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ilovebtsomgie · 5 days ago

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completely | jeong jaehyun

genre: singleparent!reader x pianist!jaehyun ( feat. ex-husband!mark, seulgi, irene, yeri and balletteacher! winter <3 )

synopsis: when your daughter finally convinces you to sign her up for ballet lessons, you don't expect to fall head over heels for the dance company's in-house pianist.

wc: 7.7k warnings: suggestive scenes, mentions of divorce, single parenthood, strong language (guys i'm so happy to be back, this is the longest fic i've ever written! i'm a teacher, not a mom, so if there's inaccuracies forgive meeeee!)

August 2024

The remnants of summer stick to your skin- a dense layer of memories, love lost and fatigue draped over you like a weighty blanket. You grasp your daughter’s hand a bit tighter- to assure her or yourself, you’re not sure. Her little legs struggle to keep up with you as bound down the hall, already five minutes late for her ballet class.

“Mama, it’s okay!” the child says with surprisingly convincing conviction for a seven year old. “Miss Winter is really really reallyyyyyy nice.” She draws out the last ‘really’, as if to further persuade you, and you smile to yourself. How is it that your daughter is the one comforting you?

Melody had begged to be put in a ballet class for the entire year prior, until you and your ex-husband, Mark, finally caved ( -a late birthday gift from the two of you). Now, it’s early August and you’ve been attempting to get into a routine before the school year starts in a week or so.

So far, throwing an additional extracurricular into the mix has been a little chaotic. That, coupled with with getting used to sharing parental duties with a man you’re not entirely over (even after two years)-

“Mama? Did you hear me?”

“About Miss Winter, yes. She’s really, really, reallyyyyy, really nice.”

Mark had dropped her off for last week’s session- Melody’s first ever class. A part of you is nervous to show your face now, feeling late to the ingratiation period. Or maybe ‘ingratiate’ is a bit dramatic- but all the faux niceties and exchanging of Facebooks. That period.

Another part of you worries that the prissy stay-at-home-mother-because-their-husband-makes -six-figures types spent all last session drooling over your ex. And you don’t blame them; He’s a looker. (If only you knew they were probably drooling over someone else.)

In striking similarity to your recent nightmares, all the mothers’ eyes turn to you as you open the studio door. You practically wince as it opens and closes with a slam, yet Melody is none the wiser. She walks to her spot at the barre and promptly begins stretching. Those ballet YouTube videos must’ve really paid off. Go figure.

You take a seat in one of the chairs lined up on the other side of the room, next to a woman with short wavy hair. She smells of citrus and cucumber, clad in a slouchy striped tee. She looks cool.

“Melody is yours?” the woman starts. “She’s so tall.”

“Thank you,” you say, because, what are you supposed to say to that? Parent small talk is so peculiar, you find.

“I’m Seulgi,” she whispers.

“_______,” you reply, shaking her hand. She smiles back at you warmly, and you involuntarily mirror her expression.

“Yeri is mine.” Seulgi points to a child with pink streaks in her hair. It must be a trend, because Melody asked for the same style just last week. Your eyebrows furrow briefly. “Don’t worry, it’s just hair chalk,” she continues.

Is Seulgi a mindreader? Then, as if she had heard your thoughts again, she says, “You don’t have a very good poker face.”

“No, it’s just- Mel asked for the same thing. I feel so out of loop with what kids like these days. Idols and TikTokers and all that… She’s a little sponge right now.”

“I know, I’m grappling with it all myself,” Seulgi contends.

Then, a hush falls over the cacophony of kids and mothers alike as the door handle jiggles. When it swings open, a man in khakis and a button up walks in, waving at everyone as he makes his way to the baby grand in the corner and takes a seat. A tendril of black hair falls into his eyes and he blows it out of the way, the puffing of his cheeks endearing you to him immediately.

“I apologize for my lateness,” he says to Winter, “-and Ladies.” A dimple appears briefly before disappearing in the focused expression that overtakes his face. He readies his fingers on the piano keys, waiting for Winter's cue.

You inhale sharply, the intake of oxygen like a pinprick in your right side. You sit up a bit straighter.

“We were just getting started. Across-the-floors my angels!” Winter shouts, stepping into her teacher role. The girls scurry to the wall like mice, lining up in preparation for their gallivanting. The unnamed man plays a few notes tentatively, then begins a piece for the girls’ warm up.

It’s Op. 15 No.2 in F- Sharp Major, but he repeats just a small phrase of it- a little piece that weaves through the room like a sodden rope. Hopeful and melancholy. Oxymoronic, yet poignant and odd- The melody sits in your chest heavily. You vaguely recognize it as Chopin, but you’re more infatuated with Jaehyun’s fingers fluttering against the rickety keys as he plays to the tempo of the students.

“Feel how the music dips,” Winter says as the students melt into a plie. “Let the notes communicate through you. From your fingertips to your toes.”

Leaning over to Seulgi, you ask, “Who’s that?” You’re a bit breathless.

“Jeong Jaehyun. He’s quite the established pianist. No one’s really sure why he’s here,” Seulgi obliges. “He’s nice to look at, isn’t he?”

What a lovely name for a lovely face, you think. Jaehyun. The syllables of it practically ring on Seulgi’s tongue.

“Are you into him?” you whisper.

“No, I have a wife!” she giggles, and you hate that you’re a bit relieved.

You scoff at yourself for showing your hand so blatantly- for blushing as your eyes are still fixated on Jaehyun’s nimble fingers. “Oh, well your opinion is quite objective then.”

“I mean, look at him,” and the two of you fight to stifle your laughter.

—

After gathering her things, Melody comes up to you and tugs on the back pocket of your jeans. “The other girls are getting ice cream, Mom,” she says in a whiny plea. “Around the corner.”

“Good for them.” you say. “C’mon kiddo, let’s get out of here.”

“But Dad said no last week too!” Then she juts out her lower lip, making her look just like Mark- glassy eyes and all.

“It’s a pretty regular thing,” Seulgi starts, walking up with her daughter Yeri as she overhears the tail end of your conversation. “‘Company bonding’ and all that.”

“Melody knows she has math tutoring later today, and-”

Then, Seulgi smirks. “Mr. Jeong tags along too.”

“I guess a little ice cream wouldn’t hurt.”

At the ice cream shop, a cute little parlor with pastel tiling and confection shaped lights, Jaehyun pays for all of the students to get a scoop in a flavor of their choice. Pianist money, you suppose.

The kids sit at one table and the parents sit at another. Jaehyun takes a spot at the head of it, everyone clamoring to get his attention. Small talk encrypted with innuendo. Nothing explicit, of course. The majority of it lies in how desperately some of the moms eye him. A suffocatingly palpable thickness in the air, and the pit in your stomach has returned.

As everyone finishes up their ice cream, throwing away the little cups and funneling out the shop periodically, you catch Jaehyun lingering at the door.

“Oh, Mr. Jeong-” you start, not exactly sure what you’re going to say next.

“Please, call me Jaehyun.”

“Um, okay. Jaehyun-”

“I don’t think I caught your name.” Jaehyun interjects. “You weren’t here last week,” then under his breath he says, “I would’ve remembered.”

“_____________. Nice to meet you.”

Jaehyun shakes your hand. “Nice to meet you t-”

“Mom?!” Melody shrieks out of seemingly nowhere. “Can I get another scoop of ice cream?” You have got to get this whining under control.

“Melody-”

“Please! Please, please, please-”

“Melody, I think Yeri wants to say goodbye!” Seulgi says. You didn’t even realize she was nearby. She walks both your child and Yeri outside, sending you a non-discrete wink on the way.

“She’s very energetic,” Jaehyun says

“Oh, Melody? She’s ecstatic. She’s been begging to be in a ballet class for years now. I finally scrounged up enough change to make it happen.”

“It’s definitely a pricey habit,” Jaehyun contends.

“Like being a pianist?”

“I’d hardly call myself a pianist. I play piano in my free time. Those are two different things.”

“Then what do you do?” you ask.

“I teach piano classes.”

“For kids? Melody would probably love to take a few lessons.”

“Uh, I teach adult classes too.” he adds sheepishly, ears turning bright red.

“Oh. Good to know.”

You wave timidly as you exit the parlor behind the others.

—

For Melody’s next class the following Sunday, you’re early. You feel a bit juvenile, periodically darting your eyes over to the door while trying to pay attention to your child’s dancing.

Melody has already shown improvement just in one session- Winter is nothing short of amazing as an instructor. You watch as your daughter’s eyes light up, hanging on to Winter’s every word as she leads them through the warm-up portion of class.

Then, the door swings open. Jaehyun stumbles in, cradling a binder of sheet music and balancing a pair of glasses on the tip of his nose. All the while, he mutters ‘sorry’ a few times and promptly sits at his piano, nodding towards Winter when he’s settled in. He doesn’t play Chopin this week. Instead, he’s chosen Tchaikovsky. Very wintery for the middle of August.

This time, you watch how the music travels through Melody, seeing yourself and Mark in her in a dysmorphic clamor. For a second, it makes your heart pound how much she resembles her father- but, also, how she’s morphing into her own person. You notice a streak of pink behind her little ear. She must’ve gotten some hair chalk from Yeri.

While Melody is picking up her things after class, Jaehyun walks up to you where you’re sitting. Seulgi hits your shoulder and scurries away under the guise of tending to Yeri. “Go get ‘em tiger,” she whispers. You scowl at her, at which she simply shrugs.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.” How smooth.

Jaehyun rubs the back of his neck. “Melody has great musicality. Fast learner.”

You chortle. “Unlike her mother. Not sure where she got it from. And your playing… it’s hypnotizing. Well, I mean- it’s, like, really good.” Good? That’s the best you can think of?

At this, he smiles, slightly shaking his head ‘no’ as if to reject the compliment. “I’m just happy Winter doesn’t make me play Mozart all day. She indulges my pretension.”

“You’re definitely the least insufferable musician I’ve met,” you say, subconsciously referencing your ex-husband.

Now it’s Jaehyun’s turn to scoff. “Not a musician. I just play piano.”

“You’re so humble.”

“Or something like that,” he says. A brief silence settles over the two of you, and you take a moment to drink up his features; His strong jaw and kind eyes. His buttony nose and plump cheeks. You feel your chest tighten, and you rip your gaze away from his visage.

“I was thinking-”

“If you want-” You and Jaehyun begin speaking at the same time.

He gestures towards you to continue.

“-about what you said about teaching adult classes. And my lack of musicality…”

“And?” Jaehyun asks with a playful lilt to his voice. A dimple peeks out briefly, vanishing when he feels eyes on him from across the studio.

“I would love to take a few lessons. Y’know, to see if I have any potential.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course. We can definitely start with a few lessons.” He looks at the floor again, and his dichotomy is dizzying- these flashes of nervousness between unabashed confidence. “Could I, uh, have your number?”

“I think that would be a requirement for the logistics of all this,” you say smirking.

“Definitely.”

You put your number in his phone, face warming as you realize there’s other parents still here, but continue nonetheless. It’s inconspicuous really. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then, Melody, Yeri and Seulgi walk up, the three of them smiling widely.

In unison (Seulgi included), they say, “CAN WE HAVE A SLEEPOVER?”

As Melody and Yeri build a pillow fort in your living room that evening, you and Seulgi split a bottle of wine. (Merlot, not that it’s important, but it was necessary.) They’re cuties, all snug in their candy colored pajamas, and you balance an ill-fitting sheet mask on your face. Periodically (and through one eye), you check your phone, frantically waiting for a message from Jaehyun despite it only having been a few hours.

“You work fast.” Seulgi says, trying to speak without cracking her tightening mud mask.

“What do you mean?”

“You got his number after one class? I think some of the other moms have been trying for years.”

“It’s strictly business. Piano lessons. Maybe.”

“Yeah, ‘maybe’.”

“I don’t know! Maybe nothing will come of it-�� Just as the words leave your mouth, your phone buzzes.

Unknown Number: What’s your availability?

How formal, you think. You Jaehyun’s contact to your phone, rolling your eyes when you hear Seulgi laugh beside you.

“Apparently, he works fast too,” she says.

You type quickly, scared to let the fleeting moment pass you by.

You: Wednesdays! Preferably!

Before you press send, you flash your phone at Seulgi. “Are the exclamation points too much?”

Seulgi quirks an eyebrow. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Okay, nevermind.” You press the send button, wincing as you do so. Jaehyun replies almost immediately.

Jaehyun: Wanna start this week?

—

Melody thinks you’re a crazy person, if the look in her eyes is any indication. You’re rushing her to Mark’s car, zipping up her backpack as she waddles down the drive and crawls into the back of his Honda.

“Mom, what’s the rush?” She asks as you practically push her down the sidewalk.

“No rush! Just wanna get to cleaning.”

Melody scrunches her face in confusion. “Since when do you clean on a Wednesday?”

You ‘tsk’ at her. She’s your kid, alright. “Since now, you little brat.”

“Hey!”

As Melody gets into the car, Mark looks back from the driver’s seat, amused by your shenanigans. You’re on pretty good terms, all things considered.

“Got a hot date or something?” Mark inquires. You’ve been divorced for two years now, and joking like this still feels wrong. You wonder if the barely-there resentment that lives under your skin will ever subside.

“No!” you exclaim, face immediately heating up. It’s the truth. It’s not a date.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Rolling your eyes, you say, “Melody has some worksheets from her math tutor. Please make sure she does it…”

“Don’t change the subject,” Mark retorts, monotone.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fine. Don’t tell me. It’s not like I’m doing you a favor or something like that...” Mark rolls his eyes. You give Melody a kiss on the cheek and wave them goodbye.

“Thanks, see you guys tomorrow.”

“Bye, mom!”

You rush into your apartment, scrambling to straighten up the odds and ends of your life: Hairbows scattered about, files and papers, dirty dishes. At the last second, you manage to throw your hair into a ponytail, hoping it looks halfway decent.

Then, your doorbell rings. This is actually happening. For a moment, you’re frozen, unsure of how to proceed. As in, your body won’t let you progress towards the front door. Somehow, you walk forward, swinging the door open with an obnoxious smile plastered on your face. Jaehyun stands before you in a t-shirt and jeans, making you realize you’ll get to see him in casual dress every week for the unforeseen future. His shirt is cropped, but just so, the end of it blowing in the late summer wind.

“Hey!” you say, after your mind has caught up to your body.

“Hi!” Jaehyun’s voice is somehow deeper than you remember. He sways back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking at the ground nervously.

“Um. C’mon in.”

“Thanks.” The two of you enter your apartment.

This is bizarre. You haven’t really dated since the divorce and you’re not used to having male energy in the house. At least, not for very long.

“You’re hilarious,” says Jaehyun. Had you said that out loud?

“Huh?”

“I hope my ‘male energy' isn't too intrusive,” he jokes. How are you fucking this up already?

“I didn’t mean to say it like that-”

If Jaehyun is offended, he chuckles it off. “It’s okay. I get it,” he says, looking around briefly. Is Melody here?”

“No. She’s with her-,” you pause for half a second, “-Dad. We’re not together anymore.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. It’s probably for the best.” You shake off the awkwardness. “I’ll show you to the study room. No baby grand here, sorry.”

Jaehyun takes in the defunct office space. There’s a row of mirrors propped up on the opposite wall for when Melody wants to practice ballet and a desk in the back corner. On the wall nearest to the door is a pink keyboard with a little bench in front of it. Jaehyun sets down his satchel next to it, taking a seat. He messes with the settings of the keyboard, playing a few notes after he adjusts it, ultimately nodding to himself when he’s satisfied. You stand in the doorway, presumably waiting for him to summon you.

“Should we get started?” Jaehyun says, patting the space next to him on the bench.

“Uh, yeah. Do you want some water or anything? Snacks? I’m not really sure how this works.”.

“There’s no one way it ‘works’. Just have fun.”

“Cool.” Might be easier said than done. This kinda feels like torture.

You take a seat next to Jaehyun, forearm brushing against his momentarily. You scoot away, the electricity too much for you to handle. His side profile exists just in your periphery, and you force yourself to focus on the instrument in front of you.

“Let’s start with the basics. There’s seven notes on a piano that repeat over and over again: A through G.” Jaehyun plays the notes, going up the scale, watching your face intently to see how you’re absorbing the information.

He nods, signaling for you to try, and you do, fingers clunkily pressing the keys until you reach G. He plays the scale an octave down alongside you, your hands moving in tandem. You allow yourself a brief glance at his fingers, immediately regretting it when your mind wanders about their other uses.

“You good?” Jaehyun pipes.

“Yeah! What’d you say?”

“Try that one more time on your own.”

“Like this?” You ask, voice laden with more innuendo than intended. You play the scale once more, looking to Jaehyun for approval once you finish.

“Good,” he says, and your chest swells with pride. Then, Jaehyun continues. “The note between these two black notes will always be D…”

At the conclusion of the lesson, Jaehyun returns the sheet music to his binder, placing it in his bag and slinging the strap over his shoulder. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing. You’re a great teacher. Uh, how much do I owe you?”

Jaehyun shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, that’s hardly fair,” you dig through your purse set beside you, searching for your wallet. Jaehyun grasps your wrist, effectively halting your motion.

“Who said I’m here to play fair?” he jokes. He bores into your eyes, silently waiting for you to drop the topic. However, you hold firm.

“I’d like to compensate you,” you push.

Jaehyun drops his teacher voice, the pitch dropping an octave or two (if that’s even possible), with his hands still seizing your wrists. “There are other ways for you to do that.”

Your breath hitches and Jaehyun lets out an airy scoff, that damn dimple of his making a reappearance. You take your hands out of your purse and place them on your lap, eyes wide with shock.

“I’m kidding!” he says. “Just keep practicing and I’ll consider that my payment.” You make a face. “Seriously!”

“Fine.”

“See you Sunday at the studio?”

“Uh, it’s Mark’s turn to take Melody to practice…” Why is mentioning Mark so awkward?

“Well, I’ll see you next Wednesday then.”

“Yep.”

You walk Jaehyun to the front door. Before he leaves, he turns around. “I really enjoyed this,” he whispers, like it’s a confession he’s getting off his chest.

“Me too.”

—

The following evening, Seulgi’s at your dining table while Yeri and Melody are (allegedly) doing homework in the living room. Such is becoming a more common occurrence- one you’re quite fond of. You feel like Melody might finally have the sister she’s always wanted. “So you didn’t kiss him?” Seulgi asks.

“Can you keep it down a little bit?!”

“Melody doesn’t care. Look.” She’s braiding Yeri’s hair (and not doing her homework), none the wiser.

“In what world would I have kissed him, Seulgi?”

“The world in which the two of you are all cozied up on that small ass bench, staring into each other’s eyes and-”

“Didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

“This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me since Irene and I adopted Yeri.”

“It’s not happening to you, it’s happening to me.”

“I’m living vicariously through you, duh!”

“I’ve gathered as much,” you huff.

“How long are you going to pretend you’re not into him?”

“I just want to keep things appropriate. For Melody’s sake.”

“You can’t use her as an excuse forever.”

You know it’s not Seulgi’s intent, but her words sting. It’s something that’s been swirling around in your mind, but being confronted with the concept makes your chest feel concave. Melody is your world. Your muse. You’d never use her as an excuse. At least, you don’t think you would.

Seulgi looks at your face and sighs. “How long has it been?”

“Since what?” you ask.

“The divorce.”

“A little over two years.”

A silence settles over you while Seulgi thinks about her next words a bit more carefully. You gnaw on the inside of your thumb, Jaehyun’s dimples seemingly burned into your eyelids while you try to focus on the conversation at hand.

Finally, Seulgi pipes up. “You deserve to be happy. I’m sure Melody would agree with me.”

“But I am happy.”

Seulgi guffaws. “Ugh, you’re not listening.”

“I am!”

“Just… don’t deny yourself of this. If it happens, let it. Okay?”

—

Next Wednesday arrives in a flash, but you’re weirdly ready, buzzing with anticipation. Mark is busy this week, so you attempt a discreet pep talk since Melody will be in the apartment when Jaehyun arrives.

“I’m taking piano classes. With Mr. Jeong.” You try to be nonchalant, like this whole thing isn’t eating at you from the inside out.

“From ballet class?”

“Mhm. Here at the apartment. He’s on his way now, actually. ”

“Oh, okay. I’ll hang out in my room.”

“Do you have any… questions about that?”

“Not really.” That was easy, you think. Then, after a moment Melody says, “Well, actually, I have two!”

Spoke too soon.

“Shoot.”

“You suck at piano.”

“That’s not a question, but... yeah. That’s why I’m taking lessons.”

Melody’s face twists. “Hm. That makes sense, I guess. One more thing.”

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“Why are you wearing lipstick?”

“Okay, go to your room.”

“What did I do? Mom?” You shut the door in her face. This kid.

The doorbell rings and you promptly answer it. Jaehyun is a vision of summer bliss- like he’s perpetually frozen in it. The irony of such a metaphor being that he’s also kinda always in motion… a flowy shirt, swaying tendrils of hair, the pursing then subsequent relaxing of his plump lips.

“Hey! How’s it going?” you say. Casual. Cool. Totally not anxious sounding. So far so good.

“It’s going.” The two of you enter the small apartment, the beginnings of a groove blossoming between two souls. You walk breezily beside one another.

“Melody’s here, by the way.” you disclose immediately. “In the other room.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll try to keep it down?”

“No, no. She’ll be fine.”

In the “study” once more, already anticipating the awkward shuffle to the keyboard bench, you gingerly climb to your spot.

—-

After the lesson, you walk Jaehyun to your door once more.

“Uh, you said ‘it’s going’, earlier. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m working on a few pieces, some original ones, for a concert I have in December. At Carnegie Hall actually.” Wow.

Then, in a ramble, Jaehyun word-vomits thoughts he must’ve been holding in for weeks now. “Been a little stressed about it. I was being greedy when I accepted the offer…I mean- I don’t have anything written. I feel like I… stole the opportunity from someone else? If that makes sense.”

You wonder what the source of his imposter syndrome is. If he composes as well as he plays then… he’s probably excellent.

“You must be a pretty great pianist, then- to get such an offer without a self-composed piece.”

“Promise and potential can get you far, apparently,” Jaehyun says in a scoff.

“I have neither, and yet-”

“Oh, shut up.”

“You shut up. You’ve gotta know the effect you have on people… with your music.” Not the best save, but an attempt nonetheless.

Jaehyun rubs the back of his neck. “I’m flattered, truly.”

“Well, if you ever need an unbiased ear…”

“I’ll let you know.”

October 2024

Summer finally bids you farewell, autumn embracing you with shivering arms. The wind whisked leaves flutter in orangey tornadoes, Melody’s sniffles orchestrating your Saturday walk to a cafe. October brought about many joys and ghosts for you, Melody’s birthday, her winter recital on the horizon, the anniversary of your divorce, halloween of course.

“We need to get you some medicine, girlie,” you say after yet another sniffle from the nimble child.

“I’m not sick, I promise.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you miss ballet practice.” She hasn’t missed a single session since August.

The bell digs upon your arrival, and you shuffle into line languidly. “Excited about your recital?”

“Miss Winter says we’re the epitome of Christmas joy.”

“‘Epitome’. Big word. ”

“Mr. Jaehyun!”

Suddenly, Melody takes off, running into a jubilant embrace with the man who has magically appeared. Well, his entire presence is starting to feel like magic; like you’re being charmed. His summery wake has morphed into a devastatingly domestic coziness. Button-ups swapped for chunky knits and hard-toe boots. The one adorning him now is burgundy, which perfectly complements rosiness of cheeks from the nippy wind.

“Hey stranger,” you say coolly.

Jaehyun smiles, still locked in Melody’s arms. “My two favorite pupils.”

Melody squeaks at Jaehyun. “I’m telling Yeri!”

“Hey, Cricket, go find us a table.” You send the child on her way, and she scoots into a little booth in the corner of the cafe.

“What’re you doing here?” you inquire while waiting in line together.

“Thought I’d take a stroll through the neighborhood. I’m usually only over here for the studio… and you.” It’s gross the way the word reverberates through your chest. You. The concept of him doing anything with you in mind… your eyes glaze over a bit. “Winter wanted to go through The Sugar Plum Fairy again.”

“Oh, nice. Mel was craving some hot cocoa and I thought I’d get a latte or something. Little morning treat.”

Jaehyun promptly pulls out his wallet and you shake your head. “No, no, no.”

Jaehyun simply shrugs. “I’m in the Fall spirit. C’mon.”

“I already owe you enough.”

“You owe me nothing.” Jaehyun pays for your order (which includes a white hot chocolate, cafe latte and pumpkin spice muffin) then joins you and Melody at the table.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking about learning some pieces Melody could practice to during the off season. Do you think that’s possible?

“Yeah, totally. But could I suggest something else?”

“Of course.”

“We should do something, not piano related sometimes. In between lessons.”

That evening, while Melody is taking her bath, you call Seulgi. She picks up on the third ring.

“Seulgi. It’s finally happening, I think.” you whisper-yell.

Over the line, you hear Irene attempt to discipline Yeri in the background. Seulgi continues distractedly. “What’s happening?”

You inhale deeply. “I can’t even say the word. I can’t believe this…”

“Spit it out already.”

“Jaehyun asked to do something not piano related.”

“Oh, a date. You’re hopeless.”

“If I say the ‘D’ word, it’s too real.”

“Clearly,” Seulgi scoffs.

“I wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon.”

You can practically hear Seulgi deadpan. “It’s been three months.”

“I know but…”

“You should invite him to our Halloween thingy. Could be fun,” she suggests.

“That’s not a bad idea actually.”

—

Your apartment is decorated with faux cobwebs and spiders. You finish off your marshmallow cupcakes, complete with food coloring splatters to mimic fake blood. Plastic jack-o-lanterns adorn your entry way, and Melody and Yeri have taken it upon themselves to color code the candy (“To make it easier to pass out to the other kids!” they said.”).

The girls had spent the entire week prior making their costumes; Yeri as a Ghostbuster and Melody as a Ghost. Seulgi is dressed as Buzz Lightyear alongside your Bo Peep.

When everyone’s dressed, Seulgi takes out her film camera, making you and the girls pose in front of the fake skeletons you have scattered around the place.

“So cute!” she hums.

Then, the doorbell rings. “Mr. Jaehyun!” Yeri and Melody say in unison. You had let the girls know he’d be your trick-or-treat buddy while Seulgi took them to the rich part of town. (“Just mention it casually,” Seulgi had suggested. “If you don’t make it a big deal, neither will Melody.”)

“Mel, can you not jump him like last time, please?” you ask.

Too late for that. As soon as the door opens, she bounds into his arms. However, you’re too stunned by Jaehyun’s costume to move. Seulgi’s laughing in the background is no help.

Jaehyun is dressed as none other than Toy Story’s Woody.

“No wayyyyy!” Seulgi says. She immediately snaps a picture, both you and Jaehyun going red as the flash immortalizes your shared embarrassment.

“Mr. Jae, you look like a tomato!” Yeri pipes.

“A cowboy tomato.” Melody adds, and the two littles fall into a heap of laughter.

Seulgi has tears in her eyes. “I’m gonna piss my pants,” she says in between gasps.

Jaehyun rubs his neck nervously. “I guess we’re Toy Story fans…”

“I guess so,” you agree, staring daggers into Seulgi’s skull.

“Well… I brought candy,” he says.

“Me tooooo!” Irene walks in from the kitchen, dressed as one of the aliens from the franchise. It all feels like one big joke. “No way, honey,” Irene says, kissing Seulgi on the cheek, “I didn’t know we were doing couples’ costumes!”

You sputter. “We’re not-”

Jaehyun waffles similarly. “Oh, no, we’re-”

“Okayyyy!” Seulgi blurts. “Here’s the gameplan. Irene and I will take the girls across town for a few hours, you and Mr. Jaehyun will pass out candy here, then we’ll come back and watch Halloween Town! Sounds good?”

“Amazing.” you sigh, but not without a little bite to your tone.

“YAYYYY! FULL SIZED CANDYBARS!!!” the girls scream. They grab their pillowcases, then Seulgi and Irene whisk them away.

“Maybe we should’ve discussed costumes ahead of time?” you chuckle.

Jaehyun shrugs. “Or maybe it’s fate?”

Fate has a name, apparently. It’s Seulgi Kang.

“Yeah, maybe. Let’s set up shop.” As a team, you place a table and two chairs outside your apartment door. Upon the table, you place your color-coded bowl of candy and sit outside waiting for trick or treaters.

The first few appear; triplets dressed as the Three Little Pigs. “You two are such a cute couple!” the parent says as they pick through the sweets. This time, neither you or Jaehyun make an effort to correct the woman.

“Happy Halloween!”

When there’s a lull in kids, Jaehyun pipes up. ‘I’ll be honest…” he starts. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I suggested we hang out.”

The monster claw in the candy bowl jolts out, startling you a bit and you chuckle. “You don’t enjoy serving the community?”

“No, I love it. Kind of an untraditional outing- if this can be considered such.”

“This was Seulgi’s idea, technically. I’m starting to think the costumes might’ve been her doing…”

Jaehyun scoffs. “She sent me an entire moodboard, conveniently leaving out the fact that you’d be…” He scans your outfit, eyes lingering on your corset.

You simply sigh. “Well, that settles that.”

Another kid walks up in a Bluey costume, clearly being dragged around by their older sibling who’s dressed as Darth Vader.

“Fun pair,” you compliment.

The little kid beams, sporting a smile with two front teeth missing. “TRICK OR TREAT!” You coo at her adorable lisp.

After handing the two of them some candy, you swear you hear the teen mumble “lame” as they walk away.

“You’re dressed as the lamest Star Wars character, kid!” Jaehyun shouts after him. You burst out into laughter, eyes crinkling on the edges while you’re doubled over.

“I actually can’t.”

Jaehyun tsks. “Brat.”

“Hey, we’ve all been there. Just a little too old to be parading around like that. His parents probably forced the poor kid.”

He shrugs. “So much for serving the community.”

When it feels as though most of the trick or treaters have trickled out, Jaehyun and you pack up everything and make your way inside. “Do you want a Beetlejuice cocktail?”

“Yeah, sure.” As Jaehyun goes to sit on your couch, he takes in the decorations and lights around him. “Wow, you really love Halloween, huh?”

“Mel really gets me in the spirit.” You join him, setting your drinks down on the coffee table and settling in.

“Did you always want to be a parent?” Jaehyun asks.

You ponder this for a moment. “Hm… not exactly. Like, I never imagined myself as one. But I was so in love, and everyone sorta expected it from me…”

When the air in the room thickens, you realize you’ve never said that out loud before.

“Oh.” Jaehyun pipes quietly.

“But, like, when I saw Melody for the first time… It was like we chose each other. We found each other unexpectedly. When she was born, I just started crying. Because she was breathing and squinting and she smelled like such a baby! And she was just so little…

And then everything fell into place. I couldn’t wait to see her grow into her own person. Have her own thoughts, yell and scream at me. Ask me endless questions. Hug me. Annoy me. She was this embodiment of possibility. Someone I was ecstatic to pour myself into…

I don’t know if any of that made sense.”

“That’s beautiful,” Jaehyun nods. “She’s really a great kid, y’know. You can tell how much she adores you.” He pats the hand you’re resting on the couch, as if to commend you for a job well done. To comfort you through your vulnerability.

“What about you?” you ask.

“Me?”

“Yeah. Do you want to be a parent?”

“Funnily, I always thought I’d be a teen father.” At this, you snort. “I’ve always seen that for myself. The timing just hasn’t worked out yet.”

“Is that why you work with kids?”

“That kinda chose me as well. Winter called in a favor one day, and I just kept kinda coming back. Started lessons for extra money, then it became a passion of mine. Pouring myself into someone else. Seeing my students reach their full potential. Watching them become obsessed with music, like me. And now it’s led to this huge concert. Who would’ve thought?”

The two of you sit idly for a bit, holding hands and basking in each other’s presence.

“Y’know, I wasn’t gonna let Melody do ballet at first. I was scared it would ruin her body image, or give her low self esteem… Then she showed me a dance she learned on YouTube. I saw something in her eyes… as cheesy as that sounds. I just couldn’t say no.”

“Well, I’m glad you said yes. We wouldn’t have met otherwise.” Jaehyun leans in towards you, taking a tendril of hair and tucking it behind your ear. “This wig is pretty legit,” he says in reference to your Bo Peep costume.

“Seulgi was very strict about bringing her vision to life,” you chuckle.

“If we’re sticking to the canon, Woody is her love interest. Right?” That stupid smirk of his appears, dimple on full display. You can’t help but laugh at his smarminess.

“Mhm.”

Jaehyun’s eyes flicker down to your lips. Shyly, you look at your lap, fiddling with your fingers. Slowly, he takes your chin in his hands, gently guiding your gaze back up to his and attempting to close the gap between you.

“This hat is fucking ridiculous.” He shucks it off with an exasperated sigh, and crashes into you, lips moving with the fervor of a man starved. Yet, despite the laden passion, his touch is gentle. Jaehyun’s nose bumps against yours occasionally, each time resulting in an amused breath escaping him. His left hand caresses your cheek, smoothes down your neck, then makes the path downward to rest at your hip.

Instinctively, you pull at the hair at the nape of his neck and Jaehyun whines. Your stomach twists, and you lift up your leg to straddle him, melting as his hands explore your thighs almost immediately.

Breathless, Jaehyun plants his hands on both sides of your waist and guides you to start rolling them. You oblige him, tilting your head to bite at the shell of his ear.

“Please…” is all Jaehyun can manage to squeak out as he tries to increase the friction between you, hips moving to meet yours like uncoordinated college students. You grind down a bit harder, gasping the only thing orchestrating your heated motions.

Ding Dong. Fuck.

You jump off of him, wiping the saliva from your lips and straightening out your fluffy dress. Jaehyun’s face is a mess of pink lipstick and bite marks, not to mention his bright red ears.

“Bathroom. Now,” you say, jumping into parent mode. You push him out of the living room, and run to the door, hoping your quickness will stave off any suspiciousness.

Yeri and Melody are beaming. “MOVIE TIMEEEE!”

“How’d you do?” you ask the girls.

Yeri and Melody pour out their candy on the living room rug. “FULL. SIZED. CANDY-BARSSSS!”

“They did this bit where Yeri pretends to catch Melody in her vacuum. Killed every time.” Seulgi muses.

Irene looks around. “Where’s Jaehyun?”

“Uh. Bathroom.” you respond.

As if on cue, Jahyun walks back in, looking as normal as possible, if only a little flushed.

“No hat?” Seulgi inquires,

Jaehyun stammer. “Got hot.”

You interject in quivering yelp. “DID SOMEONE SAY MOVIE TIME???!”

—

December 2024

“Okay, Cricket. Let’s finish this up.” You take a stiff-bristle brush, dip it in a cup of water, and smooth Melody’s hair back into a slick ponytail. Taking the strands of it into your hand, you twist until they begin to swivel and form a bun at the crown of her head. Finally, you pin a white glittery bow at the bun’s base. The perfect little snowflake before you, complete with white dots on her cheekbones to complete her wintery costume.

The ballet company’s production of The Nutcracker is tonight, and Melody couldn’t be more excited. She sports a white leotard with matching tutu to boot, and you rush to finish packing her dance bag.

“Yell out the list to me, darling,” you request of your daughter.

“Jazz shoes. Pointe shoes. Jacket. Hat. Scarf. Water bottle towel. Camera,” Melody says confidently.

“Okay, let’s get outta here!”

When you enter the community theater, the buzz of the room instantly warms you up from outside’s brutality. Little boys and girls dressed in frilly outfits flutter about the backstage area. Stressed parents attempt to temper their overactive children in whispers commands. Winter appears as the beauty she is, looking like a porcelain swan. (Her name is apt.) She gathers the kids with tenured expertise, simply clapping her hands three times to be met with instant silence.

“My lovelies,” she begins, “I am so proud of the progress you’ve made this season, and you should be just as proud of yourselves. Be lost in the world. Hold your head up. Keep your chest high. This is your time. Enjoy it,” she says.

Melody hangs on to her every word.

“Hey, Bo Peep,” a buoyant voice chirps out from behind you.

You groan. “Seulgi, not today please...”

“I can’t help it, it’s my best work yet.” She pulls you into an embrace, both Irene and Yeri in tow.

“Mom, can we take a picture?” Yeri says. She’s dressed as a Doll, her delicate makeup veering only slighting into the uncanny valley.

“Of course!” Seulgi says.

The girls stand in position for their photo, smiling wider than you’ve ever seen anyone smile. You take a mental picture yourself, wanting this to last forever. Your Cricket. Your Melody. She’s grown taller in stature, facial features becoming more and more defined by the day. You see Mark in her and, for the first time in a while, it doesn’t hurt. You’re already on the brink of tears, and the show hasn’t even begun yet.

“Awe, don’t cry!” Irene says.

Swiping a hand over your cheek, you sniffle, smiling though the heartache. Melody runs to give you a hug. “Break a leg out there, kiddo,” you tell her. She simply nods.

Suddenly, Winter’s booming voice echoes through the theater. “Places!”

When you’re in your seat and the curtains open, you’re captivated by the magic of the set. Then you realize, Jaehyun isn’t playing the piano. It’s Winter.

Jaehyun’s concert. It’s also tonight. You can’t believe you let the date slip your mind.

As the curtains open, Waltz of the Snowflakes ripples through the theater, Winter’s nimble hands created the world before you. Melody twinkles in the middle, eyes crinkled from how hard she’s smiling. She extends her arms fully, one of the few girls actually dancing en pointe, as she leads the flurry of “snowflakes” across the stage. The show whips past you in a blur, and you’re shedding even more tears as the kids bow during the curtain call. Seulgi snaps pictures as you hear Irene sniffling. Melody runs off the stage to you, leaping into your arms.

“My little snowflake!”

“Did you like it?”

“I loved it, baby!” You look at the time. Thirty minutes until Jaehyun is on. If you catch a cab now…

“Melody?” You look into your child’s eyes as you hold her firmly on your hip.

“Yes?”

“You know you’re my world, right?”

“Of course.”

“Mr. Jaehyun has a show, and I really want to go see it. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah! Can I come with you?”

You scrunch your nose. “Um…”

—

Knees bouncing in the back of the cab, you watch as the clock ticks down. Fifteen minutes until Jaehyun’s show. Traffic is awful, having not moved in quite some time now. The pit in your stomach worsens.

“I thought Mr. Jaehyun’s show was tomorrow…” Melody says.

“I think I mixed up the days.”

“Let’s walk.”

“Mel, you’re a genius.”

Abruptly, you hop out of the cab, shoving a $50 bill through the little hole in front of you. “Keep the change, dude.”

The air is unforgiving and the sidewalk is slippery, but you plop Melody on your back and jog the few blocks to Carnegie Hall. You make quick work of the small talk at the box office and take your seat just in time to see Jaehyun take the stage. He’s a vision to behold in all black. Black hair, black shirt, black pants, black piano... He’s illuminated by a single spotlight, the contrast drawing your eyes to him and him alone. His hands hover above the keys and you’re transported back to your lessons; Jaehyun right next to you, his patient eyes and calming voice making your blood molten. You feel the warmth spread to your ears, heart pounding in them, like a metronome counting Jaehyun in. 1… 2… 3… You see Jaehyun inhale, then he begins:

Baby, tell me your favorite love song

I wanna sing it with you

Baby, show me the streets where you come from

I wanna walk 'em with you

Take it right from the start

Tell me who you are

Every piece of your heart

Every bruise and scar

You let out a shaky breath, tears welling up in your eyes.

I'm gonna love you completely…

The tears fall slowly then, suddenly, come pouring out of you, sobs tearing through your body until you’re doubled over. Melody simply bores into you, a calm hand on your shoulder as you try to quiet your blubbering. When you look at your daughter, you know she knows. The depth of your feelings. How you’ve been hiding this part of you. The acceptance of you moving forward and moving on from her father. You might be crazy, but her eyes seem to say, “It’s okay.”

After the show, you make your way through the crowd, Melody clutching to the hem of your jacket when you spot Jaehyun amongst the people.

“Jae-”

Before you can get the rest of his name out, he pulls you into an embrace, lips melting into yours. He pulls back for a moment and whispers, “You made it.”

“I ran three blocks for you. With Mel on my back,” you chuckle.

“Insanity… What’d you think? Was it worth it?” And yet again, that damn dimple appears, and you’re anxious to wipe the smirk right off his face.

“You’re breathtaking,” you say earnestly, no need in beating around the bush any longer.

“You can say that again,” Jaehyun beams, crashing into your lips once more. You return his affection, the world around you fading away for a moment, until your daughter tugs on your jacket.

“I know you’re in love, or whatever, but I’m hungry,” she pouts.

“Melody-” you start.

Jaehyun interjects. “Right, right. Chinese food?”

“Can Yeri come?”

“Whatever you say, Cricket.”

a/n: thanks for reading! i'm so happy to be back here writing!! missed it so much! feel free to leave your thoughts below! <3

484 notes · View notes

ilovebtsomgie · 7 days ago

Text

y/n and jaemin nsfw links

pairings — y/n and na jaemin

warnings — smut

authors note — i kept getting asks for this 😭 it’s taken me a while but i promise i was gonna get around to it !! <3

[𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄] — you’re sprawled across the sheets, nothing but the low blue hush of your phone lighting your skin, hips angled just so, two fingers sunk knuckle-deep and your own slick smeared across your thighs—utterly lost in the slow, forbidden ache of touching yourself after midnight. you know what you’re doing is reckless; you know you should have asked him first, that little breathless “please, sir” he makes you whisper with your eyes shut tight. the door clicks and jaemin’s shadow stretches across the room, jaw set, eyes burning as he catches you right there, writhing, needy, biting back your whimpers. he doesn’t speak—just yanks you down the bed by the ankles, one hand closing tight around your wrists to pin you, his other yanking your ruined panties to the side so rough you feel the elastic snap, cool air biting your bare cunt. he doesn’t even bother undressing—he’s already so fucking hard, you feel it through his sweats as he presses between your thighs, shoves his cock against your entrance, notching at your dripping hole, punishing you for being so greedy without permission. “you want to play without me? you want to come without asking?” he growls, and you can only gasp, trembling as he drives in deep, every inch a punishment, his hand slipping under your jaw to hold you still and make you meet his eyes while he fucks you open. “this is mine, you hear me? mine to ruin, mine to make come.” his hips snap, harsh and relentless, using your own slick to fuck you harder, making you take it, over and over, his palm covering your mouth when your moans get too loud—every thrust meant to remind you who you belong to, who decides when you’re allowed to fall apart. by the time you finally shatter for him, body shaking, legs splayed and wrists aching from his grip, you’re dizzy with it, ruined and wrung out and so fucking desperate for his praise, knowing he’ll drag it out all night just to teach you a lesson.

[𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐎] — windows fogged, city lights blurring past, you’re straddling jaemin in the cramped backseat, knees digging into cracked leather, every inch of you frantic and wild from the way he pulled the car to the shoulder with one sharp, wordless command. the engine still ticks under you, headlights cutting through night rain, but all you can focus on is the way his belt is still hanging loose, jeans shoved low, his hands on your hips so hard it hurts. you set the pace, thighs trembling as you sink down on his cock, greedy and messy, your skirt rucked up and jacket slipping off one shoulder. jaemin watches you—eyes blown, mouth parted, trying to hold back but his breath catches every time you grind down and rock your hips just right, making him throb deep inside. “you need it that bad, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and teasing but rough around the edges, watching you bounce, letting you fuck yourself stupid on his cock while cars blur by just meters away. he keeps one hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat, biting kisses into your jaw while his other hand slips beneath your shirt, greedy fingers rolling your nipple between callused fingertips. “look at you, baby—riding me so desperate you can’t wait to get home.” the car rocks beneath you, your moans muffled by his mouth, your nails clawing at his chest for leverage. the only thing between you and the world is a steamed-up window and his soft praise in your ear: “that’s it, take it, fuck—just like that, let them all see how good you ride your man. gonna let you make a mess all over me, little slut.” you clench around him, chasing your high, messy and wild, and he lets you come first, holding you down, making you feel every pulse of his cock as he finishes, shuddering, his lips biting at your throat as you both catch your breath in the heat of the backseat, sweat and rainwater blurring the city outside.

[𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄] — jaemin’s lying back against the headboard, one hand braced behind his head, the other gripping your hip, guiding your rhythm with slow, lazy authority. you’re straddling him, thighs aching, cunt stretched and so wet it’s obscene, his cock buried deep and filling you perfectly. he’s watching you with that dark, hungry gaze, lips parted just slightly, letting you move at your own pace—but every time you try to speed up, his hand clamps down, forcing you to grind slower, deeper, holding you there until you’re panting and shaking, whining for more. “you want to bounce, baby? go on. show me how needy you are.” you push up, only for him to catch you by the throat, thumb pressing just enough to make your head swim, forcing your eyes on his. “keep your eyes open. i want to see you fall apart for me.” he lets you ride, but never lets you have all the control—rolling his hips up into you, thick and deep, grinding circles with his hand on your clit. you’re gasping, barely able to hold yourself up, his filthy praise in your ear—“that’s it, take it, let daddy see you, let me see how good i make you feel”—and when you finally start to come, he holds you down, pulsing up into you until you’re crying, spent, and boneless against his chest, the world narrowed to his hands on your skin, his mouth pressed to your ear, and the molten ache between your thighs.

[𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑] — you’re bent over the bed, ass in the air, jaemin behind you, rough with it tonight, his palm coming down hard, the slap echoing off the nursery wallpaper as your head is shoved into one of haeun’s teddy bears—soft fake fur muffling your broken moans. every thrust is deep and mean, hips snapping into you so hard your knees slip on the sheets, your fingers clawing at the bear, clutching it like a lifeline. “look at you—stuffed full and desperate,” he grits, his hand gripping your hips tight, driving you further up the mattress with every snap. the bear’s button nose digs into your cheek as you choke out his name, breathless, helpless, the heat building in your belly and your voice going wrecked and high, muffled into the plush. he leans in, mouth hot at your ear: “keep your head down. you want to scream? let teddy hear how filthy you are for me.” he fucks you through it, relentless, never letting up, until your body goes limp, spent, his hand in your hair, pulling you back just enough to see your glassy eyes in the dark. “my good girl. my fucking mess.”

[𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄] — he’s sprawled across the couch in nothing but a shirt and low-slung sweats, the tv flickering shadows over your thighs as you straddle him in that tiny, lacy maid dress, black ribbon collar tight against your throat, skirt barely covering the curve of your ass. he’s got you grinding down, your soaked panties pushed aside, knees braced on either side of his hips, his cock buried to the hilt inside you—one hand fisted tight in the little white apron bow at your back, guiding your rhythm, the other sliding up the back of your thigh to squeeze and smack until you whimper. your curls bounce as you ride him, hair falling in your eyes, cheeks flushed, every bounce a wet slap echoing off the leather, the stupid feather duster lost somewhere on the floor. he’s got you working for it—making you clean up the mess you left on his cock, holding you down, not letting you up until your thighs shake, mascara smudged from the tears of being so full. “look at you,” he grits, breath ragged, thumb dragging over your lips as you pant. “this what you wanted, slut? to serve me like this? take it. earn your tip.” and you do—riding him until your arms shake, until his hands clutch your hips and pull you down so hard you feel him spill inside, heat flooding you, his growl curling in your ear, “clean up every drop, bunny, that’s your job tonight.”

[𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐒𝐈𝐗] — you’re both in the back hallway of the hospital, your scrubs tangled somewhere around your knees, the soft slap of skin drowned out by the buzz of vending machines and the distant beeping of pagers. jaemin sits back against a stack of supply boxes, legs spread, eyes wild, hands gripping your hips so tight you’ll feel it for days, but he’s letting you ride him for once—your pace, your rhythm, your choice. your knees ache against the linoleum, his cock buried deep as you rock yourself down, over and over, all wet heat and swollen clench, your hair sticking to your neck with sweat. he looks up at you, dark lashes fluttering, voice rough as he breathes, “that’s it, fuck—take what you need, pretty girl.” your hands are braced on his chest, his shirt pulled open, fingertips dragging over his scar and his pounding heart. every bounce forces a gasp out of both of you, his control slipping, the friction brutal and raw. he goes pliant for you, lets you chase it, lets you own him, your whimpers filling the dark. you bite your lip, grinding down in tight circles, his cock twitching inside you, and when you lean forward, licking the sweat from his collarbone, he moans—quiet and desperate—and begs, “don’t stop, please, fuck, i’m yours, i’m yours.” you fuck him through it, trembling, mouth at his ear, shushing his cries as you take him apart, squeezing until you both unravel, the air thick with your heat and need and the sweet, aching power of him letting you use him, trusting you to ruin him just as hard as he ruins you.

[𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍] — you’re straddling him on the living room sofa, bodies tangled in the buttery evening glow, sweat slick between your thighs as his hands frame your hips, letting you take whatever you need. he’s let his shirt fall open, the muscles of his chest flexing every time you roll your hips down, the curve of your ass fitting perfectly in his palms. jaemin’s gaze is glassy—hungry, reverent, devoured by the sight of you above him, hair falling in your eyes, cunt dripping as you fuck yourself down on his cock. “look at you,” he rasps, voice half wrecked, “so fucking greedy, bunny. is that what you want? want to use me?” you grind harder, thighs quaking, chasing the rough drag of him deep inside, and he lets you—lets you ride him how you want, lets your rhythm stutter and falter, never moving to take control, just gripping you harder, mouth latching on your throat to muffle your cries as you bounce, messy and desperate, riding him until your legs are shaking, sweat beading at your hairline. he won’t let you slow down, just keeps thrusting up into you, making you take every inch, fingers digging bruises into your hips—“that’s it, show me how much you want it, baby, show me who you belong to.” you choke on his name as you come apart, shuddering, his cock twitching inside as he holds you flush, keeps you there, stuffed full, until you can’t breathe from the sweetness and the ache.

[𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓] — his back’s warm under your cheek, ribcage shifting with every low breath, the taste of sweat lingering on your tongue as you inch down, kissing along the line of his spine until he groans, twisting a fist in the sheets. you drag your lips over the dip at the base of his back, tongue slipping lower, teasing just above where he needs you, and he swears, hips jerking. you crawl between his thighs, hands sliding up his waist, pushing him to spread wider, and then you wrap your mouth around his cock from behind—slow, wet, messy, tongue pressing flat, spit running down the length. he hisses, curses, trying to keep quiet, but you suck him deep, jaw aching, the angle obscene, your hair falling in his sweat-slicked skin. he pushes back, desperate, needy, fucking into your mouth with slow, shaking thrusts. your fingers dig into his hips, holding him open as you swallow him again, spit slick and noisy, tongue teasing the head until he’s trembling for you, breath coming sharp and fast, begging for more, every sound swallowed up by your name.

[𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄] — the door’s barely shut before he hears you—those filthy, breathless whimpers echoing down the hallway, your silhouette straddling him in the dim bedroom light, knees spread wide, thighs quivering as you ride him like you’re starving for it. you’re soaked, slick coating his cock, every bounce making a wet, obscene sound that makes his jaw clench, your head thrown back, hair stuck to your flushed skin, hands braced on his chest as you roll your hips, grinding down until you shudder, moaning his name in a voice that doesn’t sound human. he grabs your waist, fingers digging in, pulling you down rougher, watching your tits bounce with every desperate drop. you’re fucking yourself stupid, babbling, begging for him to fill you up, begging for more, so needy you can barely breathe. he spits a curse, grips your ass and starts thrusting up, fucking you harder, deeper, until your nails scratch red lines down his chest, your pussy clenching around him so tight he nearly loses it. sweat drips from your bodies, his cock buried to the hilt, your cunt messy and dripping down his balls, the air thick with the sound of skin, breath, want. you gasp, losing control, riding him through the edge, choking on every gasp, until you collapse over him—used, ruined, and hungry for every filthy drop he gives you.

[𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐄𝐍] — your knees ache against the edge of the mattress, back arched so deep it hurts, hair dragging over his thighs as you bob your head, mouth stretched wide around his cock, spit running in messy strings down your chin. his hand’s tangled in your hair, holding you right where he wants, but you’re the one in control, tongue pressed flat, dragging slow and filthy along the underside, teasing him until he’s cursing, hips twitching, trying to fuck deeper. you look up at him, eyes dark, lips glossy, voice shredded with want. “jaemin, look at me—look how much i love choking on your cock, how fucking messy i get for you. you like watching me drool all over you, yeah? you want me to suck every drop out, make you cum so hard you forget your own name?” your voice is ragged, words broken by the wet sounds of your mouth working him, throat squeezing as you swallow him deeper, nose buried in his skin, gasping every time he twitches. his moans go raw, cock pulsing against your tongue, and you just hum, letting the vibrations ripple through him, sucking him harder, faster, obscene and greedy. “fuck, baby, i want you to cum down my throat, want to taste you, want to feel you fucking own me like this—please, jaemin, give it to me.” your jaw aches, spit drips onto the sheets, but you never break eye contact, taking him again and again, tongue curling, milking every last drop until he shatters for you, spilling into your hungry, aching mouth.

interested in what you read? check out ‘𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓’ heart to heart is a gritty, devastating, and ultimately healing medical drama about a cold, brilliant chief pediatric surgeon and a younger, timid intern who falls into his orbit—all bound together by a sick, abandoned baby girl who needs saving as much as they do. expect age gap, single dad, forbidden workplace romance, found family, medical realism, and angsty, dominant smut that pushes every boundary. this is a story of healing and destruction: trauma, touch, and the raw lengths people will go to for love, with every kiss, every loss, and every reunion written in blood and sunlight. at its core, it’s about three broken souls who find home in each other, even as the world tries to tear them apart.

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ilovebtsomgie · 7 days ago

Note

Hello, so I decided to share the Keeho thought here because I somewhat successfully wrote it down! I still think it's not all that satisfying, but I decided that it doesn't have to be since it's just a silly scenario.

Anyway without further ado I present to you the nasty Keeho thought/scenario (no beta reading because it's the middle of the nightt):

So imagine a choreographer reader, practicing a new choreo with piwon. Keeho seems to just not get it and requests some extra time after hours in the evening with them.

When the time arrives and the two meet back up in the empty practice room, he seems focused on something else entirely. It's like he's stumbling over his feet and trying to mess with the choreographer on purpose, even going as far as to brush against them and bump into them.

So eventually they call him out, annoyed and convinced that he's not even trying, which only earns them a dissatisfied pout from him. He goes like "ohhh my goddd you're so oblivious" and explains that, he finds them really hot, actually and he's been trying to flirt with them all evening. When they stare at him dumbfounded with red cheeks, he steps closer and gives them a choice in a hushed voice: they can either bang right here and now or they can both go their merry ways and forget any of this happened.

And like they're not stupid right?? Why would anyone say no, Keeho is hotter than Arizona in summer (if it's actually as hot a people are saying, I mean I wouldn't know). They joke that he should watch out because their stamina is probably way better than his. He dares them to test it.

When the two start making out against a mirror, Keeho gets an idea. What if he makes them watch as their face contorts and they shiver under his touch? He wondered if they would still keep beeing so cocky.

So that's what he did – bodies pressed against the mirror, he made sure their gaze didn't escape elsewhere for even a second, not afraid to tug on their hair to keep them focused. And sure enough, it seems like their confidence truly was short-lived, slowly reduced into nothing as their mind clouded with pleasure.

Someone's definitely calling in sick tomorrow. Something about sudden leg pain? Must've strained themselves during practice, surely.

Keeho knows the truth, though, and doesn't miss the chance to send a cheeky remark to the number he acquired yesterday evening.

–🌫️

YOU'RE SO POETIC!!!??? YOU WRITE BETTER THAN ME YOU NEED TO DROP FICS THIS IS SOOOO GOOD

KEEHO YOU SLY MF WHEN I GET YOU. AND THE WAY YOU WROTE IT MADE HIS CONFESSION SEEM ACTUALLY SHOCKING LIKE NOT GIVING AWAY HE WAS FLIRTING UNTIL THEN ACTUALLY IS SO GOOD IT REALLY MADE ME OBLIVIOUS!?!?

I will also confirm Arizona IS hot, it's all sand and cacti and tumbleweeds in my mind (and also A1 steak sauce for some reason 😭)

BUT THIS IS GENUINELY SO GOOD!! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED WRITING IT AND I CANT WAIT FOR MORE

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ilovebtsomgie · 8 days ago

Text

CAN I MAKE IT ANY MORE OBVIOUS? ── a maeda riku smau

in which maeda riku just wanted to have a nice summer out at the skate park with his friends once again without thinking of the girl that broke his heart back at college, but he finds out shes dating the guy he has hated his entire life and will be joining his trip.

in which yn ln is prepared to have another boring summer at home, but is rudely interrupted by one of her brother's friends skating up to her and calling her babe with what seemed like plea in his eyes and the most stunning smile she's ever seen.

ᯓ pairing ;; skater!riku x reader

ᯓ genres ;; social media au, written parts, summer au, fake dating au, slowburn, fluff, acquaintances to fake dating to friends to lovers.

ᯓ featuring ;; xikers, itzy, le sserafim, other nct units.

ᯓ warnings ;; profanity, sexual jokes and innuendos, death jokes, alcohol use, maybe weed consumption, let me know if there's more!

ᯓ status ;; ongoing!

ᯓ updates ;; new chapters on mondays, wednesdays and saturdays !!

ᯓ taglist ;; open!

ᯓ authors note ;; once again here advocating against the insane lack of content for certain ppl in this app! my goal is to have at least one for each nct unit before i move on to other groups, and who better than riku to make that happen! this is dedicated to the loml @lyvhie btw. also, if i forgot to add someone to the tl OR you want to be added for the profiles coming out next monday let me know under this post!

ᯓ please do not copy, adapt or steal any of the content !!!

ᯓ reblogs and comments are much appreciated !!!

ᯓ taglist in case i need it ;; @winwintea @neozon3nha @kittydollzz @spacejip @injunnie-lemon @jovialdelusionbouquet @n0hyuck @julsinglee @leejenoenthusiast @morkiee @taroddori @mrsjohnnysuh @sunghoonsgfreal @dudekiss3r @m1ng1swife @grlscrushing @flaminghotyourmom @secretvivii @ballsa420 @sillyyuz @sunghoonsgfreal @insbread @222brainrot @va1entinaa @ayukas @peanutbutterjam505 @jvngw0nlvr @egojo1st @holyhaech @sungie-634 @i-kai @jaeyunss @hollxe1 @hahaechans @channielovbot @haechsauce @vivilovesuu @wooyeouu @jungwonbropls @tae2an @richachaslide @mbella607 @tiurftsrifeht @knrejj + let me know if someone is missing or if you want to be included !!

outfit repeaters || brochachos

zero. MY babies

one. we're out.

two. the creature feature

three. almost normal (written)

four. FUCK YEAHHH

five. new gf kinda nervous🤭

six. soft launch😋

seven. get used to it!

eight. its friday🐶👅

nine. cough.

ten. half bad (written)

eleven. he exploded

twelve. pinky promise

thirteen. On Our Way!

fourteen. oh no (written)

fifteen. not mad just disappointed

sixteen. all power to you

seventeen. throwback thursday

eighteen. you ruined it

nineteen. sick and tired of your shit

twenty. dread (written)

twenty one. gentle parenting

twenty two. GIUSEPPE

bonus!

one. kiss cam

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ilovebtsomgie · 10 days ago

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. ݁₊ STRAWBERRY CAKE

pairing ⋮ greaser! yoon keeho x soc! black fem! reader

ᝰ.ᐟ in which the pretty girl of the west side soc’s find herself gracefully falling for a barbaric greaser. his actions were always suboptimal and his future of ever stopping his mischievous ways and being successful are ran through the dirt. but what if the soc’s civility and calming nature is able to save the greaser before it’s too late?

genre ⋮ enemies to lovers/forbidden love au, fluff + angst, bad/no happy ending

warnings ⋮ major character death(s), story takes place in the 60’s + sometimes in hs, mentions of gang rivalry + fighting, classism, profanity, use of alcohol and tobacco, mentions of usage + possessions of blades, harassment, story is inspired by the concept of the book/movie “the outsiders” (it’s really good!)

features ⋮ the rest of p1h, yechan of 82major, felix of stray kids, other ocs that do not really matter to the story/fillers

“ you guys know what greasers are?

white trash with long, greasy hair. ”

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄ 「 profiles 」

“ you know what a soc is?

white trash with mustangs and madras. ”

STATUS? idk

001 . somethin’ sweet (wk : ???) | ???

002 . curiosity loves the cat

003 . the same sunset

…… more coming soon

a/n : the way i was fighting tooth and damn nail making the gradient words 😭. anyways the reactions and masterlist will make a comeback eventually, i just felt myself becoming so overwhelmed with all the writings, i started deleting everything. to keep myself on the ground, i’m gonna go slow with this smau (?) until i feel like i’m good with writing headcannons and all that again.

132 notes · View notes

ilovebtsomgie · 10 days ago

Text

. ݁₊ STRAWBERRY CAKE

pairing ⋮ greaser! yoon keeho x soc! black fem! reader

genre ⋮ enemies to lovers/forbidden love au, fluff + angst, bad/no happy ending

features ⋮ the rest of p1h, yechan of 82major, felix of stray kids, other ocs that do not really matter to the story/fillers

“ you guys know what greasers are?

white trash with long, greasy hair. ”

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄ 「 profiles 」

“ you know what a soc is?

white trash with mustangs and madras. ”

STATUS? idk

001 . somethin’ sweet (wk : ???) | ???

002 . curiosity loves the cat

003 . the same sunset

…… more coming soon

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ilovebtsomgie · 10 days ago

Text

ON CAM! || ~ LEE HAECHAN ✰

Synopsis: After finding out about your roommates promiscuous side hustle, why not use your new discovery to solve years of tension.

NOTES: NSFW, Porn with a hella plot…. Haechan x fem!reader, roommate + childhood bestfriend!Haechan, Dom!reader x sub!haechan, oral (fem receiving), cow girl, masterbating, recording on LIVE (hehe). Not 100% proofread LMK IF ANYTHING ELSE!!

WC: 4k || >_<

A/N; NGL, my synopsis doesn’t match with the actual writing oops… it’s been a while!! I’m a bit rusty but I hope you still enjoy! Likes and reblogs appreciated! STREAM Go Back To The Future

Unlocking the front door to your shared apartment, you were greeted by the cold air touching your skin as you stepped in. It was colder than usual — freezing, even. You assumed Haechan, your roommate, hadn’t left his room to increase the temperature since you left for work this morning.

This only added onto the irritation that has been growing since you clocked into work. Today has been a long day, you at least wanted to come home and relax. Not walk into what feels like a snow storm.

You placed your bag on the kitchen counter as you walked over to the thermostat. ‘There’s no way he didn’t feel this cold air all day..’ You thought to yourself as you fixed the temperature to your liking.

You were ready to barge into Haechan’s room and full-on scold him for making the house feel like an igloo. He’s been more quiet than usual, you noticed it the moment you entered the house.

Usually, he’d run out of his room to greet you, or he’d be locked in his room and screaming at his computer as he lost another battle in whatever games he liked to play. Today was different. He didn’t leave his room at all. There wasn’t any noise coming from it either. All you heard was silence.

Suspicious, you tiptoed over to his room to catch him in whatever act he was doing. You hesitantly gripped the doorknob.

‘What if he was sleeping? I don’t wanna wake him up..’

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of soft hums followed by heavy breaths coming from behind the door. What the hell could he be doing? The sounds only grew louder as you listened closer. You could’ve sworn he said your name a few times.

There were numerous possibilities spiraling through your mind as to what he could be doing. But nothing could prepare you for what you’d be greeted with.

You opened the door slow enough to where the usual creaking noises were silent.

The room was pitch dark. The bright light beaming from his desktop computer was the only thing helping you glance around the room.

Your eyes glued to Haechan as more noises slipped from his mouth. He sat at the edge of his bed, back facing you. You would’ve been blind to what he was doing if it weren't for the — wait, is that your laptop? — recording his every move.

There he was, a moaning mess with his hardened cock on full display in front of your laptop. His free hand gripped the sheets as he stroked himself in a slow, steady rhythm.

You could see comments appearing on the screen as you examined the screen. Was he on livestream?

You couldn’t look away from his figure. It’s like your eyes were glued to the sight, and you weren’t mad at it either.

“Y-Y/n, mm..I’m so close.”

The sound of your name made your heart drop to your stomach. There’s no way he was seriously jerking off to the thought of you. Not the guy you’ve been best friends with since childhood. He was always honest with you, always telling you everything. There were never any secrets between you, or so you thought.

“Fuck—you’re so pretty, Y/n...I’m gonna cum for you. Only you.”

His whimpers only grew louder as he quickened his pace. Breath heaving, legs quivering, and hips buckling as cum spilled from his flushed pink tip.

A loud, restrained groan escaped his lips as he reached his climax. You could see the hairs stuck to his forehead as he threw his head back from the stimulation flowing through his body.

You couldn’t deny that the sight created a damp spot in your panties. You pressed your thighs together as the arousal in your lower abdomen grew stronger.

Once he overcame his orgasm, Haechan ended the livestream and shut off your laptop. He grabbed the Kleenex from his desk and began cleaning the mess he made. You took that as a cue to slowly close the door and pretend like you were busy before he saw you.

Rushing back to the kitchen, you sat at the counter and scrolled through your phone. Your desperate attempt to distract yourself was beyond hopeless.

You could only think about how pretty Haechan’s moans were as he got off to the thought of you. All the irritation you felt prior was replaced with something pristine. Something you’d never felt for Haechan before.

A part of you wanted to be mad at him for what he did: stealing your laptop, filming himself jerking off for probably hundreds of people to see, and never telling you about his feelings.

But you couldn’t help but get turned on by all of it. This has probably been going on for months and you never had a clue. He’s been doing all of that behind your back while acting casual in your face every single day. You couldn’t help but feel excited.

You wondered how pretty the sight would be if it had’ve been you in between his legs instead of your laptop. The idea of him gripping your hair as you sucked him dry, teasing his tip and making him moan louder, watching him unravel before you as he c-

“Hey, when did you get home?” You flinched at the sudden sound of Haechan’s voice. He walked up to you with that innocent smile he always wore on his face, but you could see through it after what you witnessed. “A little while ago, why?”

Haechan shrugged, “No reason, just missed you a little.” His hands found their way to yours. He caressed them gently, as if he were examining them for the first time.

It was a habit of his to fiddle with your hands. One that you didn’t pay attention to until now. There was a certain look in his eyes, a look of lust. Why was he so infatuated with your hands out of everything else?

“Oh I'm sure you did.” Your snarky remark caused him to pause. His expression switched to suspicion, a slight frown tugging at his eyebrows as he squinted his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His confusion assured you that he was unaware of your presence observing him a few moments ago. He seriously should be more conscious of his surroundings. What if it were a robber instead of you? He’d be long gone by now.

“Hyuck,” you placed your phone on the counter and fully faced him. “What were you doing before I got home?”

Haechan’s expression didn’t change, as if he was suspicious of you. “Nothing? Just chilling in my room on the game?”

You tilted your head with a sly grin, raising an eyebrow. “Oh really? And what game requires you to moan my name?”

Haechan’s entire body went stiff, expression growing pale. His heart dropped to his stomach. Was he seriously that loud?

“Um, I don’t..know what you’re talking about?” His lack of eye contact only made him more guilty. You couldn’t help but giggle at his poor attempt to lie. Why couldn’t he just be honest? Was he afraid of how you’d react? Surely, it is slightly perverted to jerk off to the thought of your best friend and record it on their laptop…

Okay, maybe it’s really perverted, but you weren’t mad. Your love for him might’ve grew even stronger after catching him in the act.

“Can you bring me my laptop?” You requested, and he obeyed. You remembered that once he finished, he never closed out of the tab. He simply closed the laptop without a second thought. And even if he closed it out now, you could always check your history.

Not even ten seconds later, he came back with your laptop. You noticed his trembling hands when he gave it to you. He was more than nervous, more like scared.

You opened the laptop and typed in your password. Fortunately, to your luck, he did forget to close out the tab.

There you saw various videos of him in different locations around the house: the kitchen counter, living room, bathroom, your bed, and the balcony. The videos were always titled, “Missing her” or something similar. You already had an idea of who this ‘her’ was.

As you scrolled further, you stumbled upon videos with your panties on his shaft. Pairs you hadn’t seen in months. It appears that the lacy pink ones were his favorite. This new information resulted in a familiar pulse in your core, heat pooling in your lower abdomen once again.

You saw an option on the website titled ‘Payments’ and clicked on it without hesitation.

Your eyes widened at what you encountered. Plenty of payments everyday that varied from hundreds to thousands. They either had requests attached to them or were for support.

“So this is how you pay your half of the rent..” You spoke in an amused tone, not taking your eyes off the screen.

Haechan’s head perked up, “What are you talking about?” He flinched when you turned the screen towards him with the payments tab open.

“Oh my god..” he said under his breath, staring at the screen, mortified. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see any of that.” His voice trembled as he panicked, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor.

You placed the laptop on the counter and brought him closer to you. His breaths were shallow, as if he was suddenly afraid of you. “Calm down. I’m not mad.” You caressed the back of his head as he stood in between your legs.

Haechan slowly looked at you, eyebrows knitting together. “You’re not?”

A soft smile accompanied your face as you shook your head. “Surprised, yes. But not mad. I’m just impressed that you kept this from me for so long.”

This helped him calm down. He was no longer trembling and feeling nervous.

“That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, though.”

“What can I do to make it up to you?” Haechan fiddled with his hands again after hearing your words. He knew you wouldn't just let it slide so easily.

“Let me record a video with you.”

The room fell silent after you spoke, words lingering in the air. Your heartbeat thudding in your chest was the only sound you could hear. Haechan hadn’t moved one inch. Was your suggestion really that crazy?

“Y/n..you know what that means, right? You’d have to..y’know..have sex with me. On camera..” He looked over at you, stating the obvious.

“I’m not a kid, dumbass.” You deadpanned. “I’m not new to sex, Hyuck.”

Haechan swallowed harshly. The more this conversation went on, the more flustered he got. “I know, but..”

You crashed your lips onto his to shut him up. It only took a few seconds for him to reciprocate the kiss, hands attaching to your waist.

You pulled away a few moments later. “I know you want it, too. Can we please go to your room, now?” You pleaded softly with that sweet voice and puppy eyes that he could never say ‘no’ to.

Haechan nodded almost instantly and guided you to his room. It certainly looked cleaner than how you saw it previously. He even changed the sheets. No wonder you were blind to what he was up to all this time.

“So, um, how exactly are we gonna do this?” Haechan turned to face you, eyes darting everywhere but your face. He looked so pathetic. You knew you’d have to take control tonight.

“Well, let’s see, how do you usually start your videos?” You clicked back on your laptop to click on a video.

“Wait- you don’t have to do that!” Haechan quickly tugged your laptop out of your grasp. Voice growing louder as embarrassment rushed through him.

His reaction was cute, you must admit. You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at how panicked he was.

“Okay, so, I’m usually already undressed by the time I start recording.” He walks over to his desk and places the laptop down, setting up the camera to his liking. “Fyi, I’m completely anonymous on here. Which is why you don't see my face in any videos.”

The dedication in his tone only made you more aroused. “Uh-huh. Got it.”

You walked over to the edge of his bed and took a seat. Haechan was maneuvering things on his desk so that there’d be a clear view on the camera. You grew more impatient, the seconds were dragging on longer as you watched him.

“Hyuck, come here.”

Haechan turned to face you. Body growing stiff when he saw that hungry, lustful look in your eyes. He immediately obeyed, taking a seat beside you.

You turned to face him. He was still avoiding your gaze. Cute.

“Look at me, Hyuck. I won’t hurt you.”

Haechan slowly met your gaze, swallowing the lump in his throat. Your demeanor changed when you sensed his nervousness.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Haechan shook his head quickly. “No, I..I really want to. I’ve just..never done this before. Not with another person.” His voice grew quiet as he spoke. Almost like he was ashamed to tell you how inexperienced he was.

“Hyuck, I know you’re a virgin. What kind of best friend would I be to not know that?” You tilted your head. Teasing him lightheartedly.

Haechan smiled faintly for the first time all day. Your heart fluttered at the sight. He was truly the most beautiful boy you’d ever met.

“Can I kiss you?” Haechan asked, voice gentle and hesitant.

You nodded. “You don't have to ask, silly.”

Haechan’s lips slowly met yours. His hands found your waist again, squeezing eagerly.

Your hands found his neck, caressing it gently. His tense body softened under your touch.

Your tongue poked at his bottom lip. Asking for permission. Haechan parted his lips enough for you to slip your tongue inside. A soft moan escaped his lips as you swirled your tongue around his.

You took that as an incentive to keep going. Without breaking the kiss, you moved over to straddle his lap. Lips wandering from his lips, to his jaw, then his neck.

You left soft pecks on his neck until you found that sensitive spot that made him grip your waist tighter. Eyes closing shut as he whined.

Sucking lightly, you left hickeys and love bites all over his neck. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly. “I need this off. Now.”

Without hesitation, Haechan obeyed. His shirt was off in a flash. Lips connecting to yours like they had a gravitational pull.

You smiled softly at him before you moved your mouth down to his nipple. One of his most sensitive spots.

The loud cry escaping Haechan’s mouth was like music to your ears. You licked and sucked on his nipple delicately. Pinching the other one to rile him up even more.

Haechan’s entire body reacted to your teasing. He was so sensitive. So innocent. He could cum right here, right now. Merely from the treatment you gave to his nipples alone. His bulge stiffened through his shorts, dripping with pre cum.

You couldn’t let him cum so easily. Not when the fun just began. Haechan whined in disappointment when you pulled away, right when we could feel himself reaching his climax.

“Do you wanna start recording now?” Your sly grin betrayed the innocent tone in your voice. Haechan’s eyes widened as he rushed to the laptop. Almost completely forgetting about the tape that you were supposed to be filming.

He pressed record and kept the camera low enough to where your faces were out of range. Many people instantly joined the stream. You got more aroused just from the idea that thousands of viewers would witness you ruin Haechan tonight.

His lips found yours again. Hands traveling lower down your back until he found the him of your pants, tugging harshly.

“Wanna taste you. Guide me, please?” He whispered against your lips, eager to please you.

You nodded and moved closer to the camera. Lower half on full displayed as you slowly parted your legs. Haechan made his way to the floor, on his knees just for you. He quickly tugged your pants and underwear past your legs, tossing them aside.

You were already dripping from earlier. Haechan almost drooled at the sight. This was truly a dream come true.

“Go ahead.” You demanded, smiling softly. There had to be at least one thing he knew about pleasing a woman.

Haechan nodded. Slowly bringing his mouth to your heat, sucking delicately. You watched him carefully. He was so gentle, almost like he was scared to mess up.

“Move your tongue in circle motions, okay?” You requested, voice soft as you watched him. Haechan nodded and began drawing circles with his tongue around your clit. You threw your head back at the sensation, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Haechan looked up at you with those sweet, innocent brown eyes. He wondered if he was doing a good job. His eyes begged for approval.

“You’re doing so good, baby. So good for me.” You praised, bringing up a hand to caress his head. Haechan’s pace increased after hearing your words. That was all he needed to keep going, your sweet words telling him that he was doing well.

Gaining confidence, Haechan inserted two fingers inside you, thrusting them gently to see how you’d react. He learned it from the numerous porn videos he watched, and this was the perfect opportunity to make use of it.

Your toes curled as a pornographic moan escaped your lips. Your breaths quickened as Haechan licked in between your folds and back to your clit. He was skilled for someone who’s inexperienced.

There was something about the way he looked at you. Like he was enjoying this more than you were. The shy, nervous Haechan you saw before was long gone. A cocky smile formed on his face as he moaned in your pussy, making your thighs quiver.

“Hyuck—! ’m so close!” You cry out, with a whiny moan. Your tight walls clench around his fingers as your body trembles under Haechan’s touch. He detached his mouth from your pussy, allowing the camera to see the pretty sight. Your release came quickly, spilling onto Haechan’s fingers and running down his wrist as his fingers curled into you.

Haechan’s eyes were glued to what he had done. He brought his hand to his mouth, licking every bit of you off his fingers. Your breathing slowed down just in time for Haechan to bring his mouth to yours, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

Haechan was so good to you. It’s like he thought about you more than he thought about himself. You adored it, the idea that he cared more about pleasing you. You wanted to give him any and everything he asked for.

“Tell me,” you broke the kiss, voice low and flirtatious. Your hands found the hem of his shorts. “What do you want, baby?”

Haechan looked at you with heart eyes as he bit his lower lip. His face was so close to yours, there was any space in between. “Want you to fuck me. Please.” His voice was whiny and desperate. This man was head over heels for you, and you loved it.

You nodded, tugging harshly at his shorts for them to come off. His cock sprung out quickly, hitting his stomach. His tip was already dripping with pre cum. He was lengthy, and protruding with small veins. You hadn’t even realized that you paused and stared until he began to speak.

“Want you to ride me, Y/N, please. Need you so bad” Haechan was so good at begging, how could you deny someone so patient.

You take his cock into your hand and slowly stroke the length, he twitches from the stimulation, turned on from the way you’re handling him and thrilled that you’re taking his virginity on camera.

You give him a slow, teasing smile. “Look at you,” you murmur, thumb swiping over the leaking head. He shudders. “already so worked up.”

Haechan whines, hips bucking into your hand, chasing more friction. “Y/N, please…”

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, your lips brushing against his ear. “Relax, baby. So desperate for me, huh?” You straddle him, sliding the tip of his cock between your folds, teasing him with your slick.

Haechan gasps, your folds brushing against his leaky cock throwing him over edge. His fingers dig into your hips, eyes glazed over, breath catching. “You feel so warm already,” he moans, voice cracking just slightly.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” you whisper, guiding him in slowly. His eyes flutter shut and he leans his head back, you watch every twitch of his face, every gasp he lets out as you sink down onto him inch by inch.

Once your walls fully cage in on his cock, your hands rest on his chest, and you grind your hips in slow, deliberate circles, making sure he feels everything.

“You okay?” you ask, voice low, eyes locked on his flushed face.

He nods rapidly, then changes to a shaky “Y-Yeah. Just—feels like too much. In a good way. So good.”

The camera’s still rolling, but you only care about the way his hands grip your thighs like he never wants to let go. You start to move, bouncing gently, dragging out his moans as he fills you so perfectly.

And when he opens his eyes to look at you — glassy, worshipful — you lean down and kiss him hard.

“Gonna make you feel even better,” you whisper against his lips. “Wanna ruin you for anyone else.”

Your hips start to move again, faster than before — savoring every drag of his cock inside you, and hard enough that the sound of skin meeting skin echoes through the room, caught on camera.

Haechan’s hands are trembling where they clutch your thighs, eyes glued to where you’re joined. “F-Fuck… you feel unreal,” he whimpers, the words falling from his lips like a prayer. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

You reach up, grabbing his jaw and tilting his face up toward you. “Look at me,” you command softly. “Wanna see those pretty eyes while I fuck the innocence out of you.”

His breath catches. He obeys instantly, pupils blown wide, lips parted as he watches you ride him like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” You grind down, making him cry out. “All that teasing, all that flirting—you wanted me to make you mine.”

“I am yours,” he gasps, completely wrecked. “I’ve been yours—always been yours.”

You smile, slow and wicked. “Good boy.”

Your pace picks up, the tension between you coiling tighter with every bounce of your hips. He’s moaning openly now, completely disregarding the camera, lost in the feeling of you wrapped around him. His fingers are gripping you like he needs you to breathe, like if you stop, he’ll fall apart.

Overstimulation sneaks up on him, causing him to buck his hips, meeting your feverish thrust.

“You’re taking it so well, baby,” you pant, leaning forward to kiss his neck, sucking a mark into his skin just below his ear. “Letting me ruin you, just like you wanted.”

“Y-Yeah—fuck, I’m gonna—�� he tries to warn you, voice cracking. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum—”

You press your forehead to his, keeping your rhythm brutal and deep. “Do it. I want to see your pretty face when you fall apart for me.”

He shatters beneath you with a desperate cry, eyes rolling back as his hips jerk up into you. Warmth floods your core, and the way he clings to you like he never wants to be anywhere else makes your own orgasm rush up hard and fast.

You ride it out together, bodies locked, breath mingling, the camera capturing every twitch, every gasp, every second of it.

Once you calm down from your high, you slowly slip off of Haechans cock, earning a soft whine from the lack of warmth.

You turn over to the camera and flash a cocky smirk before clicking off the livestream.

Your gaze shifts over to Haechan who looks as if he went to heaven and back.

“Let’s get you cleaned up” you say softly while pulling him up to take him to the bathroom.

As you turn on shower water, suddenly he gets a notification on his phone;

@b!g.d!ckrob69 tipped $650!!: “Bring that lady on stream more often”

Looks like his half of rent is covered for the month.

— End

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ilovebtsomgie · 10 days ago

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Anyways

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ilovebtsomgie · 10 days ago

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Me searching x reader fics after gaining a new fictional crush after watching a movie/serie

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ilovebtsomgie · 10 days ago

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“ctrl+me” | johnny suh

𝜗𝜚 genre: smut | 𝜗𝜚 wc: 4.9k | minors dni | m.list navi 𝜗𝜚 pairing: ceo!johnny x camgirl!reader 𝜗𝜚 warnings: reader has a screen name (hushvia) to maintain anonymity, use of a lot of emojis (thought that should be a warning lol), dom! johnny, sub! reader, sexual language, voyeurism, cockwarming, unprotected, use of sex toys — vibrator wand, fingering, multiple orgasms (f), cum tasting, edging, overstimulation, squirting, pet names — baby, good girl 𝜗𝜚 summary: your top tier subscriber turned boyfriend joins you for your stream for the first time. 𝜗𝜚 aimee’s thoughts 💭: - i was playing around with the thought of the reader being a mix of a cam girl, streamer, and erotic content creator on a made up platform that’s a mix of other platforms - i also wanted to make this look more like you’re looking at a stream vs. reading a story. idk how i feel about it, but this also isn’t supposed to be taken seriously, it was just for funsies. - also the ceo title doesn’t play a huge role except for the fact it’s why he’s able to tip so much (i love the ceo trope too ok pls ✋🏼)

You would have never expected to do a collaboration with anyone, let alone your premium tier subscriber turned boyfriend who happens to also be the youngest CEO of the tech industry.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” You ask Johnny as he positions himself in front of your stream set up. “Not too late to back out, I could do something else for tonight’s stream.”

He smiles, lifting a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. His hand slides down the side of your neck before cupping your nape, pulling you into a kiss.

“I want to be here,” he reassures. “With you.”

“I know but with your job—”

“You’ve kept yourself a secret for years, right?” His thumb brushes your cheekbone. “I trust you and your setup. You won’t let anything slip up. That’s not who you are.”

You sigh in surrender, pressing a final kiss on the cheek before slipping in front of him. With your back nestled against his chest, silk robe slipped off a shoulder, and thighs pressed tightly together, you settle into place just as the countdown ticks down to the final 20 seconds before going live.

Quickly double checking one of the many screens, you ensure the voice changer app is up and running while the angle of the camera doesn’t reveal anything incriminating about you or your boyfriend.

“Promise me you’ll tell me if you’re uncomfortable at any point,” you say, tilting your head to look at him. “I’ll cut the stream and—”

“I’ll be fine, baby,” he chuckles, sliding his large hand across your stomach. “But I will let you know. I promise.”

With one last reassuring kiss to your cheek, you take a deep breath to soothe your nerves. You give Johnny’s hand one last squeeze before your livestream starts.

🔴 hushvia is now live! 👤 8,267 joined 💬 live chat 👤 devotionslut: chat wish me luck 👤 devotionslut: im watching this on the tv 👤 softbutmean: @/devotionslut ur absolutely insane 👤 dripkisser: uh who tf is that behind her?! 👤 softbutmean: are we intruding on something?

When your livestream begins, your entire personality shifts into your teasing, flirtatious, online persona you’ve carefully curated throughout your years.

“Hi babies,” you giggle, your fingers still laced between Johnny’s as his hands rests against your abdomen. “I see you noticed something a little different tonight.”

💬 live chat 👤 devotionslut: different? you got a whole man behind you! 👤 dripkisser: he’s kinda hot? who is he? 👤 creampie4: i have a gut feeling this stream is gonna be so fckn hot

Johnny’s hand dips between your thighs, prying them open with a firm touch.

You giggle, clenching them shut again in playful defiance before continuing your thought.

“You’ve asked if I’d ever do collabs before.” You pause, eyes flicking to the chat and a smile curling towards the camera. “I guess tonight you have your answer.”

His lips brush against the shell of your ear, pulling another breathless laugh from your lips.

“Be good tonight,” you purr. “I’ll let you decide if I should bring him back.”

Johnny’s voice is too quiet for the mic to catch. “Tell them how wet you are.” He commands quietly, voice low and gravelly.

He dips his fingers between your thighs again — slower this time — rubbing circles over the lacy fabric stretched over your clit.

“He wants me to tell you,” you giggle, biting your bottom lip towards the camera. “How wet I am right now.”

“But…” You pause for dramatic effect, then smile. “It might be easier to show you — once we hit our tip goal.”

💬 live chat 💸 curledtoesclub tipped $65 — I’ve waited an eternity for you to collab with someone! 💸 softbutmean tipped $125 — ur lucky ur so hot 💸 justhereforthemoans tipped $175 — show us! show us! show us! show us! 📌 pinned tip 💸 sufferforher tipped $500 — cockwarm him while he plays with you… please… i’ll get on my knees and beg if I have to! 💬live chat 👤 scre4ming: @/sufferforher not you tipping for a cockwarming session 👤 viasfavorite: @/sufferforher ur a real one 🛑 tip goal met 🎉

Your eyebrows lift in surprise and your eyes light up at the tip comment that comes in. Biting down on your bottom lip, you feel your empty walls flutter at the thought of being stuffed full with your boyfriend’s cock.

Johnny’s chest shifts with a stifled laugh. You glance up at him, catching the small shrug of his shoulders.

“Wanna do it?” He softly asks, voice low, eyes scanning yours — checking and waiting for even the smallest sign of doubt.

You nod, shifting beside him as he carefully unzips his slacks. His cock springs free — hard and impressive. Even off camera, you’re still getting used to the way he stretches you open.

You reposition yourself, back flush to his chest, teasing the live chat as you press his cock against your stomach with his leaking tip glistening just under your navel.

“Do you guys see this?” You grin, your thumb gliding across his slit, smearing his precum over his sensitive tip. It twitches at your touch. “This is how deep he’ll be in me.”

You hover over him as he pulls your panties to the side, holding them out of the way while you sink down slowly onto his length.

A gasp slips out when his hands grip your waist — steadying and guiding you — as he fills you inch by inch.

💬 live chat 👤 hoverkiss: whoever said size doesn’t matter was a fucking liar or has a small 🍆 👤 user69: there’s no way he fits. no waaaaay 💸 cvntybtch tipped $143 — she’s so stuffed! 😍 👤 chattychad: mine is bigger for sure 👤 viasfavorite: @/chattychad stfu 💸 devotionslut tipped $111 — if she cries on stream i’m tipping again 💸 dripkisser tipped $250 — this alone means he needs to come back every week!!

You still for a moment, allowing your body to adjust to his size. He presses his lips against the back of your neck, sending ripples of shivers up and down your spine.

“You okay?” He murmurs, arms tightening around your waist.

You nod.

“Good.” You feel his smile curve against your skin. “Ask chat if they want to see you edged or overstimulated tonight.” His voice dips, dark and low. His cock twitches inside of you and your heart responds, pounding against your ribcage.

You swallow sharply. “Chat,” you breathe out, voice already trembling. “He wants to know if you’d rather see me edged or overstimulated tonight.” You try to lace it with a flirty laugh, maintaining your internet persona, but the breathlessness in your tone betrays you. “Either way looks like I’ll be begging.”

Johnny’s finger presses against your swollen clit, tracing tight, deliberate circles that make your walls flutter around him.

A poll pops up and you’re watching the results fluctuate as the chat votes in real time.

💬 live chat 👤 hoverkiss: her voice! i just know that dick is good af! 💸 softbutmean tipped $100 — overstim! she needs to cry just a little 👤 burneraccount7: edging pls i want her begging 😭 👤 domdaddy: i voted overstim… y’all better deliver 💸 chattychad tipped $175 — this is too hot 📊 poll results 🟩 overstimulated (64%) ⬜ edged (36%)

“Looks like the chat’s decided.” Johnny rolls up the sleeves of his button-up, forearms flexing as he reaches for the vibrator wand placed conveniently within arm’s reach.

He clicks it on to the lowest setting, just enough for you to feel the steady pulse with every soft vibration sinking deep as he presses it against your clit. Your body jolts, a quiet gasp slipping from your lips while he watches you with intent. “Let’s give them what they asked for,” he whispers.

You’re clenching around him, thighs trembling, one hand gripping his wrist while your other claws at the forearm that pins you back against his chest. Loud, broken moans tear from your throat as he slides the head of the toy up and down your wet slit, every pass slicker than the last.

“Ask your chat if I should let you cum,” he whispers. “Ask if you deserve to cum on my cock.”

You swallow hard, body twitching as the wand’s vibrations intensify.

“Ch-chat,” you stammer, hips jerking, word early drowned out by a needy whimper. “He wants y-you to vote — fuck…” you shake your head, clearly overwhelmed before trying again.

💬 live chat 💸 mutedmoan tipped $150 — she’s already fucked out 💸 user963 tipped $200 — keep going omg 💸 softbutmean tipped $175 — damn make her cry!!!

“C’mon baby,” Johnny coos, his breath warm against your ear. “Ask them or you won’t get to cum. I know you want to.”

You nod, your stomach twitching as he presses the toy harder against you.

“He wants you to vote if I’m allowed to cum on his cock,” you barely manage, voice trembling.

Another poll pops up on the screen, and the tips start flooding in — more than you’ve ever seen in a single stream. Your eyes flicker to the chat, buzzing with mixed reactions, but the poll’s bar is leaning toward “no.”

Johnny chuckles softly. “Looks like you need to beg the chat to let you cum, baby. They’re being cruel.”

You whimper, feeling your muscles clench tighter around him.

“Please, chat,” you plead, voice breaking just right. “I’ve been so, so good. Please let me cum. I promise it’ll be worth it. Please.”

Your whimper sends the chat into a frenzy.

💬 live chat 👤 mutedmoan: oh my god she’s begging us??? 👤 viasdaddy: nah this power trip is making me feel too important. let me just fuck her for one night. 💸 viassugardaddy tipped $350 📌 pinned tip 💸 beg4u tipped $600 — make sure she cums hard 📊 poll results 🟩 yes, let her cum (71%) ⬜ no, deny her (29%)

“Cum for them,” Johnny growls into your ear the second the poll results pop up.

And you do — hard. Your back arches, toes curl, and a shuddering wave of pleasure takes over. The audience can’t see the tears sliding down your cheeks, but Johnny can.

“She’s crying,” he says loud enough for the mic to catch it, a teasing smirk in his voice as the vibrator pulses relentlessly against you.

💬 live chat 💸 clitkitten tipped $500 — GIVE US HIS @ NOW 👤 viasgoodslvt: WHY AM I MOANING???? 💸 mutedmoan tipped $300 — sir… ur voice?! 💸 anonymous tipped $440 👤 sincity: shit i nutted everywhere 💸 devotionslut tipped $200 — she actually cried ❤️‍🔥

“Cum for them again, baby,” Johnny murmurs, still loud enough for the mic to catch. “You can do it.”

Your thighs instinctively press together, only for him to part them again — firm and unforgiving.

“I-I don’t know if I can,” you whisper, voice shaking as the room spins. Your body twitches beneath the relentless pulse of the vibrator still pressed against your slick and poor overstimulated clit.

“Yes, you can. Breathe, baby. Cum for us.” His tone softens as he tilts your head gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “They’ve been so good to you. They deserve this.”

💬 live chat 💸 anonymous97 tipped $825 — THIS GUY. DAMN. 💸 anonymous12 tipped $700 — the way he knows she can take more. i’ve never tipped faster. 💸 anonymous34 tipped $600 — i just came to her 📌 pinned tip 💸 ceo.daddy tipped $925 — i know this is a live stream but i feel like i shouldn’t be watching

You simply nod, gripping onto his arm as he whispers praises in your ear that only you can hear — meant for only you.

Your thighs begin to tingle, vision blurring as the pressure coils low in your belly. Throwing your head back against his shoulder, your lip catches between your teeth, biting down hard — so hard it just might bleed.

“I’m gonna—” you gasp, words catching in your throat and cutting your sentence short.

You sob from the force of your release, a cry of pleasure tearing from you as Johnny pins you tighter to his chest and shielding you from view — protecting the anonymity you’ve fought so hard to preserve.

“Thank you,” you mumble. You’re not sure who you’re thanking — the chat for letting you experience this or Johnny for getting you to this point.

You’re still pulsing around him, walls fluttering, wet, and your slick dripping down his cock when, without warning, his hips jerk up once, sharp and needy.

He lifts you off his cock with such ease, it catches you by surprise and before you can even gasp, warmth splashes across your stomach. His cum paints your skin — thick, hot, and unexpected.

He’s panting into your ear, voice wrecked and full of apology. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I couldn’t help it. You felt too good. I had to.”

Your lashes flutter as you catch your breath and you smirk toward the camera, giggling softly — completely fucked-out and absolutely shameless.

💬 live chat 👤 viasfavorite: her stomach. his cum. her fucking smirk. i can’t breathe rn 💸 viassugardaddy tipped $300 💸 hornymf tipped $420 — u did so well 📌 pinned tip 💸 clitkitten tipped $1,000 — taste it, please taste it 💬 live chat 👤 user62: u guys are rich ass mf here wtf 👤 jaejaejae: tipping 1k to taste cum fckn insane but thx 👤 dumpydumpy: @/clitkitten i hope u get everything u want in life for doing this

“Taste it?” You giggle, reading the pinned tip comment aloud.

Your eyes flicking toward your boyfriend who is already blushing and grinning like he knows what’s coming.

Without needing to ask, his fingers dip low, gathering a creamy streak of his release on the pad of his index finger. He lifts it slowly and deliberately, holding your gaze the entire time.

When he brings it to your lips, you don’t hesitate. You part them with a satisfied sigh and cheeky grin, wrapping your mouth around his finger and sucking him clean.

💬 live chat 💸 sincity tipped $700 — i’m jealous of a fingertip!! 💸 viasgoodslvt tipped $100 — SHE TASTED HIM. ON CAMERA. I CAN’T BREATHE. 💸 domdaddy tipped $200 — dude is one lucky guy 💸 chattychad tipped $200 — this is the filthy shit NO OTHER STREAMER CAN COMPARE TO 🛑 tip goal exceeded 50% 🎉 🏆 milestone achieved hushvia just reached a record-breaking tip total! 🎬 stream replay available for VIP members only

You take a moment to catch your breath, chest rising and falling as you slowly come down from your high.

Johnny’s hand runs over your trembling thighs in soft strokes, trying to soothe the quivering aftershocks still rolling through you.

You flash the camera a dazed smile, eyes catching on the screen just as a celebratory pop-up appears.

“Oh my god! Did we just hit a milestone?” You laugh, still breathless. “You guys are actually insane tonight. Thank you so much. Seriously, I’ve never had a night like this and I can’t thank you enough for the support.”

Johnny’s hands slide up your hips, giving them a firm squeeze that makes you glance back.

“Wanna thank them properly?” He mutters into your ear, voice thick with promise. “Five minute break. I wanna surprise them.”

You hesitate, eyes searching his, but you trust him completely.

“Babies,” you begin, biting down on your bottom lip as you turn back to the camera. “We’re gonna take a short break to prep something extra special just to say thank you for helping us hit that milestone.”

Shrugging off the silk fabric from your shoulders, you toss your robe to the side and out of frame.

“Grab some water, clean up the mess you made, maybe check your bank accounts.” You grin cheekily. “Then join us in five. You definitely don’t wanna miss what we’ve got planned.”

Your custom banner appears with the soft countdown ticking in the corner of the screen. As the stream temporarily fades to your break overlay, you turn to Johnny, eyebrows lifted in curiosity.

“What’s the surprise for them?” You ask, sipping from the water glass on your bedside table.

“Lay back,” he says, already moving behind the camera. “You’re gonna cum on live again, but this time with my fingers.”

A breath hitches. You lean against your hand, knees spread open, and feet planted against the mattress.

Johnny adjusts the angle, zooming in, and narrowing the view until all that’s visible is your glistening heat framed by your thighs.

You gasp at the sight on the viewfinder.

“You’ll walk into frame when the timer hits zero,” he tells you, glancing down the lens with a glint in his eye and a smirk pulling from the corner of his mouth. “Trust me. I was a subscriber once, remember?”

💬 live chat 👤 viasfavorite: do u think they’re doing something rn to warm her up 😭 👤 devotionslut: u guys think he’s a streamer too?? 👤 user222: @/devotionslut nah he would’ve gone viral if he was right??? 👤 clitkitten: @/devotionslut if he is i’d sub SO FAST 👤 viasgoodslvt: someone drop his @ for science 👤 scre4ming: @/devotionslut maybe he’s just her dom 👤 just.the.tip: @/scre4ming she’s such a good sub 👤 scre4ming: @/just.the.tip and he’s a good dom 🤤

The anticipation is electric. Messages moving rapidly with tips and new subscriptions blowing up your notifications. Your own heart races as the countdown ticks into its final ten seconds.

You glance at Johnny. His once-pristine hair is tousled, messy from earlier, and he combs through it with his fingers before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead — calming you in the quietest, and best, way he knows how.

You take one last look at your setup — camera angle, lighting, connection — all ready to go.

When the screen fades in from the break overlay, the first thing they see is a tight frame of your wine-colored bedsheets.

“So,” your voice comes through first, low and flirty, just off-screen. You appear, sliding into view and settling into the same position as before — knees bent, back arched, body on full display. “I’ll be on my back, all for you, and he’s gonna work those fingers like you’ve never imagined.”

You pause, your lips curving into a sly smile.

“No toys,” you playfully whisper. “Just pure overstimulation.”

You shift slightly, bracing yourself on your palms behind you. Your thighs part, pussy glistening and ready.

A moment later, Johnny’s hands enter the frame. He spits into his palm, the sound sharp and hard to miss.

💬 live chat 💸 dripkisser tipped $75 – he can spit on me any day 👤 user6969: fingers? it’s gonna be soft core 😒 👤 creampie4: wait, did he just spit?? damn 💸 shhh111 tipped $50 – i just know he’s hot i don’t even need to see him

As his slick fingers circle your clit, you barely register the first digit sliding inside you, then the second. It’s easy, like your body’s been waiting for him all night.

At first, he moves slowly — timed and calculated. Until the pace changes. His palm starts slapping softly against your clit each time he fucks his fingers into you, the sound obscene and wet, echoing in the mic.

You gasp, fingers clawing at his wrist in a desperate attempt to slow him down, but his other hand grabs yours and pins them flat against your lower abdomen.

“Stay still baby,” he mutters under his breath.

You’re crying out as he alternates between curling his fingers deep inside you and harshly rubbing your clit in punishing circles with the pads of his fingertips.

Your cunt clenches hard and fast, building heat blooms just behind your navel. Your thighs begin to shake, fluttering around his hand. But this time, it’s different. Your breath hitches at the feeling.

“I-I think I might… wait, wait—” You squeal, voice cracking as you try to squirm away from your boyfriend’s fingers.

Johnny leans close, lips brushing your ear.“It’s okay, baby, don’t hold back.” He whispers. “Just let go, you’re safe with me.”

His reassurance pushes you right over the edge and your entire body shatters under him when you submit to the pleasure.

Your body jerks violently as a rush of liquid soaks his fingers and your inner thighs, the slick sound unmistakable as it hits your skin. You try to close your legs, but he holds you open — for himself and your audience. You’re sobbing, not from pain, but from the immense pleasure coursing through your body.

Your mind goes blank — forgetting the camera, your audience, everything. The only thing grounding you is the steady touch of your boyfriend and his soft praises whispered into your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Good job,” he says, warm and proud. “You did so well.”

💬 live chat 💸 dirtypickle tipped $69 💸 viassugardaddy tipped $100: that was the hottest fucking thing i’ve ever seen 👤 viasfavorite: i’d fall in love if this happened to me 👤 h0rnygh0st: she didn’t even know it was coming 💸 clitkitten tipped $300 — squirted for US?! best thank you from a creator EVER! 👤 daddydom: BRO SHE SQUIRTED?????? 👤 cumslut: i will never recover from this. ever.

“Again,” you whimper, voice raw and trembling. “Again, please.”

Johnny just smirks at the fucked-out state you’re in — glassy eyes, tear-stained cheeks, lips swollen and still parted from your last orgasm.

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Ask your chat if you can cum for them again.” He hums, fingers gently coaxing your thighs apart. One hand strokes your inner thigh, soothing your trembling body.

You nod weakly, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. “Ch-chat,” you stammer, voice barely above a whisper. “C-can I cum for you again, please?”

💬 live chat 👤 jaejaejae: cum again baby, make us proud 💸 user222 tipped $40 — the way i said yes out loud 💸 goodslutvia tipped $100 — this stream is UNREAL cum again 👤 softc0re: she’s begging like we’re the ones in control i’m gonna cry 👤 just.the.tip: please don’t ask, just take it 💸 anonymous09 tipped $20 👤 cumcloud9: whoever he is i just want to shake his hand and thank him for his service 💸 anonymous16 tipped $20 💸 anonymous777 tipped $50 💸 viasfavorite tipped $111 — this mystery dom is worth every single dollar i have to my name 👤 softbutmean: who says no to that? cum for us baby! 👤 beg4u: this man got her cumming back to back and he hasn’t even taken his clothes off yet 🛑 tip goal exceeded 60% 🎉

“You’re such a good girl,” Johnny breathes against your skin, lips brushing your neck before his fingers slide back inside you — with no warning, no mercy.

This time, he doesn’t hold back.

The slap of his palm against your clit is relentless, almost punishing. The rhythm he sets is fast and harsh, sending waves of bliss through your body. Your back arches, hips jerk off the bed, a strained cry tears from your throat and echoes through the room.

“Cum for them again, baby.” Johnny growls, low and commanding — the kind of tone that hits you deep in your core, picked up perfectly by the mic.

And you do.

It crashes into you like a tsunami — overwhelming and powerful. Your fingers fist the sheets in a death grip as another messy, uncontrollable spurt gushes out of you, slick dripping between your thighs.

You’re whimpering, crying, completely spent. Your body collapses back into the mattress, muscles twitching as your bones go soft and your mind fogs with pleasure. You’re nothing but breathless sobs and overstimulated bliss.

💬 live chat 💸 viassugardaddy tipped $420 — perfect little sub 👤 justforthemoans: SHE CAME. ON COMMAND. 💸 blushcrypt tipped $90 — holy. actual. shit. 💦💦💦 👤 rawpixels: she’s incredible 👤 uploadurgirl: ngl this is impressive 👤 dripkisser: who is he and why am i ready to risk it all 💸 honeybuns tipped $100 — me next please

Johnny brushes the sweat-damp strands of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle and loving. He presses a soft kiss to your temple — not for the camera, not for the stream — just for you.

“Make sure you thank them, baby,” he whispers, voice low and warm as he steps away from the bed. He gives you space, a silent gesture of respect after everything you gave — to him and to your audience.

You’re slightly trembling, your breath still broken, the sheets beneath you are soaked and clinging to your skin. You close your eyes for a moment, trying your best to steady the spinning room, but the smile on your lips doesn’t fade.

Johnny adjusts the framing, zooming out just enough to capture your smile, parted lips, and bare chest rising and falling with every uneven breath.

“Thank you, chat,” you grin, your voice hoarse but full of affection.

Johnny hands you your water, and you take slow, grateful sips, lips wrapping around the straw. The comments explode — hearts, praise, awe — but the one thing they all agree on is how good he takes care of you.

They’re right.

💬 live chat 👤 bbyluv: he saw her shaking and went straight for the water? sir i love you 👤 viasfavorite: he’s not just fucking her. he’s taking care of her. marry him now or i will!! 👤 cvmslvt: water after making her squirt?? yeah she’s not going anywhere 👤 chattychad: y’all hype the most basic shit a man does like it’s just water! 💸 digitalcries tipped $77 — i just watched her squirt then get taken care of 👤 camwh0re: oh they are absolutely fucking off cam like no question 👤 softbutmean: @/chattychad bc y’all fckn suck and set the bar so low basic shit is the expectation y’all can’t even meet 👤 viasfavorite: @/chattychad he’s fucking her & ur not… ofc we’re gonna hype him up wdym? 👤 creamingaround: @/camwh0re i fear it’s more than fucking. it’s personal. 💸 melt4me tipped $69 — hope there’s more of this in the future 📌 pinned tip 💸 latenightj tipped $3,000 — he should definitely return for the next stream 🛑 tip goal exceeded 100% 🎉

You laugh at the pinned comment, still breathless, and you glance over at your boyfriend — who’s already smirking at the screen, clearly proud of the generous tip he left under his alias.

“Should we have him return?” You giggle, just as a poll pops up on screen.

📊 should he come back for another stream? ⏳ 30 seconds left to vote 💬 live chat 👤 user126: if you don’t bring him back we RIOT 👤 bbyluv: he’s earned guest privileges forever 👤 scre4ming: whoever voted “no” go to horny jail 👤 vaisfavorite: most def my fav streaming couple??? 📊poll results 🟩 yes, he needs to come back (98%) ⬜ no, we don’t want him here (2%)

“Looks like we have a fan favorite,” you chuckle, reaching over to tug Johnny into the frame.

He gives a casual wave to the camera, still smirking.

“I think I’m gonna end things here,” you continue, brushing hair from your face as you smile warmly. “Thank you all so much for joining us for tonight’s stream. It was a huge night of firsts, and I can’t thank you enough for coming on this wild ride with me.”

You giggle as Johnny’s hand draws soft circles against your back.

“Be good tonight… or at least think of me while you’re being bad, okay? See you next time, good night!” You blow a kiss to the screen and with one final smile, you end the stream.

You let out a breath of relief, but the moment you look up, Johnny is towering over you with a look in his eye.

“You really think I could watch you cum like that and not fuck you stupid?” He mutters, voice low and dangerous. His fingers trail slowly along your collarbone, coaxing your gaze back to his. “We’re not done, yet.”

You squeal, laughing as he grabs your waist and tugs you toward the edge of the bed. His movements are fast, hungry — he’s already undoing the button of his slacks, pulling his hard cock from the confines of his boxer briefs.

“Can I at least shower first?” You giggle, lifting your leg and pressing your foot to his chest in mock protest.

“Why?” He smirks. “You’re just gonna get messy all over again — and again, and again.” He leans in, voice husky and dark. “You’re not sleeping tonight, baby. You’re gonna cum for me ‘til the sun’s up.”

💬 live chat 👤 cumcloud9: stfu he isn’t real wtf?! 💸 cumcloud9 tipped $69 — GO ALL NIGHT 👤 softbutmean: she better not be able to walk tomorrow, she deserves that much 💸 clitkitten tipped $100 — they’re so yummy 👤 creamingnscreaming: i’m gonna pretend they aren’t fucking to keep up my delusion that she’s still mine 💸 licklocked tipped $80 — don’t ever stop! 💸 anonymous39 tipped $50 — she’s gonna break omg 💸 viassugardaddy tipped $120 — if she squirts again, film and post it!

The tip alerts keep rolling in, drawing your attention just as the audio icon flashes green — a clear sign the stream didn’t end properly.

“Oops,” you giggle, leaning in toward the mic. “Pretend you didn’t hear that. See you next time. Bye!”

💬 live chat 👤 vaisfavorte: NAHHH SHE GIGGLED LIKE A VILLAIN 👤 hoverkiss: i will in fact pretend i did not hear that 👤 sufferforher: hottest streamers in history!!!! 🔴 hushvia has ended her live! 💸 tip alert: $200 from justhereforthemoans — use this to order breakfast after you crawl out of bed tomorrow 💸 tip alert: $200 from anonymous — thank you so much for letting us watch 💸 tip alert: $600 from anonymous — this stream changed my brain chemistry 🔔 post stream notifications 🚨 46 new VIP members joined after tonight’s stream 📈 hushvia just hit an all-time VIP high 🎁 exclusive after-hours content unlocked 🏆 stream milestone achieved ✅ 100% tip goal surpassed ✅ highest VIP growth spike since joining ✅ viewer retention: 90% stayed until final second

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ilovebtsomgie · 14 days ago

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johnny suh fic recs f = fluff, s = smut, a = angst

make me move (s) - @yutaholic 17k / exes to lovers "You were pregnant when Johnny left to follow his dreams and not a day goes by that you don’t wonder if you did the right thing by keeping his daughter a secret from him. Then, unexpectedly, Johnny comes back into your life, but neither of you are sure if he’s ready to be a father."

comfort cuisine (s,f) - @smileysuh 10.8k / friends to lovers, dad!johnny "You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more."

supercut (f,a) - @bloodmoonmuses childhood friends to ex-best friends to lovers "time escapes you and johnny- a supercut of bliss and naivete, all glittery and rosy, morphing and everchanging over the years- until your paths cross once more."

stereo 127 (f) - @bloodmoonmuses college au, teacher's assistant! johnny, friends to lovers "johnny is your campus crush. he also happens to be the teaching assistant in your music history class. when you (innocently) ask for help on a project, you end up learning about more than just music."

throught the years (f) - @suhnshinehaos friends to lovers "you and johnny’s relationship told in your birthday posts over the years"

totally platonic (s,f) - @aquarius-johnny 6.6k / friends to lovers "you’re nearing your thirties and still a virgin. johnny, your best friend and only person who knows about your secret, offers to take your virginity seeing how much its bothering you — but it’s all platonic, duh!"

first time (s) - @aquarius-johnny 1.7k "You decide to lose your virginity to your one and only."

confessions (f,a) - @aquarius-johnny 2.2k "It’s been four years since you’ve seen your neighbor, Johnny. When he returns from university, after graduating in the winter, you realize he’s no longer the boy next door you remembered."

blind dates (f) - @aquarius-johnny 1.3k / friends to lovers "Your parents’ paranoia and panic set in when they realize you weren’t settling down which causes them to line up a few blind dates. Little do they know you already had someone waiting for you."

family affair (f) - @aquarius-johnny 896 / single dad johnny "Johnny asks you to meet him to tell you something he’s been hiding from you."

we're just friends, right? (f) - @aquarius-johnny friends to lovers "friends don’t really look at each other the way you two do, right?"

tats & tulips (f,s) - @aquarius-johnny 7k / tattoo artist! johnny x afab florist! reader "a love story between an ‘intimidating’ tattoo artist and the ‘preppy’ florist who just so happens to have their shops next to each other."

puzzle piece (f) - @sehunniepotwrites 1.2k / single dad!johnny x preschool teacher!reader

going for the gold (f,s) - @sehunniepotwrites 27.2k / friends to lovers "10,305 individual athletes participating in the 2020 Tokyo Olympics Games. 10,305 frustrated athletes trapped inside the bubble they called the Olympic Village with no means of leaving the grounds or releasing their pent up stress. Amongst the almost indestructible cardboard beds that were rumored to prevent athlete contact and the condom supply they supposedly cannot use, the message the Olympic organizers tried to send were mixed. Many athletes saw this as a challenge, one athlete being Team Korea’s one and only, John Suh. The famed swimmer was ready and willing to take on this challenge but he couldn’t do it alone. He needed a partner for it and you—best friend, fellow teammate, and competitive swimmer—were the perfect match."

full time buzz (f,s) - @hazyhae 13.3k / strangers to lovers "you’re a stoner weed enthusiast who's been dealing with bad luck in both your work and love life. insert johnny, an upcoming dispensary owner who knows nothing about weed and is too attractive for his own good, and maybe you’ve found the solution to both of those problems."

my oh my (f) - @sunshyni 1k "A leaked message stating the obvious about Johnny was enough for you to finally have him."

[17:09] (f) - @espresseo-cafe friends to lovers

buzz (f) - @mejaemin 1.6k / friends to lovers "who knew a surprise birthday party could come with a new girlfriend?"

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ilovebtsomgie · 17 days ago

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i wish i could do that to yeosang:(

I’m still trying to manifest a Choi San for myself.

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ilovebtsomgie · 20 days ago

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welcome to jichandesuu’s audio masterlist

Nct

Jaemin 2.💋 Jaehyun💋 Johnny💋 Jisung 2.💋 Jeno 2. 3.💋 Renjun💋 Mark 2.💋 Haechan 2. 3.💋 Yuta💋 Chenle💋

Enhypen

Jake💋 Sunoo 2.💋 Jungwon💋 Heeseung💋 Sunghoon💋 Jay💋

Seventeen

Joshua💋 Mingyu💋Seungcheol 2.💋 Wonwoo💋Minghao💋

Ateez

Yunho💋 Mingi💋

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ilovebtsomgie · 22 days ago

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ilovebtsomgie · 22 days ago

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CUMMING OF AGE

bsfs brother!Heeseung x f!reader - when you ask him to teach you how to masturbate. (pure porn with plot. MDNI 18+, explicit, masturbation, cunnilingus, phone sex, ANGST, fluff too so its fine.) “If she’s not cumming, she’s not listening to her pussy.” “And if she won’t listen…” “I’ll make her.”

You’ve always had a hate-hate relationship with masturbation.

Not the “haha I don’t know what I’m doing” kind. Not the shy, innocent kind. The kind where you tried, over and over again, and every time it ended in that same aching, pathetic way—panties soaked, fingers numb, pussy throbbing, and absolutely nothing to show for it.

No finish. No orgasm. Not even a fucking twitch of satisfaction.

You rubbed and rubbed, like everyone said to. You found your clit. You circled it. Pressed it. Flicked it. Tried soft and slow, then fast and desperate. Tried with spit, with lotion, with fucking coconut oil once. But nothing ever felt right. Just this frustrating hum of almost. Like your body was teetering on the edge of something big and just… refused to jump.

You’d end up sore. Agitated. Your legs would shake, but not the good kind. Your pussy would swell, throbbing like she was mocking you for trying.

It made you feel broken. Or worse—boring. Like your body was wired wrong. Like you’d missed the most basic feminine skill everyone else seemed to be born with.

Girls talked about cumming like it was breathing. Like they could do it in five minutes flat with one hand and a good imagination. You’d hear them talk about shaking through the sheets, arching off the bed, seeing stars—and you’d smile and nod and laugh along, pretending like you got it, like you knew what it was like to get wrecked by your own hand.

You’d never even come close.

You tried toys. You bought a vibrator and nearly cried when it did nothing but make your arms go numb. You tried grinding on pillows until the friction made you raw. You tried porn. You even tried watching yourself once in the mirror like some kind of twisted self-help therapy. Nothing worked.

You’d touch and touch and chase and beg for it in your head—please, just this once, just let me finish, please—and still end up breathless, sticky, empty.

You’d cry sometimes. Just a little. From the frustration of it. From the absolute humiliation of being so fucking horny and not being able to do anything about it.

You hated that about yourself. Hated the way your body seemed to enjoy the build and not the release. Hated the way your clit would throb for attention and then get overwhelmed the second you gave her any. Hated the need. The noise. The mess with no reward.

But the worst part—the actual worst part—was how much you still wanted it. How much you still tried. Like a dog chasing its own tail. Like some needy little loser who couldn’t leave it alone.

You were eighteen, for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to know your body by now. You were supposed to be able to make yourself cum. You were supposed to own your pleasure.

Instead, you were stuck with a pussy that got wet at the idea of being touched and then shut down the second you did.

It made you feel fucking insane.

So you gave up. Mostly. You still touched yourself when you needed to—when it built up too much and made your thighs ache. But it wasn’t about cumming anymore. It was maintenance. A reset button. A pressure valve. You did it in the dark, quietly, quickly, just to shut your body up.

You didn’t even think about pleasure anymore.

You didn’t dare.

Evie—Heejoo, but you only ever called her that when you wanted to piss her off—was your best friend in the world. Ride-or-die since ninth grade, bonded over a shared hatred of your chem teacher and the fact that neither of you fit into your school’s carefully manicured social circles.

Where you were sharp and quick with your mouth, she was soft-spoken and wide-eyed, just sweet enough to disarm anyone who got too close. You balanced each other out. She calmed your storm. You stirred hers.

You were over at her house so often it barely felt like visiting anymore. You knew the code to their garage door. You had your own toothbrush in her bathroom. Her mom kept your favorite cereal in the pantry like clockwork. You even had a drawer in her room, mostly old hoodies and stolen pajama shorts that smelled like her perfume.

It wasn’t unusual for you to spend the weekend there, or three nights in a row, or an entire spring break. Her parents didn’t mind. They liked knowing where you both were—liked having an extra body in the house, even if they never said it out loud.

And then there was Heeseung.

Her older brother. Four years up. Barely a presence.

When you were younger, he was just the older guy who sulked in his room and stole her chargers. Sometimes he’d give you a ride when Evie asked, sometimes he’d walk past you in the kitchen and grunt a greeting, but that was about it. He was there, and then he wasn’t—off to college, off to god knows where, vanishing from your life as quickly as he’d drifted through it.

You had a tiny crush on him once, freshman year. The kind that sparked quick and stupid, fed by his lazy smirk and the way he wore his backwards cap while fixing his car in the driveway. It died fast—suffocated by time and distance and his complete disinterest in acknowledging your existence beyond a nod or a side-eye.

By the time he moved back home post-grad, you barely noticed. He was older now, busier, always in his room with the door closed, voice low behind it, like he was on constant phone calls or late-night games or… something.

You didn’t think about him much. He was just Evie’s brother. Part of the background. White noise.

Your focus was always Evie.

She was the one who held your hair when you puked. The one who lent you a dress before every shitty date. The one who knocked on the bathroom door when you were taking too long and said, “You better not be edge-cumming again, bitch,” like it was the most normal sentence in the world.

She talked about sex like it was just part of the air. Blunt. Effortless. She could make herself cum in three minutes flat. She said it with confidence, like breathing.

You hated how easily it came to her. You loved her anyway.

You always felt safe in her house. Safe in her bed, tangled up under a shared blanket, legs overlapping like twins born too far apart. Her room smelled like vanilla and lip gloss and safety. It felt like yours.

The house settled around you like it always did—quiet, gentle, familiar in a way that made your muscles loosen and your brain drift. Even the silence felt padded here. The hum of the fridge downstairs, the occasional pop of cooling pipes, the subtle click of the thermostat shifting—background noise you’d grown so used to, it almost felt like home.

Evie was out cold beside you, one arm thrown carelessly across your stomach, her breath hot against your ribs. She always slept fast after wine. She always slept on you, too—like her body never quite understood boundaries even after all these years. You didn’t mind. It was comforting, the weight of her. Like a grounding wire for the anxious, electric static building low in your belly.

Sleep wasn’t coming for you, though.

You’d been lying there in the dark for the better part of an hour, phone dimmed to nearly unreadable brightness, eyes burning from the glow. Nothing on your feed caught your attention. You’d scrolled past the same content three times already, thumb swiping out of pure muscle memory.

Something restless twisted beneath your skin, persistent and irritating. Not quite horniness, not quite insomnia—just that same pulsing tension that had been sitting heavy between your legs all night. Like your body was trying to tell you something without using words. You shifted under the blanket, trying not to disturb Evie, thighs pressing tighter together to relieve the dull ache. It only made it worse.

The urge to do something about it had been growing for hours.

You’d thought about sneaking off to the bathroom. You’d done it before—quiet, quick, businesslike. Just enough friction to take the edge off before falling asleep, still unsatisfied but too tired to care. The idea barely tempted you anymore. You already knew how it would end: the usual mess of spit-slick fingers, your clit swollen and sore, pussy wet and pulsing and still refusing to give you anything real.

Just the thought of trying again made you clench your jaw.

It was pathetic, the way your body teased you. Wet for no reason. Needy without payout. Over and over again, like clockwork. Like punishment.

You turned your phone off with a quiet sigh and let the screen go black.

For a moment, all you could hear was the creak of the floorboards expanding under the weight of a settling house. A branch tapping against the window. The subtle drag of Evie’s breathing. You stared at the ceiling, tired but tense, willing yourself to shut down the frustration building behind your ribs.

A man’s voice, deep and casual, barely audible through the cracked bedroom doors. Not enough to make out words. Not yet. Just the soft cadence of speech, rising and falling like a secret being shared too close to the edge of the world.

Heeseung’s door was open. Or cracked. Just enough to let a sliver of sound spill out. You hadn’t even realized he was home tonight.

Your body stilled, like it always did when you felt watched—except this time, you were the one doing the watching. Listening, technically. Just barely.

There was a pause, then a laugh. Not his. Another voice. Someone else. Male. Maybe one of his friends from school, the ones who came and went without warning. You couldn’t place the sound, and you didn’t care.

Your focus sharpened the second Heeseung spoke again.

“It’s not that hard. Girls make it harder than it is."

“If she’s not cumming, she’s not listening to her pussy.”

The sentence dropped like a stone in the middle of your chest.

Not whispered. Not dirty. Just… stated. Like a law. Like fact.

Your fingers flexed unconsciously against the blanket. Heat flushed your neck and settled low in your belly, familiar and unwelcome. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

There was something about the way he said it. Not performative. Not like he was trying to sound cool. Just calm. Confident. Like the kind of guy who got women off without effort and never thought twice about why.

Every hair on your arm lifted. He didn’t stop there.

“And if she won’t listen…I’ll make her.”

No laughter followed that. No teasing. Just a quiet moment where it hung in the air, unchallenged.

You lay frozen in the dark, heart thudding, mouth slightly open. Your legs ached under the blanket, thighs tense and pressed together. You weren’t just turned on—you were caught. Cornered by something you weren’t supposed to hear and couldn’t let go of.

Something clicked. Not like a revelation, not some dramatic internal monologue, just… a shift. A tilt in the floor beneath your feet. A door opening in a room you didn’t realize you were trapped in.

You didn’t even know what you wanted in that moment.

But for the first time in your life, you wondered—really wondered—what your body would feel like under instructions that weren’t your own.

You tried not to think about it for the rest of the day. Swore you wouldn’t spiral.

You kept the overheard words tucked somewhere tight in your chest, smothered under fake laughter and half-listened stories while Evie walked you through her latest dating app disasters. You made it through brunch, through an entire Target run, through two face masks and one trashy Netflix documentary—and you almost convinced yourself you were over it.

But when the house quieted again that night—when Evie fell asleep curled up on the far side of the bed with her arm draped over a pillow instead of you—you gave in.

You waited a while. Just in case she wasn’t fully out. The kind of sleep that could crack open with the creak of floorboards.

And when her breathing evened out, soft and deep and oblivious, you slid out from under the blanket, grabbed your phone, and slipped into the hallway.

The bathroom door closed with a soft click behind you.

You didn’t turn the light on right away. Just stood there for a second in the dark, breathing.

The air was cooler here. The tiles cold against your feet. The smell of Evie’s shampoo still clung to the room—vanilla and something floral, sticky-sweet. You stared at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, barely visible in the silver sliver of hallway light. Your face looked flushed. Too open. Like something had already been peeled back.

You sat on the closed toilet lid, tugged your hoodie over your thighs, and pulled your phone into your lap.

No buildup. No browsing. You knew what you were looking for.

The video you always came back to. The closest thing you’d ever found to what worked. A deep voice. Slow instructions. Just audio—nothing to watch, nothing to focus on but sound.

It wasn’t him, but it didn’t have to be. Not yet.

Your underwear stuck to the heat between your thighs as you slid it down. Still wet from the tension that had been building since that morning. From the second you saw Heeseung in the kitchen and felt your legs press together automatically.

The wetness should’ve been a good sign.

But you already knew how this would go.

You played the video. Turned the volume down low. Closed your eyes.

Your fingers found your clit easily. Rubbed gentle circles, the way the voice said. You tried to breathe through it, tried to slow down, to listen.

There was too much pressure too soon. Your skin twitched with every touch. The angle was wrong. The rhythm never quite synced. Your body jerked between feeling almost there and feeling absolutely nothing.

You tried harder.

Tried picturing something—someone. His voice. His mouth. The way he looked at you this morning like you weren’t just Evie’s friend, like he saw something else.

That made your fingers move faster. Your hips twitch up from the seat, trying to find something—anything—that would tip you over.

But it never came.

Just heat. Just sweat. Just the same stinging tension in your thighs and the wave that built up, crested, and refused to break.

Your hand dropped. Your chest heaved with a breath that sounded too much like a sob.

You sat there for a full minute in silence, pussy swollen, twitching, soaking your hand—and still nothing. You hadn’t cum. Not even close.

Not even fucking close.

Your palm dragged across your inner thigh as you reached for toilet paper, the wet slick of your own arousal catching against your skin, obscene and bitter and useless. You wiped your hand clean, flushed, washed it under the tap in a daze.

Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, flushed cheeks, wild eyes, bottom lip bitten raw.

This wasn’t working.

You couldn’t do this by yourself. Not anymore.

The shame didn’t even hit you until you opened the door, stepped back into the hall, and looked toward Heeseung’s room.

You didn’t remember walking from the bathroom to his door. Not really. Your body moved on instinct, fingers still damp with failure, breath shallow and uneven like you’d been running—not down a hallway, but in circles inside your own skin. Everything felt hot and wrong, like you were standing too close to something dangerous and still leaning closer.

The light from under his door was soft, pale blue. The kind of glow that came from a computer screen and sleepless hours. It made the hallway feel colder. Your skin felt clammy beneath your hoodie, thighs still tacky with your own arousal, pulse thudding hard behind your ears. You didn’t even try to calm yourself before raising your hand. There wasn’t enough time. There wasn’t enough anything left.

You knocked.

Soft, quick. Regretted it immediately.

Nothing.

The silence on the other side stretched just long enough to make you feel stupid. You should’ve gone back to Evie’s room. Should’ve locked the bathroom door and buried your face in your hands like you always did. Should’ve swallowed the shame and left it to rot where it always did: at the bottom of your throat.

Your hand was already dropping when the doorknob turned.

Heeseung opened the door halfway, leaning into the frame, and for a second you couldn’t speak. You weren’t expecting him to look like that—hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, collar askew, hair a damp mess like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His sweatshorts hung low on his hips, legs bare, skin flushed warm like he’d just come out of the shower… or just come. You had no way of knowing which. And it made your brain short-circuit either way.

He didn’t look surprised to see you. Just confused.

His eyes dragged down your body with a slow kind of calculation, and you swore you saw the moment they caught on the way your thighs were pressed together, your bare legs twitching under the hem of your hoodie. The way your breath hitched in your throat. The way your fingers—still wet, still trembling—curled tighter at your side.

He blinked once, brows pulling in slightly.

“You good?”

The question was simple, quiet. But it hit like an echo in a room with no furniture. You were not good. Not even close.

Your voice came out before you could soften it. Flat, direct. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He blinked again. Caught off guard this time.

“…What?”

“I just need to know,” you said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “Before I say anything. It matters.”

He stared at you for a beat, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should be amused or suspicious.

“No. I don’t.”

You exhaled like someone had untied a knot inside your chest.

“Fuck.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

“If you said yes,” you muttered, eyes darting to the floor, “I would’ve had an excuse not to ask you.”

That made him pause.

He shifted his weight, crossed his arms over his chest, leaned into the doorframe like he was settling in. His voice was a little lower when he asked, “Ask me what?”

Your whole body burned. There was no easy way to say it. No casual phrasing. No safe distance between you and the truth anymore. You didn’t have the energy to dance around it.

“You said something last night,” you started, forcing yourself to look at him. “About girls who can’t finish. About how they’re not listening to their bodies.”

He watched you carefully. No expression, just the slow, measured study of a man waiting for the rest.

“I heard it,” you added. “By accident. But it’s been stuck in my head. And I thought—I don’t know, I thought maybe you were right.”

Still nothing. Just his gaze crawling over your face, down to your knees, like he was trying to see where this was going before letting himself speak.

You swallowed, the taste of failure still thick in your throat. “I tried again tonight. Bathroom. Just now. I’ve been trying for years, and it’s always the same. Nothing works. I can’t finish. I touch myself, and it just—goes nowhere.”

Your cheeks burned. You didn’t even know why you were telling him all this. You barely knew the guy. The last time you’d had a real conversation was probably three birthdays ago when he offered you a ride and you said no because he smelled like weed and fuckboy cologne.

But here you were. Standing in front of him like some half-dressed, sweat-slick confession, spilling everything.

And he still hadn’t said a word.

Your next breath shook as it left you.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” you said, quieter now. “I just want to ask… if you’d tell me what to do.”

That got something out of him. A small breath through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite disbelief. His eyes dropped—lower this time—to your legs again, to the edge of your hoodie, to the bare skin flushed and prickling under the hallway air.

He nodded once toward you, chin tilting. “Your hand’s still wet.”

You froze.

His voice was low, unreadable. “You tried that hard, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He stepped back.

Just a few inches. Just enough to open the door wider. The light from inside poured out around him, cool and soft and full of static.

He held your gaze.

“Come in. Close the door behind you.”

The door shuts with a soft click behind you, and just like that, the house disappears. Evie’s room, the hallway, your entire carefully contained world—it all drops away. There’s only the low glow of his monitor casting pale blue light across the carpet and the quiet hum of something electric in the corner, like the room itself is holding its breath.

You hover near the door for a second, not sure what to do with your hands, your legs, your shame.

Heeseung’s already sitting, legs wide in his desk chair, turned toward you like he was waiting the whole night for this. He shifts, pushes himself up slightly, and drags the chair forward—lazily, unbothered—until it sits right in front of the bed. Close enough that if you spread your legs, he’d have a front-row seat.

Then he flips the chair around, straddling it backwards like some cocky delinquent in detention, arms crossed over the backrest, chin resting casually on top. His expression doesn’t change. He just watches you.

“Go ahead,” he says, voice calm and low, like this is just another Tuesday night. “Sit.”

You make your way to the bed, legs tense, breath shallow, and perch at the edge like it might bite. Your thighs clench on instinct, hoodie pulled low, trying to shield what you already know he’s seen. You’re still warm from the bathroom. Still soaked. Still aching.

His eyes drift down. Slow. Lazy. No shame.

You fidget.

Heeseung doesn’t move. “Don’t get shy on me now. You came in here asking for a masturbation lesson, not a bedtime story.”

Your lips twitch. You almost laugh. Almost.

He lifts his chin. “Tell me what you usually do.”

The question lands harder than it should. Not because it’s dirty, but because it’s so simple.

You blink. “Like… where I touch?”

“Yeah.”

You hesitate. “I usually just go straight to my clit.”

“Figures.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “And then what? Rub the fuck out of it ‘til it gets sore and wonder why it doesn’t work?”

Your mouth falls open in a small gasp. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs one shoulder, unbothered. “Don’t take it personal. That’s what most girls do. It’s not your fault you think the goal is speed over sense.”

You don’t respond, but your silence is answer enough.

He leans in a little, forearms resting on the chair back, gaze glued to your bare thighs. There’s no hunger in it—not yet. Just observation. Like he’s assessing you.

“If your pussy had a voice,” he says smoothly, “she’d be screaming at you to chill the fuck out.”

You’re quiet for a long second. Because the worst part is… he’s not wrong.

He watches you squirm, and something like amusement passes over his features. Not cruel, but smug.

“Take your time,” he says, gentler now. “You rush her, she locks up. Doesn’t matter how wet you are.”

“…She?” you murmur, lifting a brow.

Heeseung shrugs again, like it’s obvious. “Yeah. She.” His eyes flick to yours. “You don’t gotta name her or write poetry about her, but you should probably stop treating her like a vending machine.”

Your laugh breaks before you can stop it. Quick and sharp, nerves bleeding out of your throat. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he says with a smirk, eyes dark. “Go on. Show me how you start.”

Everything tightens. You feel the weight of his voice low in your belly.

You don’t move right away.

He raises a brow. “You said you didn’t want me to touch you. That’s cool. But I need to see what you’re doing wrong.”

Your breath hitches.

Your hand moves on instinct—slow, shaky—and dips beneath the hem of your hoodie, then under the band of your panties. You’re already wet. Embarrassingly wet. And when your fingers graze over your clit, you flinch. It’s too sensitive. Too much. Your hips jerk a little, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes follow the motion.

You rub. Once. Twice. It’s not bad. It’s what you always do.

But still—nothing clicks.

Heeseung tilts his head. “You’re too stiff.”

“I’m nervous,” you admit quietly.

“Don’t be.” His voice drops half an octave. “You look hot.”

The way he says it—it doesn’t sound like a compliment. Just a fact. Like he’s telling you what time it is. Like your soaked fingers and clenched thighs are something he’s been picturing all night.

“You’re thinking too much,” he adds. “Trying to force it instead of feel it.”

Your hand stills.

He leans forward slightly, his voice quieter now, more intimate. “Try this. Press your hand flat. Just hold her. No rubbing. No tapping. Just… feel her.”

You hesitate, then obey.

The flat of your hand settles between your legs, heat blooming up your arm from the contact. Your whole body clenches around it.

“Feel that?”

You nod. Barely.

“That’s what she likes,” he murmurs. “You’ve been poking at her like she’s a fucking keyboard. No wonder she’s not putting out.”

You let out a breathy laugh—half scandalized, half aroused. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re soaking through your panties,” he says, deadpan.

Your breath catches. Heeseung doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t look away.

He sits there like he’s got all the time in the world. Like he’s doing you a favor. Like he’s enjoying this. You’re not even sure he’s hard yet—but he will be. You can feel it building. Between you. In you.

He lets the moment hang.

Then: “Now—slow circles. Don’t speed up unless she tells you to.”

“She doesn’t talk,” you whisper, teasing without confidence.

His gaze is heavy. Steady.

“She does,” he says, voice like heat sliding under your skin. “You just haven’t been listening.”

The room feels hotter now.

Not just the air—your skin, your mouth, your thighs. Sweat clings to the backs of your knees, damp beneath the bunched-up hoodie, and your panties are so wet they’re practically glued to one thigh. Your hips keep twitching without your permission, rolling up slightly with every pass of your fingers. It’s not graceful. It’s not some porn fantasy. It’s messy and uneven and real, and Heeseung is watching every second of it like it’s the only thing worth watching.

You keep thinking you should feel embarrassed. Ashamed. You’re spread open on his bed, hand stuffed between your legs, whining softly every time you stroke a little too hard and have to ease back again—but you’re too far gone now to stop. Your cheeks are flushed, lashes wet, lips parted, and you can’t look away from him.

He hasn’t blinked once.

Heeseung is still straddling the backward chair, elbows resting on the top, chin on one hand like this is casual. Normal. Like you’re just some half-naked girl jerking off in front of him for practice and he’s your substitute teacher for the night.

The only thing that’s changed is his posture.

His knees are spread wider than before. His forearms are tense. One hand grips the edge of the chair a little tighter every time your body jerks, and you don’t miss the way his jaw flexes every time your breath stutters or your voice cracks.

You’re doing this to him.

But not enough.

Not enough to make it stop hurting. Not enough to make the ache go away. Not enough to finish.

You’re trying. God, you’re trying.

Your fingers rub in slow circles, not too fast now. You’re listening. You are. But your body keeps tensing at the edge, like it’s scared to fall off the cliff it’s been building for years. Your hand’s cramping. Your clit throbs. Your stomach clenches like you’re close—and then it dips, again and again.

It’s good. So good.

But it’s not enough.

You choke on a frustrated sound, somewhere between a sob and a moan, and your free hand fists the blanket beneath you like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Heeseung speaks, finally, voice low and steady. “Still rushing her.”

“I’m not,” you whisper.

“You are. I can see it.”

You shake your head, breath stuttering. “I’m not trying to—I swear, I’m—” You gasp. “It’s just—it’s not—”

You stop. Words catch in your throat. Your hips are rocking now, involuntarily, chasing a sensation that keeps pulling away the second you get close. Your fingers are wet, your pussy’s pulsing, and it still feels like you’re just rubbing up against a wall.

“It’s not enough,” you breathe out, broken. “I—I can’t—fuck—she’s not listening.”

Heeseung leans forward slightly, something sharp flashing in his eyes.

“Oh, she’s listening,” he says. “You’re just not talking to her the right way.”

You whimper. “Then tell me what to say.”

That makes his mouth twitch—just barely. Like he’s been waiting for that.

“Tell me what she’s feeling first.”

“I—” Your voice cracks. “She’s tight. Warm. I feel her—pulsing. Like she wants something but—she’s not opening.”

He tilts his head slightly, gaze dark. “She wants to be filled.”

You nod.

“No,” he says. “Say it.”

Your chest heaves. Your hand hasn’t stopped moving, rubbing slow, desperate circles around your clit. “She wants to be filled.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“She wants to be fucking filled,” you whine. “She’s throbbing—she’s soaking—fuck, I can feel her squeezing nothing.”

Heeseung exhales slowly, eyes flicking down between your legs again.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Now she’s talking.”

Your fingers glide lower, catching more slick and sliding back up. Everything’s soaked. You’re dripping down onto the sheets, and your thighs are trembling from the strain of keeping your hips lifted just right.

“She needs more,” you pant. “She’s clenching—she’s starving—”

Heeseung’s hand flexes around the edge of the chair again. His voice drops, almost to a growl. “So feed her.”

You moan—high and breathy—and press harder, circling your clit faster now, the way your body wants. Your lips are wet, your fingers slipping, but it doesn’t matter. Everything is slick and hot and alive.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters, eyes burning into you. “Look at your fucking fingers.”

You do. It’s obscene. Your hand shines in the light, your fingers coated in slick. You barely recognize your own body like this. Ruined. Responsive.

“She’s begging,” he says softly. “And you’re finally listening.”

You whine, eyes squeezing shut. Your free hand presses against your lower belly, trying to hold the heat in. Your pussy twitches at the pressure.

“She’s so fucking greedy,” you gasp. “She won’t stop pulling—I can’t—I can’t keep up—”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “She knows what she’s doing. Let her take it.”

You don’t even realize how loud you’ve gotten until you hear yourself moan again—shameless, cracked open, shaking from the inside out.

Your legs spread wider. You’re not trying to hide anymore. Not from him. Not from yourself.

You’re right there.

You’re going to break.

He’s just watching. Like it’s his favorite thing he’s ever seen.

You’re right on the edge, and this time it’s not teasing.

It’s sharp. Fast. Inevitable.

Your legs are trembling now, hips jerking with every motion, and your fingers are soaked—slipping against your clit, coating your inner thighs, dripping down the crease of your ass like your body’s trying to fuck itself open. Every stroke sends another wave of tension through you, and there’s no holding it anymore. Your body is begging. Your pussy’s leaking, twitching, clenching around nothing—and Heeseung watches like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t even realize you’re moaning until you hear it echo back at you in the small room. High-pitched. Desperate. Wet.

The sound of your pussy is louder now too. Sticky and obscene, each rub slicker than the last. You can hear it every time you roll your hips into your palm.

Heeseung doesn’t say a word for a second too long.

You lift your head, eyes glazed over, panting.

His eyes are darker now. Half-lidded. Focused on your pussy like he’s reading it better than your face.

He shifts in his chair. Spreads his knees wider. His hand dips into the front of his sweatshorts, slow and casual, like he can’t ignore it anymore. You catch a glimpse of his fingers wrapping around himself—and your breath catches so hard your vision blurs.

He’s so hard.

His voice comes out deeper. Filthy. Measured like it’s the only thing anchoring him in the room.

“Look at that messy little cunt.”

Your body jerks at the word. You’ve never heard it said like that. Never felt it hit like that.

Heeseung strokes himself once, slow and firm under the fabric.

“She’s drooling all over your fingers. So fucking hungry. Bet she’s never been this loud for you before.”

“She hasn’t,” you breathe. “She never—she never—”

“You’ve been starving her,” he says, still jerking himself lazily. “Touching her like she’s a problem instead of a fucking meal.”

Your hand speeds up, and he sees it. Hears the slap of slick. You’re humping into your fingers now, sloppy and desperate and so close you could scream.

Heeseung leans forward, one elbow braced against the back of the chair.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

You nod frantically, but it’s not enough.

“Use your words.”

Your voice comes out cracked. “Yes. Please—I wanna cum—I need it—”

“Need what?” he pushes.

“I need her to fucking break,” you sob. “She’s clenching—she’s begging—she needs to cum, she needs it—”

“Then let her,” he growls. “Don’t fucking hold it. Let her make a mess.”

You whimper, fingers frantic, back arching off the bed.

And that’s when he says it—low and hot and foul.

“Let her fuck your fingers, slut.”

You snap.

Your body locks up, then shatters. You cum so hard your legs shake, hips jerking forward, thighs squeezing around your own hand as your pussy gushes over your fingers in sticky, messy waves. The moan that rips from your throat is broken, cracked, half-wet from tears.

It doesn’t hit you right away.

At first, there’s just white. Blinding. A full-body seizure of pleasure as your cunt clenches around nothing, soaking your own fingers, mouth open in a moan that doesn’t even sound like you.

It crashes over you fast. Wet. Messy.

You cum harder than you ever have in your life—harder than you thought was even possible—and your body just keeps going, hips jerking, slick dripping past your knuckles, your voice cracking on every gasp.

Heeseung is still there.

You know he is. You can feel his eyes on you, feel his breath in the space between your bodies, but you can’t look at him. Not right now. Not like this.

And then it fades.

That warm, bright static in your brain flickers out. Your thighs twitch. Your hand finally drops, fingers soaked, wrist aching, clit too sensitive to touch again.

What’s left is the sound of your breathing. The slick, wet mess beneath your hips. The embarrassment flooding in all at once like a second wave.

Reality slams back into you hard.

You’re laid out across his bed—sweaty, flushed, thighs spread wide and soaked all the way down to the crease of your ass. Your pussy’s still twitching, swollen and glistening, your panties bunched at one knee, hoodie halfway pushed up your stomach.

Your fingers shine in the low light. Still wet. Still shaking.

You sit up fast, panic sweeping over your skin like ice water. “Shit—fuck.”

Your hand fumbles to pull your hoodie down, yanking it over your thighs, shoving your panties back into place even though they’re absolutely soaked through. The fabric clings wetly to your pussy and only makes the mess feel worse.

Heeseung hasn’t moved.

Still in the chair. Still one hand inside his shorts. He looks completely unbothered. Calm. Like you didn’t just cum your entire soul out in front of him.

You can’t meet his eyes.

He watches you fuss with the hem of your hoodie, your hands still trembling slightly as you try to make yourself look decent.

“Didn’t say stop,” he says mildly.

You glare at him, cheeks burning. “I came. Pretty sure that’s the goal, right?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Just surprised you’re acting all shy now. That pussy was practically talking thirty seconds ago.”

“Jesus—” you squeeze your eyes shut, bury your face in your hands.

Heeseung grins. Not mean. Not mocking. Just amused.

“You do realize how loud you were, right?” he adds. “I thought the bed was gonna snap in half.”

“Please stop talking,” you groan, voice muffled.

“You were crying,” he says like it’s a compliment, hand still lazily palming himself under his shorts. “That shit was beautiful.”

You peek at him through your fingers. He’s still hard. Still watching you with that same steady calm, like this is fine. Like this is normal.

He doesn’t even seem fazed.

That somehow makes the ache between your legs flare again. Weak, overstimulated, but greedy.

You clear your throat. “I didn’t realize I—um. That I could… do that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Cum?”

You shoot him a look.

Heeseung laughs, finally letting go of himself. “You’ve been fighting her for years. All I did was give you directions.”

You tuck your knees up into your chest, arms wrapped around them. You feel like you just stripped naked in front of someone who stayed fully clothed—and now he’s just lounging there like you didn’t just show him the most private part of yourself.

You sit in that awkward silence for a few seconds longer.

Heeseung stretches, chair creaking slightly. “So,” he says, tone casual. “Lesson two tomorrow?”

You blink.

“…There’s a second lesson?”

He smiles slow, eyes dropping to your thighs again. “You think she’s done learning?”

Your pussy twitches beneath your soaked panties.

Your legs are still weak from the first night when you leave.

Just a few days back home. Just a quick visit. You didn’t think it would matter—but the second you cross the county line, your pussy starts aching like she knows she’s been abandoned. Like she misses his voice already.

You think about texting him before you even unpack your overnight bag.

It starts that fast—barely through the front door, barely through dinner with your parents, barely through pretending to care about someone’s new side hustle or whatever cousin just had a baby, and already your mind is slipping.

Already you’re restless. Already your body feels too awake. You can still feel the slick sticking to the inside of your thighs from last night, from the way he sat in that chair like he was doing you a favor while you touched yourself for the first time like it meant something. It hasn’t gone away. The ache stayed with you.

That trembling throb between your legs that didn’t fade after one orgasm—or two—or three. And now, here you are. Sitting in your childhood bedroom like you didn’t just learn how to listen to your pussy in someone else’s bed with someone else’s voice in your ear.

You last all of twelve hours. Maybe thirteen if you count sleep, but that’s cheating. You keep checking your phone like a freak. Not even for a message—just to see his name.

You scroll through the notifications like maybe he’ll magically show up. You open his contact. Stare at the little circle icon. You type a text. Delete it.

Type again. Delete. Pace the room. Pull your hair up. Let it fall. Lie on the bed. Toss the blanket off. Roll onto your stomach, then your back, then sit up again because your body’s too hot and your thoughts won’t stop dragging back to the sound of his voice saying “Good girl. She’s listening now.”

You try to distract yourself. Put music on. Stare at the ceiling. Scroll through reels. But the tension is building and it’s not casual. It’s deep. It’s mean.

Like your pussy’s crawling up your spine and whispering call him over and over again. And finally, like a fucking addict, you give in.

You don’t try to be subtle. Your fingers tremble as you type the message—“Can I call you?”—and hit send before you can regret it. Your breath catches in your throat. Heart pounding. Shame twisting in your gut like you’ve already crossed a line and he hasn’t even replied. But then your phone buzzes. Two texts in a row. You click without thinking.

No. I’ll call you.

Speaker on. Hands ready. Nothing else.

You don’t even get a second to prepare. The call comes in instantly, and you fumble to answer it, press speaker, toss the phone onto your pillow and sit back, legs shaking under your blanket. You’re wearing nothing but a big t-shirt—no bra, no panties. Like your body already knew what was coming.

His voice is in your ear the second the line connects.

Low. Thick. Wrecked.

“You waited all day just to fuck yourself to my voice, didn’t you?”

The sound alone makes your thighs clamp together. You can’t answer. You don’t know what to say. You feel called out, ruined, exposed, and he hasn’t even seen you.

“You’re pathetic,” he breathes, and it’s not cruel—it’s reverent. Like he’s turned on by the depth of your desperation. “You left for less than twenty-four hours and she’s already starving.”

Your breath comes out shaky. “She hasn’t shut up.”

“I bet. That little pussy’s been crying for attention, hasn’t she? Soaking your panties, throbbing for no reason. Did you even try to touch her?”

Your hand slides down your stomach. Shame floods your chest. “I tried last night.”

“And?”

Your fingers drift over your mound, soft and slow.

“…Didn’t work.”

“Of course it didn’t.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Because she’s not trained to your fingers. She’s trained to my voice.”

You nearly choke.

“Take the blanket off.”

You do.

“T-shirt stays. I want you messy under it. Like a filthy little secret.”

You obey, chest rising. The air hits your bare skin and your nipples pebble instantly under the thin cotton. You slide your hand under the hem and find yourself dripping already—your folds slippery and warm, your clit throbbing at the first brush.

“Fuck. You’re already wet.”

You don’t answer.

“Don’t ignore me. Say it.”

You whimper. “I’m wet.”

“Where?”

Your hand slides lower. “Everywhere.”

“Let me hear it.”

You drag your fingers through your folds, then lift them to the mic.

Squish. Slick. Wet.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “She’s fucking leaking for me.”

“She won’t stop,” you pant. “She’s been clenching—she’s needy. I can’t—I can’t even think straight.”

“She doesn’t need you to think. She needs you to listen.”

You nod like he can see you.

“You touching your clit yet?”

“No,” you whisper. “Just teasing.”

“Don’t tease her. Feed her.”

You obey. Your fingers find your clit and press slow, warm circles into the swollen skin. Your hips twitch immediately. Your body jolts with relief. Like it’s been waiting for this.

“Fuck. That’s it. Let her roll her hips. Let her grind on your fingers.”

You do.

And you moan. Loud. Wet. Pathetic.

“You sound like you’re crying.”

“I might be,” you choke out. “I’m—I’ve been on edge all day. She’s screaming—”

“Then shut her up.”

Your fingers move faster. Your breath turns ragged. The slick is everywhere now—coating your palm, sliding down your ass, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can hear it—slap, slap, slap—and you know he can too.

“God, listen to her,” he says. “She’s fucking talking again. Slapping wet, loud as hell, crying to be filled.”

Your thighs start to shake.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

“Heeseung—fuck, I’m close—”

“She wants to cum. So let her.”

You cum hard, back arching, legs tensed, voice cracking open around a sob as your pussy convulses around nothing—just your fingers, just your shame, just his voice dragging it out of you with nothing but command.

“Again,” he growls. “Don’t you dare take your hand off her. You begged for this. You waited all fucking day for it.”

You keep going. Because you can’t stop. Because this is his now.

You don’t get a break.

Heeseung doesn’t let you.

After that first call—the one where you came so hard you swore you saw stars—you thought maybe the tension would ease up. Maybe you’d get to breathe. But you don’t. Because the second you wake up the next morning, there’s already a text waiting for you.

Morning. She hungry?

Your pussy clenches on reflex.

You bite your lip, cheeks flushing under the covers.

Yes.

His reply is instant.

Good. edge yourself until you’re shaking. No cumming. No cheating. You’ll send me a pic of your fingers when you’re done.

That’s it. No teasing. No sweet talk. Just commands. Direct. Cruel. And of course—you obey.

You finger yourself that morning with shaking hands, grinding into your palm in the silence of your old bedroom with one hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. You stop just short of release three times. Your panties are soaked. The sheets beneath you are ruined.

You send the photo.

Two slick fingers, gleaming. One droplet hanging from your wrist like a taunt.

He doesn’t reply until hours later.

Beautiful. Don’t clean her up. Let her stick to your skin. I want her to haunt you all day.

That’s how it starts.

Sometimes it’s a call. Sometimes it’s just a photo prompt. Sometimes it’s voice notes—low, slow, whispered filth that you replay in the bathroom on full volume with your thighs clenched so tight you can barely breathe.

Another day: make a mess on your favorite pair of panties. Send proof. Don’t wash them. Fold them and put them in your drawer like a secret. Like she remembers.

When you can’t call—family dinners, company in the house, a wedding event—he doesn’t complain. He just adapts.

He sends you three voice notes in a row, each one filthier than the last.

“Are you wearing panties right now?”

“She’s wet just from this, isn’t she?”

“Put your phone between your legs. Let my voice buzz against her while you grind.”

You do. In the middle of the day. On the edge of your childhood bed. With the door locked and your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the sound of you cumming on command.

Every time you text him, he knows what you need before you say it.

On your knees. Two fingers. Say my name when you finish. That’s all.

You cum like a trained animal.

By the end of the fourth day, you’re overstimulated and aching. Your cunt stays warm. Your clit stays swollen. You can’t think straight without hearing his voice. You can’t fall asleep without a pillow between your legs and your phone under your ear, replaying the way he said your name like it tasted good.

He doesn’t let you get comfortable.

I want her ruined by the time you get back. Wet stains on your thighs. Bruised from your own fingers. No excuses. You belong to me now, yeah?

You’re at the dinner table when the text comes in.

There’s a bowl of pasta in front of you. Your uncle’s talking about traffic. Your mom’s pouring more wine. And your phone buzzes in your lap—one tiny, harmless vibration you almost ignore until you see the name on your lockscreen.

Heeseung.

Your chest tightens immediately. A hot ripple runs down your spine. You unlock it under the table, heart already picking up speed, thighs pressed tight together like that’s gonna help anything.

You expect a voice note. Maybe an instruction. Instead, it’s just a single message.

Don’t open this here. I’m serious.

You excuse yourself. Bathroom. You try to walk casually, but your legs feel unstable, like your body knows what’s coming and is bracing for it. You shut the door. Lock it. Sit down on the closed toilet seat. And then you open the message.

It’s not a photo. Not a voice note. Just a block of text.

And it destroys you.

I want you dripping. Right now. I want your thighs sticky. I want your pussy hot and twitching and swollen like she’s just been edged for an hour and she’s still not allowed to cum. I want her pulsing around nothing. Squeezing air. Leaking like she misses my cock even though she’s never had it. That’s how good I want her trained. That she misses me even though I’ve never fucked her. I want you to slide your hand into your panties and feel her spit for me. Feel how filthy she’s gotten just from reading my words. Not even hearing my voice. Just letters on a screen and she’s frothing like a brainless little thing. I want her throbbing. Sore. Pink. Aching. I want you to pull your panties to the side and look at what I’ve done to you. How she opens for nothing. How she clenches for nothing. How she cries, fucking cries, when she doesn’t get touched. I want her messy. Slutty. Wet enough to embarrass you. Wet enough you can’t clean it up with one tissue. Wet enough that if someone walked into that bathroom right now, they’d smell her. No fingers. Not yet. Just pressure. Palm down. Let her hump. Let her grind. Let her get yourself dirty. She knows what to do. She doesn’t need permission anymore. You’re gonna leak down your leg just reading this, aren’t you? She’s already twitching. Already soaking. She knows what she is now. A thing that exists to be used. To be made wet. To be trained.

You stare at your screen. Eyes wide. Chest heaving.

And you feel it—that slow, steady drip.

You slide your hand down between your legs and whimper when your fingers meet your panties—soaked through. Hot and sticky, your folds puffy and swollen, everything throbbing with need.

You spread your legs wider. There’s no stopping it. You have to.

You push your panties aside, just like he said, and when you look down, your cunt is shining. Slick lips parted, clit swollen and begging, a string of wet clinging between your folds when you breathe too hard.

You cup her with your whole palm and rock once.

You grind again. Harder. The heel of your hand pressing directly on your clit. Your hips move faster, panting now, forehead pressed against your bent knee as your pussy humps your own hand like she’s starved.

You’re fucking yourself with no fingers. Just pressure. Just filth. Just his words rotting your brain and your pussy loving it.

You don’t stop until your legs lock, jaw clenched tight to muffle the moan that rips through your throat. Your pussy convulses, grinding down hard, cumming in waves against your own palm until you’re crying silently, thighs soaked, panties a mess, body twitching from the force of it.

When it’s over, you’re wrecked. You sit there in silence. Breathing heavy. Panties still pulled to the side, hand drenched, cunt gaping and twitching like she’s still looking for him.

You snap a photo.

Not of your face. Just your hand. Soaked. Ruined. Slick covering your wrist, dripping down your knuckles.

You send it. No caption. A minute later, his reply lights up your screen.

That’s how she’s supposed to look. Every day until you get home.

You don’t even knock.

You could, but what’s the point? He told you to come over as soon as you got back. No texts. No warning. Just a short message yesterday night:

You better show up dripping.

And you are.

The shorts you wore are damp at the crotch, your hoodie clinging to the sweat on your lower back. Every shift of your thighs against the car seat on the drive over made you squirm. By the time you’re standing in front of his door, your cunt is throbbing. Empty. Trained. Starving.

He opens it like he already knew you were there.

Barefoot. Hoodie. Nothing underneath.

He stares at you for a second, quiet. His eyes drop to your legs, to the way you’re fidgeting, clenching, trying not to press your thighs together. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t speak.

Just opens the door wider and lets you in.

You step past him. Silent. Heat prickling under your skin. His presence is loud, even without words. You can feel the pressure building already—your pussy knows. She’s aware. Aware of the air, of the scent of him, of how close he is now after five days of only hearing him through a speaker.

He closes the door behind you. And waits.

You turn to him, hands still curled into your sleeves. “I did everything.”

He lifts a brow. “Yeah?”

You nod. Swallow hard. “Every day.”

Heeseung steps forward slowly. Stops in front of you. His eyes flick down, over your body, like he’s looking for confirmation.

“You leaking?”

Your breath catches. “Yes.”

“Prove it.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. But you don’t hesitate.

Your fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and tug them down in one smooth motion. They hit the floor and you step out of them, bare underneath, thighs sticky and glistening. Your hoodie barely covers your hips now. One inch higher and he’d see everything.

He doesn’t touch you.

“Show me,” he says, voice low.

Your breath hitches again—but you drop to your knees. Not because he asked. Because your body knows what to do now.

You kneel between his feet on the hardwood floor, hands moving to part your thighs so he can see. You pull the hoodie up to your waist and slide two fingers between your folds—dripping. It spreads so easily. Glossy. Viscous. Your pussy folds open for your own touch like it’s nothing new. Like she’s been practicing all week.

You keep your eyes on him the whole time.

And when your fingers come back up, soaked and glistening, you hold them out. Heeseung watches you in silence.

Then leans forward, slow and deliberate. He takes your fingers into his mouth and sucks—deep, slow, tongue curling around them like it’s a reward.

Your hips jerk slightly. Your cunt clenches hard. He pulls off with a wet pop and stares down at you.

“She tastes trained.”

You nod.

“She beg yet?”

You exhale. “She never shut up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah?”

Then he grabs your jaw. Fingers firm but not rough, tilting your face up to his.

“You want her filled?”

You nod again. “Please.”

“Not yet,” he says. “She’s not ready.”

“I’m ready—she’s so ready, I’ve been—”

“I don’t care what you think. You’re not here to make decisions. You’re here to do what I say.” He lets go of your face. “You wanna get fed? Earn it. Lay down. Show me how she begs.”

You scramble onto the bed.

Flat on your back. Legs spread. Cunt on display. Dripping.

You’re already on your back, knees drawn up, thighs spread and trembling, cunt pulsing with heat that’s been building all week. You don’t try to hide it. You can’t. Your pussy’s wet. Loud. Lips glossy and parted, folds flushed and twitching like she knows the moment has finally come. She’s been teased. Trained. Denied. You’ve been filling her with fingers and pressure and your own voice, but never this. Never him. And now he’s standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like he’s finally ready to eat.

But he doesn’t touch you first.

He picks your shorts up off the floor, turns them inside out—and finds your soaked panties tangled in the legs. He peels them out slowly, sticky with your slick, the thin fabric darkened and clinging to itself. You watch, breath caught, legs still open, burning with shame as he brings them up to his face.

And sniffs.

Deep.

He inhales like it’s a fucking ritual. Eyes half-lidded. Thumb pressing into the crotch to smear the wetness around before dragging it across his lip. His tongue flicks out—tastes it.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “She’s been marinating in this.”

Your body jolts. Your hands fist the sheets.

“She’s loud, too.” His voice drops lower. “I haven’t even touched her and she’s already talking. Look at her. Fucking twitching. Dripping. Spreading herself open like she knows who she belongs to.”

“Heeseung—” You whimper.

“Shut up.”

He tosses your panties to the side and climbs onto the bed, slow and smooth, eyes never leaving your cunt. He settles between your legs and just kneels there for a moment. Breathing her in. Hands on your thighs. Pushing them wider. Spreading you so open you can feel the air hit your slick.

You’re soaked. You know it. You can feel it, the slick sliding down into the dip of your ass, the way your folds part with every breath, your clit poking out, hot and swollen.

He just stares.

“You fucking trained her like this,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You really did it. Came like a good little slut every night just to keep her hungry.”

“She’s starving,” you whisper, voice shaking.

“I can see that.”

His thumbs press into the crease of your thighs, holding you open. His face lowers. Inches away. His breath hits your folds and your hips twitch violently.

He doesn’t lick you.

Not yet.

He just hovers. His nose skims your inner thigh. Then up. Right up the slick slit, dragging his breath across your folds until your body shudders. He breathes her in again—this time slower. Longer. Right at the source.

“God,” he mutters. “She fucking smells like obedience.”

You sob.

And then he spits.

Right on your pussy.

Hot. Heavy. Messy.

It splashes over your clit, drips between your folds, mixes with your slick and makes everything worse.

Your hips roll. You can’t stop it.

“Don’t you fucking move,” he growls. “She’s getting attention. She better stay still.”

And finally—finally—his tongue drags up your slit. A long, slow lick from hole to clit that ends with his mouth wrapped around it, sucking hard.

Your hands fly to his hair. Your spine arches off the bed.

But he pins you with one forearm across your stomach and doesn’t stop.

He eats you like a man starved. Like you’ve been feeding her for him. Keeping her ready. Keeping her needy. His mouth is everywhere—tongue licking up everything you’ve been saving, spit and slick and mess pooling under your ass while he moans into you.

“That’s it,” he groans against your clit. “Let me taste five fucking days of begging.”

You cry out, thighs clenching.

But he slaps your pussy with his hand—sharp, wet, punishing.

“Open.”

You go limp. You can’t fight it. You don’t want to.

He eats you like it’s personal. Tongue flat. Licking. Circling. Spitting again. Your clit’s too swollen, too sensitive, but he doesn’t care. He mumbles into you—filth you can barely understand because he’s too focused on devouring.

“She’s so fucking loud. She won’t shut up. You hear that?”

You do.

Your pussy makes noise with every lick—squelching, wet, obscene.

“I didn’t even fuck her yet,” he growls. “And she’s already creaming.”

You try to cum. You try.

But he pulls back just as your thighs start to shake, just as your stomach seizes.

“Nope. She’s not getting fed all the way until I’ve felt her on my cock.”

You nod frantically, fingers gripping the sheets, desperate.

Heeseung leans back, licking his lips, chin soaked, eyes wild.

“She’s ready,” he says. “She’s starving.”

He’s already got two fingers hooked inside you when he tells you to open your mouth.

Not to kiss him. Not to speak. Just to take it.

He shoves his fingers past your lips—soaked in your own slick, the same fingers he’s been curling deep inside your cunt, dragging against that spot that makes your eyes roll back. You gag around them, moaning as the taste floods your tongue—salty, sour, yours. He pushes them down onto your tongue, presses hard until your spit leaks out around them and drips down your chin.

“Swallow it,” he mutters, eyes locked on your face. “That’s what obedience tastes like.”

You do. Of course you do.

Because you’d do anything he says.

And he knows it.

He wipes the slick from your lips with his thumb, drags it down your throat, then shifts forward—kneeling between your trembling thighs, lining himself up with your soaked entrance like he’s been waiting years for this moment.

You stare down at his cock, thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, and your whole body tenses. You’re already open, already dripping, already fucked dumb—but none of it’s going to prepare you for this.

“Look at her,” he mutters under his breath, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, smearing pre-cum across your clit. “She’s fucking begging.”

“She wants it,” you pant, voice shaking. “Please—”

He doesn’t give you time to finish.

He presses in—slow, deep, cruel.

The stretch hits you all at once. Your back arches. Your breath leaves you in a choked gasp, and your pussy clenches hardaround him, sucking him in inch by inch like she never wants to let him go.

“Ohhh, fuck,” he groans. “She’s trained alright.”

You moan. Loud. Desperate. Writhing beneath him as he bottoms out, his hips flush against your ass, his cock buried all the way to the base.

She’s full.

Finally fucking full.

Your cunt grips him tight, fluttering around his cock like she’s been starving for it—and she has. Every inch of him hits something you didn’t know existed. Your body shakes under the pressure. You’re soaked. Stuffed. Used. And you want more.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say what she is.”

“She’s yours,” you gasp. “She’s a hole—your hole—she’s been waiting for this—”

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in.

You scream.

“You’re goddamn right she’s mine,” he snarls. “You trained her just to take my cock.”

You nod frantically, crying now, pleasure too thick in your throat to hold back.

He starts to fuck you in earnest—hard, relentless, loud. Skin slapping skin. His cock slick from your wetness, dragging through every twitch and squeeze, pressing deep, deeper, forcing your body to stay open for him. You feel it in your stomach. Your spine. Your fucking brain.

Every thrust knocks your thoughts loose. And you want to thank him. You want to feel him. You want to taste him.

So you lift your head—try to kiss him.

You lean up, lips parting, mouth open and begging.

He pulls back.

His hand grabs your throat, presses you flat into the mattress. You gasp, eyes wide, blinking up at him in confusion. He smiles. Cruel. Mocking.

“No,” he says coldly. “You don’t deserve to be kissed.”

Your breath shatters.

“Kisses are for good girls,” he spits. “You’re just a trained little hole.”

Your pussy clenches around him so violently he groans.

“That’s all you are now, isn’t it?” he sneers. “A stupid little cunt that opens on command. You get used, not kissed.”

Tears spill over your cheeks.

And you cum. Just like that.

From the words. From the shame. From the humiliation.

Your pussy spasms around his cock, soaking both of you as you scream into his hand still wrapped around your throat. Your hips jerk. Your vision goes white. But he doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it, hips pounding, cock punching into your oversensitive cunt like he’s trying to reprogram you from the inside out.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let her milk me. Let her show me how much she needed this.”

You’re sobbing. Gasping. Too wrecked to speak.

“Fucking knew it,” he groans. “You were never gonna be satisfied until you got split open.”

He leans down, mouth right by your ear.

“But don’t ever reach for a kiss again. Sluts like you don’t get kissed.”

You’re already limp when he flips you.

Your body gives out so easily—shoulders pressed into the mattress, arms numb, legs trembling, hips cocked up on instinct the second he yanks you onto your stomach. His hands drag you by the waist like a ragdoll. Like something boneless, brainless, ruined. Your face is buried in the pillow. Your cheek sticks to the fabric. You’re crying, still, but there’s no shame left. Just the raw ache of your cunt pulsing around nothing—because he pulled out.

You whine, pathetic and wordless, hips rolling back into the air, leaking down your thighs.

“Still hungry?” he mutters behind you.

You nod into the pillow.

“Say it.”

“She’s empty,” you whimper. “She’s twitching—she wants you back in—she’s not done—she’s never done—”

You gasp when the head of his cock slides back in. Just the tip.

He doesn’t give you the rest.

You wiggle. Cry. Press your ass back against him and moan when your folds stretch again, split open all over his length.

“You trained her to take it,” he says. “Now you’re gonna train her to keep it.”

He presses forward.

His cock buries to the hilt in one brutal thrust, and your whole body spasms. Your hands claw at the sheets. Your cunt clenches so violently it forces a sob out of your chest, high-pitched and broken. You’re still sensitive. Still throbbing from the last orgasm. But he doesn’t care.

He starts fucking you again like he owns you.

The slap of skin echoes in the room, wet and obscene, his cock pounding into your raw pussy like she’s just a hole to conquer. You don’t even try to move anymore. Your body takes it. Open, obedient, used.

“You like that?” he pants. “You like being my little fucktoy?”

“Yeah, you do. You’re trained now. A good little cocksleeve who comes when she’s told. Cries when she’s full. Cums from being humiliated.”

“I do,” you choke out. “I’m yours—I’m your toy—just your fucktoy—use me—use her—”

“That’s it,” he growls. “That’s what she wanted, isn’t it? Not kindness. Not kisses. Just cock. Just someone to shove it in and remind her she’s nothing but a messy, wet little pussy.”

He thrusts harder. You scream into the sheets.

“She’s so loud,” he snarls. “So fucking wet. She’s gushing. Every time I pull out she cries.”

You don’t even recognize your own voice when you cum again.

It’s raw. Ugly. Loud.

You scream—clawing at the sheets, nails ripping fabric, your body wracked with spasms as you squirt all over his cock, wet exploding out of you in waves, soaking the bed, your stomach, your thighs. You can’t stop it. You don’t want to.

He fucks you through it—harder.

“Let her break,” he growls. “Let her fucking split.”

And when your body finally collapses, hips falling, spine trembling, Heeseung doesn’t even slow down.

He grabs your hips, hauls you up, and drives in deep one more time—and stays there. His cock pulses inside you. Thick. Hot. Flooding you.

You feel it. You feel his cum shoot deep, thick ropes filling your already ruined pussy until your belly aches with it.

He stays inside. Keeps you cockwarmed, plugged full, hands rubbing down your spine like this is the aftercare.

Not words. Not love. Just being kept full. Like you should be.

You barely breathe. Your eyes are glassy. Your mouth’s open. You feel him lean over you. Feel the slow drag of his lips against your ear.

“You’re not starved anymore,” he whispers. “She’s fed now. Finally.”

You nod. Barely. Weak. Fucked out. His cock twitches.

“She’s still twitching,” he murmurs. “She wants to sleep like this.”

You wake up to the burn in your thighs.

The stretch. The ache. That slick-dried, too-sensitive sting between your legs from being filled for hours without a break. Your skin’s flushed. Clammy. You shift slightly under the covers, still half-asleep, and you feel it—him.

Still there. Still inside you.

You blink. Breathe. Try to make sense of your body—but the pressure between your legs is still warm. Your cunt clenches instinctively, and his cock twitches in response.

A slow, deep ache spreads in your gut.

His arm is draped over your waist. His chest is pressed against your back. He’s asleep—soft breaths on your shoulder, jaw resting against the side of your head. And his cock is still buried to the base in your pussy. Warm. Heavy. Plugging you full like it belongs there.

But something else creeps in too.

You lie there for a moment. Silent. Still. Pussy fluttering, heartbeat slowing, and that awful little ache growing in your chest. The one that started the second he pulled away last night. The one that settled into your ribs when you reached for him and he said “You don’t deserve to be kissed.”

You swallow. You whisper it before you even think about it.

“Are you really not gonna kiss me?”

It’s soft. Not needy. Just… there.

His breath shifts against your skin. His arm tightens slightly around your waist.

You almost regret asking.

Until he exhales through his nose and mutters, voice rough and low and real, “I’m still fucking inside you, you brat. You think I’m gonna spend the whole night cockwarming my favorite pussy and not kiss her in the morning?”

You twist under him, face flushed, and turn your head over your shoulder—and his mouth is already there.

No hesitation. He kisses you hard.

Mouth slanting over yours, tongue sliding in with no patience, lips full and hot and filthy with morning breath and spit. You moan into it, deep and broken, cunt clenching around his cock again like she’s reacting to the kiss like it’s touch.

His hand grips your jaw, thumb dragging over your cheek as he devours your mouth. He licks into you like he means it—like you’ve earned it—like he’s been wanting to do it since before he ever called you a slut.

You’re whimpering into his mouth when it happens.

Your lips slide against his, sticky with spit, your breath still uneven from how long you spent crying into the pillow, your cunt still fluttering weakly around his cock. He hasn’t pulled out. He’s still inside you. Still twitching, half-hard again already, thick and warm, stretching your still-leaking pussy while your body curls back into him, needy and clingy and soft in a way you didn’t get to be last night.

His hand cups your jaw now. Gentle. Finally. His thumb drags along your lower lip, slow and possessive, like he’s re-learning your mouth after denying it. His tongue pushes into you with unhurried filth, and your hips shift just barely, like your cunt’s trying to pull more of him in. Like she doesn’t even know how to be empty anymore.

And then you hear it.

“Heeseung?”

It’s distant. Not loud. Sleepy. But your blood freezes.

“Hey—have you seen Y/N?”

Evie. She’s awake. The breath dies in your throat.

Your eyes fly open. Heeseung’s hand freezes on your jaw. Your whole body locks. His cock is still deep inside you, softening now, but still heavy. Still leaking. You can feel him dripping down your inner thighs as your brain flips inside out with panic.

“Shit,” you mouth, barely audible.

Heeseung exhales through his nose, calm, but his arm is already tightening around your waist like he’s trying to figure out his next move in real time.

“Y/N?” she calls again. “Where’d you go?”

You scramble out of the bed like you’ve been shot. Legs wobbly. Pussy sore. You trip over the blanket as you reach for your discarded clothes, yanking your hoodie on over your head, trying not to scream as your shorts catch on your ankle. You’re still soaked, your panties still twisted around your thigh from where he shoved them earlier, and you can feel his cum still inside you, wet and hot and fucking obvious.

Heeseung’s already sitting up, dragging his hoodie on, running a hand through his hair to make it look like he just woke up.

You’re panicking. “Do I go back to her room? What do I do—what if she’s in the hallway—?”

Heeseung stands up, grabs your shoulders, kisses your forehead once—quick, mocking, cocky—like this is funny to him.

“Bathroom. Now.”

You sprint for it. Just as he opens his door.

His voice is casual. Sleep-rough.

“Yo.”

“You seen Y/N? I woke up and she wasn’t in bed. Her stuff’s still there though.”

Heeseung stretches in the doorway, voice smooth as fucking silk.

“Nah, haven’t seen her. She probably went to the bathroom.”

“She didn’t text me.”

“She probably didn’t want to wake you.”

You’re crouched in the bathroom, hands over your mouth, hoodie soaked at the hem, thighs still trembling. You glance down and see a smear of his cum on your leg, glistening in the morning light like a neon sign of guilt.

“Whatever. Tell her I’m making pancakes.”

“Will do.”

Door shuts. Heeseung turns, leans into the bathroom, finds you crouched by the sink.

“You owe me.”

You punch his chest.

He grabs your wrist. Kisses it.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, voice low. “You’ll pay me back tonight."

It’s early.

Evie’s downstairs making coffee. You can hear the clinking of mugs, the stupid hum of whatever playlist she plays when she’s in a good mood.

You’re in Heeseung’s lap. Hoodie on. No underwear. His back’s against the headboard, his cock deep inside you, and you’re grinding slowly—hips circling, cunt fluttering, hands pressed to his chest to keep yourself upright.

You’re not allowed to bounce. Not allowed to moan.

Just slow, controlled rolls—like you’re milking him without giving yourself away.

“You sound like you want her to know,” he whispers against your throat.

You shake your head. Breathe through your nose. Keep moving.

“Then be quiet, baby. Or I’ll hold your mouth and your hips still, and you won’t cum at all.”

You almost cry. He grabs your ass. Tilts your hips just right.

“If she walks in, you better keep her name off your lips while I fill you up.”

You do. Barely.

You cum with your hand clamped over your mouth, twitching around his cock like you were made for it—and Heeseung cums seconds later, low and quiet, mouth on your collarbone.

Downstairs?

Evie sings along to the chorus.

It’s disgusting.

There’s no other word for it.

You’re on all fours, face buried in Heeseung’s mattress, drooling, moaning, thighs trembling with every wet squelch of his fingers plunging into you from behind. His mouth is glued to your cunt, spit running down his chin, tongue working your clit in slow, sloppy laps while one hand spreads you open—and the other, lower, slick with your cum, is rubbing tight circles around your asshole.

You’re whining his name. Filthy. Wordless. Brain-melted.

“Fuck, she’s drooling for it,” he mutters into your pussy. “She wants both. She’s ready. One in her ass, two in her cunt—you wanna be stretched like a proper little hole, huh?”

Your face is soaked. Your body’s trembling. Your pussy flutters around his fingers, slick squelching with every slow drag in and out. Your rim clenches, raw and wet from the friction. You try to answer, but all that comes out is a pathetic sob.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say what she wants.”

“I want it,” you gasp, voice cracking. “I want you to open my ass—wanna be full, wanna cum like a fucktoy—please—please—”

And then—

“Y/N?”

You hear your name like it’s being spoken through a tunnel.

You freeze.

Every muscle in your body locks.

Heeseung doesn’t move.

You can feel his tongue hovering right at your clit. His finger is still circling your asshole.

And then you both look up.

In the doorway. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Chest heaving.

Evie.

Her face doesn’t go red. It goes white. Like her blood just dropped to her feet.

She stares at your body—at your back arched, knees wide, your ass open, Heeseung’s hand buried between your cheeks, your best friend’s brother with his mouth on you and your spit in his beard.

And then she gags. Audibly. Violently.

Her whole body jolts forward like she’s about to puke right there in the hallway.

“Oh my—fucking—god—” she chokes. “What the—what the FUCK—”

She turns. Presses her palm to the wall. Leans into it. Her other hand clamps over her mouth and you see her shoulders jerk. Once. Twice. A horrible, broken sound crawls out of her throat.

“No—no—no—no, no, no—”

She’s panicking.

Can’t breathe. Her body is shaking so hard you think she might collapse.

“Evie—” you start, voice already wet. “Evie, please—please just listen—”

“DON’T.”

The scream hits like a slap.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t—don’t even say my fucking name—”

You’re sobbing now. Reaching for the blanket. Falling off the bed. Barely able to pull your hoodie down over your sticky, twitching body.

Heeseung moves. Not fast enough. Still shirtless. Still hard. His fingers still glistening.

“Heejoo—”

“DON’T. CALL ME THAT.” Her voice is shrill, raw, wrecked. “You’re my fucking brother.”

She looks at you. Like she doesn’t even know you.

And then her expression cracks completely.

Her face contorts—pain, betrayal, disgust, hatred—all in one devastating collapse.

“You were inside her,” she whispers, and her voice breaks. “You had your—your—you were licking her while you were fingering her ass—”

“You’re both fucking insane.”

You crawl toward her. Not thinking. Just begging. Your knees burn. Your hands shake.

“Evie—please—please just let me explain—”

She flinches.

Flinches.

Like your voice touched her skin. Then she goes still. Her breathing slows. Her hands drop to her sides.

She looks empty.

“Don’t come near me.”

Her voice is flat now. Robotic.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t even fucking breathe in my direction.”

You can’t speak. Can’t move. She steps back.

Looks at Heeseung. Then at you.

“You’re both dead to me.”

You don’t remember the walk home.

You don’t remember grabbing your phone, or leaving the house, or what the weather was like. You don’t remember how long you cried, or how many people stared, or how fucking long it took for the heat between your legs to fade into something cold and ugly. You just remember sitting on your bedroom floor—hoodie still wet between your thighs, your underwear balled up in your pocket—and trying to breathe without choking on it.

Because it doesn’t stop. The image. Her face.

Evie, hand over her mouth. Evie, gagging. Evie, stepping back like you were something dirty.

She meant it. Every word.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t fucking breathe in my direction.”

She meant it.

You try to text her that night. You don’t even know what to say. There are three different messages in your drafts: one with just her name. One that says “I’m sorry.” One that says nothing at all.

They don’t send. You’ve been blocked.

He doesn’t text either. You don’t even know if he can.

The silence is so big it feels like a second death. You lie in bed every night with your phone face-up on your pillow, waiting for it to light up with anything. A call. A voice note. Just a name.

It never comes.

But you still feel him. In your body. In your bones.

Every time you try to sleep, your body curls like it’s expecting to be filled.

Some nights you wake up sweating—panting, pussy twitching—because you dreamed of his voice again.

You still miss him. Even after all of it. Even after how it ended.

Even after Evie’s face broke in half at the sight of you—wet, spread open, her brother’s finger sliding into your ass while you begged for more.

You still miss him. And that’s the part that makes you sick.

It’s been nearly two weeks since you watched Evie recoil in that doorway, hand clamped over her mouth like she was actually going to vomit.

You can’t erase the memory of her face—how disgust bled into betrayal, how her gaze slid right past you like you didn’t exist, then landed on Heeseung as if he were some twisted stranger in her own home. You tried to bury the image, tried to make it small and unimportant, but it lives in your chest now, swelling every time you breathe.

You haven’t talked to either of them since. Not one word to her, not a single text to him.

It’s as if the world paused on that moment: her voice ripping through the room, your body half-naked, his spit drying on your thighs, your stomach churning with guilt.

Now the doorbell rings, and somehow you already know who’s on the other side.

You open it slowly, hesitation weighing on every movement of your hand.

Heeseung stands there in a wrinkled hoodie, dark circles stamped beneath his eyes. He looks thinner—like the shape of him has caved in from the inside out. His hair is unstyled, his shoulders hunched, and the way he stares at you feels desperate.

Neither of you speak for a few seconds, the silence pressing into your lungs.

Then you break it, because you can’t handle him looking at you like that. “Why are you here?” Your voice comes out flat, echoing the numbness you’ve been living in.

Heeseung swallows, gaze skittering between your face and the ground.

“I had to see you.”

The words feel like they’re meant to fix something, but all they do is twist the knife. You give a hollow laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“You already saw enough.”

He exhales shakily, bringing a hand up to scrub at the back of his neck.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I know that’s not—there’s nothing I can—” He trails off, struggling, guilt carved into every line of his face. When he finally speaks again, his voice strains.

“You think we haven’t replayed it a hundred fucking times?” he asks. “The door. The blanket. You moaning. Me—God—we were still fucking with each other right there, even when she—”

“Stop.” Your voice cracks. “Don’t say it.”

“We saw her face,” his voice keeps going, low and fast and pained. “We saw it, and we still didn’t stop, like fucking animals. I see it every time I close my eyes. I hear her say my name like I was never hers, like you were never her friend.”

You speak,

“I can’t look at you without hearing her gag.”

The confession slashes the air, and his lips part like you’ve slapped him.

“I can’t hear your name without remembering what it felt like to be in her house, in her family, doing… that, while she thought I was asleep down the hall.”

For a moment, neither of you breathe. Then he forces himself to speak, voice cracking.

“I know. I fucking know, and I hate that we didn’t let go even when we heard her. I hate that she looked at us like we were monsters. I hate that part of me still wanted to stay inside you, and part of you still wanted me there, when we should’ve both stopped.”

You close your eyes, replaying Evie’s strangled gasp in your head, recalling the numb disbelief that followed when she told you not to speak, not to look, not to fucking breathe in her direction.

“I can’t talk to you,” you whisper, voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I can’t even hear your name without feeling sick.”

He swallows and nods, like he’s been waiting for those exact words. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he’s about to shatter. “I won’t—if you never want to see me again, I understand.” He drags in a breath that rattles in his chest. “I just needed to know you were… alive.”

For a moment, you want to ask him if he’s okay too, if he’s been eating or sleeping, if he wakes up sweating like you do. But you lock it down, because you can’t afford to care right now.

“Well,” you say, and your voice is colder than you intend, “now you’ve seen me. Congratulations.”

A faint tremor passes through him, and he nods once. There’s nothing else. No lecture, no pleading. He just steps back, shoulders slumped, and turns away.

It happens in the grocery store, of all places. You’re pushing a half-empty cart down the cereal aisle, trying not to think about how much quieter life has been since you lost your best friend and the boy you broke her heart with. You’re scanning the shelves for something to distract you when you catch sight of a familiar figure at the other end of the row.

Your heart lurches, your fingers tightening on the cart handle as your stomach flips.

Because there, frowning at the boxes of cereal, is Evie—or Heejoo, or however she wants to be called now. You don’t have time to decide whether you should turn and run or force a hollow smile. She glances up, and your eyes meet. Neither of you moves.

The aisle feels too narrow. Her cart sits between you, an invisible barrier.

She looks different—her hair is shorter or maybe just pulled back in a careless ponytail, dark smudges under her eyes, shoulders tense. She seems hollowed out in the same way you feel.

Some part of you wants to say hey or I miss you or please talk to me, but the words dissolve in your throat. She’s the one who steps forward first, letting her cart roll behind her. Her heels click on the tile, echoing your every heartbeat.

“Having fun?” she asks, and it doesn’t sound like a question so much as a thinly-veiled jab.

You grip the handle of your cart, mouth suddenly too dry to speak.

“Evie—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, eyes flicking away like the name itself stings. “You don’t get to pretend we’re okay. You don’t get to act like we’re still friends.”

Her arms fold across her chest, nostrils flaring with each breath, and you feel your own pulse jump in your neck. “I—I’m sorry,” you manage, voice trembling. It’s not enough, you know that.

She scoffs, a breathy, humorless sound. “That’s it? You’re sorry? You think that magically fixes everything?” She gestures sharply, and you notice how tightly she’s clenching her fists. “You screwed around with my brother like it was nothing, and I walked in on—” Her voice breaks, face twisting as she fights off the memory. “I was just the idiot friend who never saw it coming, right?”

Shame flares in your cheeks. You hold your ground, though it hurts to meet her eyes. “I know I betrayed you,” you say. “We—God, I don’t even have the words for how messed up it was. We both knew better. We both let it happen.”

Her hand lifts to cut you off, shaking with the effort. “You think it’s just that you hurt me?” Her voice wobbles between anger and heartbreak. “You hurt him too, you realize that? He was my brother, you were my best friend, and you both blew yourselves up in front of me. Like you had no idea what it would cost.”

Your stomach knots in a way you haven’t felt before. She’s right. It wasn’t just her—it wasn’t just you. It was all three of you, tangling and twisting until it snapped. “I know,” you say more quietly. “And we’re all paying for it. He’s… he’s not okay. I’m not okay. And you’re definitely not okay. There’s no part of this that isn’t broken.”

She lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Do you think that helps? Hearing you say it’s broken doesn’t change the fact that I can’t even look at either of you without wanting to scream.”

You bow your head, voice almost inaudible. “I wish I could take it back.”

She swallows, and for a fraction of a second, the hostility in her eyes flickers with pain. “Well, you can’t.” Her grip tightens on the cart handle until her knuckles whiten, and she exhales shakily.

“I want my brother back, you know. I want my friend back. But I don’t get either of those things, because you two decided to… to destroy what we had.”

Your throat closes up, tears pricking at your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She stares for another few seconds, jaw clenched as she holds herself together. Then she moves around you, snatching her cart by the handle, the wheels squeaking in protest.

“Enjoy the produce,” she mutters under her breath, voice dripping with bitterness as she passes.

It doesn’t happen overnight.

There’s no single conversation that wipes the slate clean, no perfect gesture that makes Evie’s betrayal vanish, no magic wand that repairs the gaping wound in your chest.

But over time—slow, grudging, step by hesitant step—you all begin to realize that staying in this darkness is killing you. Staying strangers, orbiting the same guilt without looking one another in the eye, is worse than facing the truth. And that truth is messy, fragile, and riddled with scars.

It begins with Evie texting you, late at night, a week after the grocery store encounter.

Just three words: We need to talk.

You stare at the screen for a solid minute, heart pounding like it’s trying to break out of your chest.

Your hands shake as you reply, Yeah, okay.

That’s all. No apology, no second-guessing, just acceptance. You wait for her to say when or where, but she doesn’t text back until the next afternoon, telling you to meet her at the park near her house.

And then she clarifies: Just you.

You show up after sunset, nerves jangling in every limb, expecting hostility, or silence, or both.

Instead, you find Evie sitting on a faded wooden bench under a flickering streetlight. She looks smaller than you remember, knees drawn up under her chin, arms hugging herself for warmth. As you approach, you open your mouth to say something—anything—but she holds up a hand, shaking her head.

“Don’t,” she says, voice tight. “Not yet.”

You stand there, awkward and guilty, waiting for her permission to speak.

She lowers her hand and sighs, staring at a patch of dead grass near her feet. “I asked you here because… this is killing me,” she mutters. “Being this angry all the time. Hating you. Hating him. I can’t keep up with it. It’s turning me into someone I don’t recognize.”

Her words break something inside your chest, and your throat goes thick. You sit down on the far edge of the bench, leaving a wide space between you, unsure if you’re allowed to be any closer. “I… I know,” you manage, voice unsteady. “I feel it too. It’s like I’m rotting on the inside.”

She nods once, gaze flicking to you before sliding away again. “I’m not saying I forgive you,” she warns, and you nod, heart pounding. “I’m just saying I don’t want this to be my life anymore. This—rage. It’s not me.”

She exhales, shoulders curling inward. “And I loved you. You were my best friend. And he… he’s my brother, and I loved him too. So how did we all end up here?”

Silence lingers. You fight back tears that threaten to spill.

“We messed up,” you whisper, voice cracking. “We both did. Me and him. We used your house, your trust, your everything for our own messed-up… needs, and it was stupid and selfish and we ended up shattering everything.” You swallow a lump in your throat. “I know none of that fixes it. But I swear to you, we never wanted to hurt you.”

Evie laughs bitterly, a hollow sound. “Well, you did. And I can’t pretend you didn’t.”

Her gaze shifts to the distance, to the halo of light under the streetlamp. “But I don’t know if I can keep hating you. Or him.”

She hesitates, words coming out slow. “I saw him last week. He looked—God, I hardly recognized him. Like a ghost of himself.”

You nod, biting back the urge to defend him or to ask a dozen questions. “He’s… not doing great,” you say simply, remembering his hollow cheeks, the way his voice cracked when he said he couldn’t sleep.

She wraps her arms tighter around herself, rocking slightly. “Neither are we,” she points out. “None of us are okay. And I guess that’s what I’m realizing. That we’re all stuck in the same crater, staring at the same wreckage. Maybe we shouldn’t be trying to fix it on our own.”

Your eyes burn with unshed tears. “What do you want to do?” you ask, feeling the weight of her words press into your chest.

She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she looks directly at you, tears shimmering at the edges of her eyes. “I want us to talk,” she says. “All three of us. In one place. I want us to put it all on the table, no hiding, no running out. Because if there’s any chance of moving forward—together or apart—we have to face it."

“I’ll text him,” she says, voice ragged. “Don’t expect miracles. But I can’t do this alone.”

A teardrop escapes your lashes and slips down your cheek. “Neither can I,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t respond, just stands up and motions for you to follow.

Evie’s living room is dimly lit, and the air feels thicker than it should—as if everything you’ve said to each other in the last hour is still hovering in the space between. Outside, it’s already dark, the muffled hum of passing cars bleeding in through the windows. You’re all drained—physically, emotionally—yet no one moves to leave. Not yet. It’s not finished.

Evie is perched on the armchair, knees drawn close to her chest. You’re on one end of the couch, Heeseung on the other, and there’s still a gulf of guilt and confusion separating you. But you can feel the conversation building toward something bigger than apologies or confessions of regret.

Evie tugs at the sleeves of her sweater. She glances between you and her brother, mouth pinched tight, but her voice is gentler than before.

“I’m not pretending this is easy,” she begins, clearing her throat. “We’ve all hurt each other. I just want to know what you… what you both actually feel.” Her gaze settles on you, question clear in her eyes. “Do you two even care about each other beyond… beyond whatever it was you were doing?”

You swallow, your mouth dry. This is the moment you’ve been pushing down for weeks, refusing to think about. The reason you woke up gasping sometimes, alone in your bed, missing a warmth you never should have craved in the first place. You take a shaky breath, feeling your pulse hammer in your temples.

“I—” you begin, then stop. Your voice wavers, but you force yourself to speak. “I’m in love with him.”

It comes out bare, unpolished, stripped of excuses. You feel the words echo in your chest, leaving you vulnerable. Across the room, Evie’s eyes widen for half a second, and you can see her guard tighten, just a bit.

Heeseung exhales sharply, his head snapping up. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Instead, you focus on the floor, heart pounding.

“I know,” you continue, voice trembling, “that he might not feel the same way. I know we started this all wrong, that I messed up your trust, that I hurt you”—you glance at Evie—“and maybe I don’t deserve a happy ending. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t love him just because I’m ashamed of how we got here.”

Evie inhales like she’s bracing for another blow, her arms tightening around her knees.

“You’re saying you love him, even if he doesn’t love you back?” she asks, carefully, like she’s afraid of the answer.

You let out a breath that feels like it’s been caged in your ribs for months.

“Yes. It’s not… it’s not his responsibility. If it’s one-sided, that’s on me.” You glance fleetingly at Heeseung, face flushing. “I don’t expect anything from him, or from you. I just—” Your voice cracks. “I needed to say it out loud.”

Silence envelops the room, charged with tension. Heeseung is staring at you, eyes wide and glossy, like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs. Evie shifts, chewing on the inside of her lip.

Heeseung finally speaks, voice rough.

“You… love me?”

You manage a small, trembling nod. “I do,” you say, meeting his gaze at last. “And if you don’t love me back, that’s okay. I know how messed up this is. I’m ready to… to accept that.”

He looks startled, as if no part of him expected you to be okay with that possibility. His hands flex on his knees, knuckles blanching. Then he breathes out, shoulders sagging.

“God,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievably stupid.”

You flinch, heart jolting—though there’s no real malice in his tone, only a shaky awe and raw disbelief that seems to be tying him in knots. He forces himself to meet Evie’s eyes for a flicker of a second, as if silently asking for permission to go on.

“Don’t call her that,” Evie snaps, voice quivering at the edges. She fixes him with a sharp glare, arms folded tight across her chest. “I don’t care how you meant it—she’s not stupid, and you don’t get to insult her in front of me.”

“Shut the fuck up Evie, one second,” He turns to you, “Because you think I’m not in love with you? That I’d leave you hanging with all this guilt?”

Your heart stutters, the floor tilting under you. “Heeseung…”

“I’m in love with you too,” he says, and the words hang in the air with tangible weight. “I can’t believe you’d be ready to walk away, believing it was one-sided. That you’d… accept it. God, do you have any idea how much it hurts to see you in so much pain, thinking I don’t feel the same?”

A soft sound escapes your throat—some blend of relief and shock—and tears gather at the edges of your vision. Across the room, Evie exhales shakily, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. You can see the swirl of emotions crossing her features: anger, hurt, jealousy, and underneath it all, a lingering care for you both.

Heeseung scrubs a hand over his face, then looks to Evie, voice trembling.

“I love her. I know I messed up. We messed up. We never should’ve lied. But I can’t take back how I feel.”

Evie drags in a deep breath. She pushes herself up from the armchair, pacing a short line across the living room. Her head is down, hands in her hair. When she finally looks at you both, there’s pain in her eyes, but not the same raw fury as before.

“Jesus,” she mutters. “You two…” She chews the inside of her cheek. “I hate what you did. I hate how you did it. But if you love each other—really love each other—I can’t tell you not to.”

Her shoulders slump. “I want to be angry forever, but… seeing you like this, I—” She presses her lips together, tears brimming, then sets her jaw. “I guess I just want us to find a way to exist without destroying each other.”

A thick silence fills the space. Your chest feels ready to burst from conflicting emotions—gratitude, guilt, longing, terror. You look at Evie and see the ghost of the best friend you once knew, who might be willing to stand beside you again one day, even if it won’t ever be the same.

You open your mouth.

“I know it won’t be easy,” you say softly. “I don’t expect you to forgive everything in one night. But maybe… maybe we can start moving forward?”

Evie dashes a tear off her cheek and gives a tiny nod.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Maybe.”

Heeseung watches her, watches you, then rises from the couch. He hesitates, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you. You stand up, heart pounding, and drift closer. Neither of you quite meets in the middle, leaving a careful gap where all your remorse hangs. But it’s less than before.

Evie clears her throat, hugging herself.

“I can’t stay down here with you two being… whatever you are. I need time, okay?”

You nod quickly.

“Of course.”

Heeseung nods as well, voice soft.

“Anything you need.”

She steps back, wiping her eyes, and there’s a hint of a weary smile ghosting across her face, like she’s relieved but not sure how to show it.

“You two can talk, or… or go, or do whatever. I just…” Her breath catches. “I’m gonna go upstairs. That’s all I can handle right now.”

You don’t stop her.

Then you turn to him, tears slipping down your cheeks, a tremulous hope fluttering in your chest. He lifts a hand—tentative, like he’s scared to break you—and cups your cheek, thumb brushing your damp skin.

He exhales shakily.

“I love you,” he murmurs, the words raw with emotion. “I’m sorry for everything.”

You nod, voice catching in your throat as you rest your hand over his.

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “But I love you, and maybe… that’s something we can start with.”

His eyes close in something like relief, and he presses a soft, uncertain kiss to your temple. It isn’t a triumphant moment, not the kind of romantic victory you might’ve once imagined. It’s tender, laced with guilt and fear. But it’s also real—genuine and fragile, the only piece of warmth you’ve had in a long time.

Things shift slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. You and Heeseung start keeping your distance whenever Evie’s around—no subtle hand-holding, no lingering touches, certainly no sneaking off to lock yourselves behind the nearest door.

It’s not that you’re ashamed of each other; it’s that you can’t stand the thought of rubbing your relationship in her face. You both know you’re lucky she’s even letting you in the same room without storming out.

So you dial it back. You let your bodies stop running the show.

It’s harder than you expect—he still sets your nerves on fire by simply looking at you—but you remind yourself that Evie’s feelings matter, that you owe her more than just half-hearted consideration. You give her space, which means giving yourselves space too.

No sex. No heavy make-out sessions. No pressed-up-against-a-wall confessions. Just… time and gentle contact.

Heeseung seems as restless as you.

Sometimes, when it’s late and you’re on a phone call—whispering so Evie won’t hear through the walls—he sounds downright desperate.

You can hear his breath catch when you say you miss him, can practically feel the tension radiating through the receiver.

Yet both of you agree: this is how it has to be for now. If you want Evie to believe that what you have is more than just an addiction to each other’s bodies, you need to show her you can exist outside a bed.

So you go on dates. Real dates. Movie theaters, yes, but also bookstore trips, late-night drives to nowhere, strolling through a local fair when it rolls into town.

You hold hands only if you’re well away from Evie’s neighborhood—fearful that any small sign of affection might break the thin thread of tolerance she’s extended.

The first time you walk along the riverside in the evening, sipping cheap coffee from a convenience store, it hits you that you’ve never really done this part before: the tentative, day-to-day romance of building a real relationship. It’s both comforting and nerve-wracking.

You can feel the charge sparking under your skin every time he smiles at you, like you’re seconds away from losing your careful resolve.

But you don’t. Neither of you wants to risk undoing the fragile progress with Evie.

And that progress is slow, but present.

She doesn’t cringe as much when you and Heeseung enter a room together.

She no longer flinches if you happen to stand on the same side of the kitchen.

Maybe sometimes she rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t snap. You see the tension in her shoulders when you’re all in the same space, though—like she’s bracing for some new betrayal.

You can’t blame her. You still offer to leave the moment you sense her discomfort rising. Surprisingly, she’s started telling you to stay.

But the real sign that things might be healing comes one weekend night when Evie texts you, out of the blue:

Girls’ night?

She doesn’t dress it up with a cute emoji or an explanation; it’s bare bones, almost clinical. And you stare at your phone with your heart hammering, wondering if this is a test, or maybe a begrudging olive branch.

You answer with a shaky yes, and spend the next few hours trying not to read too much into it. You tell Heeseung you’ll be hanging out with Evie, and he just smiles—wide and genuine, telling you to have fun, to text him if you need anything.

Evie’s room hasn’t changed much since the night you snuck out of it to see Heeseung. The layout is the same, the posters the same, the bedspread the same. It all feels loaded with history.

She sits cross-legged on her bed, handing you a soda—no alcohol tonight, no false bravado. You sense she wants you both stone-cold sober for whatever might be said.

There’s an awkward pause, and then she gestures for you to sit, too.

For a while, conversation comes in bursts: updates about random classmates, stories from her day at work, small talk about the show you both used to binge-watch together. It’s stiff, but not hostile.

She picks at her blanket, and you notice how she won’t hold your gaze for too long. Yet each minute that passes without snapping or bitterness feels like a victory.

Eventually, she slides a bag of nail polish across the bed toward you. “You, um… you still like doing this, right? It’s been a while,” she mumbles, glancing at your nails.

It’s such a small gesture, but it makes your throat tighten. You nod, and she exhales something that might be relief.

For a solid hour, the two of you paint and chatter, as if practicing how to be friends again. Her shoulders are less rigid. You’re careful not to misstep. Neither of you mentions Heeseung.

At least not directly. But you feel his presence in the air, the unspoken pivot point around which your every interaction revolves. It’s only when Evie finally fixes you with a long, assessing look, half-concern and half-uncertainty, that the moment arrives.

“Are you two, like… okay?” she asks. Her voice is laced with discomfort, but there’s no hatred in it. “You said no more sneaking around. But are you—happy?”

You swallow hard, carefully blowing on your newly painted nails. “We’re… doing our best,” you say. “Trying to be good for each other. Not just physically.”

She nods, lips twisting like she’s turning over your words in her mind. “I guess… that’s what I wanted to know,” she admits softly. “It still weirds me out sometimes, but I’d rather it matter to you than be some… fling.”

A wave of gratitude surges in your chest, making it hard to speak. You nod. “It matters,” you whisper. “I swear.”

She blinks a few times, then sets her nail polish aside. The tension in her shoulders relaxes just enough that her spine curves against the headboard, more comfortable than you’ve seen her in weeks. “Good,” she murmurs, tone stilted but earnest. “Don’t… don’t make me regret trying to rebuild this, okay?”

Your own shoulders slump in relief. “I won’t,” you promise. Your voice shakes with the weight of it. “And if I ever do, you can—and should—kick my ass.”

That draws a small, genuine laugh from her—a sound you haven’t heard in what feels like ages. She nods, letting the humor fill the space that was once suffocating with tension. “Deal,” she says.

You stay up later than expected—talking about nonsense, painting your nails in mismatched colors, occasionally lapsing into awkward silences.

But each time, one of you breaks it before the air can go stale. By the time midnight rolls around, you’ve settled into a strange new normal: not quite what you were before the betrayal, but not strangers anymore. Something between you is mending, fragile but real.

When you leave, she walks you to the front door. It’s still weird, stepping out into the hallway where so much damage happened.

But Evie’s behind you, not in front, and you can’t help feeling that the dynamic has changed in a way that actually might last. You glance back at her, and though she still looks tired, she doesn’t look hostile or betrayed. Maybe just… cautious. It’s enough.

“Night,” she says, one hand resting on the doorknob.

“Night,” you reply, voice quiet. “Thanks, again.”

She nods and closes the door gently behind you—no slamming, no huffing. Just a simple, private goodbye.

As you slip into the night, you realize you’re smiling, mind already whirring with what you’ll tell Heeseung when you see him next. You catch yourself wondering if you’ll meet up for another date soon. Or if you’ll just call him on the way home, excitedly spilling the details of your slow but tangible progress with Evie.

The new place is barely furnished. A couch that’s still covered in plastic. A mattress on the floor. Takeout containers littering the kitchen counter. The floorboards creak with every step. The windows are wide open, and there are no curtains yet. It’s not home—not really—but it’s his.

And most importantly, it’s finally, blessedly, fucking private.

When he opens the door and lets you in, he doesn’t kiss you right away. He just watches you step inside like you’re something he’s trying to memorize. His hands stay in the pocket of his hoodie. His jaw’s tight. His eyes flicker to the bag in your hand, then to your shoes, then up your legs so slowly it makes you feel exposed even though you’re still fully dressed.

You don’t say anything at first. You set the wine down on the counter. You take in the space—empty and echoing—but your skin’s already buzzing. You hear the door close behind you with a soft click, and something shifts.

He clears his throat.

“I haven’t kissed you yet,” he says, voice low. “Not really.”

You turn to look at him. “No.”

There’s a beat.

“Can I?”

You nod.

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

His hands are on your face before you can blink, warm and rough and needing. The kiss starts soft, but only for a breath. Then it turns—hungry, desperate, filthy. Your back hits the counter with a thud, his tongue already in your mouth, his body pressing into yours like he’s trying to crawl inside you through your lips.

You moan into him, and he groans, deep in his throat, like the sound broke whatever shred of self-control he was hanging onto.

“You have no idea,” he pants, mouth hot against your jaw, “how long I’ve wanted to ruin you in peace.”

Your shirt’s pulled up before you can answer, his mouth already sucking marks down your neck. His hands are everywhere—gripping your tits through your bra, unbuttoning your jeans, fingers slipping into your waistband like he owns the place. Like he owns you.

You gasp as his hand slides between your legs, cupping you through your underwear, his breath catching when he feels the heat there.

“Already wet?” he mutters, voice ragged. “Fucking knew it.”

He yanks your jeans down to your ankles, then sinks to his knees on the kitchen tile without another word. His hands push your legs apart, pulling one up to rest over his shoulder. And when his mouth presses to the soaked fabric of your panties, you cry out—sharp, helpless, needy.

“You wore these knowing I’d take them off with my teeth, didn’t you?” he growls, dragging the fabric aside with his nose, his tongue already lapping through your folds like he’s been waiting for this for months.

You can barely breathe. One hand flies to the counter for balance, the other fists in his hair. He licks you with obscene, wet sounds, groaning into your pussy like the taste is sending him over the edge. You grind against his face shamelessly, whining when he flattens his tongue and drags it up through your slit, over and over again.

“Fuck, Heeseung—please—”

He pulls back just enough to spit directly on your clit. “What do you need, baby?” he pants, thumb spreading it around with tight, deliberate pressure. “You want me to make you cum with my mouth like a good little whore? Is that it?”

You nod frantically, hips rocking against his hand.

“I missed this pussy,” he mutters, diving back in. “Missed how fucking loud she is.”

And she is. Your pussy’s wet, sloppy, noisy, every flick of his tongue echoing off the bare walls. You cum hard, legs shaking around his shoulders, crying out his name as your vision blurs.

But he’s not done.

He stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then grabs you by the waist and turns you around, bending you over the counter.

“No more pretending,” he growls in your ear. “No more quiet. You’re gonna scream for me this time.”

He pulls your panties down and spreads you open, groaning like a man unhinged.

“God, you’re dripping. You fucking missed this too, didn’t you?”

You try to answer, but he’s already stroking his cock against your folds, rubbing the head through the mess between your legs, smearing it everywhere.

“Say it,” he demands.

“Yes—yes, I missed it—fuck, Heeseung, I missed your cock—”

He sinks into you in one sharp, brutal thrust, and you wail.

No condom. No pause. Just the stretch of him filling you up in one smooth, devastating stroke.

“Oh my God,” he groans. “You’re fucking swallowing me.”

You’re moaning, writhing, drooling onto the counter. He doesn’t start slow. He doesn’t give you time. He fucks you—relentless, pounding, like he’s been waiting to do this since the moment you first touched him.

Your ass slaps against his thighs with every thrust. Your pussy is loud, the kind of wet, messy squelch that would embarrass you if you could think.

He slaps your ass hard, making you jolt forward. “Listen to her,” he growls. “She’s been crying for me.”

You don’t stop him. You beg for more.

He grabs your arms and pulls you back onto him, using your own body to fuck you harder.

“Keep taking it,” he snarls. “Be my good little cumrag, just like you used to be.”

You scream. You scream for him.

You cum again, sobbing into the crook of your arm, your entire body trembling.

He pulls out and flips you around, lifts you up onto the counter again, and kisses you like he’s devouring you from the inside out. Your legs are trembling so hard you can barely hold them up, but he spreads them open and spits straight onto your cunt, rubbing it in with two fingers, moaning when you jolt at the sensitivity.

“Wanna fuck you on the floor next,” he mutters against your lips. “Wanna fuck you on the mattress, on the couch, against every wall. Wanna ruin this apartment with the sound of your pussy screaming for me.”

You grab his face, breath ragged. “Then do it.”

He throws you over his shoulder and carries you to the mattress on the floor, where he fucks you in every position he’s ever imagined. He keeps you cockdrunk and leaking. When your voice gives out, he fucks you in silence. When your legs stop working, he props them up and keeps going. And when he finally cums—inside you, deep, claiming—he doesn’t pull out.

He just collapses on top of you, both of you drenched in sweat and slick and the aftermath of something feral.

You can’t move.

You don’t want to.

You just lie there, shaking, full, used, satisfied in a way that makes you dizzy.

Heeseung kisses your shoulder and whispers against your skin.

“I’m never being patient again.”

TL: @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @beariegyu @zzhengyu @annybah @seonhoon @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3

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