loved it.”
Your cheeks burn, but you can’t deny it. “Shut up.”
He just laughs, sliding in beside you, arm tight around your waist. “Don’t worry. No one else gets to see. Not now, not ever.”
The Polaroids sit in a neat stack by the lamp, proof of the night’s heat—but in Seongil’s hands, they feel safe. His, and only his.
