𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗠𝗘. welcome to my blog <3 my name is kimei but you can call me mei or any variation of my name. my account focuses on NSFW content, suggestive themes, and dark topics like kinks. if you don’t like this, the block button is free or you can simply swipe <3.
𝗥𝗨𝗟𝗘𝗦. requests for blurbs, drabbles, and fics are always open as long as they accurately mention the central theme or at least have a concrete idea. i’m not picky about kinks because i’m open to writing about anything, even socially frowned-upon topics, so don’t be shy about sending an ask because we don’t judge here.
Ryujin being into soft sex makes so much sense imo.
she’d keep her pace just slow enough for you to feel everything as her hips press flush to yours, and Ryujin would absolutely be teasing too, holding your head so you have to make eye contact with her and slowing her pace even more if you dont
pairing. dom!shin ryujin x sub!fem reader.
content warnings. scissoring, teasing.
ryujin’s preferences in bed can vary and change over time because depending on the day is what she wants to do with you. she usually spends her time joking around and trying to play push and pull with you because she loves to provoke you and test your patience, and it gets more annoying when she notices her actions are affecting you, but you still try to stay calm because you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of showing her that she got under your skin.
but there are also other times when she provokes you in more tortuous ways because she likes how you slowly lose your mind and try to stop it from happening: one way to do that would be when she’s on top of you and has the power to grind her pussy against yours, and even though she really wants to fuck you, she holds back her own desires and needs to end up doing whatever it takes to be a pain in the neck. she practically goes crazy having to make her movements slower and deeper, unable to stop myself from whimpering as he tilts her head and looks at your face to ask mockingly if “everything is alright down there”, smiling mockingly when she sees your angry expression and how you respond with few words and a sour tone, but she doesn’t mind! not when she has the complete confidence and courage to put a hand to your face and run her fingers through your tousled and sweaty hair, moving your head in a firm grip and forcing yourself to look at her because she wants a better answer.
winter who asked out reader but reader rejected her out of fear for winters career :( winter ended up getting drunk and sobbing at readers doorstep, just being an absolute mess, so of course reader took her in! Until they were laying down and winter just wanted to be all over her, grinding against her when all reader was trying to do is be nice >.<
pairing. needy!kim minjeong x fem reader.
content warnings. alcohol, dubcon, dry humping.
being an artist is very complicated because it means that your life becomes almost entirely public and that very little can remain private and personal. this is especially a headache when it comes to friendships or romantic relationships because the public will always have to say positive or negative things, everyone’s getting so involved in the singers’ lives that they can't even have friends because of the fandom wars or the way fans perceive each other.
and it’s so painful when you have to reject winter just because you’re afraid that being in a relationship with you will damage her image as a singer :( they always had their ups and downs because you guys have been friends for years and even before she became an artist and famous, having such a close and stable bond that trust is the strongest thing in the relationship. and of course, both of you would love to have a romantic relationship because over time your beautiful friendship slowly turned into something more, with romantic and loving feelings, but you were so afraid of the public’s reception that you ended up rejecting winter outright to avoid any problems.
i feel like she’s the typical cliché of the person who bangs on your window throwing stones so that when you open it you see her, standing in the middle of your yard and singing a song he composed and wrote for you. obviously you let her into your house because you notice she’s more than drunk and doesn’t seem in any condition to get home without doing something crazy in the attempt, allowing her into your home is a decision with multiple possible outcomes because when she’s drunk, she can end up doing too many things.
and you try to make her understand that you two can’t be together because of the industry and the fans, but she can’t concentrate on a single word you say because she gets distracted when she climbs on top of you and ends up grinding her hips against yours through both of your clothes... and you really should be the authority and maturity here because your brain is the only one working here since winter is disgustingly drunk, but how can you do that when with every movement of her hips you feel your underwear rubbing against your soaking wet pussy?
jealous older idol karina who’s never even met u :( while u were on mb u slipped up and said someone like her would be your ideal type and she’s held onto that for forever !! She never even officially met you but gosshh she needed you so bad, she got so jealous when you got into a scandal with another idol that she haddd to take out her frustrations on you the next time she seen you while promoting lemonade >.< but she wasn’t totally rude, whispering praises in your ear because she was being sooo rough with someone who didn’t even know her :(
pairing. dom!yoo jimin x sub!fem reader.
content warnings. age gap, blackmail, corruption, fingering, gropping.
karina is not someone who is interested in new groups and the type of music they make because her favorite groups come from the first generation, without even considering giving those groups a small chance to see if they manage to capture her attention or musical taste because she is quite firm in her stance and way of thinking — but everything changes when she discovers your group, and above all, discovers your existence. it doesn't matter if you’re from a big company launching a new group or of a small and little–known company that was lucky enough to have its first and only group give a powerful boost to fame, either way, she ends up becoming obsessed with you in such a sick way that it’s strange even to think about... it all started one random day when she was looking at her social media at night, sitting comfortably on her sofa while the television hummed softly to fill the silence of her giant living room, relaxing so much with that face mask on and drinking tea while letting her body and mind rest, the typical basic nighttime routine of any celebrity who is disgustingly rich like her! but the calm and peaceful emotions and feelings disappear from her body the moment she comes across a video of you talking about her: a few simple and quick questions that an mc asked you during an interview at a music show before your performance that day, they being so professional and skilled that they end up bringing out your inner fanatic and making you talk with such excitement about aespa and karina...
and she doesn’t even seem bothered because she’s already gotten used to fame and popularity, so karina simply makes a simple grimace and rolls her eyes as she quickly swipes the video off its end and continues watching content that actually interests and matters to her because, according to her, why would her heart soften over a video of a fan being so passionate about their love for their artist if she’s used to them and everyone else always being like that for her? the world is so full of fans of her group that there’s a point where the love and adoration no longer interest her because it’s become more common and normal than her day–to–day routine. yes, that’s how she is behind the scenes, but that’s what happens when fame and popularity consume you, just like it did to her.
however, she begins to feel affected by the situation when she hears and notices that you start having rumors about dating and being in a relationship with an idol from your own generation. she feels so betrayed because why would you have her as your role model and celebrity crush if you’re then going to have rumors about someone else?
she absolutely does not allow this to escalate because the next time her group’s schedule coincides with yours, she ends up finding an opportunity to be alone with you, confronting you about your supposed bad behavior towards her and being a bad fan who hurt her artist :( and of course those words affect you because karina has always been your role model and the artist you’ve always loved, so having your favorite singer say you let her down feels like a stab in the heart. nobody wants to be disliked by their idol because everyone wants to make a good impression, but unfortunately you broke up and lost the chance you almost had with her.
and she ends up fingering you as if she were trying to split you in half... not even using saliva or anything because the simple fact of her being mean to you made you wet your underwear, so she easily moves your panties aside so she can finally slide two long fingers inside your warm pussy, loving how your velvety walls embrace her digits despite your sobbing and babbling because her thrusts are too rough and harsh.
──── ( ❗ ) you stay behind in the empty practice room with chaeryeong long after everyone else leaves, both of you exhausted, irritated, and running on pure stubbornness. as the tension from a disastrous rehearsal slowly gives way to late-night complaints and lingering glances, you're forced to confront the strange pull between frustration and something far more dangerous growing in the silence between you.
𝓟aring. switch!idol!lee chaeryeong x switch!6th member!fem reader.
𝓒ontent 𝓦arnings. begging, body worship, clit play, cum eating, cunnilingus, degration, dirty talk, dry humping, face fucking, face sitting, fingering, gropping, hair pulling, humiliation, multiple orgasms, nipple play, pet names, power play, praise, scissoring, squirting.
𝓦ord 𝓒ount. 9,5k.
𝓜asterlist.
the practice room mirrors are no longer reflections; they are interrogators. they stare back at you, cold and unforgiving, capturing every bead of sweat that tracks through your foundation and every tremor in your overworked muscles. you are a ghost inhabiting a shell of exhaustion, and currently, that shell is sprawled across the scuffed hardwood of the jyp practice studio.
a mistake. just a foot-drag, a millisecond of hesitation in the transition—and you let it break you. you didn’t just miss the step; you crumpled. your legs gave out, a surrender so total that you let gravity take you down. you are lying there, face–down, chest heaving like a bellows, lungs burning with the metallic tang of recycled air and sheer, unadulterated fatigue. every fiber in your body is screaming a protest against the idea of movement. you don’t think you could stand up even if the building were on fire.
the silence in the room is heavy, punctured only by the ragged rhythm of your own breathing and the distant, muffled thrum of the building’s hvac system. then, the sound of laughter ripples through the air—light, airy, and utterly dismissive.
you roll your head slightly, blurring the room into a kaleidoscope of colors. the girls are looking at you, but the sympathy is absent. to them, you are the perpetually dramatic one.
yeji, standing taller than she has any right to be after six hours of relentless drills, wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. her stamina is legendary, a kinetic engine that refuses to quit. she brushes off her damp hair, her eyes scanning the room with the practiced authority of a leader who has already calculated how many minutes are left in the rehearsal block.
lia stands a few feet away, leaning against the wall, her breathing steady despite the intensity of the track. her contemporary background gives her a fluidity that makes even her exhaustion look like an art form; she is relaxed, grounded, and deceptively strong. she offers a small, tight smile—not of pity, but of shared endurance.
then there is ryujin. she catches your gaze, exaggerating the whites of her eyes as she rolls them back. she lets out a sharp, mocking groan that perfectly mimics the pathetic sound you made when you hit the floor. it’s immature, a quick jab to break the tension, but it only makes your heart sink further into your chest.
chaeryeong, however, doesn’t even acknowledge your existence. she is a statue of focus, her reflection in the mirror the only world she cares about. she is meticulously smoothing out a single hand movement, her brow furrowed in quiet concentration. she looks so peaceful—almost eerie—in her dedication. how she can maintain such composure while the rest of you are drowning in sweat and gasping for air is a mystery you can’t solve. she is the eye of the storm.
yuna is a blur of kinetic energy, pacing back and forth like a hyperactive rabbit. she’s buzzing from her solo promotions, the adrenaline of her recent debut still coursing through her veins. she has more energy than the rest of the group combined, her eyes bright and hungry, waiting for the music to trigger the next explosion of movement.
you ignore them all, your gaze locked on chaeryeong’s back. you envy that stillness. you envy the way she treats exhaustion as an inconvenience to be managed rather than a wall to crash into.
“get up, (y/n).” a voice cuts through your reverie, pulling you out of your little trance of rest and bringing you back to the practice room.
yeji is standing over you. her expression is a mix of frustration and the gritted–teeth kindness of a leader who has a schedule to uphold regardless of her own pain. she grabs your wrist, her grip firm and cool, and hauls you upward. you stumble, your knees locking and shaking, but she pulls you upright until you’re forced to find your center.
“the break is only ten minutes away,” she murmurs, her voice low enough that the others don't catch the nuance of her instruction. “we have the comeback coming up. we can’t afford to lose momentum now. just... breathe, and get back in formation.”
you nod, though your head feels heavy, as if it’s filled with lead. you step back to your starting position, the phantom weight of the choreography pressing down on your shoulders.
the afternoon, however, is not your friend. the choreographer, a woman whose eyes seem to only function as error-detecting software, has seemingly chosen you as her personal project. every time the music swells and you attempt the sequence, her voice slices through the studio, sharp as a razor.
“stop. again.”
the music cuts out, the sudden silence more jarring than the bass. your heart hammers against your ribs. you feel the heat rising in your cheeks. the choreography is complex, a lattice of fast-paced footwork and sharp, precise upper-body isolations. when you move, you feel clunky, heavy, a cog that doesn't fit into the machine.
“you're dragging,” the choreographer says, walking toward you, her heels clicking against the floor. she stops inches from your space, her presence demanding total submissiveness. “your timing on the second beat is off. again.”
you look at your members. you see the subtle shifts in their posture—the way ryujin shifts her weight, impatient; the way yuna bounces on her toes, itching for the next take. they are frustrated, too, but they remain silent, their lips pressed into thin, tight lines. this is the company way: you don’t talk back, you don’t complain about the staff, and you certainly don’t defend your weaknesses. you absorb the criticism, you swallow the humiliation, and you try until your muscles tear.
you restart the music. you hit the steps. your brain is firing, trying to calculate the exact degree of your hip rotation, the precise angle of your chin. you think you’ve got it, but—
"stop! you're staring at the floor again. look at the mirror!"
she walks over, forcing you to practice the segment in slow motion. she touches your shoulders, shifting your frame, forcing your body into a posture that feels unnatural, strained. you feel like a marionette being pulled by cruel strings. the humiliation is a physical weight, a heat that radiates from your skin. you are aware of the girls watching, their eyes scanning you with a mixture of boredom and pity, and it makes the air in the room feel thinner, harder to breathe.
you reach a point where your vision begins to swim. the lights of the studio flare, the harsh white leds reflecting off the mirrored walls until the world feels like nothing but glare and rhythm. you are so tired that you can feel the individual muscles in your calves quivering—a frantic, rhythmic tapping that you can't control.
as the music plays for the fifteenth time, you realize you aren't dancing anymore. you are surviving. you are moving because the machine requires you to move, because a comeback is coming, because someone else has decided what your best looks like.
you finish the count, your lungs burning with a fire that threatens to consume you. you look at the mirror, and you don’t see a star. you see a tired girl with disheveled hair, eyes wide with the trauma of an endless afternoon, trying to copy the grace of a teammate who exists on a different plane of reality.
"better," the choreographer notes, her voice devoid of any warmth. "but let's do it again. from the top."
you close your eyes for a split second, a tiny, desperate prayer for a moment of mercy. but the music restarts. you don't collapse this time. you can't. you bite the inside of your cheek until you taste the salt of your own spirit, and you begin to dance again. you are one of many, a drop of water in an ocean of industry, and you will stay afloat, or you will drown in the glare of the mirrors, one forced step at a time.
the music crashes through the speakers again.
five. six. seven. eight.
you move. somehow, despite the ache buried in your bones, your body begins to remember. the choreography settles back into your muscles like an old language. the counts stop feeling like obstacles and start feeling familiar again.
your breathing evens out. the sting of embarrassment fades into the background. for the first time all afternoon, the choreographer isn't stopping the music every thirty seconds.
you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror: you’re not perfect, but you’re keeping up, and that feels like a victory.
the members seem to notice, too. ryujin’s impatient expression softens slightly. yuna throws you a quick grin when your eyes meet in the reflection. even yeji looks a little less worried.
the confidence returns in tiny pieces. step. turn. slide. hit.step. turn—your foot lands half a beat too early. panic explodes in your chest. no, not again.
without thinking, you try to correct yourself. you shift your weight sharply to the side, attempting to jump back into formation before anyone notices.
it happens in less than a second, but it’s enough. your shoulder collides with something solid. or rather— someone. chaeryeong.
the impact isn’t hard, but it’s completely unexpected: chaeryeong stumbles a step sideways. the formation breaks. the music screeches to a halt.
silence. absolute silence.
your stomach drops, getting so nervous when you make a noticeable mistake and then making it twice as bad when trying to fix it. you always managed to be professional when you had a difficulty during a performance, but why couldn’t you fix your mistake this time?
every single person in the room is looking at you. again.
you froze, feeling ashamed of being the center of attention, and for something totally bad andnegative. “oh my god.”
the words escape before you can stop them. the blame quickly fell on your shoulders and you felt bad about everything that was happening and passing around you. “chaeryeong, i’m so sorry— i didn’t mean it.”
chaeryeong steadies herself immediately, her dancer instincts kicking in before she even fully loses balance. for a moment, she just stares at you. not angry. not annoyed. just surprised… which somehow feels worse.
you can practically feel the choreographer’s disappointment radiating across the studio. she’s always been so demanding, especially with you, so you can imagine everything that was going on inside her head.
your face only can burn. you want the floor to open beneath you. seriously. right now. just swallow you whole.
“i'm sorry,.” you repeat, voice smaller this time.
chaeryeong blinks. then, unexpectedly, she lets out a quiet laugh through her nose. “you hit harder than i thought.”
your brain short–circuits. “... what?”
"i'm okay."
she rolls one shoulder experimentally before nodding. it was almost as if you were mocking me, that you seemed so worried about almost nothing, but in reality, she was just being simple and natural with you to show you that nothing bad was really happening. “see? i’m okay.”
the tension in the room loosens immediately.
ryujin covers her mouth, already trying not to laugh. “that's one way to get chaeryeong's attention,” she mutters.
“ryujin,” yeji warns, clearly fed up with the immature and completely unprofessional attitude of said member in the face of a tense and uncomfortable situation.
which only makes yuna laugh harder.
you remain frozen in place. mortified.
chaeryeong glances at you again, and for the first time all day, she offers you a genuine smile. small. brief. but real. “next time,” she says, stepping back into position, “just make the mistake. it’s easier than tackling me.”
a few of the members laugh. even you, just a little.
the embarrassment doesn’t disappear: your heart is still pounding. your cheeks are still on fire. but the crushing weight that's been sitting on your chest all afternoon feels lighter somehow.
the choreographer claps her hands, breaking with the comfort of the environment because it was evident that her energy was not going to participate in all of this. “enough.”
everyone immediately straightens.
“from the top.”
a collective groan ripples through the room. the music starts again. this time, when you move into formation beside chaeryeong, she gives you the slightest nudge with her elbow. a silent reminder. breathe. keep going. and don’t tackle your members.
the music starts again. the bass rattles through the floor beneath your sneakers.
this time, nobody makes a mistake. the formation is sharp. clean. precise.
five bodies moving as one: yeji cuts across the center with powerful, controlled movements, every turn landing exactly where it should. lia's arms slice through the air with effortless grace, her transitions so smooth they almost look easy. ryujin has a dance style where she makes the most precise movements, making her chest movements or footwork a total delight to watch. yuna attacks every beat with explosive energy, her ponytail whipping behind her as she throws herself into the choreography.
beside you, chaeryeong is flawless. of course she is. every movement flows naturally from one count to the next. her footwork is light, almost floating across the floor despite the hours of practice already weighing on everyone's muscles. she never seems rushed. never seems uncertain.
you focus on matching her: your body hurts. your lungs hurt. your legs feel like they’re being held together by tape and determination. but you dance anyway.
the routine reaches the chorus. the hardest section. the section that had caused problems all afternoon.
you hit every count. every turn. every isolation. the entire group does. not a single person falls behind. not a single formation breaks.
when the final beat hits, everyone freezes in position. silence.
heavy breathing fills the room. sweat drips from your chin onto the hardwood. for a moment, nobody moves.
you wait.
surely this time—the choreographer sighs, a long, disappointed sigh. she stares at the group from across the room, arms folded tightly against her chest. then her eyes land on you, and chaeryeong. again.
“you two.” your heart drops. next to you, chaeryeong slowly straightens.
the choreographer walks forward..her heels click sharply against the floor. one. two. three. each step somehow making the room feel smaller. “what happened earlier should never happen.”
her gaze shifts between you and chaeryeong. “you lost formation.”
you immediately lower your eyes. “yes, ma’am.”
“yes, ma’am,"” chaeryeong echoes.
the choreographer continues. and continues. and continues. every small mistake from the afternoon is dragged back into the spotlight:your timing. your positioning. the collision. the interruption. the wasted practice time.
at first, you try to listen respectfully. you really do. but after ten minutes of standing there while she picks apart every detail, something inside you starts to crack.
your legs are trembling from exhaustion. your shirt is sticking to your skin. your head is pounding. and the worst part? you know the last run was good. everyone knows it.
you glance sideways. chaeryeong's face remains neutral. but only at first… you begin noticing the little things: the way her jaw clenches. the way she keeps pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. the way her fingers repeatedly curl into fists before relaxing again. she isn’t calm, she’s irritated, very irritated.
the choreographer keeps talking. “professional dancers don’t lose focus.”
another lecture. another criticism. another reminder. you can practically feel chaeryeong’s patience evaporating.
then the choreographer says it. “if one person makes a mistake, the other person should be aware enough to compensate.”
the implication hangs in the air. chaeryeong's eyes narrow, just slightly, but you catch it. everyone catches it. because chaeryeong rarely shows irritation. ever.
she slowly lifts her head: her expression remains polite. her posture remains perfect. but her eyes have changed… they’ve become cold. not angry. not emotional. just tired. tired of hearing it.
you feel your own frustration bubbling up. your chest feels tight, because you know exactly what happened: you were the one who messed up. chaeryeong hadn’t done anything wrong. yet somehow both of you were still standing here getting scolded while the rest of the group waited.
yeji shifts uncomfortably nearby. lia looks away. ryujin presses her lips together. yuna bounces less than usual. the entire room feels tense.
finally, the choreographer waves a dismissive hand. “again.”
nobody moves immediately. everyone is exhausted. everyone is frustrated.
chaeryeong turns around first. the movement is sharp, much sharper than usual. she walks back toward her position without a word. her shoulders are stiff. her steps are heavier, not enough for anyone to call it disrespectful, just enough for everyone to notice.
you follow behind her. your own frustration simmering beneath your skin. when you reach formation, chaeryeong exhales slowly through her nose. a long breath. the kind people take when they're trying very hard not to say something they'll regret. then she rolls her shoulders back, lifts her chin, and prepares to dance again, because that’s what idols do.
they dance. they practice. they get criticized. and then they dance again. even when they’re tired. even when they’re frustrated. even when they’re angry enough to scream.
the music starts. and the second the beat drops, both of you throw yourselves back into the choreography with enough force to make the mirrors shake.
hours later, the practice room is almost unrecognizable: the bright energy from earlier is gone. the mirrors are fogged around the edges. water bottles are scattered everywhere. the air feels thick with sweat, exhaustion, and the lingering echoes of the same song played approximately seven hundred times.
everyone else has already left. yeji had practically dragged yuna out by her hoodie. lia left after reminding everyone to stretch. ryujin disappeared thirty minutes ago after announcing she was “one criticism away from becoming a farmer.” which leaves only you and chaeryeong.
unfortunately. or fortunately. depending on who you ask.
you are both sitting on the floor: neither of you has enough energy to stand. your backs are pressed against the mirror. your legs stretched out in front of you like two corpses that accidentally sat upright.
for several minutes neither of you speaks. you’re both too tired.
chaeryeong slowly unscrews a water bottle. takes one sip. then another. then stares into the distance. “... i think she hates us.”
you immediately burst out laughing. which hurts. everything hurts. “who?”
chaeryeong turns her head slowly. very slowly. like a haunted doll. “the choreographer. duh.”
another laugh escapes you. “you think?”
“i’m serious.” she points weakly toward the center of the room. “when i die, i want her to lower my coffin.”
“what?”
“so she can let me down one last time.” for the first time all day, chaeryeong actually smiles. a tired smile. the kind that only appears after twelve straight hours of suffering.
you slide down the mirror another inch.
“at one point i thought she was going to stop the music because i blinked wrong.”
“she probably would.”
“she definitely would.”
chaeryeong nods seriously. “your left eyelid was off-count.”
you immediately start wheezing, but she continues,.completely straight-faced. “‘again.’”
“‘your blinking lacks commitment.’”
“‘the comeback is next month. do you think fans want to see that eyelid?’”
you clutch your stomach..“stop.”
“‘the right eyelid is carrying the performance.’”
“chaeryeong.”
both of you completely lose it. your laughter echoes around the empty studio. for several seconds neither of you can breathe. which is honestly not much different from the rest of practice.
eventually the laughter fades. you lean your head back against the mirror. “seriously though.” your voice comes out quieter. “today sucked.”
chaeryeong immediately groans. a long, dramatic, suffering groan. she slides farther down the mirror until she’s almost lying on the floor. “today was awful.”
“i thought my legs were going to fall off.”
“i’m pretty sure mine already did.”
chaeryeong rubs her face with both hands, her hair is sticking to her forehead. her makeup is long gone. she looks completely exhausted. nothing like the graceful, untouchable dancer everyone imagines. just a tired twenty–something woman who wants to go home. “you know what the worst part is?” she mutters.
“what?”
“we're doing all of this again tomorrow.”
silence. the realization settles between both of you. horrifying. devastating.
you stare at the ceiling. chaeryeong stares at the ceiling. neither of you speaks. then simultaneously— “i’m calling in sick.”
“i'd calling in sick.”
you both stop, look at each other, and start laughing all over again..the kind of laughter that only happens when you're so tired your brain stops functioning properly.
for a moment, the practice room doesn't feel suffocating. it doesn’t feel like a battlefield. it doesn’t feel like the place where you'd spent the entire day being corrected and criticized.
it just feels quiet. comfortable. and somehow, despite everything, a little funny.
chaeryeong lets her head fall onto your shoulder with a dramatic thud. “wake me up when retirement arrives.”
you stare at her. then at the clock on the wall. then back at her. “you’ve got another thirty years.”
her horrified gasp echoes through the empty room. “don’t say things like that.”
“actually, i have a way to deal with this stress.”
“god, you’re a little firecracker, aren’t you?” she breathed, her voice thick with desire. she didn’t wait another second. she tilted her head and crashed her lips against yours in a deep, demanding kiss. it wasn’t soft or sweet; it was possessive, tasting of strawberry lipgloss and pure, unadulterated want.
as your lips locked, chaeryeong began to move. she pressed her hips firmly into yours, initiating a slow, rhythmic grind that forced a soft gasp from your throat. she moved with a practiced, seductive grace, her body sliding against yours in a way that was meant to drive you wild. she used the mirrors to her advantage, her eyes fluttering open for a moment to watch the way your messy hair spilled over your shoulders and the way your hazy eyes clouded with lust as you reacted to her touch.
her hands wandered from your hips, one sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to deepen the kiss, while the other pressed firmly against the small of your back, guiding the friction of your bodies.
“that’s it…” she murmured against your lips, her breath hitching as she felt you move with her. “just like that, (y/n)... show me exactly how much you want this.”
the silence of the studio was broken only by the sound of heavy breathing and the soft friction of your clothes rubbing together. chaeryeong was completely lost in the sensation, her movements becoming more frantic and hungry as she felt your body respond to hers. she was a girl who lived for this: the thrill, the heat, the absolute control of a moment like this.
she pulled back just an inch, her lips swollen and wet from the kiss, her eyes dark and blown wide with lust. she looked at you through the mirror, watching the way your chest heaved and how your soft eyes looked so beautiful when they were filled with desire. she loved the sight of you, especially like this undone by her.
“you’re so fucking hot.” she rasped, the swear word slipping out like a prayer. she didn’t stop the grinding, instead increasing the pressure of her hips against yours, her hands sliding down from your hair to grip your thighs, pulling you even tighter against her.
she leaned in again, her nose brushing against yours, her gaze dropping to your mouth. she was teasing you now, hovering just a hair’s breadth away from your lips, waiting to see if you'd pull her in or if you’d beg for it.
the tension in the room was thick enough to choke one. seeing you respond with that silent, hungry intensity just leaning into her, your eyes fixed on hers was more than chaeryeong could handle. she loved the way you didn’t need words to tell her exactly what you wanted.
she let out a low, guttural moan, her forehead dropping against yours as she surrendered to the heat. her hands moved with a sudden, desperate urgency, sliding under the hem of your shirt, her palms warm and slightly rough against your skin.s
she wanted to feel every inch of you.
the grinding intensified, her movements becoming more rhythmic and forceful, driven by the sheer friction of your bodies pressed together. he was chasing a peak, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps that echoed off the mirrored walls. every time your hips met hers, a fresh wave of electricity seemed to pulse through the room.
“don’t stop…” she whimpered against your neck, her teeth grazing your skin in a way that was both a caress and a bite. she was losing her cool, her usual confident girl composure melting into pure, raw need. she pulled you even closer, if that was even possible, her body trembling slightly from the effort of holding back.
“(y/n)... please…” she breathed, her voice breaking as she searched your lustful eyes for permission to take things even further.
“what do you want? mmmh? ask for it.”
chaeryeong let out a shaky, breathless laugh at your teasing question, the sound vibrating against your skin. she loved that you were playing with her, pushing her to the edge just as she was doing to you. the way you said it that low, sultry 'mmm' sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to her core.
she pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eyes, her gaze heavy and hooded with lust. her hands, still tucked under your shirt, slid upward until her palms were flat against your ribs, feeling the frantic thud of your heart. she leaned in, her lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from yours, her voice a dark, velvety growl.
“what do i want?” she repeated, her eyes darting down to your lips and back up to your green eyes. “i want to see if you taste as good as you look. i want to feel you shaking under my hands. i want to see those pretty eyes roll back when i finally get you exactly where i want you.”
she gave your hips a sudden, firm squeeze, her grind becoming more demanding, more primal. “i want everything, (y/n).” she whispered, her breath hot against your mouth. “and i want it right now. so tell me... are you going to keep making me ask, or are you going to let me have you?”
she didn’t even wait for your verbal answer. seeing the hunger in your green eyes was enough. chaeryeong surged forward, her mouth crashing against yours with a ferocity that was almost desperate. she backed you up until your calves hit the floor, her hands guiding you down until you both collapsed onto the smooth, cool surface of the dance studio floor.
she hovered over you, her dark hair creating a curtain around your faces, isolating you in a world of heat and friction. her hands moved with purpose, roaming over your curves, her touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. she was relentless, her kisses moving from your lips to your jawline, then down to the sensitive skin of your neck, making you arch your back and gasp her name.
“you’re mine for the next hour.” she growled against your skin, her eyes flashing with a triumphant, predatory light as she looked down at you. “and i’m going to make sure you don't forget it.”
the air in the studio felt heavy and thick, saturated with the scent of your perfume and chaeryeong’s intoxicating, rebellious aura. as you lay there on the cool floor, the sensation of her body pressing you down was overwhelming. you didn’t say a word; you didn’t have to. your body was doing all the talking, arching up to meet her every touch, your fingers digging into her shoulders as you pulled her closer.
chaeryeong felt your silent surrender, and it drove her wild. she loved the way you looked beneath her your mess and sweaty hair fanned out across the floor like a halo of fire, your blurry eyes wide and hazy with pure, unadulterated lust. she felt like a predator that had finally caught the most beautiful prey in the world.
she broke the kiss for a moment, her chest heaving as she looked down at you. a dark, triumphant smirk played on her lips. she reached down, her hand sliding from your waist to the hem of your shorts, her fingers grazing the skin of your inner thigh with a slow, torturous deliberate motion.
“so quiet now…” she whispered, her voice a low, vibrating hum that seemed to echo in your very bones. she leaned down, her lips brushing against yours in a teasing, ghost like kiss before she trailed them down to your collarbone. “but your heart is racing so fast... i can feel it thudding against my chest. you’re so ready for me, aren’t you?”
she didn’t wait for a response. she moved her hand higher, her touch becoming more confident and demanding, her eyes never leaving yours as she watched the way your expression shifted with every new sensation. she was in total control, and she was going to savor every single second of making you lose your mind.
“just fuck me, chaeryeong.”
chaeryeong’s eyes widened for a split second, a flash of genuine surprise crossing her face before it was instantly replaced by a look of pure, unbridled hunger. a low, wicked chuckle vibrated in her throat. she loved that you weren’t just a passive participant you were a player, just like her.
“fuck you?”.she repeated, the word sounding like a delicious secret on her tongue. she let out a breathy, triumphant laugh, her eyes smoldering as she looked down at you. “god, (y/n)... you really are a handful, aren’t you? just what the doctor ordered.”
without wasting another moment, she shifted her weight, moving with a fluid, athletic grace to position herself between your legs. she didn’t let the friction break as she moved, her body sliding against yours with a newfound intensity. she guided your hips up to meet hers, her movements becoming a synchronized, rhythmic dance of pure friction.
the sensation was immediate and overwhelming. the heat of your bodies pressing together, the softness of your skin rubbing against hers, and the intense, mounting pressure sent waves of electricity through both of you. chaeryeong’s head fell back for a moment, a choked moan escaping her lips as she felt the incredible friction building between you.
“yes... just like that…” she gasped, her voice strained and thick with pleasure. she gripped your hips tightly, her knuckles turning white as she used the strength in her legs to drive the rhythm. she leaned down, her face hovering inches from yours, her eyes locked onto your green ones, watching the way they clouded over with ecstasy.
“don’t you dare slow down.” she commanded, her voice a desperate, sultry rasp. she was lost in the sensation, the friction of your bodies acting like a fuse to a powder keg. the studio, the mirrors, the world outside it all vanished, leaving nothing but the intense, pulsing heat of the two of you grinding together in a desperate, beautiful rhythm.
her movements became more urgent, her breathing turning into shallow, frantic hitches as the friction reached a fever pitch. she could feel you trembling beneath her, your hips arching instinctively to meet her every thrust, and it was driving her toward the edge of madness. the sensation of your bodies sliding against each other, slick and hot, was almost too much to bear.
“fuck, (y/n)... you’re so close, aren’t you?”.she whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut as she focused entirely on the incredible sensation building deep in her core. she tightened her grip on your hips, her movements becoming faster, more desperate, as she chased that final, explosive peak. the world was nothing but the sound of your combined gasps and the intense, pulsing heat between your thighs.
as the tension finally snapped, chaeryeong let out a long, loud moan, her body stiffening as a wave of intense pleasure crashed over her. she pressed her weight into you, her head burying in the crook of your neck as she rode out the tremors, her heart hammering against yours in a frantic, beautiful rhythm. for a long moment, the only sound in the studio was the heavy, ragged breathing of two girls lost in the aftermath of pure ecstasy.
after the intense, breathless aftermath, chaeryeong lay there for a moment, her skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. she looked down at you, her dark eyes still hazy with pleasure, a triumphant, lazy smirk playing on her lips. but as she looked at the vast, empty mirrors of the studio, a new, mischievous idea began to spark in her mind.
“you know…” she whispered, her voice still a bit raspy, “we haven’t even used this room for its actual purpose yet.”
before you could even ask what she meant, chaeryeong was moving. with a fluid, effortless grace, she sat up and stood, shedding the rest of her clothes with a nonchalant confidence that only she possessed. she stood there in the center of the studio, completely naked, her skin glowing under the soft lights. she didn’t look shy or vulnerable; she looked like a goddess of pure, unadulterated confidence.
she turned toward the mirrors, her eyes catching yours in the reflection. a wicked glint danced in them as she began to move. it wasn’t just any dance; it was something primal, slow, and incredibly seductive. she used the floor, her body arching and twisting in a way that emphasized every curve, every line of her lithe, athletic frame.
as she moved, her movements were a tease, a slow, rhythmic sway of her hips, the way her hands glided over her own skin, tracing the contours of her waist and thighs. she was dancing for you, and the mirrors allowed you to see everything: the way her muscles rippled, the way her hair fell against her bare back, and the intense, hungry gaze she kept fixed on you through the glass.
“watch me, (y/n).” she commanded softly, her voice a low purr that drifted across the silent room. she moved closer to the mirror, her body pressing against the cool surface as she arched her back, a silent invitation for your eyes to feast on her. she was a masterpiece of motion and skin, a confident girl turned siren, performing a private, naked ballet just to drive you absolutely insane.
she moved with a predatory elegance, her hips rolling in a slow, hypnotic circle that drew your eyes to the way her skin caught the light. every movement was a calculated tease, her hands sliding down her stomach and over the swell of her hips, tracing the lines of her body as if she were exploring herself just for your benefit. she wasn’t just dancing; she was performing a visual symphony of desire, her eyes never leaving yours in the reflection, watching your reaction with a smug, knowing grin.
she dropped low to the floor, her movements fluid and feline, her body arching in a way that showcased her strength and her softness all at once. the sight of her completely uninhibited, raw, and beautiful was almost overwhelming. she was a force of nature, a girl who knew exactly how much power she held over you, and she was using every bit of it to make sure you couldn’t look away.
chaeryeong saw the way your eyes widened, the way your breath hitched as you watched her naked silhouette in the mirror. she knew she had you exactly where she wanted you. the dance was no longer just a tease; it was becoming a ritual of pure, uninhibited self pleasure.
as she continued to move, her hips rolling in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, her hands began to wander with a new, deliberate purpose. one hand slid down her stomach, her fingers trailing over her navel before dipping lower, while the other hand reached back to grasp her own thigh, pulling it up to expose herself even more to your gaze.
she let out a low, shaky moan that echoed through the studio as her fingers finally found her center. she didn’t stop the dance; instead, she integrated the sensation into her movements. she swayed her hips in time with her fingers, her eyes half closing in ecstasy, though she kept one eye fixed on your reflection, watching your intense, hungry expression.
“do you like the view, (y/n)?” she gasped, her voice thick and strained. she arched her back, her chest heaving, as she increased the pace of her fingers. the sight was mesmerizing the way her body moved with such grace while her hand worked with such desperate, rhythmic urgency. the mirrors captured every detail: the flush spreading across her skin, the way her muscles tensed with every stroke, and the sheer, raw pleasure written all over her face.
she began to move faster now, her dance becoming more frantic, more primal. she was a vision of beautiful, naked chaos. she dropped to her knees on the polished floor, her back arching deeply as she worked herself, her head tossing back so her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. the sound of her heavy, ragged breathing and the wet, rhythmic sounds of her touch filled the silent room.
“look at me…” she whimpered, her eyes snapping open to meet yours in the mirror, burning with a feverish intensity. she was pushing herself toward the edge, her body trembling with the effort of the dance and the mounting sensation. she was a siren, a confident girl performing a masterpiece of lust, and she was making sure you felt every single ounce of the heat she was creating.
her fingers moved with a frantic, expert precision, driving her toward the precipice of a climax. tje combination of the physical exertion from the dance and the intense, localized sensation was overwhelming. her hips bucked involuntarily, her body a taut string ready to snap. she let out a sharp, broken cry that echoed off the mirrors, her eyes rolling back as a powerful wave of pleasure surged through her.
the sound of her sharp, broken cry was still echoing in the high ceilings of the studio when the climax hit her with the force of a tidal wave. chaeryeong’s entire body went rigid, her back arching so violently that her head nearly touched the floor. her eyes rolled back, showing only the whites, as a primal, guttural moan tore from her throat.
in the peak of that explosive release, her body bucked with such incredible intensity that she couldn't contain herself. as she reached the absolute zenith of her pleasure, a powerful, sudden spray erupted from her, splashing forcefully against the cool, hard surface of the mirror she had been pressing against.
the sight was breathtaking and raw. the liquid streaked down the glass in translucent trails, catching the studio lights and shimmering like diamonds against the reflection of her flushed, trembling body. it was a messy, beautiful, and uninhibited testament to the pleasure she had just experienced.
chaeryeong collapsed forward, her forehead resting against the damp glass, her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath. her muscles were twitching, still reeling from the aftershocks of the orgasm. she stayed there for a long moment, the only sound being her ragged, heavy breathing and the soft ‘drip, drip’ of the liquid sliding down the mirror.
slowly, she turned her head to the side, looking at you through the haze of her sweat and the moisture on the glass. a lopsided, exhausted, and incredibly smug grin spread across her lips. she looked completely undone, her dark hair plastered to her forehead, her skin glowing, and her eyes sparkling with a mix of triumph and lingering lust.
“well…” she rasped, her voice barely a whisper, a low, playful chuckle vibrating in her chest as she looked at the mess on the mirror and then back to your stunned expression. “i guess that’s one way to leave a mark, huh?”
she reached out a hand, her fingers tracing a line through the moisture on the mirror, her gaze never leaving yours. she looked like a queen who had just conquered a kingdom, and she was waiting to see if you were ready to join her in the beautiful wreckage.
chaeryeong barely had time to catch her breath before you were moving. she watched through half lidded, heavy eyes as you crawled across the polished floor toward her, your messy hair a vibrant contrast against the studio's cool tones. the sight of you approaching her like a hungry predator made the heat flare up in her gut all over again.
as you climbed onto her, straddling her hips while she was still slumped against the damp mirror, chaeryeong let out a low, appreciative groan. she wrapped her arms tightly around your waist, her skin slick with sweat and the remnants of her climax, pulling you down so there was absolutely no space left between your bodies.
when your lips finally crashed into hers, the kiss was desperate and deep, a collision of two people who were completely consumed by each other. it wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was a frantic, tongue tangled reclamation. chaeryeong met your intensity with her own, her mouth opening wide to swallow yours, tasting the heat and the raw desire that seemed to radiate from you.
her hands roamed feverishly over your back, her fingers digging into your skin as if she were trying to pull you inside her. she loved the way you tasted, the way you felt so solid and warm against her trembling frame. the cool moisture of the mirror behind her served as a sharp, thrilling contrast to the scorching heat of your mouth on hers.
between gasps for air, she pulled back just a fraction, her lips swollen and wet, her forehead resting against yours. her eyes were dark, blown out, and filled with an almost worshipful kind of lust.
“fuck, (y/n)...” she breathed, her voice a wrecked, beautiful rasp. she tilted her head, seeking your lips again, her hips instinctively bucking up to meet yours in a slow, heavy grind. “you’re going to be the death of me... and god, i think i’m okay with that.”
she pulled you back into the kiss, deeper this time, her hands sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you firmly against her as she prepared to lose herself in you all over again.
the air in the studio was thick, heavy with the scent of sweat, desire, and the lingering musk of their recent climaxes. the mirrors were still fogged and streaked, reflecting a chaotic, beautiful scene of two bodies entwined in a desperate search for more. chaeryeong, ever the one to take control of the pleasure, shifted her weight with a practiced, lithe movement, guiding your bodies into a seamless, symmetrical tangle.
as you flipped, the transition was a fluid dance of skin on skin. soon, you were positioned perfectly, one of you facing up and the other down, a perfect, intimate '69'. the sensation of the cool studio floor beneath you was forgotten, replaced entirely by the overwhelming, localized heat of each other's bodies.
chaeryeong’s head was positioned perfectly between your thighs. as she leaned in, her dark hair fell like a silken curtain around your hips, creating a private, shadowed world just for you. you could feel the warmth of her breath against your sensitive skin before she even touched you, a teasing precursor that made your toes curl. when her tongue finally made contact long, slow, and incredibly skillful a sharp, involuntary gasp escaped your lips, echoing in the silent room.
she was relentless. chaeryeong used her tongue with the same predatory confidence she used in everything else, swirling and flicking with a rhythmic precision that sent jolts of pure electricity straight to your brain. she knew exactly how to tease, how to apply pressure, and how to drive you to the very brink of madness. the sensation of her lips and tongue was so intense, so all consuming, that the rest of the world simply ceased to exist.
but you weren’t just a passive recipient. driven by a matching hunger, you lowered yourself onto her, your mouth finding her center. the taste of her was intoxicating, salty, sweet, and completely addictive. you used your tongue with a fierce, desperate hunger, mimicking her intensity. you could feel the vibration of her low, guttural moans through your very teeth as you worked on her, her hips bucking upward in a frantic, instinctive attempt to meet your touch.
the studio became a symphony of sensation: the wet, rhythmic sounds of your shared pleasure, the frantic, heavy breathing of two girls lost in ecstasy, and the occasional, choked moan that escaped as one of you hit a particularly sensitive spot. the friction was incredible; the heat between you was palpable, a rising tide of tension that threatened to drown you both.
chaeryeong’s hands reached up, her fingers digging into your hips to steady herself, her knuckles white as she fought to maintain her rhythm while you drove her wild. you could feel her entire body trembling, the muscles in her thighs tensing and relaxing in a frantic cadence. the mirrors caught the sight of you both a tangle of messy and sweaty hair, blushed skin, and pure, uninhibited lust.
the climax built like a storm, a mounting pressure that was almost too much to bear. You felt the tension in chaeryeong’s body reach a breaking point, her movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. and then, as you pushed yourself to the limit, the explosion happened. a dual crescendo of pleasure tore through the room, a synchronized release that left you both gasping, shuddering, and completely undone in the beautiful, messy wreckage of the dance studio.
the studio was no longer a place of dance; it had become a temple of pure, unadulterated hedonism. the air was thick, almost humid, from the sheer amount of heat and fluid being exchanged. as you both hit that first, massive peak, the sensation was violent and beautiful. you felt the hot, rhythmic pulses of your own release, a torrent of liquid that splashed against the floor and chaeryeong’s skin, while simultaneously feeling her body convulse beneath you in a powerful, soaking squirt that drenched your lips and chin.
but chaeryeong was a girl who never knew when to quit, and she wasn’t about to let the momentum die. even as her muscles spasmed and her breath came in ragged, sobbing hitches, she didn't pull away. instead, she leaned into the sensation, her tongue becoming even more frantic, more desperate. she was driven by a primal, almost animalistic hunger to taste every single drop of you.
she worked with a feverish intensity, her tongue swirling and lapping at you, drinking in the sweet, salty nectar of your climax as if it were the most precious thing in the world. she wanted to consume you, to leave nothing behind. you could hear the wet, sloppy sounds of her devouring you, a sound that was incredibly erotic in the silence of the studio. the taste of your own release, mixed with the heat of her mouth, sent fresh waves of electricity through your core, pushing you toward a second, even more intense peak.
not to be outdone, you redoubled your efforts. you didn’t just lick; you drank. you used your tongue to scoop and swirl, greedily taking in the essence of her, tasting the heady, intoxicating flavor of her pleasure. you wanted to swallow her whole, to feel her essence become a part of you. the sensation of her body trembling against your face, the slick, hot friction of her clitoris against your tongue, and the sheer volume of fluid being exchanged was enough to make your head spin.
the rhythm was relentless. It was a cycle of giving and taking, of eating and drinking, a beautiful, messy loop of pleasure that seemed to have no end. you were both lost in a trance of sensation, your bodies acting on pure instinct. the mirrors reflected a scene of absolute debauchery: two bodies, slick with sweat and fluids, locked in a desperate, hungry embrace, the floor beneath you a testament to the sheer intensity of your shared release.
every time you thought you were reaching the limit, the sensation of the other person's tongue or the taste of their nectar would drag you right back up the mountain. you were chasing a high that was purely physical, a primal connection that transcended everything else. the studio was filled with the sounds of your shared ecstasy the heavy, wet slurps, the muffled moans, and the frantic, rhythmic gasps of two girls who were determined to taste every single bit of each other’s soul.
the intensity was suffocating, a beautiful, drowning sensation that made your lungs ache and your vision blur. you were no longer just two girls in a dance studio; you were two forces of nature colliding, a whirlpool of heat, salt, and slick, sliding skin. as the second wave of pleasure crested, even more violent than the first, the room seemed to tilt. the sound of your combined, desperate slurping and the rhythmic slapping of your bodies against the floor became the only heartbeat the universe possessed.
the world didn’t just fade away; it shattered. as the second, even more violent wave of climax tore through you both, the sheer sensory overload was enough to make time itself stand still. it was a total, white out explosion of pleasure that felt less like an orgasm and more like a physical collision of souls.
you felt chaeryeong’s entire body seize up, her fingers digging so hard into your hips that you knew there would be marks tomorrow. she let out a sound that wasn’t even human a high, broken, melodic keen that vibrated through your very teeth as she surrendered to the final, massive release. you were both drenched, the floor beneath you a slick, shimmering lake of your shared essence, as your bodies bucked in a final, desperate synchronicity.
then, the silence crashed back in, heavy and deafening. the only sound left was the frantic, dying echoes of your breathing, which sounded more like sobbing gasps for air. you both collapsed into one another, a limp, tangled heap of sweaty, trembling limbs and matted hair. the cool air of the studio finally hit your damp skin, sending involuntary shivers through your muscles.
chaeryeong was the first to move, though it was a slow, sluggish motion, as if she were moving through honey. she rolled onto her side, pulling you with her so that you were tucked tightly against her chest, her heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against your back. she was completely spent, her usual shy but confident girl bravado replaced by a raw, beautiful vulnerability. her skin was hot, almost feverish, and she smelled of salt, sweat, and the intoxicating scent of your shared climax.
she reached out a shaky hand, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw, her touch incredibly tender compared to the ferocity of moments ago. she leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering, and incredibly sweet kiss to the back of your neck, her lips trembling slightly.
“fuck…” she whispered, her voice a wrecked, breathy shadow of itself. She let out a long, shuddering exhale, her eyes closing as she squeezed you tighter. “(y/n)... if that was a dance... we just won the damn championship.”
she let out a tiny, exhausted chuckle, her head dropping onto your shoulder. for the first time since you'd met her, the predator was at rest, completely and utterly conquered by the girl with the messy hair and the soft eyes. in the quiet of the studio, surrounded by the beautiful, messy evidence of your passion, there was no more chasing, no more games, just the two of you, breathing in unison in the aftermath of perfection.
the silence that followed was profound, a heavy, velvety stillness that seemed to wrap around the two of you like a blanket. the vast studio, once a place of movement and sound, had become a sanctuary of quiet afterglow. the only light came from the dim overheads, casting long, soft shadows across the floor and reflecting off the smeared, glistening mirrors that bore witness to everything you had just done.
chaeryeong didn’t move for a long time. she just held you, her breathing slowly leveling out from frantic gasps to deep, rhythmic sighs. she felt completely hollowed out, in the best possible way as if all the tension, the bravado, and the hunger had been burned away, leaving only the raw, pulsing essence of who she was. for a girl who always wanted more, she found herself perfectly satisfied with exactly this: the weight of your body against hers, the warmth of your skin, and the quiet hum of your shared heartbeat.
she shifted slightly, her nose brushing against the damp strands of your sweaty and messy hair. she took a deep, shaky breath, inhaling the scent of you, a heady mix of your perfume and the musky, sweet scent of your climax. it was the most intoxicating thing she had ever smelled.
slowly, she pulled back just enough to look at you.
her eyes, usually so sharp and predatory, were soft, glazed with a lingering tenderness. she reached up, her thumb gently brushing a stray, sweat dampened lock of hair away from your green eyes, which were still hazy and beautiful in the dim light.
“hey,” she murmured, her voice a low, tender vibration. she didn’t have her usual smirk; instead, she gave you a small, genuine smile the kind she didn’t show anyone else. It was a look of pure, unadulterated adoration. “you still with me, gorgeous?”
she leaned down, not for a hungry, demanding kiss this time, but for something much more intimate. she pressed her lips to your forehead, then your temple, and finally, a soft, lingering kiss on your lips that tasted of salt and sweetness. it was a kiss of gratitude, a silent thank you for the madness you had just shared.
“don’t think you’re getting away that easily, though.” she whispered against your mouth, a tiny flicker of her old, mischievous self returning to her eyes as she tightened her hold on you. “because after that... i think we’re going to have to do this every single day.”
the way you looked at her silent, wide eyed, and completely breathless was more intoxicating to chaeryeong than the sex itself. you were a beautiful wreck, your sweaty hair a tangled mess against her skin, your hazed eyes shimmering with a mixture of exhaustion and a lingering, dazed adoration. seeing you like this, completely undone by her, made her feel a sense of triumph that was almost overwhelming.
she felt a surge of protective warmth, a rare sensation for a girl who usually lived for the thrill of the chase rather than the sweetness of the catch. she didn’t want to move. she didn’t want to get up, clean the floor, or even find her clothes. she just wanted to stay in this puddle of warmth and shared history with you.
chaeryeong shifted, pulling the hem of her discarded shirt over both of you like a makeshift blanket, cocooning you in her scent and the fading heat of your bodies. she tucked your head under her chin, her fingers tracing idle, lazy patterns on your arm, her touch light and reverent.
“you’re so quiet.” she teased softly, though there was no bite in it, only a deep, honeyed affection. she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her lips lingering there. “are you speechless? or are you just trying to figure out how we’re ever going to walk back to the dorm without looking like we just survived a hurricane?”
she let out a soft, contented hum, her eyes drifting toward the mirrors. the glass was still a chaotic map of their passion, the streaks of moisture catching the dim light. it was a beautiful mess, a physical record of the moment you both stopped being just two girls and became something much more intense.
“i think we should stay here a little longer.” she whispered, her voice dropping to a sleepy, intimate register. she tightened her legs around yours, anchoring you to her. “just a little longer. before the rest of the world tries to take you back from me.”
she closed her eyes, a peaceful, satisfied smile on her lips, finally allowing herself to drift in the quiet, heavy bliss of the afterglow, holding you as if you were the most precious prize she had ever won.
can u write g!p nayeon with a huge breeding kink… like she won’t stop giving reader creampies + lowk wants to get her pregnant…🙏
pairing. dom!gp im nayeon x sub!fem reader.
content warnings. baby fever, breeding kink.
it all started with her talking about babies a lot because maybe she saw a really cute one on her way home from work or saw a video on her instagram feed. nayeon isn’t very fond of babies because she has little patience and definitely can’t stand it when a baby cries or screams, being the type of person who just carries the baby and smiles somewhat forcedly, and you notice that she becomes very heavy–handed when the baby becomes unbearable. but everything suddenly changes, and you don't even seem to know how... she just says that after seeing so many babies on her feed, she changed her mind quite a bit, declaring that she finds videos of babies doing silly things funny, like falling down in a cute way, or moments that make your heart melt.
“every time i see a happy family in public, i end up staring like i’m watching the season finale of a show.”
“i know they’re messy. i know they're loud. i know they wake up at impossible hours. but then they smile and suddenly none of that matters.”
“i would absolutely be the person taking a thousand pictures because every single thing they do would seem important to me.”
“one baby smiled at me today and now I'm acting like i won an award. i keep saying i’m fine, and then someone hands me a baby and suddenly i’m making heart eyes.”
“people talk about puppies all the time, but have you seen a baby trying to pronounce a difficult word? funniest thing on earth.”
slowly all that changes and gets darker because she goes from finding those nice things to imagining what it would be like to actually get pregnant. at first she only considered the idea of having a family with you because, since you two have been in a relationship for so many years, she wants to take things to a more serious level in a relationship. but sooner or later she starts thinking differently because the idea of filling you with her seed and having her baby inside your womb excites her so much... she doesn’t want to be a pervert who only sees you as the typical first-time housewife mother, but imagining coming home from work and finding yourself taking care of the baby while doing housework makes her harden so easily.
and that’s why from then on she takes every intimate moment with her to the limit... it’s not like she’s always gentle or slow with you when it comes to sex, but from this point on, she becomes much wilder and hungrier for you because her goal is to fill you to the brim until she manages to get you pregnant with her baby.
would you write some g!p nmixx bae x fem reader? just saw her dressed as a bodyguard in the heavy serenade dance practice and i can’t stop thinking about her
pairing. dom!g!p bae jinsol x sub!fem reader.
content warnings. risky sex.
having her as a bodyguard is so amazing because luckily she’s quite friendly and cool with you, breaking with the bodyguard stereotype and giving you total relief because having your most loyal and closest bodyguard with a sour personality would be a real headache, which would stress you out quite a bit, but she’s a total ray of sunshine! she is very respectful and has quite good manners towards you in a moment, treating you as if you were made of glass but protecting you without abusing physical contact when a fan or paparazzi tries to invade your personal space.
over time she becomes quite close to you in a way that you love because she feels like more than just a coworker you trust, but at the same time, you feel a certain tension when you’re with her... at first you just think it’s your mind confusing things and it’s just someone who becomes very friendly with you because she trust you, but you can’t help but wonder if things are just as confusing and questionable for her as they are for you. she probably won’t see anything strange because she's more than used to being a bodyguard and having a certain attitude and behavior towards the person she’s protecting and working for, but you’d love for her to do it.
all your doubts and worries will disappear on the day when things finally fall into place and end up just as you always wished. perhaps it was because your stylist worked magic on you that day because you looked more radiant and glowing than usual, something that drove her crazy and made her want to break her professionalism because clearly your new image was having an effect on her, and that’s how things went! she throws everything to the wind and professionalism out the window because she ends up taking you to some empty corner where she can finally get her hands on you. cornering you against the wall and carrying you in her arms so that your legs wrap around her waist, setting aside any type of garment that is a barrier so that she could finally slide her cock inside of your warm cunt.
Older mommy Wonyoung who let's reader suck on her tits while on a work call, making her kneel and eat her out while on a zoom meeting, who ties reader's hands with her tie and fucks her senseless with her strap. Oh and the nicknames like sweetie/sweetheart, darling, etc...
pairing. dom!jang wonyoung x sub!fem reader.
content warnings. cunnilingus, pet names, praise, strap usage.
wonyoung spends so much time focused on her work and so busy with it that she barely has time for you, prioritizing work and everything related to it over giving yourself even a little attention, and of course that stresses you out! and she doesn’t give you any kind of attention because she's always busy on her phone or computer, preferring work to you and making you behave so bratty and badly just because you want her attention.
“baby, i’m literally listening to you. i know it doesn't look like it because i’m answering these messages, but i'm listening.”
“i know you’re standing right there yes, i can see you. and yes, i can see that face you’re making.”
"you know, most people would be happy that i'm taking care of work stuff, but no. not you. you hear me answer one email and suddenly it's a competition for my affection.”
“you know what your problem is? you think i can read your mind. you'll just sit there staring at the screen waiting for me to magically understand what you want.”
"you want attention? is that what this is? because if that's what this is, you could've just said so. now look at you, trying to compete with my phone. honestly, that's kind of cute.”
and it’s not like she’s going to stop working just to give you even five minutes of attention, not at all, but she gives you simple options so you can entertain yourself for a while: on the one hand, she loves having you on her lap when she’s on the phone with a special and important contact, behaving like a well-mannered young lady, but only maintaining that attitude because your mouth is busy sucking her tits. and the other way is when you sneak under her desk with the purpose of surprising her in the middle of a video call meeting, but your childish demeanor changes immediately the moment she gives you a hard, cold look, noticing your true intentions... and you end up eating her pussy without even trying to act or behave like a brat because you end up right where you want to be, basically, with your mouth on her pussy whenever she needs it.
needy ningning grinding on reader during the switches between sets during a concert :(( poor girl just wants it so bad
pairing. sub!ning yizhuo x dom!fem reader.
content warnings. dry humping.
the members of aespa always play the fruity card so much that at a certain point things end up looking more literal than they seem... and it’s not as if it’s something far removed from reality because at some point things end up becoming more serious, because innocent games between friends slowly become things that gain significant weight over time. of course, everyone can be affectionate or playful just to pass the time, but in this environment things never end up being insignificant.
ningning is primarily the one who ends up most affected by this because she loves acting with a lot of attitude and without limits, and then she ends up feeling so weird when she’s around you because all the jokes meant to pass the time ended up affecting her more than they should have. she is usually someone who has enough confidence and courage to be able to handle herself in any kind of setting or environment, but after spending so much time being playful and suggestive with you, she ends up losing sight of the fact that those attitudes and behaviors should just be a game and nothing more.
all of this means that you always end up sneaking off with her to a private place during the short breaks or pauses that the group has during its activities. ningning especially loves being able to take little breaks to do naughty things with you because you two have too little time, making her extremely excited because the risk of being caught in the act makes her panties so wet that she’s embarrassed just thinking about it... for her, there’s nothing better than being able to go with you somewhere private where she can spend a quick moment with you, especially when it involves being able to grind her hips against yours while you take care of kissing her with your whole mouth. she feels so dirty about herself for getting wet just from having you grinding against her through your clothes,
captain winter fucking u over the ships wheel while the rest of the crew is asleep bc one of the other aespa members was flirting with u during dinner so ofc she couldn’t have that.. whole time they were watching from around the corner 😩
pairing. dom!kim minjeong x sub!fem reader.
content warnings. fingering, jealousy, voyeurism.
being part of a ship’s crew in the middle of a voyage to an island in search of a supposed golden treasure that appears to be hidden, a job that requires a lot of professionalism and concentration because it’s easy to get lost at sea and you need to be precise to reach your destination by following an old map or even the cardinal points if they manage to be accurate that day — however, this entire mission loses its seriousness when it’s led by a captain like winter because she has no maturity whatsoever, and that exhausts your already limited patience. she is a good leader because she is a calm and quiet person who can take situations in stride and not despair when something goes wrong, but she has her imperfections, and one of them would be that she finds it very difficult to maintain a facade of professionalism or authority because she ends up joking immaturely in a few seconds.
the only time she finally gets really serious is when someone from the crew dares to try to flirt with you in her presence. she’s not the toxic type of partner because she understands that you can have your own friends and interact with other people, but she would never let anyone cross the line just because she is quiet and reserved!
that’s why, when everyone goes to sleep, she decides to take matters into her own hands because she doesn’t intend to let her so–called loyal friends get away with it. she understands that it’s not your fault and shouldn't take it out on you for things that others did, but her method for solving things is always to release her stress by fucking you until you’re a mess of sobs and babble in her arms: she absolutely loves taking you for a nighttime walk around the ship when the night is at its darkest and quietest, it starts off being something cheesy and romantic that makes you smile foolishly, but she ends up cornering you against the steering wheel when you least expect it and silences any questions by kissing your mouth deeply and placing her hands on your breasts through your shirt 😵💫 she is usually someone who gets embarrassed or shy easily, but faced with this situation, she ends up having absolutely no shame — and you realize it when she ends up kneeling in front of you because her mouth is busy on your clit while her fingers are fucking your cunt nonstop.
──── ( 🐈⬛ ) after years of silence and a wildly successful solo career that pulled you oceans away from the people you once called home, you begin rebuilding your relationships with your former groupmates—everyone except choerry. while the others slowly welcome you back into their lives, she remains distant, ignoring every message and refusing to let you cross the distance you created. when another music festival forces you face-to-face, the fragile peace shatters as years of hurt, resentment, and unanswered questions erupt into a devastating argument. confronted by the one person you never truly stopped caring about, you must face the consequences of your absence and decide whether some bonds can survive being abandoned—or if the person who once felt most like home has already learned how to live without you.
𝓟aring. switch!idol!choi yerim x switch!idol!fem reader.
the silence of your dressing room in los angeles is a sharp, polished contrast to the chaotic, dorm-room laughter that once echoed through your days in seoul. outside, the city hums with the electric potential of a career that has defied your own wildest, most anxious expectations. a grammy nomination sits on your vanity, a gold-plated testament to the risk you took—the risk of leaving behind the only family you had ever known to run into the arms of a foreign industry.
you look at the mirror. the woman looking back is a star, someone who controls her own narrative, someone who never has to worry about the predatory fine print of a subsidiary contract again. but as you scroll through your phone, the distance between you and your past feels like a physical ache.
it has been three years since the final signatures were dry, since the contracts were officially terminated in april 2025. you are technically "inactive" as a member of loona, but in the court of public opinion, you are a ghost.
you see the posts. you see artms—heejin, haseul, kim lip, jinsoul, and choerry—navigating the complexities of their new collective identity under modhaus. they look fierce, polished, and synchronized, a tightly knit unit that managed to capture the lightning of your old chemistry. you see loossemble, blossoming under the stewardship of ctdenm before their departure, hyunjin and hyeju finding their footing in a new space. you see yves, standing tall as a soloist, her artistic integrity shining through collaborations that bridge the gap between k-pop and western alternative scenes. you see chuu, still the radiant, refreshing force that the world fell in love with, finding her groove in the k-pop landscape with a resilience that makes you proud.
you follow them all, of course. you drop a ‘like’ on a teaser photo. you leave a heart emoji under a milestone post. it’s what fans do. it’s what you do to pretend that the silence isn't deliberate. but deep down, you know that your silence isn't born of malice—it’s born of a paralyzing, irrational fear that if you reach out, the ghost of your past will start haunting your future. you were so terrified of the systemic mistreatment that tore you all apart that you decided, perhaps selfishly, to burn the bridge to keep yourself warm on your own path.
then, your eyes catch a post from choerry.
it’s a candid photo from a rehearsal break. she looks tired, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, but her eyes—those expressive, sparkling eyes that were once the mirror to your own—are looking at a space in the group where you used to stand. the caption is simple, a lyric from a song you both loved during the max & match era.
your heart stutters. you remember the promise you made on the night the news broke, the night you all sat on the floor of a rented space, holding hands and swearing that distance wouldn't mean abandonment. “we’ll always be each other's home,” she had whispered, her head resting on your shoulder, her tears staining your shirt.
you broke that promise, and you know she knows it.
the move to the american market hadn't just been a business pivot; it had been an identity reformation. you were tired of being a piece of a puzzle controlled by suits in blockberry creative. you wanted to be the one holding the brush. your debut mini-album was a cry for help turned into a manifesto.
“this is what i wanted to say,” you told the label executives in your first meeting. you brought them your own visual concepts—mood boards filled with surrealism, vintage film textures, and themes of liberation. they were stunned. they expected a copy of what you were doing in korea; you gave them something entirely new.
when the album dropped, the success was an avalanche. it wasn't just the music—it was the authenticity. the lyrics weren't just catchy; they were heavy with the weight of the years you spent fighting for your agency. the public didn't just consume your songs; they devoured them. you were no longer just “the member of loona”; you were an artist in your own right.
but as the success grew, the barrier between you and your sisters solidified.
you remember the last text you sent to choerry. “i’m really proud of you. i’m just so busy with the comeback preparation. i’ll call when things settle down.”
things never settled down. success is a relentless beast. it eats your free time, it consumes your weekends, and eventually, it makes you feel like you don't belong in the spaces you used to occupy. you started to feel out of place in their group chats, watching them discuss schedules and outfits that didn’t involve you. you felt like an outsider looking into a life you once lived.
you convinced yourself that by distancing yourself, you were protecting them from your own success, or perhaps protecting yourself from the pain of being a memory to them. but you were wrong. you were just cowardice dressed up as independence.
six months after the anniversary of the contract termination, an opportunity arises. a global music festival in london. your name is on the lineup, right next to a few others from the k-pop industry. you see the artms schedule. they’ll be there.
the night before the performance, the festival organizers host a private mixer for the headliners. you stand at the edge of the room, sipping a glass of water, watching the crowd. you feel the weight of your own notoriety, but it feels hollow compared to the sight of them.
they are in the center of the room—heejin laughing at something jinsoul said, kim lip checking her watch, and there, a few steps behind, is choerry.
she looks different. she has grown into a woman who possesses a quiet, steady strength. she isn't the girl who used to cling to your sleeve at airports anymore.
your pulse quickens. you know you should walk away. you should retreat to your hotel room and continue the cycle of digital acknowledgment and physical silence. but then, choerry’s eyes wander. she catches your gaze across the room.
her expression doesn't shift into a smile. she doesn't wave. she simply stares at you, a look of profound, quiet sorrow that cuts through the noise of the party. it’s the look of someone who has spent years waiting for a phone call that never comes.
you find yourself moving before you can talk yourself out of it. you weave through the crowd, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. as you get closer, the rest of them notice. the conversation dies down. heejin turns, her eyes widening in surprise. kim lip goes still.
but it’s choerry who doesn't move. she stays anchored, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze locked onto yours.
"i didn't think you’d be here,” heejin says softly, her voice bridging the tension.
"i didn't think i would be either," you admit, your throat dry. you look at them—five of them, a group, a unit, a family—and then you look at yourself, the soloist, the successful, lonely outlier.
you turn to choerry. you want to apologize, but the words feel too small for the magnitude of the hurt you caused.
"choerry," you start.
she takes a shaky breath. "you told me you were busy, but you were on the front page of every magazine," she says. her voice isn't angry. it’s resigned. "i spent a year waiting for that call. and then i spent a year being angry. and now… now i think i just feel tired."
"i was scared," you say, the confession spilling out before you can filter it. "i was terrified that if i held onto the past, i would get dragged back into the darkness. i thought if i succeeded on my own, i would prove that we were all better off separated. i think i just… i built a wall, and i didn’t realize i was locking you out."
"you didn't just lock me out," choerry says, her eyes shimmering. "you made me feel like i was holding you back. like the time we spent together was something you needed to outrun.”
the room goes silent. you can feel the weight of the others' gazes—they aren't attacking you, but they aren't shielding her, either. they know the history. they know the bond you shared.
"i never felt held back by you," you whisper. "you were the only thing that made the hold bearable. i think i was just afraid of failing, and if i failed while i was still ‘one of them,’ i would be failing you too. i thought if i did it alone, the only person i could disappoint was myself."
choerry looks at you for a long moment, searching your face for the version of you she knew. the silence stretches, filled with three years of unspoken grief, late-night texts left on 'read,' and the realization that growth often requires the sacrifice of the very things we love.
"you won, didn't you?" she asks. "you got the career. you got the charts. you got the fame."
"i got everything i thought i wanted," you reply, realizing the truth of it as you say it. "but it doesn't feel like much when i look at you."
choerry finally drops her gaze. she looks at her friends, then back at you. she doesn't step toward you to hug you; she doesn't offer the comfort she once would have. she is no longer the girl who idealizes you. she is a woman who has learned to put herself first, just like you did.
"we're doing well," she says, her voice gaining a bit of its old sparkle, though it is tempered by the hard-won wisdom of the last few years. "we’re doing really well. and i’m happy for you. truly."
it’s the dismissal that hurts the most—not a harsh one, but a final one. she isn't closing the door; she’s just showing you that you are no longer standing in the house.
"can we… is there a chance to try again?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. "not the same way. not the way we were. but maybe… just to talk?"
choerry looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second, you see the girl who loved you for who you were, not for what you achieved.
"maybe," she says softly. "but you have to stop being a ghost, and you have to stop treating us like memories. we’re still here, and we’re still moving forward."
the festival ends. you perform your set, and for the first time in years, the roar of the crowd doesn't drown out the silence in your head. you realize that you didn't leave the group to move forward; you left to hide from your own shadow.
you return to your hotel room and open your phone. you go to the group chat that has been silent for 1,095 days. your fingers hover over the keyboard. you don't type an excuse. you don't try to justify the years of absence.
you simply type: “i saw you all today. you were incredible. i'm sorry i wasn't there for the climb. is it too late to ask how you’ve been?”
you set the phone down on the table, your hands shaking. you don’t know if they will reply. you don’t know if the bond can be stitched back together, or if it will forever bear the scar of your departure. but for the first time since the contracts were torn up, you aren't waiting for the industry to give you validation. you aren't building a wall.
you are just a woman, alone in a hotel room, waiting for her friends. and for the first time in three years, the silence doesn't feel like home. it feels like a space waiting to be filled.
you look out the window at the london skyline, the lights reflecting in the glass like a thousand tiny stars. you realize that the beauty of loona’s discography wasn’t just in the production or the concepts—it was in the fact that you were once a part of something that meant everything to someone.
you were part of a constellation. and even if you drifted to the edge of the galaxy, the light you shared is still traveling through the dark. you are loona, even if you are no longer together. and perhaps, that is enough of a beginning to start over.
three months later, you find yourself in tokyo.
the festival is bigger than the last one. brighter. louder. there are cameras everywhere, idols weaving through backstage hallways, managers calling schedules over headsets. it should feel familiar by now.
instead, your stomach is in knots. because artms is here again. you found out two weeks ago when the lineup was announced. and unlike london, this time nobody can pretend it was a surprise.
you've been talking to them. not constantly. not enough to erase three years of silence. but enough: heejin sends you photos of random things she sees during schedules. jinsoul replies to your instagram stories with sarcastic comments. kim lip occasionally drops into your messages just to bully you about your sleeping habits. haseul calls once every few weeks and somehow manages to make it feel like no time has passed at all. even hyeju and hyunjin have exchanged messages with you.
everyone except choerry. choerry never replied. not to the message you sent after london. not to the follow-up text a month later. not to the birthday message. nothing. and somehow that hurts worse than if she'd blocked you. because the message always says delivered. never read. just sitting there. waiting.
you spot heejin first backstage. “hey!”
she practically crashes into you before you can escape. you laugh as she throws her arms around your shoulders. “you're going to break my spine.”
“good.”
“nice to see you too.”
heejin grins. for a moment, everything feels normal. dangerously normal.
the two of you end up sitting together in catering twenty minutes later. she’s halfway through stealing food from your plate… some habits never die.
"i'm serious," heejin says. "you look less miserable."
“wow.”
“i mean it as a compliment.”
"thanks, i think."
she laughs. then her expression softens. “you’ve been trying.”
you stare down at your coffee, feeling embarrassed by her sudden compliment, since it had been quite a while since you’d heard her say anything like that. heejin seemed quite serious, and her deep voice intimidated anyone who barely knew her or knew little about her, but she was always a sweet person who could easily give you a smile.
"i know."
"and everyone sees it."
everyone. except one person.
heejin notices the shift immediately. of course she does. “you haven’t talked to her.”
it isn’t a question. it was clearly a statement from her in an attempt to bring up a topic she clearly wanted to address but didn’t know how to approach. it wasn’t surprising because you imagined that sooner or later, when you saw one of them again, they would bring up the subject of light. breaking off contact with people you’d spent so much time with was pretty crazy and would probably surprise anyone, so don’t blame them for wanting to know what was going on behind the scenes.
"no."
"have you tried?" the question was almost mocking because she was asking something so basic, yet it carried so much weight without her even trying. it was something that people could often ask you about when they heard you deny the initial question.
"heejin."
"have you?"
you glare, but she waits. of course she would wait because she genuinely wanted to know what was going on, since it was clear that she hadn't received any information from the other person either. you knew she was curious about the whole topic and wouldn’t let you easily change the course of the conversation, but you still wanted to try to prevent the conversation from getting to the point where she wanted.
“... yes.”
“how many times?”
"enough."
"she's angry."
"i figured."
"really angry."
you laugh bitterly, without even wanting to continue the conversation, but also not wanting to leave her talking to herself. that’s a topic you’d been avoiding for so long that you couldn’t even imagine talking about it, so bringing up the subject again was like reopening a wound that was trying to heal after being stitched up.
"yeah. i figured that too."
heejin studies you for a moment.
"you know what the problem is?"
"probably several things."
"you're fixing relationships with everyone except the person you actually broke."
that one lands. hard. but because she's right. it's easier with everyone else. everyone else didn't spend years wondering why they weren't enough for you to stay. everyone else wasn't choerry.
before you can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the hallway. your entire body freezes.
artms is heading toward catering. you see haseul first. then kim lip. then jinsoul. and then—choerry.
she’s laughing at something jinsoul said, until she sees you. the smile disappears instantly. not dramatically. not angrily. it just vanishes, like a light being switched off.
the group slows. an awkward silence settles over everyone.
you hate how natural conversation feels with the others now. you hate that she notices it too, because she watches as kim lip casually nudges your shoulder, as jinsoul asks about your performance, as haseul checks whether you've eaten. all these little interactions. all these reminders that somehow everyone found their way back to you. everyone except her.
choerry’s jaw tightens, barely noticeable, but you see it. she turns toward heejin, ignoring you completely in a way that made it clear her purpose was to pretend you didn’t exist, but still make you notice. “we should go.”
heejin blinks. “we literally just got here.”
"we should go."
the tension snaps tight. you feel your chest sink, and before you can stop yourself— "choerry."
she stops, but doesn't turn around,.doesn't acknowledge you. just stops.
your heart pounding so loudly you're convinced everyone can hear it. "can we talk?"
nothing.
"please."
finally, she turns: her eyes are shining with something far sharper than sadness. hurt. months ago, in london, there had still been grief. now there's resentment.
"talk about what?" the question is calm. too calm.
"about us."
she lets out a short laugh. not a happy one. "that's funny."
your stomach drops. "choerry—"
"you talk to everybody else."
the room goes completely silent. nobody moves. nobody interrupts. because this has been coming for months.
"you call haseul."
"choerry—"
"you text heejin." she points toward the older girl. "you reply to jinsoul."
another step. "you joke around with kim lip."
another. "but every time you see me, you act like you're scared."
your throat closes. because she's right. you are scared. she was always the person who mattered most, which means losing her hurts the most, and maybe that's why you've been avoiding it. "i wasn't avoiding you."
choerry actually rolls her eyes. "that's your defense?"
but you don't have one, because every explanation sounds pathetic. every reason sounds selfish.
she laughs again, this time there's genuine pain in it. "you disappeared for three years. then you come back and suddenly you're everyone's friend again except mine."
her voice cracks, just slightly, but it's enough. "do you have any idea how that feels?"
nobody says anything. not even heejin.
choerry looks away, shaking her head. "i would've rather you ignored all of us."
"what?"
"because then at least it would've been honest."
the words hit harder than any yelling could have. for the first time since london, you realize something: choerry isn't angry because you left. she's angry because you came back. just not to her. and standing there, surrounded by the people you once called home, you realize that maybe apologizing was the easy part.
earning back choerry's trust? that’s going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.
the silence that follows feels unbearable. you can practically hear your own heartbeat.
choerry looks away first, like she already regrets saying anything at all... like she's tired. tired of waiting. tired of hoping. tired of being hurt. and somehow that makes it worse because anger would be easier, anger means someone still cares enough to fight. and this feels like she's already halfway out the door.
"that's not fair." the words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
choerry's eyes immediately snap back to yours. "not fair?"
"you think i wanted this?"
a bitter laugh escapes her.
"wanted what?"
"all of it."
you gesture helplessly between the two of you.
"i didn't wake up one day and decide i wanted to lose you."
"really?" she asks.
her voice is dangerously quiet.
"because from where i was standing, it looked exactly like that."
your chest tightens.
"you don't know what was happening."
"then tell me."
the challenge comes instantly.
"because apparently nobody knows."
you open your mouth, then close it. because how do you explain three years? how do you explain fear that sounds ridiculous now? how do you explain that success felt less like winning and more like drowning?
choerry shakes her head.
"that's what i thought."
"stop doing that."
"doing what?"
"acting like you know everything."
her expression hardens.
"i know you left."
"i know you stopped calling."
"i know i sat there defending you to everyone for months."
each sentence lands like a punch.
“choerry—”
“no.”
for the first time, her voice rises. not shouting, but enough. enough that everyone nearby pretends not to be listening.
"you don't get to interrupt me."
you fall silent, and she laughs bitterly.
"do you know how embarrassing it was?"
your eyebrows pull together.
"what?"
"waiting for you."
the answer comes immediately, without hesitation, without mercy.
"every time somebody asked if i'd talked to you."
another step.
"every time someone asked if we'd drifted apart."
another.
"every birthday."
your throat burns.
"every holiday."
another.
"every achievement."
her eyes are wet now.
but she doesn't look away.
"i kept thinking maybe this would be the day."
you can't breathe.
because you know exactly what day she means.
the call.
the text.
anything.
something.
"and then i started seeing interviews."
your stomach drops.
oh no.
"choerry..."
"don't."
she points at you.
"don't tell me i'm wrong."
you remember the interviews.
the questions.
do you still keep in touch with your former members?
and every time—
sometimes.
occasionally.
we're all busy.
safe answers.
careful answers.
answers that protected you.
answers that hurt her.
"i watched you tell the entire world you still cared about us."
her voice shakes.
"while i couldn't even get a reply."
you stare.
completely speechless.
because there isn't a defense.
there never was.
choerry lets out a shaky breath.
"do you know what the worst part is?"
you almost don't want to ask.
but you do anyway.
"what?"
she laughs.
a small, broken sound.
"i would've forgiven you."
your heart stops.
"the first year."
another breath.
"the second year."
her voice cracks.
"even the third."
you feel sick.
because she means it.
she would've.
she would've opened the door every single time.
and you never knocked.
"but then london happened."
your stomach sinks.
"and i thought maybe things would finally be different."
the memory flashes through your head.
her saying maybe.
giving you a chance.
giving you hope.
"and then i watched you become friends with everybody except me."
you close your eyes.
because hearing it out loud sounds even worse.
"that's not what happened."
"then what happened?"
you don't answer immediately.
because the truth is humiliating.
but it's still the truth.
"I was scared."
choerry stares.
then laughs.
actually laughs.
"of me?"
you wince.
"that's insane."
"maybe."
"no, not maybe."
she throws her hands up.
"you perform in front of eighty thousand people."
"i know."
"you've argued with executives."
"i know."
"you moved across the world."
"i know."
"but talking to me is too scary?"
you don't have an answer. because she's right. it sounds ridiculous... yet somehow it's true.
your voice comes out small. "you mattered the most."
the room goes silent.
choerry freezes and you continue before you lose your nerve. “that’s why.”
her expression falters, just for a second.
"I could handle haseul being disappointed."
your throat tightens. "I could handle heejin yelling at me."
heejin immediately points. "i would've."
nobody laughs.
you keep going.
"I could handle kim lip making fun of me."
"also true," kim lip mutters.
still nobody laughs.
"but you..." your voice cracks. "if you hated me, i didn't think i could survive hearing it."
choerry just stares. completely still. for the first time since this started, she looks genuinely caught off guard, because that wasn’t the answer she expected, and maybe that’s the problem.
for years, both of you have been arguing with versions of each other that don’t exist anymore: the girl who thought she wasn't worth staying for. the girl who thought she had to leave everyone behind to survive. neither of them were telling the truth. but the damage they caused? that part was real.
choerry's eyes shine. and when she speaks again, her voice is much quieter. “i don’t hate you.”
somehow those four words hurt more than everything else. because if she hated you, this would be easier. instead she looks devastated.
"I just don't know how to trust you anymore."
and for the first time during the entire argument, you realize that maybe this isn’t a fight you can win — it’s a wound, and wounds don’t disappear because somebody says sorry, they heal because somebody stays.
the door to your dorm room had barely clicked shut before choerry’s hands were all over you. the walk from the hallway felt like it took forever, but now that you were finally in the privacy of your own space, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
choerry had you backed up against the wood of the door, her body pressed firmly against yours. one of her hands was tangled in your soft hair, tilting your head back to expose the line of your throat, while the other was slid down to your waist, pulling your hips flush against hers. she looked up at you through her dark lashes, her eyes dark with a hunger that was almost primal.
“finally.” she breathed, her voice a husky rasp. she leaned in, her lips hovering just inches from yours, teasing you with the heat of her breath. “i’ve been thinking about getting you alone since we saw each other again after so, so long. you have no idea what you're doing to me, (y/n).”
she didn’t wait for an answer. she crashed her lips onto yours in a deep, demanding kiss, her tongue dancing with yours in a way that was both frantic and incredibly skilled. she tasted faintly of mint and the lingering sweetness of her lipgloss, and she moved with a confidence that made it clear she knew exactly how to take what she wanted.
choerry felt your response in the way you melted against her, and it only fueled her fire. she let out a low, satisfied moan into the kiss, deepening it as she felt your hands find her waist. she was a predator who had finally caught her prize, and she had no intention of being gentle.
she broke the kiss just long enough to trail a path of hot, biting kisses down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your neck. she knew exactly where to nip and suck to leave marks that would remind you of her long after she left. her hands began to wander more restlessly, sliding under the hem of your shirt, her palms warm and slightly rough against your skin.
“you’re so soft…” she murmured against your skin, her breath hitching. she pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, her gaze heavy lidded and dark with lust. her thumb traced your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly.
“tell me what you want, (y/n).” she whispered, her voice a sultry command. she leaned in closer, her chest heaving against yours. “do you want me to take control, or do you want to show me exactly how much you've been wanting this?”
“show me how much you missed me.”
choerry let out a dark, throaty laugh, her eyes flashing with a dangerous sort of excitement. She loved a challenge, and she loved it even more when you gave her permission to be as uninhibited as she wanted to be.
“oh, baby... you have no idea.” she growled, her voice thick with desire. she didn’t just want to show you; she wanted to consume you.
without breaking eye contact, she scooped you up in her arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist. she carried you the short distance to your bed, tossing you onto the mattress before hovering over you, her body pinning yours down. she looked like a goddess of chaos, her hair messy and her eyes burning with a need that felt almost overwhelming.
she began to strip off her clothes with a frantic, practiced ease, her gaze never leaving yours. once she was close enough to feel the heat of your skin against hers, she lowered herself onto you, her movements heavy and intentional. she started to kiss you again, but this time it wasn’t just a tease it was a claim. her hands moved over your body with a feverish intensity, exploring every curve, every inch of your skin as if she were trying to memorize you through touch.
“i’m going to make sure you're thinking about me all night.” she whispered against your lips, her breath hot and ragged. she moved her hand down, her fingers tracing the line of your thigh, moving higher with a slow, torturous confidence. “i’m going to make you forget anyone else ever touched you.”
her fingers finally reached the edge of your underwear, hooking into the fabric to slide it down your legs. she didn’t rush, instead choosing to watch your expression, savoring the way your breath hitched and your hazy eyes darkened with anticipation. she leaned down, her lips brushing against the hollow of your collarbone as her hand moved more boldly, finding the heat between your thighs.
“you’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” she teased, her voice a low, vibrating hum against your skin. she began to use her fingers to tease and explore you, her touch expert and relentless. she knew exactly how much pressure to apply, how to move to make you arch your back and cry out her name. every moan that escaped your lips was like fuel to her fire, making her move with even more passion, her body working in perfect, hungry synchronicity with yours until the world outside your dorm room ceased to exist.
choerry was relentless. she watched your face with an intense, almost predatory focus, her eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features. she loved the way your soft hair fanned out against the pillows, contrasting with the pale skin of your body, and the way your pleading and hazy eyes seemed to glaze over with pure sensation.
as she worked her fingers, she increased the pace, her movements becoming more rhythmic and purposeful. she knew exactly how to hit the right spots, her touch alternating between soft, teasing strokes and firmer, more demanding pressure. she leaned down, her lips catching your moans, swallowing them whole as she pressed her body even tighter against yours, letting youfeel the heat and the hardness of her desire.
“that’s it... just like that.” she whispered, her voice a ragged, breathless command. she could feel you trembling beneath her, your muscles tensing as you neared the edge. the sound of your breathing, the way your fingers dug into her shoulders, the soft, broken sounds coming from your throat was driving her absolutely insane.
she didn’t let up. of anything, she pushed harder, her thumb working in tandem with her fingers to drive you toward the peak. she wanted to see you break; she wanted to be the one who caused it. she watched as your eyes rolled back and your body arched sharply, a beautiful, desperate movement of pure release.
as you finally shattered, a long, shaky breath escaping your lips, choerry let out a triumphant, low growl. she didn’t pull away immediately; instead, she collapsed against you, her skin slick with sweat, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your chest. she buried her face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in, her lips grazing your skin in a soft, possessive nuzzle.
“god, (y/n)....” she murmured, her voice heavy with satisfaction and a lingering, hungry heat. she lifted her head just enough to look at you, a lopsided, wicked smirk playing on her lips despite her heavy breathing. “we’re definitely not done yet. not even close.”
“ugh, we’re not, yerim. i missed you. so it’s my turn.”
choerry’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing her face before it was instantly replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated lust. she let out a low, breathless laugh, her head falling back against the pillow as she watched you with newfound respect. she loved a girl who took charge, and the sheer confidence in your voice sent a fresh jolt of electricity straight to her core.
“oh? is that so?” she purred, her voice dropping to a husky, dangerous register. she shifted her weight, moving back slightly to give you room, but she didn’t let you go entirely. instead, she reached down and gripped your hips, her fingers digging into your skin just enough to ground you as she guided you down the bed.
she lay back, her dark hair messy against the sheets, her legs parting instinctively for you. she looked completely undone her skin flushed, her chest heaving, and her eyes dark and heavy with anticipation. she looked like a queen offering herself up to her most devoted subject, but with that signature choerry smirk, it was clear she was the one in control of the pleasure.
“don’t hold back, gorgeous.” she challenged, her voice a sultry rasp. she reached down, her hands sliding from your hips to your hair, her fingers tangling in the messy strands to guide you. she arched her back slightly, presenting herself to you, her gaze intense and unwavering.
“show me exactly how much you want me. make me lose my mind…” she let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering shut as she waited for the first touch of your lips, her body already trembling in expectation of the sensation you were about to provide.
as you leaned down, the first touch of your lips against her most sensitive skin sent a violent jolt through her entire frame. choerry’s hips bucked upward instinctively, a sharp, choked gasp escaping her throat. her fingers tightened convulsively in your messy hair, not to pull you away, but to hold you there, anchoring herself as the sensation began to overwhelm her.
she was a girl who usually loved being the one in control, the one doing the teasing, but as you began to use your tongue with a confident, rhythmic precision, she found herself completely at your mercy. she let out a long, low moan that vibrated through her whole body, her head tossing back and forth on the pillow as she lost herself in the feeling. every time you swirled your tongue or applied a little more suction, a fresh wave of heat crashed over her, making her toes curl and her breath come in ragged, desperate hitches.
“fuck, (y/n)....” she groaned, her voice breaking. Her eyes snapped open for a moment, hazy and glazed with pure ecstasy, watching you work. the sight of your messy hair falling around her thighs as you focused so intently on her was almost too much to bear. she felt her muscles tensing, her core tightening as you drove her closer and closer to the edge.
choerry’s breathing became frantic, her chest heaving as she neared her breaking point. she was no longer the cool, composed bad girl from the hallways; she was a mess of sensation, her body trembling uncontrollably under your touch. she gripped your hair tighter, her knuckles turning white, as she felt the pressure building deep inside her, a tidal wave of pleasure ready to burst.
“don’t stop... please, don’t you dare stop… she whimpered, her voice a desperate, sultry plea as she felt herself teetering on the very brink of a massive, soul shaking climax.
she let out a broken, high pitched cry as the dam finally burst. her entire body stiffened, her hips jerking upward in a desperate, rhythmic search for more of you. every muscle in her legs tensed, and her fingers clutched at your hair so tightly it was almost a bruise, but she didn’t care. the sensation was overwhelming, a white hot explosion of pleasure that seemed to radiate from her core to the very tips of her toes.
choerry’s head thrashed against the pillow, her eyes rolling back as she surrendered completely to the waves of ecstasy you were pulling from her. she was shaking, her breath coming in short, jagged sobs of pure bliss. the world narrowed down to just the feeling of your mouth, the heat of your tongue, and the incredible, dizzying sensation of her own release.
as the climax finally began to ebb, leaving her limp and trembling, she let out a long, shaky exhale, her body sinking deep into the mattress. she looked utterly spent, her skin glistening with sweat and her dark eyes hooded and dazed. he reached down, her hand trembling slightly as she brushed a stray lock of soft hair away from your face, her touch uncharacteristically tender.
“god... you’re a fucking natural.” she whispered, her voice barely a rasp, a dazed and beautiful smirk returning to her lips. she pulled you up the bed so you were lying flush against her side, her arm wrapping around you possessively. “i think you just officially became my favorite person in this entire industry.”
Anything themes/kinks you want to explore in the future?
i don’t know if it counts, but lately i’ve been thinking a lot about writing poly! and i’ve already started preparing quite a few things for a kinktember with new and different themes 👀 i really enjoy exploring new topics and i think i have many things in mind that i want to experiment with in writing, so i will! they’re not terribly strange things, but they are different from what i usually write, so it will be new content on my account.
