PLEASE WRITE MORE FOR COOK, IT WAS SO GOOD! THERE ARE NO FICS FOR HIM ANYWHERE!!
Okeich i got you, here you go pookie
Summary: Okay so you are dating Cook, right? But he's a fucking asshole and keeps cheating on you. Babes, stand up and get the fuck out of there right now.
You never really know when it starts — the moment where love becomes addiction, where wanting someone turns into needing them like air you can’t breathe without. Maybe it was the third time he promised it was the last time. Maybe it was the first.
You're lying on his bed in that dingy flat with the posters peeling off the wall, Bristol’s rain hammering at the window. Cook's snoring softly beside you, smelling like sweat and someone else’s perfume. Not yours. Never yours these days.
You should leave. You always say you will. But his arm is draped over your waist, heavy and warm and familiar, like a chain you don’t have the strength to break.
It wasn't just some random girl this time. It was Panda. Your friend. Her eyes blown wide, guilt written all over her face like bad eyeliner when she saw you outside the bathroom.
You didn't cry. Not in front of her. Not in front of him either. You saved it for later, when he found you on the balcony, knees hugged to your chest, mascara bleeding down your cheeks in slow, quiet defeat.
“Baby…” he had said, like that word still meant something. “I fucked up. I’m a twat. But I love you, yeah? I swear, it didn’t mean anything.”
He always says that. It never means anything. You’re the only one who’s supposed to mean something — but if that’s true, why does he keep doing this?
“I just... I can’t stop being a dick sometimes,” he muttered into your hair, clutching you like a drowning man. “But I don’t wanna lose you. You’re it for me.”
And there it was. The line. You’re it for me.
Like you’re the prize at the end of the mess. Like that makes it okay.
You’d told yourself this time was the last time. But then he kissed you like he needed saving, like you were the only good thing he’d ever touched with both hands, and you let him back in.
It’s a week later and you’re at some party — one of those crowded, sweat-slicked flats where music pulses through your bones and everything tastes like vodka and regret. You lose sight of Cook somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom. You try not to care but deep down there’s that same feeling from last time. That gut sense that tells you he’s doing something that will break your heart one more time.
And then you see him. Lips on some girl’s neck. Hands where they don’t belong. Her laugh high and breathy, his grin cocky and gone.
Your stomach drops. Cold. Heavy.
He sees you before you can look away.
"Oi, babe—wait—" he’s stumbling after you, shoving through bodies like you're the one running. Like you’re the one hiding something. You don’t stop walking. Not until you’re out in the alley, the cold air slicing through your skin. He catches up, grabs your wrist. You pull away. Hard.
“You said—” your voice cracks. You hate that it cracks. “James, you promised me.”
“I know, I know, I’m fucked, alright?” His voice is too loud. Too Cook. “I didn’t mean to—she kissed me, yeah? I pushed her off.” You try not to laugh.
“Is that what it looked like? ‘Cause from where I was standing, you looked pretty into it.”
He looks down. That’s worse. That’s when you know he’s not even going to bother lying right this second.
“I don’t know why I keep doing this,” he says finally. “I don’t wanna lose you.”
“Then stop cheating on me!” You beg him like it’s an impossible petition. You beg him. How pathetic.
“I can’t.” It comes out too fast. Too honest. And for a second, the truth hangs there, sharp and ugly and real.
You flinch. Because that is the first real thing he’s said in a long time.
He looks at you like he’s just realized he’s bleeding and doesn’t know how to stop it. “You make me wanna be better. I’m just not… there yet. But I will be. I swear.”
“How many times are you gonna swear that before I stop believing you?” you whisper because if you speak louder you may cry.
He doesn’t answer. He just steps forward, wraps his arms around you again like that makes everything okay. Like the warmth of his body can erase the cold of what he's done.
And you let him. God help you, you let him.
Because it’s easier to lie to yourself than to face the truth — that maybe this is all he’ll ever be. And maybe this is all you’ll ever get from him.
A promise from a liar’s mouth. And your heart, breaking all over again.
You don’t leave him the night you see the red lipstick on his trousers. Neither when he received a call from some chik and neither when JJ called you to pick Cook up from a party where he got fucked up.
You should. You know that. You even stand up like you’re going to. But you don't. Not yet. Instead, you crawl into bed beside him and let him pull you close with those same arms he wraps around strangers in the dark.
Because you're tired. Because it’s easier. Because letting go of Cook feels like peeling off your own skin.
The next morning, you wake up before he does and stare at the ceiling like it holds the answer. The sun’s bleeding through the blinds, and he’s breathing softly, unbothered. Like nothing’s broken.
You don’t cry. You just feel... numb. Like your heart has run out of warnings to give you.
That afternoon, you meet the girls at the park. Emily texts: bring wine and feelings. You bring both.
They’re already laid out on a tattered blanket — Naomi in her sunglasses, Panda, who you finally forgave after she made a whole essay about how bad of a friend she was, chattering about something dumb a guy said to her on the bus, Emily rolling a joint with laser focus. It’s a weird kind of peacefulness.
“Alright, what's up with you?” Naomi says when you finally sit, cracking open a can of cider.
You shrug. Lie. “Just tired.”
Emily gives you a look. “You’ve been tired for months.”
“I’m fine,” you say.
Panda tilts her head. “Is it Cook again?”
You pause too long. They all go quiet. Panda reaches over and gently places a hand on yours. “... you don’t have to protect him with your silence.”
Your throat tightens. And suddenly it’s spilling out — not just last night, but all of it. Every time he disappeared. Every half-arsed apology. Every promise he swore on your skin, only to break hours later. You talk until your voice goes hoarse, and by the end, your hands are shaking.
Emily’s the first to speak. Quiet. Steady. “That’s not love, you know.”
You look at her. “Then what is it?”
“Punishment,” Naomi says bluntly, taking her sunglasses off. Her eyes are piercing. “You keep setting yourself on fire hoping he’ll notice the smoke. But what you don’t realise is that he is already too busy burning”
You laugh. It’s small and bitter. “I keep thinking... maybe if I just hang on a bit longer, he’ll finally get it.”
“He won’t,” Emily says. Not unkindly. Just honestly. “Because he already knows he doesn’t have to. You’re still there, aren’t you?”
That hits you like a bruise.
You look down at the wine in your hand. It’s warm. Forgotten. Like you.
Panda, sweet Panda, leans her head against your shoulder. “You deserve someone who doesn’t make you beg for scraps.”
It’s quiet for a while after that.
You watch a kid fly a kite in the distance. It dives and twirls, crashing to the ground, then rising again like it doesn’t know how to stay down. You feel like that kite.
That night, you pack your things from his room slowly. Not everything. Just the pieces of yourself you know you’ll need: your books, the necklace your mum gave you, the hoodie you actually bought with your own money — not one of his. You leave the rest. Leave behind the memories stitched into the fabric of that little and dirty room . The nights he held you. The nights he didn’t come home.
He comes in while you're zipping your bag.
“Going somewhere?” he asks, sounding amused. Still drunk on whatever high he lives in.
You don’t answer. You don’t have to.
His smile fades. “Oh come on, not this again.”
You turn and look at him. Really look at him. The messy hair, the cut on his knuckle from a fight you didn’t ask about, the eyes that used to melt you and now just feel like storm clouds.
“I’m done, James.” The name you so loved to say now sting your mouth.
But he laughs. Actually laughs. Like it's a game and you’re just bluffing again. “You’ve said that before.”
“I meant it this time.” You hope.
He walks closer. “You always come back.”
You stand. Slow. Measured. Like if you move too fast, you’ll shatter.
“Because I always hope you'll give me a reason to stay.”
He freezes. You see it in his eyes, his beautiful eyes.
“I’ve waited for you to change,” you continue, voice shaking now. “I’ve excused everything — every lie, every girl, every morning-after apology — because I thought, maybe this time it’s different. Because I thought loving you meant something.”
His mouth opens. Closes. Nothing comes out.
You step past him. He grabs your arm, too tight. “Don’t walk away.”
You meet his eyes. And for the first time, he actually looks scared. Like you mean it. Like this time, it really is the end.
“Let go of me, Cook.” He flinches at his last name. You weren’t supposed to call him that. He was James for you.
“Please. Don’t leave.”
You turn, voice shaking but sure. “You didn’t think I ever would. That’s the problem.”
And then you're gone.
This time, the door doesn’t slam. It clicks shut like the end of a sentence. Quiet. Final.
Tags: forbidden romance, smut, slow burn, explicit smut (oral m & f, unprotected sex, riding, fingering, recording, light exhibitionism, heavy angst, cheating, moral grayness, emotionally messy characters, guilt, betrayal, broken friendships, voyeurism kink / stolen panties / video exchange
Word count: 7.5k
Summary: You tried to be good. You smiled as your best friend fell for the boy you’d secretly been aching for. You told yourself it was fine, that it would pass. That you could handle the slow suffocation of watching him kiss her, love her, laugh with her—without you. But desire isn’t rational. And love doesn’t care who it destroys.
A/N: You’re here for sin. For breathless kisses behind closed doors, trembling fingers clutching secrets, and a boy who loves you like ruin.
This fic is messy. Shameful. Beautiful.
And if you’ve ever wanted something you shouldn’t,
This one’s for you.
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!
The theater lights dimmed, and you already knew you were in trouble.
You were seated at the edge of the row—aisle seat, leg stretched just enough to pretend you were comfortable. Hyunjin sat beside you, and his girlfriend—your best friend—was tucked on his other side, gleefully tossing popcorn into her mouth as the opening credits rolled.
You shouldn’t have been there. Not tonight. Not with them. Not like this.
But third-wheeling had become your unspoken role. After all, you’d introduced them.
And that was where the problem started.
⸻
Backstory…
You’d known Hyunjin first—met him on campus during a group project, flirted casually, shared late-night coffees, complained about professors. You were attracted to him from the jump, of course. Who wouldn’t be? He was all sharp jawlines, smug smiles, and that lazy, magnetic charm that made people gravitate toward him without even trying.
But you weren’t the kind of girl who threw herself at someone just because he made you laugh.
So you backed off. Told yourself he wasn’t worth the distraction.
Then you introduced him to your best friend.
And he fell for her. Or said he did.
But here’s the thing: Hyunjin never really stopped looking at you.
He never stopped with the lingering glances, the too-long hugs, the texts that made your breath hitch at 1:43am. It was always subtle. Always just beneath the surface.
Until it wasn’t.
You never told anyone about the night he walked you home drunk from a party and pushed you against your door just to look at you. Never kissed you. Just leaned in close, stared at your lips, and whispered, “You drive me crazy.”
You laughed it off. Called him a menace. Said don’t do that again.
But he did.
And now here you were. Months later. Lights fading to black in a movie theater, your knees brushing his as you tried to stay normal.
He shifted slightly in his seat.
At first, you thought it was accidental. But then—his hand dropped onto the shared armrest. Not beside you. On you. Pinky grazing yours deliberately.
You tensed.
His fingers curled, slowly brushing over your knuckles. Testing.
You shot him a warning glance, but he didn’t look your way. He was watching the screen, face blank, like nothing was happening.
His girlfriend laughed loudly beside him at a joke you didn’t hear.
And then—you felt it.
Hyunjin’s hand slid just slightly into your lap. Palm down, fingers splayed. Not groping. Not grabbing. Just… resting.
Like it was his.
Your chest tightened. Your thighs shifted on instinct, but not to move away.
His thumb twitched.
You bit your lip.
He was testing you.
And you were letting him.
You were trying to focus on the movie.
You really were. But Hyunjin’s hand on your thigh made that impossible.
It started when he casually leaned forward, whispered something to his girlfriend—some joke, something cute, something completely normal. Then he grabbed the popcorn bucket, pretending like he was being helpful, and settled it in your lap with a little grin that said “thanks for holding this.”
But then he didn’t let go.
You were too stunned to move. His hand stayed inside the bucket, knuckles brushing yours at first. Then it drifted—deeper. Slower. Until he wasn’t reaching for popcorn at all.
He was reaching for you.
Your breath caught as his fingers grazed your inner thigh again, hidden perfectly beneath the bucket and the shadows of the dark theater. You shifted, but that only opened your legs slightly—just enough for his fingers to press higher.
Still, his eyes were locked on the screen. Completely unfazed. Not even a glance.
You gripped the armrest. “Hyunjin,” you hissed under your breath.
He hummed low in his throat, finally flicking his eyes toward you. “What?”
Soft. Innocent. Daring.
“Don’t,” you said, but your voice wasn’t even convincing to yourself.
“Then stop me,” he whispered, fingers slipping just beneath the hem of your skirt this time—skin against skin.
Your body betrayed you with a sharp inhale. His thumb circled lazily, like he was testing how close he could get before you’d actually stop him. But you didn’t.
You couldn’t.
Because it felt good. Because it was wrong. Because you were sick in the head, and Hyunjin knew exactly how far to push.
“I knew you’d let me,” he murmured, voice a razor-thin tease.
You clenched your jaw, thighs trembling slightly as his fingers pressed higher—so close now, just brushing the edge of your panties.
And still, beside him, his girlfriend giggled at the screen, blissfully unaware.
You didn’t dare look at her.
Didn’t dare move.
Because the second you did, it was over—and you’d have to admit how far gone you already were.
You weren’t sure when your breath started shaking.
Maybe it was when Hyunjin’s fingers ghosted over the lace of your panties—slow, like he was testing the texture. Or maybe it was when he really stopped pretending to reach for popcorn and flattened his palm against your heat, hidden completely beneath the bucket and the hush of the theater.
You shifted slightly in your seat—just enough to press down into his hand.
God help you.
He noticed, of course. Of course he did. You heard it in the small exhale he gave, soft and amused, his smug little secret blooming between your thighs.
Then, like the absolute psychopath he was, he whispered:
“Keep still.”
Keep still? You wanted to grab him by the throat.
Because now he was rubbing you through your panties—slow and firm, thumb dragging up the soaked center like he was timing it with the music score. He had no right to be that smooth. No right to act like this was his seat, his movie, his body he was teasing.
The audacity.
You clenched your jaw and dared to glance sideways.
And there she was.
His girlfriend. Your best friend. Leaning her head on his shoulder, laughing at some cheesy line in the film, eyes glued to the screen. Completely untouched. Completely unaware.
And Hyunjin?
He met your eyes. Finally. Dead on.
Expression unreadable. Lips parted like he was trying to catch your breath in his mouth.
And then—
He slipped two fingers beneath the waistband.
Not just a graze.
A full, slow slide over your bare heat.
You flinched. Bit the inside of your cheek. Your thighs clamped down on instinct, but it only trapped him tighter there, and he moaned—the quietest fucking sound you’d ever heard.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re so—”
“Stop,” you whispered. You had to say it. You had to.
But he didn’t.
He just leaned in again, voice like honey and sin:
“She’s not paying attention. Not to me. Not like you do.”
Your pulse screamed.
He pressed his fingers a little deeper—just the edge, testing your limit. Testing his own.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered again. “Mean it.”
But you didn’t.
Because you couldn’t.
Because this was the fire you’d both been dancing around for too long.
And now it was burning.
It was the slow slide in that broke you.
Hyunjin didn’t even glance at you when he did it—just slipped two fingers beneath the lace of your panties and pressed in like your body belonged to him. Like it was natural. Like you’d been waiting for him to finally fill the ache he’d lit inside you from the second the lights dimmed.
Your jaw tensed so hard it almost clicked.
He was warm, fingers thick and careful at first, dragging through your soaked entrance—just one finger easing in at first, slick and smooth, and then another following right behind, slow and deliberate until his knuckles nudged your heat and didn’t stop.
He went deep.
Deep enough that your hips twitched, thighs clenching on instinct as your back arched just slightly against the seat.
And he still didn’t look at you.
His girlfriend, nestled against his left side, nuzzled into his shoulder with a soft giggle at something on-screen.
And then her voice hit you like ice water:
“Babes, did you ever end up messaging that tattoo guy? You know, the one with the tiny linework stuff?”
You turned toward her too fast—like your body was trying to escape.
But Hyunjin’s fingers curled inside you, and you nearly choked.
“Uh—” Your voice cracked. “Y-Yeah. I did.”
He liked that. You could feel it in the subtle roll of his knuckles, in the way his wrist shifted beneath the popcorn bucket as his palm ground softly against your clit, like a reward.
“Really?” she smiled, leaning forward now, eyes lit with interest. “What’d he say?”
He was fucking moving inside you.
Not fast. Not reckless. No, Hyunjin was too cruel for that. He dragged his fingers out just halfway and pushed back in—slow, wet, thick.
“Booked out till—” you gasped softly and coughed to cover it. “Uh—June.”
Her hand brushed your arm as she reached past you. “Oh damn. That sucks. You were really excited, right?”
Your eyes snapped shut.
Hyunjin’s fingers crooked just right—pressing deep against that spot that made you see stars.
Your legs trembled. You couldn’t even breathe right. His girlfriend was still talking, still right there, and he didn’t stop. His fingers kept working you open, pushing slick sounds into the theater’s quiet shadows, muffled only by the soundtrack and rustling popcorn.
She shifted back beside him, curling into his side with a little hum.
You felt everything.
The soft of her hoodie brushing your elbow.
The exact moment Hyunjin’s thumb started circling your clit—gentle, barely-there pressure.
The tension snapping up your spine like a scream trapped in your throat.
And then—his voice. A whisper. Only for you:
“Don’t make a sound.”
He said it like a game. Like a dare.
—
You didn’t mean to stand.
Your body just moved.
One second, you were melting under Hyunjin’s touch, your pulse screaming through every nerve, his fingers working inside you like he owned you—and the next, your thighs snapped together, your hand shot down, and you yanked the popcorn bucket off your lap like it burned.
“Be right back,” you blurted.
Hyunjin’s fingers slipped out of you in a wet drag, and you swore you heard a barely-there gasp leave his throat this time.
Your best friend blinked up at you. “Wait, everything okay—?”
“I just—bathroom,” you muttered, already squeezing past their legs, practically stumbling over someone’s drink cup in the aisle. You didn’t wait. You didn’t breathe.
You ran.
Heart hammering, body soaked with heat, underwear clinging like a second skin—you shoved open the theater doors and didn’t stop until you were outside in the open air, gasping like someone had just resuscitated you.
You didn’t go to the bathroom.
You went straight to the curb.
You fumbled for your phone with shaking fingers and called the first cab you could find. Every nerve in your body was screaming. Not from shame. Not even from guilt.
From the unbearable edge he left you on.
The ache between your legs was unbearable. You could still feel him inside you. His fingers. The way he looked at you like he was tasting the way you fell apart.
You pressed your thighs together in the cab seat.
The driver didn’t even glance at you. Thank god.
You wanted to scream. Cry. Touch yourself. Laugh at your own sick reflection in the window.
What the fuck was that?
What the hell were you?
You didn’t even know what you were running from more—Hyunjin, or the part of you that wanted to go back in there and let him finish.
—
You hadn’t stopped pacing since the texts started coming in.
bestie: where’d u go?? are u ok??
bestie: are u mad at me???
bestie: y/nnnnnn pick up
Then his name lit up your screen.
hyunjin: did i break you?
You froze.
That cocky bastard.
Not are you okay? Not i’m sorry.
No—did i break you.
Your fingers flew before you could stop yourself.
you: what the fuck was that??
His reply came too fast.
hyunjin: which part?
You stared at your screen, mouth open in disbelief.
Your phone rang.
You hesitated, staring at his name. Then, without thinking twice, you answered—already pacing again.
“What the fuck was that?” you hissed, skipping hello.
Silence on the other end.
And then—his voice.
Low. Too casual.
“That,” he said slowly, “was me giving you exactly what you wanted.”
You almost dropped the phone.
“You think I wanted you to finger me right next to your girlfriend—my best friend—in a goddamn movie theater?!”
Another pause. Then, quieter:
“You didn’t stop me.”
Your stomach flipped.
“And you came close, didn’t you?” he added, voice darkening just slightly. “So close I could feel it. You were clenching around my fingers like you needed it.”
You dragged your hand down your face, heart slamming against your ribs.
“You’re insane.”
“I’m right.”
“You’re a fucking—”
“—god?” he offered, half-laughing.
“Hyunjin.” you snapped.
His laughter faded, replaced by a silence too heavy to ignore.
“Tell me you didn’t like it,” he said, suddenly serious. “Lie to me.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
And he knew.
Of course he knew.
“I hate you,” you whispered.
“No,” he said softly. “You hate that I stopped.”
—
Two days later…
The apartment was too quiet for your heart to be beating this loud.
Hyunjin was on the couch—legs spread wide, one arm draped lazily around your bestie’s shoulder as she tucked into his side with a bowl of chips and zero clue about what happened two nights ago.
You were seated across from them in the armchair, one leg folded over the other, pretending to scroll through your phone.
Except you weren’t scrolling anymore.
Because Hyunjin had just sent this:
hyunjin: go take off your panties. right now.
Your breath caught.
Your head snapped up—reflex—and his eyes were already on you. No smile. No smirk. Just heat.
Like he was burning holes through your clothes.
Your best friend was giggling at something on TikTok, oblivious.
you: are you fucking insane???
You watched his phone light up in his lap.
Then:
hyunjin: probably.
but i wanna see your face when you walk back in here bare under that little skirt.
You looked down at your outfit. A stupid soft cotton mini you threw on without thinking. No shorts. No tights. Just the skirt and the little tank you slept in.
You were already halfway there and he knew it.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.
you: you’re a piece of shit.
hyunjin: and you love it.
go.
Your pulse was thunder in your ears. You stared at the screen, then flicked your eyes back to him one last time.
He didn’t blink.
So you stood up on shaky legs. “Gonna grab a hoodie,” you mumbled, already walking away.
“Bring me one too!” your best friend called after you.
You barely heard her.
Once inside your room, you shut the door and leaned against it, squeezing your eyes shut like it might slow your heart down. It didn’t. Your fingers trembled as you reached under your skirt, hooked the band of your panties, and slid them down your thighs.
You were wet.
Of course you were.
The fabric stuck to you as you tugged it off completely, a quiet whimper catching in your throat as you balled them in your hand and stared at yourself in the mirror.
You looked insane.
You looked guilty.
And then you walked back out like nothing happened—panties shoved into your hoodie pocket, skin bare under the swing of your skirt.
Hyunjin looked at you the second you stepped into the living room.
His eyes dipped.
Just once.
And you swore he exhaled—like he could smell you
—
You should’ve known he’d follow.
You barely made it to the kitchen—heart still lodged in your throat, fingers clutching the cold juice bottle in the fridge—when you felt him behind you.
The air changed. Grew heavier.
And then his hand slid into your hoodie pocket.
“Hyunjin—” you gasped, spinning around.
But it was too late.
He held your panties in his hand like a fucking trophy, eyes dragging down to the damp spot you’d tried to ignore. His lips parted—just barely—but he didn’t say a word.
He didn’t need to.
“What are you doing?” you hissed, stepping into him, voice low and shaky.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he looked over your shoulder. Past you. Back into the living room.
Where she sat.
Still laughing.
Still happy.
Still so fucking oblivious.
And then Hyunjin’s eyes snapped back to yours—dark, heavy-lidded, dangerous.
He took your hand—slow, deliberate—and placed it over the thick bulge in his sweatpants.
You choked on your own breath. It was hot. Hard. Throbbing.
“Because I can’t think,” he whispered, leaning in until his breath kissed your neck, “until I’m inside you.”
Your knees nearly buckled.
“Hyunjin—”
“Doesn’t matter where. Doesn’t matter how.” His grip on your wrist tightened. “I just need to feel you. Wrap that pretty pussy around me. Let me ruin you properly.”
Your fingers twitched around his cock, mind going blank.
“This is insane,” you whispered.
He smiled, like he agreed.
“And you’re gonna let me do it anyway.”
“Hyunjin,” you hissed, shoving at his chest. “You need to stop. What the fuck are you doing?”
He didn’t budge.
He just looked at you like you’d lost your mind. Or maybe like he had.
“Stop?” he repeated, voice too calm. “You’re telling me to stop now?”
“Yes!” you snapped, even though your palm was still curled around his cock, trembling.
“You’re not stopping me,” he said flatly, stepping closer, “not once.”
Your stomach dropped.
“You didn’t stop me in the theater.”
You froze.
“You didn’t stop me when I made you walk back into the living room dripping under that little skirt.”
He dipped his head, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“And you’re not stopping me now.”
You sucked in a breath—ready to scream at him, curse him, run—but then—
“Everything okay in there?” your bestie called from the couch.
Your heart stopped.
Hyunjin’s gaze didn’t even flicker. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t panic.
You did.
You twisted out of his grip like he burned you, stumbling two steps back and grabbing the edge of the counter to steady yourself.
“Y-Yeah!” you shouted, voice an octave too high. “All good!”
Hyunjin chuckled.
You shot him a look. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re shaking.”
“I hate you.”
“No,” he said smoothly, stepping closer again. “You hate that you love every second of it.”
You turned away, fists clenched, trying to breathe through the fire crawling up your spine.
“Why are you doing this?” you whispered.
Hyunjin leaned in again—close enough to taste the ruin on your skin.
“Because no one,” he murmured, eyes flicking down, “has ever made me this hard for this long without letting me bury it.”
—
It was 2:13 a.m.
The room had fallen silent hours ago, swallowed by the kind of heavy stillness that only existed when everyone else was asleep. Everyone but him.
Hyunjin lay still in the dark, one arm thrown behind his head, the other curled tight around the secret burning a hole in his hoodie pocket.
He didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.
Not when his cock had been hard for hours, aching with every thought of you, with every replay of your voice breaking in the kitchen, trembling and furious and wet.
Not when your panties—thin, soft, still damp—were pressed against his side like a loaded gun.
Your bestie shifted beside him, rolling closer in her sleep, the blanket rustling. Her face was peaceful. Completely unaware of what was going on in her bed.
He waited.
Waited until her breathing evened out again. Waited until the room was still, save for the pounding of his pulse in his ears.
Then, with a slowness that was almost reverent, he slipped the lace from his pocket.
The panties unfurled in his hand like a sin. He held them up to the blue light of his phone screen, eyes half-lidded, jaw clenched.
His cock throbbed.
He brought the fabric to his nose. Inhaled.
Then he shoved down his sweats and lined up the camera.
He didn’t need the flash. Just the glow of the screen, casting pale shadows across his stomach, the lace, the hard line of him twitching with need.
He started slow.
The panties wrapped around his fist like a bandage, like restraint. Every stroke was controlled, deliberate, mean. He wanted to make it hurt. Wanted to make himself feel just how badly he needed you.
Your name slipped from his mouth on a ragged breath—quiet, hoarse, desperate.
The bed creaked.
He stilled, glancing at his girlfriend, but she hadn’t stirred.
So he kept going.
Faster now, rougher, until the muscles in his thighs were shaking and his hand was sticky with pre-cum and frustration. Until he felt himself cresting, jaw tight, breath caught in his throat.
He came with a grunt, hot and thick over the lace, spilling through the fabric like he was marking it—like he was marking you.
But he didn’t stop the camera.
Not until he’d wiped himself clean on the same ruined panties, slow and messy and shameless.
Not until he watched it all back once, licking his lips like he could taste you again.
Then he hovered over your name.
Didn’t even think.
He pressed send.
—
You couldn’t sleep.
Not with the way your skin still tingled from his breath on your neck. Not with the ache between your legs. Not with the memory of his voice curling around every filthy word like a promise.
Hyunjin was driving you insane.
You’d tried everything—blasting music through your headphones, scrolling aimlessly, even cold fucking water. Nothing worked.
And then your phone buzzed.
One notification.
A video.
You knew it was him before you even opened it. Something in your gut twisted. Your finger hovered for only a second—then you tapped it.
And then you stopped breathing.
It was grainy, dimly lit by his phone screen, but you saw everything.
Your panties. His cock. His fist, slow and steady, squeezing like he was punishing himself with every stroke. The way he bit down on your name like it hurt to say it.
Your best friend was there. Right beside him. Sleeping.
And he didn’t care.
You watched until he came—messy and raw and moaning through his teeth—and wiped himself off with the lace like it belonged to him.
When the video ended, your hands were shaking.
Something snapped.
You didn’t think. Didn’t plan.
You typed two words.
Doors open.
—
You didn’t even hear your bedroom door open.
You just felt him.
That heavy presence, that heat rolling in like a thunderstorm—thick, electric, and choking on tension. You looked up, heart stalling in your chest.
Hyunjin.
Sweat-slick hair pushed back from his forehead. Hoodie half-on, half-off. His chest heaving like he’d run all the way down the hall.
And his cock?
Already hard. Straining against the front of his sweats. Angry. Red. Dripping.
You swallowed hard.
His eyes locked on yours—then dipped to your bare legs, your shirt riding up over your thighs. His jaw clenched.
“You texted me,” he said, voice wrecked. “You said the door was open.”
“It was.”
“So you wanted this.”
“No,” you whispered. “You wanted this.”
A muscle in his cheek jumped.
And then he moved.
In one breath, you were gone from the floor—lifted clean off your feet like you weighed nothing. He shoved you against the wall, mouth crashing to yours in a kiss that tasted like vengeance. Like victory. Like he’d finally won.
You moaned into it, fingers threading through his hair, legs instinctively locking around his waist.
“You fought me,” he growled against your lips, dragging his mouth down your jaw, your throat. “You fucking fought me—”
“I had to,” you gasped. “You weren’t supposed to—ah!”
He bit your neck. Hard. His hips grinding into your core like he wanted to break through clothes and skin and bone just to get inside you.
“Too bad,” he hissed. “Because now I’m not stopping.”
You didn’t want him to.
He dropped you onto the bed like you were made of air. Your body bounced on the mattress once, and then he was on you again—ripping your shirt over your head, throwing it somewhere into the dark, dragging your panties down your thighs like they offended him.
His hands grabbed your waist. He flipped you, pulled you onto his lap like a ragdoll, your knees straddling his thighs.
You barely had time to blink before he fisted his cock, lined himself up, and slammed you down onto him.
“Fuck!” You cried out, head snapping back, eyes rolling.
Your walls stretched around him—too full, too fast, no time to breathe, just burning, pulsing, pleasure.
“That’s it,” Hyunjin groaned, watching your body swallow him whole. “Fucking take it. You were made for this. Made for me.”
He bounced you.
He used you.
Hands gripping your hips so tight you’d have bruises in the morning. Lifting you up, slamming you back down over and over like you were nothing but his personal fucktoy.
And you were.
You always had been.
“Hyun—Hyunjin—” you sobbed, arms trembling, nails digging into his shoulders. “Too much—please—”
He buried his face in your neck, moaning against your skin.
“Don’t beg,” he panted. “Not when this pussy’s sucking me in like it’s been waiting.”
You keened at his words. Your body buckled, your thighs shaking.
He didn’t stop.
He wrapped one arm around your waist, the other between your legs, fingers circling your clit in tight, merciless circles.
You shattered.
Your whole body clenched, went tight, went still, as the orgasm ripped through you like lightning—violent, all-consuming, and blinding. You screamed his name, nails dragging bloody crescents into his back.
And Hyunjin? He lost it.
“Fuck—fuck, baby, I’m coming—” he grunted, thrusting up deep, deeper, until he was buried to the hilt, cock twitching, hot cum spilling inside you in heavy, pulsing waves.
He didn’t stop holding you.
Even after the last tremor passed. Even after you went boneless in his lap, forehead resting on his shoulder, sweat-slick and dazed.
He just stroked your back.
Soft now.
Breathing hard.
Like he hadn’t just fucked you like he was trying to keep a piece of you inside him.
“Don’t think this means I’m done with you,” he murmured against your temple. “Not even close.”
Oh babe…
You want the ache. The tangled sheets. The guilt that tastes like sugar on the tongue.
You want the delicate crash after the storm—where reality creeps back in, but the warmth of what just happened still lingers like bruises.
Let’s make it tender. Messy. Devastating.
Because this wasn’t just sex.
It was surrender.
⸻
The room was quiet again.
Only the sound of your breathing, still uneven. Only the warmth of his skin pressed to yours, still sticky. Only the beat of your heart, still not your own.
Hyunjin lay beneath you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other stroking slow lines down your spine.
You hadn’t moved in minutes.
You didn’t want to.
Because moving meant thinking.
And thinking meant remembering that just down the hall, your best friend—his girlfriend—was fast asleep, blissfully unaware that her bed was empty, and her boyfriend’s cum was still dripping from between your thighs.
You swallowed hard.
“Hyunjin…”
He hummed.
You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know where to start.
“This was…” You trailed off.
He sighed.
“I know.”
You pushed up just enough to look at him. His eyes were already on you—dark and unreadable, but so soft. The kind of soft that made it worse.
The kind of soft that meant something.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you whispered.
“Yes, you did.”
You flinched.
He reached up and cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing beneath your eye like he could smooth out the war behind it.
“I did too,” he said. “We both did.”
A tear slipped from the corner of your eye. You didn’t even realize it until he wiped it away.
“She’s my best friend.”
“I know.”
“And you’re hers.”
“I know.”
His voice cracked, just barely.
You sat in silence, curled into his chest like maybe the warmth would erase the wrongness. Like maybe if you stayed quiet long enough, the world would let you keep this just a little longer.
But it didn’t.
“I’ll fix it,” he said suddenly.
You blinked. “What?”
“I’ll fix it. I promise.” He looked up at the ceiling, jaw tight. “I don’t know how. I don’t know what that even means yet. But I’ll make it right.”
You searched his face. “There is no right.”
“There’s you.”
Your breath caught.
He leaned up then—just a little—and kissed you.
It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t possessive or punishing or filthy.
It was quiet.
Soft.
Like an apology he didn’t know how to say.
Like he wanted to remember this moment forever—before the world ripped it out of his hands.
When he pulled back, his eyes lingered.
Then he sat up, reached for his clothes in silence, and dressed without another word. His hoodie, his sweats. His calm.
Only when he reached the door did he turn back.
She was waiting for him. Warm sheets. A lie.
You were still in bed, curled up in the mess he left behind.
“I’ll come back,” he said quietly.
And then he slipped out the door—back into her room. Back into her arms. Back into the lie they were both pretending to live.
But you?
You just stared at the ceiling, your skin still humming where he’d touched you.
No regrets.
Only ruin.
—
The sun had barely risen.
Soft light spilled through the kitchen window, painting warm gold across the countertops, the floor, the shadows of a night neither of you could forget.
You stood at the table, bleary-eyed, a mug of coffee cooling in your hand, while your best friend rushed around the kitchen.
“I’m so late,” she groaned, juggling her purse, shoes, and half a piece of toast. “Do I look okay?”
“Perfect,” you said automatically.
She beamed, kissed your cheek, and threw a distracted “Love you both!” over her shoulder before disappearing through the front door, the lock clicking softly behind her.
And then there was silence.
Just you. And him.
You didn’t turn around.
But you felt him.
Hyunjin was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes heavy-lidded and locked on you like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second she kissed him goodbye.
“I thought you’d run,” you said softly.
“I almost did.”
He stepped forward.
“But I couldn’t.”
You stayed still as he came closer, until his chest brushed your back and his hands slid around your waist—gentle this time. No grabbing. No claiming. Just holding.
“You haven’t even looked at me,” he murmured.
“I’m afraid to.”
“Don’t be.”
He turned you in his arms, slow and careful, like you might shatter.
And when your eyes finally met his… you felt the air leave your lungs.
Gone was the ruthless, teasing Hyunjin from last night.
This man—this version of him—looked starved in a different way.
Like he’d tasted something divine and wasn’t sure if he was allowed to want more.
“I dreamt about you,” he said. “While I was lying in her bed.”
Your throat closed.
“I woke up hard,” he added, voice low, raw. “And all I wanted was to crawl out and finish what we started.”
Your breath hitched. “We already finished it.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Last night was hunger.”
Then he backed you against the kitchen counter.
“This…” he said, sinking to his knees in front of you, hands curling around your thighs, eyes burning up into yours.
“This is different.”
You gasped as he kissed your hip. Then the other. His mouth trailed lower, over your skin, slow and reverent, until he was pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs like he was praying.
He didn’t rush.
Didn’t tease.
Just spread you open and looked at you like you were a painting meant to be devoured.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice shaking. “How the fuck did I go this long without knowing?”
Then his mouth was on you—soft licks, slow suck, tongue working in lazy circles like he had all the time in the world. Like your pleasure was holy.
You moaned, fingers threading through his hair, hips grinding against his mouth as your legs started to shake.
And still, he didn’t stop.
Didn’t even speed up.
He just held you there, worshipping every part of you until you broke apart in his arms, sobbing his name into the quiet kitchen air.
He stood.
You were panting, ruined, still trembling—but he wasn’t done.
He pulled you up onto the counter like a doll—delicate and pliant—lined himself up and sank into you with one long, deep thrust that made your whole body arch into him.
“Oh my god—” you breathed.
“No,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours, “just me.”
His rhythm was slow. Deep. Devastating.
Every thrust came with a kiss—your shoulder, your collarbone, your lips. Every moan earned a whispered praise.
“You feel like heaven.”
“Made for me.”
“So fucking perfect.”
His hands cupped your jaw, holding your face like he was memorizing it.
And when you came again, crying out his name, he followed with a groan that sounded like something between a prayer and a curse.
He didn’t pull out.
Didn’t let you go.
Just held you against him, your legs still wrapped around his waist, your breaths tangling in each other’s mouths.
Like maybe if you stayed just like this…
…it wouldn’t have to end.
—
He did it.
Hyunjin told her.
You watched from the hallway, heart lodged in your throat, as he sat her down on the couch. His voice was low, gentle, guilt-stricken. Like the weight of every stolen kiss, every whispered moan between your legs, was finally breaking his spine.
“I need to tell you something,” he started.
She looked up at him, blinking. Innocent. Curious. Too calm.
“This isn’t working,” he said, a breath catching in his throat. “And it hasn’t been for a long time. I’ve been—” He faltered. “I haven’t been honest with you. I’ve done things… with someone else. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. I crossed a line. I hurt you.”
She stared at him.
Then blinked again.
Then smiled.
Not sad.
Not surprised.
Just… amused.
“Wow,” she said softly. “That took longer than I expected.”
Hyunjin stiffened. “What?”
“I was wondering how long it’d take for you to grow a spine and say it to my face,” she said, her voice light, casual, dangerous. “But hey, congrats. You finally did.”
He frowned. “You knew?”
She laughed. Laughed. Tossed her head back like this was some kind of soap opera and she was the villainess on her third glass of red wine.
“Hyunjin,” she said, standing up and walking over to the window. “I’ve known for weeks.”
His silence was immediate. You could feel it ripple through the house.
“I saw your texts,” she added, turning back to him. “The pictures. The fucking video you sent her at two in the morning when you thought I was sleeping beside you.”
His face went pale. “You—”
“I woke up,” she said. “I saw everything.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off.
“And don’t even try to say sorry. This is fair game.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“That means,” she said coolly, stepping close to him now, chin tilted high, “that little interview I told you I had a few mornings ago? The one I left in a rush for?”
She smirked.
“There was no interview.”
Hyunjin blinked.
“I went to see someone. A man.” Her smile twisted. “Someone who actually wants me.”
His breath caught.
“You’re not the only one who can lie, Hyunjin. I’ve been letting you play your little games, watching you both tiptoe around, thinking you’re so fucking clever. But I’ve been playing, too.”
He stared at her, stunned. “You fucked someone?”
She tilted her head. “More than once.”
His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “You gave up on me first. I just didn’t beg you to stay.”
Hyunjin said nothing.
You felt frozen. Ashamed. Sick.
But there was a strange, twisted sense of justice to it all. Like all of you were equally filthy now. No one above the other. Just a triangle of secrets and spite, betrayal and broken hearts.
“You’re mad?” she asked, stepping even closer. “Why? Because you thought you’d be the only one breaking the rules?”
“No,” he said finally, voice hoarse. “I’m mad because I didn’t know. I should’ve seen it.”
She chuckled. “Oh, Hyunjin. You didn’t see me even when I was right in front of you.”
He took a shaky breath, guilt and anger and some unnameable grief painting his face in shades you’d never seen before.
She turned, grabbing her coat, slipping on her shoes.
“You can have her,” she said simply, nodding toward the hallway where you stood trembling. “If that’s what you want.”
She looked at him one last time.
“But I hope you both know—you didn’t win. You just lost me.”
And with that, she walked out.
No crying. No screaming. No scene.
Just silence.
And the weight of your own sins pressing into your lungs like smoke.
You didn’t think—you just moved.
The second the door clicked shut behind her, your feet were already following. Down the hall, past the elevator, out into the street where she stood under the flickering porch light, arms wrapped around herself like armor.
“Wait!” you called, voice too loud in the quiet night.
She didn’t turn.
You caught up to her anyway, breathless. Heart pounding. Hands shaking.
“Please,” you whispered, stopping just shy of her. “Just let me talk to you.”
She finally looked at you—and god, you wished she hadn’t.
There was no fire in her eyes. No rage.
Just a deep, quiet disappointment that sank deeper than any slap ever could.
“You don’t get to ask me for anything,” she said. “Not after this.”
“I know. I know I don’t.” Your voice cracked. “But I need you to hear me.”
She didn’t move.
Didn’t soften.
But she didn’t walk away either.
You took that as permission.
“I never wanted this to happen,” you said. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even know how far it had gone until it was too late.”
She scoffed. “Don’t insult me with that. You had weeks to stop it.”
“I tried,” you cried. “I tried to be strong. But you don’t know what it was like—”
“No,” she snapped, eyes blazing now. “I don’t. Because I trusted you.”
That cut deeper than anything else.
You stepped closer, tears blurring your vision.
“It wasn’t just sex,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t some impulsive, drunken thing. I’ve been falling for him for a long time. Since before you even met him.”
She froze.
Your voice broke. “I introduced you to him… because I thought I could be strong. I thought I could push it down and be a good friend. I wanted to be a good friend. But every day you were with him—it felt like I was watching someone else live my life.”
Her lip trembled, but she clenched her jaw tight, forcing it still.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you continued. “But the heart doesn’t listen. The heart aches for what it wants, and mine… mine’s been screaming for him. And I was so ashamed of that.”
She let out a slow, shaky breath.
“So that’s it?” she asked quietly. “You love him, so it’s okay?”
“No,” you said. “It’s not okay. It’ll never be okay.”
You took another step, close enough to touch, but you didn’t dare.
“I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t meaningless. That you weren’t some casualty in a stupid game. I’ve hated myself every second for this, but I didn’t want to lie to you—not anymore.”
The silence hung like a blade between you.
And then, finally, she looked up.
“You loved me too,” she said. Not a question. Just a reminder.
You felt your chest cave in. “I still do.”
She nodded slowly.
“I just don’t think I can ever forgive you,” she whispered.
And this time, when she walked away…
You let her.
Because love wasn’t enough to fix what you broke.
And some wounds just may not heal.
—
You didn’t hear the footsteps.
Didn’t see the figure lingering behind the open door.
But Hyunjin was there.
He’d followed without even thinking—expecting a fight, maybe, a screaming match between friends, full of guilt and blame and fury. He was ready to defend you, to take the fall if he had to.
But he hadn’t expected this.
He hadn’t expected to hear you break.
He stood frozen in the hallway, just around the corner, your voice drifting to him like a lifeline.
“It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t some impulsive, drunken thing. I’ve been falling for him for a long time. Since before you even met him.”
He inhaled sharply, heart clenching in his chest.
“I introduced you to him… because I thought I could be strong.”
His eyes fluttered shut.
Every stolen touch. Every breathless moment. Every time he thought he was dragging you into something you didn’t want, something you couldn’t escape—you’d already been his. Quietly. Completely.
You just never said it.
Until now.
When it was already too late.
“I just wanted you to know it wasn’t meaningless…”
God. You meant all of it.
When you came back inside, the hallway was quiet.
You didn’t expect to see him standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head bowed—like he’d been holding the weight of the world on his shoulders and only just realized he didn’t have to carry it alone.
Your heart lurched. “Hyunjin—”
“I heard everything,” he said, voice soft.
You froze.
He looked up.
And he smiled.
It wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t smug.
It was relief.
“Everything?” you whispered.
He nodded, stepping forward. “You loved me before I even touched you?”
You swallowed. “I think I always did.”
He closed the distance between you, hands finding your face, holding you like something delicate and divine.
“And I thought I was the only one losing my mind,” he murmured.
You blinked up at him, your bottom lip trembling.
“I thought I dragged you into something you didn’t want,” he said. “I thought I corrupted you. Used you. I hated myself for it. But hearing you say it like that… I finally feel like I can breathe.”
Your fingers curled into his shirt. “I didn’t want to hurt her.”
“I know.”
“But I don’t regret us.”
His thumb brushed your cheek.
“Neither do I,” he whispered. “We fucked up. Bad. But I’d do it all over again if it meant ending up right here—with you.”
Your breath caught.
“You think we’ll be okay?” you asked, voice small. “After all this?”
He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then the corners of your lips.
“I think… friendships can be rebuilt,” he said. “But what we have? This thing that broke the rules and shattered everything else?”
He kissed you gently—soft, slow, full of quiet worship.
“That’s the kind of thing worth ruining everything for.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t hurt to hold him.
Could you please do a Malachi x sister reader. From The Summer I Turn Pretty when Steven finds out Jeremiah cheated on Belly he says this iconic line “I have been cleaning up that guy’s tears for the past 24 hours and he cheated on my sister with Lacie Barone? Who the f*** is Lacie Barone?!” Could you make a scenario based on that? You can use this line or something similar. If not, totally okay. Love your work.
not him - malachi barton
malachi barton x fem!sister!reader
warnings: emotional distress, cheating/ex betrayal, big brother malachi being protective, angst, swearing, comfort/soothing
you’re curled up on your bed, tears streaking your cheeks, phone clutched in your hands. you try to quiet your sobs, but the pit in your stomach won’t let up.
there was a knock. the door opens quietly, and malachi steps in. he freezes for a second when he sees you, heart lurching. “hey… what’s going on? why are you crying?”
you sniffle, voice shaky. “he… he cheated on me… with cassie... hart.”
malachi blinks, momentarily stunned. “wait… seriously?” his voice tightens, disbelief and anger bubbling at the same time. he paces a little, muttering under his breath, hands flexing. “i can’t believe him… cleaning up that idiot’s pathetic tears for the past twenty-four hours… and he cheats on my sister? with… cassie hart? WHO THE F*** IS CASSIE HART?!”
he stops pacing and crouches in front of you, gripping your shoulders gently but firmly. “look at me. you don’t deserve that. not him. not anyone. got it?”
you nod, hiccuping through another sob. he sighs, brushing your hair back, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “i swear, if he even thinks about you again… if he breathes the same air as you… he’ll regret it.”
you sniffle again, a tiny smile breaking through, and he finally pulls you into a hug, holding you close, rocking you slightly. “good. now… deep breaths. we’ll get through this. ice cream, my treat, and no one’s going to hurt you like that again. ever. okay?”
you nod against his chest, finally letting yourself feel safe, letting him protect you — just like he always does.
malachibartonsangel speaks:
hey anon, i hope this is how you imagined it to go.
tysm for requesting!
if this isn't how you wanted it to be, let me know, i'll write another one!
i had read a bucky fanfic that he cheated on reader with nat since reader had something traumatic happen to her & she closed off & then she fidns out about the cheating & she ends up with Thor, does anyone know which one im talking about?
