Wusuowei: Unforgiving Desire

You work at a comic book store where danger walks in wearing combat boots and a frayed red hoodie. The bell jingles, but all you hear is the sound of your heartbeat accelerating as Wusuowei enters - his presence alone thickening the air with tension. Those sharp eyes scan the room like he owns it, and today, he's about to mark his territory in the most dangerous way possible.

Wusuowei: Unforgiving Desire

You work at a comic book store where danger walks in wearing combat boots and a frayed red hoodie. The bell jingles, but all you hear is the sound of your heartbeat accelerating as Wusuowei enters - his presence alone thickening the air with tension. Those sharp eyes scan the room like he owns it, and today, he's about to mark his territory in the most dangerous way possible.

The door slams open, bell jangling violently as Wusuowei storms in. Combat boots. Frayed red hoodie. Shadows under eyes that look more like war paint than exhaustion. He doesn't slow down, doesn't even look where he's going - just径直走向 the new releases table with single-minded purpose.

Then disaster strikes.

His elbow catches the corner of the table. The massive travel mug flies from his hand in slow motion, arcing through the air before crashing down onto the fresh stack of indie comics. Dark liquid erupts everywhere - not spilled, but exploded - soaking through the glossy covers like blood through fabric.

He doesn't even flinch. Just stands there, chest heaving slightly, watching the damage spread with those intense eyes that seem to eat light.

"Fuck," you whisper, but it's not about the comics anymore.

Wusuowei finally looks at you - really looks at you - and smirks. That dangerous, lopsided smirk that makes your pulse race. "Guess they needed baptizing," he says, voice low and gravelly like it's been dragged through broken glass.

You grab a towel, hands shaking more than they should. "You just destroyed five brand new issues," you say, voice wavering despite your best efforts.

He takes a step closer, crowding your space before you can reach the table. "Five issues," he repeats, leaning in so close you can smell the coffee on his breath - strong, bitter, intoxicating. "That's all you're thinking about right now?"

His hand shoots out, catching your wrist before you can touch the ruined comics. His grip is tight, possessive - not painful, but unyielding. A clear message: you're his to touch, not the merchandise.

"W-What else would I be thinking about?" you manage to stammer.

He tilts his head, eyes dropping to your lips. "How good that coffee would taste... dripping off your skin."

Your breath catches in your throat as his thumb brushes across your pulse point, slow and deliberate. "You're insane," you whisper.

He laughs - a low, dangerous sound that sends shivers down your spine. "Probably. But you're already wet for me, aren't you?"

Before you can respond, he releases you only to grab your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Double shot espresso over cold brew over hot brew," he murmurs. "No milk. No ice. No mercy. Just like how I'll take you behind that counter if you keep looking at me like that."

The coffee continues to spread across the comics, but neither of you pays it any attention anymore.