his cock throbbed inside of you, pulsing against your gummy walls while your legs were slung over his shoulders. satoru snapped his hips over and over again, basking in the sloppy sounds of your sexes connecting. you could barely talk, letting out deep breaths and soft moans. every thrust made you feel more and more stretched, your sensitive body was about to become overstimulated, coming off of multiple orgasms, you couldn’t keep up with satoru, yet you didn’t want to stop. not when he fucked you like he had something to prove to himself.
he leaned forward, pressed forward, kissing the crook of your neck, making sure to drag his teeth over your sensitive skin, leaving wet kisses everywhere—and the more the administered those pecks, the more you gushed.
“shit baby,” he muttered, “you feel so good—with me all deep in you like this.”
you would have never thought that the president of a frat could sound so meek—his body flinching every time your cunt twitched. his teeth dug into his bottom lip ever-so-slightly, making his voice sound broken. his cheeks were a flushed pink, and his hair was practically matted down to his forehead.
satoru couldn’t help but let out a string of moans, breathy and desperate. his eyes squeezed shut as you sucked him in further, making his strokes become messier and languid. the bed creaked with every motion and as he melted into your touch he began to lose himself even more.
you had been hooking up for some time, sure, but every single moment you caught him in this position he always turned into putty.
“oh fuck baby yes,” he whined, words starting to slur together. you felt how his tip kissed your cervix, nudging it with every jut of his hips. “i love you baby, fuuuck, i love it—love it so much.”
his tongue started to lol from his mouth, his thrusts becoming unpaced and feral. you could hardly keep up with him, as he quickly became lost in the way you were clamping down on him, your pussy drooling for his cock.
“say you love it baby—say you love me,” he sighed, eyes opening for a split moment to catch a glimpse of your fucked-out face. he smirked seeing you like that, breaking him out of his pussy-drunk daze, but as soon as he remembered how cushiony your insides felt and fell right back into his whiny state. he continued, voice cracking: “say it, please, please, please—fuck.”
“i love it, toru,” you sniffled, “love your fat fucking cock—love how it fucks me so good.”
your praise sent shivers up his spine, but it wasn’t enough as he let out a strangled whimper. “yeah? shit,”
“yeah, baby, i love you,” you continued, egging on his sporadic thrusts. his abs tied, head tilting back, pushing his thick dick into you as deep as he could, not wanting to leave the warm embrace of your cunt.
a loud groan escaped his wet lips, his body finally giving him, cum filling you up until he was practically dry. his dick throbbed inside you, and a large gap fled from both you and satoru.
“yeah i love you baby—love you so fuckin’ much,” he whispered, as if when morning came you wouldn’t be parting ways until fate would have you meet up at the next frat party.
"them pieces of silicone won't look at you the way i do" ; a sly challenge against your boyfriend's ego after he criticises your use of sex toys
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 cw: bondage. use of a vibrator. sub!fratjo. very light degradation. overstimulation. ۶ৎ 1.5k words.
"𝓲 𝐦𝐞𝗮𝒏, 𝓬'𝒎𝐨𝒏. i just don't see the point in this thing. you've got me to take care of you, baby."
was the last time such an order of words had escaped satoru's lips in so polished a succession. what followed, traditionally recognised by the average onlooker as something so unbecoming of the charming athlete, was but one of many sly confirmations of a modest inclination.
gojo satoru bled with a vivacity that infected those around him like a deadly virus. symptoms varied. admiration. envy. annoyance. desire. and an unyielding fancy from others to conquer.
it was with such knowledge that he didn't cheapen himself to anything less characteristic of he who is captain of the football team and president of his fraternity. to some's pleasure, and to most's chagrin, vanity was a second skin, a wretched kink in his dna that, alongside his devilishly good looks, he'd felt no need to stifle; present during football games, head to head with his opponents as he speaks ill of their athletic prowess. present during frat parties, head to head with other frat bros as he speaks ill of their sexual prowess.
and as his girlfriend, to think that you'd be exempt from such torment may only determine you as dangerously unwise. which is why it came to no surprise that he'd dared to question your use of sex toys, and that such audacious questioning served as none but yet another opportunity to advertise his own superiority. after all, nothing came close to the near biblical ecstasy of being split open by his cock, and more so, bearing the privilege to access such ecstasy at your very own command. smug as ever, with the conviction of one forever pardoned from subjugation, he shamelessly expressed this reminder—not even bothering to apologise for rummaging through your things, but had somehow reassigned his place on the moral low ground to you for owning such supposed abominations.
and certain responses, a huff, a cross of the arms—the smallest indication of having taken offense, typical of you, quickly concealed by the clearing of your throat, he hadn't been naive to expect.
but he had been naive to expect defeat.
"ah...fuck! c-c'mon! i said i was sorry—ngh!"
alas, his transgression was rendered impossible to overturn. but such a reflection wouldn't come easy to him by simply observing your expression—soft eyes suddenly interested in your nails, your walls, the open novel on your lap in which the content had been reduced to incoherent lines of black ink.
still. rested.
as if the soothing quietude of your dorm wasn't polluted with the buzz of your vibrating wand and the shaky urgency of satoru's cries. heard from the foot of your bed. mere meters from you.
you simply cross your legs, lean calmly back against your headboard, which all but prompts satoru into a fervid quest for only the smallest glance.
"please…i can't…i can't take it anymore…" he pants, to which you make no discernible physical response, except avert your eyes from your lap, almost as if searching for confirmation. and surely enough, he was still there. the ever so fierce gojo satoru—hottest and toughest boy on campus, the social kingpin, sex god, from whom a glance was worth the world's riches, restrained to a chair with your vibrating wand—the contraption previously subjected to his cocky ridicule—tied to the hardened and aching length of his cock.
his tip glows an angry red from the continued abuse, beads of precum leaking obscenely down his veiny girth as each plea rings louder than the last. then, perhaps to prove your motivations less base, your eyes travel upwards, passing over the way his sweaty pectorals strain against the tightness of the rope, to a set of pink and glossy lips agape in none other than pure bliss.
and then it became clear to you.
this wasn't beneath him at all.
a smirk finally tugs at the corner of your lips, and a voice, sweet and thick as honey, yet fierce as the heat of molten steel, fans into the atmosphere as a deceptively maternal response, "i'm sorry, baby. what was that you said again?"
"ngh—baby!" the plea escapes in parts of a sob and a laugh, back arching against the chair in a delicious battle against his powerlessness. you only shut your book, a dusty page-riddled 'thump!' that signals anything but mercy, and set it aside as he continues to plead, "i said…i said…i can't take it! it's too much…"
"nah ah…" you tut, "before that."
the state into which satoru's features contort warms your heart, and just for a second, his confusion turns you away from how the length of his cock rivals that of the wand that continues to buzz mercilessly against him. how the movements of his hips don't cease, riding the vibrations in earnest as if he were a bitch in heat. it pulls a soft coo from your throat, making his cock twitch, no less when you continue to taunt him with this riddle.
"oh, come on…" your tone teeters on the edge of a sneer, "you're usually all talk, mr quarterback. nothing to say this time?" a high pitched whine follows, and after that, a witch-like cackle as you salaciously cross one leg over the other, intending only to reveal a sliver of skin from your sundress to contrast your boyfriend's state of vulnerability. you sigh, feigning resignation, "you're slow, aren't you? where was all that sweet talk about being better, hm?"
"i know! i know—fuck! i'm sorry! i'm sorry! i didn't mean—"
"—about how nothing compares to being fucked by you?" you tilt your head, smiling as if you were merely spectating upon a performance of which you had no control. "because from where i'm sitting, it seems like i'm still yet to witness this stamina you keep blabbering about."
conceding to what is now, undeniably, a spell of torment of which he can no longer plead his way out, he shakes his shoulders in a light sob, a rhythm that nearly matches that of his hips. "fuck…you're evil…you're so fucking evil…"
"maybe," you purr, tracing the hem of your dress, rested and wrinkled on your upper thigh, stopping short of what he would kill to watch you touch. "but we both know that you asked for it."
"god! okay! fine! i'll never say anything like that again! I swea—"
"i like you like this," you interrupt, as if musing upon a trivial observation, "why would you hide this side of you from me, baby?'
with his mouth agape, and his eyebrows creased as if he were about to break into tears, he sneaks a quick glance below his waist, eager to witness the nearing of his own climax. his cock bobs lightly against his toned abdomen, a string of creamy white stretching between them—and the wand, ever so obtrusive, taunts him with several reminders of his incapacity, daring him to break free and give himself the release he so desperately craved.
"it feels so fucking good…"
"I know, baby."
"but it's nothing compared to you."
you pause.
he continues, "i wanna breed that sweet little pussy and feel it squeeze every drop out of me. i wanna watch your tits bounce when you ride me. god, i'd rather you milk me for all i'm worth—'til my cock fuckin' snaps. i'd rather it be you torturing me like this…not—ngh!—this fuckin' thing!"
the plea, an elixir most damning to inexperienced taste buds, almost catches you—the smell of your arousal guarded feebly between the full flesh of your thighs, dripping like molten lava, taunting satoru's nose like a siren's call.
but then came his next words. and oh, thanks be to his naivety, for baring his armor to your procurement.
"i know you want it too." he grunts. "you know you want it."
complete silence. satoru pants as if his speech were a bout of strenuous exercise, and even still, the sound takes defeat over the loud hums of that damnable sex toy.
"oh, toru…" you coo, and his posture straightens—wand be damned—as he awaits your response in hopeful anticipation, "you still haven't learned, have you?"
you don't even give yourself time to watch his face drop, his head tip back again, his hair slap back onto his forehead like leaves of a willow tree in a snowstorm, his orgasm come upon him in a violent twitch of the hips. the bliss had betided within the few seconds it took for you to swing your legs off of the bed, retrieve your novel, and make but a casual destination of the door to your bedroom.
averting his eyes from the mess of cum on his abs, upon realizing the lack of intervention proceeding his orgasm, he strains his neck towards the door, catching your hand against the doorknob. "hey—hey! what the fuck! come turn this thing off!"
your expression, eerily calm, discourages further thought. just another loud cry. "ah, baby! please! i can't! i can't take it anymore!"
"i'm off to study. thanks for taking care of me, baby. that was amazing."
how unbelievably pussy drunk jeong jaehyun gets. his element is truly with his fingers gripping around your inner thighs, spreading them open for him. and keeping them open too—even when you start squirming, back arching away from the bed sheets just to try and move in some way. your brows furrowed together in an overwhelming sensation of dizzying pleasure while jaehyun eats you out, breath exhaling out of his nose and mouth completely muffled against you, eyes glancing up to memorise and sear every micro-expression you make into his head forever.
it all started the first time you let him go down on you. he was already turned on seeing you completely bare in front of him, his hands groping your boobs like its the first time he’s ever seen them, just glancing between your expression and the way his fingers curl around the flesh. your hair sprawled out around you, him stood between your legs looking like he might eat all of you up whole. but when he finally lowered himself down to your wriggling hips, pressing gentle kisses onto your skin all the way from your jaw, down the soft plane of your stomach and the space where the waistband of your panties once was, his mouth fell open a little at how lewd you were acting already, stringing out breathy little moans of his name. it almost felt like his stomach was curling in on itself. the kind of feeling you get only when you’re still a virgin, when the amateur hormone overload betrays you.
but he still pushed through, for you. ignored the tent in his sweatpants. ignored the way his own breath quickened and his face started to flush with a warmth. he still buried himself between your legs, mouth parted, eyes a little wide. he didn’t have to do much for your hips to buck up instinctively against his face, your head lifting suddenly from the bed to look down at what exactly he’s doing to you, hands already reaching for his hair. only to be met with his eyes already glancing up at you, pupils blown, letting out a moan against your slick middle he didn’t even know he could make.
his boxers grew unbearably tight, painfully stretching over his length until he considered just pulling his trousers down in that very moment. but he wouldn’t. he couldn’t when his hands were already preoccupied, wrapped tightly around the back of your thighs, lifting your hips up towards his greedy mouth at the perfect angle. his wet lips consuming everything you can give him until it dribbled down his chin and made the tip of his nose glisten. he mirrored your moans without even realising, feeling his face get even hotter, his crotch almost numb as he desperately moaned for your release in a way he never thought he could.
even as he gazed up at you, through his dark lashes and past the curves of your breasts, at the small glimpses of your exposed throat as you tilt your head back in pleasure sent jolts of something unexplainable to his cock. and as he listened to the final gasp of his name, felt your fingers grip tighter onto his hair and the heels of your feet digging into his back a little harder he didn’t even realise it was happening.
he spluttered a mewl against you, his hands gripping onto your thighs even tighter, his hips jerking forward automatically into nothing as his cum shot into his boxers, leaking through onto his sweats and leaving a dark grey stain. his brows furrowed, lips unsealing from around you for a moment, just so he can inhale a sharp breath. and then let his face fall back down between your legs, his cheek resting softly against your inner thigh, both of you panting like the room doesn’t have enough oxygen.
“i came.” he breathed out against your skin through the aftershocks, before you could even say anything. he wasn’t embarrassed, he was just putting it out there. letting you know that you made him come without touching him. that the sheer overdrive of his five senses with you turned him on enough to make him come in his pants. and you tilted your head to look down at him, a small, lazy smile on your face. and when you sat up, he let you run a soft fingertip down the stain. let you commit it to memory the way jaehyun has you.
and now every time he eats you out, slips his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down with one strong tug, you ask him, “are you going to come this time?” and he lets out a quiet chuckle, lowering himself to press a tiny kiss to your cheek and whisper back to you, “no promises. do you want me to?”
cw: smut, dubcon (drunk!afab!you x predator!jaehyun).
a/n: this is strictly my own dark fantasy. i'm not condoning this in reality.
summary: your friends left you in the care of goody-two shoes jaehyun, thinking you'd be safe with him. you're weren't.
word count: 2k
i want to fuck her so bad.
jaehyun’s eyes trail across your body, searing each minute detail into his mind: your pink lips so plump and full, the curve of your waist leading down to your full ass, and the sight of your white lacey panties peaking out from under your hiked-up skirt.
he reminds himself of why you’re even in his bed. your friends had entrusted you to him at a party only because he is the always-responsible, honest and reliable, stand-up student council president. he’s the guy that everyone trusts. i’m a good guy. i’m a good guy. i’m a good guy.
but it who was he kidding? nothing about this situation speaks to his good nature. not his aching dick tenting up his pants, nor the explicit thoughts running through his mind.
i’m a good guy.
“heeeeeelloooooo,” you said before a half-hiccup-half-burp.
“i’m right here,” he replies.
“jaehyunnnnnnnn,” you giggle, “what are – hic – what are you doing hereeeeee?”
jaehyun reins in his thoughts of how you’re so completely out of it that you’d wouldn’t even remember anything if he were to do anything.
“you’re in my room,” he finally musters, “you’ve had a little too much to drink.”
“oh,” is all you say.
i’m a good guy.
that last reminder is rendered useless when you, in your drunken state, decides to make yourself more comfortable by spreading your legs wide open, not the least aware of the predator lurking just a few feet away.
his brain shortcircuits when he sees, between your parted legs, your panties, so thin that he can almost make out the outline of your pussy. the last shred of self-control jaehyun had evaporates.
fuck it.
he sits himself down at the foot of his bed and lifts your skirt over your torso. his hand shakes as it approaches your clothed pussy.
you can still turn around. you still haven’t technically done anything.
when his fingers finally make contact with your pussy, he swears he feels a jolt of electricity going straight down to his dick. no turning back now. his index and middle fingers move in circles—careful at first, then settling into a steady rhythm around your clit.
you don’t react immediately and it lulls jaehyun into a false sense of security. he almost jumps when you speak.
“jae – hic –hyun? wh… what are you doing?”
it takes a moment for jaehyun to steel his nerves. he tries to ignore your question, unsure how or what to answer. it’s his first time doing… this. what was he supposed to reply to you.
“s-stop… it feels – hic – weird.”
this time he’s sure he can’t just pretend you didn’t say anything. his brain rummages through an appropriate response.
coercion’s the only thing that comes to mind. “shhh, just… just enjoy this, yeah? i’ll make you feel real good.”
you don’t answer.
his fingers continue moving against your clit, but it doesn’t take long for your next protest to come.
“s-stop… it feels…” you trail off.
“good right?” jaehyun finishes your sentence. “this feels nice?”
“mmh,” you hum back.
“yeah? you like this? like it when i do…” he says, trailing his fingers down your slit with pressure, “this?”
the wet patch in your panties spread and jaehyun can’t believe his eyes. you’re actually getting turned on by his touch. if he is a pervert, he wagers that you’re one too. fucking slut.
you gasp at his touch, then shake your head, “nooooo. i –hic– just now…”
jaehyun doesn’t need to be told twice; his fingers return quickly to your swollen clit. he likes it that you’re honest.
i need to fuck her brains out.
your soft gasps melting into whines and moans bolsters his ego and encourages him in this endeavour. he leans down against your panties and his tongue licks a strip down your slit, ending at your clit. the taste of you through your panties whets his appetite.
when he finally pulls off your panties, he’s shocked at how fucking drenched you are. he presses his face flush with your pussy and swirls his tongue around your clit. your thighs tremble at his touch. whimpers and incoherent thoughts fall out of your lips.
“baby girl, you taste so fucking sweet,” he murmurs against you before dipping his tongue back into you.
your hips buck as you squirm against him. your hands reach out to grab something, anything, only able to reach the sheets besides you. jaehyun can tell that you’re close. something evil glints in his eyes.
“use your words baby girl,” he coos.
he watches from between your legs. your eyes, half-lidded, lips parted and drool spilling over. you look so completely fucked out and he hasn’t done much.
you whine, head spinning too much to string together a coherent thought. all you want is his touch on you.
“use your words,” he says, this time a little more stern.
“w’na… i want… come,” you manage and he smiles like he’s just won a millionaire dollars.
“good girl. good girls get rewarded.”
his lips connect with your core again, this time with a renewed passion: he wants to watch you, taste you, as you fall apart on his tongue. it doesn’t take long for that to happen. your voice reaches a higher pitch, your back arches further into the bed and your entire body tenses.
“coming! coming!” your voice strains.
still jaehyun doesn’t let up. his fingers dig into your hips holding you against his face and preventing you from wriggling out of his grip. even as your hands carelessly swats at his face, trying to push him off, his tongue continues as he wrings out your orgasm.
you get a brief respite when he finally removes himself from between your legs but it’s short-lived. jaehyun’s quick to replace his tongue with two fingers, burying them deep in you.
your body jolts at the sudden intrusion.
“look at you, so… so wet for me. aren’t you a little pervert? getting off to me doing this to you?”
blood rushes to your cheeks and the tops of your ears. you want to protest him, but can’t find the words in your brain – half clouded by the haze of your intense orgasm, half by the alcohol. instead, you find yourself just shaking your head.
he laughs at your measly attempt.
“are you sure?” he says with a false incredulity. “just listen to how wet you are.”
his fingers thrust into your cunt with a greater force, amplifying the sloshing between your legs. even as drunk as you were, you still flush with embarrassment.
“you’re such a good slut for me, aren’t you? so wet and needy,” his tone is condescending, “if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you wanted this.”
you want to fight back at his last sentence, scream at the top of your lungs that it’s not true. you want to defend yourself. but all your stupid mind could think about was how good his fingers fucking you felt.
“n-no…” is all you say. you’re sure it came out as self-assured and defending. yet all jaehyun heard is a soft careless mumble. he would have missed it, if he hadn’t been paying attention.
“no?” he repeats, “oh sweet baby, my sweet dumb baby. how can you say no when you’re clenching so tightly around me? bet you wished this was my cock instead right?”
your mind is hazy and you can’t think straight. you try and try. but all you can think about it pleasure twisting inside of you. you feel it building up, tightening and tightening and you know it’s about to explode. you can’t even remember what was it that you wanted to say.
tears well in your eyes as your whines and whimpers turn into a loud mewl when your orgasm comes crashing down on you. the immense tension all at once releases and your body jolts through every wave of ecstasy crashing through you.
“fuck, didn’t know that my sweet little slut could squirt so much.”
squirt? you’re sure that you’ve never done that before. jaehyun’s fingers leave you and you almost let out a whine at the emptiness between your legs.
in all of jaehyun’s eagerness, he doesn’t bother actually pulling down his boxers or jeans. instead, he just releases his aching, leaking cock from his pants and lines it up with her drenched hole.
you can still turn back.
with a thrust of his hips, he buries himself, and any semblance of rationality, deep within you.
(and really, jaehyun reasons, it’s your fault. you shouldn’t have made such delicious sounds. you shouldn’t have made it so easy. you should have said no, kick him away. but there you lie, halfway asleep, halfway enjoying his touch. which idiot would turn this opportunity away?)
“you’re so fucking… perfect,” he groans, his voice is guttural, rough like concrete. like it’s taking everything in him to not turn into a feral dog, “you’re like my own personal cum dumpster.”
you try to shake your head in protest.
“say it, baby girl. say ‘i’m’...” jaehyun waits for you to repeat after him.
“i-i…”
“i’m,” he repeats again, “my dumb, dumb slut. i know you can do it.”
“i’m,” you say, partly to prove that you’re not dumb like he says; you can still say words. surely that must mean you’re not completely dumb, right?
“your,” jaehyun continues.
“your.”
“cumdumpster.”
“c-c…” this time the words are stuck in your throat as humiliation washes over you.
“my pretty pretty little thing, you can do it,” jaehyun goads in a sickeningly sweet voice.
you swallow, mind hazy from relishing in his praises. “cumdumpster,” you repeat.
he laughs, as he starts moving his hips. whatever words that you could’ve said melts into drawn out whimpers and whines. each thrust gets progressively more impatient. he fucks you like a child opening presents on christmas day: eager and excited.
“fuck, you make me feel like a complete virgin.”
his comment may have made you feel something, if you weren’t so completely dazed. you could focus on all but one thing: the pleasure between your legs. your hips buck against his, angling them so that he hits the spot. and when he does, a long string of incomprehensible words tumble out your lips. for that, you’re awarded with his hand around your throat.
“baby girl’s so fucking dumb she can’t speak properly,” he taunts, “since you can’t say anything that makes sense, then just shut up.”
his grip tightens against the sides of your neck. he cuts off the oxygen and chokes down any sounds back into your throat.
“woah,” a smirk creeps across his face, “you like being choked, don’t you?”
he leans down right beside your ear and whispers like it’s a secret, “your cunt got so fucking tight. slut.”
his words shouldn’t send chills down your spine, but they do.
he starts thrusting into you again, rougher this time. you want to tell him to stop, you want to tell him that you can’t breathe, you want to tell him that he’s hurting your neck. but no words form, though you’re not sure if it’s the orgasm, alcohol or lack of oxygen that’s causing it. it hurts. it hurts. it hurts.
still, it feels like your body betrays you when your orgasm nearly tears you apart. no words or sound form, even when his hand leaves your neck. you heave and draw in the oxygen that your lungs yearned. you’re sure if he had choked you for a second longer, you would have passed out.
he doesn’t give you time to breath or bask in the afterglow, instead choosing to continue his tirade against your uterus. each thrust prolongs your orgasm just a bit more, until your cunt’s so sensitive that each thrust brings fresh tears into your eyes.
“oh-fuck me,” he groans as he frantically pulls himself out of you. his hand jerks his cock a few time before the searing ropes of white cum cover your inner thighs.
the last thing you hear before passing out from sheer exhaustion is jaehyun’s voice whispering in your ear, “good night my pretty slut.”
Synopsis 𖦹.ᐟ : you were at a dead end with jobs so you decided to listen to your friend's advice and look for some rich family to look after but you weren't prepared to be faced with such a handsome man to be the dad.
Warning : mdni, unprotected sex, oral (f.rec) , p in v , fingering, multiple female orgasms, light nipple play.
Wc : 2.4k
A/n : this is for jaehyun's discharge finally 🔥🔥
You Look at the big house in front of you that might even be considered a Palace for you, you walk in your worn out converse to the door and knock on it waiting for someone to answer the door, rethinking your life decisions, you were here for a babysitting job, though you dislike kids, never was your cup of tea, you were here because well, let's say you need a part-time job, or something on the side to save up while being able to study, you were broke, your bank account having spider webs in it from how empty it was, you wouldn't even be able to be in college but you tried to apply for scholarships and you were lucky enough to get accepted, thankfully they provided dorms and breakfast, and since you come from not a very rich family, you had to get a job, as a barista, you worked as a bartender, but you'd last a semester before some of them shut down due to no customers.
Babysitting was never your cup of tea, you did it once when you were a teen to get some cash in summer and it was the worst experience of your life, all the crying, putting up a fight for stupid stuff, wanting to stay past bed time and not just listening–choosing to whine instead begging you to soften up and let them stay ‘five more minutes’ for the nth time. You couldn't handle it and it was the last time you even considered looking at children – or considering having one.
But your friend told you about these rich people and how they rarely even look after their own children so naturally they look for a babysitter, so naturally you gave the thought some time, and so you decided to look for some children to look after, looking through websites and parenting communities, your eyes full on one of the posts
‘Looking for a babysitter for my girl! She's 5 years old and needs someone to play with” so you send to them – assuming it's a mom not looking much into the profile
“Hello, ma'am I've seen your post about needing a babysitter and I was wondering if you're still available?”
sending a message like you did to the other parents.
It took a week for anyone to answer , you thought you were too late asking to be some kid babysitter– until you got a message
“Oh yes hello, thank god , may I ask when you are free?” They ask, a little too straightforward but sure
“I'm available tomorrow all day” you send after checking the account. It was anonymous, no profile photo, no name it only says jeong, what kind of name is that? You think but shrug it off , and it takes few minutes before they answer
“That's perfect , can you come tomorrow at 11 am?” They send and you raise an eyebrow. What kid would possibly be up at 11 am? But you send a quick message agreeing to the time regardless.
And here you are standing in front of the door, it was exactly 11 am. You waited outside for a minute before the door was opened and if you said this wasn't the most beautiful man you've seen, you'd be lying.
“Hello? I'm here for uh Mrs.jeong? Must be the wrong house-”
“No you're right, I'm mr.jeong” he says, his voice a bit deep it was almost scary, he moves away a bit and lets you in, you walk in looking at the minimalistic yet rich design
“I didn't quite catch your name” he says and you tell him your name
“Okay so we need to talk first” he says
“Oh it's okay I wait for Mrs.jeong” you smile awkwardly
“There's no Mrs.jeong” he says and your smile drops slightly, well shit you just embarrassed yourself in front of a man you've met a minute ago.
“Ah I see, well yeah sure” you nod and he leads you to the living room, he gives you his daughter's schedule and all the rules she has to follow and all the rules you have to follow.
“Are we clear here?” He asks and you nod awkwardly
“You'll be paid 500 per day” he says and suddenly the job isn't so scary
“When can I start?” You ask
“Now.” He says and stands up
“I have to go to work , she comes back from school at 2 pm” he clears, what type of job starts at 12 pm? You think internally but nod anyway, he hands you a paper with his number before leaving.
You hear a knock assuming it's his daughter, you open the door and there she was, looking like her father, she walks inside and raise an eyebrow at you but doesn't question anything regardless, she goes to her room to change out of her clothes, there were some food already prepared for her, probably made by a some expensive chef or something.
“So, do you like cartoons?” You ask nonchalantly and can see her eyes obviously spark up as she nods and after her meal you open a Disney film for her to watch, she pats next her signaling for you to sit and you do so, burying her face into your side before Turing her head to watch the cartoon.
Soon enough she was falling asleep on you, you turned off the TV and took her to her bed. And you stay in the living room until her dad comes home.
It has been two months since you started babysitting June, you've also gotten closer to Mr.jeong– who told you later to call him jaehyun, you never really questioned what happened to her mother, she never mentioned, there are no photos of her, did she give birth and leave? You didn't really care.
You knock on the door and wait til someone opens, jaehyun opens the door, standing there looking every inch of the rich man he is
“Oh hello y/n” he smiles softly, his deep dimples showing and honestly it take every ounce of control not to jump onto him and kiss him on the spot
“Oh hello jaehyun” you reply before walking into the house
“She didn't go to school today since she was sick, take good care of her okay?” He says and you nod
“Daddy?” You hear the little voice coming from behind jaehyun
“Sweetie, what are you doing out of bed?” He scolds lightly
“Can you stay home?” she pouts and looks up at him, her eyes looked droopy and looked adorable overall.
“Sorry sweetie but daddy gotta work okay? I'll try to come early” he says and gives her a kiss on the cheek before leaving.
You take her to her bed and tuck her in.
“I wish you were my mommy” she says suddenly and you giggle assuming it's just the fever talking
“I'm sure your mommy loves you more” you tease
“My mommy left me” she pouts
“I heard daddy say so before when he thought I was asleep” she pouts
“You should rest, I'll grab your medicine okay?” You say suddenly and leave the room, that's why there are no photos of the mysterious woman, June herself probably never met that woman, this poor kid knowing so much at such a young age, you shake your head and grab her medicine.
Jaehyun did come early as he promised but she was already deep in her sleep
“How is she doing now?” He asks worriedly
“She's fine now, her temperature is normal, she's just asleep” you say and he sighs gratefully
“Thank you y/n” he says and pulls out your money for the day but with extra cash, you were gonna refuse to take more money but it won't really matter to him so why the hell would you do that?, you take the money and put it in your bag and grab the bag before leaving.
Today was the weekend, which is usually when you don't go but jaehyun tells you it's ‘urgent matters’ so you go after he says he's going to pay you more, you arrive at 6 pm, which is a weird time but better than being awake at 11 am on a weekend.
You knock the door as usual and jaehyun opens after a minute as usual, he was wearing one of these expensive looking suits
“Hey Jaehyun, where is June?” You look around, used to June being around the door if she wasn't at school
“She's at her grandparents house” that makes you freeze, why the hell would he call
“So why did you call then?” You raise an eyebrow
“I wanna take you out” he says and you look at him like he's speaking a foreign language and then look at down at your your hoodie and the jeans that have had permanent pen stains on them
“Well I must be overdressed then” you say sarcastically earning a chuckle from him
“Well come in, I got you a present” he says and invites you inside
And leads you to his room which you remember was prohibited for you to enter and now he's inviting you to his bedroom you walk in after him and find a box sitting on the bed and he signals for you to open it
There was laying a gorgeous dress and a new pair of shoes which surprises you
“Oh wow that's- thank you” you say awkwardly
“Well wear it, I'll wait outside” he say and you nod
You get dressed and though you're wearing heels it felt nice to wear something other than these sneakers.
You walk out of the room and find jaehyun in the living room and his face lights up when he sees you, you notice his ears starting to redden up.
“Took you long enough” he teases showing off his dimples as he smirks slightly when you roll your eyes.
He takes you to one of these fancy restaurants where everyone is dressed like they're going to the met gala.
After you both order, you talk about things to keep the conversation going
“You know , June really likes you. She's had nannies and babysitters but she never liked them as she does with you.” He says and smiles slightly
“That's sweet, I don't even like kids but maybe I've changed my mind now, well kinda” you shrug and he chuckles
After eating the main course and dessert obviously he drives back to his house
“This was very nice jaehyun, I can't remember the last time I went out” you say and it is true, you only babysit June on your breaks and weekends when jaehyun is busy doing god knows what and you want to graduate so you go home and study your ass off falling asleep on the desk, yeah..not your best time.
“It's nothing, I do have to thank you for taking care of June after all” he says, his dimples popping.
He goes to the kitchen and pour you a glass of his finest wine, sliding the glass in front of you before pouring some for himself as well, his eyes stay fixed on you as you drink the red liquid
“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask awkwardly
“Like what?” He teases and raises an eyebrow.
“I don't know, like you wanna eat me maybe?” You shrug and finish your drink
“Maybe I do” he says
“Well I give you permission to” you say sarcastically and you can see his eyes darken , he walks to you and helps you stand, his hand on the small of your back leading you to his bedroom.
“Daddy must be starving huh?” You chuckle and he smiles
“Oh you don't wanna know” he pushes you onto the bed , he unbuckles his belt and removes his dress shirt , your dress was short enough he can see a hit of your white panties.
He climbs on top of you and leans down peppering kisses over your neck and chest
And bites down on your neck before pulling away, sliding down to your core, he pushes your dress up and slides your panties to the side burying his face in your cunt, his tongue licking up and down your clit, your hips buckle your fingers gripping the sheets tightly as you let out weak moans, his fingers rise to your clit entering you which makes you gasp due to their low temperature, but get adjusted to it, he curls his fingers up which makes you grip on his fingers before coming all over his fingers.
When he's off you you can't help but stare at his sculpture abs and the happy trail on his abdomen leading to his cock, he takes his pants and boxers off showing off his thick and veiny length standing tall and proud over his stomach, he climbs on top of you again and looks down at you but slamming into you hitting your spot immediately, thrusting in and out of you the pleasure flying straight to your brain, you release a string of moans and whimes , begging him to fuck you even more and he doesn't miss a beat, and oh did he look dreamy, all sweaty and sticky, hair sticking to his forehead, his breath heavy , you were snapped out of your thoughts when he pinches one of your nipples making you wince and whimper in pain mixed with pleasure, you were reaching your climax, he felt it when your walls grip tightly on his cock milking him desperately your body aching for release, your eyes roll , hands gripping his shoulders pretty sure leaving marks there, as you come all over his dick, his pace fasten when he feels close not stopping even when you beg him weakly too tired to stop him, his pace slowing down when his loads empties in you filling you up with his white sticky liquid.
He lay next to you , you were almost passed out.
You wake up and find the bed empty and look around you to find jaehyun already awake and dressed up
“I'll go to work, June is coming at 5 pm” he says, his tone neutral
“Oh..yeah okay” you say awkwardly and grab your jeans and shirt that you were wearing
“You looked good yesterday” he says
“Oh yeah all thanks to you the dress-”
“I mean naked.” He cuts you off, teasing you and his lips curl into a knowing smirk when he sees your flushed face.
pairing: porn director!haechan x newbie porn star!fem reader
genre: smut (pwp) 18+ mdni!
warnings / tags: explicit sexual content, workplace power dynamics, horny pining, eye contact kink / eye fucking, voyeurism-ish, soft dom haechan, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected sex (whoops), overstimulation, squirting
wc: ~7.5k of pure filth
a/n: i am so so so sorry for keeping you guys waiting 🥲 sorry in advance if it's shitty af so please lower your expectations 😭 but still! please please please let me know what you think 🙏
Part 1
The next morning hits like a hangover he didn’t earn.
Haechan shows up twenty minutes early — unheard of — coffee in one hand, cap pulled low, hoodie zipped to the chin. He's already snapping at the lighting guy before the man even opens his mouth.
“Move the key light three inches left. It’s going to wash her out. Again.”
The crew exchanges glances. He’s always been sharp, but today he’s mean.
Snapping at the sound guy for a mic that’s “too hot,” telling makeup to “Don’t overdo her lips today. I don’t want them looking bitten on camera” when they’re literally just glossed.
Everyone chalks it up to a bad night.
Only Haechan knows the truth: he spent the entire night replaying your orgasm on loop, coming twice more in the shower just trying to get you out of his system.
It didn’t work.
He’s halfway through giving notes to a PA when—
You laugh.
Soft. Bright. Somewhere behind him.
He goes still.
His eyes snap to you before he can stop them.
You’re standing near the monitors, robe loose, hair still a little messy from sleep with that same soft, nervous-excited smile you had yesterday. You wave at the crew, thank them again for the compliments.
For a second, he just watches.
Then your eyes flick up.
You catch him staring.
You hold it—just long enough to feel intentional.
His grip tightens around the coffee cup.
He looks away first. Too fast. Clears his throat. “Places in ten.”
–
The scene today is POV. Simple setup: male talent (thank fuck it’s not Chad this time) on his back, you riding him, camera mounted to mimic his view. Intimate. Close. Lots of eye contact, body rolls, hands on hips/thighs/waist for leverage. The kind of shot that sells “connection”.
Haechan hates it already.
He calls action. You climb onto the bed, robe slipping off your shoulders, skin glowing under the soft ring lights. The actor’s hands find your waist immediately—professional, practiced.
You sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch until you’re fully seated on his cock, a soft, involuntary moan slipping out as the stretch hits just right.
You start slow, grinding down in lazy circles, head tipping back on a breathy moan that’s half-scripted, half-real.
Haechan’s staring at the monitor like it personally offended him.
Except he doesn’t look away.
His jaw tightens as the feed fills with you—every shift of your hips, every soft expression.
It’s wrong. It’s his job to watch, to adjust, to make it look good.
But there’s a split second, buried under all of that, where it hits him differently—heat curling low in his stomach, sharp and unwanted.
It should be him.
The thought arrives before he can stop it.
Followed immediately by something uglier—the actor's hands on your waist, thumbs pressing into skin that Haechan can almost feel in his own palms.
He doesn't say anything. Obviously. He just grips his coffee harder than it needs to and watches you move, hating every second of how much he can’t look away.
“Camera’s too high,” he mutters. Then louder: “Cut. Reset.”
The crew groans internally. Second take, not even thirty seconds in.
You sit back on your heels, confused but obedient. Your co-actor slides out carefully.
Haechan stands and walks over. The set goes quiet.
“I need to adjust you,” he says, voice coming out rough. “The angle’s off. You’re blocking the shot.”
He’s lying.
The angle’s fine.
He just… needs to touch you. Once. Just once. To see if it’s as bad as he remembers from yesterday’s guiding scene.
You nod. “Okay.”
He steps between your parted thighs—still kneeling on the bed, robe open just enough that he can see the curve of your stomach, the dip of your waist. He doesn’t look down. Not yet.
His hands hover for half a second, then settle.
Left palm on your hip bone. Right on the soft dip above your waist.
The second his fingertips meet your skin, something in his brain short-circuits.
Soft.
Warm.
Giving under his grip like you were made to be held. Your skin is velvet-smooth, still carrying that faint post-shower heat, and when you shift slightly to give him better access, the flesh yields just enough to make his thumbs dig in involuntarily.
Fuck, she feels like this?
He’s touched hundreds of bodies on set. Guided hands, adjusted poses, repositioned limbs like they were props. Never once did it feel like this—like electricity arcing straight to his cock. Never once did his pulse hammer in his ears just from palms on hips.
He slides his hands lower—slow, “professional”—fingers splaying over the tops of your thighs. soft, thick, trembling just a little under his touch. He presses gently, spreading them wider for the camera (bullshit excuse), and your breath hitches. Tiny. Barely audible.
But he hears it.
His thumbs stroke once—once—along the inner curve of your thigh. Not high enough to be inappropriate. Just enough to feel the heat radiating from your core, close enough that he can smell your skin, your faint vanilla lotion, the ghost of arousal that’s already there.
You’re looking up at him. Eyes wide, lips parted. Not acting.
He’s losing it.
Mentally he’s already flipped you onto your back, spread you wide, buried his face between those thighs until you’re crying his name.
Physically, he’s still just…
Adjusting.
Hands shaking now. He can feel the tremor in his own fingers and prays you don’t notice.
“Like this,” he rasps, voice so low it’s almost a growl. He rolls your hips forward a fraction—guiding the motion you’ll use later—making your body arch just so. The movement drags your skin against his palms again, plush and perfect, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning.
Your thighs flex under his grip. A soft exhale escapes you.
He freezes.
For one heartbeat, neither of you moves.
Then he forces his hands away. Steps back like he’s been burned.
“Better,” he mutters. “That’s… better.”
He turns to the crew before anyone can see how blown his pupils are. “Roll it again.”
He drops back into his chair, legs crossed to hide the obvious bulge straining against his jeans. One hand scrubs over his face. The other fists on his thigh so hard it’ll bruise.
On the monitor, you start moving again—hips rolling exactly the way he just positioned you. Slow. Sensual. Eyes flicking to him every few seconds like you’re checking if he approves.
He approves.
He approves so much he might come in his pants if you keep looking at him like that.
And the shoot’s only just started.
The cameras are rolling again. Reset complete. The POV rig is mounted—sleek, invasive, positioned right where your co-actor’s eyes would be if this were real. It captures everything from below: the slow roll of your hips, the bounce of your breasts, the way your thighs flex around his waist as you sink down inch by inch.
Haechan is back in his chair but his posture is rigid now, his fingers digging into the armrests. He’s trying—God, he’s trying—to be the detached professional. Voice steady. Directions clipped. But every word comes out rougher than the last.
“Action.”
You start moving. Slow grinds at first, building rhythm. Your co-actor’s hands rest on your hips—light, guiding. You lean back just enough for the camera to catch the arch of your back, the sway of your body.
Haechan’s eyes are glued to the monitor feed. The POV angle fills the screen: your face hovering close, lips parted, eyes locked straight down the lens. Straight at him.
He swallows hard.
“Eyes on the camera,” he directs, voice low but carrying. “Hold it. Make it feel like you’re looking right at them. Right at me—at the viewer.”
He means the viewer. He swears he means the viewer.
But the way you obey—immediately, intensely—your gaze piercing the lens like it’s his face instead. The way your lashes flutter when you sink down — just once, involuntary, like even you can't help it.
It wrecks him. Through the screen. Through every layer of professionalism he's clinging to.
You ride harder now. Hips circling, rolling, taking your co-actor deeper. Soft moans spill out, breathier than yesterday, less controlled. Your hands brace against his chest for leverage as your back arches, head tipping just enough for your hair to fall over one shoulder.
Haechan shifts in his seat, but the friction against his aching cock makes his vision blur at the edges.
“Hands up,” he says, sharper than he means to. “Grip her—firm. Support her rhythm. Make it look possessive—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “Just keep her steady.”
Your co-actor obeys instantly. His palms slide up your sides, cupping your breasts—thumbs brushing the undersides before he squeezes gently, holding you steady as you bounce.
The monitor shows it all in perfect, filthy detail: the way your tits fill his hands, the subtle give of soft flesh under his fingers, the way your nipples visibly tighten at the contact.
Your mouth falls open on a gasp—real and unscripted, your eyes locked on the camera.
Never leaving him.
Haechan’s breath stutters. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring so hard the rest of the room fades out. Onscreen, you move like you’re chasing something just out of reach—hips rolling, body tightening, every motion sharper than the last.
And those eyes.
Fixed. Wanting. Burning straight through the lens.
A groan almost slips out. He catches it at the last second—turns it into a cough, hand flying to his mouth. The crew doesn’t notice. Or if they do, they don’t say shit.
Inside, though—
He’s coming apart.
Fuck.
Look at her.
Taking it so well. Moving like that…
For the camera.
For me.
He can’t stop the thoughts.
They come fast and hot, one bleeding into the next— imagining those are his hands instead—kneading, pinching, rolling your nipples until you’re whining his name. Imagining it’s his cock you’re riding, your walls tightening around him, your eyes locked on his like it’s always been him.
“Keep the pace,” he rasps, voice catching on the last word. “Don’t speed up yet. Build it. Let her feel every inch.”
You listen.
Slow, deliberate rolls that make your thighs tremble. The actor's grip tightens, thumbs circling your nipples, and you arch into it with a soft, helpless whine that hits Haechan straight square in the chest.
His free hand drops to his thigh. Fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
He's rock hard. Has been for the last ten minutes. The denim isn't hiding anything anymore and he knows it and he can't bring himself to care because every roll of your hips on that monitor feels like it's happening to him. Every moan sounds like it's for him.
Then your eyes flick — subtle, barely a second — right to where he's sitting behind the monitor.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough.
He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood.
“Perfect,” he mutters, barely audible. “Just… fucking perfect.”
The take keeps going.
You keep looking at the camera like it’s him. He keeps watching like he’s the one buried inside you.
And he knows—deep in his aching, throbbing core—that he’s not making it through this shoot without losing it.
Not when you’re like this.
Not when it feels like you’re fucking him through the lens.
And then—
“I’m gonna cum.”
Soft. Broken. Barely above a whisper but the mics catch every syllable.
Cameras still rolling. Your hips still grinding down slow and filthy. Eyes still locked on the lens.
On him.
Wait—
Was that line in the script?
He can't remember. The script is a blur he barely glanced at because all he could think about was you — your skin under his palms earlier, your thighs trembling when he spread them, the way your breath hitched when his thumbs drifted just a little too close to where he really wanted to touch.
He doesn’t know if you’re acting.
He doesn’t know if you’re telling the crew.
He only knows you're looking straight through the camera — straight through the POV rig — straight into his eyes like the lens doesn't exist. Like there’s no crew, no fucking monitors. Just the two of you in this dimly-lit room.
Just him buried inside you.
Just him feeling every clench as you chase that edge.
“Keep going.”
His voice comes out wrecked—rougher than he’s ever let it sound on set.
It’s supposed to be a direction.
It doesn’t sound like it.
“Keep going,” he repeats, quieter this time, leaning so far forward the chair creaks. “Don’t stop. Ride it out. Let it build… let it happen.”
The crew thinks he’s talking to both of you.
He’s not.
He’s talking to you.
Telling you to keep moving like this—slow, deep, greedy—until you break.
On the monitor, the POV feed is unforgiving.
Your face fills half the frame— eyes glassy and pleading, lips parted. Your thighs shaking harder now, rhythm faltering as you get close.
You whimper — higher, needier.
“Haechan—”
His name.
Not scripted. Not “director.”
Just him.
Gasped out like a secret. Like a prayer.
His grip white-knuckles the armrest.
On screen you arch back, spine pulling into that perfect, filthy curve. Your hips stutter, grind down once—twice—and then—
You come.
For real.
Again.
Your body locks up, walls clenching tight, thighs snapping shut around your co-actor’s waist as a broken sound tears out of you. Your whole body trembles through it, shaking and helpless.
And still—
You don’t look away.
Your eyes stay locked on the lens. On him.
Tears gather at the corners, your expression wrecked from how intense it is, but you don’t blink. Don’t break.
Like you’re coming for him.
In his head, it’s his cock.
Has been since the second you said his name.
He can almost feel it — the way you'd flutter around him, chasing every last pulse while he holds your hips down and makes you take it. His mouth against your ear, voice barely above a whisper: "There you go. Just like that." — while your nails rake down his back and your mouth falls open on his name again and again.
On the monitor, you’re still riding it out—small, helpless rolls of your hips, soft whimpers fading into shaky breaths. The actor's still moving, chasing his scripted finish, but Haechan stopped seeing him a long time ago.
Only you.
The way your lips tremble like you want to say something else. Something that isn't in the script.
He's shaking.
Actually shaking in his chair.
"Cut," he rasps.
The set comes back to life. Crew members move in, lights shifting, someone calling out for water.
Haechan doesn’t move.
He stares at the frozen frame on the monitor — your face, blissed out, eyes still half-lidded and aimed exactly where he's sitting. Like even after the word "cut" you're still looking at him.
Still waiting.
He drags a hand down his face.
He has never come this close to breaking on set. Never once.
Never been this close to saying fuck the cameras, fuck the crew, fuck the rules—and just taking what’s felt like his since the moment you walked onto his set.
But he stays seated.
For now.
Because if he stands up right now everyone in this room will know exactly what you did to him.
And because he knows—deep in that aching, throbbing part of him—that the second this shoot wraps…
He’s not making it through another conversation with you without snapping.
—
The crew wraps fast—lights clicking off one by one, someone shouting about the boom mic, laughter echoing down the hall as people start heading out. You linger near the set, robe tied tight, skin still flushed and buzzing from the last take. Your thighs ache in the best-worst way.
But all you can think about is Haechan.
He's already moving — hoodie up, head down, fast and purposeful like he's trying to disappear. No goodbye. No "great work." Just gone, same as yesterday.
Something twists in your chest.
You follow before you can talk yourself out of it. Bare feet quiet against the cold floor, heart pounding so loud you’re sure he’ll hear it before you even reach him.
He slips into one of the side rooms—the green room no one uses because the AC’s broken and it always smells faintly like old coffee. Door half-open. You hesitate, then knock softly.
“Come in,” he mutters, voice tight. Distracted.
You push the door open.
He’s pacing. Three steps forward, three back. Hand dragging over his face, hoodie shoved low, hair a mess underneath. His breathing’s uneven, his shoulders are rigid, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump. Like he's one wrong word away from snapping.
You swallow. “Um… Haechan?”
He freezes mid-step. Doesn't turn around.
You take a small step inside. "I just wanted to ask about my performance. Was it… okay? The last take — I know I went off-script a little. The moaning and… saying your name. I thought it worked for the scene but if it was bad I can—"
“Stop.”
Sharp.
Too sharp.
You flinch.
He exhales hard through his nose, hand dragging through his hair. "I need to be alone right now. Just… go."
The words hit cold.
Your throat tightens. You nod, quick and small. "Oh. Okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
You turn to leave, shoulders curling in, feeling suddenly small and stupid. Of course he didn’t want to talk. Of course—
Behind you, he makes a strangled sound—half groan, half curse.
“Wait.”
You freeze. Hand still on the door.
He’s right behind you now.
You didn’t even hear him move.
He's just — there, close enough that you can smell sweat and cologne and something underneath both that makes your brain go quiet.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, quieter now. Rough. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
You don’t turn right away. Can’t.
Your voice comes out small. “You sounded like you hate me.”
A beat of silence so thick it hurts.
“I don’t hate you,” he says, voice low, strained. “Not even a little.”
You finally look at him.
His jaw is tight, eyes cutting away then back, like he keeps making a decision and unmaking it. Like whatever's happening behind his face is costing him something.
"Then why…?"
He lets out a short, humorless laugh, dragging both hands down his face again.
“Because I’m trying not to lose my fucking mind right now. And every time you’re in the same room as me, I—” He cuts himself off, jaw ticking. “You did good. You did too good. That’s the problem.”
Your heart slams against your ribs. “Too good?”
He steps closer.
Not touching. Never touching.
But close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that you can see the tension in his arms, fists clenched at his sides.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Too good. Too real. Too fucking perfect. You came on camera—twice now—like that, looking right at me, saying my name like it’s the only word you know, and I’m supposed to just… direct?” He exhales sharply. “Pretend it doesn't affect me? Pretend I'm not sitting there so hard it hurts, trying not to come in my jeans while the whole crew thinks it's just another day?"
Your breath catches.
He keeps going, voice dropping. "You have no idea what you do to me. How many times I've had to walk away so I don't drag you off that set and finish what you started. And then you come in here asking if you did a bad job?"
He exhales, sharp. "Fuck, baby. You almost killed me out there."
The pet name slips out before he can stop it.
His eyes widen a fraction — like he heard it too — but he doesn't take it back.
You’re shaking now. Not from the cold.
“I thought…” Your voice wavers. “I thought I ruined it. Or that you were mad.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. For wanting this. For wanting you.”
His throat bobs once.
“For not being able to look away when you fall apart like that.”
Silence stretches between you.
He's so close now his hoodie brushes your robe. You can feel the heat of him everywhere — chest, thighs, everywhere.
"I should go," you whisper, even though your feet won't move.
"You should," he agrees, voice rough. But he doesn't step back. Doesn't open the door wider.
Instead, his hand lifts—slow, hesitant—and hovers near your cheek. Not touching. Just… there. Fingers trembling like he’s holding himself back by a thread.
“But I don’t want you to.”
Your eyes close for a second.
When you open them, he’s still there. Still looking at you like that.
"Tell me to stop," he says quietly. "Tell me to fuck off, and I will. If you don't want this I'll back off. I swear I will." His voice dips. "But if you don't…"
He lets it trail off.
Let it sit there between you—promise and warning all at once.
The air feels too thick to breathe.
You don’t tell him to leave.
You don't move at all.
And that's all the answer he needs.
The room feels smaller now. Air thick with everything unsaid.
Haechan's still standing too close, hoodie brushing your robe, hand hovering near your cheek like he's afraid one wrong move will break whatever this is.
Your eyes drop.
Land on the small damp spot already darkening the denim.
Your breath catches audibly.
He follows your line of sight—and freezes.
Color rushes up his neck, his ears, his cheeks — he looks caught, exposed, like you just found something he's been hiding for hours.
Which you have.
You swallow. Your voice comes out small, shy, almost disbelieving.
"Is that… because of me?"
A small pause. Eyes flicking back up to his.
"I did that?"
Haechan exhales sharply. His Adam's apple bobs. He doesn't look away — can't — and his voice cracks when he answers.
"Yeah."
Just that.
No excuses. No deflection.
“Yeah, baby. You did that.”
The pet name slips again, softer this time. Careful. Like he’s testing it. His eyes search yours like he's waiting for you to bolt.
You don’t.
Instead your knees hit the floor.
A soft thud against the carpet.
You're eye level with his hips now, close enough to see the way his thighs flex when he shifts slightly. Hands hovering uncertainly just above his thighs. Not quite touching.
Haechan jolts. Hands fly up like he’s going to stop you—then stall midair.
“What—what are you doing?” His voice is strangled, panicked. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. His legs stay planted, breath coming faster, cock twitching visibly under the fabric like it’s begging for attention.
You look up at him.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, and it almost sounds real. "I didn't mean to make you this hard. It must've been so difficult. Trying to direct like that. All day."
A strangled sound leaves him—half laugh, half something rougher.
"Difficult doesn't even—" He cuts himself off the second your fingers brush the button of his jeans.
You don't ask permission. You just do it.
Button pops. Zipper rasps down slow, loud in the quiet room. You tug the waistband down with it.
He sucks in a sharp breath.
You don’t look away.
You gasp—quiet, involuntary. Eyes widening, lips parting.
He’s… bigger than you expected. Thick, flushed, the curve of him making your stomach drop as you take it in.
Haechan makes a broken noise in the back of his throat. One hand shoots to the doorframe, knuckles going white. The other hovers near your head—like he wants to thread his fingers through your hair but doesn’t trust himself not to pull.
“Fuck—wait—”
Too late.
You lean forward and take him into your mouth.
No teasing. Just warm, wet heat enveloping the head, tongue flat against the underside as you sink down on the first go.
Haechan actually stumbles a little at the feeling of it.
"Shit — oh my god —" His voice cracks, hips jerking forward before he catches himself. Hand finally lands in your hair — not pulling, just holding, trembling. "Baby — fuck — you don't have to —"
But you do.
You hum around him — and the vibration makes his whole body shudder. You pull back slow, lips dragging, tongue swirling around the head before sinking down again. Deeper this time. Cheeks hollowing. Hand wrapping around what your mouth can't reach, stroking in time.
He’s already losing it. Head tipped back against the door, eyes squeezed shut like the sight of you on your knees might actually kill him.
"You — fuck — You’re gonna fucking ruin me," he rasps. "Been hard for you since yesterday… and now this—fuck—”"
You pull off just enough to speak, lips brushing the tip.
"I'm sorry it was hard for you." A soft kiss. "Let me make it better."
Then you take him again — deeper, faster, throat relaxing as you work him with everything you've got.
“Fuck—good girl—such a good girl—”
His grip tightens. Hips start to rock — shallow, helpless thrusts he can't stop. Low, broken moans spill out of him.
He’s close. You can feel it in the way his body tenses, the way his thighs shake, the way his breath stutters like he’s trying to warn you and can’t get it out in time.
“Baby—I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”
You don't pull off.
You take him deeper.
Suck harder.
Look up at him with those same wide eyes you gave the camera all day.
And that's what breaks him.
Haechan comes with a strangled groan—hips snapping forward, cock pulsing hot and thick down your throat as he spills. You swallow around him, throat working, not spilling a drop.
He's trembling when it's over. Hand still fisted gently in your hair, thumb stroking your cheek like he’s trying to calm himself down.
You pull off slowly. Lips swollen and eyes glassy.
And he just… stares.
Like he doesn’t know what to do with what just happened.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're unreal."
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly shy again. "Did that… help?"
He lets out a weak, disbelieving laugh and drops to his knees so you're face to face. Cups your jaw in both hands, thumbs brushing your swollen lips.
Then he kisses you — hard, desperate, tasting himself on your tongue like he's claiming every second of what just happened.
The door's still unlocked.
The crew's still somewhere in the building.
But right now?
None of that exists.
Only this.
The kiss starts desperate — hands cupping your face like you're something about to vanish if he lets go.
He pulls you up from your knees in one smooth motion, body flush against his, and walks you backward until the small table catches the backs of your thighs. Lifts you onto it without breaking the kiss.
Your legs part around him instinctively. Robe falling completely open, skin cold against the surface while he presses in close.
He groans into your mouth the second he feels how wet you are — how slick your thighs still are from earlier.
“Fuck.”
The sound gets swallowed by your mouth as he kisses you harder, tongue against yours, messy and desperate. One hand tangles in your hair while the other slides down your side—finally, finally touching without cameras, without excuses, without pretending any of this is professional anymore.
"Been wanting this since the second you walked on set. Wanted to touch you. Taste you. Make you come for me instead." A pause, voice dropping to almost nothing. "Not some lens. Not some script. Me."
He drops to his knees so fast it almost hurts — kneecaps hitting the floor, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider.
He goes still for a second.
Just — looks.
Like he's been starving for this exact view and now that he has it, he doesn't know where to start.
Then he dives in.
No buildup. No teasing.
Just his mouth on you like he's been thinking about nothing else all day.
The first drag of his tongue against your clit makes your whole body jolt, your hips jerk off the table before you can stop them.
You gasp sharply, fingers flying into his hair. He moans into you. Loud. Unashamed. Like he's the one being taken apart, the vibration making your thighs shake harder around his head.
His tongue flicked against your clit relentlessly while his nose stayed pressed against your mound, buried so deep between your thighs it was like he never wanted to come up for air.
"Fuck." He groans, hot and muffled against your folds. "You taste so good."
He pulls back just enough to bite down on the inside of your thigh — not hard, just enough to feel it. Just to hear the sound you make. Then licks over the sting before burying himself back in.
His hands slide under your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the table, lifting, tilting your hips so he can get deeper — and then his tongue is inside you, curling, and you cry out sharp enough that you slap a hand over your own mouth.
His nose nudges against your clit while his tongue pushes deeper, dragging another broken sound from your throat before he comes back up to suck your clit between his lips slow enough to make your whole body shake.
And every time you react—every twitch of your hips, every pull at his hair, every helpless little sound—he moans against you again, hands tightening on your thighs like it’s getting him off too.
“Look at you,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to speak. His lips are wet, chin shining under the light, eyes completely blown. “Moaning like that for me. Fuck, baby—come on my tongue. Let me feel it.”
He dives back in.
Two fingers slide inside you, curling deep enough to make your back arch off the table while his mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking in a messy rhythm with every thrust of his hand.
You stop trying to stay quiet. You’re loud now—completely unable to stop it. Gasps turning into broken cries of his name.
“Haechan—oh god—”
He whines against you. Actually whines.
His hips jerk uselessly against nothing, cock hard again already, but he doesn’t touch himself once. Doesn’t seem to care. All he cares about is the way your thighs lock around his head like you never want him to stop.
Every reaction you give him only makes him groan louder against your skin, hands tightening around your thighs like he’s getting drunk off this.
"That's it," he growls, voice vibrating against your clit. "Come for me. Come on my face."
And you do.
Harder than on set. Harder than anything.
Your whole body locks up with it, thighs tightening around his head as a sob rips out of your throat, back arching while you pulse around his fingers.
He doesn’t stop—keeps going, moaning against you like he’s the one coming, still licking through every aftershock like he can't make himself stop.
When you finally slump back, trembling, chest heaving, he pulls away slow.
Lips swollen. Face a mess. Eyes glassy and dark and so blissed out it almost hurts to look at.
He rests his forehead against your inner thigh.
Breathing hard. Pressing soft, reverent kisses to your skin like he's grateful.
"Jesus," he whispers, voice hoarse. "I could do this forever."
He looks up at you with this dazed little smile that somehow feels filthier than anything he’s said so far.
"But we're not done."
His hands slide up your sides.
"Not even close."
He rises slowly from his knees, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, lifting you just enough to keep your legs around his waist.
Then he’s kissing you again.
Harder this time. Messier. Tongue pushing into your mouth so you can taste yourself on him, and the second you do, your stomach twists. You make this pathetic little sound into the kiss, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he groans back like the sound alone could finish him off.
“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, voice rough. “You taste so good.”
You can barely think straight after that.
One hand braces against the table beside you while the other reaches down between your bodies, guiding himself against you. He’s still hard—still twitching from your mouth earlier, from watching you come apart on his tongue.
He wraps a hand around himself and slowly drags the tip between your folds, collecting the slick already dripping out of you. The accidental brush against your clit made you whimper.
The head of his cock catches at your entrance.
He presses forward just enough to part your folds, the blunt head stretching your entrance slightly before he stops.
You look at him and his eyes are already on yours, dark and intense enough to make heat crawl up your neck all over again.
No words. Just that heavy, burning stare — like he's memorizing you. Every flicker across your face. Every breath.
Then he pushes in.
Slow.
So fucking slow.
Inch by thick inch, stretching you open, filling you until your breath hitches and your nails bite into his hoodie.
And he keeps looking at you.
Doesn’t look away once.
He watches the way your brows pinch when he bottoms out — the way your mouth falls open, the soft sound you make when he settles deep inside you.
One hand pinning your thigh wider, exposing you fully as he watches his cock disappear into your dripping cunt. The sight alone — his cock splitting your swollen lips, veins dragging against your inner walls — makes his grip tighten against your skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
His voice actually shakes a little.
“Look at you.”
Heat floods straight to your face.
“Taking me so well.”
He stays buried inside you for a long moment, like he’s letting himself feel it. Letting you feel it too.
Then he starts to move.
Slow at first. Pulling back just enough before thrusting deep again, hips rolling instead of snapping, grinding against every sensitive spot until your legs start trembling around him.
His forehead presses against yours, breaths mixing together, and when you look up at him, he’s already staring.
“You feel that?” he whispers.
Another slow thrust.
“That’s me.”
Your stomach twists hard.
“Inside you. Finally.”
You can’t even answer properly. Just nod helplessly and cling to him while your hips keep chasing him without meaning to.
He kisses you again, messy and deep, before pulling back just enough to look at you.
“Eyes on me,” he murmurs.
The same words he gave you on set. But this time there's no camera. No crew. No pretending.
“Don’t look away. I want to see every second of you cumming on my cock.”
He pulls back an inch, the drag of his cock along your walls making your breath catch, before pushing deeper again. The stretch hits harder this time, enough to make your legs tense around him, your pussy fluttering helplessly as he sinks halfway back in.
Every thrust knocks another broken sound out of you. The wet squelch of your soaked folds taking him echoes through the room while his hips keep rocking into yours, deep enough to leave you trembling around his waist.
And every time he bottoms out, the grind against your clit pulls another helpless sound from your throat.
Sweat slips down his skin, warm against your chest, and you lock your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him even closer.
One of his hands slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit in slow, firm circles, pleasure cutting through the fullness hard enough to make your whole body jerk. The other stays at the back of your neck, keeping you close.
Your body responds instantly, hips lifting to meet every thrust as the rhythm builds into something hotter, steadier. The fullness turns almost dizzying, every slow plunge hitting that sweet spot and making your walls flutter around him.
You’re already shaking.
Still sensitive from his mouth. Still completely full of him.
“Haechan—”
His name comes out embarrassingly wrecked.
“Yeah?” he groans immediately, hips stuttering for the first time. “Say it again.”
Your whole world narrows to the sounds between you — the sharp smack of skin, the wet slide every time he thrusts back into you, your broken moans mixing with his rough breathing.
The pressure inside you snaps so suddenly it almost scares you.
Your whole body tightens around him as you come with his name on your lips, vision blurring at the edges from how intense it is. Your thighs lock around his waist, and he lets out this wrecked sound like he can feel every pulse of you.
And he watches every second.
Like he can’t look away even if he wants to.
The way your body arches toward him like he’s gravity itself.
That’s what pushes him over.
He buries himself deep one last time and comes with a low, broken moan, hips twitching against yours while he rides through it. Even after, he stays close, staring at you like he’s still trying to process what just happened.
He doesn’t pull out.
The small room still smells faintly of coffee and sex, the air thick and warm from everything you’ve already done.
Haechan catches his breath against your neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses along your collarbone like he’s still savoring the taste of your skin. Then he pulls back just enough to look at you.
His eyes are dark. Still hungry.
One hand slides under your thigh while the other braces at your waist before he lifts you off the table in one smooth motion. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, ankles locking behind his back as he carries you across the room.
The movement makes you feel every inch of him still buried inside you, deep enough to pull a shaky breath from your lungs, and Haechan groans quietly at the way you tighten around him.
He steps out of his jeans halfway across the room, kicking them aside without a second thought before dropping onto the old leather couch against the wall.
The couch leather is cool and slightly sticky against Haechan’s bare back, creaking softly beneath him as he sinks deeper into it, thighs spread wide, eyes fixed on you the entire time.
Your robe is long gone now, discarded somewhere on the floor with his hoodie. Nothing between you but skin, heat, and the lingering throb of wanting more.
His hands are already on you.
Warm palms slide up the backs of your thighs, fingers spreading possessively over your skin as he guides you into his lap. Your knees sink into the worn cushions on either side of his hips, chest pressed flush against his.
Every tiny movement drags your nipples against his, sends another pulse of heat straight through you. You can feel his heartbeat hammering beneath your hands — fast, uneven, matching the ache building low in your stomach.
And the way he looks up at you —
Like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to touch.
His hands slide to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to guide, not force. He doesn’t rush. Just keeps you there for a second, letting you feel the slow pulse of him still inside you.
“Ride me,” he says, voice low and rough, eyes never leaving yours.
“Slow,” he murmurs. “Like you did on set… but this time it’s just for me.”
You lift yourself slightly, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other guides him back inside you. He feels hot and heavy against your slick folds, the head of him catching at your entrance before slowly sliding deeper.
The stretch hits harder like this — facing him, every inch sliding in with a slow, burning glide that makes your breath hitch audibly. You sink down inch by inch, feeling the way he throbs inside you like a second heartbeat while his eyes stay locked on your face the entire time.
When your ass finally meets his thighs—fully seated, stuffed full— Haechan’s head falls back against the couch with a low groan. His hands flex hard against your hips like he’s trying to hold himself together, eyes squeezing shut for half a second before snapping open again.
And then he’s looking at you.
Like he can’t stand missing a single second of this.
“Fuck—baby,” he breathes.
His hands wander up your back before settling on your hips, helping guide you into the same slow roll that already has both of you breathing harder.
“You feel so good,” he groans softly. “Still so fucking tight…”
You start moving properly then — slow lifts until only the head remains inside followed by deep, dragging drops, grinding down every time your hips meet his.
The angle is perfect. Every roll presses against that spot inside you while the friction between your bodies sends heat shooting straight up your spine.
Wet sounds fill the quiet room — slick, rhythmic, embarrassingly loud — mixing with your uneven breathing and the occasional creak of the old couch beneath you.
Haechan’s hands roam everywhere.
Thighs. Waist. Up your sides.
Thumbs brushing beneath your breasts before he cups them fully, palms hot against your skin as his fingers toy with your nipples until they ache. Then he leans in and takes one into his mouth with a groan, sucking hard before switching to the other while you whimper and grind down harder against him.
But somehow he always comes back to your face.
A hand cups your jaw, thumb dragging lightly across your bottom lip as he keeps your gaze fixed on him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep looking at me.”
The words sound dangerously close to his on-set directions, except softer now. Rougher around the edges. Possessive in a way that makes your stomach twist.
Every time you sink back down, your clit catches against the coarse hair at the base of him, sending a sharp pulse through you. The pressure building inside you feels different this time — deeper, heavier, like something tightening low in your stomach every time he thrusts up into you.
“I wanna see every time you feel good,” he says quietly. “Every time I make you feel good.”
His mouth finds your neck, sucking lightly while his teeth graze your pulse.
His hips start rolling up to meet you now, deep controlled thrusts that make you gasp every time he bottoms out.
You whimper softly, hips faltering for a second when he thrusts into you again.
“That’s it,” he groans, voice cracking this time. “Just like that—fuck.”
His grip tightens at your hips.
“Your face when you take me…” He breaks off with another breathless sound, eyes dragging over your expression. “God.”
His thumb finds your clit, circling slow and firm in time with your hips. The pressure builds so intensely your thighs start shaking around him, pleasure twisting almost painfully low in your stomach—too much fullness, too much heat, too much him.
He angles his hips just slightly on the next thrust, hitting that spot perfectly while his thumb presses harder against your clit.
“Haechan—”
His name comes out broken and pleading. Your thighs are trembling, burning, but you can’t stop.
The release crashes over you so suddenly it steals the breath from your lungs.
Something inside you snaps.
You cry out, back arching hard your breasts press into his face as your walls tighten around him in sharp pulsing waves. Wet heat floods between your thighs, soaking him, the couch, both of you, and the sound of it makes Haechan groan low in his throat like he can’t believe what he’s feeling.
“Fuck—yeah, that’s it—”
He’s moaning with you now, hips stuttering while he watches your face like he’s completely gone from it.
“So pretty,” he breathes brokenly. “Fuck… you’re so pretty when you come.”
He doesn’t stop moving. Keeps thrusting through it slowly, dragging out every tremor until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation, thighs shaking so badly you can barely stay upright.
Only then does he finally let himself go.
One last deep thrust, burying himself inside you as he comes with a wrecked groan of your name, arms tightening around you while both of you shake through it.
You collapse against his chest afterward, breathing hard, skin damp with sweat and everything else. His arms wrap around you immediately, holding you close like he doesn’t want an inch of space between you.
Open-mouthed kisses press against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
“Jesus,” he whispers, voice completely ruined. “You just… fuck.”
You hide your face in his neck, suddenly too embarrassed to look at him.
He laughs softly under his breath, still sounding wrecked, fingers sliding gently through your hair.
“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Another kiss presses against your hairline before he shifts you carefully in his lap, still inside you and softening slowly, until you’re curled against his chest.
For a long moment afterward, neither of you moves.
Just breathing.
Skin sticking together.
The faint drip of your combined release somewhere beneath you.
His heartbeat slowing beneath your cheek.
His lips brush your ear, smile warm against your skin.
“…I genuinely don’t know how I’m supposed to direct tomorrow without losing my mind.”
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ six years of tension snap when satoru’s jealousy finally explodes, leading to a heated argument that turns into a desperate, messy hookup where he makes it very clear you’ve always been his.
✿ ◞◟) gojo satoru 𝓍 female!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, porn with plot (but its mostly porn lmao), best friends to lovers, jealousy, satoru is down bad, lot of kissing, handjob, big dick!satoru, biting, begging, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, missionary + doggy style, praise, dirty talk, satoru is pathetic.
gojo satoru had been your best friend for six years, and in that time, you'd learned to accept certain things about him.
one — he was obnoxiously handsome. not in a way that felt fair or earned, but in the kind of effortless, god-cheated way that made waitresses forget his order and strangers stop him on the street to tell him he should model. satoru had white hair that never seemed to have a bad day, lashes so long they cast tiny shadows on his cheeks, and eyes so blue they looked like someone had turned up the saturation on just him while the rest of the world stayed normal.
two — satoru had very, very loud opinions, especially about anyone you dated.
you'd noticed the pattern about a year into your friendship, when you'd casually mentioned a guy from your psych class who'd asked for your number. satoru had been sprawled across your couch, stealing your fries, and he'd gone still for a second before tilting his head and saying;
"him? really? he's got weird eyebrows."
you'd blinked at him.
"his eyebrows are fine."
"they're asymmetrical," satoru had said, like that was a real crime. "and he laughs like a seal. you really want to listen to that for a whole date?"
you'd gone on the date anyway.
the guy's eyebrows had been perfectly normal, and his laugh had been genuinely nice, but satoru's comment had stuck in your head the whole time, making you hyperaware of things you never would have noticed otherwise.
that was his gift, or his curse, you hadn't decided yet.
since then, there had been others;
a very sweet and cute guy from your economics discussion group who satoru had dismissed as "way too short for you" (he’d been five eleven). a sweet philosophy major who satoru had claimed "smelled like soup" (he hadn't). a theater student who satoru had said was "obviously using you to get over his ex" (that one had actually been true, and you'd hated admitting satoru was right).
each time, satoru had been there, lounging in your space like he belonged there, making comments that ranged from mildly annoying to borderline cruel. and each time, you'd rolled your eyes and gone on the date anyway, because that was just how satoru was; opinionated, dramatic, a little bit of an asshole.
but satoru was also the one who showed up at your door at 2am with takeout when you failed a midterm.
the one who let you cry on his shoulder after the theater student broke your heart, the one who remembered how you took your coffee and which side of the bed you slept on and the name of your childhood stuffed animal.
so you let the comments slide, mostly.
but this time was different.
this time, his name was jaehyun, and you'd met him at a house party two weeks ago — the guy was in grad school for architecture, had kind eyes and a quiet laugh, and when he'd asked you out for coffee, you'd felt that little flutter in your chest that you'd almost forgotten existed.
you'd mentioned him to satoru casually, the way you always did, expecting the usual eyeroll and some stupid comment about jaehyun's haircut or his shoes.
what you got was something else entirely.
"jaehyun?" satoru had repeated, his voice doing something very strange — going flat in a way it never did. "what kind of name is jaehyun?"
"a perfectly normal one," you'd said, not looking up from your phone. "he's in grad school. architecture. really sweet."
"architecture," he had echoed, like you'd said jaehyun collected human teeth. "so he draws buildings. cool. very exciting."
you'd glanced up then, frowning.
satoru was sitting across from you at the campus coffee shop, his long legs stretched out under the table, one of his legs pressed against yours in that way he always did — like he needed to be touching you to exist properly. his sunglasses were pushed up into his white hair, and his expression was carefully, almost aggressively, neutral.
"what's your problem?" you'd asked.
"nothing," he'd said, too fast. "no problem. i'm thrilled for you. jaehyun the architect. hope he designs you a very nice house."
you'd stared at satoru for a very long moment, waiting for the usual punchline. but he'd just smiled — that big, fake, toothy smile that meant he was annoyed about something and pretending he wasn't at all.
you'd let it go. you were used to satoru being weird.
but over the next week, his weirdness escalated into something you couldn't ignore.
it started small; satoru started showing up at your apartment unannounced, which wasn't new — he'd always done that, letting himself in with the key you'd given him after he'd climbed your fire escape twice in one week. but before, he'd text first, or at least announce his presence with a dramatic "honey, i'm home!" as he walked through the door.
now, he just appeared.
you'd be doing dishes, and suddenly there he was, leaning against your doorframe like he'd been there the whole time. you'd be studying at your desk, and satoru’s chin would appear over your shoulder, his chest warm against your back, asking what you were doing in a voice that was way too low for the question he was asking.
and god, the touching.
satoru had always been touchy. you'd known that about him from the beginning — the way he'd sling an arm over your shoulders, rest his hand on your lower back when you walked through crowds, drape his legs over yours when you sat together on the couch.
he was a physical person, and you'd never minded, because it was just satoru.
but this was very different.
now, satoru’s hand found the small of your back every time you stood next to him. his fingers brushed your wrist when you handed him something. when you sat on the couch together, he pulled you against his side like you might float away if he didn't hold you down, his arm tight around your waist, his thumb tracing circles against your hip.
and it was always casual, always easy, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it.
but you were aware.
painfully aware, every time his thigh pressed against yours, every time his breath ghosted across your neck when he leaned in to look at your phone, every time his fingers lingered on your skin a second longer than they needed to.
you didn't say anything. because what would you even say? 'hey, why are you touching me so much?' that sounded crazy. he was your best friend, and best friends touched.
but then came the comments…
"so when am i meeting jaehyun?" satoru asked one afternoon, sprawled across your bed while you got ready to go out.
you weren't even going out with jaehyun — you were simply going to a study group — but satoru had shown up forty minutes ago and hadn't left.
"you're not," you said, digging through your closet for a hoodie. "we've been on two coffee dates. it's not serious."
"but it could be," satoru said.
it was not a question, and his blue eyes tracked you across the room, and you felt them like a physical weight.
"maybe," you said, because you didn't know yet.
jaehyun was nice. jaehyun was safe. but jaehyun didn't make your heart race in that annoying, confusing way that made you want to scream.
satoru made a sound in the back of his throat, something low and very dissatisfied.
"jaehyun wears new balance sneakers," satoru said, like he was delivering a closing argument. "new balance! do you really want to be seen with a man who wears new balance?"
you turned to look at him.
"you're wearing crocs right now."
"crocs are ironic," satoru said, completely serious. "new balance is a cry for help."
you threw a pillow at him. he caught it without looking, grinning, and you tried to ignore how your stomach flipped.
the worst night, the night everything broke, started like this;
you had a date, a real one.
jaehyun had texted you earlier in the week asking if you wanted to go to that new ramen place downtown, the one with the hour-long wait and the broth people wrote blog posts about. you'd said yes, because you'd been wanting to go, and because jaehyun's texts made you smile, and because you were trying very hard to be normal about all of this.
you hadn't told satoru.
not because you were hiding it, exactly, but because you knew damn well — you knew — what would happen if you did; the comments, the touching, the way he'd look at you with those too-blue eyes like he was trying to communicate something you didn't have the vocabulary to understand.
so you kept it to yourself.
you got dressed in your room, you picked out a black dress that made you feel so pretty, you did your makeup carefully in the bathroom mirror. your hair fell prettily in waves around your shoulders, and you added a necklace — something delicate, something that caught the light.
you casually were just reaching for your black coat when the front door opened.
"satoru," you said, and your voice came out strangled.
your best friend stood in your doorway, and for a moment, neither of you moved. his eyes swept over you — the dress, the makeup, the necklace — and something flickered across his face; something fast and dark that he smoothed over before you could fully read it.
"going somewhere?" satoru asked, and his voice was light, but his jaw was tight.
you should have lied. you should have said study group, or grocery shopping, or literally anything else, but you'd never lied to satoru before, not about anything that mattered, and you didn't know how to start now.
"i have a date," you said. "with jaehyun."
the silence that followed was deafening.
satoru didn't move; he simply stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, his body blocking the doorway like he could physically prevent you from leaving. his white hair was slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it, and he was wearing that black sweater you liked — the one that made his shoulders look impossibly broad.
"jaehyun," he repeated flatly.
"yes," you said, and your voice came out smaller than you intended. "jaehyun. the architect. the one i told you about."
"i know who jaehyun is," satoru said.
he completely stepped into the apartment, finally, and pushed the door closed behind him. the click of the lock was weirdly loud in the quiet room.
"i just thought you would have better taste."
the casual cruelty of it stung.
you felt it in your chest, sharp and hot, and suddenly you were so tired — tired of the comments, tired of the games, tired of the way satoru touched you and looked at you and made you feel like you were constantly missing something obvious.
"what is your problem, satoru?" you asked, and your voice cracked in the middle.
satoru blinked. "what?"
"you heard me."
you turned to face him fully, your coat completely forgotten on the couch. your hands were shaking, so you curled them into fists at your sides.
"every single time i mention someone, you have something to say. their eyebrows are wrong, they're too short, they smell like soup—"
"the soup thing was valid—"
"it wasn't!" you shouted, and satoru's mouth snapped shut. "it wasn't, satoru. and now it's jaehyun, and you won't even give him a chance. you show up at my apartment without warning, you won't stop touching me, you look at me like—"
you stopped, breathless, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat.
satoru was watching you with an expression you'd never seen before. his usual mask — the arrogant smirk, the lazy confidence, the annoying playfulness — had slipped away entirely. underneath was something raw. something hungry.
"like what?" satoru asked, and his voice was low. rough. "like what, sweetheart?"
you shook your head, stepping back, and your legs hit the edge of the couch.
"this isn't fair. you can't just—you don't get to act like this every time i try to move on. you don't get to be jealous when you're the one who—"
"jealous?" satoru laughed, but there was no humor in it. "you think i'm jealous?"
"i know you are," you said. "everyone can see it, satoru. suguru sees it. shoko sees it. i'm pretty sure my neighbor across the hall sees it, and she's half-blind."
satoru's jaw tightened.
he took a step toward you, then another, until he was close enough that you could smell his cologne — something clean and warm, like cedar and vanilla. his hand came up, and you flinched, but he just tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his long fingers trailing down the side of your neck.
"and what if i am?" he murmured. "jealous. what if i can't stand the thought of you going out with him tonight? what if i've been going crazy for weeks, watching you text him, hearing you say his name—"
"then you should have said something," you whispered, and your voice broke on the last word.
satoru's hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had to look at him. his eyes were almost desperate, searching your face like he was looking for something he needed to survive.
"i'm saying something now," he said. "i can't watch you with anyone else. i can't do it. i've tried—god, i've tried—but every time you smile at someone who isn't me, i want to tear something apart."
your breath caught. "satoru—"
"so if you're gonna be with someone," he continued, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "it's gonna be me."
the words hung in the air between you, heavy and electric.
you could feel the heat of satoru’s body through your dress, could see the way his chest rose and fell with each uneven breath. his hand was still on your jaw, gentle but firm, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.
"what about jaehyun?" you asked, and it came out breathless.
satoru's eyes darkened. "fuck jaehyun."
and just like that, he kissed you.
it wasn't a soft or gentle kiss, no, it was so desperate and hungry and a little bit angry, like satoru had been holding this back for long years and the dam had finally broken.
satoru’s mouth moved against yours like he was trying to prove something, his hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you deeper.
you made a little sound — something between a gasp and a moan — and satoru swallowed it. his other hand found your waist, pulling you against him until there was no space left between your bodies; he was warm and solid and everywhere, and your brain had stopped working entirely.
when he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. satoru’s lips were swollen, his eyes dark, and there was a flush creeping up his neck that you'd never seen before.
"tell me you don't want this," he said, his voice rough. "tell me to stop, and i will. but if you don't—"
you kissed him again, because you couldn't not. because six long years of insane tension and longing and denial had been building to this moment, and now that it was here, you couldn't imagine doing anything else.
satoru groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. he walked you backward until your legs hit the couch, and then he was lowering you onto the cushions, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the fabric.
"god, i've wanted this for so long," he murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point. "so fucking long. you have no idea."
"then show me," you said, and you felt him shudder.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes roaming over your face like he was memorizing it.
"when i'm done with you," satoru said, and his voice was low and dark and full of promise. "you're not gonna remember jaehyun's name."
and then he kissed you again, and you stopped thinking about jaehyun entirely.
satoru's mouth was hot and insistent, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl inside your boots. he kissed like he did everything else — like he was competing for something, like he needed to win. but there was desperation underneath it, a trembling kind of hunger that made his hands shake slightly where they gripped your hips.
you kissed him back just as hard, your fingers tangling in his soft white hair, pulling him impossibly closer.
satoru made a sound — something low and wrecked — and his hips pressed into yours instinctively; you could feel him already, hard against your thigh through his jeans, and the knowledge sent a rush of heat straight through your core.
"bedroom," satoru murmured hungrily against your lips, and it wasn't a question.
you nodded, breathless, and then he was pulling you up off the couch, his hands never leaving your body. one palm flat against your lower back, the other cupping the side of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair. satoru kissed you the whole way down the hall — deep, messy kisses that made you stumble backward, trusting him to guide you.
he did. of course he did.
satoru’s body was a wall of heat in front of you, and his hands were everywhere; your waist, your ribs, the curve of your ass through your dress. he squeezed once, experimentally, and when you gasped into his mouth, he did it again, harder.
"fuck," he breathed, and you felt the word more than heard it.
your bedroom door was open, and he walked you through it without looking, his attention entirely on your mouth, your jaw, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver when he kissed it. the backs of your knees hit the bed, and you fell backward onto the mattress, pulling him with you.
satoru caught himself on his forearms, hovering over you, his hair falling forward into his eyes.
for a second, he just looked at you, like he couldn't believe you were here, beneath him, your dress riding up your thighs and your lipstick smeared across his mouth.
"you're so pretty," satoru said, and his voice cracked in the middle. "god, you're so pretty. i'm gonna lose my mind."
then he sat back on his heels and pulled his sweater over his head in one movement.
you'd seen satoru without a shirt before — pool parties, beach trips, that one time his dorm ac broke and he'd walked around campus in nothing but shorts for a week. but this was different; this was close, and private, and his skin was flushed pink across his chest, and you could see everything.
satoru’s shoulders were absurdly broad, tapering down to a narrow waist that made your mouth water. his chest was defined but not bulky — it was lean muscle that shifted under pale skin as he moved, and there was a thin line of white hair trailing down from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans, and satoru’s arms were roped with veins that stood out when he flexed.
he caught you staring and smiled — not his usual cocky grin, but something softer, almost shy.
"like what you see?"
"shut up," you said, and reached for him.
satoru came down willingly, his body pressing you into the mattress, his skin warm and smooth against your palms. you ran your hands over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.
he was all heat and tension, and when your nails dragged lightly down his spine, satoru groaned and buried his pretty face in your neck.
"you're gonna kill me," he mumbled into your skin.
you kissed his shoulder, then his collarbone, then the hinge of his jaw. your hands slid down his sides, over his ribs, and when they reached the button of his jeans, you didn't hesitate.
satoru went rigid.
your fingers fumbled with the button, then the zipper, and then you were reaching inside his boxers, and—
oh!
satoru was ridiculously big.
well… you'd known he would be, somehow — everything about satoru was excessive, after all — but fucking hell, feeling him in your hand was completely different. he was thick and hot and already leaking, and when you wrapped your fingers around him, his whole body shuddered.
"sweetheart," satoru gasped, and it came out as a whine, so high and so desperate.
his hips jerked into your hand involuntarily, and he dropped his forehead to your shoulder, his breathing ragged.
"fuck, fuck, please—"
you stroked him slowly, your thumb spreading the wetness at the tip, and satoru made a sound you'd never heard from him before. it was broken and insanely needy, and satoru was shaking — actually shaking — his long fingers digging into the mattress on either side of your head.
"please what?" you asked, and your own voice was rough.
he lifted his head just enough to look at you, and his eyes were glassy, pupils blown so wide there was almost no blue left.
"please don't stop," satoru whispered. "please. i've wanted this for so long. i've thought about your hands—god, i've thought about your hands so much—"
you squeezed gently, just a little firmer, and his sentence cut off in a choked moan.
satoru buried his face in your neck again, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, and you felt him pulse in your hand; his whole body was tense, thighs flexing against yours, and you could feel how close he was — the way his stomach kept twitching, the way his hips started moving in small, desperate little thrusts into your fist.
"if you keep doing that," satoru said, muffled against your shoulder, "i'm not gonna last."
you didn't answer, you just kept going — steady, intentional, your grip adjusting to the slickness now, your thumb pressing into that spot right under the head on every upstroke. you wanted to see satoru fall apart; you wanted it more than you'd ever wanted anything.
and then he did.
it wasn't loud, that was the thing.
satoru’s breath hitched, held, and then released in a long, shuddering exhale against your neck. his whole body locked up for a second — his back arching just slightly, fingers twisting in the sheets — and then he broke.
you felt it in your hand first; the pulsing, the warmth spilling over your fingers, the way satoru’s hips stuttered and stopped. then the rest of him followed; his forehead pressed harder into your shoulder, almost like he was hiding. his arms trembled on either side of you. a sound came out of him — soft, wrecked, more breath than voice — and you realized his free hand had moved to grip your hip, not guiding you, just holding on.
you kept stroking him through it, slow and gentle now, and satoru whimpered and tried sooo hard to squirm away from the sensitivity even as he pushed into your touch at the exact same time. satoru’s face was still buried in your neck, and you could feel how warm his cheeks were, how damp his lashes were against your skin.
for a moment, neither of you moved.
satoru’s breathing was uneven, hitching every few seconds like he was still coming down, and your hand was a mess, and you didn't care at all.
finally, he lifted his head.
satoru’s face was flushed, his lips parted, his hair a disaster. he looked at you like he'd never seen you before — or maybe like he was seeing you clearly for the first time.
"your turn," you said, and your voice was steadier than you felt.
he blinked slowly, like the words had to travel through fog to reach him, then something completely shifted in satoru’s expression — something dark and determined settling over his still-soft features, a spark of that familiar satoru intensity cutting through the haze.
"my turn," he agreed.
his still trembling hands easily found the hem of your dress, and he pulled it up and over your head with an impatience that made you laugh — a breathless, surprised sound that turned into a gasp when he bent down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach.
satoru worked his way up slowly, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered, his lips hot and wet and reverent. when he reached your bra, he looked up at you, asking silent permission. you simply nodded, and he reached behind you to unclasp it with fingers that trembled even more.
the bra joined your dress on the floor.
satoru sat back on his heels and stared at you; his blue eyes traveled down your body — your breasts, your stomach, the lace edge of your panties — and his expression was almost painful to look at; like he was in awe, like he was in pain.
"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was hoarse. "i don't—i can't—"
"toru," you said, and your own voice was shaking. "please."
that broke whatever trance he was in.
satoru lowered himself over you again, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was softer this time, almost tender, and his hand slid down your body, over your ribs, your hip, until his fingers brushed the waistband of your panties.
he pulled back just enough to look down, and then his fingers were hooking into the lace, but he didn't pull them off. instead, satoru pushed them to the side.
the air hit your wetness, and you felt exposed and seen and so incredibly turned on you thought you might combust. satoru's breath caught when he saw you completely, and his pupils swallowed the very last of the blue.
"all this for me?" he murmured, his fingers hovering just above where you needed him.
"y-yes," you said, and you meant it more than you'd ever meant anything. "always for you."
satoru’s eyes flicked up to yours, and something shifted in his expression; something soft and fierce and terrified all at once. then he looked back down, and his middle finger slid through your folds, gathering your wetness, circling your clit in a way that made your hips jerk off the bed.
"fuck," you gasped.
"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and focused. "that's it, sweetheart. let me hear you."
he circled your clit again, slow and meticulous, watching your face. when you moaned — loud, involuntary — his lips curved into a smile that was almost smug, but then you moaned again, and his smile faltered, replaced by something hungrier.
"you have no idea," satoru said, his finger still moving in lazy circles. "what this sound does to me."
he pushed two fingers inside you without warning, and your back arched off the bed.
it was so good — way too good — the stretch of his long fingers, the curl of them inside you, the way he found that spot immediately like he'd been studying a map of your body for years. his thumb pressed against your clit, and he started a rhythm that made your vision blur.
"right there?" satoru asked, and his voice was strained.
"y-yes—yes, don't stop—"
and satoru didn't stop.
he fucked you with his long fingers like he really meant it, his palm slapping against your clit with every single thrust, his blue eyes never once leaving your face; he watched every expression, cataloged every sound, and satoru’s own breathing was ragged, his hips pressing into the mattress like he was fucking it just to keep himself sane.
"you're so wet," he said, almost to himself. "god, you're so wet. is this because of me? because of what i said?"
you couldn't answer — you couldn't form any words — so you simply nodded, your hands desperately gripping the sheets, your hips rocking against his hand.
"say it," satoru demanded, his fingers curling harder. "say you want this. say you want me."
"i want you," you sobbed. "i want you, toru, please—"
he added a third finger, and the stretch was almost too much, the pressure building in your core until you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do a damn thing but feel. his thumb pressed harder against your clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers, and he leaned down to kiss your chest, your collarbone, the side of your breast.
"cum for me," he murmured against your skin. "cum on my fingers, sweetheart. i want to feel it."
you shattered.
it crashed over you in huge waves, your whole body convulsing, your nails digging into satoru's shoulders as you rode out the pleasure. he didn't stop — he kept his fingers deep inside you, he kept his thumb on your clit, working you through every aftershock until you were trembling and oversensitive and crying his name into the quiet room.
when you finally stilled, satoru pulled his fingers out slowly, carefully, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought them to his mouth.
he licked them clean.
his eyes never left yours as he did it, his tongue sliding between his long fingers, tasting you like you were something precious. he made a sound — low and satisfied — and when he was done, and held his fingers out to you.
"your turn," he said, echoing your words from earlier.
you took his wrist and guided his fingers to your mouth; you sucked them in, one by one, tasting yourself on his skin. his breath hitched, and his hips jerked against the mattress, and you felt powerful in a way you'd never felt before.
when you let go, satoru’s fingers were slick with your spit, and his eyes were almost black.
"f-fuck," he whispered. "fuck, sweetheart. i need—i need to be inside you. please. i can't—"
he was shaking again, his composure crumbling completely, his body vibrating with need above you. you could feel him through his jeans, hard and aching, and you wanted him so badly it was a physical pain.
"then do it," you said. "do it, satoru."
he fumbled with his jeans, pushing them down just enough, and then he was there — pressing against your entrance, the head of his huge cock nudging at your wetness, both of you breathing too fast.
"look at me," he said, and his voice was raw. "i want you to look at me when i finally make you mine."
his voice cracked on the last word, and something in your chest splintered; this wasn't just sex, you could see it in his eyes — blown wide, glassy, stripped of every layer of sarcasm and swagger he'd ever worn. satoru looked terrified and hungry and so in love it was almost painful to witness.
"toru," you whispered, and his name felt different in your mouth now.
"i know," he said, and he sounded almost sorry. "i know we should talk. i know we're gonna have to figure out what the hell we're doing tomorrow. but right now—"
he pressed forward, just barely, the head of his cock catching against your entrance, and you both gasped.
"—right now, i need to be inside you. i need to feel you cum around me. and i need you to watch me fall apart while i do it."
you nodded, unable to speak, and satoru pushed in.
just an inch — slow, so slow — and your body stretched around him, full and burning in a way that made your eyes water. satoru was so much bigger than his fingers, thicker and hotter, and the pressure was almost too much. you felt every millimeter, every pulse of his cock as it slid into you, and the sound he made — god, the sound — was something you'd never heard from him before.
it was a broken moan, high and desperate, like he was the one being split open.
"fuck," satoru choked out, his forehead dropping to yours, and his breath was hot and uneven against your lips. "f-fuck, baby. you're so—you're so tight—i can't—"
his hips stuttered, and he pushed deeper, another inch, and your nails dug into his shoulders. the stretch burned in the best way, your body adjusting to him, and you could feel every ridge, every vein, every tiny shift of his hips.
"m-more," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "please, toru. i want all of it."
satoru made a sound like a wounded animal, and then he pushed forward in one long, slow thrust until he was buried completely inside you.
you both stopped breathing.
he was everywhere, filling you completely, stretching you in a way that bordered on overwhelming, his hips flush against yours; you could feel him throbbing inside you, could feel the way his whole body trembled above you, his arms shaking where they caged you in.
"oh my god," satoru breathed, and his voice was wrecked, absolutely destroyed. "oh my god. sweetheart. you feel—i can't—there aren't words."
his eyes were squeezed shut now, his jaw tight, and you watched a bead of sweat roll down his temple. he looked like he was in pain. like he was holding on by a thread.
"toru," you said, reaching up to cup his face. "look at me."
his eyes opened, and what you saw there completely made your heart clench; satoru looked dazed, almost drunk, his pupils so blown there was only a thin ring of blue left now, his lips were parted, his breathing ragged, and when you ran your thumb across his cheekbone, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to your palm.
"you're gonna be the death of me," satoru murmured against your skin. "you know that, right? i've been imagining this for six years, and it's still—it's so much better than i ever—" he cut himself off with a shaky exhale. "i'm not gonna last. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, but i can't—"
"then don't," you said. "move, toru. please move."
well… he didn't need to be told twice.
satoru pulled out slowly — agonizingly slowly — until only the tip remained inside you, and then he pushed back in, just as slow, just as deep, his eyes never left yours, watching your face as he bottomed out again, and the expression on his face was one of pure, reverent awe.
"that's it," he whispered. "god, that's it. you're taking me so well, sweetheart. so fucking well."
he did it again, and again, each thrust was slow, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every sensation; the drag of his huge cock against your walls, the way you clenched around him, the little sounds you made every time he pushed back in. his hands roamed your body — your waist, your ribs, your breasts — touching you like he was afraid you'd disappear.
"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was thick. "i've wanted to touch you like this for so long. you have no idea how many times i've jerked off thinking about you. thinking about these sounds you're making right now."
satoru’s hips snapped forward a little harder, and you moaned at that — loud and unfiltered — and satoru's eyes rolled back for just a second.
"yeah," he breathed. "yeah, like that. i want to hear you. i want everyone to hear you. i want jaehyun to hear you and know—know that you're mine."
the possessiveness in his voice should have scared you, but instead, it made you clench around him, and satoru groaned so loudly you felt it vibrate through his chest.
"you like that?" he asked, his pace picking up slightly. "you like it when i get jealous? when i talk about how you're mine?"
"fuck—yes," you admitted, because you couldn't lie anymore.
not with your best friend inside you, not with his skin against yours, not with the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
satoru's smile was sharp and hungry.
"good. because you are mine. you have been since the day you let me climb your fire escape."
satoru kissed you then — it was deep and messy, his warm tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that matched his hips. he was fucking you slowly but deeply now, each thrust pushing you up the bed a little, and you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer.
that changed everything.
the angle made him hit something inside you — something that made stars burst behind your eyes, and you cried out against his mouth, and satoru swallowed the sound, his hips stuttering before he found a new rhythm; faster, harder, still deep, but no longer gentle.
"there?" satoru gasped, pulling back just enough to look at your face. "is that the spot? right there?"
you couldn't answer, you could only nod, your hands fisting in his white hair, pulling him down so you could bite his lower lip. and satoru moaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward so hard the headboard banged against the wall.
"oh—f-fuck, sweetheart," satoru panted. "you're gonna make me come so fast. i can't—i've been waiting too long for this. you feel too good."
his hand slid between your bodies, and his thumb found your clit, and you nearly screamed.
he circled it in tight, fast motions, exactly the way you needed, and the combination of his enormous cock hitting that sweet spot inside you and his thumb on your clit was too much. the pleasure built so quickly it was almost painful, your whole body tightening like a coil about to snap.
"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and dark and completely gone. "cum for me again, sweetheart. i want to feel you cum on my cock this time. i want to feel you squeeze me while i'm inside you."
his thumb pressed harder, his hips moved faster, and he was looking at you — watching every micro-expression on your face with an intensity that should have been overwhelming.
but all you could feel was him. all you could hear was the sound of his breathing, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together, the little whimpers that fell from his lips every time you clenched around him.
"i'm close," you managed, your voice breaking. "oh my god, toru, i'm so close—"
"yeah?"
satoru was practically fucking you in earnest now, his composure completely gone; his hair was a mess, his face flushed, his lips swollen from your kisses.
"you gonna cum for me? gonna soak my cock, sweetheart? i want to feel it. i want to feel you—"
you came.
it surged through you without warning, your whole body arching off the bed, your nails raking down satoru’s back as you convulsed around him. satoru groaned — a deep, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere primal — and his hips kept moving, kept thrusting, working you through every second of your orgasm.
"oh, fuck," he gasped. "oh, fuckfuckfuck, sweetheart—you're squeezing me so tight—i can't—i'm gonna—"
satoru pulled out just enough that you felt the first pulse of his release, hot and sudden, and then he pushed back in and buried himself to the hilt as he came inside you.
his whole body shook, his arms gave out, and satoru collapsed on top of you, his face buried deep in your neck, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he emptied himself into you. he made sounds you'd never heard him make — broken, desperate sounds, almost like sobs — and you felt each pulse of his cock, each wave of his release, hot and filling.
"g-god," satoru whispered against your sweaty skin. "god, sweetheart. i love—i—"
he didn't finish the sentence, maybe he couldn't, maybe he was too far gone.
you held him, your fingers threading through his sweaty hair, your legs still wrapped around his waist. his cock was still inside you, softening slightly but not pulling out, and you could feel his cum leaking out around him, warm and wet.
for a long moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, the only sounds were your breathing, slowly evening out, and the distant hum of the city outside your window.
satoru's hand was tracing patterns on your hip, lazy and absent, and you thought maybe he'd fallen asleep. maybe you'd get a moment to process what had just happened.
then satoru shifted.
his hips rolled forward, just slightly, and you felt him twitch inside you.
"satoru," you said, your voice hoarse.
he lifted his head, and his eyes met yours; they were still dark, still blown wide, but there was something new there now. something hungry and determined and a little bit feral.
"i'm not done," satoru said, and his voice was rough. "i'm not even close to done."
he pulled out slowly, and you felt the loss of him acutely — the sudden emptiness, the trickle of satoru’s cum that slid down your trembling thigh. but before you could mourn it, he was flipping you over, pulling you onto your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips.
"i've been thinking about this position for years," satoru murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "thinking about how deep i could get. how loud you'd be."
you heard him spit into his hand — you heard the wet sound of him stroking himself — and then he was pressing against your entrance again, already hard, already ready.
"toru," you said again, and it came out as a pathetic whimper. "i'm still sensitive—"
"i know," satoru said, and he sounded almost apologetic. almost. "but you feel too good, sweetheart. and i'm so fucking obsessed with you. i can't stop. i don't want to stop."
he pushed in, and you both moaned.
it was different from the first time; you were still so wet, still so stretched, still so full of his cum, and satoru slid in easier now, way deeper, until you felt him in your stomach.
satoru paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to the back of your neck.
"baby, tell me when," satoru said, his voice strained. "tell me when you're ready."
you took a breath, then another, the sensitivity was fading, replaced by a familiar ache, a familiar need.
"now," you said. "move now."
and he did.
satoru started slow again, but this time it was different.
this time, he was savoring; his hands completely roamed your body — your back, your ass, your hips — and he leaned over to press kisses along your spine. his huge cock dragged against your walls in a way that made your eyes roll back, and he was murmuring things against your skin; things you couldn't quite understand, things that sounded like praise and worship and desperation all at once.
"you're so perfect," he breathed. "so perfect for me. this pussy was made for me. you know that? made for my cock."
satoru’s pace quickened, his hips slapping against yours, and the sound was obscene — wet and loud and relentless. he reached around and found your swollen clit again, rubbing in tight circles, and you sobbed with the overstimulation of it.
"too much?" he asked, but he didn't stop. "or not enough?"
"m-more," you gasped. "more, toru—please—"
he gave you more.
satoru fucked you harder, faster, deeper, his grip on your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. his breathing was ragged, his moans were loud, and he was talking — talking constantly, a stream of consciousness that was half dirty and half desperate.
"look at you. taking me so well. you're so wet. so fucking wet. is this all for me? tell me it's all for me."
"it's all for you," you said, and you meant it.
satoru groaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward even harder, and you felt a second orgasm building — faster this time, sharper, pushed along by the overstimulation and the sound of his voice and the way he was fucking you like he needed you to survive.
"cum with me this time," he said, his voice breaking. "i want to feel you cum while i'm filling you up again. i want to feel you squeeze every drop out of me."
his thumb pressed down on your clit, and his hips lost their rhythm, becoming sloppy and desperate, and you knew he was close, and so were you. so close—
"now," satoru gasped. "now, sweetheart—"
you came together.
it was messy and loud and overwhelming, your body clenching around him as he spilled inside you again, his hips jerking erratically as he rode out his orgasm. you collapsed onto the bed, and he followed you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside you, still pulsing.
neither of you moved.
satoru’s breath was hot against your ear, his heart pounding against your back, and you could feel him — getting hard again, still inside you, still not pulling out.
"one more," he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice, even through the exhaustion. "just one more. and then maybe we can talk about how i'm in love with you."
you laughed — a breathless, surprised sound — and satoru kissed your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw.
"i'm serious, baby," satoru said, his hips rolling forward again, slowly. "i've been in love with you for years. and now that i've had you like this—"
he pushed deeper, and you moaned.
"—i'm never letting you go."
satoru’s hand slid under you, finding your clit again, and you realized he actually meant it.
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: smut, fluff, angst, secret relationship, brothers best friend, college au, fwb vibes
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — you and jaemin have been fucking behind your brother jeno’s back all summer, stolen touches in the back of his truck, desperate nights in the vhs store after closing, every secret kiss tasting like guilt and cherry popsicles. but the heat between you is too loud to stay hidden, and when the truth finally explodes at the last bonfire, everything burns: jeno’s trust, your friendship circle, and the fragile line between right and wrong. now the summer is ending, secrets are spilling like warm honey, and the only thing left to decide is whether this love was worth destroying everything… or if it’s the one thing worth saving. before the summer ends, nothing will ever be the same.
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 / 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 — explicit language, explicit sexual content, explicit themes (obsession, secrecy, betrayal), retro early 2000s aesthetics such as flip phones, polaroids, vhs, diners, bonfires, small town claustrophobia + pipeline leaving rituals, themes of secrecy, obsession, small-town suffocation, ritual, and inevitable leaving. nostalgia sharpened into danger, phone sex, mutual masturbation, marking, voyeuristic elements, degrading language, strong themes of obsession, jealousy, oral sex, public sex (dock, risk of being seen, high exposure tension), lots of “daddy” kink moments, i mean a lot, i’m a whore for the daddy kink guys i lowkey went crazy with it 😩😩😩, you’re warned cos it’s a lot! face fucking, tit fucking, spit play, cum play, breeding kink, missionary, riding, reverse cowgirl, against the wall, on the floor, doggy, 69ing (multiple times for each one lol), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, emotional dependency tied to sex, emotional heartbreak, messy, consuming and deeply physical content at times, can get angsty and emotional, will have you in the feels for sure. lots of fights but lots of makeups :))) lots of tears shedded, very emotional and loving feeling, intimate loveee <333 and brotherly sister love >>> and sisterly love >>> so so so so much love in this ugh. my heart is also full in love and i’m so in love and happy with my fiancé so if the smut seems very intimate and loved up and intense then it’s very much an outpour of everything in my heart lol. 👩🏻❤️💋👨🏻✨♾️💗 read authors note under the cut.
listen to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 whilst reading <3, 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄
authors note: i know the timing isn’t :( just wanna take a moment to say i love you so much mark and i’m always so so proud of u 💗 i will fully post about the situation when i feel i can get my thoughts out. i had planned to upload the final for ‘before the summer ends’ on this weekend for a few weeks now, it felt wrong to abandon that, so i hope this can give you guys some happiness and peace <3 if you need to talk please know my asks and inbox are always open. this story was originally abandoned by me but i picked it up in february and now eight months after part one, i finally have the finishing piece for you guys <3 my loves. i’m sorry about my inactivity but i’m slowly coming back!
“I still have all the Polaroids of us.”
The words slip out raw, a broken, breathless confession, trembling right against his ear as your thighs tremble around his hips, every frantic bounce slowed now into wet, grinding rolls that make you feel every inch of him. Jaemin’s half-sitting, his back pressed to the headboard, dark hair sticking to his temple, eyes locked on you with a hunger that burns molten, brown as spilled whiskey in the low light, shot through with the wild, horny gold of need. Every time you move, those eyes drag over you, drinking you in, devouring, as if he’s starved for the taste of you, his gaze so heavy it stains your skin.
His cock drives up into you, so thick and hard it feels like he’s splitting you in two, and every thrust knocks your tits into his mouth, your hoodie shoved up so his lips can drag over one nipple, sucking, biting, tongue flicking until you’re whimpering. His hands are huge and rough, gripping your waist, one slipping to fist your ass, the other dragging you down, harder, deeper, making you feel every filthy inch as your walls clench. Your own hands are in his hair and on his cheeks, fingers digging in, keeping him close, needing his mouth, needing his eyes, dragging him back every time he groans your name. Sweat slicks his abs, every muscle tightening as he fucks up into you, his hips grinding, stuttering, matching the greedy roll of your own. Your pussy is soaked, stretched tight around him, every bounce making you clench harder, dizzy with how impossibly deep he is, how full he makes you, like you were made for this. Your nipples drag over his mouth again, your chest heaving, your breath tangled up in the sticky air.
His hips stutter, chest heaving, and he drags you down hard, lost in the clutch of your pussy, his eyes so dark and blown with need you can barely breathe under the weight of it. Whatever you just whispered, your confession about the Polaroids, the soft, ruined words that barely scrape out as you grind down on him. gets swallowed up in the heat between you, your voice breaking and lost against his skin. Jaemin groans, low and hungry, the sound almost a growl, rumbling in his chest as he buries his mouth at your collarbone, teeth scraping. It’s not really words. just a rough hum, pure possession and hunger, as if the only thing he knows at this moment is the slick grip of your cunt and the taste of your sweat. He rocks up into you, hands bruising, lips pressed to your neck, humming out something thick and wordless, a sound that makes your whole body burn: wanting, worshipping, demanding, even if he doesn’t hear a single thing you say.
You press your mouth to his, just a quick, soft, greedy kiss, your hands curling at his jaw, fingers splayed against his flushed cheeks, dragging his eyes up to meet yours. Even now, breathless and cock-drunk, you need his gaze on you, need him to know it’s you who’s taking him apart like this. Your hair’s a mess, sweat slick between your bodies, and your pussy milks him with every needy roll of your hips, but you still manage to duck in, trembling, lips brushing the heat of his neck as you whisper it again, shy, trembling, barely more than a gasp, but this time you force him to hear you. “I still have all the Polaroids of usc every one where you’re fucking me, where I look like I belong to you. I look at them when I need you, when I touch myself and wish it was your hands on me. When I can’t stop thinking about you inside me. I fuck myself to them, Jaem. I never let anyone else see. They’re just for me. For you.” For a second he’s tangled in a vivid memory, the shy girl he always had to coax, now riding him filthy, needy, still giddy and sweet even as you own him, every inch of your body a contradiction he can’t ever let go.
He goes rigid underneath you, the groan he lets out is raw, full-bodied, animal, all hunger and thunder, rolling through his chest as his hips snap up so hard you lose your rhythm, your tits bouncing wild and your head thrown back, his hands flying up to crush your hips and force you down, fuck you deeper, mark you with every rough movement. His eyes burn into you, whiskey-dark, blown wide, jaw clenched as he grumbles your name, voice breaking on a growl. His mouth curls up against your ear, and he groans, voice so thick and low it vibrates right through your chest, all teasing threat and filthy promise. “Tell me what photos, princess,” he murmurs, tongue flicking your earlobe, one hand sliding up to squeeze your breast, thumb brushing your nipple until you shiver. “Describe them for me. Every filthy one you touch yourself to. I want to hear you say it while you’re bouncing on my cock like that. Tell me how you look, how you come, what you see when you close your eyes.” His eyes are molten, glued to your face, hips thrusting up rougher now, punishing, the tease in his voice melting into pure possession, every word winding you tighter, making you feel like you’re all his, every inch, every filthy secret, his to ruin, his to keep.
Your breath hitches, laughter catching sticky and thin in your throat as you cradle his jaw, your thumbs sweeping possessively along the stubble, feeling the heat flush beneath his skin. You make him wait for it, eyes drinking in the way he looks at you, so wide, so dark, so fucking starved, while you roll your hips in syrupy, aching circles that make his cock twitch deeper inside you. “You really want to know?” you whisper, lips tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, tongue flicking over the salt of his skin, teeth scraping slow, teasing, until you feel his breath stutter. Every word comes out softer, needier, baiting him on purpose, letting each filthy memory unfurl lazy and lush in the space between you, daring him to beg for more.
His jaw flexes under your hands, eyes flicking over your face, lips parted and breath shallow, every muscle in his body strung tight, so close to snapping. His grip bruises at your hips, fingers digging in as if he could anchor you there forever, keep you locked down, helpless above him. When he finally answers, his voice is a dark, gravelly thing, shot through with raw hunger and barely leashed control, the kind of sound that lives somewhere between a growl and a prayer. “Don’t tease me, princess. You know what it does to me when you talk like that.” His thumb traces the slick between your thighs, pressing just where you need it, holding you open so you can’t move unless he lets you. “I want you to keep going, describe every single photo, every filthy thing I did to you. Tell me how you looked, how you sounded, how much you needed it. Make me see it. Make me remember how fucking desperate you were to be filled up with my cock, marked up until everyone in that town could smell me on you.” He shifts beneath you, rolling his hips so deep it knocks the air from your lungs, cock stretching you until you whimper, his breath hot against your cheek. “If you’re going to sit here and make me listen, then you’re going to give me all of it. All the dirty details, every ruined little sound you made for me, every place I made you mine. Don’t stop. I want your voice shaking for me, baby. I want you to say it so loud you forget anyone else ever existed. You belong to me. Show me. Prove it.”
Your lips ghost over his ear, your voice barely a whisper at first, but the wicked curl of your mouth gives you away, and you drag it out on purpose, every syllable honey-thick, every word pressed between a roll of your hips and the next sharp intake of his breath. “The photo on the staircase, do you remember that night?” Your nails skate along his scalp, slow and deliberate, keeping him right where you want him. “After you won the game, when I ran up just to find you, and you bent me over the steps before I could even catch my breath. You had your hand over my mouth, your other on my hip, fucking me so deep I couldn’t stay quiet, God, I tried, but I kept whining, and we could hear Jeno and my parents laughing downstairs, talking about me, talking about you, not knowing what we were doing, if only they knew. When you finished, you grabbed my camera, told me not to move, and said you wanted to remember me like that.” You pause, rolling your hips down slowly, grinding your pussy onto his cock until you feel him pulse inside you, loving the way his jaw clenches, loving the way his hands start to twitch at your waist, desperate to take over.
The photo lives on your Canon, hidden deep in a strip of glossy film, the kind of secret you’d never risk backing up to your phone, only for your hands and eyes and memory. You see it every time you scroll through your late-night snapshots: you, collapsed at the foot of the staircase, knees splayed on the polished wood, thighs still trembling with aftershocks and slick with the mess he left inside you. The lighting is all soft shadows and flash-burn, the grain of the shot making your skin look impossibly raw and real, one sock slouched down your ankle, the bruises from his grip blooming dark against your hip, your hair tangled and half-covering your face, every strand stuck to your cheek with sweat and spit. Mascara is streaked under your eyes, lips bitten and swollen, chest heaving like you’d run a marathon just to get ruined for him. He’s right there in the shot, crouched close in front of you, shirtless, torso filling the foreground, every line of him sharp, predatory, all muscle and tension. His hand is locked around your jaw, thumb digging in possessive, head tilted so his mouth is parted like he’s about to brand you with words no one else would ever hear. His cum glistened down your thigh, pooling on the step below, your body framed so open and claimed that you can’t look at it without feeling it all over again. Even the focus is deliberate, your camera making sure the background is blurred to nothing, all the world falling away except for his eyes: wild, bottomless, so dark with want and desire, you know you’ll never belong anywhere else.
You keep him there, breathless, helpless, caught under you. Your fingers slip down to the hollow of his throat, tracing the sweat gathered at his collarbone, your own chest heaving. “Then there’s the diner one. That night the whole town was out for the fair, neon signs buzzing, jukebox on, everything sticky and electric.” You were meant to be on shift, apron still half-tied around your waist, but you let him drag you into his lap in the back booth anyway, skirt already bunched high on your hips, your panties stuffed somewhere under the table. He made you face the window, pressed up against the glass, and then slid into you, slow, deliberate, like he owned the whole damn place and didn’t care who saw, every inch of him daring you to make a sound. “You kept whispering for me to keep my eyes open, to watch the cars go by, to let the whole world see how pretty I look when you fuck me. Your hand was clamped over my mouth, and I snapped the picture in the window’s reflection, the camera caught your hand covering my lips, my eyes all wide and glassy, cheeks wet from trying not to moan. You’re looking right at the lens, cocky, like you knew exactly what you were doing, hair a mess, sweat on your neck. You looked so fucking hot in that moment I nearly came from just seeing your face.” You grind down again, even slower now, drawing out the friction, your pussy throbbing around him, loving the way he tries to rock up into you, only for your hand to flatten against his chest, pinning him to the bed. “I still can’t look at that one without needing you to fuck me, sometimes I make myself wait, just so it hurts more.”
You let yourself laugh, the sound airy and wicked, hips working in lazy, drawn-out circles. His hands are restless now, fingers digging into your hips, desperate to flip you, but you won’t let him. “And the one from your bed, when you fucked me until I cried,” you say, voice pitched low and thick, words trembling with memory. “The night you made me come so hard I thought I was going to pass out. You wrapped your hand around my throat, pressed me flat, your cock so deep you said you could feel my heartbeat. The photo’s blurry because I couldn’t hold the camera straight, my face was so red, my mascara streaked, your hand so tight around my neck, your other thumb rubbing circles on my clit. In the picture, your eyes are locked on me, so hungry it looks like you’d eat me alive, sweat rolling down your chest, abs flexing with every thrust. That’s my favorite, Jaemin. Every time I look at it, I can feel you inside me all over again. Sometimes I ride my pillow, make myself come thinking about you and gripping the polaroids, wishing you’d say my name, tell me I’m yours, make me do it again and again.”
You let the words hang in the air, hips still moving in a cruel, unhurried rhythm, loving the way his whole body tenses beneath you, how he’s trembling with the need to move, to claim, to wreck you right there. “I know you want to take control,” you murmur, thumb dragging over his lip, “but you have to listen. You have to hear all of it first. Every filthy memory. Every time you ruined me for anyone else.”
You let the words hang, hips grinding in that deliberate, torturous rhythm, soaking up the way Jaemin’s entire body coils beneath you, every muscle tensed, hands clenching and unclenching at your waist, his breath hitching every time you drag your thumb over his lip, keeping him caged and hungry. You watch him struggle to keep still, desperate to flip you, to pin you down and fuck you until the memories blur, but you don’t let him, not yet. You want him strung out and trembling, every filthy confession painting heat between you, every old ache set alight again. Your voice is barely steady, eyes shining, throat working around the words that have lived just beneath your skin for years. “There’s more,” you whisper, head tipping back, body rolling as you force yourself to admit it.
“There’s so many more, Jaemin.” Your voice wavers, hands trembling as you trace his jaw, and you feel his lips pressing kisses along your cheek, your temple, the corner of your mouth, never quite meeting your eyes, never daring to look at you too long, as if the truth might swallow you both. “You always thought I only kept the filthy ones, but I took the softer ones too. I saved the moments where you held me gently, where you kissed me slowly. I needed those just as much. There’s Polaroids where I’m in your jersey, where you’re tucking your chin on my shoulder, the ones where I’m on your lap and we’re laughing, kissing like nothing in the world could hurt us.” Your breath shakes as you admit it, a shy little smile curling at your mouth, your thumb brushing the spot on his neck you love most. “I still hide those behind my mirror, you know. I look at them all the time. The ones where you look at me like I’m the only thing you need. I can’t let them go.”
Your laugh comes out thin and sticky, hips grinding down harder just to watch his jaw clench, his eyes going even darker. “You never knew about the box under my bed, did you? The one I locked up, the one I thought you’d find and never look at me the same again.” Your hands move to his shoulders, pinning him as you ride him, every movement a tease, a slow, filthy dare. “I kept the riskiest ones, the Polaroid you took on my camera when we fucked in the back of the bus after state finals, everyone else sleeping, the flash blinding, your hand shoved in my mouth to keep me from waking the whole team. I kept the one from the roof, too, when you fucked me against the air vent while the rain came down and someone’s party was raging in the kitchen below. I kept every single shot from your birthday, the one where you made me kneel for you in the bathroom at your parents’ place, the door half-open, your hand fisted in my hair, the look on your face all wild and mean, the kind of look that makes me ache even now. I kept the ones that never should’ve existed, the ones I thought about burning just to make the ache go away, but I never could. I wanted them too much. I wanted you too much.”
You see it in his eyes, the second he breaks, something sharp and greedy taking over. The illusion of your control shatters, and in one quick, rough movement, Jaemin flips you onto your back, hands pinning your wrists above your head, mouth coming down hard on your throat. He snarls, the sound guttural, barely human. “You’re fucking mine,” he bites out, breath hot against your jaw, his hips slamming up into you, cock driving so deep you gasp, all the air punched from your lungs. “You kept every filthy piece of me, every secret, every memory, now you’re going to let me make new ones. You hear me? I want a whole new box of Polaroids, all of you ruined and begging for me, all of you wet and desperate, so every time you think about someone else, you remember you’re mine.” He shifts his grip, one hand fisted in your hair, the other pressing your wrists into the mattress, body caging you in, sweat dripping from his brow onto your collarbone, his chest heaving, eyes locked on yours, wild, hungry, worshipping and possessive all at once.
He fucks you rougher now, every thrust sending a jolt up your spine, your body arching into his, every nerve ending burning, every inch of your skin alive with memory and new sensation. You can’t stop shaking, the world going fuzzy at the edges, everything collapsing down to the places you touch, the heat of his hips slamming into your thighs, the sticky slap of skin on skin, your own slick pooling beneath you. Your fingers curl, leaving crescent moons in his forearms, your thighs shaking around his waist as you gasp his name, breathless, lost, the sound breaking into something almost like a sob when he drags his mouth over your nipple, teeth scraping, tongue flicking, your whole body pinned and helpless. The past and present blur together, the ache of the old Polaroids, the heat of his body above you now, every filthy confession spilling from your lips as he drives you higher, deeper, every thrust another promise that you’re his and only his.
Inside your head it’s chaos,memories flickering like film reels, flashes of your bodies tangled on rooftops, stairwells, bathroom tiles, the cold bite of air against your bare skin, the thunder of his heart against your back. You think about those Polaroids, the way your hands shook taking them, desperate to capture the mess, the flush, the way he looked at you as if he could swallow you whole. You remember hiding them, fingers trembling as you tucked them behind old postcards, between poetry books, under sweaters, anything to keep them safe. You remember lying awake on summer nights, the shoebox in your hands, the ache between your legs a secret you’d never confess, letting your fingers slide over glossy film, wishing it was him, always wishing for more.
He doesn’t give you a single breath. Hunger coils through him like smoke, jaw crooked with need, and suddenly his grip is around your wrist, dragging, commanding, spinning you over until you’re nothing but instinct and skin, shoved down hard on your knees with your spine curved into a desperate, breaking bow. Your ass lifts high, offered up and trembling, every muscle drawn tight and aching, the stretch in your back carving you open, hips cocked and begging. He handles you like something wild and precious, turning you out, displaying you, every rough motion marking you his, every second another sharp reminder that you’re here to be devoured. “Stay just like that,” he growls, voice thick and shredded, the kind of sound that makes you ache, that has your whole body clenching, desperate for more. His palm lands heavy on your lower back, his other hand sliding up to fist your hair, yanking your head back until your throat is bare, your moan echoing against the sheets. “Fuck, look at you. This is what the camera’s for, this is what you deserve. You should be on film every day, princess. Every filthy angle. Mine forever.”
You feel the air shift before you see it, the electric, pulse-jumping crackle that always comes just before Jaemin breaks your mind open. His hands slip away for only a second, and then there’s the low whirr and click: the unmistakable flash of a Polaroid. Your eyes go wide, your breath jerking in your throat, body going stiff and even wetter at the sound. It’s so visceral it almost feels forbidden, every memory from that feverish summer rushing up, the time you told him he should get that camera, how you’d studied his hands, his eyes, the way he watched the world like he was always collecting secrets. You’d whispered to him that a Polaroid was the only thing that fit him: instant, hungry, unable to wait, addicted to the truth of the moment. He’d just smiled, and you never knew if he remembered. Now you know. Now it’s here, the flash capturing you naked and split open, cock-drunk and wild, bouncing on his lap with nothing but need between you.
You always had a Polaroid with you, stuffed in the pocket of your faded denim jacket, tucked into the waistband of your skirt, slung over your shoulder like a charm you couldn’t lose. It was more than a habit; it was a piece of your body, something that made you visible, anchored, never just a ghost in someone else’s story. Jaemin would tease you every time, dragging you out from behind the viewfinder, nudging your camera aside to steal a kiss, his hands gentle at first, mouth soft and amused. “You hiding again, baby? Is the real world too much for you?” You’d roll your eyes, elbow him in the ribs, and tell him everyone should have a camera; should want to hold something real, make a memory solid, keep proof that they were here, together, alive. Sometimes in the hush of midnight, tangled up in sheets and secrets, you’d lie on your stomach beside him, rattling off camera recs, talking about lenses and film and how the SX-70 would suit him: “It’s instant, but old school, just like you, Jaemin. You want things raw. No time to second guess.” You’d trace the lines of his hand, explain how certain cameras picked up shadows, how some made bodies look golden and wild, how a wide lens would suit the way he watched everything, never missing a detail. “If you want to capture something secret,” you’d murmur, fingers gliding down his chest, “you need something you can hide, something quick and quiet and hungry. Like you.”
He’d only smile at you, tongue tucked into his cheek, sometimes telling you you were a nerd, sometimes just kissing your jaw, always promising, half-mocking, half-serious, to catch you on film someday, to pin you down in a moment you couldn’t escape. You never knew if he remembered, never knew if those hours meant as much to him as they did to you. But when you hear that familiar whirr, the crack of the flash, when you feel it, see it, know it’s not just you behind the lens anymore, everything inside you twists. You realize you’ve been collected, seen, made tangible. He remembered every word, every theory you spilled in the dark. The camera is in his hand now, and the proof is you: naked, flushed, body caught mid-bounce, mouth open, sweat shining at your hairline, eyes wild and hungry as you ride him. He’s relentless, snapping photos with one hand, the other fisted in your hair, dragging your head back so he can suck a bruise onto your throat. The flash goes off, catching the wild swing of your tits, the arch of your back, the desperate roll of your hips grinding him deeper.
Your hands scrabble at his chest, clawing down the ridge of his abs, greedy to leave marks, desperate to anchor yourself in this new reality: you are the one in front of the lens, the one being collected. The camera clicks again and again, each picture a dirty love letter, every instant a mix of worship and wreckage. All that history, the teasing, the nerd talk, the way you’d insisted a camera makes everything real, comes back in filthy, glittering waves. Jaemin groans, voice thick and low, “You always said everyone needs proof, baby. I’m gonna make sure you never forget what you look like ruined for me.” You gasp, the sound raw and true, needing it, greedy for it, knowing that every inch of you, obsessive, shy, filthy, sweet, is finally visible, immortal, his.
The obsession in you spirals out, hungry and molten, and your hips roll faster, harder, cock buried deep as Jaemin’s hand fists your hair, yanking your head back so he can run his mouth over your throat, over the mess of sweat and tears and arousal. His other hand doesn’t bother steadying the camera; it’s trained on you, catching every bounce of your tits, every shadow that flickers over your face, the slick heat of your cunt gripping him tight. Your hands claw at his chest, nails dragging over sharp abs, licking a filthy, trembling path down, tasting sweat and sex and memory. The Polaroid snaps again, the sound as dirty as your moans, every shot immortalizing the need in your eyes, the frantic ride of your hips. He wants all of you, wants to burn the shape of your body into film, wants proof that you were ruined like this, fucked open, lost to the rhythm, all shy, obsessive media girl grown into a monster for him.
He’s addicted to capturing you, his hands unwavering even as hunger riots in his gaze, jaw flexed hard, sweat tracing golden rivers down the column of his throat. His forearm strains, holding you exactly where he wants you, one broad hand spreading you open, thumbs painting bruises into your skin, making sure the whole world could see you if he let them. His voice drops, half-rough, half-reverent, hungry and adoring all at once. “Stay just like that, pretty girl. Let me see you, so fucking gorgeous like this, all mine, every inch spread for me. You know you deserve to be the main event, the only thing anyone should want to see. Look at you. So perfect when you’re messy, when you’re wild for me. This is what beauty looks like, my filthy, sweet whore, all soft and trembling, made to be mine.”
The lens presses cold against your flushed skin, making you shiver, his eyes never leaving where your bodies almost touch. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, baby. Nobody could ever look this good ruined. Let me keep you like this forever. Let me make art out of youc make you my masterpiece. Smile for the camera, sweetheart. Show me how pretty you are when you’re all fucked out and begging.”
You’re a mess, hair tangled, mouth open, sweat shining down your back, every muscle trembling, your hips rocking back in desperate, feral bounces, greedy for him, greedy for the camera. “Jaemin, fuck, take it, please,” you gasp, head dropped forward, tears streaking down your cheeks, spit pooling at your lips. He groans, low and guttural, thumb digging harder into your ass, cock sliding inside you in one brutal stroke. “God, you bounce like a whore. Look at this, look at the way you fuck yourself on me. You’re going to see how filthy you are, how much you beg for it, every inch of you stretched out, mouth open, moaning my name, never getting enough.”
You’re a summer storm caught on film: hair snarled like wind-whipped vines, sweat gleaming down your spine like brine on a tide-smoothed shell, hips rolling in ravenous waves that crest and break against the hard shoreline of his thighs. Every bounce drags a prayer from your throat, a salt-bright sob that blurs the lens as Jaemin steadies you, thumb bruising deeper, cock carving a wet constellation inside you in one long, ruinous thrust that leaves your breath hanging like thunder in August heat. “Show me,” he murmurs, voice a riptide of praise and possession, yet somewhere in the undercurrent his silence already foreshadows all the words you will never quite trade: the labels left unspoken, the promises that float like distant clouds no wind will steer home. The flash ignites behind your eyelids, sealing this moment in a hush of electric white, your body arched, mouth open to the sky as if swallowing starlight, while his gaze tethers you to earth, greedy, adoring, already guarding the secret the two of you will keep pressed between Polaroids like dried sea-lavender: beautiful, fragile, and too illicit to name. One day those sheets of instant heaven will yellow at the edges, and the silence between exposures will feel wider than the ocean, but tonight you’re everything, storm and shore, cloud and swell, a universe devouring itself for one impossible picture.
He snaps the shutter and light explodes, your body a fever dream caught in instant white. You’re mid-bounce, thighs quivering, ass thrown high and shameless, the slick crease of you stretched tight around his cock, every muscle flexing to keep him buried as deep as you can take him. Your spine arches in a trembling bow, skin gleaming with sweat, a stray lock of damp hair stuck to your nape. Your mouth is ruined, dropped open, drool glistening on your chin, tongue peeking pink and desperate, lips swollen and red from biting. Your eyes flutter back, lashes sticky with tears, pupils blown wide, the thinnest rim of color left, your face gone feral, cheeks flushed, jaw slack, brows knitted in delirious, writhing want. Fingers splay wild against the sheets, nails carving half-moons as you claw for leverage, hair tangled down your back, swinging with every brutal snap of his hips. Your whole body is caught in a raw, shuddering spell: opened, taken, every inch greedy, obscene, made for him.
His cock is buried so deep you can barely think, and your tits are swinging, sweat and spit smearing your chin, your tongue lolling, the picture shaking in his hand as he thrusts up into you, harder, rougher, the camera dropping to the mattress as he claims your hips, yanking you back into every stroke.
“That’s it, princess. That’s what I want,” he snarls, voice filthy, drunk on you, worshipping and punishing at once. “I want you to see what you do to me. I want you to keep this one forever, show everyone what you look like when you’re cock-drunk and ruined, bouncing on my dick, moaning my name, whimpering like you’d die if I stopped. This is your place. This is your proof. Every photo is just another way to remind you who you belong to.” The Polaroid is left trembling at the edge of the sheets, image burning into existence: your body arched, tits bouncing, ass red and high, Jaemin’s hand marking your waist, his cock splitting you open, your face a portrait of lust, eyes gone, mouth frozen in a scream, hair wild, every inch of you begging to be ruined. The memory is forever now, and the ache in your chest promises you’ll never want anything else.
The air between you is thick, skin to skin, every inch damp and trembling as you melt into him. Jaemin’s arms are locked around you, muscles slack but holding you close like he’ll never let go, one hand petting your hair, the other tracing lazy circles down your spine, skimming over the bruises and bite marks he left, his signature written into your skin, hot and red and so, so adored. His lips find your forehead, softer than you thought possible after everything he just did to you, pressing kisses that linger, whispered promises slipping out between breaths: “Mine. You know you’re mine. You did so good for me.” His chest is slick against yours, heartbeat wild, and you barely register the flash of the camera again until the Polaroid whirs out, half-developed, catching you tangled up, the curve of your smile slack and blissed out, your thighs splayed wide, his hands gripping your hips possessively, his own gaze glazed with obsession and pride.
You roll to your side, still knotted together, and he reaches for the little stack of film scattered on the sheets, fingertips reverent, touching each image like a holy thing. He holds up onec your tongue stretched long, licking the salt-slick trail up his abs, your eyes bright, greedy, absolutely owned and he laughs, low and fucked out, “You look so fucking desperate for me, you know that?” He flips the photo over, shoving his hand between your thighs, making you gasp, and scrawls in thick, black ink: ‘Nobody tastes like you. Nobody ever will.’ On another, the one of you riding him, mid-bounce, sweat shining on your chest and hair a mess, he writes: ‘Made for my cock. Made to be filled. My best view.’ The last, your face turned down, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes locked on him, hunger and ruin mixed together, he kisses the edge of the film, leaving the faintest mark, then scribbles: ‘Mine, even when you’re smiling. Especially when you’re breaking.’
He hands you one, just for you, his favorite, the one with your lips on his jaw, the imprint of your teeth on his neck. His voice drops to a velvet whisper. “Keep this one for when you miss me. So you remember exactly how you looked taking me. How you always will.” He presses you into his chest, Polaroids stacked on his nightstand, the world shrinking to the sound of your breath, the drag of his thumb down your spine, the aftershocks of everything you did together still making you tremble, soft and small and impossibly safe in the mess of his arms. You fall asleep to the sound of him murmuring promises, his mouth hot at your ear, still kissing your skin between every whispered vow: Mine. Mine. Mine.
The room is a haze of sweat and afterglow, your body still molded against Jaemin’s, the slick slide of his skin beneath your palms making you ache all over again. He cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs low, hungry praise, words that make you shiver and clench, still so open and needy around him. The Polaroids are scattered across the sheets, but you barely see them anymore; all you can think about is the heavy weight of him inside you, the pulsing throb that refuses to let go, the way your body aches for just a little more. You tip your head down, dragging your tongue over the sharp line of his abs, tasting sweat and salt, hearing his groan, a sound that vibrates all the way through you.
“Couldn’t stay away if I tried,” you whisper, voice rough with need, licking a slow, teasing stripe up his stomach. His hand fists in your hair, guiding you, possessive, desperate, and you’re climbing onto him, knees spread, sinking down over his cock with a gasp that’s half a sob. You start to ride him again, bouncing slow and deep, the slap of skin and ragged moans filling the air, his hands gripping your hips like he’ll never let you go. The rhythm builds, sticky and frantic, your mouth moving everywhere, lips on his neck, teeth grazing his collarbone, tongue pressed flat against the dips of his body, until you’re both shuddering, right on the edge, so close you can barely breathe.
Then, out of nowhere, the whole world explodes: a violent, echoing bang that shudders through the walls, rattling the door so hard the hinges shriek. The sound is brutal, shocking, an earthquake right inside your skin. You freeze mid-bounce, your whole body seizing, cunt clenching tight around Jaemin’s cock. Your nails dig in, scoring red lines down his chest, your gasp caught between your teeth as every muscle locks with terror. His hands go iron-hard at your hips, both your heads snapping up at the same time, breath held, eyes blown wide in the half-dark as the door shakes again, another bang, louder, angrier, the metal handle jumping in its slot. The filthy pulse of the room shatters, replaced by the blood rush in your ears, the sick jolt of being caught, every heartbeat screaming with panic, need, disbelief.
Suddenly the door booms again, harder this time, making the whole wall tremble. The noise tears straight through your bodies, shock jolting you both so hard you bounce, his cock slipping out, your knees smacking the mattress, the sharp crack of your skull colliding with Jaemin’s chin. Both of you gasp, breath stolen, eyes wide as saucers, the heat in the room sliced away by the raw bite of panic. Before you can even breathe, Jeno’s voice detonates through the wood, wild and sharp as broken glass. “Jaemin! Open the fucking door, what the fuck are you doing in there?” The syllables crack like thunder, the force of it shuddering in your bones, sending sweat rolling cold down your back. For one wild second neither of you moves, Jaemin’s hands bruising into your waist, your own fingers splayed, both of you frozen, hearts jackhammering, mouths parted in twin, silent gasps. The taste of your own moan is still in your mouth, trembling there, your bodies tangled and unfinished, his cock wet and twitching against your thigh. The room feels stripped bare, electric, everything exposed to the bone; the whole world reduced to frantic heartbeats and the angry voice battering the last fragile layer of secrecy left between you.
Jaemin’s hand is on you in an instant, his grip rough and unyielding as he drags you off the bed, Polaroids spilling from your trembling hands onto the mattress, scattering at your knees. The world narrows to the crush of his chest at your back, the iron clutch of his fingers digging into your hips, the sharp bite of the bedframe pressed against your shins. He manhandles you low, urging you down, down, shoving a knee between your thighs to force you to move. The room blurs, your knees hit the floorboards, the cold biting up through your skin as he gathers the Polaroids and thrusts them into your chest, his voice a ragged whisper right in your ear, “Hide, now.”
You’re pressed forward, your breasts scraping the edge of the mattress, the heat of his body all around you, and then his palm is splayed across your lower back, pushing, guiding, until your shoulders tuck and you’re crawling, dizzy and wild, beneath the bed. The space is cramped, Polaroids clutched to your chest, Jaemin’s strong hands on your hips as he slides you further in, your thighs parted, the sticky ache of his cum still wet between your legs. He crouches, one arm wrapped firm around your waist as he leans in, mouth hot and biting at your jaw, “Stay. Don’t make a sound.” With a final shove, he smooths your hair back, eyes meeting yours in the shadow, and for a split second, nothing exists but his breath in your ear, his body pinning you in place, the cold press of floorboards under your skin, and the feverish scatter of Polaroids pressing sharp into your ribs.
Then his mouth finds yours, hungry, biting, his kiss all teeth and tongue, he tastes of sweat and sex and the heavy, pulsing aftermath of what you just did, like he’s sealing you up for himself one last time. His hand is rough in your hair, pulling, anchoring, his voice a whisper but sharp as a threat: “Stay quiet, pretty girl. Don’t even breathe unless you want him to hear and to kill us.” He gives you one last look, a flash of possessive heat in his eyes, and then he’s gone, standing tall, his shoulders rolling loose as if nothing’s amiss, as if your whole body isn’t still trembling and split open for him under the bed. All you can feel is the thrum of blood in your ears, the taste of Jaemin’s mouth, the ache in your cunt, and the crushing, suffocating question, what the fuck is this life, and why does it feel so good to be the secret he keeps?
You lie there, heart slamming in your chest, sweat drying sticky down your stomach, Jaemin’s taste still flooding your mouth, the mess between your legs refusing to fade. The Polaroids dig into your palm, every glossy edge a brand, every face and tangled limb in them another secret you’re desperate to protect. You see flashes of movement through the thin slice of light at the bottom of the bed, Jaemin pulling his shirt over those bruised, golden shoulders, scooping up your scattered clothes, his whole body an effortless mask of composure. The air is thick with panic and unfinished hunger, the sound of your own breathing too loud, the floor cold and gritty under your knees as you curl deeper into the shadow, fingers twisted in the bedsheet and every muscle aching from the wildness he left inside you.
Then the door swings open, daylight cutting a brutal line across the room, and Jeno’s voice erupts again, wild and exasperated, “Dude, you had me freaking out, why’d you lock the door? Seriously, you disappeared, what the hell are you doing in here?”
Jaemin answers with a laugh, easy and smooth, his tone so casual it makes your jaw clench with jealousy and disbelief, wishing you could appear that unfazed. “Chill, man. I passed out, guess I needed it. Just spaced. The lock got stuck, that’s all.” You hear the scuff of their shoes, Jaemin moving like nothing’s wrong, not a hint of the chaos he left brewing in your veins, no sign of how close you both are to being caught, the evidence hidden only by luck and speed.
You freeze beneath the bed, every nerve raw, the imprint of his cock and the pulse of your own body still throbbing between your legs, his cum sticky and obvious on your thighs, the polaroids pressed tight against your chest. You can’t move, can’t even think, every sense focused on the voices above, on the impossible act Jaemin is pulling, cool and bright and infuriating, like he could talk his way out of any disaster, while you’re a ruined, messy secret in the dark, half-naked and breathless, drowning in the fear that any second Jeno will see you, that every wild thing you just did will burst into daylight, undeniable and unfixable.
The impact from Jeno’s pounding has left your world shattered and scattered, the polaroids that were on the bed now thrown everywhere, a dangerous minefield of sweat-blurred memories and glossy proof, their edges jutting from under the mattress. Jaemin’s body moves in flashes, a hand on the laundry basket, a flick of his wrist as he shoves your shirt deeper into the pile, a glance down that meets your gaze just for a heartbeat, his lips quirking in a secret, hungry smile. He’s manhandling you with every word, every gesture, controlling the chaos with a casualness that makes you ache, makes you want to scream, makes you want to crawl out from under the bed just to be touched again.
Up above, Jeno storms in, shoving the door shut behind him, voice a blunt weapon. “Bro, I’m fucking pissed. Do you have any clue what people are saying about my little sister right now?” He paces, agitation in every step. “Sunwoo, that little imbecile, that bastard! Sunghoon, Eric—fucking Eric!—all running their mouths. I swear to God, you won’t believe what I’ve just heard.” Jeno throws himself onto the edge of the bed, sending a shudder through the frame that jostles the Polaroids by your ear, and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the yelp that almost escapes.
Jaemin doesn’t even blink, doesn’t look away from the dresser where he’s busy pretending to fold laundry. “What now? Eric’s always talking like he’s got something to prove. You know he’s all mouth, no game.” His tone is easy, calm, like he could be half-asleep, fingers loose, spine loose, the polar opposite of your frantic, freezing nerves beneath him.
Jeno huffs, letting out a sound halfway between a groan and a snarl. “I heard from Sunwoo that Eric said he and Y/N are, and I quote, ‘a thing’ now. He called her his ‘midnight snack.’ What does that even mean? That guy’s an absolute fungus. He’s been following her around like a lost puppy and telling everyone she’s into him.” He glances around, eyes raking over the bed, and your whole body freezes, he spots the edge of a sock, the corner of a Polaroid peeking from under the mattress, the barely-there shadow of your ankle. You go still, breath trapped in your throat, praying he doesn’t lean closer.
Jaemin lets out a soft, knowing laugh, his voice even lower, almost intimate. “Eric couldn’t handle her if he tried. He’s all talk, all bark, you know that. Your sister deserves better than a guy who thinks a ‘midnight snack’ is a compliment. Trust me, man, if she was really seeing someone, you’d know. She’s too smart to settle for bottom-feeders.” There’s an edge to his words, a private satisfaction, and you bristle under the bed, jealousy and pride tangling with the pulse between your legs. The way he says it, so smooth, so sure, he’s defending you, but there’s a possessive darkness hidden in his smile, a secret that makes your heart race.
Jeno’s brows draw together, still fuming, but he laughs, too, the sound sharp. “You’re right. I mean, if she even looked at a guy like Eric, I’d have to hold a funeral. For both of them.” He sits up, leans forward, eyes scanning the room again, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to shrink yourself smaller. You can feel his gaze brush over the mess on the floor, the stray shirt, the Polaroid you nearly dropped, every detail a landmine. Your heart jerks in your chest, cold and hard and panicked. If he sees you, if Jeno catches so much as a shadow of your ankle or the edge of your shirt, all hell will break loose, and you know it with a sick certainty that makes your stomach twist. Jeno isn’t the kind of brother to let things slide or laugh it off; he’s sharp and emotional, the kind to flip the whole room, rip the sheets off the bed, demand answers at the top of his lungs. If he finds you now, everything you’ve shared with Jaemin, the secret Polaroids, the trembling hush of being ruined in the dark, every filthy word and hidden touch, will come splintering into daylight, ugly and loud and impossible to explain away. You can almost see it already: Jeno’s face white with shock, then flushed red with rage, his voice a battering ram, hands shaking, accusations flung like knives. There would be shouting, tears, threats, Jaemin forced into the open, maybe even thrown out, the whole fragile thing you’ve built set on fire in an instant. All you can do is hold your breath, nails biting into your palms, praying you stay invisible, praying Jeno never looks close enough to destroy everything.
Jaemin is unflappable, moving easily, stepping between Jeno and danger without a hint of panic. He nudges the laundry basket a little closer to the bed, half-hiding the evidence, his eyes flickering briefly to the mattress above you. “You worry too much, man. She’s got you wrapped around her finger. Besides, you know I’d never let anything happen to her. Especially not with Eric.” He smiles, slow and sly, and you burn, half-melted with want and rage, thinking about the way he just said your name, the way he’s still covering for you while you’re hidden, bruised, throbbing beneath the bed.
You’re shaking, every muscle locked, remembering how Jaemin pressed you down, his hands on your hips, his mouth biting at your neck, the shock of being manhandled, the sweetness of being protected, ruined, hidden away like a secret he refuses to share. Every word between them above you is a game, Jaemin’s mastery, Jeno’s suspicion, your whole world teetering between being discovered and staying lost. The floor is gritty beneath your knees, your cunt is still wet and open, your own moans echoing in your skull, every command and threat he whispered buzzing in your veins. All you can do is wait, silent, feral, desperate to be found and terrified of it, every second stretching out until you think you might come apart from the tension.
You spot it a split second too late, a glint of glossy film half-hidden in the shadow where the bed skirt lifts, the Polaroid still fresh from the camera, edges curling, the chemical scent sharp in the air. For one blinding moment, you can’t breathe. Your hand darts out instinctively, trembling, desperate, but Jeno shifts at the same time, his foot landing inches from your fingers. The photograph is right there, exposed, impossible, how did you both miss it? How did you let the evidence of everything you are, everything you’ve done, slip through the cracks of your careful mess?
Your heart lurches, a gasp clawing at your throat that you choke back just in time, but the shock is so pure it almost hurts. It’s the one he just took, the one that catches you mid-bounce, hair wild, mouth open in a silent cry, your body stretched wide, ass high and slick, Jaemin’s hands gripping your hips, his face blurred behind you, your own eyes rolled back in pure, animal need. You stare at it, helpless, feeling the world tip sideways, cold terror settling into your bones. If Jeno looks down now, if he glances at the floor, even for a second, you know what he’ll see: not just sex, but your ruin, the whole story burned into glossy, undeniable proof.
Your chest cinches shut, breath snagging like a kite caught in live wire. In that fraction of a second, the room feels like a heat-soaked end-of-August field just before lightning hits, air swollen, electric, ready to split open and spill every hidden kiss you ever tucked into dusk. You can almost taste the first drop of the storm on your tongue, the way Jeno’s temper will roll in like thunder, breaking open every back-road promise, every Polaroid daydream, every night that smelled of warm asphalt and bad intent. If he looks down—if he sees—the whole golden, sweat-glazed summer collapses, and all that’s left is the sound of windows shattering under wind you can’t outrun. And somehow, impossibly, Jaemin feels it, catches the wild flash of your panic in the shadows, the way your body shrinks and your gaze locks on the floor. His eyes meet yours, a thread pulled taut and invisible in the thick air. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break. Instead, in one impossibly smooth motion, he steps between Jeno and the evidence, letting his foot settle right over the Polaroid, the gesture so casual it could almost be accidental.
He looks down at Jeno with that slow, infuriating smile, voice liquid, easy, not a tremor to betray the disaster inches from his toes. “Hey, man. You know, for a guy who worries so much, you’re terrible at looking where you’re going. You almost stepped on my lucky sock, left it right there after practice.” His laugh is soft, a little mocking, as if nothing in the world could shake him. “I swear, you’d lose your own head if it wasn’t attached. Next time you come in here, maybe knock a little quieter, unless you want to give me a heart attack. Or see something you really, really shouldn’t.”
You lie frozen under the bed, pulse hammering, the heat of Jaemin’s body radiating safety even through the cold floorboards. Your mind reels, terror and disbelief snared tight with the kind of raw, aching gratitude that only grows each time he proves he always knows what to do, how to shield you, how to find you even in the dark, how to erase disaster with the smallest, sharpest move. He never fumbles, never hesitates; it’s like he’s mapped every possibility, your panic and your hiding places both. Above you, Jeno just snorts, completely oblivious, while Jaemin’s heel presses down harder, grinding the evidence into the carpet, sealing the secret with a force that lets you breathe, at least for now, for this trembling, golden heartbeat, you’re still safe.
Jeno’s phone buzzes, a break in the storm. He curses, muttering, “I need to go make a call. If you see or hear Eric getting too close to my sister, help me kill him, I’m serious.” He slaps Jaemin’s shoulder on the way out, and for a second you hear their laughter, the old easy bond, but Jaemin’s eyes are dark as he glances back at the bed, the game never dropping. You listen to the door shut, the footsteps recede, and your heart refuses to slow, your body caught in the aftershocks of sex and the trembling promise that any second, it could all be revealed.
As Jeno’s footsteps finally fade, the air in the room thickens with a silence that feels as electric as it is fragile. Dust motes spin through the streaks of late light slicing beneath the bed, your breath catching in the hush, heartbeat still wild, every nerve strung between panic and relief. You’re trapped in that strange afterglow of danger, a cold sweat drying at your temples, your thighs sticky, the Polaroids pressed so tight to your chest you can almost feel the ink bleeding into your skin. Every voice from above still echoes in your ears, the heat of Jaemin’s casual control winding around you, each word he spoke a secret touch, every well-timed laugh and lie another soft graze up your legs. For a moment, all you can do is hold yourself small and silent, replaying the image of Eric in your mind and hating the taste of jealousy on your tongue, the ache of wishing Jaemin would just name you, keep you, mark you so boldly that there would be nothing left to hide.
Then you hear him, soft steps, the quiet scrape of knees against hardwood, the hush of fabric sliding low. Jaemin drops down to your level, his shadow shifting into the narrow slant of golden light, hands finding your ankles first, warm and sure, tugging you gently further into the darkness where only the two of you exist. He fits himself into the cramped space, face close to yours, his eyes gone dark and glassy in the thin beam that cuts across his cheekbones. His hands roam up your thighs, gentle but greedy, kneading the mess he left behind, his touch filthy and reverent in the same breath.
“Good girl,” he whispers, voice a velvet scrape, half praise and half a secret taunt meant only for you. “You hid so well for me. Stayed so quiet, so sweet, almost like you like being my little secret.” He lets his lips drag over your jaw, slow and possessive, and every word is a caress and a threat, as if he’s reminding you of every time he’s tucked you away and every time he’ll do it again. His fingers slide higher, pushing the Polaroids aside to find skin, pressing a bruising kiss to the inside of your knee. “You’re mine, you know that?” he murmurs, the words curling into your marrow, his gaze sharp enough to cut.
A pulse of jealousy and want rips through you at the memory of Eric’s name, how Jaemin deflected, how he never flinched, how you wish he’d say more, do more, claim you out loud. The ache in your chest is wild and tangled, the ache between your legs hotter still, every part of you desperate for the freedom of his hands, the comfort of being seen again after so long in the dark. He sees it, feels it, maybe, the way your body is still wound so tight it trembles and in the hush under the bed, he lets his forehead fall to yours, his breath heavy, mingling with yours.
For a long, hushed heartbeat neither of you speak; the air flutters with everything unspoken. Jaemin lifts one trembling hand and slowly tucks a loose strand behind your ear, the backs of his fingers skimming your temple like he’s afraid you might dissolve if he presses any harder. His thumb lingers on the curve of your cheek, tracing the warmth there in silent wonder, and you both swallow, one shared, soundless gulp that feels heavier than any promise you’ve ever spoken aloud. When his hand finally drifts lower, his touch is feather-light, almost reverent, fingers brushing the inside of your thigh just to feel the way you shiver. He doesn’t push, doesn’t rush; he only cups you gently, testing the slick heat with a sigh that sounds closer to awe than hunger, as if he’s recognizing something sacred in the softness, in the ache, in the way you’re still his even after all the chaos. You find his gaze, wide and dark, and in that fragile space between breaths it feels like you’re both standing on the edge of something deeper, something tender and terrifyingc wondering if this hush might matter just as much as the wildfire that came before. “So messy for me,” he breathes, voice half-laughing, half-growl, his lips ghosting over yours. “Still scared?” he asks, but it sounds like a challenge, not a question. He kisses you, hungry, deep, swallowing every shiver and every unsaid thing, the pent-up ache in your chest breaking loose and blooming out into the dark.
You hardly register the way Jaemin’s hands move, only that they’re everywhere at once, steadying your hips, guiding you up and out of the shadows, then pulling you into his lap with a grip that feels both reverent and ravenous. Your knees scrape the floor, sticky with sweat and dust, thighs trembling as you straddle him, your breath stuttering when you reach between your bodies and line him up, still so hard it hurts. The room is dusky and hot, the hush broken only by the ragged sound of your need and the wet slide as you sink down on his cock, slow and shaking, so full you can barely breathe. He stretches you open, your cunt still slick and swollen from before, the ache between your legs blooming into something feverish and wild. His fingers dig into your ass, leaving fresh marks over old bruises, the mess of his cum and yours smeared between your bodies, your head falling forward until your forehead touches his, both of you breathing each other’s panic, each other’s relief.
You start to move, the rhythm ragged and hungry, grinding down until you’re gasping, each thrust a new, dark shockwave that steals the world away. He mutters your name, low and hoarse, praise tangled with possession, a string of filth and promise that keeps you tethered only to him. The Polaroids lie scattered on the floor like fallen stars, each one a snapshot of ruin, each one proof that you belong to this: to the danger, to the secrecy, to the wild ache of being seen and claimed and hidden all at once. It’s all so deep, so messy, your bodies crashing together in a fever that feels endless, as if the summer itself has split open just for you, spilling out every mad secret you ever dared to keep. And you know, in the dark press of his hands, the bruising fullness of him inside you, that you’re past the point of no return, your fate sealed like a bad wish at midnight, a wildfire in a field of dry grass, the two of you doomed to keep burning for each other as long as the heat holds, as long as summer madness keeps swallowing the sun, one reckless, ruined fuck at a time.
Your hips grind down in a slow, vicious roll, claiming every inch of him until he’s seated to the hilt and you feel the blunt ache of him against your cervix, too deep, too perfect, exactly how you want him. Wet heat drips down his length, slicking his thighs and yours, pooling where your bodies crash together. You claw one hand into his hair, yanking his head back so you can stare into his eyes, both of you half-wild, half-wrecked, pupils blown so wide it looks like the darkness itself lives inside you. “Mine,” you hiss, voice shredded from too much silence and too much need. Your fingers tighten until he winces, and the sound is a drug, proof that you can hurt him, mark him, own him just as thoroughly as he’s owned you. He answers with a groan that’s half-pain, half-ecstasy, hands bruising your hips as if he could brand his name into your bones.
You rock harder, haze thick and shimmering, sweat and cum smeared into a slick tattoo across your bellies. Every thrust drags another gasp out of both of you, sweet and ugly and desperate, until the room feels suffocated by the scent of sex and jealousy and a love so sharp it cuts. He catches your mouth in a brutal kiss, teeth clacking, tongues tangling, your breath mingling into one ragged exhale that tastes like panic and summer peaches gone overripe. You bite his lip until copper blooms between you, and he moans against your tongue, the sound a confession: he likes the pain, needs the claim. You swallow it down, greedy, arching your back to grind deeper, to keep him exactly where you want him, trapped inside you, nowhere to run from the ruin you’re both carving into each other.
Polaroids litter the floor like broken promises, each glossy square flashing a frozen moment of you split open, him buried deep, both of you glowing with sweat and sin. They taunt you: proof, possession, danger. You dig your nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent moons that will sting for days, and he drags you closer, arms locked tight around your waist as if you might vanish if he lets go. The rhythm turns savage, bodies slamming together, mess squelching between you, until every thrust feels like tearing open a wound you can’t stop licking. It’s bliss edged with dread, pleasure poisoned by the knowledge that owning each other this hard can only end in fire. But you can’t stop, you don’t want to, because nothing else feels half this real, half this alive. In the thick, shimmering dark, you breathe him in, tasting salt and blood and something almost like fear, and you ride him deeper, harder, the word “mine” echoing in your throat and in his fists, until the only truth left in the world is the filthy, beautiful way you destroy each other.
𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑
Despite everything, the world keeps shifting, summer’s haze burning off until the light turns sharp, the air thinner, the sun a little more golden and ruthless as autumn tightens around the town. Leaves scrape the campus pavement, the first breath of cold threading through your open window. You count the weeks in chillier mornings and new routines, your body learning the ache of longing in a new language: you and Jaemin circling each other like ghosts, every shared hallway a battlefield of stolen glances and things unsaid. You have managed—against all your own desperate instincts—to avoid him, and he has done the same, both of you keeping to the silent agreement drawn up after Jeno almost caught everything in the glow of a single, disastrous night.
You still replay the aftermath in your head, what would have happened if Jeno found the Polaroid, if he caught the wild, fucked up secret you and Jaemin had written all over each other. You both knew it would burn your world down—family, friendships, every soft memory you had ever built. That fear was sharp enough to make you promise: no more risk, no more secret meetings, no more excuses for why your lips tasted like summer and sin. You told yourselves you could wait, that caution was just another kind of love. But that is a lie you choke on every morning.
It is fucking painful, gut-wrenching, to stay away from him. You miss everything: his hands greedy on your hips, his laugh at midnight when the whole world feels loose and dangerous, the heat of his chest pressed against your back. You ache for his cock, thick and perfect, the way he fills you until you are shaking, the way he bites down on your shoulder just to muffle the sounds you make. You crave his voice in your ear, his palm splayed possessively over your ribs, his mouth ghosting your collarbone as if he could mark you through sheer will.
Sometimes the need gets unbearable. You lie alone in the dark dorm room while Saerin is out, the window cracked open so the late-summer heat can crawl in like a living thing. The fan spins uselessly overhead, barely stirring the thick air. You pull out the old shoebox from under your bed, the one stuffed with Polaroids no one else will ever see. Your hands shake as you spread them across the sheets, images of you bent over in stairwells, mouth open around him, eyes glassy with tears of pleasure; you riding him on the rooftop at dawn, tits bouncing, his hands bruising your waist; you on your knees in the diner bathroom, his cock down your throat while the jukebox played outside. The glossy squares catch the weak lamplight, every frozen second screaming how completely he once owned you.
You listen to the old voice messages he sent you that summer, the ones you saved and never deleted. His voice fills the quiet room, low and rough and filthy, recorded in stolen moments when he could not touch you. “Miss your tight little pussy already… thinking about how you clenched around me last night… fuck, baby, I can still feel you dripping down my cock.” You play them on loop, volume low, earbuds in so Saerin won’t hear if she comes back early. His words sink into your skin like teeth. You touch yourself to them, fingers sliding through your own slick, circling your clit, then pushing inside while his recorded groans play again and again. You moan his name into the pillow, hips rolling desperately, chasing the memory of his weight, his stretch, his heat. The orgasm hits hard but hollow, leaving you shaking and empty, tears slipping down your cheeks because it is never enough. You come whispering “Jaem… Jaem...” into the humid night, but the release only sharpens the ache.
Living like this, balancing on the knife-edge of exposure, suffocating in secrecy, your body thrumming with unsatisfied need, is a kind of slow torture. Every day you press your nails into your palm and tell yourself you are doing the right thing, but you know the truth: every hour away from him is another hour spent wanting, aching, cursing the world for making it so fucking hard to love the one person who feels like home.
He has been keeping his distance too, but that only makes it worse. You catch glimpses of him across campus, shirt clinging to his shoulders after practice, sweat darkening the fabric, hair damp and pushed back, jaw sharp in the golden light. He looks so fucking sexy it hurts, every line of him screaming the man who used to pin you against walls and fuck you until you cried his name. You want to be all over him. You want to shove him into the nearest empty classroom, drop to your knees, and take him down your throat until he forgets why you are supposed to stay apart. You want his hands in your hair, his cock stretching you open, his voice breaking as he tells you how much he missed ruining you.
Instead you lie here alone, summer heat pressing down like a second skin, Polaroids scattered around you like ghosts. You’re going crazy with it—the constant throb between your legs, the way your body remembers every thrust, every bite, every filthy word he ever growled against your neck. You touch yourself again, slower this time, fingers slick and desperate, imagining it is him filling you, owning you, while the fan spins uselessly and the night outside hums with cicadas and distant laughter you are no longer part of.
You’re losing your mind in the sweetest, most heartbreaking way—crushed under the weight of a summer romance that refuses to die even as the season itself begins to end.
The memory hits you like the first blast of heat off asphalt, sharp and unrelenting, even now.
It is two weeks after the close call under the bed. The air is thick with late-summer humidity, the kind that clings to your skin and makes every breath feel heavy. You are in Jaemin’s dorm room again, the one place that still feels like yours even though you both know it cannot stay that way. The window is cracked open, letting in the distant hum of cicadas and the low throb of music from someone’s party across the quad. The fairy lights Saerin strung up weeks ago are the only glow in the room, soft gold bleeding across his bare chest as he sits on the edge of the mattress.
You’re straddling his lap, knees sinking into the sheets, your tank top already shoved up around your ribs. His hands are everywhere, possessive, greedy, sliding up your back, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until they tighten under his touch. His cock is deep inside you, thick and hot, stretching you open with every slow roll of your hips. The wet sound of your bodies moving together fills the small room, slick and obscene, your breath catching every time he presses up to meet you.
Jaemin’s forehead rests against yours, eyes half-lidded, dark and hungry. His mouth finds your throat, sucking a slow, open-mouthed kiss there, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groans against your skin, voice low and rough, “you feel so good. Always so fucking good for me.” His hands grip your ass harder, guiding you down onto him again, deeper, until you whimper and bury your face in his neck.
For a moment it feels perfect, the kind of heated, desperate intimacy you have been starving for. But then his rhythm falters. He is still beneath you, chest rising fast, and you feel the shift before he even speaks.
“We have to end this,” he says quietly, the words cutting through the haze like cold water.
You freeze, hips still pressed flush to his, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. Your heart stutters.
“Jeno’s getting suspicious,” Jaemin continues, voice tight, strained. His hands stay on your hips, holding you there even as the words land. “He asked me yesterday why I’ve been acting weird around you. He’s not stupid. One more slip and he’ll figure it out. I can’t keep doing this in secret, Y/N. I can’t keep sneaking around like we’re something dirty. I want to fuck you openly. I want to touch you in front of everyone. I want to kiss you in the middle of the quad without looking over my shoulder. I want you without fear.”
His voice cracks on the last part, raw and frustrated. He rolls his hips once, slow and deliberate, pushing deeper into you as if to emphasize the point, as if the feel of you around him is the only thing keeping him from falling apart. You gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, tears already burning at the corners of your eyes.
“I want you so fucking bad it hurts,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours again, breath hot against your lips. “I want to take you to the diner and pull you onto my lap in front of everyone. I want to slide my hand under your skirt while we’re sitting with the group and feel how wet you get for me. I want to stop pretending. But we can’t. Not like this. Not if it means losing everything.”
The words sink in, heavy and final. You are still rocking against him, slow and desperate, tears slipping silently down your cheeks now. Anger flares hot in your chest, anger at him for saying it, anger at the situation, anger at yourself for wanting him so much it feels like drowning.
“You’re the one who started this,” you whisper, voice trembling, slightly sharp with hurt. “You’re the one who pulled me back in. And now you’re the one ending it?” You grind down harder, almost punishing, chasing the friction even as your heart cracks open. “I hate you for this. I hate how much I still want you.”
Jaemin groans, low and broken, hands tightening on your hips as he thrusts up into you once, twice, hard enough to make you cry out. “I know,” he breathes against your mouth, kissing you messy and desperate, tasting your tears. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. But I can’t keep hiding you. I can’t keep pretending you’re not everything to me.”
He kisses you again, deeper, slower, his cock still buried inside you, the heat between you unbearable. You are crying openly now, angry tears mixing with the overwhelming ache of pleasure and loss. Your body keeps moving, chasing him even as your heart fractures, because letting go feels impossible.
The summer heat presses in through the open window, sticky and relentless, wrapping around the two of you like a final, suffocating embrace. You come like that — tears on your cheeks, his name a broken sob on your lips — and Jaemin follows right after, holding you tight like he never wants to let go.
But you both know he has to.
The memory fades, leaving you alone in the present, chest tight, body aching with a need that has nowhere left to go. The distance you both agreed to feels heavier than ever, and yet every glimpse of him in the hallway still sets your skin on fire. You want to be all over him. You want to crawl into his lap and never leave. You want the version of him that fucks you openly, touches you openly, claims you without fear.
Instead, you press your nails into your palm and keep walking.
Living like this — balancing on the knife-edge of exposure, suffocating in secrecy, your body thrumming with unsatisfied need — is a kind of slow torture. Every day, you press your nails into your palm and tell yourself you’re doing the right thing, but you know the truth: every hour away from him is another hour spent wanting, aching, cursing the world for making it so fucking hard to love the one person who feels like home.
The sun hangs heavy and golden, the kind of late summer light that makes everything feel like it’s melting at the edges. You and Eric are parked on the hood of his old Civic at the edge of the quarry, legs dangling over the warm metal. The lake stretches out below like spilled ink under a sky that is starting to bruise pink and orange. The air smells like cut grass and distant bonfire smoke. Cicadas scream their endless chorus, and the faint sweetness of melting ice cream drips down your fingers.
Eric’s shirt is open, the thin white cotton unbuttoned almost all the way, flapping lazily in the breeze. His chest is sun-warmed and smooth, a faint sheen of sweat catching the light across his collarbones and the lean cut of his abs. He looks stupidly good like this, hair messy from the wind, sunglasses pushed up into it, that easy half-smile that always makes the corner of his mouth twitch like he is thinking about something dirty but pretending he isn’t. He licks a slow stripe up his own ice cream cone, strawberry dripping over his knuckles, and laughs when you nudge his shoulder with yours.
“Stop staring,” he teases, voice low and warm, handing you another napkin before the cherry syrup runs down your wrist. “You’re gonna make me think you actually like me or something.”
You roll your eyes but smile, the kind of smile that feels easy with him. The two of you have always been like this, close, comfortable, the kind of friendship that slips into something flirty without ever quite crossing the line. He has been there through every late night diner shift, every dumb story, every time you needed someone who didn’t ask too many questions. Tonight it feels softer, slower, the kind of summer evening that makes you want to believe things could be simple.
You lick at your own cone, the cold sweetness cutting through the heat, and for a moment you let yourself lean into his side. His arm drapes loosely around your shoulders, thumb brushing your bare skin where your tank top strap has slipped. It is nice. Comfortable. Safe.
Then Eric clears his throat, the sound a little too careful. He sets his ice cream down on the hood, the cone already starting to melt into a pink puddle.
“Y/N,” he says, voice quieter now, serious in a way that makes your stomach dip. “I need to tell you something.”
You turn to look at him. The sun is behind him, turning the edges of his hair gold, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the way his eyes have gone soft and nervous all at once.
“I like you,” he says, simple and direct, no teasing left in his tone. “I’ve always had a thing for you. Since we were kids running around the same cul-de-sac, stealing bikes and eating popsicles on the curb. It’s never really gone away. I thought… that maybe this summer, before everything changes, I could finally say it. I want to get to know you more. For real. Not just as friends. I want to take you out, kiss you without wondering if I’m imagining the way you look at me sometimes.”
The words land warm and heavy. Eric is looking at you like you are the only thing in the whole damn town that matters right now. His hand slides down to rest on your knee, thumb stroking slow circles. He is beautiful in the dying light, open shirt, flushed cheeks, that gentle, hopeful smile that makes your chest ache in a different way.
For a second you let yourself imagine it. Letting go. Moving on. Letting your heart feel free instead of this constant, suffocating pull toward someone you are not supposed to want. Maybe if you tried… maybe it would stop hurting so much.
You don’t answer with words. You lean in and kiss him instead.
Eric makes a soft surprised sound against your mouth, then his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The kiss starts sweet, strawberry-sweet, sun-warm but quickly turns deeper. You shift, swinging one leg over so you are straddling his lap on the hood of the car, the metal still radiating heat through your shorts. His hands settle on your hips, thumbs brushing under the hem of your tank top, and you rock against him, slow and experimental, feeling the way he hardens beneath you.
He groans quietly into the kiss, tongue sliding against yours, one hand sliding up your back under your shirt. It feels good. Safe. His mouth is warm and eager, his body solid and familiar. You grind down a little harder, chasing friction, trying to lose yourself in it, trying to make your heart listen.
But your heart does not listen.
It keeps drifting somewhere else, to darker eyes, to a voice that says your name like a secret, to hands that know exactly how to ruin you and put you back together in the same breath. Every roll of your hips feels like performance. Every soft sound you make feels hollow.
Eric pulls back first.
His hands are gentle on your waist, steadying you. His forehead rests against yours for a second, breath shaky, before he shakes his head slowly. When he looks at you, his eyes are bright with something that looks too much like pain.
“Y/N…” he murmurs, voice rough. “I can feel you shaking. Your heart isn’t in it.”
The words hit like cold water. You freeze on his lap. The summer breeze suddenly feels too sharp against your skin. Tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes before you can stop them. You slide off him, sitting beside him on the warm hood instead, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around yourself like that might hold everything together.
Eric does not push. He just sits there, shirt still open, ice cream long forgotten and melting between you, waiting.
You swallow hard, voice cracking when it finally comes out.
“I… I really like Jaemin,” you whisper, the confession tasting like rust and summer fruit left too long in the sun. “I’ve liked him for years. That summer, it wasn’t just messing around. We were together, in secret but it was real. We made love everywhere, stairwells, rooftops, the backseat of Jeno’s car while everyone was inside laughing. We went on so many dates and spent so much time together. A few days ago we… we almost got caught. Jeno was right outside the door and I was under the bed with Polaroids of us scattered everywhere, still wet from him, still shaking. It was terrifying. And amazing. And I can’t stop thinking about him. Every time I try to move on, every time I tell myself I should, my heart just… it goes right back to him.”
Tears slip down your cheeks now, hot and quiet. Eric listens without interrupting, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the lake like he is trying to hold himself together.
“I know it’s stupid,” you say, voice breaking. “He left before. He’s Jeno’s best friend. It could ruin everything. But I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore. I really like him, Eric. I think I’m in love with him.”
The silence stretches, thick and heavy with summer heat and unsaid things. Eric’s shoulders drop. When he finally speaks, his voice is raw, cracked right down the middle.
“Fuck,” he breathes, a short, broken laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That… that hurts more than I thought it would.”
He rubs a hand over his face, then looks at you — really looks at you — with eyes that are wet and honest and so full of love it makes your chest cave in.
“But I get it,” he says quietly. “I’ve seen the way you light up when his name comes up, even when you try to hide it. I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching. If what you have with Jaemin is real… if it’s the kind of thing that makes you shake and cry and still want to run toward it… then you should go for it, Y/N. Follow your heart. Don’t settle for safety. Don’t settle for me just because I’m here and I’m easy.”
He reaches over and brushes a tear from your cheek with his thumb, the touch gentle, aching.
“I will always love you,” he says, voice thick. “But I love you enough to want your happiness more than I want you for myself. And if Jaemin is the one who can make you happy — really happy, the kind that doesn’t leave you crying on car hoods — then go get him. Tell him. Stop hiding. You deserve that.”
You lean into his side, forehead against his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you, holding you while the sun slips lower and the cicadas keep screaming like nothing in the world has changed.
The ice cream has completely melted now, pink rivers running across the hood, sticky and sweet and gone too fast, just like every perfect summer thing.
But for the first time in weeks, something in your chest feels a little lighter. Scared, yes. Terrified, actually. But lighter.
Because maybe Eric is right.
Maybe it’s time to stop hiding.
A week later the dorm room feels smaller than ever, the air thick and sticky with leftover summer heat that refuses to break even after dark. Saerin is snoring softly across the hallway, one arm flung over her head, the faint glow of her flip phone charger casting a weak blue line across the ceiling. You’re locked in, door bolted, lights off, the only illumination coming from your own flip-phone screen resting on your bare stomach. The fan in the corner hums uselessly, doing nothing to cool the fever crawling under your skin.
You scroll through the hidden album, thumb trembling as each Polaroid loads in grainy, vivid color. There’s the one from the rooftop at dawn, your back arched against the shingles, Jaemin’s mouth between your thighs, the sky behind him bleeding soft pink and gold while his hands gripped your hips like he was afraid the wind would take you. There’s the diner booth shot, your legs spread under the table, his fingers buried deep while the jukebox played some old Yeah Yeah Yeahs song and cherry syrup dripped down your wrist. There’s the backseat of Jeno’s car, fogged windows, your face pressed to the glass, mouth open in a silent cry as Jaemin fucked you slow and deep from behind, one hand fisted in your hair, the other holding the camera so the flash caught the exact moment your eyes rolled back. Each image is summer itself, sticky skin, cicada hum, the metallic taste of want in the back of your throat and every single one makes the ache between your legs throb harder.
You’re already touching yourself, two fingers sliding through the slick mess between your thighs, circling your clit with desperate little strokes while your other hand clutches the phone tighter. The room is quiet except for the wet sound of your fingers and your own ragged breathing. You come the first time staring at the rooftop Polaroid, hips jerking, a broken whimper of his name slipping out before you can bite it back. It’s not enough, it’s never enough.
Your thumb hovers, then you open the messaging screen and type with shaking fingers. You know that Jaemin is working an overnight shift at the VHS store, alone in the quiet aisles surrounded by old tapes.
Your pulse thuds in your throat. You sit up, knees splayed, and slide two slick fingers inside, slow, greedy, curling just so, while the other hand fumbles for the flip phone. The tiny lens catches the wet glint, the tremor of your hand; the photo comes out crooked and too intimate, every pixel obscene. A warm Polaroid rests on your thigh as you press deeper, hips pitching, breath coming in sharp, needy pulls. Heat blooms behind your eyes, your muscles clench around nothing and everything, and you watch the grainy image on the screen, then, with a soft, reckless laugh, you tap send. The message vanishes and your body unravels a little more, fingers moving faster, breath ragged, already burning for what comes next.
A minute later your phone vibrates. The photo he sends is dark and filthy, his hand wrapped tight around the slick length of him, thick and swollen, the tip catching the light so it gleams; a bead of pre cum clings to his fingers and the veins stand out like cords. His abs flex in the dim glow of the lamp, skin shining, every plane of him alive and impatient. The voice note beside it lands in your ear like a whisper against your throat: low, rough, deliberate. “See how hard I am for you,” he says, slow enough that you feel each syllable press against your skin. “I’m thinking about the way you’ll take me, quiet and greedy, how you’ll look up with those wet eyes when I make you beg.” His breath rasps once, then softer: “I want you dripping for me. I want you to know every mark I’ll leave.”
The phone barely rings once before Jaemin’s voice crashes through the line, raw and urgent, thick with the kind of hunger that makes your stomach drop. “Y/N,” he growls, no hello, no softness, just the low scrape of his breath like he’s already stroking himself behind the VHS counter on this dead quiet overnight shift. “Fuck, I’ve been hard since your last text. Tell me you’re touching that greedy little pussy right now. I need to hear how wet you are for me, baby. Spread those legs wider and fuck yourself like you’d let me bend you over the register and ruin you if I was there.”
You moan instantly, fingers plunging deeper, the wet sounds loud and obscene through the speaker as you obey without thinking. Jaemin’s breathing turns ragged, urgent, his voice dropping into a filthy growl between his own strokes. “That’s it, fuck, listen to how sloppy you sound. You’re so fucking desperate tonight, aren’t you? Needy little slut dripping all over your sheets just from my voice. You’re lucky it’s a quiet night at the store, no one here to hear me telling you how bad I want to choke you while I breed that tight cunt until you’re shaking and crying my name. Keep moaning for me, baby. Louder. Let me hear how badly you need my cock splitting you open.”
You press the phone harder to your ear so you can feel the vibration against your skin, his voice a low animal rasp that makes your spine go electric. “Tell me everything,” he orders, no softness, just want. You answer in ragged gasps, fingers pistoning faster, the bed creaking under the rhythm of your hips.
The Polaroids burn against your chest like brands, glossy edges sticking to sweat-slick skin as you trace one with a trembling fingertip, desperate to pull him out of the paper and into your body. “I’m looking at the one where you pinned me to your car,” you whisper, voice cracking with raw need. “I remember the way you pressed your full weight into my back, your cock so deep I could feel you all the way in my throat. I remember the burn of your thumb on my pulse, holding me down while you fucked me like you owned every inch of me.”
He laughs, a short, cruel, hungry sound that shoots straight to your cunt and makes fresh slick drip down your fingers. “Yeah? Remember how you begged me to stop being gentle, baby? How you cried and clawed at the seat and told me to ruin you, to fuck you harder until you couldn’t walk?” Your mouth falls open around a sound that’s half laugh, half broken sob, and you shove three fingers so deep the stretch borders on pain, delicious and impossible, your walls fluttering greedily around them as if they could ever be enough.
“I’m so fucking obsessed with you,” you gasp, hips jerking, thumb grinding hard on your swollen clit. “I want your cock splitting me open right now. I want you to choke me, spit in my mouth, breed me until I’m leaking you for days. Please, Jaemin— I’m losing my mind without you inside me.”
He paints pictures with words while you answer like a metronome for him. “I’d flip you over the hood and make you watch me when I take you,” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-rough, the kind that slides under your skin and curls hot in your belly. “You’d look at me with that stupid, wet face and try to bite down the beautiful sounds that you make.” Your thumb works your clit in tight, frantic circles, timing yourself to the cadence of his breathing; every syllable from him is a stroke to your nerve endings, electric and unrelenting. “Say it,” he commands, the word dark and greedy. “Say you want me to mark you.”
You don’t hesitate. “I need you to mark me,” you breathe, voice thin as spun sugar. “I want your teeth, your name across my throat, your spit in my mouth.” He curses into the receiver and it vibrates against the mattress like a small, obscene drum. The room narrows to the press of his voice and the ache that coils through your pelvis, the rest of the world falling away to a single desperate need.
He gets mean when he wants you to break, words slick with possession. “You’re mine when you make that face,” he says, slowly, tasting the ownership. “You know how it looks when you can’t keep your hands off yourself thinking of me. Keep going. Make those wet sounds for me.” You oblige, louder now, fingers hammering, the speaker catching every slick, obscene slurp. The noise is obscene enough to make you hot with shame and thrill at once; the knowledge that your roommate might stir and hear only sharpens the sense of being exposed and owned. “Pretend I’m slamming into you from behind,” he whispers, “hard enough that your throat clenches and your knees want to give out.” You press your palm flat against the mattress and shove faster, a low keening building in your chest until you cannot form whole sentences, only broken pleas and names and filthy little promises.
His voice is deep and sultry, smoke-wrapped velvet that drags slow across every raw nerve, each word dripping with greedy heat as you fuck yourself harder. You circle your clit with two slick fingers, fast and tight, then slow it down to a torturous grind when he tells you to, edging yourself exactly how he wants, thighs trembling, hips jerking off the bed. The ache builds sharp and electric under his command, your pussy clenching around three fingers while your other hand pinches and rolls your swollen clit, every filthy syllable from him making fresh slick drip down your wrist. You’re so close it hurts, breath coming in broken gasps, body arched and desperate, completely owned by the low, possessive rumble of his voice telling you exactly how he would ruin you if he were there.
The escalation is relentless. He tells you to set the phone closer, audacious and clinical, and you wedge it between your thighs with reckless obedience so his voice is literally inside your cunt. The speaker picks up the wet, rhythmic music of your hand, a soundtrack to his control. “Say how you want me to ruin you,” he orders. “Say how you’ll take every bruise as a medal.”
Your words are sticky and unwantedly honest. “I want you to ruin me. I want you to bruise me where everyone can see.” He answers with a flood of images, counter edges, palm prints, the sting of a slap, each one carving a hotter, more urgent hollow in your stomach. Your thumb moves so hard it hurts; the delicious pain is a counterpoint to the pressure building behind your ribs. Heat racks your body into a sob, and the way his voice tightens at the edges tells you he’s close, too.
When you tell him you’re nearly there, he goes for the last brutal mile. “Scream for me,” he hisses, cruel and needy. “Scream and make it mine.” You obey, letting your voice tear out of you raw and ragged, hips pitching to meet your own hand. Memory fragments, last summer’s sheets, the greasy taste of his mouth, the way he swallowed your name, flash like film through your skull and feed the swell. Your body folds over the edge of the orgasm like a broken thing, pulsing, clamping around nothing but the fantasy of his cock, and you feel the release come like an avalanche: hot, sudden, violent. Your fingers knot in your hair, your legs tremble, and the noise you make is big and unignorable.
“Show me your clit right now,” he growls suddenly, voice cracking with raw, obsessive hunger. “Pull those pretty lips open and let the camera see how swollen and dripping you are for me. I want to watch you throb while you cum again.” You obey instantly, spreading yourself wide with trembling fingers, angling the flip phone so the grainy lens catches the slick, puffy folds and your clit standing out hard and aching. The flash of the camera goes off as you send the photo, and his reaction is immediate, a deep, guttural moan that vibrates through the speaker like thunder, thick and desperate, the sound of a man losing control. “Fuck, look at that greedy little clit, all red and begging. You’re so fucking wet it’s dripping down your ass. I can see it pulsing for me, baby. You’re mine, every swollen inch of you is mine.”
He keeps moaning, low and filthy, the wet slap of his fist growing louder as he strokes his own thick cock, the heavy length throbbing in his grip while he stares at the photo you sent. “God, I’m so hard it hurts,” he groans, voice breaking with greedy obsession. “My cock is so thick and heavy right now, veins standing out, the head all shiny and leaking pre-cum just thinking about slamming into that tight, dripping pussy. I wish it was you wrapped around me instead of my hand, Y/N. I wish I was buried balls-deep in that hot, sloppy cunt, stretching you open until you scream, fucking you so hard the bed shakes while you milk every drop out of me. I’d fill you up until it leaks down your thighs, then flip you over and do it again, because I can’t get enough of ruining you.”
Silence follows that fragility for a breath, then his voice, small and strangled, breaks it: “I’m falling apart too.” The sound of him finishing is messy and humiliating in the best way, each guttural gasp broadcast against your inner ear like summer thunder rolling low over the lake. You curl, still shaking, and press the Polaroids to your chest like small, sweaty relics of every golden afternoon you stole together. The two of you lie in the aftershock over the phone, breathing shared across distance, the line a thin, charged thread still humming with heat and the faint promise of something more. “Sleep if you can,” he murmurs, possessive and soft for a second, like the boy who once kissed your forehead at dawn and made the whole world feel possible. “Dream about who I’ll be when I get to you.” You whisper yes, mouth full of him and the sticky ache of want, and the world tilts back into its soft, sticky reality, sheets tangled like humid vines, Polaroids smeared with the faint gloss of your tears and his imagined touch, your pulse slow and still buzzing from the echo of his voice.
The dorm room is thick with late summer heat that clings to skin like honey left too long in the sun. You stand in front of the cracked mirror wearing a tiny white babydoll top that ties at the front, the thin cotton barely containing your breasts and leaving most of your midriff bare, the hem fluttering just below your ribs. Your skirt is short and flouncy, retro cherry-red with tiny white polka dots, the kind of thing that flips up with every step and shows the soft curve where thigh meets ass. Saerin is beside you in an even more dangerous outfit, a cropped baby tee in faded baby blue that says “Kiss Me” in glittery script across her chest, paired with denim cut offs so short the pockets hang lower than the hem, her long legs glistening with shimmer oil that catches the light like dew on morning grass. Both of you look like walking summer sin: bare shoulders, glossy lips, hair loose and messy from the humidity, flip-flops swapped for strappy sandals that make your legs look endless. The air smells like coconut sunscreen, cherry lip gloss, and the faint smoke from someone’s distant bonfire drifting through the open window.
The Lantern Walk is the final summer ritual everyone in town knows by heart, but its purpose is quieter and more electric than any bonfire offering. It’s the night the whole town gathers at the old quarry lake to send wishes and secrets forward on glowing paper lanterns that float across the black water like tiny floating stars. Everyone carries a lantern on a string, some simple white, some painted with glitter or scribbled messages no one else will ever read and at midnight they light them together, letting the warm glow lift into the dark sky or drift out over the lake, carrying hopes, confessions, and the last breathless promises of summer into whatever comes next. The tradition is simple and ancient in this small town: you release something, letting the lanterns carry what you cannot say out loud into the night while the massive bonfire roars behind you, casting golden light on bare shoulders and flushed cheeks. It’s equal parts goodbye and dare, the night when hands wander too far in the shadows, when eyes meet too long across the flames, when summer makes its last, hottest stand before the leaves start to turn and the lanterns disappear into the dark like fading memories.
Your makeup and hair look like the final brushstroke on a Polaroid left too long in the sun. You kept it purely simple yet electric: glossy cherry lip gloss layered thick until your lips shine like fresh candy, heavy black winged liner flicked sharp at the outer corners with a steady hand and a little liquid liner you borrowed from Saerin, cheeks dusted with peachy pink blush blended high for that fresh-from-the-lake flush. Your eyes are smoky but soft, shimmery gold on the lids, a touch of brown in the crease, mascara clumped just enough to look like you’ve been crying happy tears all night. Your hair is loose and messy in the best way: big, beachy waves created with a cheap curling iron and a spritz of sea salt spray, a few strands clipped back with tiny glitter barrettes that catch the light when you move. Saerin went even bolder, glittery baby blue eyeshadow all the way up to her brows, frosted pink lips, and her dark hair twisted into two loose space buns with strands falling out like she just rolled out of someone’s backseat. Together you look like the last perfect night of summer bottled up and poured into two girls who know exactly how dangerous they are.
Saerin catches your eye in the mirror, her glittery eyelids narrowing as she adjusts the hem of her top. “You look like trouble,” she says, voice low and knowing. “And so does he. Listen, Y/N, you and Jaemin won’t be able to keep your hands off each other tonight. He's gonna be shirtless and your entire ass is out, so I know it. The second the fire lights up and the lanterns start floating, you two are going to forget every promise you made about staying apart. You need to tell Jeno soon. Before someone else sees what I see every time you look at each other. This secret is getting too loud.”
Before you can answer, the low rumble of Jeno’s truck echoes outside. You and Saerin grab your things and head down. Jeno is already leaning against the driver’s side, arms crossed, looking every inch the overprotective older brother in his faded varsity jacket and backwards cap. Eric and Sunwoo are in the back seat, Eric sprawled with that lazy grin, Sunwoo drumming his fingers on the door. The second you and Saerin climb in, Jeno’s eyes narrow at the two boys.
“Hands where I can see them,” he says flatly, pointing at Eric especially. “Especially you. I still remember what you called my sister last summer, ‘midnight snack.’ Try that again and I’ll make sure the only thing you’re snacking on is hospital food.” Eric raises his hands in mock surrender, laughing, while Sunwoo snorts and mutters something about Jeno needing to relax. The truck rumbles to life, the cab filling with the familiar smell of old leather, cut grass, and cheap cologne.
The truck turns up outside the VHS store a few minutes later, the neon sign flickering faintly in the dark. Everyone exchanges confused glances. “Why are we stopping here?” Saerin asks, popping her gum.
Jeno shrugs, voice casual but firm. “Jaemin’s just closing the store now, so he’s coming with us.” The only empty seat, of course, is in the very back, right next to you.
The door opens and Jaemin slides in. He looks devastating. His brown button down is open almost to the middle of his chest, the thin fabric clinging to his shoulders and the sharp cut of his abs from the humidity, sleeves rolled up to show the veins in his forearms. The shirt is tucked loosely into dark jeans that sit low on his hips, a silver chain glinting at his belt. His hair is messy in that perfectly careless way, falling across his forehead, and his face, sharp jaw, full lips, those dark eyes that always look like they know exactly what you taste like, is pure summer sin. He smells like the store, old plastic, faint smoke, and something warmer, something that is unmistakably him.
The truck pulls away. Conversation flows easily at first, Saerin teasing Sunwoo, Eric cracking jokes, Jeno grumbling about everyone behaving. But in the back seat the air grows thick. Jaemin leans in close, his breath warm against your ear, voice low enough that only you can hear.
“You look like every bad decision I want to make tonight,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear with slow, deliberate heat, his breath warm and heavy against your skin like the last humid sigh of summer. “That tiny skirt is going to kill me, every time it flips up I can see the soft curve where your thigh meets your ass, and all I can think about is sliding my hand under it right here, feeling how wet you already are for me, how ready that greedy little pussy is to take every inch while the whole truck pretends nothing is happening.”
His voice drops even lower, velvet rough and possessive, as his fingers trace the hem of your skirt, slipping higher with teasing slowness until they brush the damp heat between your thighs. “God, you’re soaked already, dripping for me like you’ve been aching all day. I want to push these panties aside and sink two fingers deep inside you, curl them right against that spot that makes you shake, while I whisper every filthy thing I’m going to do to you once we’re alone, bend you over the first dark corner I find, fuck you slow and deep until you’re biting my shoulder to stay quiet, filling you up until my cum leaks down your thighs for the rest of the night.” His thumb circles your clit through the thin fabric with lazy, sensual pressure, making your breath hitch as the truck rumbles on, the danger and intimacy twisting together like smoke and honey under the summer stars.
Your thighs press together, the soft skin slick with heat and the faint dampness already gathering between them, but you don’t pull away. Instead you shift deliberately in the seat, angling your body toward him so the short hem of your cherry red, polka dot skirt rides higher, the flouncy fabric brushing the top of your thighs and giving him a teasing glimpse of the curve where thigh meets ass. “Then stop looking,” you whisper back, voice already breathy and edged with bratty frustration, a little spark of anger flickering through the ache because he’s the one who started this distance and now he’s staring like he wants to devour you. “Or don’t. I don’t care. I don’t know which is worse, you pretending you can keep your hands off me, or me pretending I don’t want them all over me right now.”
You lean in just enough that your bare shoulder brushes his arm, the thin white babydoll top shifting so the tie at the front loosens slightly, the swell of your breasts pressing against the cotton in a way that makes the fabric strain. Your voice drops lower, bratty and sexual, a challenge wrapped in need. “You’ve been keeping your distance all week like a good boy, but I can feel how hard you are already. If you’re going to look at me like that, at least do something about it. Slide your hand under this skirt and feel how wet I am for you… or are you still too scared Jeno might notice what his best friend is doing to his little sister in the back seat?”
The words come out with a sharp little huff of anger mixed with pure want, your hips shifting again so your thigh presses deliberately against his, the heat of your skin radiating through the thin fabric as you angle your body to tempt him even more, daring him to break first while your heart races with the risky thrill of it all.
His hand slides discreetly under the hem of your short skirt, palm scorching hot against the soft, sun kissed skin of your inner thigh, fingers rough and greedy as they creep higher like they own every inch of summer-slick flesh. “Worse is not touching you,” he growls low against your ear, breath humid and heavy like the thick August air rolling off the lake, “I’ve been thinking about this pussy all shift at the store, imagining how wet and swollen you get for me, how that tight little cunt clenches and milks my fingers when I tell you you’re mine, dripping honey down my hand while the whole town sleeps.”
You bite your lip hard enough to taste cherry gloss and salt, thighs parting just enough to invite him deeper as his fingers slip under the thin, soaked fabric of your panties, stroking through your already slick, puffy folds with deliberate, filthy intent. The touch is electric and rough, two thick fingers parting your dripping lips, sliding through the messy arousal you made earlier while staring at those Polaroids, then pressing inside you with a wet, obscene sound you pray the rumble of the truck drowns out. He curls them deep and hard, stroking that swollen, sensitive spot that makes your vision blur and your breath hitch, his calloused thumb working your throbbing clit in tight, relentless circles that send sparks shooting up your spine like fireflies exploding in the humid night air.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he rasps, voice dark and greedy, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his fingers pump faster, deeper, the slick squelch barely masked by the engine and distant laughter. “This greedy little cunt is dripping down my wrist already, clenching around me like it’s starving for my cock. You’ve been aching for me all night, haven’t you? Touching yourself to those pictures while I was stuck at the store wishing I could bend you over the counter and fuck you raw until you’re screaming my name and creaming all over me.” His thumb presses harder on your swollen clit, rubbing rough circles while his fingers curl and thrust, stretching you open with every slick plunge, the summer heat making everything wetter, hotter, more dangerous as you fight to stay quiet in the back seat.
You angle your hips toward him, bratty and needy, skirt riding higher so the flouncy fabric brushes his wrist, giving him even more access while your breath comes in short, desperate gasps. The risk makes it filthier, Jeno driving up front, Eric and Sunwoo laughing, completely unaware that Jaemin’s thick fingers are buried knuckle deep in your pulsing cunt, fucking you slow and dirty while his thumb abuses your clit until your thighs tremble and your pussy flutters greedily around him. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers, voice rough with lust, “keep that pretty pussy nice and quiet for me… or don’t. Let me feel how bad you need to cum all over my hand like the naughty little slut you are for me.”
“Shh, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your neck with hot, humid breath that smells like summer smoke and mint gum, his voice a low, velvet growl that vibrates straight down your spine and pools molten between your thighs. “Keep quiet for me… unless you want Jeno to turn around and see how well his best friend is taking care of his little sister — two thick fingers buried knuckle-deep in that dripping, greedy cunt, stretching you open while my thumb rubs your swollen clit until you’re shaking and creaming all over my hand like the naughty little slut you are for me.” His fingers never stop their slow, filthy rhythm, pumping deep and curling hard against that sensitive spot inside you with every slick thrust, thumb circling your throbbing clit in tight, relentless strokes that send white-hot sparks shooting up your spine and make your pussy clench greedily around him, slick coating his hand and dripping shamelessly onto the warm leather seat beneath you.
You are so close already, hips twitching helplessly as the summer night presses in thick and humid through the cracked window, the distant crackle of the approaching bonfire mixing with the wet, obscene sounds of his fingers fucking into your soaked cunt. Jeno’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, narrowing slightly, his protective-brother radar twitching. “You okay back there, Y/N? You sound a little… off.”
You swallow hard, voice shaky and breathless but trying desperately to sound normal while Jaemin’s fingers curl deeper, thumb pressing harder on your pulsing clit with a wicked little twist that makes your walls flutter and fresh slick gush around his knuckles. “Yeah… just tired. Long day.”
Jaemin’s fingers keep working you with filthy precision, curling and thrusting slow and deep while his thumb rubs tight, relentless circles that have your thighs trembling and your breath catching in soft, bitten-off whimpers. A wicked little smile curls on his lips as he leans back like nothing is happening, the summer night thick with heat and danger and the wet, secret rhythm of his hand between your thighs, his fingers slick and shiny with your arousal as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
Saerin catches your reflection in the overhead mirror, her glittery eyes widening for half a second before she winks slowly and filthy, then makes a show of dramatically fanning herself with her hand. “Whew, it’s getting real hot back there,” she says loudly, voice dripping with fake innocence as she pops her gum and shoots you a cheeky little smirk in the mirror. “Must be all that summer heat… or maybe someone’s just really excited for the lanterns tonight.” She laughs, light and teasing, while you fight to keep your face neutral, pussy clenching hard around Jaemin’s fingers as another wave of slick drips down his hand.
The truck doors slam shut one by one, the sound swallowed by the roar of the bonfire and the low thump of old boomboxes spilling The Killers and The Cranberries into the humid night air. You step out on shaky legs, the short cherry-red skirt flipping teasingly against your thighs, the thin white babydoll top clinging to your skin from the heat and the lingering slickness between your legs. Jaemin’s fingers have left you soaked and throbbing, and every step makes your pussy ache with the memory of how deep he curled them inside you. You force a bright, tipsy smile as you link arms with Saerin, already feeling the first warm buzz of the cheap vodka someone handed you the second you arrived. The quarry lake is lit like the town decided to set summer on fire one last time, paper lanterns swaying overhead on long strings, orange and pink bleeding into the black water like melted candy, the massive bonfire roaring in the center, casting golden light across bare shoulders, glossy lips, and flushed cheeks.
Saerin giggles, already a little drunk, her cropped baby blue “Kiss Me” top riding up as she spins you both toward the fire. “Come on, let’s dance like we own the night,” she says, pulling you into the thick of bodies. You let the music take you, the beat low and dirty, hips rolling slow and seductive as you slut drop low to the ground, ass popping back up with a teasing wiggle that makes your short skirt flip dangerously high. Saerin presses close behind you, her hands sliding over your waist, then boldly cupping your tits through the thin babydoll top, squeezing playfully as she grinds her hips against your ass. You laugh, drunk and giddy, arching back into her touch while your own hands roam, rubbing your ass against her, then turning to press your tits against hers in a heated, playful grind that has half the guys nearby staring openly.
Eric and Sunwoo slide in seamlessly, turning the four of you into a sweaty, laughing throuple of dancing bodies, Eric’s hands on your hips from the front, Sunwoo behind Saerin, all of you moving together in a haze of summer heat, bare skin, and too much vodka. You egg them on, voice breathy and naughty. “Hands lower, boys… don’t be shy tonight,” as Eric’s palms slide down to squeeze your ass and Sunwoo’s fingers brush the underside of Saerin’s tits, the air thick with sexual tension and the metallic taste of want.
Across the fire, you spot Winter leaning in close to Jaemin by the truck bed, her hand resting on his open black button down, fingers tracing the fresh hickeys you left on his collarbone two weeks ago when you “accidentally” ran into each other at the laundromat. She laughs at something he says, tilting her head so her hair falls over one shoulder, the intimate way their bodies angle toward each other, close enough that her breasts brush his arm, makes jealousy twist hot and sharp in your stomach.
Jaemin looks devastating in the firelight, the open shirt clinging to his chest and abs, silver chain glinting, dark eyes flicking toward you every few seconds even as he talks to her. You feel it like teeth on your throat, his stare heavy and possessive, watching every roll of your hips, every time Eric’s hands squeeze your ass or Saerin’s fingers tease your tits. The jealousy burns, but it only makes you dance dirtier, dropping lower, grinding harder against Eric while you lock eyes with Jaemin across the flames, a bratty, seductive challenge in your gaze as you mouth “miss me?” and let your skirt flip up just enough to show the curve of your ass.
You keep giggling with Saerin, drunk and giddy, the vodka making everything feel loose and golden. At one point you spin into her arms, faces inches apart, lips brushing in a near-kiss that’s all teasing heat and summer recklessness, her gloss sticky against yours, both of you laughing breathlessly as the boys cheer and press closer, turning the dance into something even filthier. Eric’s hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through the thin top, while Sunwoo grinds against Saerin from behind, the four of you lost in your own sweaty, sexual little world. The summer night wraps around you like warm honey, lanterns floating overhead, bonfire crackling, bare skin glistening with sweat and shimmer oil but your eyes keep finding Jaemin, jealousy and want twisting together until your pussy throbs with the memory of his fingers inside you just minutes ago.
Jaemin stands by the truck bed, cigarette burning down to his fingers, eyes dark and locked on you the entire time. He doesn’t move toward Winter, barely acknowledges her flirtation beyond a polite nod, his stare heavy and obsessive as he watches you dance, watches Eric’s hands on your ass, Saerin’s fingers teasing your tits, the way you slut drop and grind like you’re daring him to come claim what’s his. The jealousy in his gaze is palpable, a slow burn that makes his jaw tighten and his free hand flex at his side, but he stays put, smoking slowly, letting the tension build like the heat between your thighs. You feel it like a physical touch, his eyes devouring every roll of your hips, every teasing flip of your skirt, every near-kiss with Saerin, and it only makes you dance filthier, wetter, more desperate, the summer night humming with the promise that tonight everything is finally going to burn.
You spot Jaemin cutting through the crowd, dark eyes locked on you like a predator who’s finally done waiting, and the heat between your thighs flares so sharply it makes you dizzy. You turn to Eric, Sunwoo, and Saerin with a breathless little laugh, voice already husky with want. “I’ll be right back,” you say, the words light but your body already angled toward him, skirt swishing high on your thighs as you slip away from the firelight. Jaemin sees it, his stare flicking to the boys then back to you, a slow, possessive smirk curling his lips as he follows without a word, both of you knowing exactly what’s about to happen.
The old dock creaks under your sandals as you slip away from the fire, the water lapping quiet and black against the weathered pilings, the distant roar of the bonfire and laughter fading into a low hum. Lanterns drift overhead like slow-moving stars, casting soft orange pink glows that dance across the lake’s surface, but the shadows here are deeper, thicker, perfect for hiding what you both know you shouldn’t do. You lean against a piling, heart still racing from the dance, skirt riding high on your thighs, the thin white babydoll top clinging to your sweat damp skin, when Jaemin finds you.
He doesn’t speak. He spins you against the rough wood, mouth crashing onto yours in a heavy, heated kiss, tongues clashing wet and filthy as moans spill between you. “I missed you, Daddy,” you whimper against his lips, hands fisting in his open black button down while he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping tight around his waist, heels digging into his back. He groans deep and greedy, one hand gripping your ass under the short skirt, the other tangled in your hair as he walks you backward until your back hits the piling harder.
“Fuck, baby, say it again,” he growls, grinding his thick, hard cock against your soaked panties, tongue fucking into your mouth while you rock desperately against him, moaning “Daddy, Daddy, mmm— please, I need you inside me right now.”
His hands roam greedy and rough, yanking the tie of your babydoll top open so your tits spill free into the humid night air. He ducks his head immediately, mouth latching onto one nipple with wet, hungry suction, sucking hard while his tongue swirls and flicks the sensitive peak, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch and cry out. “These pretty tits,” he groans against your skin, voice muffled and filthy, switching to the other nipple to suck it deep into his mouth, tongue lapping greedily as he squeezes the soft flesh with one hand. “Been thinking about sucking on them all night, marking them up so everyone knows who they belong to.” You moan louder, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as he sucks and bites, leaving wet, red marks around your nipples while his cock grinds harder against your dripping cunt through the thin fabric, the risk of voices and lanterns just beyond the trees making everything hotter, wetter, more dangerous.
He keeps sucking your tits like he’s starving, alternating between hard pulls and slow, teasing licks, his free hand shoving your skirt higher and ripping your panties aside so he can rub the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds. “So fucking wet for Daddy already,” he rasps, biting down on your nipple until you whimper, then soothing it with his tongue. “This greedy little pussy is dripping down my cock just from me sucking on these perfect tits. You want me to fuck you right here, don’t you? Want Daddy to fill you up while the whole town is twenty feet away.”
You nod frantically, legs tightening around his waist, moaning “Yes, Daddy, please— fuck me, ruin me, I need your cock so bad,” as he keeps lavishing your tits with wet, obsessive attention, sucking hard enough to leave bruises while the head of his cock nudges your entrance, teasing you open.
The dock groans under you as he finally pushes in, slow and deep, stretching your tight, dripping cunt around his thick cock while his mouth stays latched to your tits, sucking and biting like he can’t get enough. “That’s it, baby,” he groans around your nipple, voice vibrating through your chest. “Take every inch for Daddy. This pussy was made for me, so fucking tight and wet, clenching around me like you never want me to pull out.”
You cry out softly, head falling back against the piling as he starts to fuck you with long, greedy strokes, hips snapping harder each time, the wet slap of skin echoing softly with the lapping water while fireworks explode overhead in bright bursts of color. He keeps sucking your tits the whole time, switching between them, leaving them shiny with spit and marked with his teeth, growling “Mine, all fucking mine” between every filthy thrust, the risk and obsession making the pleasure burn hotter, deeper, until you’re shaking in his arms, moaning “Daddy, Daddy, mmm, harder, please” like the desperate, needy girl you are for him.
He doesn’t speak. He spins you against the rough wood, mouth on your neck before either of you can breathe, teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his hands shove your skirt up around your waist in one greedy motion. His jeans are barely shoved down, cock thick and hard as he hooks one of your legs over his hip, the other shaking on tiptoe while he lines himself up and pushes inside you in one slow, deep thrust that stretches you open so perfectly you have to bite his shoulder to stay quiet. The risk is insane, the bonfire light flickering just beyond the trees, voices carrying on the night air, anyone could walk down the dock and see you like this, skirt rucked up, panties shoved aside, taking every inch of him while fireworks start exploding overhead in bright bursts of color.
He fucks you slow and deep, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on your face like he needs to memorize every flutter of your lashes, every bitten lip, every broken whimper you try to swallow. “Look at me, baby,” he whispers, voice rough and obsessive, hips rolling in filthy, deliberate circles that grind his cock against that perfect spot inside you. “Let me see you fall apart for me one more time before we tell him. I want to watch those pretty eyes go glassy while I fill this greedy little cunt.” His hand slides between your bodies, thumb rubbing tight, relentless circles on your swollen clit while he fucks you harder, deeper, the wet sound of your slick pussy taking him echoing softly with every thrust.
You’re a mess of need and risk, your leg hooked high over his hip, the other trembling on tiptoe as he drives into you with long, greedy strokes that make your tits bounce inside the thin babydoll top. He yanks the tie open with his teeth, mouth latching onto one nipple, sucking hard while his cock pistons deep, the fireworks exploding overhead in bright bursts that light up the obscene sight of you impaled on him. “So fucking tight,” he groans against your breast, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. “This pussy was made for me. Clench around me, baby, milk my cock like the desperate little slut you are. I want to feel you cum all over me before anyone sees what I do to you.”
The danger makes everything sharper, the possibility of footsteps on the dock, Jeno’s voice calling your name, the lanterns floating past like silent witnesses. Jaemin fucks you harder, one hand gripping your ass to hold you open, the other between your legs rubbing your clit with rough, possessive strokes while his cock slams deep, the head dragging against your cervix with every thrust. “You’re mine,” he growls, voice dark and obsessive, forehead still pressed to yours so you can’t look away. “This cunt is mine. Say it while you cum, tell me who owns this dripping pussy while I fill you up.”
You cum biting his shoulder to stay quiet, a muffled scream vibrating against his skin as your pussy clamps down around him, pulsing and gushing slick down his cock and thighs. He follows right after with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he fills you with hot, thick ropes of cum, pumping deep until it leaks out around his cock and drips down your thigh in warm, sticky trails. The fireworks explode overhead in bright bursts of gold and red, the light catching the fresh Polaroid he just took of you mid orgasm, mouth open, eyes glassy, his hand still between your legs, fingers shiny with your release.
He tucks the Polaroid into your bra like a promise, lips brushing your ear as he slowly pulls out, cum still leaking from your used pussy. “Keep that safe for me,” he whispers, voice rough with possession and something softer, almost tender. “So you remember who you belong to when we finally stop hiding.” You stand there on shaky legs, skirt still rucked up, his cum dripping down your inner thighs, the summer night wrapping around you like a secret that’s about to burn everything down.
The risk lingers in the air like smoke from the bonfire, every distant laugh and firework crack making your heart race faster. Jaemin straightens your skirt with careful hands, but his eyes are still dark and greedy, thumb brushing one last time over your sensitive clit through the fabric before he steps back. “Tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and promising, “we tell him. No more hiding. I want the whole town to know this pussy is mine.”
You nod, breathless and aching, the taste of him still on your tongue, his cum warm and sticky between your legs as you both slip back toward the fire, the lanterns floating overhead like silent witnesses to the filthy, desperate promise you just sealed on the old dock.
He softly turns you around so you’re facing him, hands gentle on your waist as he pulls you close, the rough wood of the piling at your back now replaced by the solid warmth of his chest. His mouth finds yours in slow, soft kisses that quickly deepen, tongues sliding together with wet, hungry intimacy, every brush of lips tasting like summer smoke and the salt of skin. He sits down on the edge of the dock, guiding you onto his lap so you straddle him, your short skirt rucked up around your hips, panties shoved aside as you sink down onto his thick, hard cock in one smooth, greedy motion. The stretch is perfect, filling you so deep you moan into his mouth, heavy and broken, hips already rolling as you start bouncing on him slow and sensual, the wet slap of your ass meeting his thighs echoing softly with the lapping water.
You ride him with deep, rolling bounces, pussy clenching tight around every thick inch as you take him to the hilt again and again, moaning against his lips. “I’m falling for you,” you whisper between kisses, voice trembling with pleasure and truth, “I can’t hide it anymore… I can’t keep away. We need to tell him.”
Jaemin nods, forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark and glassy with lust and something deeper, his hands gripping your ass to help you bounce harder, cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you with every drop. “Yes, baby,” he groans, voice rough and heated, hips thrusting up to meet you, “we tell him tonight. No more hiding how much I want you, no more hiding how much I need you.” The sex turns heavier, more erotic, your tits bouncing freely in the open babydoll top as you ride him faster, moaning loud and needy while he sucks marks into your neck, hands squeezing your ass, fingers digging in as he fucks up into you with deep, possessive strokes.
He keeps bouncing you on his cock, the wet, filthy sound of your slick pussy taking every inch filling the night air, your moans turning into desperate little cries of “Jaem, Jaem, mmm, I love you, I’m so in love with you.”
Jaemin groans deep, eyes locked on yours, one hand sliding up to cup your face as he kisses you hungrily, tongues clashing wet and messy. “I love you more, baby girl,” he rasps against your lips, voice thick with emotion and lust, hips snapping up harder so his cock hits deep with every bounce. “My perfect girl, so tight and wet for me, taking my cock so good while you tell me you love me.”
You keep on moaning it, “I love you, Daddy,” over and over, riding him with loving, heated rolls of your hips, pussy fluttering around him as the pleasure builds thick and sweet, the summer night wrapping around you like a secret finally breaking open.
He reaches for the small Polaroid camera, snapping a quick, tender shot just as he kisses your forehead softly, your doe eyes looking up at him with pure, glassy adoration while you’re still bouncing slowly on his cock. The flash catches the intimate moment, his lips pressed gently to your skin, your face soft and loving, tits flushed and bouncing, his cock buried deep inside you. He tucks the developing photo into your bra like a promise, then pulls you back into a hungry kiss, tongues sliding deep as you both moan into each other’s mouths. “I’m so in love with you, baby,” he groans, hips thrusting up to meet your bounces, cock dragging perfectly inside your dripping cunt.
“I love you more, Daddy,” you moan back, riding him harder, faster, the wet slap of skin and your shared, loving whimpers filling the dock as fireworks explode overhead in bright bursts, lighting up the raw, erotic, intimate moment of finally saying it out loud while he fucks you deep and slow under the summer stars.
You keep moaning “I love you, Daddy,” between heavy, heated kisses, legs wrapped tight around his waist as you bounce on his thick cock, the pleasure and love twisting together until you both come undone, you clenching and gushing around him with a broken cry, him filling you with hot, pulsing cum while whispering “My baby girl, I love you so much” against your lips, the two of you tangled and trembling, hearts finally open in the humid night air.
Afterward, still flushed and breathing hard, you slip back toward the fire holding hands, fingers laced openly, no more hiding in the shadows. The summer night feels electric, lanterns drifting overhead like dying stars, the bonfire crackling loud enough to mask the pounding of your heart. Saerin spots you first, her glittery eyes widening as she takes in your joined hands, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. Eric and Sunwoo exchange glances, eyebrows raised, while Jeno stands near the flames, Red Solo cup in hand, laughing at something Sunwoo just said.
You try to speak, the words “we need to tell you something” forming on your tongue, but the summer heat is relentless, thick, humid air pressing in like a second skin, making every breath feel heavy and sticky. The bonfire roars louder, sparks flying up into the night, and Winter’s laugh cuts through the group from somewhere nearby, her hand brushing Jaemin’s shoulder as she leans in to say something that makes him nod politely. The distraction pulls at the edges of the moment, the words dying in your throat as Eric, already drunk and high, sways into the center with a loud, sloppy laugh. “Group hug, everyone! Last summer, let’s make it count!” he shouts, throwing his arms wide and pulling the whole circle tighter before you can get a single word out. Saerin giggles and leans in, Sunwoo drapes an arm over Jeno’s shoulders, and suddenly you’re all crushed together in a messy, sweaty tangle, bodies pressed close, laughter bubbling, the heat and noise and vodka making it impossible to speak, impossible to break the moment with the truth that’s been burning inside you all night. Jaemin’s hand stays laced with yours, hidden but steady, the only thing grounding you as the group hug swallows every chance you had to finally say it out loud.
The group hug happens near the edge of the fire, lanterns drifting overhead like dying stars, the bonfire crackling loud enough to mask the pounding of your heart. You, Saerin, Eric, Sunwoo, Jeno, and Jaemin all pressed together in a sweaty, laughing tangle of arms and shoulders, the summer night thick with smoke and the metallic taste of cheap vodka on everyone’s breath. Your hand locks tighter with Jaemin’s in the chaos, fingers lacing tight, hidden between your bodies, a secret anchor in the middle of the noise. He squeezes back, thumb brushing your knuckles, and for one stolen second it feels like the whole world is finally tilting toward something real.
Jeno pulls back first, clapping Jaemin on the shoulder with that easy brotherly grin. “You both okay?” he asks, eyes flicking between you and Jaemin, voice casual but laced with that protective edge he’s never quite shaken. “You’ve been weird all night and unusually quiet, plus you both disappeared. Is something’s up?”
You open your mouth to answer, throat tight, when the Polaroid slips from Jaemin’s back pocket during the shift of bodies. It flutters to the ground between you all, landing face up in the firelight like a verdict.
The photo is unmistakable: you and Jaemin mid-kiss on the old dock, your legs wrapped around his waist, skirt rucked up, his hand between your thighs, mouths fused in something raw and desperate. The flash caught the exact moment your eyes were half closed in pleasure, his forehead pressed to yours like he was trying to climb inside your soul.
Silence crashes down harder than the fireworks exploding overhead. Jeno’s face cycles through every stage in slow motion, confusion narrowing his eyes, realization widening them, then pure, ballistic rage twisting his features into something feral. “What the fuck,” he spits, voice low at first, then exploding. “What the actual fuck is this?”
You step forward, voice shaking but clear, tears already burning at the corners of your eyes. “Jeno, I didn’t want you to find out this way. We were gonna tell you. Tonight. I chose this. I chose him. I’m not your little sister anymore. I’m someone who loves someone.”
Jeno’s eyes fill with something raw and hurt, but the anger wins, turning his face red and wild. “How long?” he demands, voice cracking like thunder. “How fucking long has this been going on behind my back?”
You swallow hard, honest and trembling. “Since two summers ago. It started then and it never really stopped. We tried to end it. We tried so many times but I love him, Jeno. I’m so in love with him.”
Jaemin steps up beside you, voice steady but tight with guilt. “It’s true. I tried to stay away too, I knew it was wrong but I couldn’t stay away even if I tried. I love her so much, more than anything else.”
The words detonate. Jeno’s fist flies before anyone can react, cracking hard across Jaemin’s jaw with a sickening sound that cuts through the music and laughter. Jaemin staggers but comes back swinging, the two of them crashing into each other in a blur of fists and shouts, years of brotherhood fracturing in real time. “You fucked my little sister?!” Jeno roars, landing another hit to Jaemin’s ribs while Jaemin grabs his shirt and shoves him back, both of them snarling like wounded animals. “Behind my back? After everything?”
You’re screaming, tears streaming down your face as you try to push between them, hands grabbing at arms and shoulders. “Stop! Please stop!” But they’re too far gone, the fight wild and messy, blood on knuckles, shirts torn, the whole group frozen in shock around you. Saerin pulls you back, arms around your waist, while Eric and Sunwoo try to separate the boys, the bonfire roaring behind them like it’s feeding on the chaos.
The revelation explodes into pure ballistic anger, the summer night turning ugly and raw as Jeno lands one last punch before the others finally drag them apart. You stand there shaking, tears pouring, the Polaroid still lying on the ground between all of you like a smoking gun. Jeno looks at you with eyes full of betrayal and heartbreak, whispering. “you grew up… and I missed it,” before he turns and storms off into the dark, leaving you alone in the middle of the firelight, chest heaving, the weight of everything finally crashing down as the lanterns keep floating away like they never saw a thing.
You sink to your knees in the dirt, Polaroid clutched in your trembling fingers, the summer night suddenly feeling cold and endless around you, the boy you love and the brother you adore both slipping through your hands in the same brutal moment. Saerin drops beside you, arms wrapping tight, but the loneliness is already carving deep, the ache of loving in secret finally tearing everything apart under the indifferent glow of the bonfire and the drifting lanterns.
The days after the bonfire bleed into a slow, suffocating haze, the summer that once felt endless now cracking at the edges like old Polaroids left too long in the sun. You wake every morning to the same heavy silence, Jeno’s door always stays closed, his footsteps avoiding you whenever you’re there, the sound of his truck leaving before dawn and returning after dark. He hasn’t spoken to you since that night.
Not a word. Not even when your mother sat you both down at the dining table, travelling the entire way when she had realised her babies weren’t on good terms, her eyes red from crying, asking what happened between her children that made the air in their own home feel like winter in July. Jeno just stared at the wall, jaw tight, and said “ask her,” before walking out. Your father tried too, voice low and exhausted, but the fracture ran too deep, Jeno’s protective love had turned into something cold and unrecognizable, every shared meal now a battlefield of avoided eyes and slammed cabinets. You catch him looking at you sometimes, hurt and anger swirling together, but he turns away the second you open your mouth, leaving you alone with the guilt that tastes like rust and cherry syrup.
The brotherhood between Jeno and Jaemin is shattered beyond repair, the two of them clashing like summer storms that refuse to pass. At the gym they used to train at together, Jeno corners Jaemin after practice, fists flying before anyone can stop them, one punch landing hard enough to split Jaemin’s lip, blood mixing with sweat as Jaemin shoves him back and lands a hit to Jeno’s ribs. “You were supposed to be my brother,” Jeno snarls, voice cracking with betrayal, while Jaemin wipes blood from his mouth and answers low and raw, “I am. But I love her more than I can explain.”
They fight again in the parking lot outside the diner, Jeno slamming Jaemin against the truck hood, yelling about how he trusted him with everything, how Jaemin was the one person who was never supposed to touch his little sister. Jaemin doesn’t swing back every time, sometimes he just takes it, eyes dark with guilt, whispering “I tried to stay away” before Jeno walks off shaking, the friendship that once felt unbreakable now reduced to bruises and silence. The rest of the group feels it too, Mark tries to mediate and ends up caught in the middle when Jeno snaps at him for even mentioning Jaemin’s name; Sunwoo cracks nervous jokes that fall flat; Eric just sketches in the corner, eyes sad, the whole circle fractured into awkward halves that can’t even sit at the same table without tension crackling like static.
You and Jaemin keep distance like a mutual wound, the love you finally admitted to each other now poisoned by the wreckage it caused. He texts sometimes, short, aching messages like “I miss you” or “are you okay?” — but you can’t bring yourself to answer more than a single word, the guilt too heavy, the fear that loving him openly has already cost you your brother. You see him across campus, button downs flapping in the breeze, that same devastating face that once made your heart race now making it ache with loneliness.
At night you scroll the Polaroids on your phone until your eyes burn, fingers tracing the images of his hands on your body, his mouth on your throat, remembering how he called you his “baby girl” while he filled you so deep you saw stars. The depression settles in thick and gray, the summer that once felt golden now fading into muted colors. You spend hours alone in your room, curled under the sheets, crying until your throat is raw because you finally had him, finally said “I love you,” and it still wasn’t enough to keep everything from breaking. The ache is physical, a constant throb between your legs mixed with the sharper pain in your chest, knowing he’s out there carrying the same heartbreak, both of you loving each other from a distance that feels like drowning.
The friend group is shattered too, the easy laughter replaced by careful silences and sideways glances. Saerin tries to hold everything together, dragging you out for late night drives with the windows down and old mixtapes playing, but even she gets quiet when Jeno’s name comes up, her usual teasing replaced by soft, worried hugs. Eric and Sunwoo drift awkwardly between sides, Eric still texts you silly memes but never mentions the bonfire, Sunwoo cracks jokes that fall flat when the group tries to hang out and Jeno refuses to show. Winter’s flirting with Jaemin at the lake that night now feels like a distant knife twist; you heard she asked him out again and he turned her down gently, but the rumor still circulates, making your stomach twist with fresh jealousy and guilt. Revelations keep spilling, Mark accidentally lets slip that Jeno cried in the locker room the day after the fight, admitting he felt like he failed as a big brother; Renjun shows you a sketch he drew of the group before everything broke, the lines already starting to blur like the friendships themselves. Every new piece of information carves deeper, the summer ending not with golden closure but with everything you loved fracturing into sharp, painful shards.
You end up alone most nights, sitting on the roof of the dorm with the old box of Polaroids open beside you, the cicadas screaming like they’re mourning the season too. The depression wraps around you like humid air that never lifts, you cry until your eyes swell, angry at yourself for wanting Jaemin so much it cost you Jeno, angry at Jeno for making love feel like betrayal, angry at the summer for ending before you could fix any of it.
The heartbreak is constant, a dull ache that flares into sharp, shattering pain whenever you see Jaemin’s truck pass by or hear his laugh from across the quad. You know he’s hurting too, the distance he’s keeping is out of respect for Jeno, but it feels like punishment, like the universe is forcing you both to pay for finally admitting you’re in love. The friend group tries to pretend everything is normal, but the cracks show in every canceled plan, every text left on read, every awkward silence when someone almost says Jaemin’s name. You fall asleep most nights with tears on your cheeks, the Polaroids clutched to your chest like the only proof that any of it was real, the summer that once felt infinite now slipping away in muted golds and grays, leaving you more alone than you’ve ever been.
Your parents walk on eggshells, your mother’s eyes red from late night talks with Jeno behind closed doors, your father sighing heavily every time he sees you sitting alone at the kitchen table. Jeno hasn’t spoken to you in days, he leaves notes on the fridge instead of talking, avoids eye contact when you pass in the hallway, the brother who once ruffled your hair and called you his favorite person now treating you like a stranger who broke his trust.
The fractured relationship feels like a living wound, every unanswered text and slammed door carving deeper until you’re raw and bleeding with guilt and anger and the terrible, aching love you still feel for both of them. You know Jaemin is carrying the same weight, the brotherhood he lost, the girl he finally admitted he loves, the summer that ended with everything in ruins. The depression settles in so deep some days you can barely get out of bed, the loneliness a vast, golden field with no one left to run through it with you, the heartbreak so complete it feels like the sun itself is setting on every good thing you ever had.
The four of you end up at the old diner because Saerin orchestrated every step like a glittery puppet master who decided the summer couldn’t end without one last messy, honest collision. She had texted the group chat earlier with a casual “last night milkshake run before everything changes???” and somehow made it impossible to say no, guilt tripping Jeno with “you owe me for covering your ass last year,” dragging Eric and Sunwoo with promises of free fries, and pulling you and Jaemin along with that knowing little wink she gave you in the mirror before you left the dorm. Now here you are, the neon sign buzzing pink and green through the fogged windows, the jukebox humming low with some old jazz track, the air thick with grease, cherry syrup, and the heavy, humid weight of everything unsaid. Saerin slides into the booth first, patting the seat beside her with a bright, innocent smile that doesn’t fool anyone, forcing the rest of you to fill in around the scarred Formica table like pieces in a game she’s already won.
Jeno sits across from you and Jaemin like a storm barely contained, arms crossed over his broad chest, the faded varsity jacket stretching tight across shoulders that have always carried too much. His jaw is set in that stern, unyielding line you know too well, the sharp cut of it catching the pink neon glow from the sign outside, making the faint stubble along his jaw look even more dangerous in the dim light. His eyes, dark, intense, the same protective fire that once made you feel safest in the world, flick between you and Jaemin with a quiet, heavy authority that fills the whole booth. The red vinyl creaks under his weight as he leans forward slightly, every inch of him radiating the kind of stern, older-brother presence that demands the truth without needing to raise his voice. He looks like the boy who used to carry you on his shoulders through summer crowds, now grown into the man whose silence alone can make the air feel heavier than the humid night pressing against the windows.
Saerin orders cherry ices for everyone like it’s a peace offering, the tall glasses sweating beads of condensation that drip down the sides and pool on the scarred Formica table. The neon sign outside flickers pink and green through the fogged windows, casting everything in that familiar sticky glow of summers that feel like they’re slipping away too fast.
Saerin leans forward first, her glittery nails tapping the rim of her glass, eyes soft but determined. “We’re not leaving until this is sorted,” she says quietly, voice cutting through the low hum of the diner like a gentle command. “No more silence and no more pretending. You three love each other too much to let one night ruin everything. So talk, let it all out. Now.” Eric nods beside her, unusually quiet, his usual lazy grin replaced by something steadier, more serious, as he gives you a small, encouraging look across the table. The air feels thick with unsaid things, the cherry syrup in the icees tasting too sweet against the heavy tension, but Saerin’s presence holds the moment together, her hand reaching out to squeeze yours under the table like a silent promise that she won’t let it fall apart again.
Jeno exhales through his nose, eyes flicking between you and Jaemin, the hurt still raw in the set of his shoulders. “I saw it that first summer,” he admits, voice low and rough, the words scraping out like they’ve been lodged in his throat for years. “The way Jaemin looked at you when he thought no one was watching. The way you smiled back. I told myself it was nothing. Because the alternative was losing both of you. You guys were so blatantly obvious but I kept lying to myself, convincing myself that I was just being paranoid. My best friend and my little sister… sneaking around like I was the enemy.” His gaze drops to the table, fingers tightening around his glass until the knuckles whiten. “It hurts. It still hurts. Like I failed at the one thing I was supposed to do, keep you safe. I wish you both felt comfortable enough to tell me instead of hiding behind my back.”
Jaemin doesn’t defend himself with charm this time. He sits straighter, eyes steady on Jeno, voice flat and aching with honesty. “I tried to stay away. I tried for years. Every time I saw her, I told myself she was off limits. But she’s the only thing that ever felt like home. Not this town, not the games, not any other girl, not even the group. Just her.” His hand finds yours under the table, fingers lacing tight, warm and sure, and for the first time you don’t pull away. The touch is intimate, heated, his thumb brushing your knuckles in slow, sensual circles that send sparks up your arm, his dark eyes flicking to yours with that same possessive hunger that makes your breath catch even now, even in the middle of this mess. You squeeze back, the connection electric and tender all at once, a silent promise that whatever comes next, you’re in it together.
You look at Jeno across the table, your voice trembling but clear, hot tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes and threatening to spill over. The guilt sits so heavy in your chest it feels like it might crush you, the shame of every secret, every lie, every stolen moment suddenly rushing up your throat until you can barely breathe.
“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” you whisper, voice cracking. “We were going to tell you and be honest about everything, I swear we were. I’m so sorry, Jeno, for how you found out and for how I’ve been lying to you for the last few years. I'm so sorry for hiding it from you. For lying. For making you feel like you were the last person who mattered when you’ve always been the first.”
You swallow hard, tears slipping down your cheeks as the words pour out, raw and honest. “It has nothing to do with you not being my safe space. You’ve always been the person I feel safest with, you’re my safe place, the one I feel the safest with. No one makes me feel more protected or more loved than you do. It was never about not trusting you, it was about me. I felt so ashamed. I knew it was wrong, your best friend, your little sister and I was terrified of how disappointed you’d be in me. I was scared you’d look at me differently, like I’d ruined everything good between us. So I hid. I lied. Not because I didn’t love you enough but because I loved you too much to watch you look at me like I betrayed you. And now I did exactly that anyway.”
Your voice breaks completely on the last words, fresh tears falling faster as you reach across the table, not quite touching him but desperate for him to understand. “I still see you as my big brother. The one who’s always been my safe place. This… the love that I have with Jaemin, it doesn’t change how much I need you, how I’ll always be your little sister. It never could. I just… I was so ashamed of wanting something I thought I wasn’t supposed to have. It was all me, Jeno. Not you. Never you.”
The neon glow from the sign outside paints your tear-streaked face in soft pinks and greens, the cherry ices slowly melting into sticky pink puddles on the table, mirroring the messy, aching tangle of love and guilt and regret sitting heavy between all of you.
You look at Jeno with tears slipping freely down your cheeks, voice small and trembling with all the love you’ve carried for him since you were little. “You’ll always be my big brother, Jeno. Forever. No matter who I love, no matter how grown up you think I am… I’m still your little sister and I’ll always need you. I still remember when I was six and you were eight, you used to carry me on your back all the way home from the park because my legs got tired. You’d let me put stickers on your cheeks and call you ‘Nono’ in that silly baby voice, and you never once told me to stop. You taught me how to ride a bike, held my hand during thunderstorms, and made me peanut butter sandwiches with the crusts cut off exactly the way I liked. Those memories are still my safest place. You’ve always been my protector, my favorite person, my Nono. Nothing is ever going to change that.”
A soft, shaky smile breaks through your tears as you reach across the table, your fingers brushing his. “I know I hurt you. I know I lied and hid things and made you feel like you weren’t enough… but please, Nono… will you forgive me?” The old nickname slips out so naturally, wrapped in all the tenderness and love of the little girl who once thought her big brother hung the moon, now grown but still looking at him with the same wide, hopeful eyes. The diner lights catch the wetness on your lashes, turning everything soft and golden around the two of you, the weight of years of sibling love hanging gently in the air between you.
Jeno is silent for a long moment, eyes moving from your joined hands to your face, then to Jaemin’s. The anger is still there, raw and tense, but something softer flickers underneath, exhaustion, love, the weight of years of looking out for you. “Does Jaemin make you happy?” he asks finally, voice rough, the question landing like a quiet thunderclap.
You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks, voice small but honest. “Yes. He does. More than I can explain.”
Jeno exhales again, longer this time, shoulders dropping as the fight drains out of him. “I can’t get used to this so quickly,” he says, the words honest and pained, eyes glistening as he looks at you both. “It’s going to take time. A lot of time. But… I’m sorry I reacted like that. I was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of not protecting you the way I always have.” He reaches across the table, hesitating for a second before his hand covers yours and Jaemin’s joined ones, the touch awkward but genuine, a small bridge over the fracture. “You’re my favorite people,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “Both of you. I can’t bear to get in the way of your happiness. Just… don’t make me watch you break again. Either of you.”
You nod slowly, tears streaming down your cheeks as the weight of everything you just said settles between you. Without another word, you slide out of the booth and run straight into Jeno’s arms. He stands up immediately, catching you against his chest in a tight, protective embrace that feels like coming home. His strong arms wrap around you completely, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubs slow, soothing circles on your back, the same way he used to when you were little and had a nightmare. You bury your face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his jacket and the faint trace of summer sweat, your body shaking with quiet sobs of relief and guilt and love all at once.
“I’ve got you,” Jeno murmurs into your hair, voice thick and rough with emotion, holding you even closer. “You’re still my little sister. Always will be.” He presses a soft, brotherly kiss to the top of your head, the gesture so tender and familiar it makes fresh tears fall. Over your shoulder, he meets Jaemin’s eyes and gives a small, solemn nod, a quiet acceptance, not quite warm yet, but real. Jaemin nods back, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as he watches the two of you, his own eyes soft with relief. The three of you stand there for a long moment in the soft neon glow of the diner, the fractured pieces of your little world finally beginning to settle. Saerin and Eric stay quiet, smiling gently from the booth, the heavy summer air around you feeling lighter for the first time in days. Jeno is okay with this. Not perfect, not instant, but okay, and that small peace is enough to breathe again.
You stay wrapped in your brother’s arms a little longer, heart full and aching in the best way, knowing that even as everything changes, some things, the love between you and Jeno, will never break. Then the doubt hits you like a wave. You pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes still wet, voice small and cracking. “I don’t even know if me and Jaemin can be together.”
The words land heavy. Jeno’s brows pull together. “What?”
Saerin’s playful smile fades. Eric stops mid sip of his icee. Jaemin’s hand tightens around yours, confusion flashing across his face. You swallow hard, tears spilling again as the words tumble out, shaky and honest. “I’ve always felt like a secret. The younger sister, the one who was never good enough to be seen with you in public, never good enough to hold your hand where people could see. Like I was something to hide because it was wrong or shameful or not enough. Can that just change overnight? Can we really go from sneaking around to this… like it never hurt me in the first place?”
The table goes quiet. Saerin reaches over and gently squeezes your arm, her voice soft but firm. “Hey, you were never shameful. Not for a second. I get why Jaemin hid it at first, the fear of blowing everything up but that doesn’t make it right. You deserved to be loved out loud. You still do. And it’s okay to feel scared that it won’t just magically fix itself.”
Jaemin’s face crumples with regret. He looks at Jeno first, eyes steady even though his voice is thick. “I’m sorry, man. I’m so fucking sorry for hiding her. For making you feel betrayed by the one person you trusted most. I was scared too, but that doesn’t excuse it. You’re my brother. I hurt you and I’ll carry that forever.” Then he turns to you, voice softer, breaking a little. “And I’m sorry to you, baby. I made you feel like a secret when you should’ve felt like the most important thing in my life. I was wrong. I hid you because I was terrified of losing everything… but I ended up making you feel small. I never want you to feel that way again.”
He stands and pulls Jeno into a tight, fierce hug, the kind that says years of brotherhood and one night of pain all at once. “I’m forever sorry for how I hurt you,” Jaemin says quietly against his shoulder. Jeno hugs him back, stiff at first, then tighter, a silent acceptance passing between them.
Jaemin pulls away and turns to you. He cups your face gently, thumbs wiping away your tears with such tenderness it makes your chest ache. He leans in and presses a long, soft kiss to your forehead. “My love,” he whispers against your skin, voice warm and steady, “come to the rooftop with me?”
You nod, a small, teary smile breaking through as you slip your hand into his. He brings your joined hands to his lips and kisses your palm sweetly, eyes never leaving yours. The touch is so intimate, so gentle, that fresh tears slip down your cheeks, not from sadness this time, but from the overwhelming feeling of being truly seen.
Saerin gives you both an encouraging little smile. Jeno watches quietly, something soft and complicated in his expression, but he doesn’t stop you. Jaemin leads you up to the rooftop, hand warm and sure around yours, the summer night air cool against your flushed skin as you head toward the rooftop together, ready, finally, to talk in the open under the stars.
The rooftop is quiet except for the soft hum of fairy lights strung between the vents and the low crackle of an old mixtape playing from Jaemin’s portable speaker, a song playing that you both love, all slow guitars and nostalgic longing. The sky is just beginning to turn pink at the edges, the town stretching out below like a faded postcard you’re both about to leave behind. You stand at the edge with him, his hand warm and steady in yours, the summer breeze brushing your skin like a final gentle sigh before autumn arrives.
Jaemin turns to you, eyes soft but serious in the growing dawn light. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the original box of Polaroids from that very first summer, the one you thought was lost forever. It’s tied with the same ribbon you burned at the bonfire, the edges slightly singed but still intact. He holds it like it’s something sacred. Your breath catches as he slowly lowers himself onto one knee right there on the rooftop, not with a ring, but with that worn box resting in his open palms.
He looks up at you, voice rough and thick with emotion. “I’m not asking for forever right now,” he says quietly, the words carrying the weight of every hidden moment, every tear, every fight. “I’m asking for the rest of this summer… and every summer after that, until you get sick of me. Be mine. Be my girl, my girlfriend. Out loud. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just you and me, the way we were always supposed to be.”
You feel your chest tighten, tears already gathering as he opens the box. Inside, nestled among all the old photos of stolen kisses and secret nights, is one new Polaroid, the two of you at the lake the night you first told each other “I love you.” Foreheads pressed together, his hand cupping your cheek, both of you smiling like the world had finally clicked into place. The image is slightly crooked, taken in a hurry, but it captures everything: the fear, the joy, the beginning of something real.
Your hands tremble as you reach out and touch the edge of the box. “Jaemin…” Your voice cracks, thick with everything you’ve carried, the shame, the love, the guilt, the hope. “I spent so long feeling like I was something to hide. Like loving me meant risking everything. And I hated it. I hated feeling like the secret younger sister who wasn’t good enough to be seen.”
He stays on one knee, listening, eyes never leaving yours. The fairy lights glow softly behind him, the mixtape playing a gentle acoustic song that feels like it was written for this exact moment.
You continue, tears slipping freely now. “But looking at this… at us… I don’t want to be a secret anymore. I want to hold your hand where everyone can see. I want to kiss you in the diner without looking over my shoulder. I want summers with you that don’t end in heartbreak.” Your voice wavers, but it grows stronger. “So yes. Yes to this summer. Yes to every summer after. Yes to being yours out loud.”
Jaemin’s eyes shine with unshed tears as he rises slowly. He sets the box carefully on the ledge, then pulls you into his arms, kissing you so hard and deep that the world tilts. You kiss him back with your whole body, hands fisting in his shirt, heart pounding against his chest, every ounce of love and relief pouring into the kiss until the box nearly slips off the roof. He catches it with one hand without breaking the kiss, laughing softly into your mouth.
When you finally pull back for air, foreheads still pressed together, he whispers against your lips, “Thank you for saying yes. Thank you for trusting me again.” His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away tears. “I promise I’ll never make you feel like a secret. Not ever again. You’re my girl. My love. Out loud. Forever starting right now.”
You laugh through your tears, giddy and overwhelmed, burying your face in his neck as the first rays of sunrise paint the sky gold. “I love you,” you murmur, voice muffled against his skin. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes. But I’m not scared anymore. Not with you.”
He holds you tighter, one hand stroking your back, the other still cradling the box of memories. The mixtape plays on, the fairy lights twinkle, and the town below wakes up slowly, unaware that on this rooftop two people have finally stopped hiding.
The summer isn’t over yet. But for the first time, it feels like the beginning of something that might last far beyond it.
You stand on the rooftop with Jaemin as the sky slowly turns the softest shade of pink, the last stubborn fireflies blinking out like they know the summer is saying goodbye. The fairy lights strung between the vents glow warm and golden, and the old mixtape hums low behind you, the same songs that played during late-night bike rides, sticky popsicle fingers, and stolen kisses under moth bright streetlamps. Everything feels temporary tonight: the heavy headed sunflowers bowing in the fields below, the final ember of a firework fading to ash somewhere over the lake, the cicadas finally falling silent as if someone gently closed a door on the season. Even the faint coconut scent of sunscreen on your skin feels like it’s already evaporating, slipping away with the dying light.
But you know better now. You feel it in the way Jaemin’s hand stays laced with yours, warm and sure, no longer hiding. Summer has always been full of small miracles that look like endings, yet refuse to die. The bent sunflower only stocks the soil with seeds for next year. The firework smoke clings to your clothes and shows up weeks later when you pull that hoodie from the closet. The cicada’s silence is just a promise buried underground, counting the months until the next hot morning. And you and Jaemin, you’re the same.
You were temporary once, just a season of late-night drives with the windows down, salt-slick skin drying in the warm breeze, laughter spilling across the boardwalk, and fingers sticky from half melted cherry popsicles that tasted like every stolen kiss. But every single moment planted something deeper that refused to die when the sun slipped away. The way Jaemin looked at you that first summer when he thought no one was watching, the quiet hunger in his eyes that made your heart race even then. The way you whispered “I love you” against his mouth at the lake, foreheads pressed together, the world finally clicking into place like it had been waiting for that exact breath. Those things don’t vanish when September cools the air or when the cicadas fall silent. They settle into your bones like smoke on fabric, clinging long after the bonfires are ash, waiting for the next spark — in the steam of hot cocoa on winter mornings, in the hush before spring rain, in the quiet of any room where your eyes meet across the table. You were never just summer hiding in the shadows. You’re the whole year now — every season, every light, every quiet promise that this love was never meant to end when the leaves turn. It simply changed shape, tucked itself into hidden pockets of your heart, and grew roots that reach far beyond the golden months, irreversible and entirely yours.
You turn to him, heart so full it aches, the pink sky painting his face in the softest light. “I was so scared,” you whisper, voice trembling but honest. “Scared that loving you meant I’d always be the secret. The little sister who wasn’t good enough to be seen. But standing here, with you holding my hand where the whole town could see if they looked up… I finally understand. We’re not just a summer fling. We’re the seeds. We’re the smoke that travels home. We’re the cicadas waiting underground.”
Jaemin’s eyes soften, dark and full of that same quiet persistence. He pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours as the mixtape plays a gentle acoustic song that feels written for this exact moment. “You were never just a secret to me,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek. “You were my whole world hiding in plain sight. I was terrified of losing Jeno, of losing everything but mostly I was terrified of losing you. I hid us because I was weak. But I’m not hiding anymore. I want every summer after this one. I want the winters too, hot cocoa mornings where I kiss you with cold lips. I want the spring rain where we stay in bed and remember how we felt on that rooftop. I want all of it with you.”
You laugh softly through fresh tears, the sound light and giddy as you lean into him, arms wrapping around his waist. The town stretches out below like a faded postcard you’re about to leave behind, but for the first time it doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like the beginning of something that refuses to die when the leaves turn. “I love you,” you whisper against his chest, the words tasting like cherry popsicles and salt air and every stolen moment that led you here. “I love you so much it scares me, but I’m not scared of us anymore. I’m gonna love you through every season. I want to carry this summer forward.”
He kisses the top of your head, then your forehead, then your lips — slow, deep, and full of promise. “You’re mine in every way,” he says against your mouth, voice rough with emotion. “Mine in the daylight, mine when the cicadas come back next year, my girl when the snow falls and when the sunflowers bloom again.”
The fairy lights twinkle softly overhead as the sun finally slips lower, painting the rooftop in rose and gold. You stay wrapped in each other, hearts beating in sync, the mixtape still playing like it knows this moment is the one worth remembering. Summer might be ending, but the seeds are already sown. The smoke still clings. The cicadas are only sleeping. And the love between you and Jaemin, sun-hot, salt-sweet, and utterly irreversible, is already growing roots that will carry you through every season to come.
You rest your head on his shoulder, smiling as the first stars appear, knowing that no matter how short the days become, this feeling will never fade. It will simply change shape, tuck itself into hidden pockets, and wait for the next spark, forever yours, forever his, forever summer.
You come down, the whole group waiting eagerly. Jeno leaning against the counter with a beer, Saerin perched on the island swinging her legs, Eric and Sunwoo arguing over who gets the last Pop Tart. You don’t hide, you walk hand in hand towards them and slide your arms around his neck, and kiss him right there in front of everyone, slow, deep, and unashamed, tasting the faint sweetness of cherry on his lips. When you pull back just enough to speak, your voice is clear and steady, full of all the love you’ve been holding back for so long.
“He’s mine,” you say softly, but loud enough for them all to hear, your fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. “In every season. Not just summer. Not just when we’re hiding. He’s mine in the fall when the leaves turn, in the winter when it snows, in the spring when everything starts again. Jaemin is mine, and I’m not hiding it anymore.”
Jaemin’s eyes shine with pure, unguarded joy as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He kisses your forehead, then your lips again, quick and sweet, before resting his cheek against yours. “I’m the luckiest man alive,” he says, voice warm and a little rough with emotion, loud enough for the whole kitchen to hear. “I love my girlfriend so much. My girlfriend in every season. Summer, fall, winter, spring — doesn’t matter. She’s mine, and I get to love her out loud now. I’m never letting go.”
The group erupts in cheers and teasing whistles. Saerin claps and whoops dramatically, Eric pumps his fist with a grin, and Sunwoo lets out a loud “Finally!” Even Jeno — standing there with his beer — cracks a small, genuine smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he shakes his head, muttering, “Yeah, yeah… don’t make me regret this, let alone you,” but the fondness in his voice is unmistakable.
You laugh brightly against Jaemin’s chest, heart so full it feels like it might burst, the summer sun streaming in like it’s celebrating with you. For the first time, everything feels right, no secrets, no shame, just love out loud in every season, with the people you care about most right there to witness it. Jaemin presses another soft kiss to your temple and whispers against your skin, “My girlfriend. Every single day.” And you know, deep down, that this is only the beginning.
Saerin smiles softly, squeezing your shoulder as she leans in, her voice light but warm. “See? Hearts out. That’s all we needed.” Eric chuckles quietly, raising his icee like a toast, while Sunwoo nods, the group settling into a fragile but real quiet. Jeno doesn’t let go of you right away. Instead he pulls you both into a clumsy, awkward hug across the table, one arm around your shoulders, the other around Jaemin’s, the three of you pressed close in the red vinyl booth, the smell of cherry syrup and old diner grease mixing with the faint salt of unshed tears. It’s not perfect. It’s not fixed. But it’s a step forward, raw and honest, the summer night outside the window still humming with cicadas and the distant crackle of the bonfire, the lanterns still floating somewhere in the dark like quiet hopes finally allowed to breathe.
Jaemin’s eyes meet yours over Jeno’s shoulder, heated and sensual even in the middle of the emotion, dark, possessive, full of the same want that started all of this. His thumb brushes your knuckles again, slow and intimate, a silent promise that the love is still there, still burning, even as the world tries to pull you apart. You squeeze back, heart full and aching, the three of you tangled together in the soft neon glow, the fractured pieces of your little world starting, just barely, to mend.
When Jeno steps outside for a smoke, the diner door barely clicks shut before Jaemin’s hand finds yours under the table. His grip is firm, warm, and possessive, thumb stroking slow circles over your knuckles as he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Come with me,” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-rough, sending heat straight between your thighs. “I need to taste my girl right now. Been dying to bury my tongue in that pretty pussy ever since I watched you cry in your brother’s arms. I want to show you how much I love you without hiding anymore.”
You barely have time to breathe before he stands, pulling you up with him. His arm slides around your waist, strong and sure, and he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you bridal style toward the back hallway like you weigh nothing. Your legs dangle, skirt riding high on your thighs as he walks, his mouth pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck and jaw. “I love you,” he whispers between kisses, voice thick with need and tenderness. “I love you so fucking much it hurts. I’m done pretending I don’t want to touch you every second of the day. Done hiding how wet you make me just by existing.”
He kicks the bathroom door open with his foot, steps inside, and locks it behind you with a decisive click that sounds like freedom. Setting you gently on the edge of the sink, he cages you in with his body, forehead resting against yours as his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher. “No more secrets,” he breathes, kissing you slow and deep, tongue sliding against yours with filthy, loving strokes. “This pussy is mine now, in daylight, where everyone can know. I’m going to eat you until you’re shaking and crying my name, baby girl. Until you understand how completely I belong to you.”
His mouth trails down your neck, sucking soft marks into your skin as his fingers tease the edge of your soaked panties. “I can’t believe this is real,” he groans, voice husky and reverent. “I can’t believe I get to love you openly. I love you. I love this tight little cunt that gets so wet for me. I love the way you moan when I tell you you’re mine. I’m never letting you go again.” He kisses you harder, deeper, one hand cupping your face while the other slips between your legs, stroking through your slick folds with slow, sensual pressure that makes your hips roll against his palm.
You’re already panting, clinging to his shoulders as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, dark gaze burning with wild hunger and tender devotion. “I love you,” he says again, softer this time, pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you so much I’m going to drop to my knees and worship this pussy like it deserves. No hiding. No shame. Just me loving every dripping inch of you.” With one last heated kiss that leaves you dizzy, he sinks down to his knees between your spread thighs, hands spreading you open as he leans in, ready to make good on every filthy, loving promise.
Jaemin doesn’t waste a second once the bathroom door clicks shut. He spins you around, lifts you onto the cool porcelain sink with strong hands, and drops to his knees between your spread thighs like a man coming home after weeks of starving. His dark eyes look up at you, burning with hunger and something deeper, as he pushes your short skirt up to your waist and yanks your soaked panties to the side. “I’ve been dying for this pussy,” he growls softly, voice thick with need, before he leans in and drags his tongue slowly through your slick folds, tasting every inch of you like he wants to memorize the flavor.
He eats you out with slow, reverent strokes at first, tongue flat and broad as it licks from your entrance up to your swollen clit, savoring the way you tremble. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider so he can bury his face deeper, nose pressing against your clit while his tongue fucks into your dripping hole with wet, obscene sounds. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he moans against your pussy, the vibration shooting straight through you. “So wet for me already. This pretty little cunt missed Daddy’s mouth, didn’t it?”
You can’t hold back anymore. The second Jaemin drops to his knees, you fist both hands in his hair and yank his face into your dripping cunt, grinding down hard against his mouth with raw, desperate hunger. He attacks you like a man starved for weeks — tongue broad and greedy, lapping messily through your soaked folds, sucking noisily at your swollen clit like he’s trying to drink you dry. Wet, filthy sounds fill the bathroom as he devours you, nose buried against your clit, chin already shiny with your slick while he moans like tasting you is the only thing keeping him alive.
His tongue plunges deep inside you, fucking your tight hole with frantic, starving strokes before he pulls back to suck your clit into his hot mouth with brutal suction. You ride his face like you’re possessed, hips rolling wildly, smothering him with your wet pussy as slick drips down his chin and onto the sink. He’s insatiable — licking, sucking, slurping every drop like a man dying of thirst, hands gripping your ass so hard his fingers dig into the soft flesh, spreading you wider so he can bury his face even deeper.
You’re shaking, thighs clamped around his head, completely lost in how ferociously he eats you out. “Daddy,” you moan brokenly, the word slipping out as pleasure spikes sharp and hot through your body. He growls against your cunt at the sound, the vibration making your eyes roll back while he sucks your clit harder, tongue flicking fast and relentless like he wants to ruin you with his mouth. You grind down harder, fucking his face with feverish rolls of your hips, loving how sloppy and desperate he is for you, how he moans and whimpers into your pussy like he can’t get enough.
“Daddy—fuck,” you gasp again, voice cracking as he shoves two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them viciously against that perfect spot while his mouth stays latched to your clit, sucking with obscene, hungry pulls. The pleasure is insane, overwhelming, your whole body trembling violently as he eats you like a starving animal, tongue and fingers working you mercilessly, slick pouring down his wrist and chin. You’re so close it hurts, hips stuttering, grinding frantically against his face as he devours every inch of your dripping, throbbing cunt.
You whimper, one hand flying to his hair, the other clamped tight over your mouth to muffle the moans that keep spilling out. Jaemin grows more feverish, sucking your clit into his mouth with filthy, rhythmic pulls while two thick fingers slide deep inside you, curling hard against that spot that makes your vision blur. He fucks you with his fingers and mouth in perfect sync, tongue flicking fast and relentless over your clit as your hips buck against his face, slick coating his chin and dripping down to the sink.
“I love you,” he rasps between long, hungry licks, eyes locked on yours from below, dark and possessive. “I love this pussy. I love how you taste when you’re dripping for me. I love the way you shake when I suck on your clit like this.” His confession is filthy and tender at the same time, each word punctuated by another slow drag of his tongue or a deep thrust of his fingers. He eats you like he’s apologizing for every day he stayed away, like he’s making a vow right here on his knees.
The pressure builds fast and overwhelming. Jaemin sucks harder on your clit, fingers pumping faster, curling deeper, the wet squelching sounds echoing in the small bathroom. Your thighs start to shake violently around his head as he moans into your cunt, the vibration pushing you closer to the edge. “Cum for me, baby girl,” he groans, voice muffled and desperate. “Let me taste how much you love me too.”
You come with a third broken cry of “Daddy!” — hips jerking wildly against his mouth as your pussy clenches and gushes hard all over his tongue and fingers. Jaemin doesn’t stop. He keeps sucking and licking through your orgasm like a man possessed, drinking every drop of your release with greedy, filthy moans, prolonging the pleasure until you’re shaking and sobbing above him, completely ruined by how starved and relentless he is for your pussy.
You come hard, back arching off the mirror, hand pressed tight over your mouth to stifle the broken cry that tears from your throat. Your pussy clenches and gushes around his fingers, slick flooding his tongue as he keeps licking you through it, slow and greedy, drinking every drop like he’s never tasted anything sweeter. Tears slip down your cheeks from the intensity, your body trembling uncontrollably while he continues gentle laps at your oversensitive clit, drawing out the pleasure until you’re whimpering softly.
He doesn’t stop even after your orgasm begins to fade. His tongue slows into long, sensual strokes, cleaning you up with tender devotion, occasionally pressing soft kisses to your swollen folds and inner thighs. “I’m never hiding again,” he murmurs against your skin, voice husky and raw. “You’re mine. In daylight. In front of everyone. I love you so fucking much it hurts.”
You look down at him through teary lashes, chest heaving, the bathroom light catching the wetness on his lips and chin. Jaemin rises slowly, kissing up your body until his mouth finds yours in a deep, messy kiss that tastes like your own arousal and pure, desperate love. His hands cup your face gently, thumbs wiping away your tears as he rests his forehead against yours.
“This doesn’t feel like sneaking anymore,” you whisper against his lips, voice shaky and emotional. “It feels like being chosen.”
Jaemin smiles softly, eyes dark and full of promise, pressing one last lingering kiss to your swollen, sensitive pussy before pulling your panties back into place with careful hands. “That’s because you are chosen, baby girl. Every single day from now on.”
You’re still trembling on the sink, thighs shaking around his head, when Jaemin rises slowly, lips shiny with your release, eyes dark and soft at the same time. The second he’s standing between your legs, you grab his face with both hands, pulling him into a messy, desperate kiss that tastes like you and pure, overwhelming love. Your heart feels too big for your chest, giddy bubbles of joy mixing with the tears still slipping down your cheeks.
“I love you,” you whisper against his mouth, voice giddy and breathless, a bright, teary laugh breaking free as you kiss him again and again. “God, Jaemin, I love you so much it’s stupid. I can’t believe this is real either. I can’t believe I get to say it out loud now, in the middle of a diner bathroom, with my brother right outside.” You giggle softly, the sound light and happy even through the tears, your fingers threading through his hair as you pepper his face with quick, loving kisses, his cheeks, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.
You pull back just enough to look at him, eyes sparkling with giddy joy and deep, aching tenderness. “I love you,” you say again, softer this time, forehead resting against his. “I love how you kiss me like I’m the only thing that matters. I love how greedy you are for me. I love that you dropped to your knees like I’m something sacred even when we’re hiding in a bathroom. I love you for choosing me even when it hurt everyone. I’m so happy right now I feel like I’m floating.”
Your legs wrap tighter around his waist, pulling him closer so you can feel the hard line of his cock pressing against your still-sensitive core. You rock against him slowly, teasing, your voice dropping into something breathy and playful. “I love you, Daddy,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear, a shy but giddy smile tugging at your mouth. “I love being yours in daylight. I love knowing we don’t have to hide anymore. I love that you ate me like you were making a vow… and I want to spend the rest of this summer — and every summer after — letting you keep that promise.”
You kiss him again, deep and slow and full of sunshine, your hands sliding down to cup his face as happy tears keep falling. “I love you,” you whisper one more time, voice giddy and glowing. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Thank you for choosing me too.”
You squeeze his hand as the two of you step out of the bathroom and head toward the bar where only Jeno and Saerin remain. Saerin leans against the wooden counter with a bright, mischievous grin, looking effortlessly sexy in her cropped baby blue “Kiss Me” top and tiny denim cut offs. She dramatically poses with a cherry iced straw between her teeth like it’s a cigarette, one hip cocked, glittery eyeshadow catching the string lights as she pretends to blow a kiss to no one in particular. Jeno stands beside her, arms crossed, but his burning dark eyes are locked on Saerin with an intensity he clearly thinks is subtle. His gaze traces the long line of her shimmer oiled legs, lingers on the way her top rides up when she laughs, and flicks back to her glossy lips around the straw. He isn’t being obvious but he thinks he is, the quiet hunger in his stare is unmistakable.
You and Jaemin exchange a small, knowing smile as you approach, fingers still laced together. Jaemin’s thumb brushes sweetly over your knuckles. When you reach them, you squeeze his hand gently and look at Jeno with a soft, giddy smile. “Hey, I think I’m gonna head home with Saerin now,” you say, voice light but warm.
Before Jeno can respond, Saerin nudges him with her elbow, her grin turning playful and knowing. Jeno exhales a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes flick between you, Jaemin, and Saerin. Finally, he speaks, voice gruff but sincere. “You know what, you might as well come back with me and Jaemin to the apartment. Spend the night with him. Seeing as you two are a serious couple now and clearly very much in love, you shouldn’t have to spend any nights apart .”
Your face lights up with a bright, giddy smile, joy bubbling up so fast you can’t contain it. “I’d really love that,” you say softly, cheeks warm as you turn to Jaemin. He lifts your joined hands and presses a tender kiss to your knuckles, dark eyes full of quiet affection.
Jaemin leans in close, lips brushing your ear as he whispers something just for you, voice low and intimate. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about taking my girl home to my bed all night.”
You shiver happily at his words, squeezing his hand tighter as the four of you start walking toward the apartment together. The summer night suddenly feels warmer, brighter, and full of new possibilities. Jeno walks a little ahead with Saerin, still stealing those not-so-subtle glances at her, while you stay tucked against Jaemin’s side, heart full and glowing with the simple, perfect joy of not having to hide anymore.
After a few steps, Jeno slows down and glances back at the two of you. He lets out a long, tired groan, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Please don’t make me listen to anything tonight,” he mutters, voice low and resigned. “I’m serious. I’m gonna need ear plugs or something. Don’t scar me for life, okay?”
Saerin bursts out laughing beside him, nudging his shoulder again. You can’t help the giddy little smile that spreads across your face as you lean closer into Jaemin, cheeks warm with both embarrassment and happiness. Jaemin just chuckles softly, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head.
“Got it,” he says lightly, though the mischievous glint in his eyes tells you he’s not making any promises. “We’ll try to behave.”
The four of you keep walking, the summer night wrapping around you like a warm blanket, the tension finally easing into something softer, warmer, and full of quiet new beginnings.
The three of you walk back to the shared apartment in a quiet, tentative peace. Jeno gives you both a long look at the door before muttering, “I’m crashing in my room. Just… keep it down or don’t. Whatever, not like you guys will listen me anyway.” He disappears down the hall without another word, leaving the weight of acceptance hanging in the air. Jaemin takes your hand openly, leading you straight to his bedroom with no more sneaking, no more locked doors or muffled sounds. For the first time, you don’t have to hide. The summer night air still clings to your skin as he closes the door behind you, but this time the click feels like freedom instead of secrecy. You are spending the night with your boyfriend, in his bed, while your brother is just down the hall, and no one is pretending anymore.
Jaemin pulls you into his arms the second the door shuts, kissing you slow and deep, hands sliding under your skirt to squeeze your ass. “All night,” he murmurs against your lips, voice already rough with need. “I get to fuck you all night and you don’t have to be quiet. I want to hear every moan, every ‘Daddy,’ every time you tell me how much you love my cock.” He walks you backward until your knees hit the edge of his bed, then gently pushes you down onto the soft sheets. His eyes are dark and hungry as he strips off his shirt, revealing the lean, toned body you’ve missed so much. “Tonight I’m going to take my time with you, baby girl. No rushing. No hiding. Just me loving every inch of this pretty pussy until the sun comes up.”
You watch him push his jeans and boxers down, his massive cock springing free, thick, long, and already leaking at the tip. The sight makes your mouth water instantly. Jaemin smirks, stroking himself slowly as he climbs onto the bed. “Get on your back, head hanging off the edge for me.” You obey instantly, scooting until your head dangles off the side of the mattress, throat perfectly aligned. He stands above you, towering, his heavy cock hovering over your face. “Open that pretty mouth, baby. Daddy’s going to fuck your throat tonight.”
You part your lips eagerly, tongue sliding out as he taps the thick head against your tongue. The sheer size of him always takes your breath away, veiny, heavy, stretching your jaw wide the second he pushes past your lips. You moan around the girth, the sound vibrating down his length as he slowly feeds you more, inch after thick inch sliding over your tongue until the head bumps the back of your throat. “Fuck, look at you,” he groans, voice low and filthy. “Taking Daddy’s big cock so well. Your mouth feels like heave, so warm, so wet, so fucking tight.”
He starts slow at first, rocking his hips gently, letting you adjust to the massive stretch. But hunger quickly takes over. His hands grip the sides of your head, holding you steady as he pushes deeper, the thick shaft bulging visibly in your throat with every thrust. You gag wetly around him, drool spilling from the corners of your stretched lips and running down your face in messy trails. The obscene slurping sounds fill the room, loud, wet, filthy, as you suck him greedily, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue along the underside while he fucks your face with deep, controlled strokes.
“Shit, baby girl, listen to that sloppy mouth,” he growls, voice thick with lust as he thrusts harder, balls slapping against your forehead with every push. “You’re drooling all over Daddy’s cock like a desperate little whore. Look how wide your throat is stretching for me, taking every thick inch like you were born for it.” You moan loudly around him, the vibration making his hips stutter as you suck harder, bobbing your head as much as the position allows, slurping noisily every time he pulls back. Spit drips down your chin and neck in shiny strands, the wet glucking sounds growing louder and messier the deeper he goes.
He leans forward slightly, one hand reaching down to rub your swollen clit through your panties while he continues fucking your throat. “That’s it, choke on it. Take Daddy’s massive cock all the way down. I love how you gag for me, how your throat squeezes so fucking tight every time I hit the back.” Your eyes water, tears slipping down your temples as you relax your throat and let him slide even deeper, the fat head pushing past the tight ring until your nose presses against his pelvis. The stretch burns so good, your jaw aching deliciously around his thickness while you swallow around him, milking his cock with your throat.
Jaemin’s dirty talk grows rougher, more possessive, hips snapping faster as he uses your mouth. “Fuck, you’re such a perfect little cocksucker. My good girl, letting me ruin this pretty throat while your brother’s down the hall. No more hiding how much you love choking on Daddy’s big dick.” You whimper loudly around him, sucking harder, tongue working frantically along the thick vein underneath as more spit bubbles from your lips. The lewd, sloppy sounds of your throat getting fucked echo through the room, wet gags, desperate slurps, and your muffled, horny moans mixing together in the most obscene symphony.
He finally pulls out with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock. You gasp for air, chest heaving, face a mess of tears and drool, but your eyes are glassy with pure lust. Jaemin strokes his massive, spit-slick cock slowly, looking down at you with dark, adoring hunger. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice softer for a moment. “My baby girl, taking me so well. I love you.” Then his tone drops back into filthy territory as he taps the heavy head against your tongue again. “Now open wide. Daddy’s not done using this perfect throat yet.”
You moan eagerly, tongue out, ready for more as he slides back into your mouth, the thick length stretching you wide once again. The night is only just beginning, and for the first time you don’t have to hold back a single sound.
He slides back into your mouth with one smooth thrust, the thick head forcing its way past the tight ring of your throat again. You gag hard around the massive girth, eyes watering instantly as he holds himself deep, letting your throat convulse and milk him. “That’s it,” he groans, voice dark and filthy, one hand wrapping loosely around your throat so he can feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you. “Feel that? Feel how deep Daddy’s cock is stretching your little throat? Fuck, you look so pretty choking on me.”
Jaemin starts fucking your face with slow, deliberate strokes, pulling out until just the head rests on your tongue before slamming back in, balls slapping wetly against your forehead. Thick strings of spit drip from your stretched lips, running down your cheeks and into your hair as he uses your mouth like a toy. He spits directly onto his cock before pushing back in, the extra slick making the slide even wetter and filthier. “Spit dripping all over you like a messy little slut,” he growls, thumb pressing lightly against the front of your throat to feel every thrust. “Look at you — tears, drool, taking every inch like you were made for Daddy’s cock.”
Your hands fly up to grip his thighs, nails digging in as he picks up speed, fucking your throat harder, deeper, the obscene glucking and gagging sounds filling the room. He leans over you, one hand braced on the bed, the other still loosely choking your neck as he watches his thick shaft disappear between your swollen lips over and over. “Such a good girl for me,” he pants, voice rough with lust. “Letting me ruin this pretty throat while your brother is right down the hall. You love it, don’t you? Love being Daddy’s secret little cocksleeve.”
He pulls out suddenly, strings of thick spit connecting your gasping mouth to his glistening cock. Before you can catch your breath he slaps the heavy length against your cheek, smearing your own saliva across your face. “Open,” he commands, and the second you do he spits directly into your open mouth, watching with dark satisfaction as you swallow it down without hesitation. “Good girl. Now take it again.” He pushes back in immediately, fucking your throat with short, brutal thrusts that make your eyes roll back, the bulge in your neck visible with every snap of his hips.
The choking sensation from his hand and his cock combined sends sparks through your whole body. You moan and gag around him, the vibrations making Jaemin curse under his breath as he fucks your face faster, spit flying everywhere, dripping down your neck and onto the sheets. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum down this tight throat if you keep sucking me like that,” he growls, fingers tightening just enough around your neck to make your head spin deliciously. “You want that, baby? Want Daddy to fill your stomach while you choke and cry for me?”
He keeps pounding into your mouth, relentless and deep, the wet, sloppy sounds growing louder and more obscene with every thrust. Your throat burns in the best way, jaw aching, tears streaming down your temples, but you’ve never felt more owned, more loved, more completely his. Jaemin’s eyes stay locked on your face the entire time, watching every gag, every tear, every desperate swallow with raw, possessive adoration.
Jaemin’s hips stutter hard as he buries his cock to the hilt down your throat one final time. “Fuck— I’m cumming, baby,” he groans, voice breaking with raw need. Thick, hot ropes of cum shoot straight into your stomach, pulse after heavy pulse, so much that you feel your belly swell slightly from how full he’s making you. You choke and swallow around him desperately, tears streaming, but he doesn’t pull out until every last drop is drained deep inside you. When he finally slides his massive cock from your ruined throat, long strings of spit and cum connect your swollen lips to the glistening head.
He strokes himself slowly over your face, milking the last spurts of cum onto your tongue and chin. “Look at you,” he growls, voice dark and satisfied. “My perfect little whore covered in Daddy’s cum. Chin dripping like the messy cumslut you are.” Thick white streaks paint your chin and lips, some sliding down your neck in slow, obscene trails. You moan softly, tongue darting out to catch what you can, eyes glassy with lust as you stare up at him.
Jaemin taps the heavy head of his cock against your cum-covered chin, smearing his release across your skin. “That’s right, baby girl. Wear Daddy’s cum like a good whore. I love seeing you like this — throat fucked raw, face painted, belly full of my load.” He leans down and spits into your open mouth again, watching you swallow it greedily along with the rest of his cum. “Swallow every drop. I want you carrying me inside you all night.”
You whimper, completely lost in the filthy, overwhelming feeling of being used and marked. “More,” you beg hoarsely, voice wrecked from the throat-fucking. “Please, Daddy, I want you to breed me. Fill me up until I’m leaking your cum for days.” The breeding kink hits you hard, the thought of him pumping load after load deep into your pussy, claiming you completely, makes fresh slick drip down your thighs.
Jaemin’s eyes darken with pure possession as he pulls you up from the edge of the bed and flips you onto your back. He spreads your legs wide, staring down at your dripping, needy cunt with hungry eyes. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s going to breed this tight little pussy all night. I’m going to fill you so full of cum you’ll be dripping me for the rest of the summer. My good little breeding whore.” He rubs the thick head of his still-hard cock through your folds, teasing your entrance as more of his earlier load drips from your chin onto your chest.
You stare up at him with glassy, cock-drunk eyes, chin and lips absolutely covered in thick ropes of his cum, some still dripping slowly down your neck and onto your chest. “Fuck, Daddy… look at all this cum,” you whimper hoarsely, voice completely wrecked from how deep he fucked your throat. You scoop some of the warm load off your chin with two fingers and push it into your mouth, sucking them clean with an obscene moan. “Mmm, I love being your little cum whore. I love how much you give me… how heavy and thick it is. I want to be covered in it every day. I want you to paint my face, my tits, my tongue until I’m dripping with Daddy’s load like the greedy slut I am for you.”
You spread your legs wider on the bed, fingers trailing through the mess on your skin as you look up at him with pure, shameless need. “Please keep breeding me tonight,” you beg, voice breathy and desperate. “I want every drop deep in my pussy. Fill me until I’m overflowing, until your cum is leaking out of me for hours. I’m your cumslut, Daddy, use me, breed me, ruin me. I love being full of you. I love being your dirty little whore who lives for every single drop you give me.”
Jaemin flips you onto your back and climbs over you, his massive cock still hard and glistening with spit and cum. He straddles your chest, knees planted on either side of your ribs, and looks down at you with dark, hungry eyes. “Push your tits together for Daddy,” he orders, voice low and rough. You obey instantly, cupping your breasts and squeezing them together, creating a soft, warm valley for him. He groans at the sight, sliding his thick, heavy cock between your tits, the head already leaking fresh precum onto your skin.
Jaemin straddles your chest, knees planted firmly on either side of your ribs, his massive cock heavy and throbbing as he stares down at you with raw hunger. He grips the base of his thick shaft and slaps it against your tits, the heavy meaty sound echoing in the room as precum smears across your skin. “Push them together for Daddy,” he growls, voice low and commanding. You obey instantly, cupping your soft breasts and squeezing them tightly around his cock, creating a perfect, warm, plush valley. The sight of his veiny, girthy length disappearing between your tits makes him groan deep in his chest. He spits directly onto the head of his cock and into the cleavage, watching the thick saliva drip down and slick everything up before he starts thrusting.
He repositions himself and leans forward, mouth descending on your tits with ravenous hunger. His lips wrap around one nipple, sucking hard and greedy, tongue flicking and swirling as he moans against your flesh. He switches to the other, sucking deep pulls that make your back arch, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain straight to your clit. “These perfect tits,” he growls between wet sucks, “so soft and full for me.” His mouth is filthy and desperate, sucking and licking like he can’t get enough, leaving your nipples shiny and swollen.
Jaemin sits back up, gripping the base of his massive cock and slapping the heavy length against your tits a few times, the wet sound echoing in the room. He lines himself up and slowly pushes forward, sliding the thick shaft between your squeezed breasts. The heat and softness of your tits envelop him completely, the head of his cock peeking out at the top with every thrust. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice thick with lust. “Your tits feel so good wrapped around my cock. So warm and soft… look how they swallow me up.”
He starts thrusting slowly at first, hips rolling as he fucks your tits with long, deliberate strokes. His hands cover yours, pressing your breasts even tighter around his thick length, the friction delicious and obscene. Precum leaks steadily from the tip, slicking the valley between your tits and making every slide smoother and wetter. “That’s it, push them together harder,” he growls. “I want to feel these pretty tits milking my cock.”
He begins slow but deliberate, rolling his hips so his massive cock slides smoothly between your squeezed tits, the fat head bumping against your chin with every forward stroke. The friction is obscene, your soft, warm flesh enveloping every thick inch, your nipples hard and brushing against his shaft as he moves. Spit and precum mix together, making the slide wetter and filthier with every thrust. Jaemin’s hands cover yours, pressing your tits even tighter around him, forcing your breasts to bulge around his girth. “Fuck, look at that,” he groans, eyes fixed on the way your tits swallow his cock. “Your pretty tits were made for Daddy’s big dick. So soft… so fucking tight around me.”
The pace quickly turns feverish and relentless. Jaemin fucks your tits harder, hips snapping with raw need, the wet slap of skin against skin growing louder and more obscene. His heavy balls slap rhythmically against the underside of your breasts as he drives his cock up and down between them, the head repeatedly bumping your lips and chin, leaving sticky trails of precum and spit across your face. He leans forward, mouth claiming yours in a messy, spit-filled kiss, tongues sliding together while he continues thrusting between your tits. When he pulls back, a thick string of saliva connects your lips as he spits directly into your open mouth again. “Swallow it, baby girl. Be a good little titfuck whore for me.”
He grows even more intense, fucking your tits with deep, punishing strokes, his cock gliding through the slick valley faster and harder. Your breasts bounce and jiggle wildly with every thrust, nipples dragging against his veiny shaft, sending sparks of pleasure through both of you. Jaemin’s breathing turns ragged, eyes dark with possession as he watches his massive cock disappear and reappear between your soft, plush tits. “That’s it, squeeze them tighter,” he growls, voice breaking. “Milk Daddy’s cock with these perfect tits. I’m gonna paint them so fucking pretty.”
You moan loudly beneath him, completely lost in the filthy sensation. Jaemin leans down again, sucking hard on one of your nipples while still thrusting between your tits, teeth grazing the sensitive peak as his cock slides faster through the spit-slicked cleavage. The combination of his mouth on your breast and his thick cock fucking your tits pushes you closer to the edge. He pulls back just enough to spit on his cock again, watching the saliva drip down before slamming back between your breasts with renewed hunger. “Gonna cum all over these tits,” he pants, hips stuttering. “Gonna cover my pretty whore in so much cum you’ll be dripping with me for days.”
The pace quickly turns rapid. Jaemin’s hips snap faster, thrusting up and down between your tits with raw need, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room. His massive cock looks even bigger nestled between your soft breasts, the head bumping your chin with every upward stroke. “Look at you,” he pants, eyes locked on the sight. “My good little titfuck slut. Taking Daddy’s big cock between these perfect tits like the whore you are.”
He leans forward slightly, one hand bracing on the headboard as he fucks your tits harder, faster, the bed creaking beneath you. Your breasts bounce and jiggle with every powerful thrust, nipples still hard and sensitive from his mouth. “Fuck, they’re so soft… so fucking warm,” he groans, voice breaking. “I could cum all over these tits right now and paint you like my personal cumslut.”
You moan loudly, the feeling of his thick, veiny cock sliding between your tits driving you insane with lust. Jaemin’s balls slap against the underside of your breasts with every downward thrust, the rhythm relentless and filthy. “Squeeze them tighter for me, baby girl,” he demands, breath ragged. “I want to feel every inch of these tits wrapped around my cock while I use them.”
His thrusts grow erratic, hips stuttering as pleasure builds fast and overwhelming. He stares down at you with pure possession, watching his massive cock disappear and reappear between your soft, plush tits. “Gonna cum soon,” he warns, voice hoarse. “Gonna cover these pretty tits in so much cum you’ll be dripping with me for days.”
With a deep, broken groan, Jaemin fucks your tits through his orgasm, thick ropes of hot cum shooting across your chest, your neck, and your chin. He keeps thrusting slowly between your cum-covered tits, milking every last drop as he marks you completely, breathing hard and looking down at you with dark, satisfied eyes.
Jaemin pulls back from your tits with a wet sound, his massive cock glistening with spit and precum, chest heaving as he stares down at you like a man possessed. “Enough,” he growls, voice thick and feral. “I need to breed you. I need to stuff that tight little pussy full of my cum until you’re dripping with it.” He flips you onto your back in one smooth motion, spreading your legs wide and hooking them over his elbows as he settles between your thighs in missionary. The head of his thick cock nudges your soaked entrance, teasing your fluttering hole before he pushes in with one deep, relentless thrust. You cry out as he stretches you open, the massive girth splitting you apart, bottoming out so deep you feel him in your stomach.
You sob out sharply, back arching hard as he stretches you open, the massive girth splitting you apart and bottoming out so deep you feel him pressing against your cervix. “Oh fuck, Daddy— you’re so big for my tight pussy. Mmm— Daddy fills me up so well,” you moan loudly, hips already rolling up to meet him, pussy clenching greedily around his thickness. “Fill me up, I need all of it.”
He sets a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping forward with wild, possessive strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. “Fuck, this pussy was made for breeding,” he groans, eyes locked on where his cock disappears inside you. “So tight, so wet, sucking me in like it wants my babies. I’m gonna fuck a baby into you tonight, baby girl. Fill you up until you’re swollen with my cum.” Every thrust is deep and punishing, the fat head kissing your cervix on every downward stroke, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as he pounds into you. You’re moaning uncontrollably, nails digging into his back, legs shaking around him as he fucks you like he’s trying to imprint himself inside your womb.
You fuck back just as hard, lifting your hips to slam up into every thrust, legs trembling around his arms as you take him deeper. “Yes, Daddy— breed me,” you gasp, voice breaking into desperate moans. “I want your babies, stuff me full, please— I’m so wet for you, Daddy.” Every powerful thrust makes your tits bounce, your nails digging into his back as you meet him thrust for thrust, pussy fluttering and gushing around his thick cock.
Jaemin leans down, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot against your lips as he drives into you harder. “Feel that? Feel how deep I am? That’s where my cum belongs, right against your cervix, pumping you full until it takes.” His hand slides between your bodies, thumb rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit while he fucks you with long, powerful strokes. The wet, filthy sound of your pussy taking his massive cock fills the room, slick dripping down your ass and onto the sheets. You’re lost in it, crying out his name, begging for more as he breeds you with raw, animalistic need. “Gonna knock you up, baby. Gonna watch your belly grow with my baby while I keep fucking you every night.”
You’re sobbing with pleasure, rolling your hips desperately to grind your clit against his thumb, legs shaking violently as you chase every inch. “Right there— oh god, Daddy, don’t stop,” you cry out, voice high and needy. “I’m gonna cum— breed me while I cum on your cock, please!”
He slows for a moment, grinding deep and rolling his hips so his cock stirs inside you, pressing against every sensitive spot. “I love you like this,” he rasps, voice breaking with emotion and lust. “Legs spread, pussy dripping, taking every inch while I breed you. You’re mine. All mine.” Then the pace turns feral again, hips slamming into you, bed banging against the wall, his cock bullying its way into your deepest parts with every thrust. You’re sobbing with pleasure, pussy clenching greedily around him, desperate to milk him dry, desperate to be filled and bred like the whore he’s turning you into.
The breeding talk pushes you closer to the edge. Jaemin’s eyes are wild, dark with pure possession as he fucks you harder, sweat dripping down his chest onto your skin. “Say it,” he demands, voice rough. “Tell Daddy you want his babies. Tell me you want me to stuff this pussy full until you’re leaking for days.”
You moan it brokenly, over and over. “Yes, Daddy, breed me, put a baby in me, fill me up!” Your voice cracking as another orgasm crashes through you, pussy spasming and gushing around his thick cock while he keeps pounding through it, chasing his own release.
He suddenly pulls out, flips you onto your hands and knees, and slams back inside you from behind in one brutal thrust. The new angle lets him go even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every savage snap of his hips. “This is how I’m breeding you tonight,” he growls, one hand fisting your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “Ass up, face down, taking every drop like the perfect little breeding slut you are.” He fucks you with wild, animalistic strokes, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing loudly, his heavy balls slapping against your clit as he drives toward his release.
You push back onto him immediately, ass bouncing against his pelvis as you fuck yourself on his massive cock. “Yes— fuck me harder, Daddy,” you moan loudly, voice wrecked and desperate. “Breed me like this, stuff my pussy full, make me take every drop!”
Jaemin’s thrusts turn erratic and desperate, hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as possible. “Fuck— I’m cumming,” he snarls, voice breaking. “Take it all, baby. Take every fucking drop.” His cock pulses violently inside you, flooding your womb with thick, hot ropes of cum, pulse after heavy pulse, so much that you feel your belly swell slightly from how full he’s making you.
You slam your hips back to meet him, pussy clenching rhythmically around his pulsing cock as you beg, “Cum inside me, fill me up, breed me, give me your babies, I want it all!” He floods you with thick, hot ropes of cum, pulse after heavy pulse, so much that you feel your belly swell slightly from how full he’s making you. You keep fucking back through his orgasm, milking every last spurt deep inside you, moaning and whimpering as you take every drop like the perfect breeding whore you are for him.
He keeps grinding deep, milking every last spurt into your spasming pussy, making sure not a single drop escapes. When he finally stills, buried to the hilt, he collapses over your back, lips pressed to your shoulder as he whispers, “That’s my good girl… so full of Daddy’s cum. My perfect breeding whore.”
You’re still trembling beneath him, pussy fluttering around his spent cock, a giddy, satisfied smile on your face as you whisper back, “I love you… keep me full like this all night.”
Jaemin pulls out of you slowly, his thick cock glistening with your combined release, and flips you gently onto your back again. This time there’s no rush, no feral urgency, just deep, aching tenderness as he settles between your spread thighs. He leans down, capturing one of your sensitive nipples between his lips and sucking softly, reverently, tongue swirling around the stiff peak while his heavy cock rests against your soaked folds. “I love you,” he murmurs against your breast, voice low and warm, the words vibrating straight through your chest. You moan softly, arching into his mouth, fingers threading through his hair as you rock your hips, rubbing your slick pussy along the thick length of him.
He switches to your other nipple, sucking a little harder, cheeks hollowing as he lavishes attention on your tits while the fat head of his cock nudges your entrance. You reach down between your bodies, guiding him inside you with a shaky breath. He sinks in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you open in the most perfect, delicious way. “Fuck… I love you,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as he bottoms out, buried to the hilt. The feeling is overwhelming, full, connected, loved. Jaemin groans against your breast, the sound deep and heartfelt, and starts to move with slow, rolling thrusts that make his cock drag perfectly against every sensitive spot inside you.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as he continues sucking on your tits, alternating between gentle licks and deeper pulls that send sparks straight to your clit. Every time he thrusts, his hips roll in a smooth rhythm, his cock bouncing deliciously inside you, the head kissing your cervix with each unhurried stroke. “I love you so much,” he breathes against your nipple, releasing it with a wet pop before moving to the other one. “I love being inside you like this… no hiding, just us.” You moan his name softly, hips rising to meet every thrust, your walls fluttering around his thick length as you lose yourself in the slow, sensual bounce of his cock.
The pace stays deep and intimate, his mouth never leaving your tits for long, sucking, licking, gently biting the soft flesh while he fucks you with long, loving strokes. You cup the back of his head, holding him to your chest as you whisper between moans, “I love you, I love feeling you so deep, I love how you fill me up.” Your bodies move together in perfect sync, skin sliding against sweat-slick skin, the wet sounds of him sliding in and out of your dripping pussy mixing with your shared, breathy “I love you’s” Every thrust makes his cock bounce inside you, hitting that sweet spot over and over until your toes curl and your back arches off the bed.
Jaemin lifts his head just enough to look into your eyes, lips shiny from sucking on your tits, gaze soft and burning at the same time. “You’re everything to me,” he whispers, thrusting a little deeper, a little slower, letting you feel every thick inch. “I love you. I love this pussy. I love the way you take me so perfectly.” You pull him down into a slow, deep kiss, tongues sliding lazily together while your hips keep rolling up to meet his, fucking him back with the same tender desperation. Your tits press against his chest, nipples still sensitive and tingling from his mouth, every movement sending fresh waves of pleasure through both of you.
He keeps the rhythm steady and intimate, cock bouncing deliciously inside your tight heat as he returns his mouth to your breasts, sucking one nipple deep while his hand gently kneads the other. “I love you,” you moan again, voice trembling with emotion and pleasure. “I love how you make love to me, I love feeling so full of you.” Your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails leaving light marks as you rock with him, pussy clenching rhythmically around his cock like you never want him to leave. The room fills with soft, wet sounds, skin on skin, quiet moans, whispered declarations of love, everything slow, deep, and overwhelmingly intimate.
Jaemin’s thrusts grow just a fraction deeper, his cock dragging perfectly along your walls with every smooth bounce, the head nudging that sensitive spot inside you until you’re whimpering beneath him. He releases your nipple with a gentle kiss, moving to your other breast to suck and lave it with the same loving attention while he murmurs against your skin, “I love you… I’m never letting you go.” You’re trembling now, pleasure coiling tight and sweet in your belly, your hips rising to meet every thrust, fucking him back with slow, sensual rolls that make his cock bounce even more deliciously inside you.
You cup his face, pulling him up so you can look into his eyes while he continues thrusting deep and steady, cock buried to the hilt with every loving stroke. “I love you,” you whisper, voice breaking with emotion as another wave of pleasure washes over you. “I love you so much, make love to me all night.” Jaemin kisses you deeply, hips never stopping their slow, perfect rhythm, his thick cock bouncing inside your dripping pussy as the two of you lose yourselves in each other, tender, filthy, and completely in love.
Jaemin pulls out of you with a wet, obscene sound, his thick cock glistening with your slick and his cum. Before you can even catch your breath, he flips you onto your stomach and yanks your hips up, positioning you on all fours with your ass high in the air. His hands grip your waist hard, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he lines up the fat head of his cock with your dripping, swollen pussy. “On your knees, baby girl,” he growls, voice dark and possessive. “Ass up for Daddy. I’m not done breeding this cunt yet.” You moan eagerly, arching your back and pushing your ass back toward him, desperate to feel him stretch you again.
He slams into you in one brutal thrust, burying every thick inch to the hilt. The new angle makes him feel impossibly deeper, the head of his massive cock pressing right against your cervix. You cry out sharply, fingers clutching the sheets as your pussy clenches greedily around him. “Fuck— Daddy!” you moan, voice breaking. Jaemin groans low in his throat, hands sliding up your back before gripping your hips again, pulling you back onto his cock as he starts fucking you with deep, possessive strokes. “That’s it,” he rasps, voice rough with lust. “Take every fucking inch. This pussy is mine to breed. Mine to fill.”
His pace is relentless and animalistic, hips snapping forward hard enough to make your ass ripple with every thrust. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes loudly in the room as he pounds into you from behind, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with every deep plunge. You push back to meet him, fucking yourself on his massive cock, moaning shamelessly as he stretches you wide open. “Harder, Daddy— please,” you beg, voice high and needy. “Fuck me deeper… I want you so deep it hurts.” Jaemin growls in response, one hand fisting your hair and yanking your head back while the other grips your hip bruisingly tight, using the leverage to drive into you even harder.
“Such a greedy little whore,” he snarls, leaning over your back so his chest presses against you, lips brushing your ear. “Pushing your ass back like you can’t get enough of Daddy’s cock. You love being fucked like this, don’t you? On all fours, taking every thick inch while I breed you.” His words send fresh heat flooding through you. You moan loudly, rocking back onto him desperately, your tits swaying heavily beneath you with every powerful thrust. The angle lets him hit that perfect spot inside you over and over, making your legs shake and your pussy flutter wildly around his girth.
Jaemin’s grip tightens as he fucks you faster, deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every savage stroke. “Gonna fill this pussy again,” he growls possessively, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Gonna pump so much cum into you that it leaks out for days. You’re going to walk around with my load dripping down your thighs, reminding you who owns this cunt.” You sob with pleasure, pushing back harder, meeting every brutal thrust as your walls squeeze him rhythmically. “Yes— breed me, Daddy,” you cry out, voice wrecked. “Fill me up, make me yours. I want your cum so deep.”
He reaches around and finds your swollen clit, rubbing tight, possessive circles while he continues pounding into you from behind. The dual sensation makes your eyes roll back, moans turning into broken, desperate whimpers as you fuck back onto his cock with everything you have. “I love you,” you gasp between moans, the words spilling out raw and needy. “I love how you fuck me, I love being your breeding whore. Don’t stop— please don’t stop.” Jaemin groans loudly, hips stuttering as he drives into you even harder, the wet, filthy sounds of your pussy taking his massive cock growing louder and sloppier.
His thrusts turn erratic and deep, the head of his cock bullying your cervix with every snap of his hips. You’re shaking violently now, pussy clenching and fluttering around him as another orgasm builds fast and overwhelming. “Cum for me,” he demands, voice rough and possessive. “Cum on Daddy’s cock while I breed you. Milk every drop out of me.” You cry out his name, pushing back desperately as the pleasure crashes over you, your walls spasming hard around his thick length, gushing slick down his balls and thighs while he keeps fucking you through it.
Jaemin follows right after with a deep, broken groan, slamming into you one final time and holding himself buried to the hilt. Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your womb, pulse after heavy pulse, filling you so full you can feel your belly swell slightly from the sheer amount. He grinds deep, making sure every drop stays inside you, his hands gripping your hips possessively as he empties himself completely. “That’s my good girl,” he pants against your back, voice soft but still dripping with ownership. “So full of Daddy’s cum, my perfect little breeding slut.”
You’re still panting on all fours, pussy leaking his cum, when Jaemin pulls out with a wet sound and flips you onto your back again. His eyes are dark and mischievous as he stands, pulling you up with him. “Round three, baby girl,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “But this time, let’s play a little game.” He backs you up until your shoulders hit the wall, caging you in with his body. “Pretend I’m the big bad stranger who just broke into your room at night. And you’re the innocent little thing who’s too turned on to scream for help.”
You bite your lip, a giddy, naughty giggle bubbling out of you as the roleplay clicks. “Oh no… mister, please don’t hurt me,” you whisper in a sweet, breathy voice, eyes sparkling with mischief even as your thighs press together. Jaemin’s grin turns wicked. He grabs your thighs, lifts you effortlessly, and pins you against the wall, your legs wrapping around his waist. His thick cock nudges your cum slick entrance before he thrusts up hard, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke. You cry out, back arching against the wall as he fills you completely. “Fuck— you’re so big,” you moan, playing along but unable to hide the giddy laugh that slips out.
He starts fucking you against the wall with deep, powerful thrusts, the wet slap of skin echoing loudly. “Shh, little girl,” he growls playfully, hips snapping up into you. “Don’t want your brother hearing how much you like getting fucked by a stranger, do you?”
You giggle breathlessly, nails digging into his shoulders as you rock down to meet every thrust, pussy clenching around his massive cock. “I can’t help it… it feels too good,” you whine, voice high and naughty, legs tightening around him. “Please don’t stop, I’m such a bad girl for liking this.”
Jaemin laughs low and husky, bouncing you on his cock against the wall, the force making your tits jiggle with every upward thrust. “Such a naughty little slut,” he teases, mouth latching onto your neck to suck a mark. “Taking a stranger’s cock so deep while your brother’s right down the hall.”
You’re giggling and moaning at the same time, the roleplay mixing with pure joy as you grind down on him, fucking him back desperately. “I love it, I love your cock, mister,” you gasp, voice breaking into another giddy laugh. “Don’t pull out, fill me up again.”
Before the giggles can settle, Jaemin’s eyes darken with something filthy and commanding. He grips your hips hard, flips you off him, and manhandles you onto all fours on the floor like you weigh nothing. His large hands spread your knees wider, ass high, back arched perfectly for him. “Stay just like that, princess,” he growls, voice dropping into that dangerous stranger roleplay again. “Don’t move until I tell you.” You whimper, pushing your ass back toward him instinctively, pussy dripping and clenching with anticipation. He kneels behind you, one hand fisting your hair to yank your head up while the other delivers a sharp, stinging spank to your ass that makes you cry out.
Without warning he shoves you forward, pressing your chest and cheek against the bedroom wall so you’re trapped between the cool surface and his hot body. “That’s better,” he murmurs darkly, lining his massive cock up with your soaked entrance. “Look at you — bent over like a desperate little bimbo waiting to be used.” He slams into you in one brutal thrust, burying every thick inch to the hilt. You moan loudly, palms sliding against the wall as he starts fucking you hard from behind, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.
“Fuck— mister, please,” you gasp, playing along with the roleplay even as your voice cracks with pleasure. “You’re so big, I shouldn’t be letting a stranger fuck me like this.” Jaemin laughs low and mean, one hand wrapping around your throat from behind while the other spanks your ass again, harder this time.
“Too late, princess. You’re already dripping all over my cock like a brainless little slut. Can’t even pretend you don’t want it.” He pounds into you relentlessly, hips snapping forward with savage force, his thick cock stretching you wide and hitting so deep you feel it in your stomach.
You push back against him desperately, fucking yourself onto his cock while he keeps you pinned to the wall. “I’m such a bad girl,” you moan, voice high and breathy, tears of overwhelming pleasure slipping down your cheeks. “Fucking a stranger in my own room, my brother’s right down the hall and I’m letting you ruin me.”
Jaemin groans, spitting directly onto your tongue when you open your mouth on a gasp, then choking you lightly as he fucks you even harder. “That’s right, you dumb little bimbo. Taking a stranger’s cock like the cheap whore you are. Look how your pussy swallows me, greedy, sloppy, made for breeding.”
The roleplay turns wilder as he rails you against the wall, one hand spanking your ass red while the other keeps a firm grip on your throat. “Say it louder,” he demands, voice rough and filthy. “Tell mister how much you love being used like a stupid cumdump.” You sob with pleasure, pushing your ass back to meet every brutal thrust, pussy clenching rhythmically around his massive length. “I love it— I love being your dumb bimbo whore, mister! Fuck me harder, please— ruin my tight little pussy!”
He suddenly spins you around, lifts one of your legs high against his hip, and drives back into you face-to-face, your back slamming against the wall. The new angle lets him go impossibly deeper, his cock bullying your cervix with every savage snap of his hips. “Look at that pretty bimbo face,” he taunts, spitting into your open mouth again before claiming your lips in a messy, aggressive kiss. “All fucked out and drooling while a stranger breeds you against the wall. You’re such a filthy little slut for me.” You moan into his mouth, legs shaking, nails digging into his shoulders as you take every brutal inch, completely lost in the wild, naughty roleplay and the overwhelming pleasure of being fucked so possessively.
Your whole body trembles against the wall, thighs quivering violently around his waist as another orgasm threatens to rip through you. Every savage thrust of his thick cock forces broken, desperate sounds from your throat, “Mister, please… harder, please—” — your voice cracking higher with each word while fresh tears slip down your flushed cheeks. Your pussy spasms and flutters uncontrollably around his massive length, slick dripping messily down his balls and onto the floor with every punishing snap of his hips. Jaemin’s hand cracks sharply across your ass again and again, the stinging heat blooming bright red across your skin as he spits directly onto your tongue when you open your mouth on a gasp, forcing you to swallow it with a whimpering moan.
He keeps pounding into you without mercy, the wet, filthy slap of skin against skin echoing loudly in the room as he owns every inch of your body. One hand fists your hair to yank your head back, exposing your throat so he can spit on it again before choking you lightly, the pressure just enough to make your vision blur with overwhelming pleasure. “Look at you,” he growls, voice dark and mocking, “crying and drooling for a stranger’s cock like the pathetic little bimbo you are. Your brother’s right down the hall and you’re letting me ruin this tight cunt against the wall.” You sob with every brutal thrust, pushing your hips back desperately to take him deeper, your pussy clenching greedily around him as if it never wants him to leave.
The roleplay and raw sensation crash over you until you feel completely undone, wanted, used, and strangely, deeply loved all at once. Your nails rake down his back, legs shaking so hard they can barely stay wrapped around him, every nerve ending singing as he fucks you harder against the wall. Jaemin’s mouth finds your neck, biting down just enough to mark you while he continues spanking your ass and spitting filthy praise and degradation into your ear. You’re a trembling, moaning mess, voice breaking on every “mister, please” and “harder,” tears streaming freely as the pleasure borders on too much, yet you still beg for more, completely surrendered to the stranger who broke in and decided to ruin the innocent girl who was too turned on to stop him.
Your pussy spasms violently around his cock as the orgasm finally crashes through you, walls clamping down hard and gushing slick all over him while you cry out against the wall, body shaking uncontrollably in his arms. Jaemin doesn’t slow down, he keeps pounding through your climax, spanking you harder, spitting into your open mouth, owning every trembling inch of you like the stranger who claimed what wasn’t his. You’ve never felt more wanted, more used, and somehow, in the middle of all the filth and roleplay, more loved than in this exact moment — pinned, ruined, and utterly his.
Jaemin keeps you pinned against the wall, one of your legs hooked high over his hip as he fucks into you with deep, punishing strokes. His thick cock stretches you wide with every brutal thrust, the head slamming against your cervix while his hips snap forward relentlessly. “That’s it, princess,” he growls against your ear, voice dark and filthy. “Take every inch of this stranger’s cock like the desperate little bimbo you are. Your brother’s right down the hall and you’re letting me ruin your tight cunt against the wall.” You moan loudly, nails digging into his shoulders, pushing your hips down to meet every savage thrust as fresh slick drips down his balls. He spits into your open mouth again, watching you swallow it greedily before choking you lightly with one hand while the other spanks your ass hard, the sting blooming hot across your skin.
You’re shaking, pussy clenching rhythmically around his massive length as he rails you against the wall, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder and more obscene. “Mister— fuck, you’re so deep,” you whimper, voice high and broken, playing the role even as tears of overwhelming pleasure slip down your cheeks. “I shouldn’t want this… but your cock feels too good. Don’t stop, breed me, please, fill your dumb little slut up.”
Jaemin groans, fucking you harder, his hand coming down in another sharp spank that makes your ass jiggle. “Greedy bimbo whore,” he taunts, spitting on your tongue once more. “Can’t even pretend you don’t love being used like this. Your pussy is sucking me in so fucking tight, made for stranger cock, isn’t it?”
Suddenly your leg slips from his grip, balance lost in the heat of it all. Jaemin’s footing falters and the two of you tumble backward onto the floor in a messy, laughing heap. You land straddling him, his thick cock still buried deep inside your dripping pussy, the impact driving him even further into you. A surprised giggle bursts out of you, mixing with a moan as you feel him throb against your walls. “Oh my god,” you laugh breathlessly, hands braced on his chest, hips already starting to roll instinctively. “Look what you did, mister… Now I’m on top of a stranger’s cock like a naughty little slut.”
You don’t stop moving. Instead you start riding him right there on the bedroom floor, slow and filthy circles that make his cock bounce deliciously inside you. “Fuck— you feel even bigger like this,” you moan, voice giggly and naughty, leaning forward so your tits brush his chest. “My brother’s gonna hear me getting fucked and I don’t even care… I’m such a bad girl for you.” Jaemin groans, hands gripping your ass hard as he thrusts up to meet you, the wet sounds of your pussy taking every thick inch filling the room. You ride him faster, giggling breathlessly between moans, completely lost in the naughty roleplay and the overwhelming pleasure of having him so deep while the summer night presses against the windows.
Without missing a beat, you sit up, hands on his chest, and start riding him slowly on the bedroom floor. “Oops,” you giggle, biting your lip as you roll your hips in a naughty little circle. “Look what you made me do, mister stranger.”
Jaemin groans, hands gripping your waist, eyes dark with lust and affection as he watches you bounce on his cock. “Fuck, you’re so cute when you’re being bad,” he murmurs, thumbs stroking your skin. You ride him faster, tits bouncing, pussy taking every thick inch with wet, filthy sounds.
“I can’t help it, your cock feels too good,” you moan, voice giggly and breathy. “I’m such a naughty girl for riding a stranger like this.”
You lean forward, hands braced on his chest, fucking yourself on his cock with playful, desperate rolls of your hips. Jaemin’s hands slide up to squeeze your tits, thumbs flicking your nipples as he thrusts up to meet you. “Ride me harder, baby,” he growls, voice mixing playfulness with raw need. “Show me how much you love getting fucked on the floor.” You giggle again, the sound turning into a moan as you bounce faster, pussy clenching around him. “I do, I love it so much, Daddy, I mean, mister,” you correct yourself with a naughty little laugh, riding him with giggly, filthy enthusiasm.
The roleplay melts into pure, loving heat as you ride him on the floor, both of you laughing breathlessly between moans. Jaemin sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close so your chests press together. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips, voice tender even as he thrusts up into you. “My naughty, giggly, perfect girl.” You kiss him deeply, still bouncing on his cock, heart full and pussy dripping as the summer night wraps around your messy, loving, giggly round three.
You dig your nails into Jaemin’s biceps as he fucks you against the wall, the thick, hard muscles flexing and bulging under your fingertips with every powerful thrust. God, they’re so big, so perfectly sculpted and strong, veins standing out against the smooth skin as he holds you up like you weigh nothing. You moan loudly, completely turned on by how massive and sexy they look, how they tense and ripple when he drives his cock deeper into you. Leaning forward, you sink your teeth into the curve of his shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave dark, possessive marks blooming across the muscle, then drag your tongue over the fresh hickeys while your nails rake down his biceps again, leaving red lines that only make you wetter. “Fuck, your arms are so hot,” you gasp between moans, voice breathy and desperate. “I love how big they are, I want to cum all over them, mark them up with my slick while you keep fucking me like this. Please, Daddy, let me make a mess on these sexy arms.”
You keep biting and sucking, leaving a trail of love bites and scratches across his shoulders and biceps, completely obsessed with how strong and beautiful they feel under your mouth and hands while he rails you senseless against the wall.
Jaemin keeps pounding up into you, his thick biceps flexing hard under your nails as you dig in deeper, marking him up with desperate scratches and bites while your orgasm crashes through you like a summer storm. Your pussy spasms violently around his cock, and suddenly you’re squirting hard, hot, clear fluid gushing all over his flexing biceps and shoulders, dripping down the defined muscles in shiny rivulets as you cry out his name. “Fuck— look at that,” he groans, voice wrecked with lust and awe, still thrusting deep as he watches you soak his arms. You don’t even think, you lean forward, tongue dragging slowly over his cum and squirt covered biceps, licking every drop off the hard muscle with filthy, loving strokes, tasting yourself mixed with his sweat before you crash your mouth onto his in a messy, desperate kiss.
He moans into it, tongue sliding against yours, both of you trembling and laughing breathlessly as the kiss turns softer, deeper, full of pure love. “I’m so in love with you,” you whisper against his lips, eyes glassy and glowing, no more hiding, no more sham, just the two of you making love like the whole summer is burning inside your chests, sun-hot, salt-sweet and completely irreversible, hearts wide open under the fading pink sky. “I’m crazy for you, every season, every day, forever.”
Jaemin kisses you harder, still buried deep inside you, whispering “My girl, my everything, my summer dream,” like a vow, the two of you tangled and glowing, the summer night wrapping around you like it knows this love was always meant to last far beyond the heat.
𝐀 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑
Summer had settled into your bones in a way that no season ever had before, golden and endless, like light that refused to dim. It wasn’t fleeting, not something you had to chase or mourn before it slipped away; it stayed, warm against your skin, alive in the air you breathed, in the way the world seemed softer, fuller, brighter. The days stretched long and honeyed, carrying laughter that lingered even after the sun dipped low, and you realised, slowly, that this kind of warmth was not meant to leave you. Summer was yours now—yours in every quiet moment, every burst of heat, every memory that refused to fade—and somehow, impossibly, so was Jaemin.
He felt like summer in every sense that mattered, like the kind of warmth you never questioned, only leaned into. His lips carried that soft, cherry-sweet heat, always just a little too tempting, his smile easy and sunlit, the kind that made everything around him feel brighter without trying. There was something effortless in the way he moved, all quiet confidence and golden ease, like long afternoons stretched across bare skin, like laughter caught in warm air. His voice settled over you the same way summer evenings did—low, smooth, familiar—wrapping around you until you forgot what it felt like to be cold. Even the way he looked at you held that same steady warmth, something constant, something that stayed. Being with him felt like standing in sunlight that never burned out, like finding a season that didn’t end, and realising you never wanted to leave it.
A year later, the summer air still tastes like salt and sunscreen when you step onto the familiar rooftop, but everything else has changed shape without losing its heat. You’re no longer the girl who hid in the shadows. Jaemin’s hand rests possessively on the small of your back as you both lean against the same ledge where he once knelt with that singed-ribbon box of Polaroids. The town below sparkles with early evening lights, but your eyes keep drifting to him, the way the fading sun catches the sharp line of his jaw, the faint white scars of old hickeys you left on his biceps last night, now faded to soft silver memories.
He catches you staring and smiles, slow and knowing, before pulling you into a deep kiss that still feels like the first time and the thousandth all at once. His tongue slides against yours with lazy hunger, one hand cupping your face while the other slips under your sundress to squeeze the curve of your ass. “Still can’t believe you’re mine out loud,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough with that same feverish want that never cooled. You laugh softly into his mouth, nipping his bottom lip. “Believe it. I’m not hiding anymore. Not from anyone. My beautiful girl deserves to be showed off.”
Your parents knew the whole time.
The night you and Jaemin finally told them everything, your mother only smiled that soft, knowing smile and pulled you both into a hug that smelled like lavender and home-cooked meals. “We saw the way you looked at each other since that very first summer, when you were 6 and 8!” she said quietly, brushing hair from your face. “We were just waiting for you two to stop being scared.”
Your father clapped Jaemin on the shoulder, eyes a little misty. “Took you long enough, son. But we’re glad you finally got it right.” There was no anger, only quiet relief and the kind of love that had always been there, the same love that now shows up in Sunday dinners where Jaemin sits beside you openly, fingers laced on the table, and your parents pretend not to notice when his thumb traces circles on your thigh under the cloth. They love you both fiercely, without condition, and that acceptance feels like the warmest kind of sunlight.
Jeno loves you both now, too, in his own gruff, protective way.
He still groans dramatically whenever he catches you and Jaemin kissing in the kitchen, but there’s a smile behind it. “Get a room,” he mutters, but the words have lost their bite. He and Saerin have been circling each other for months, stolen glances turning into late night talks on the same rooftop, her glittery laugh mixing with his quieter one. Everyone can see it: the way Jeno’s eyes soften when she teases him, the way she blushes when he brings her favorite cherry icee without asking. The group is whole again, cracks turned into stronger seams.
It started with small things no one else noticed at first. Saerin would show up at the apartment with cherry ices “just because,” and Jeno would pretend to roll his eyes while secretly saving the straw she used. She’d tease him about his overprotective big brother glare, and he’d grumble something about her glittery tops being a public safety hazard, but his eyes would linger a second too long on the way the baby blue fabric rode up when she laughed. The group watched it unfold like a movie they’d all seen coming: stolen glances across bonfires, Saerin stealing Jeno’s varsity jacket on chilly nights and him letting her keep it without complaint, late night texts that turned into early-morning drives where they’d sit on the hood of his truck and talk until the sky turned pink again.
One humid August evening, after everyone else had gone home from the lake, Jeno finally stopped pretending. Saerin was dancing barefoot in the shallow water, her denim cut offs soaked, glitter eyeshadow smudged from the heat, looking like summer sin and trouble wrapped in one sparkling package. Jeno watched her for a long moment, jaw tight, then walked straight into the water fully clothed. He caught her wrist, pulled her close, and kissed her like he’d been holding his breath for a year. Saerin laughed into the kiss at first, that bright, glittery sound, before melting against him, arms wrapping around his neck as the water lapped at their legs. When they pulled apart, foreheads touching, she whispered, “Took you long enough.” Jeno just groaned, cheeks flushed, and kissed her again, softer this time, like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.
Their relationship is still new, still a little shy around the edges, but it’s real in all the ways that matter. Jeno is protective and steady, the kind of boyfriend who remembers she likes extra cherries in her icee and who texts her when he knows she’s driving home late. Saerin brings chaos and light into his life, dragging him to midnight diner runs, making him wear matching glitter temporary tattoos “for the aesthetic,” and teasing him until he cracks that rare, full smile that makes his eyes crinkle. They fight sometimes, Jeno’s overprotectiveness clashing with Saerin’s free-spirited energy but they always make up with quiet talks on the same rooftop where everything started, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist like he’s finally allowed to hold on.
You catch them in soft moments that make your heart ache with happiness for them. Saerin wearing Jeno’s oversized hoodie while they cook breakfast together, him standing behind her with his chin on her head, both of them swaying to whatever song is playing. Jeno letting her paint his nails black with glitter because “it matches her vibe,” even though he complains the whole time. The way he looks at her when he thinks no one’s watching, the same burning intensity from the bonfire night, but now it’s softer, warmer, like he’s finally let himself want something for himself.
Jeno has grown too. He no longer sees you as just his little sister who needs protecting, he sees you as a woman who chose love loudly, and that choice helped him learn to do the same. He still gives Jaemin the occasional warning glare, but it’s mostly for show now. The four of you have fallen into an easy rhythm: double dates at the diner, late night drives with all the windows down, Saerin and you giggling in the backseat while Jeno and Jaemin pretend to be annoyed in the front.
One quiet night on the rooftop, the same fairy lights still strung between the vents, Jeno pulls Saerin close under the stars and says, voice low and honest, “I spent so long thinking I had to protect everyone. Turns out the best thing I could do was let the people I love choose their own happiness.” Saerin smiles up at him, glitter still sparkling on her cheeks even at midnight, and kisses him slowly and sweetly. “Took you long enough to figure that out, my baby.”
You watch them from across the roof, Jaemin’s arm around your shoulders, and feel the full circle of it all. The summer that once threatened to break everything has bloomed into something stronger, friendships mended, love spoken out loud, and two more hearts learning how to stop hiding. The cicadas are quiet now, but you know they’re only sleeping underground, counting the months until next year’s heat. Just like all of you, carrying the seeds of last summer forward, ready to bloom again when the sun returns.
And in the meantime, there’s hot cocoa on winter mornings, spring rain kisses on the same rooftop, and the quiet certainty that some loves, once they stop hiding, simply refuse to end.
You and Jaemin are endlessly, feverishly in love.
Tonight he takes you to bed like he’s worshipping and ruining you at the same time. He lays you down slowly, mouth tracing every inch of skin he once had to kiss in secret, the inside of your wrist, the dip of your waist, the soft skin just below your breast. “I missed this,” he whispers, sucking a fresh mark onto your collarbone while his cock slides deep inside you in one smooth thrust.
You giggle breathlessly, legs wrapping around his waist as you arch into him, the sound light and giddy even as pleasure sparks through every nerve. “You fuck me every night and every day,” you tease between moans, rolling your hips up to take him deeper, “and you still act like you’re starving for me.”
Jaemin laughs softly against your skin, the sound warm and adoring, before he starts moving in slow, deep rolls that make his cock drag perfectly inside you. “I always miss this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your nipple before he sucks it gently into his mouth, tongue swirling with reverent hunger. “I always miss you. I know I fuck you every day but It’s still not enough. I wish I was inside you 24/7, baby girl. You’re always home with me.” You giggle again, the sound turning into a soft moan as you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer while your hips rock up to meet every thrust.
“You’re such a sap,” you whisper, but your voice is full of love, eyes shining as you watch him worship you like you’re the only thing that has ever mattered.
He keeps the rhythm slow and sensual, cock bouncing deep inside you with every gentle grind, mouth moving from one breast to the other, sucking and licking like he’s memorizing the taste of your skin all over again. You love him for this, for the way he can be so filthy and so tender at the same time, for how he makes you feel both ruined and cherished. “I love how gentle you are with me even when you’re fucking me senseless,” you moan, giggling softly as another wave of pleasure makes your toes curl. “You’re so patient, so careful with my heart even when you’re rough with my body. You always put me first, always make sure I feel safe and loved before anything else.”
Jaemin lifts his head, eyes dark and full of devotion as he thrusts a little deeper, grinding against that perfect spot inside you. “You make it easy to be gentle,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You’re the strongest, kindest person I know. You forgave me when I didn’t deserve it. You chose me even when it hurt the people you love most. You’re brave in ways I’ll never be.”
You giggle through a moan, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for a slow, messy kiss, your bodies moving together in perfect rhythm. “I love how loyal you are,” you breathe against his lips. “How you fight for the people you care about. How you’re steady when everything else feels chaotic. You’re the kind of man who loves with his whole heart, quietly, fiercely, completely.”
He keeps worshipping you with every slow thrust, cock filling you so perfectly while his mouth returns to your breasts, sucking gently on one nipple as his hand kneads the other. You’re giggling and moaning at the same time, the sound bright and joyful even as pleasure coils tighter in your belly. “I love how you make me laugh even when we’re like this,” you confess, voice breathy. “You’re playful and sweet and still so damn sexy. You make me feel beautiful and wanted every single day. You’re my safe place and my wildest adventure all at once.”
Jaemin groans softly, hips rolling deeper, the slow bounce of his cock inside you making your eyes flutter. “You’re my home,” he whispers, kissing between your breasts. “My favorite person in every season. I love you more than I know how to say.”
You come with a soft, giggly moan, pussy fluttering around him as waves of pleasure wash over you, your arms tight around his shoulders. Jaemin follows right after, burying himself deep and filling you with slow, pulsing spurts of cum while he whispers “I love you” against your skin over and over. You stay tangled together afterward, both of you laughing breathlessly, hearts beating in sync under the soft summer moonlight streaming through the window. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just the two of you, endlessly, feverishly, irreversibly in love, making love like the whole year belongs to you.
The summer may be ending, but the love between you burns hotter and brighter than ever, carrying you forward into every season still to come.
Jaemin moves inside you with slow, reverent rolls of his hips, his thick cock stretching you open in that perfect, aching way while his mouth worships your breasts. He sucks gently on one nipple, then the other, tongue swirling with tender hunger as if every inch of your body is something sacred he’s been starving for. You love him for this, for the way he can be so devastatingly filthy and so heartbreakingly gentle at the same time. He is the kind of man who notices everything: the way your breath catches when he hits that spot deep inside you, the tiny tremble in your thighs, the exact moment you need him to slow down or go harder. He is patient and attentive, the steady anchor who never rushes you, never takes without giving back tenfold. His loyalty runs bone-deep; once he chooses you, he chooses you completely, fiercely, without reservation. As your lover he makes you feel both ruined and rebuilt in the same breath, protective without being controlling, passionate without being selfish. He is the man who carries your heart with the same careful hands that pin you down and fuck you senseless.
You love how steady he is in a world that once felt chaotic. Jaemin is the quiet strength that shows up without needing applause, the one who remembers how you like your coffee, who checks the weather before you go out, who holds you through every doubt without ever making you feel small. He has a quiet confidence that never tips into arrogance, a playfulness that makes even the heaviest moments lighter, and a depth of emotion he only lets you see. As a man he is loyal to his core, the type who will fight for the people he loves but never raises his voice unless it’s absolutely necessary. As your lover he is insatiable yet endlessly giving — always making sure your pleasure comes first, always whispering how beautiful you are even when you’re a sweaty, moaning mess beneath him. He makes you feel safe enough to be wild, cherished enough to let go completely.
Most of all you love the way he loves you, wholly, loudly now, without shame or hesitation. He is the man who once hid you out of fear and now claims you in front of the entire world with the same steady hands that once trembled when he touched you in secret. He is gentle when you need tenderness and rough when you crave ruin, always reading you like his favorite book. In every slow grind of his cock deep inside you, in every reverent kiss he presses to your skin, you feel the depth of who he is: a man who learned from his mistakes, who grew up beside you, who chooses you every single day with the same fierce devotion he once tried to bury. You are crazy for him, for his heart, for his hands, for the way he makes love feel like both worship and home. And in this moment, with him buried deep inside you, the summer heat still lingering on your skin, you know this love is no longer a season. It is every season. It is forever.
You come with his name on your lips and his mouth on your neck, pussy clenching around him as he fills you again, hot and deep, whispering “I love my girlfriend” like a prayer against your skin. Afterward you lie tangled together, sweat cooling, his thumb tracing the same familiar bruise on your hip he’s left a hundred times before. You hide your face in his neck out of habit, even while your legs are still wrapped around him, and he laughs softly, kissing your temple. “No more hiding, remember?”
You moan, legs wrapping around him, hips rolling up to meet every slow, grinding stroke. “I love you,” you breathe, nails dragging down his back. “I love you so much, I’m never gonna hide again.” He fucks you deeper, slower, eyes locked on yours as he tells you every filthy sweet thing he’s thought about all year, how empty he felt without you, how he still wakes up reaching for you in the middle of the night. The Polaroid camera sits on the nightstand like a quiet witness. Every few minutes he pauses mid thrust, cock buried deep inside you, and reaches for it. The flash blooms soft and sudden across your joined bodies, your flushed cheeks, his hand possessive between your legs, the way your bodies fit together like they were carved for this exact moment. He sets the camera down, then keeps moving, slow and deep, grinding against that spot that makes your toes curl.
Later, when you’re both trembling and breathless, he’ll pick up each new photo and turn it over. In his messy, familiar handwriting he writes a single line only the two of you will ever understand. “First summer we didn’t have to hide.” Another reads “The night I finally got to moan your name out loud.” A third: “The morning after I woke up and you were still in my bed.” Each Polaroid becomes a private scripture, a tiny rectangle of glossy proof that this love is no longer hidden in shadows or stolen in backseats. The stack on his nightstand grows thicker every week, a living archive of every place he’s kissed you since the hiding ended: against the kitchen counter at 3 a.m., in the passenger seat of his truck with the windows fogged, on this very bed with the fairy lights still twinkling from the rooftop.
You love the ritual as much as the sex itself. There’s something sacred in the way he captures you mid-moan, lips parted, eyes glassy, his cock disappearing inside you while the flash freezes the moment forever. He never stages it. He waits until the pleasure makes your face go soft and wild, then clicks. Later, when the photos develop, you both lie tangled in the sheets and read the backs together, laughing softly or growing quiet with emotion. Some sentences are filthy.“The night I fucked you so deep you cried my name loud enough for the whole building to hear.” Others are achingly tender. “The first time I kissed you in front of your brother and didn’t feel like I was stealing something.” Every new Polaroid is another page in the book you’re writing together, proof that this love is real, loud, and lasting.
The camera has become part of your language. Sometimes he’ll be buried inside you, slow-grinding while he whispers how much he missed you, and you’ll reach over, grab the camera yourself, and snap a photo of his face, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, the exact second pleasure makes him look almost reverent. He’ll laugh, low and warm, then fuck you a little harder just because he can, because there’s no one left to hide from. The Polaroids pile up like love letters you don’t have to mail, tangible proof that the boy who once hid you in the dark now wants the whole world to see how completely he belongs to you, and how completely you belong to him.
Tonight, after he’s filled you again and you’re both glowing and sticky and laughing softly, he reaches for the camera one last time. The flash catches the two of you tangled together, your leg hooked over his hip, his hand splayed possessively over your lower stomach where you can still feel him leaking out of you, your faces close and smiling like the world finally makes sense. He turns the photo over immediately and writes in his messy scrawl: “The first night we made love like the whole year belonged to us.”
You take the Polaroid from his fingers, press a kiss to the corner of it, then tuck it beside the others on the nightstand. Outside, the summer cicadas have gone quiet, but you know they’re only sleeping underground, counting the months until they sing again. Just like your love, no longer a single burning season, but something that has learned how to live through every season, loud and unafraid, captured forever in small rectangles of light.
The lessons live quietly in your bones now, settled deep like roots that have finally found soil after years of shallow dirt.
You learned you’re allowed to want things loudly. That love doesn’t have to be whispered in dark corners or stolen in the backseat of a car to be real. That protecting your brother never meant erasing yourself, that choosing Jaemin didn’t mean betraying Jeno, it only meant growing into the version of you that could hold both loves without breaking. Jaemin learned to stop running. He learned that fear of abandonment doesn’t have to dictate how big he lets himself love.
Jeno learned to let his little sister grow up, to loosen the grip he’d kept since you were small enough to ride on his shoulders. And together, the three of you learned that summer doesn’t have to end when the leaves turn. It simply changes shape, folds itself into the steam rising from winter cocoa, hides in the hush before spring rain, waits patiently in the quiet of any room where your eyes meet across the table and the world feels suddenly, impossibly soft.
You still take Polaroids.
Every new one gets a date scribbled on the back in Jaemin’s messy handwriting, followed by a single sentence only the two of you will ever understand. The stack on his nightstand grows thicker every month, a living archive of light and skin and courage. You flip through them sometimes when the apartment is quiet, fingers tracing the glossy edges, and each image pulls you back into the exact second it was taken, the flush on your cheeks, the possessive curve of his hand on your hip, the way your bodies fit together like they had been waiting their whole lives for permission to be seen.
Tonight the mixtape plays low in the background, the same worn cassette that survived every hidden summer. Jaemin pulls you closer beneath the sheets, his chest warm against your back, one arm draped heavy and sure over your waist. You turn in his hold and press a slow kiss to the fresh mark you left on his shoulder earlier, the skin still slightly tender from your teeth. The taste of salt and him lingers on your lips as you whisper against the bruise, “I love you in every season.”
He smiles, eyes soft and burning at the same time, the kind of look that still makes your stomach flutter like it did the very first summer he noticed you. His thumb brushes your cheek, catching a stray tear you didn’t realize had fallen, and he answers in that low, steady voice that has become your safest place. “My girl. Every single day.”
Later that night, back in his room with the window open to the warm breeze, Jaemin reaches for the Polaroid camera one last time. The flash blooms soft and golden across your bodies as you lie tangled in the sheets, skin still flushed and glowing, his hand resting possessively on your bare hip while you smile up at him with sleepy, lovesick eyes. The image captures everything: the faint bite marks on your collarbone, the way your hair spills across the pillow like spilled summer honey, the quiet bliss in both your faces that says the hiding is finally over.
He develops it slowly, the chemicals turning the white square into color right before your eyes. When it’s ready, he turns it over and writes on the back in his familiar messy handwriting, the words deliberate and tender: “You in summer bliss — my girl, every single summer.”
Then he does something that makes your heart clench with overwhelming love. He lifts the fresh Polaroid to his lips and kisses it gently, right over your smiling face, as if sealing the memory with his mouth. The kiss leaves the faintest trace of his breath on the glossy surface. Without a word, he slides the photo into the clear pocket on the back of his phone case, so that every time he checks the time or answers a call, he’ll see you there, sundrenched, blissed out, and entirely his.
He sets the phone down on the nightstand, then pulls you closer, skin to skin, the summer breeze drifting through the open window like a final, lingering caress. The Polaroid rests against his palm whenever he holds the phone, a small, constant reminder that this love is no longer a single burning season. It’s the whole year. It’s every season. It’s you and him, out loud, forever.
And so the summer does not end. It simply refuses to.
The summer heat still lingers on your skin like a promise that refuses to fade, even as the nights grow cooler and the cicadas fall quiet. It lives in the way Jaemin kisses the same spots he once had to hide, in the way you no longer flinch when someone sees you holding his hand in public, in the quiet certainty that this love was never just a season. It was the beginning of every season after. And for the first time, you believe it with your whole heart.
The road trip begins on a golden late-summer morning, the kind where the air still carries the memory of cicadas even though their song has quieted. You and Jaemin are the first ones outside the apartment, the old SUV packed with duffel bags, snacks, and the battered Polaroid camera that now lives permanently in the glove compartment. The second Jaemin steps out the front door with the last cooler, you run to him, laughing, and launch yourself into his arms. He catches you easily, hands sliding under your thighs as your legs wrap tight around his waist. You kiss him right there in the driveway deep, unhurried, tongues sliding slow and sweet while the morning sun warms your skin. “Good morning, my baby,” he murmurs against your lips, smiling so wide it crinkles the corners of his eyes. You giggle into the kiss, fingers threading through his hair, heart so full it feels like the whole summer is blooming again inside your chest.
Jeno walks out a moment later, keys dangling from his fingers, and doesn’t even blink at the sight of his best friend holding his little sister like she weighs nothing. He just shakes his head with a fond, resigned smile and heads straight for Saerin, who’s leaning against the car in tiny denim shorts and one of his old hoodies. He pulls her in without a word, one hand cupping the back of her neck as he greets her with a hungry, lingering kiss that makes her laugh softly into his mouth. You and Jaemin break apart just enough to watch, grinning like idiots, the four of you wrapped in the easy, messy warmth of new beginnings.
While the boys load the last bags into the trunk, Jeno and Jaemin fall into their old rhythm like the fracture never happened. Jeno tosses Jaemin the cooler and they banter about who gets to drive first, shoulders bumping in that familiar brotherly way. “You’re still riding shotgun only because I feel sorry for you,” Jeno mutters, but there’s no bite, just the quiet relief of two men who have chosen forgiveness over pride. Jaemin laughs, clapping him on the back. “Shut up and admit you missed me driving.” The easy teasing feels like healing, like the summer that once broke them is now stitching them back together with every duffel bag tossed and every sarcastic remark exchanged.
You and Saerin are in your own world in the backseat once everyone piles in. The boys take the front, Jeno driving, Jaemin riding shotgun with the windows cracked so the warm breeze rushes through. You and Saerin sit close in the back, legs tangled, giggling over shared earbuds and old gossip. She leans her head on your shoulder, painting your nails a bright cherry red while you braid a tiny section of her hair, the two of you trading soft, intimate touches and whispered secrets. The car fills with laughter and the low hum of the radio playing nostalgic summer tracks, the breeze carrying the scent of cut grass and distant ocean.
The flirting is constant and shameless. Jaemin keeps turning around in his seat to steal glances at you, his hand reaching back to squeeze your knee whenever Jeno isn’t looking. You blow him kisses and mouth, “I love you” when the boys are arguing over directions. In the front, Jeno’s hand keeps drifting back to Saerin’s thigh when he thinks no one notices, his thumb tracing slow circles that make her bite her lip and blush. The sexual tension simmers beneath the easy conversation, stolen looks, teasing remarks, the kind of comfortable heat that comes from knowing everyone in the car has finally stopped hiding.
When you finally pull up to the beach house at dusk, the sky painted in that same rose gold that once lit your very first stolen kisses, Jaemin is out of the car before it even stops rolling. He rounds the hood, pulls you out with strong, gentle hands, and presses you against the warm metal of the car door. His mouth finds yours instantly, deep, hungry, and so full of love you no longer have to hide. You melt into him completely, legs wrapping tight around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly, your arms looping around his neck. The kiss is slow and consuming, tongues sliding together with lazy sweetness, and you can’t stop the soft, happy giggle that bubbles up between your lips.
Jeno and Saerin are right behind you, already tangled in their own kiss against the side of the car, slower and softer but no less hungry. Jeno’s hand cups Saerin’s face like she’s something precious he’s finally allowed to keep. When they pull apart, Jeno looks over at you and Jaemin with a small, genuine smile, no anger, no tension, just quiet acceptance and the warmth of a brother who has learned to let his little sister be happy.
The four of you unload the car laughing, bags bumping against legs, the beach house glowing with string lights someone left on. You and Jaemin take the room with the big window overlooking the water. Jeno and Saerin claim the one down the hall. No one makes jokes about keeping it down. No one has to. The doors stay unlocked. The walls are thin, but the love behind them is loud and proud and finally, beautifully free.
“My girl,” he whispers against your mouth, smiling so wide it makes your chest ache with pure joy. “My forever.” You kiss every inch of his face in return, soft, reverent presses to his cheek, his forehead, the tip of his chin, the sensitive spot just below his ear, then down the strong column of his neck.
“My baby,” you murmur between each kiss, your voice soft and full, spilling over with something that feels too big to hold inside you. The words land against his skin like warmth itself, each one pressed into him slowly, deliberately, his cheek, his temple, the corner of his mouth where his smile lingers, then lower, to the curve of his jaw and the sensitive hollow beneath his ear where his breath catches just slightly under your touch. “My baby, my baby, my sweet, precious baby,” you say it again and again, not because you need to, but because you can’t seem to stop, because loving him feels like something that has to be spoken, tasted, felt in every possible way.
He laughs then, low and soft, the sound warm and intimate, vibrating through his chest where you’re pressed against him, and you feel it more than you hear it, feel it echo into you, settling somewhere deep and steady. His hold tightens instinctively, one hand spreading wide across your back like he needs to keep you exactly where you are, the other firm beneath your thighs, grounding you, holding you up with a strength that feels so certain it makes your chest ache. Your legs stay wrapped around his waist, locked there without thought, your body fitting into his like it was always meant to, every inch of you aligned with him, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, your breaths slipping into the same quiet rhythm as he walks.
You can feel everything, every shift of his muscles beneath your hands, the warmth of his skin through the thin layers between you, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the quiet strength in the way he carries you as if it costs him nothing, as if he could do this forever. Your fingers curl lightly into the fabric at his shoulders, your mouth still wandering over him, slower now, softer, lingering in places just to feel the way he reacts, the small exhale when your lips brush his neck, the subtle tightening of his grip when you press closer, the way he tilts his head just slightly as if giving you more of him without even thinking.
The summer air wraps around you both, warm and slow, brushing against your skin like a soft memory, but it pales in comparison to the heat of him, to the way he holds you like you are something precious, something chosen, something he would never risk letting go of. There’s no hesitation in him, no distance, no restraint, only this open, unguarded closeness that feels almost overwhelming in its quiet intensity. Being in his arms feels like stepping into something that has been building for a long time, something inevitable and certain, where every fleeting moment has settled into something lasting. And the way he looks at you when you finally pull back, lips still parted, eyes soft and shining, it says everything you’re feeling without needing a single word.
The beach house is beautiful, all pale wood and wide windows that let in the last rose gold light, string lights already twinkling softly along the porch like stars that decided to come down and stay. Jaemin doesn’t put you down. He carries you straight through the living room, past Jeno and Saerin who are already tangled together on the couch, and down the short hallway to your room. The space is perfect: a big bed with crisp white sheets, a ceiling fan turning lazily overhead, and glass doors that open onto a private little deck overlooking the ocean. He kicks the door shut behind you with his foot, still holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever carried, and lays you down on the bed with such care it makes your eyes sting.
But he doesn’t let go. He climbs over you, kissing you again, slower this time, deeper, full of all the months you spent hiding. You keep kissing his face between breaths, whispering “my baby” against his cheek, his jaw, his forehead, your hands gently caressing every inch of him you can reach. “My baby,” you breathe, voice thick with emotion.
“I love you so much, I get to love you out loud now.” He groans softly, the sound vibrating against your lips, and rolls his hips against yours in a slow, sensual grind, his cock already hard and pressing insistently between your legs. “I love you,” he whispers back, voice husky and reverent. “I love my girlfriend. I love waking up next to you. I love hearing you moan my name without having to be quiet. I love that I get to keep you like this, every night, every morning, every season.”
You’re both laughing softly between kisses, the sound turning breathy and needy as he grinds against you again, the friction delicious and teasing. Down the hall, you can already hear Jeno and Saerin, Saerin’s bright, giggly moans mixing with Jeno’s deeper, rougher groans. The sounds are loud and unashamed, like they’re having their own competition of who can be louder. You giggle against Jaemin’s neck, nipping at his skin. “They’re winning,” you whisper, playful and turned on all at once.
Jaemin chuckles, low and warm, and rolls his hips harder, letting you feel every thick inch of him through your clothes. “Then we’ll just have to try harder, baby girl,” he murmurs, kissing you deeply again, tongue sliding against yours as his hands slide under your dress to caress your bare thighs. “I want to hear my girlfriend moan for me all night. Loud enough that the whole beach house knows exactly how much I love you.”
You wrap your legs tighter around him, pulling him closer, your hands roaming over his back and shoulders with soft, loving touches. Every kiss you press to his face, his cheek, his forehead, the corner of his mouth — is slow and full of worship. “My baby,” you whisper again and again, voice trembling with emotion and desire, “my sweet, beautiful baby, I love you so much it still feels like a dream.” He answers with another deep, sensual grind, his mouth finding yours once more in a kiss that tastes like summer and forever, the two of you lost in each other, tender, sensual, and so deeply in love that the rest of the world fades away.
Down the hall, Jeno and Saerin grow even louder, but all you can hear is Jaemin’s soft laugh against your lips and the quiet, perfect truth beating between your hearts; you’re no longer something quiet or hidden, no longer a feeling tucked away in shadows or softened into something smaller just to survive. Loving him feels like stepping into summer at its brightest, windows thrown open, sunlight pouring in without permission, warmth settling everywhere it can reach. There’s no need to lower your voice, no need to fold yourselves into something easier for the world to accept; this love stretches wide and unapologetic, loud in the way laughter carries through open air, in the way heat lingers on skin long after the sun has set.
You love him out loud now, the way summer exists out loud, bold, undeniable, impossible to ignore. Every glance, every touch, every word spoken between you moves freely, no longer careful or contained, but expansive, alive, real. And just like summer refuses to dim itself for anyone, what lives between you refuses to be hidden again, burning steady and bright, something that was always meant to be seen.
That night, as the ocean whispers against the shore and the last summer breeze drifts through the open window, you lie tangled with Jaemin in the big bed, his cock buried deep inside you in slow, worshipful strokes. He kisses every mark he’s ever left on your skin, whispering “I love you” between each thrust like a prayer. You moan softly into his neck, legs wrapped around him, hearts beating in perfect sync. Across the hall, you can faintly hear Saerin’s giggles turning into breathy moans, Jeno’s low voice murmuring something tender. The sound makes you smile against Jaemin’s shoulder.
No more hiding. No more shame. Just four hearts learning how to love loudly in every season, the summer that once threatened to end them now blooming into something that will carry you through every season still to come. The road trip isn’t an ending. It’s the beginning of the rest of your lives, sun hot, salt sweet, and utterly irreversible.
The summer does not end in your hearts.
It simply refuses to.
It lingers in the way the last light of dusk clings to the horizon like a lover who cannot bear to say goodbye, stretching rose gold fingers across the sky long after the sun has slipped beneath the waves. It lives in the stubborn sweetness of overripe peaches left too long in the sun, their juice running sticky and golden down your wrist, in the way the breeze still carries the faint memory of sunscreen and salt even as the nights grow cooler. You and Jaemin are that same stubborn summer, not a fleeting spark that burns bright and dies, but the slow, relentless bloom of sunflowers that bow their heavy heads only to scatter seeds into the soil for next year’s harvest. Your love is the firework smoke that refuses to dissipate, clinging to the fabric of your clothes and showing up weeks later when you least expect it, warm and faintly sweet against your skin in the middle of winter. It is the cicada’s silence, not an ending, but a patient promise buried underground, counting the months until the heat returns and the song begins again.
Between noon bright hushes and dusk’s lilac exhales you discovered a quieter arithmetic: devotion need not skulk in eclipse to stay true. Guarding your brother’s tender pulse was never the same as editing your own; loving Jaemin simply stretched the map of your heart until it could compass two constellations without tearing. He, in turn, stopped sprinting from the superstition that every sunrise must be followed by a goodbye, while Jeno learned that letting his little sister stride into her horizon did not untether her from home. Together you all uncovered summer’s final secret: it doesn’t perish when leaves bronze and tumble; it just shape shifts, steaming up winter cocoa, breathing in the hush before April rain, settling like downy light in any room where glances lock and the whole spinning world softens to a slow, honey warm heartbeat.
Your friendship with Saerin still feels like high summer, late night hair braids, glitter nail polish, secrets traded without a hint of shame but you can name it plainly now: she’s the girl who reminds you it’s okay to laugh too loud. Your bond with Jeno is simpler: he's a steady heat at noon, the kind of brother-sun who keeps watch while you figure out how brightly you want to shine. And your love for Jaemin? It’s the whole season, no longer hidden. Hands interlaced in public, kisses given without flinching, your bodies relaxed into the everyday rhythm of knowing exactly where they belong, together, in sun or shade.
Let the daylight slip shorter and the shoreline pack away its bright umbrellas; let the ice cream truck jingle off into some distant cul-de-sac and the cicadas close their choir. None of it feels like an ending now. The two of you have already tucked whole constellations of summer into each other’s pockets, tiny, heat glossed seeds you’ll keep rediscovering. They’ll rise as steam from shared cocoa when winter presses its chill against the windows; they’ll bead like new green on tree limbs when spring sighs open; they’ll flicker in the quiet of any hallway where your eyes meet and say home. Seasons will come and bow and clear the stage, yet the sun you built together keeps burning, gentle and fearless, inside every ordinary day. What once bloomed in secret now grows in plain sight, a warm, salt-sweet forever you carry forward hand in hand, unashamed, unstoppable, and entirely yours.
Love unfurls between you the way July light spills across an unshaded porch, lavish, liquid, leaving no corner untouched, and every breath together feels like the slow rising hum of cicadas announcing that nothing precious has to whisper anymore. It’s sunrise tasted on salt-sugared lips, beach glass catching fire in the tide, freckles blooming where his laughter lands; it’s heat-mirage certainty that the road runs on forever, even when autumn waits just beyond the bend. You learn that passion doesn’t end before the season ends, the sun may slip west, but its afterglow clings to wheat fields and windowpanes the way devotion clings to skin, haunting every shadow with remembered warmth.
Winter will hush the trees, and spring will kiss them awake, yet the heartbeat of high noon thrums beneath every ring of wood, proof that incandescent days can live on inside quieter months. So you and Jaemin keep naming constellations in sweat-glossed midnight, pressing promises into each other’s palms like wildflowers flattened between dog-eared pages, certain the petals will hold their color. In the story you choose to inhabit, summer is not a chapter but the whole binding, an endless, sun-soaked margin where love writes itself in bright, defiant ink, and both the season and the boy are yours, were always yours, will be yours, forever.
Before the summer ends, remember this simple, blazing truth: summer was always yours, it will always be yours, and it has always been yours. The season may slip toward dusk, but its heat lives on in every shared glance, every tender kiss, every laugh that feels too big for the sky. You carry those sunlit hours inside you the way sand clings to bare feet, proof that the shoreline never really lets go. So when the days grow shorter and the cicadas hush, don’t call it an ending; call it a promise tucked beneath your ribs, ready to flare warm whenever you need it. Summer belongs to you, to both of you, in every calendar’s turning page.
The last Polaroid of the summer is taken on the beach at dusk, when the sky has melted into that perfect rose gold that once lit your very first stolen kisses. You’re sitting in Jaemin’s lap on a faded towel, your little white bikini top pushed down just enough and the matching bottoms pulled aside, his swim trunks shoved low on his hips so he can stay buried deep inside you. The ocean whispers against the shore behind you as he holds the camera at arm’s length with one hand, the other splayed possessively across your ass, keeping you flush against him while you rock slowly, gently, taking every thick inch with quiet, blissful rolls of your hips.
Your foreheads rest together, noses brushing, mouths meeting in the softest, most affectionate kiss, slow, lingering, full of reverence and love, lips moving like they have all the time in the world and no more need to hide. The flash blooms soft and golden, freezing the moment forever: your flushed cheeks, his hand on your skin, the way your bodies fit together like they were always meant to. When the photo slides out, still developing in the warm evening light, Jaemin turns it over in his hands. In his familiar messy handwriting he writes on the back, simple and true:
𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒
He lifts the fresh Polaroid to his lips and kisses it gently, right over your smiling face, as if sealing the memory with his mouth. Then he tucks it carefully into the pocket of his swim trunks, right against his heart, and pulls you closer, still buried deep inside you, the two of you wrapped in the last golden light of a summer that was always yours.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: surprises my loves! it’s been 8 months since i uploaded part one… jesus christ. i kinda abandoned this lowkey because i lost inspiration for a while, but it came back so gently and i’ve been working on it quietly behind the scenes. i’m really happy to tell you that before the summer ends part two is finally out and the whole fic is complete now :)))
this story was always about learning that love doesn’t have to stay hidden to be real. it’s about growing up enough to choose what you want out loud, even when it’s messy or scary or hurts the people you love most. it’s about how summer doesn’t actually end — it just changes shape, slips into quieter seasons, and waits for the next spark. jaemin and yn taught me that some loves start in secret but deserve to live in daylight, that protecting someone doesn’t mean erasing yourself, and that the bravest thing you can do is let yourself be seen. i wanted this to feel like summer—not just something fleeting, but something you carry with you, something that lingers even when the season changes. i really hope when you read this, you feel that warmth, that softness, that sense of something lasting. i hope it makes you think about the people you love, the versions of yourself you’ve grown into, and the way some connections just… stay, no matter what.
i’m so so happy to share this with youuu. if it made you feel anything — happy, sad, warm, horny, hopeful — please interact, comment, reblog, share, send asks… whatever feels right. your love for this little summer story means the world to me. thank you for waiting and for still being here. before the summer ends, but the love we grew in it never does. ♡
᭡୧ Fix your route? Nah, Fuck you right. — N. Kento.
᭡୧ synopsis: in which nanami is a longtime divorced man but got a very active sex life. and in which a new, bimbo… and a very much younger neighbor moves in next to his apartment. worst part is, he’s not able to control himself around you. especially when you’re at his door, asking him to fix your wifi late at this hour.
᭡୧ pairing: older!nanami kento x kinda bimbo fem!reader
᭡୧ c. warnings: age gap, heavy sexuál tension, eyefu cking, solo m. mast urbation, nanami is in his 40s and reader is early 20s, belly/tummy bulge, fing ering, did i say heavy se xual tension?, pus sy eating, overstim ulation, squi rting, weak plot/heavy po rn — if there’s more to tag lmk. w.c: 7.8k+
nanami kento has always kept his life neat and quiet, the kind of man who folds his shirts the same way every morning and times his coffee exactly seven minutes after the water boils. forty years old, divorced once a long time ago, and now he lives alone in the corner apartment on the fourth floor where the hallway light flickers just enough to remind him he should probably call maintenance but never does.
his sex life is the same as everything else he controls, sparse and deliberate. a few times a year he lets himself download one of those bland apps, meets a woman his age in a hotel bar, fucks her slow and polite in the dark so neither of them has to look too closely at the other.
most nights though it is just his own hand in the shower, quick and efficient, eyes closed while he thinks about nothing at all. he likes it that way. clean. no mess. no complications. until you moved in next door three months ago and ruined every single one of those careful rules without even trying.
you showed up on a rainy tuesday with too many cardboard boxes and a laugh that carried through the thin walls like it belonged there.
early twenties, fresh out of whatever college or job that spat you into this building, always in oversized shirts and tiny sleep shorts that rode up the back of your thighs when you bent over to pick up your mail. nanami noticed you the first time he passed you in the hallway, the way you smiled at him like he was just another neighbor instead of a man who suddenly felt every one of those twenty years between you. he told himself it was nothing. just new noise in a building that had been quiet for years. but then the noise became something else.
the soft thump of your music when you cooked dinner, the way your balcony light stayed on late while you scrolled on your phone, the faint vanilla scent that drifted under his door every time you took out the trash. he started catching himself pausing at the peephole when he heard your keys, hating the way his cock twitched at the mere sound of your footsteps. hating it more when he realized he was hard again in the shower that same night, fist wrapped tight around himself while he pictured those sleep shorts pooled around your ankles.
he tried to ignore it at first. threw himself into longer office hours, came home later, kept the volume on his television higher so he would not hear you humming in the shower through the shared wall. it did not work.
every little thing you did chipped at him. the way you waved from your balcony in the mornings wearing nothing but a thin tank top and no bra, nipples stiff from the cool air. the way you asked him once, all sweet and shy, if he knew how to fix a leaking faucet and stood too close while he worked, soft focused grunts leaving is chest and his rolled-up sleeve. after that night he jerked off twice before he could even get his jeans off, coming so hard he had to brace one hand on the shower tile just to stay upright.
he hated how easily you affected him. hated that a girl barely old enough to rent her own apartment could make a man like him, a man who prided himself on control, feel like some desperate teenager again. his sex life used to be something he managed. now it was just quiet frustration and the occasional guilty stroke while he thought about how small you would look under him, how tight you would feel, how pretty you would sound moaning his name.
then came the router. you knocked on his door at nine-thirty one random night, voice small and embarrassed over the phone first, then in person when he opened up still dressed in his white button-up and black jeans.
nanami stands at your doorway with one hand already in his pocket, the other holding the small toolbox he keeps for these exact random neighbor emergencies all ready, and he tells himself for the tenth time that this is nothing. just a quick fix.
your voice is soft and a little embarrassed over he’s not surprised. “sorry to bother you, nanami-san, but my wifi router just died and i have no idea what i’m doing with these things.” he had sighed, told you he would be right over, and now here he is, hating every single second because the moment you open the door he feels it again. that pull. that stupid, inconvenient heat low in his gut that has been creeping up on him since the day you moved in.
you are wearing your famous oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and tiny sleep shorts that ride up when you shift your weight, bare feet on the hardwood, skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat like you had been lounging on the couch all evening.
you smile at him, grateful and a little shy, and nanami’s jaw tightens. he is forty, a divorced but settled, a man who likes order and quiet and routines that do not include getting half-hard at the sight of his much younger neighbor’s collarbones. yet here he is, eyes dragging down the line of your neck before he forces them back up.
“thank you so much for coming,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is warm, a little breathy from the relief of not having to deal with it alone. the apartment smells faintly of vanilla and whatever takeout you had for dinner.
nanami nods once, polite as always, and follows you toward the corner where the router sits on a low shelf. he can feel the weight of his own body, the clean but lived-in scent of his white button-up clinging slightly to his skin after a long day, black jeans sitting snug on his hips. he is musty in that grown-man way, soap and faint cologne mixed with the faint trace of office air and the walk over, nothing overpowering but undeniably male. he knows it. he hopes you do not notice how it fills the small space between you.
you hover close while he crouches down to look at the router, your thigh brushing his shoulder as you point at the blinking lights. “it just stopped working out of nowhere. i tried restarting it but…” your words trail off when he glances up.
his eyes catch on the way your t-shirt hangs loose, the soft swell of your tits visible at the neckline, the smooth skin of your legs right there at eye level. he should look away yet nanami does not. instead his gaze lingers, slow and heavy, tracing the curve of your hip, the way the hem of those shorts digs into the flesh of your thigh. he feels his cock twitch in his jeans, thickening against the zipper before he can stop it.
fuck.
he shifts his weight, trying to hide the growing bulge, but the movement only makes the fabric pull tighter.
“let me see,” he mutters, voice lower than he intends, rough around the edges. his fingers work the cables, checking connections, but his mind is not on the router. it is on you. on how you smell like warm skin and faint lotion, on how you keep biting your lip while you watch him, on how easily he could reach out and slide his palm up the back of your thigh.
he has been trying to ignore it for weeks. it takes him back to the way you wave at him from your balcony in the mornings, the sound of your laugh carrying through the thin walls when you are on the phone with friends, the soft thump of your music when you cook.
every little thing has been chipping away at his carefully built restraint. he is older. he should know better. but his body does not care about should.
he stands up slowly, taller than you by a good amount, and when he does his chest brushes your shoulder. you do not step back and the air between you feels thick, charged, and nanami’s eyes drop again, this time to your mouth, then lower to where your nipples have tightened under the thin shirt.
he swallows hard. his cock is fully hard now, pressing insistently against the front of his black jeans, the outline obvious if you were to look down. he turns slightly, pretending to fiddle with the router settings on his phone, but the movement only highlights the bulge.
he can feel the heat of it, the way it throbs when you lean in closer to see what he is doing, your breath ghosting over his forearm.
“is it the cable?” you ask, voice quieter now, like you have noticed the shift too. your eyes flick to his face, then down, then back up, and nanami sees the faint flush creeping up your neck. good. at least he is not suffering alone. he clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the device, but his free hand flexes at his side, knuckles whitening. he wants to touch you. wants to back you against the wall and slide those tiny shorts down your legs, wants to feel how wet you already are because he can smell it, that sweet faint arousal mixing with your usual scent.
his mind supplies the image without permission: you bent over the couch, his cock buried deep while he grips your hips and fucks the whimpers out of you. he exhales sharply through his nose.
“try it now,” he says, stepping back just enough to give you space, but not enough to hide anything. the router lights flicker green. you pull out your phone to test the connection and let out a small happy sound that goes straight to his dick.
“it works! oh my god, thank you, nanami-san.” you turn to him fully, eyes bright, and for a second he lets himself look. really look. at the way your chest rises with each breath, at the bare stretch of thigh, at how your lips part when you realize he is staring.
he does not smile. his expression stays bland, almost stern, but his eyes are dark and hungry, eye-fucking you so openly now that there is no pretending. his cock strains harder against the denim, a small wet spot forming where he is leaking, and he makes no move to hide it.
he is half heartedly relieved you do not notice. your gaze still stuck on your phone screen, lashes fluttering, and when you look back up, you read there is something new in his expression, something needy and waiting to be unleashed.
nanami’s voice comes out rougher than he means. “you should get a better router. this one is outdated.” it is the most neutral thing he can think of, but it does not matter.
the tension is already there, thick and undeniable, wrapping around both of you in the half-unpacked living room. he can feel his pulse in his cock, the heavy ache of it, the way his balls feel tight just from standing this close to you. he wants to hate how easily you affect him.
he does hate it. but he cannot stop the slow drag of his eyes over your body one more time, imagining exactly how you would look spread open on his bed, taking every inch while he tells you how long he has been fighting this.
you shift on your feet, thighs pressing together, and nanami catches the tiny movement. his jaw clenches. he should leave. he should say goodnight and go back to his quiet apartment and jerk off to the memory like he has done more nights than he cares to admit.
your heartbeat picks up its rate, your finger tips sweaty. you feel the air thickening already, noticing the print of your neighbors dick without even looking down.
“so maybe you could stay and i could make you some te–” your proposal is short lived.
“i’ve fixed what you’ve called me to help for. goodnight.” his stern voice catches you off guard, watching him collect and grab the toolbox on the floor that was forgotten seconds ago. you try to say something but stay frozen when he pushes past you, his neck veins slightly showing on his skin.
nanami strides out fast. because right now, with his cock hard and obvious and his control fraying at the edges, he is not sure he has the strength to stay in the same room with you.
and so he leaves you standing in the middle of your apartment with your wifi fixed and a pile of notifications ‘ding-ing’ every seconds.
+
a week drags by in thick, unspoken tension that sits heavy between the thin apartment walls like smoke that refuses to clear.
nanami wakes each morning with the same stern resolution burning behind his eyes: keep the distance, lock it down, pretend the night you called him over for the router never happened. he leaves for the office before the sun fully rises, comes home long after the hallway lights have dimmed, and when he passes your door he keeps his gaze fixed on the scuffed floorboards like they hold the answers to every moral question he has been asking himself since he first felt that inconvenient throb in his jeans. but the memory refuses to fade.
it lingers in the shower when hot water runs down his chest and his hand wraps around his cock without permission, stroking slow and frustrated while your freshly known name slips out between gritted teeth like a confession he wishes he could swallow back.
it follows him into bed at night, where he lies stiff on his back and remembers the exact shade of flush that crept up your neck when his eyes dragged too long over your body.
he hates it. hates how easily a girl barely out of her early twenties can unravel the careful, quiet life he has built for himself. he is older, disciplined, a man who values order and restraint above almost everything, yet here he is, reduced to stolen glances through the balcony railing and late-night strokes that leave him emptier than before.
you do not make any of it easier. you still wave at him from across the narrow gap between your balconies in the mornings, soft smile curving your lips like you know exactly what you are doing to him. you leave polite little notes taped to his door about shared packages or the new recycling bins downstairs, your handwriting neat and looping in a way that makes his fingers tighten around the paper every time.
each accidental brush of your fingers when you hand him mail in the hallway sends a spark straight down his spine, and every polite “good morning, nanami-san” you offer chips away at the walls he keeps trying to reinforce. he catches the sound of your laugh through the thin wall sometimes when you are on the phone with people… your age, light and warm, and his cock thickens in his slacks before he can stop it.
he tells himself it is nothing. just proximity. just the natural reaction of a man who has been alone too long. but deep down he knows the truth: you have gotten under his skin, and the more he tries to push it away the harder it pulls.
tonight the last thread of his restraint finally frays and snaps.
the familiar knock comes at exactly the time he wishes it to, soft but insistent, cutting through the quiet of his evening like a hook sinking into flesh.
nanami opens the door still dressed from the office, white button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, black jeans sitting low on his hips, the faint musty-clean scent of him drifting out into the hallway, clean and faint cologne and the long day clinging to his skin.
you stand there in another oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and those same tiny sleep shorts that have been haunting him, hair not perfect like you had been caught up in something… private, cheeks already carrying that telltale pink flush. it’s as if last week was repeating itself.
“the router again,” you say, voice small and breathy, but your eyes are not on any imaginary problem. they trace the open collar of his shirt, the broad line of his shoulders, the way his chest fills the doorway. “it keeps dropping signal. i tried everything you showed me last time but… i think i need your help again.”
he should tell you no. should suggest you call the building manager in the morning this time and close the door before the air between you thickens any further. instead he exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and reaches for the small toolbox he keeps by the door without saying a word.
he follows you next door, the faint click of the lock behind him sounding louder than it should. the moment you are both inside the living room the atmosphere shifts, warmer and heavier, like the space itself is holding its breath. you lead him to the same corner shelf where the router sits, but this time you do not hover at a polite distance.
you stand close enough that your bare arm brushes his rough skin when he crouches down to look. the lights on the router are steady green. he knows it is working fine the second he glances at it. and most definitely you know it.
the excuse is paper-thin and neither of you bothers to pretend otherwise.
nanami rises slowly, turning to face you fully, his tall frame casting a shadow over you in the soft lamplight. his eyes do the same slow, solemn drag they did the week before, only heavier now, sharpened by seven long days of fighting the memory of your body.
he watches the way your nipples have already tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, the subtle press of your thighs together like the ache between them is already building. his cock responds immediately, swelling thick and heavy inside his black jeans, the thick ridge becoming obvious as it presses against the denim. he’s sure a faint damp spot is beginning to form, but he does not try to hide it this time. he lets you see. lets the weight of his stare settle on you like a touch.
“the router is working fine,” he says, voice low and rough, carrying that same stern tone he always uses, like he is delivering a verdict in court rather than standing in your living room with a hard-on he cannot will away. “you know that as well as i do. why did you really call me over here?”
you swallow visibly, eyes flicking down to the clear outline of his cock straining against his jeans before rising back to his face.
your chest rises and falls with a heavier breath, lips parting slightly, but instead of answering you take one slow step back. then another. your hands move to the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric, and you bend forward just enough to slide them down your legs in one smooth motion.
the shorts pool at your ankles and you step out of them, leaving you in nothing but a pair of grey lace panties with delicate pink ribbons threaded along the edges. the soft fabric clings to the curve of your pussy, the faint outline of your folds visible through the thin material, and nanami’s right leg twitches involuntarily, his cock jerking hard inside his jeans at the sight.
his brows draw together in a quick pretend of frown, serious expression tightening. “what are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping even lower, a clear warning threaded through the words. but you do not stop. your fingers catch the hem of your oversized t-shirt next, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts.
you pull the shirt up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor beside the shorts, and now you stand there in only the grey lace panties, tits bare, nipples stiff in the cool air of the room. nanami’s breath catches, his hands flexing hard at his sides, the long fingers curling into fists as he fights the urge to reach for you.
he says your name then, low and rough, the syllables heavy with warning. “don’t.” but you only smile, small and soft and knowing, and continue. your thumbs hook into the waistband of the panties, sliding them down your hips with agonizing slowness, the lace catching briefly on the swell of your ass before you let them fall.
you step out of them completely, now fully naked in front of him, skin flushed warm under his heavy gaze. you walk toward him, bare feet quiet on the floor, hips swaying just enough to make your tits move softly with each step. when you are close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from your body, when his mouth opens to speak again, you lift one finger and press it gently to his lips, shushing him.
nanami lets out a small, broken sound, half whimper, half groan, the noise slipping out before he can stop it. his cock throbs visibly in his jeans, another bead of pre-cum soaking into the fabric as the tension coils tighter in the narrow space between your bodies.
he exhales shakily against your finger, eyes dark and conflicted, thick needy lines deepening on his face. “you’re a very young girl…” he trails off, voice rough and strained, the words carrying the weight of every reason he has been telling himself to stay away.
you pull your finger back just enough to speak, voice soft but steady. “i’m legal.”
“barely,” he counters immediately, the word clipped, his gaze dropping despite himself to the bare curve of your breasts, it taught him to squeeze on them and make you feel good, the soft swell of your hips, the smooth skin between your thighs where he can already see the faint shine of arousal. “you’re barely twenty-something. i’m more than twice your age. this… this is not appropriate.”
you tilt your head slightly, still standing naked and unashamed in front of him, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself has weight. “and yet you’re standing here with your cock so hard i can see it twitching through your jeans,” you murmur, eyes flicking down pointedly to the obvious bulge. “you’ve been avoiding me all week, nanami-san, but you still came over the second i knocked. tell me again how inappropriate this is.”
caught him red handed. fuck you.
he lets out another low groan, the sound vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up like he might push you away but instead hovering just above your waist, fingers trembling with restraint. “you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice quieter now, almost pained. “i’m not some young man who can just… give in without consequences. you deserve better than an older neighbor who can’t keep his eyes off you.”
the banter stretches, slow and heavy, every word laced with the electric pull between you. you step even closer, your bare breasts brushing the front of his white shirt, nipples dragging against the fabric, and nanami’s breath hitches sharply. “then why does it feel like you’ve been thinking about this as much as i have?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “why do you look at me like you want to bend me over every time we pass in the hall?”
his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as his cock continues to throb between you.
“because i do,” he admits finally, the words dragged out like they cost him something. “i want to. more than i should. but you’re young. barely out of college. and i’m… this.” he gestures vaguely at himself, the musty yet cleaned scent of his body stronger now with the heat rising off his skin, the faint sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. “a tired man who should know better.”
you smile again, softer this time, and reach up to trace one finger along the line of his jaw. “then stop fighting it for one night,” you whisper. “just let yourself have me. i want you, nanami. i’ve wanted you since the first time you fixed my router and looked at me like you were starving.”
the silence stretches again, thick and humming with tension, his breath coming heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours. his hand finally settles on your waist, large palm warm and slightly rough against your bare skin, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate.
he does not pull you closer yet, but he does not push you away either. the battle is still there in his eyes, solemn and conflicted, but the hunger is winning, inch by aching inch, as the minutes tick by in the quiet room and his cock continues to strain painfully against his jeans, waiting for the moment his restraint finally gives out completely.
nanami’s hand tightens on your waist, fingers spanning wide enough to nearly wrap around the curve of it, and the last of his resistance crumbles like dry paper under the heat of your bare skin against his palm.
he exhales once, long and shaky, eyes still calculated but dark now with the kind of hunger he has been trying to bury for weeks, and then he is moving, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch and you sink down onto the cushions. he follows without a word, dropping to his knees between your spread thighs like a man who has finally stopped pretending he can walk away.
his broad shoulders push your legs wider, the white button-up stretching tight across his chest as he leans in, breath hot against the inside of your thigh. he looks up at you one last time, jaw set, like he is giving you one final chance to tell him no, but you only slide your fingers into his neatly combed hair and tug him closer. that is all it takes.
his mouth finds your pussy like he has been starving for it, lips parting to drag a slow, broad stripe up your folds, tongue flat and heavy as he tastes you properly for the first time. the groan that vibrates out of his chest is low and rough, almost pained, because you are already soaked, slick coating his tongue in a way that makes his cock jerk hard inside his jeans.
he licks again, slower this time, savoring the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head, then seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, tongue flicking in tight little circles that have your back arching off the couch. one of his huge hands slides up your stomach, palm pressing flat just below your navel, and he pushes down with just enough pressure to make your pussy clench around nothing.
the size of his hand there is obscene, fingers spread wide so his pinky rests near the base of your ribs and his thumb brushes the top of your mound, the sheer scale of him against your smaller frame making everything feel tighter, hotter, more overwhelming.
nanami eats you out like he has all night and nothing else matters, tongue sliding deep between your folds before circling back up to your clit, sucking and licking in a rhythm that builds slow and relentless. his free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider, thumb digging into the soft flesh while he buries his face deeper, nose pressing against your mound as he drinks down every drop of you. the wet sounds fill the quiet room, wet and loud, his groans mixing with the slick slide of his tongue and the shaky breaths you keep letting out.
he keeps that steady pressure on your lower belly the whole time, palm rubbing slow circles that make your insides twist and flutter, the tummy bullying so deliberate it feels like he is trying to feel exactly where his mouth is working from the inside. your hips twitch, trying to ride his face, but he holds you down with that big hand, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
when you come it hits hard and sudden, pussy pulsing against his tongue as your thighs clamp around his head and a broken moan spills out of you. nanami does not stop. he keeps licking you through it, slower now but just as thorough, tongue dragging over your oversensitive clit until your whole body jerks and you try to squirm away from the intensity.
he only presses his palm firmer against your stomach, holding you in place, the slight overstimulation making your eyes water and your voice crack on his name. “nanami…plea– fuck, it’s too much,” you whimper, but he just hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spark through your core, and slides two thick fingers into your still-clenching pussy without warning. they stretch you wide, the size of them so much bigger than your own that you feel every knuckle, every ridge, as he curls them deep and starts pumping slow and steady.
he lifts his head just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you, eyes dark and tempting, lips shiny with your slick. “look at how well you take them,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, the praise low and almost reverent as he presses down on your belly again with his other hand, feeling the way his fingers create a very faint bulge against your walls from the outside.
the pressure makes everything tighter, more intense, and you clench hard around him, another wave of overstimulation crashing through you while he keeps fingering you through the aftershocks. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that have you shaking, the combination of his thick fingers stretching you open and the firm press on your tummy turning every breath into a broken little sob.
he does not rush. he just keeps working you, long fingers dragging along that perfect spot inside while his palm rubs steady circles on your stomach, bullying that soft lower belly until you are dripping down his wrist and whimpering his name like it will make it better than it already is.
only when your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and your pussy is fluttering helplessly around his fingers does he finally ease up, sliding them out slow and careful, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean with a low groan that makes your stomach flip.
he stays on his knees between your legs for a long moment, forehead resting against your thigh, breathing hard while his cock strains painfully against his jeans, the front of the fabric dark with pre-cum. when he finally looks up at you his eyes are still determined, still carrying that quiet conflict, but the hunger has won completely now, and the way he stares at your flushed, marked body makes it clear he is nowhere near done with you tonight.
nanami stays on his knees between your spread thighs for another long, heavy breath, forehead pressed to the soft skin just above your knee while his chest rises and falls like he is trying to steady something inside himself that already broke minutes ago. his fingers are still shiny with you, the faint scent of his skin mixed with the sharp sweetness of your pussy hanging thick in the air.
when he finally moves it is slow and deliberate, like every motion costs him something. he rises to his full height, towering over you on the couch, white button-up wrinkled and damp at the collar from the heat rolling off both of you. his hands, large and steady, slide under your thighs and around your back in one smooth motion, scooping you up off the cushions like you weigh nothing at all.
your legs wrap around his slim waist on instinct, heels digging into the firm muscle of his lower back, and the sudden shift leaves you gasping against his shoulder because he lifts you so easily, strong arms locking you against his chest while your bare pussy hovers right above the heavy bulge still trapped in his jeans.
he does not give you time to look down. one arm stays banded tight under your ass, holding your weight like it is effortless, while his free hand works between your bodies to unbuckle his belt with a quiet metallic clink. the zipper follows, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he shoves both jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself.
you feel the thick, heavy length spring up against your inner thigh, hot and velvet-smooth, the blunt mushroom head already slick and leaking. before you can even tilt your head to catch a glimpse he shifts you higher in his arms, pressing your back against the nearest wall for leverage, and uses that same free hand to guide the fat head of his cock right to your dripping entrance.
the broad tip nudges through your folds, rubbing slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick while he watches your face with those solemn dark eyes, brows knitted tight like he is still fighting the last scraps of restraint.
“breathe,” he mutters, voice low and rough, the single word almost gentle even as his hips tilt forward. he helps you sink down, one thick inch at a time, the stretch burning so good it makes your jaw go slack and your eyes flutter half-shut.
he is big, thicker than anything you have taken, the veined shaft dragging along your walls as he lowers you steadily until your ass meets his hips and he is buried to the hilt. a quiet groan tears from his throat when he bottoms out, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, and for a long second he just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing deep inside your smaller body.
you’re pressed and folded in an awkward position, and it only makes the size difference feel more obscene, your soft curves dwarfed by his tall, solid frame.
nanami does not wait long. his hands grip your ass harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he starts to move, lifting you up and dropping you back down onto his cock with controlled, powerful strokes that hammer into you deep enough to punch the air from your lungs. each thrust makes your whole body jolt in his arms, tits bouncing under nothing. bare and free for him to watch, back sliding against the wall while he fucks up into you like he has been imagining it for weeks.
his height towers over you completely, shoulders broad enough to block out the room, white shirt straining across his chest with every roll of his hips.
the mushroom head of his cock drags perfectly along that spot inside you on every downstroke, the sheer size of him making your belly bulge slightly every time he bottoms out, a faint outline visible under your skin if you looked down, but he keeps your face buried against his neck so you cannot.
he keeps that steady, punishing rhythm, hips snapping up hard while his arms hold you suspended like you are weightless, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder with every thrust. sweat beads along his hairline, dampening the collar of his shirt, and his breath comes in hot, measured pants against your ear.
“too big for you?” he asks, voice strained but still carrying that solemn edge, even as he grinds deep and holds you there for a heartbeat, letting you feel how completely he fills you.
your only answer is a broken moan and loled nod, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, legs tightening around his waist as another wave of overstimulation starts building fast. he does not slow down. he just keeps lifting and dropping you onto every thick inch, eyebrows still knitted in concentration, eyes flicking between your slack mouth and the way your body takes him so greedily.
his shirt keeps getting in the way, bunching up between both of you, so he shifts his grip, one hand sliding up to yank the fabric higher until it is completely off of him, exposing his sweaty chest completely to the cool air and your half-focused stare.
now there is nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the relentless drag of his cock stretching you open. he leans in, mouth finding your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin while he hammers into you harder, the angle shifting so the head of his cock bullies that perfect spot with every upward thrust. your smaller frame jolts in his arms with each powerful stroke, pussy clenching tight around the thick length splitting you apart, and nanami groans low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest as he feels you start to flutter around him again.
he keeps you pinned against the wall like that, towering over you, strong arms never tiring as he fucks you deep and steady, the size difference so stark it makes your head spin. every time he bottoms out his hips grind against your clit, the pressure on your lower belly from the inside making everything feel tighter, fuller, more overwhelming.
you are already close again, thighs shaking around his waist, voice cracking on his name, and nanami just holds you there, determined eyes locked on your face while he drives you closer to the edge with every heavy thrust, determined to feel you come around his cock before he lets himself follow.
nanami’s rhythm starts to falter just a little, hips snapping up with shorter, more desperate strokes while his breath comes hot and ragged against the side of your neck. he can feel it building fast, that tight coil low in his gut, his heavy balls drawing up tight and aching as your pussy flutters and squeezes around every thick inch of him.
but he refuses to let go first. he is older, more controlled, and right now that control means making sure you fall apart completely before he does.
with a low grunt he shifts his grip, one big hand sliding under your ass to tilt your hips forward while the other presses flat against your lower back, forcing your spine into a deep arch that pushes your pelvis out and opens you up even more obscenely. the new angle is nasty, almost cruel, your body folded and suspended in his arms so your clit grinds hard against the base of his cock on every upward thrust and the fat head of him drags directly into that spongy spot inside you at a brutal upward curve.
your legs dangle wider, heels kicking uselessly against his lower back, the sheer size difference making you feel like you are being split open and rearranged from the inside while he holds you like a toy.
he starts hammering into you with that filthy new angle, cock bullying that spot over and over until your eyes roll back and broken sobs start spilling from your slack mouth.
the overstimulation crashes in hard and fast, your already sensitive pussy clenching and spasming around him while tears prick at the corners of your eyes and start to slip down your flushed cheeks.
your hand flies down between your bodies on instinct, palm pushing weakly at his lower stomach like you can stop the relentless drag of his cock, fingers scrabbling against the damp fabric of his white shirt. nanami’s eyes narrow, jaw tightening, and he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he hisses the words low and dark, “do that again and i’ll fucking hurt you good.”
the threat hits you like a live wire. your whole body seizes, a choked cry tearing from your throat, and then you are squirting hard around his cock, hot fluid gushing out in messy pulses that soak his jeans, drip down his balls, and splatter onto the floor beneath you.
nanami groans deep and filthy at the feeling, the wet heat flooding around him making his cock twitch violently inside you. he does not slow down. if anything he fucks you harder, hips snapping up with wet, punishing slaps while his free hand slides between your bodies and starts tracing tight, relentless infinity signs over your swollen clit with two thick fingers. the pressure is mean and perfect, circling and dragging in that figure-eight pattern while he keeps pounding into that nasty folded angle, cock bullying your g-spot and his fingers never letting up on your overstimulated clit.
“i know, baby, i know,” he rasps against your ear, voice hoarse and strained, the words almost soothing even as he wrecks you. “you can take it. just let it happen.” your legs shake violently around his waist, tears streaming freely now, little hiccuping sobs mixing with the wet squelch of your pussy taking every brutal thrust.
nanami keeps that freaky rhythm going, hips rolling deep, fingers drawing those endless infinity loops over your clit until your vision whites out and another shattering orgasm rips through you, pussy clamping down so hard it almost forces him out. he hisses through his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest, but he powers through it, fucking you straight through the peak and into the trembling aftershocks.
his own control finally snaps. his balls tighten almost painfully, cock swelling even thicker inside your fluttering walls as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, grinding deep while thick, hot ropes of cum flood you. he comes with a low, broken groan that vibrates through his chest, pulsing hard and endless, filling you so full that it starts leaking out around his cock in creamy white streaks every time he gives one last shallow thrust.
the mess is everywhere, your squirt and his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the front of his jeans and pooling on the floor, the obscene wet sounds slowly fading as he keeps you pinned against the wall, still buried deep, both of you heaving for air.
nanami’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breathing hard, the last energy well spent, showing of with both of your sweat-soaked body mixing with the sharp smell of sex filling the room. his arms stay locked around you, holding your smaller frame effortlessly even as his cock twitches with the last weak spurts inside you.
for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky sobs and his ragged breathing, bodies trembling together in the aftermath, messy and spent and still connected. he does not pull out yet. he just keeps you there, suspended in his arms, the quiet weight of everything that just happened settling heavy between you while his cum continues to leak slowly out around where he is still buried deep.
nanami stays buried inside you for what feels like forever, thick cock still twitching with the last lazy pulses while warm cum slowly leaks out around where your bodies are joined, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor in messy little trails.
your legs are still wrapped around his waist, trembling, heels digging weakly into his lower back like you cannot quite let go yet, and he keeps holding you up without any effort, strong arms locked under your ass, keeping your smaller frame suspended against the wall like it is the most natural thing in the world. your shaky little sobs eventually quiet into soft, hiccuping breaths, tears drying on your cheeks, but the overstimulation still makes your pussy flutter weakly around him every few seconds, milking out another thin trickle of his cum.
finally he shifts, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he carefully pulls out, the wet sound loud and obscene in the quiet room.
a thick glob of his cum follows immediately, sliding out of your swollen, puffy pussy and running down to join the mess already pooled beneath you. he lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor, but your legs are too shaky to hold you, so he keeps one arm banded around your waist, steadying you against his chest while his other hand tucks himself back into his briefs and jeans with a quiet zip.
the white button-up is wrinkled and damp with sweat when he puts it back on, black jeans dark at the front from your squirt, but he still looks put-together in that quiet, solemn way of his, even now.
he does not say anything at first. just looks down at you with those dark, heavy eyes, thumb brushing slow circles on your bare hip like he cannot quite stop touching you. then he exhales, long and tired, and rests his forehead against yours for a brief second.
“this…” his voice comes out rough, low, almost reluctant. “this can’t happen again.”
the words hang between you, simple and final, even as his hand lingers on your skin and his cum continues to drip slowly down the inside of your thigh.
he presses one last, almost gentle kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that feels heavier than any promise, before he steps back. his fingers flex once at his sides like he is fighting the urge to pull you close again, then he turns toward the door, shoulders straight, footsteps quiet on the floor.
“get some rest,” he murmurs without looking back, the manly scent of him still clinging to your skin. “and… call the building manager about the router next time.”
the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you standing there naked and trembling in the middle of your living room, thighs sticky, pussy aching and full of him, the quiet weight of what just happened settling deep in your chest. you know he means it. you also know, deep down, that neither of you really believes it.
well y’all i had to claw my nails onto a wall to storm this idea so it better do good or you’re not hearing from me again.. (i’m literally posting in few hours again 😛)
‧₊ ˚⊹ best friend's dad!toji eats you out on his son's bed 18+
cw 3.7k, age gap, oral f receiving, just overall kinda wrong, mentions of hooking up with megumi but not detailed (both you and megumi are adults in this!!)
note my first ever toji fic… ive never written for him before so toji lovers i hope you enjoy this one !! (not proofread sorry :3)
you’re back in yours and megumi’s hometown during the summer break and your parents are on holiday for a while, so you decide to spend a couple of days at his place. the two of you haven’t had proper time spent together in what feels like forever, what with deadlines and exams constantly looming over your heads. finally, this summer, you can take a pause from all the stress and just unwind, and what better way to do so than spending a week with your best friend?
it’s weird, being back here as an adult. the last time you had been in megumi’s childhood home, you hadn't even moved out for university, yet. you also haven’t seen his father in years. you wonder how he’s keeping up now that megumi isn’t living at home for a majority of the year, wonder if he’s finally managed to find someone else to keep him company after tsumiki’s mother left—not that you were interested in his love life, though.
now you’re in his house for the first time in forever, and its like a warmth that wraps around you, holding on to the reminder of home. megumi goes back to the car to collect the rest of your stuff as you take in your surroundings. the house is the same. same furniture, same layout, even the same faint smell of that cheap coffee that megumi’s dad liked to drink.
then the staircase creaks, and toji is walking down in that same black tshirt that he always used to wear, but something’s different.
“megumi’s friend,” his voice is gravelly. “you’ve grown.”
oh, it’s different, all right. you don’t think you’ve ever noticed the way his voice lilts, though still low and husky. or the way his shirt clings to his biceps, muscles vaguely outlined through the cloth that hugs his skin. did he change? or did you? for some reason, you can’t seem to find the courage to greet him back.
then megumi’s back, and the thick tension has suddenly been cut but, still, it’s hard to fully relax again. for the rest of the time you spend at their house, you can never quite shake that cloying feeling you get when toji is around, and it seems as though he notices it, too. the hitch of your breath, the clench of your thighs, the flicker of your gaze; toji picks up on it all. but it’s not like it’s uncomfortable, or anything.
he’s just so fucking hot.
he’s like, all hard muscle and deep voice and he’s so caring and how could you not behold him in a different light now that you were grown? over the course of your stay, he’s always offering you snacks and drinks and making sure you feel right at home, being megumi’s best friend and all. and he’s always respectful with it, never tactless.
though, you always seem to catch his eyes lingering over your chest for a beat too long when you leave megumi’s room in the mornings, still wearing nothing but pyjama shorts and a tank top. and when you go to the kitchen in the dead of night, megumi having fallen asleep long ago, toji is somehow always still on the couch, some show playing faintly in the background. but you can’t really tell what he’s watching, because all you can focus on is how his gaze trails over your figure as you pour yourself a glass of water.
you would be lying to yourself if you said that you didn't find your own eyes wandering over to him during the day, because he just looks so good in those fitted shirts, and his arms bulge every time he folds them across his built chest. you wonder what it would feel like to have him pick you up and—
stop. what the fuck? he’s your best friend’s dad. he’s also probably twice your age. he’s also known you since forever; he would never dare do such a thing. you mentally chide yourself for letting your thoughts meander astray. you and megumi have been having a lovely summer together so far: playing games, going out to eat, taking long walks in the park. so, you try your best to extinguish the desire that burns deep in your gut, filthy and wrong.
then it’s late one night, you having crawled into bed with megumi hours ago. he must already be asleep on his side of the bed right now—he always slept before you and always woke up far earlier. you should really be asleep, too. and you’ve been trying to. really, you have.
but all you can think about is toji and what his tight muscles would feel like under your soft hands and how firm his thighs must be, what, with how thick they are. and, fuck, now you’re wet just thinking about it all. you shift in place, trying your hardest not to wake megumi next to you by rustling the blanket too much. it’s mildly annoying, your panties becoming soaked through with such quickness. because now you either have to do something about it (but then, you’d have to properly clean yourself up), or just try to will yourself to sleep despite the uncomfortable dampness growing between your thighs.
you must not have been doing a very good job at not disturbing megumi, because he clearly notices your frustration. he is your best friend, after all. who else knows you better than him? he must have picked up on your uneven breaths and the squeeze of your legs because, within a moment, he’s already got his hands on you and you’re already kissing him back without much thought.
there’s no doubt about it—megumi is your friend, nothing more. but the two of you definitely aren’t strangers to fleeting hookups every once in a while, whenever the clubs and tinder dates start to run dry and you have pent up energy aching to be released. there’s never romantic feelings in it, just a mutual agreement to help one another out when needed. it’s also not like there’s hours of foreplay or some sort of slow, sensual lovemaking session in missionary. no, there’s an unspoken rule of not trying to pursue anything more, which you’re both comfortable with.
the night spent with megumi is fine, as it always is. but that’s just it. fine. he gets you off perfectly well but you can't deny the fact that, deep down, you crave more. not from him, specifically, but you’re a woman with a sex drive! would it kill to be eaten out every once in a while? you fall asleep that night content, though not fully satisfied. it’s better than nothing, you guess.
the morning rolls around and megumi, once again, wakes up far earlier than you. you’re still half asleep, but conscious enough to feel him brush your hair from your face and whisper that he was going out to get breakfast for the two of you. he takes his time brushing his teeth and slipping out of his pyjamas and, by the time he’s left, you’ve woken up fully.
rolling over and shoving your face into a pillow, you groan. you’re mildly sore from the night before, but your clit still throbs with underlying need, still yearning for more. it’s still relatively early, sunlight peeking through the thin ribbons of megumi’s blinds. you try to will away the dull ache between your legs, but it’s literally impossible.
you find yourself succumbing to desire, lying flat on your back as your hand drifts to slip underneath the waistband of your shorts and into your underwear. you start slow, lightly grazing your sensitive bud and dipping into your hole to bring your juices up. as you begin to circle your clit, you let your mind indulge in whatever fantasies it can think up, as a little treat to yourself.
of course, the thoughts end up drifting off to toji. he’s probably still asleep, knowing him. you wonder if he heard megumi fuck you last night. you wonder if he heard you groan his son’s name, knowing his father was in the room next over. if he heard the lewd shlicks of megumi’s dick pumping in and out of you. or if he thought about fucking you the way you imagined your best friend was actually his own dad.
soft moans fill the room as you touch yourself with more fervour, more unfiltered need. it’s not long before you unconsciously find his name on your lips like a mantra.
“toji… fuck— oh my god, toji.”
it feels so good, being able to let yourself get lost in your obscene thoughts of your friend’s dad. it feels so good that you don’t hear the very man you’re lusting over swing the door open.
“you good?” he begins, then, “what the fuck?”
what the fuck, indeed. your hands fly to the blanket, scrambling to cover your face with the sheets.
“i’m sorry,” your voice is muffled from under the duvet. “i’m so sorry, i’ll leave, i’ll—”
“did megumi not satisfy you enough last night?” he replies cooly, unfazed by the fact that he just walked in on you touching yourself.
you’re completely caught off guard by his question. so he did hear the two of you. as you slowly edge the blanket off your face, your mind races with a million different responses to his question, none of which seem appropriate for the situation at hand.
but he continues to press you. “i would have thought he would be able to, seeing as he’s my son.”
“don’t talk about him like that,” you rebut. every inch of your skin feels hot, every cell on fire. “he did a perfectly good job.”
toji laughs, then. a thick, guttural laugh that makes his broad shoulders shake with every breath he takes. “i’m just saying—” he steps closer to you “—you’re a pretty girl who deserves to be pleased properly.”
you don't know what to say. what can you even say, at this point? a small part of you is telling you how wrong this is, how fucked up it is to megumi. but most of you is so fucking turned on.
“you know—” he’s still not done “—i’d have thought you were satiated from the way i could hear your moans through the walls last night.” he chuckles again, and your stomach twists with some unnamed feeling. “you’re not very discreet, are you?”
your head is shaking, no, before you can even register what you’re doing. and you feel dirty for divulging personal details between you and megumi to his own father, but your body is moving on its own, on pure instinct. this must be so many types of immoral, the way he’s inching closer to you and your thighs are clamping together and, as always, he notices. you know how wrong this must be, telling him about what you and megumi did—or, rather, didn’t do—during sex, but with the way his gaze is hot against your skin, you somehow end up confessing the fact that you’re itching to be eaten out.
toji looks startled at that. “he doesn’t go down on you?” he seems genuinely shocked. “he has a girl as pretty as you in the same bed as him and he doesn’t give your pussy a taste?” toji rubs a large hand across his face, as if utterly disappointed in his child. “what kind of son have i raised?”
before you can decipher how he’s feeling, he makes it clear. within the blink of an eye, his hands are gripping your thighs and pulling you down to the edge of the mattress so that your legs dangle over the side. you prop yourself up on your forearms so that you can see him at the foot of the bed. he’s kneeling down, now, eyeing up your clothed cunt like it’s a meal.
“let me show you how a real man pleasures a lady,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and sliding them off in one foul swoop. cool air hits your pussy, making you hiss.
“shit, we shouldn’t— this isn’t—” your words are coming out in jumbled mess as he drags two long fingers through your dewy folds. “this is wrong, megumi isn’t home, we shouldn’t— not on his bed—”
“stop mentioning that boy and focus on me, pretty girl.” his voice is sultry and dripping with hunger, and his face is mere inches away from your bare heat, so you obviously have no other choice than to let him do as he wishes with you.
then his tongue is against you, warm and wet and sloooowly licking a thick stripe up, up, all the way from your drooling hole to your pulsing clit. he feels so good, and the situation is so so sinful, but it only riles you up even more, head tilting back in pleasure as he swirls his tongue against you.
“fuuuuck, mr fushiguro— feels good…” you mewl.
he grins against your pussy and the vibrations of his deep voice reverberate throughout your body, making you shudder.
“don’t pretend you weren’t just moaning my name out for the whole world to hear,” he drawls, still licking up and down your sticky sweet cunt. “call me toji.”
“oh god— toji!” your whines become strained, more desperate, as he plunges his tongue deep into your velvety walls, curling up into you.
one hand snakes around your thigh, grasping around your plush flesh as the other comes up to rub tight circles into your clit. your eyes squeeze shut, fingers gripping the sheets beside you as his tongue is fervid against you, dipping in and out of your entrance and sliding over your glistening lips. he’s groaning into you, peering up at your blissful expression through half-lidded eyes.
“know you’ve been wanting me since you got here,” he mumbles. “you’re not subtle.”
“and you—hah—haven’t been wanting me?” you reply, breath heaving at the sheer ecstasy you’re in.
“i never tried to hide it.”
then, somehow, it gets better. like, fuck, you’ve been eaten out before, sure. but never like this. he’s clearly experienced, knows exactly how to please a woman right. the muscles in his arms flex with every swipe against your clit, eyebrows furrowing slightly every time he flicks his tongue out against you.
it’s disgusting, the vulgar sounds that echo across the room, a lewd chorus of slurps and gulps and whines and moans.
“toji— shit—” you whimper, legs starting to tremble as the coil in your lower belly threatens to unfurl with ferocious magnitude. “so—fuck—so close!” your hands fly to his head, gripping his dark hair and pulling him infinitesimally close to you. your hips buck up into his mouth, practically grinding your cunt against his face as you chase your high.
and he doesn’t let up, not even for a second. whereas, before, he was alternating between tracing slow, lazy patterns on your pussy and quick, sharp pulses against your clit, he now maintains a steady pace. it feels fucking incredible.
“let go for me, pretty,” he purrs.
“fuck! toji— ‘m cumming!”
your thighs clamp around his head, hard, as you gush on his mouth, and he laps up every last drop of you, tounging you through your explosive orgasm. you push his head away, panting. he’s smirking, the bottom half of his face covered in a shining mess of your cum and his spit, his scar quirked up in amusement. and he’s licking the mixture from his lips, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean. fucking hell, he’s hot.
“that good?” he teases.
“i didn't even know head could feel like that,” you respond earnestly, no energy left in you to be able to find a cocky retort.
“we should get you cleaned up. i’ll get you a towel.” toji stands up, stretching his arms out behind him, cocking his neck to the side. “if you ever need help like that again, you know where to find me.”
your stomach flutters again at his comment. you definitely wouldn't be opposed to that. he leaves the room, padding off to his bathroom.
looking down at the soaked sheets, darkened with your slick, you realise you have a lot more cleaning up to do than just yourself. you should probably find a way to deal with the wet patch on your friend’s bed, and quickly. what would megumi think if he came back home to this?
masterlist
note might be working on a part two...? anyone down?
“And I bet you, you won’t have a royal flush by the end of this game,” you challenged Suguru Geto. Your best friend’s older brother by 6 years. The same person you grew up hanging around. And the same person you were currently playing cards with because your fake ass friend went out to run a quick errand.
You weren’t mad, just… flustered? Being left alone with her older brother, who always watches you like a predator waiting any second to pounce on their prey.
He did offer to buy what she needed, but she said no and left.
It’s not like you were scared of him (you were), you grew up around him. It’s just that things are different now. He’s older and bigger, and hotter. And has abs now. Like what?
“And if I end up with that by the end of the game, then?” he said, voice low, in a soothing way.
“Then… You um.. You can get whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” a pause, “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
For some reason, you were starting to feel hot under his piercing gaze. Those heavy eyes of his that undressed you before actions ever could.
“What will you give me?”
“Whatever you want, Suguru,” you groaned, repeating yourself, making him grin. “No take-backs, ok?”
“Why… what do you want?” There was a small chance you might be regretting your words now. What if he makes you do something embarrassing or eat an insect or– or–
“You’ll see,” was all he said before grabbing the first card from the deck, placing it face up on the glass circle table that was centered in front of the dark leather sofa you and he were sharing, sitting on opposite ends.
The game was coming closer to an end, and victory seemed far from reality for you. But Suguru ending with a royal flush was so fucking unlikely that you were relaxed. Even if you lost, Suguru technically wouldn’t win.
Yeah. Or so you thought. Even with the impossible chances, once the game finished, and you accepted your loss, Suguru turned his hand in your direction, being met with what you could only describe as bullshit.
There was no fucking way this man pulled it off. Whether he cheated or didn’t, the chances of getting a Royal Flush are incredibly low. One in a Million type beat. So how?
While you were having an existential crisis, pacing around the living room, Suguru came up behind you, wrapping those large, veiny arms around your midsection, making you jump.
“So about that deal.”
“...what do you want.. And– before you say anything, I’m not eating inse–”
“Let me play with your pussy.”
What?
—
Somehow, your friend was still missing, and some-fucking-how in that time frame of her not being a part of her own household, you have somehow managed to fuck yourself up both physically and mentally and have gotten in bed with your friend’s older brother—in his bed—while he inspects your pussy like it’s a cold case.
“You keep twitching, are you horny?” Geto teases, his warm breath fanning over your exposed cunt.
“N-no, dickhead, I’m just— ohh– fuck!” You choke on your words—saliva—leaving the sentence on a cliffhanger. Suguru’s rough fingers, the backside, ghost over your swollen clit before leaving a harsh flick that has you moaning in pleasure.
“Such a dirty liar and masochist,” The man coos, 2 fingers circling your entrance, all that unused slick sticking to his fingers, trailing them up to your poor abused clit, massaging the little bud between the 2 damp pads, rolling it between them.
You bite your lower lip, shutting your eyes tight enough to hopefully wake up from whatever dream this is or fall asleep. But neither happened. Your body is too aware to fall asleep and too awake to be dreaming.
Biting back any noises that threaten to slip out while he teases you like an untouched instrument.
“Sugu–”
“I’m going to record, ok?”
“What!?”
“Relax, I won’t show anyone,” he says calmly, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his grey sweats. You want to fight him, but do you really? As much as you want to run and kick him in the face, he can clearly see you’re enjoying this far more than him.
“Such a pretty pussy,” he grins, your eyes squinting from the bright flash of his phone. Is this fucker really filming with flash on?
Your body has a physical reaction to the thought of him just having a recording of your bare body at his disposal, anytime he needs.
His fingers stretch and play with your cunt, pulling it in all sorts of directions, getting every part of you on camera. He even films your insides as he slowly pushes the 2 fingers he’s been using on you inside. Watching how they fill your needy little hole. Your back arches, fingers tangled in the sheets, pulling harder. Eyes wandering over his perfect face, stray hairs falling over his face, while the rest is messily tied.
“She likes it,” he says, grinning at your reaction to his words. Face twisting in pleasure.
“Record,” he demands, abruptly handing you the phone, not giving any sort of warning before diving in between your parted thighs.
His soft lips come into contact with your soaking wet cunt. Tracing along your clit and down to your hole. Slipping his tongue inside, watching as your eyes roll to the back of your head, one of your hands unsteadily holding the camera, having it angled down to his hair while he devours you like a starved man.
“You have the softest and sweetest fucking pussy. You taste like heaven, doll,” the man says with a mouthful, the vibrations reaching your core. His hands gripping and massaging your thighs, matching the rhythm of his tongue that moved like it knew its way around your body.
He licks every corner and bump that sends you higher than the 7 skies. Touching each part that elicits the sluttiest noises out of your mouth and the tightest spasms from your muscles.
His fingers dug into the squishy flesh of your thighs, nose bumping against your clit, leaving your thighs trembling.
“So fucking—mm, good,” he groaned, making you scream his name, a way of informing him that you’re close, already. Might be one of your quickest orgasms.
“Come on, pretty girl, I’m nowhere near done playing with you,” he chuckles at your needy whine at his words, “ok, ok, you can cum, go on.”
Your back arches off the bed, phone slipping from your loose grip, landing somewhere in the sheets.
He keeps sucking and licking and drinking you in like sin. Enjoying every untouched part of you.
Your body shakes as release crashed over you in waves. Suguru slows his roll. Sucking more sensually, flicking your clit with his tongue only when needed. Once he’s pleased with your orgasm and your sudden body jolts, he pulls back.
The dim glow in the room illuminated his slick-covered lips and chin, and that filthy smirk plastered across his face.
“Let’s get you cleaned up before my sister beats both our asses,” he grins. Helping you up.
“I’m never playing cards with you again.”
“By the way, I cheated.”
“You son of a–”
A/N: im back from my mini something hiatus, also no part 2, leave me alone and i'm working on my longer fics, i swear, no more tiny one shots, i've js been rllyyyyy sick
ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.
- Two best friends go on a budget trip to Japan, only to accidentally book a love hotel for their entire stay. What starts as laughter and harmless fun slowly turns into lingering touches, stolen glances, and undeniable tension—until one night changes everything, and they’re forced to confront feelings they’ve been hiding for far too long.
tags: explicit sexual content, consensual sex, multiple rounds, oral sex (f receiving, m receiving), filming with consent, mirror sex, semi-public setting, overstimulation, light possessiveness, dirty talk, praise kink, body worship, breast fixation, shower/jacuzzi sex
wc: 11,900
rie's note: this was from last year>< so expect errors ahead! enjoy the ride! like,reblogs, and FEEDBACKS 👉🏻🥹👈🏻are highly appreciated :3 added more scenes hence the lil different writing style heh
You were halfway through your iced americano when Park Sunghoon slid into the seat across from you with the kind of urgency only someone who forgot to buy concert tickets would have.
“I did it,” he said, slightly breathless. “I found the cheapest possible hotel in Tokyo for five nights. I’m talking dirt-cheap.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And by ‘cheapest’ you mean we’ll be sharing a closet with a raccoon family or—?”
“No, no. This place looks fine. Clean. Themed. Cute. I think the rooms are based on trains or something.”
You blinked at him. “Trains?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged, like that explained everything. “It’s called ‘Fantasy Express.’ Kind of a vibe, right?”
“…Doesn’t that sound like a porn parody of the Shinkansen?”
Sunghoon gave you a blank look. “You said budget. I delivered. Be grateful.”
You snorted and took a sip of your drink. “Right. This better not end with me cuddling you for warmth in a windowless shoebox.”
He grinned. “Is that a threat or a promise, bestie?”
You flipped him off, laughing. But deep down, you were buzzing with excitement — not just because of the trip, but because it had been years since you and Sunghoon got away together.
After college, everything changed. Jobs, time zones, relationships that fizzled out before they even began. But Sunghoon was constant. He was the one person who could make you laugh even when you were crying into your broken laptop at 2 a.m. He was the voice note at midnight, the “I made too much ramen, come over,” the comfort in chaos.
So when the two of you finally managed to book this long-overdue trip to Japan, it felt like pressing pause on real life. No deadlines. No drama. Just the two of you, trains, street food, and maybe — if the stars aligned — a little karaoke.
You’d been talking about it since your second year in college. A pinky promise made over shared takoyaki from a food stall on your campus lawn.
“One day, we’ll go. Just you and me. Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka. A no-plan plan.”
You remembered that promise because Sunghoon never broke his.
Which is why you didn’t question it when he said he’d handle the hotel. And flights. And a few “must-see” locations, because even though you called it a “no-plan plan,” you both knew you were the chaotic one.
The night before your flight, Sunghoon came over to help you pack. In reality, he just sat on your bed, eating your snacks and judging your underwear choices.
“Why do you need seven pairs for five days?” he asked, mouth full of chips.
“In case I fall into a river. Or sweat. Or get possessed and pee myself. I don’t know, leave me alone.”
He laughed and reached over to zip your suitcase, fingers brushing yours for a second too long.
Neither of you mentioned it.
The flight was smooth. You watched a rom-com, he watched anime. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He didn’t move.
When you landed in Tokyo, everything felt surreal — the bright signs, the clean air, the sense that something new was about to happen.
The train ride to the hotel was quiet. You scrolled through Instagram while Sunghoon triple-checked the hotel address on Google Maps.
“We’re almost there,” he said, pointing to a small tucked-away building near the corner of a quiet street.
It looked decent. Small. Cozy. A glowing pink sign above the entrance read:
“Welcome to FANTASY EXPRESS — All Aboard the Love Line!”
You stared at it. Then at him.
“Hoon.”
“Yeah?”
“…Did you just book us into a love hotel?”
Sunghoon blinked. Looked back up at the sign. Back at you. “…No?” he tried, voice cracking halfway through. You deadpanned. “This is literally vibrating with sex energy.”
“I thought it was themed!”
“It is. The theme is fucking.”
He dropped his suitcase. “I swear on everything holy, I didn’t know. I just thought it was quirky. It said ‘train carriage rooms’ and had cute colors!”
You stared at him, unblinking. “You booked us into a love hotel. For five nights.”
A silence.
And then, slowly, the two of you burst into uncontrollable laughter — loud, ugly, bent-over laughter as passersby gave you weird looks.
Sunghoon wiped a tear from his eye. “Guess we’re really going on a ride.”
You shoved his shoulder, still laughing. “Idiot.”
The door slid open with a hiss, revealing the room Sunghoon had confidently reserved for five full nights.
You took one look inside and immediately stopped.
“…You’re joking.”
“Nope,” Sunghoon said in a flat voice, already sounding like he regretted every choice he’d ever made.
There were train handles hanging from the ceiling.
The walls had digital screens showing looped footage of Japanese countryside rolling past at high speed.
A faux train announcement played in the background every few minutes: “Next stop… pleasure.”
You turned slowly toward him. “Sunghoon.”
“Okay, wait—just hear me out.”
You stepped in and did a slow, horrified turn.
There was a chrome pole right in the middle of the room.
The bed looked like it was upholstered with actual train seats, complete with seat belts and tray tables. And worst of all, the mirrored ceiling had a blinking LED banner that read:
🚨 “ALL ABOARD — NONSTOP EXPRESS” 🚨
You gaped. “So its really is a love hotel.”
“No it’s not! …Okay maybe. Technically. But—look, I didn’t know! I thought it was just themed!”
“You thought this was a railway-themed budget capsule, and not a sex train hotel?!”
“I didn’t read that far down the listing, okay?! It was cheap and looked… clean! Plus the review said ‘lots of amenities!’”
“Sunghoon. There’s a vending machine for underwear's and condoms next to the door.”
He paused. Looked. “…Okay, I’ll give you that one. You sighed, dragging your suitcase in anyway. “We are going to get diseases just by existing here.”
Sunghoon followed behind sheepishly, dragging his bag. “You know, in a different light, this place is kind of hilarious.”
You turned to him and blinked. “We’re literally sleeping in a porn set.” “A very affordable porn set.”
You flopped dramatically onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling mirror.
He was right. It was funny. And the more you looked at the blinking lights, the mood lighting, and the suggestively placed towel basket beside the bed, the harder it was to stop laughing.
You both ended up bent over, wheezing from laughter as the fake train announcement repeated:
“Passengers, please hold on… for your own safety.”
Ten Minutes Later
“…Wait,” you muttered from the bathroom doorway. “Is that a jacuzzi?”
Sunghoon looked up from his phone. “A what?”
You pointed. “There’s a jacuzzi in here. And… no way. Is that a sauna?” He came over and peeked in. Sure enough, tucked behind the ridiculously clean glass partition was a legit two-person jacuzzi tub with sleek jets, LED lighting, and a discreet shelf of complimentary scented oils. And beside it? A cramped but actual mini sauna, already set to a cozy 45°C.
“Oh my god,” you whispered. “They really want people to… marinate before they—”
“Okay! I’m not letting this place win,” Sunghoon cut in. “We are taking full advantage. This shit is expensive in normal hotels.”
You looked at him in disbelief. “You want to use the sex jacuzzi?”
He shrugged. “It’s just a tub. The jets don’t know what’s going on. You want to spend the night pouting, or do you want a hot bath with free tea tree oil?”
You groaned. “I hate that you’re making sense.”
Twenty Minutes Later
You were in the tub first — submerged in warm water, hair tied up, sighing as the jets eased the travel ache out of your spine.
“I feel gross about how good this is,” you mumbled.
Sunghoon was sitting just outside the sauna, half-wrapped in a towel, drinking water. “Don’t get used to it. This is our peak. We’re about to suffer in a train-themed sex chamber for five nights.”
“You say that like it’s not your fault.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Fair.” You watched as steam curled off his shoulders, his skin flushed slightly pink from the sauna. He looked good. A little too good.
You quickly looked away and sank deeper into the water. Nope. Not thinking that.
You were best friends. The kind who shared hoodies and bitched about exes and had matching pajamas from a failed couples Halloween sale. You weren’t supposed to be noticing how broad his chest was, or how low his towel sat on his hips.
He caught you looking. You snapped your head the other way.
A pause. “You okay?” he asked, voice lower.
“Yup,” you replied, too fast. “Just tired.”
You heard him chuckle under his breath. “You’re a terrible liar.”
You splashed water at him. “Go back to your sauna.”
But the heat in your chest had nothing to do with steam.
You both climbed into the ridiculous velvet-upholstered bed and laid side by side, limbs awkwardly angled to avoid touching too much.
The train screen looped soft countryside visuals.
The LED sign above the mirror blinked softly:
“Don’t miss your stop…”
You stared at the ceiling. “Why does this feel like the foreplay part of a drama?”
Sunghoon’s voice was low. “Because everything here is designed for people to fuck.”
You both went quiet. Too quiet.
Then he added, a little too casually. “If you get cold tonight, just say something.”
You turned your head slightly. His profile glowed in the soft red light. “I won’t.”
“I know.” But neither of you moved. Not yet.
You woke up to the smell of grilled fish and miso soup.
Blinking groggily, you turned your head to find Sunghoon already sitting up in bed, hair messy, skin flushed from sleep, and a gleam of childlike wonder in his eyes.
“Room service,” he said simply, holding up a laminated card with neat checkboxes. “And it’s actually good. Like. Too good for this place.”
You sat up, blinking blearily at the silver-domed trays on the fold-out tray table. “Wait—this place has room service?”
“Apparently. I checked last night before sleeping. They serve breakfast to the room for ‘maximum comfort and pleasure.’” He did finger quotes around that last part. “Very suggestive. But also… delicious.”
He peeled the lid off one tray, and the smell immediately hit you: steaming rice, grilled salmon, soft tamagoyaki, pickled vegetables, and even a little matcha jelly cube for dessert.
Your stomach growled audibly.
“Oh my god,” you mumbled, crawling across the bed like a zombie. “I’m never leaving.”
He passed you chopsticks. “See? You talk a big game, but deep down, you’re just here for the perks.”
You dug in. “Mmf—if you booked this place on purpose for this breakfast alone, I forgive you.”
“I’ll take that as my official pardon,” he said, chewing on a piece of miso-glazed eggplant.
For a moment, the room was quiet — just soft clinks of chopsticks, muffled chewing, and the fake train sounds looping in the background.
And then, as always, came the banter.
“So,” you said, mid-bite, “you gonna keep walking around in that towel all morning or…?”
Sunghoon glanced down at himself — still shirtless, his towel hanging loose around his hips as if he were starring in a shampoo commercial. He smirked. “Jealous?”
You scoffed. “Of what? Your man boobs?”
“First of all,” he said, popping a grape into his mouth, “these are pecs. Try not to cry when you see me in real lighting.”
“I’ve seen you in fluorescent kitchen lights eating ramen at 2 a.m. I’ve survived worse.”
“I’ve also seen you drunk with a sheet mask on and mismatched socks, so don’t act superior.”
“Those socks were a fashion statement.”
He snorted. “A cry for help.”
After breakfast and a little too much matcha jelly, the two of you finally started getting dressed.
Or trying to, anyway.
You were standing at the small mirror near the door, brushing your teeth and fussing with your hair when you heard Sunghoon behind you, grunting in frustration.
“What’s your problem?” you asked, spitting out toothpaste.
“Where the hell is the other sock I packed?”
You glanced over and nearly choked — he was half-dressed, hair still wet from the shower, towel hanging on the rack, shirt hanging off one shoulder like a K-drama lead in distress.
You raised a brow. “Check your suitcase. Or maybe the laundry bag?”
He groaned dramatically and flopped onto the bed. “Why does this always happen to me?”
“Because your packing skills are trash.”
“You packed seven pairs of underwear for five nights!”
“Prepared. Not chaotic.”
“Psychotic.”
You tossed a sock at his face. “Shut up and wear this.”
He caught it, looked at the pattern — pastel pink with tiny peaches on them — and grinned.
“Wait… these are your socks.”
“They’re clean. Be grateful.”
He gave you a playful look. “If my feet feel too soft and feminine later, it’s your fault.”
You rolled your eyes. “You could use a little softness.” There was a beat of quiet as you both finished dressing.
And then, almost too casually, Sunghoon asked, “You good with the plan today? Shibuya, food, maybe teamLab Planets?”
You smiled. “Hell yeah. Let’s go get blinded by LED art and overpay for strawberry mochi.”
You grabbed your tote bag, he slung his camera over his shoulder, and together you stepped out into the Tokyo sunlight — blinking against the sudden warmth, the city buzzing with life all around you.
The love hotel’s sliding door closed behind you with a soft mechanical hiss.
“God, being outside feels illegal after that room,” you muttered, stretching.
Sunghoon yawned beside you. “We need to get out as much as possible. If we spend too long in there…”
“…we’ll end up using that pole, and not ironically.”
You said it jokingly, but the second it left your lips, you realized you were both thinking it.
You looked at him. He looked at you.
You both looked away.
Sunghoon cleared his throat and started walking. “Right. Food. Vibes. Let’s pretend we’re not staying in horny train hell.”
You followed, heart doing weird things.
By 10:30 a.m., you were already on your second iced drink and your fifth photo taken by Sunghoon.
"This one’s blurry,” you said, looking over his shoulder as he flipped through the camera roll.
“You moved,” he replied, flicking to the next one.
“I was mid-chew.”
“Exactly. Candid.”
“You got my molar in HD.”
He laughed, slinging the camera back over his shoulder. “You’re welcome. That’s raw content.”
You stuck your tongue out at him and tugged him toward the next street corner, where a little taiyaki cart was steaming golden fish-shaped cakes onto paper trays.
He bought one with custard and one with sweet potato, handing you the first without asking — he always remembered your favorite.
The day passed in a colorful, unfiltered blur.
From Asakusa’s temple streets to Ueno Park’s shaded paths, you strolled through the buzzing city under soft summer clouds, sharing bites of grilled yakitori, stopping at claw machines, and laughing until your stomach hurt every time Sunghoon got scammed by a vending machine.
“Bro,” he groaned as his Pocari Sweat got stuck halfway. “I just wanted electrolytes.”
“That’s what you get for bullying me about my socks.”
“They are ridiculous.”
“And now they’re your lucky socks, so shut up and suffer.”
He grinned, defeated, as you shook the machine for him until the drink finally dropped.
He brought the good camera — the one he only took out during special trips or when he really wanted to remember something.
At first, it was just the usual:
Colorful alleyways, Vintage signs, Cats in front of bookstores and Neon billboards starting to glow as dusk rolled in
But then the lens kept shifting toward you.
He’d tilt the viewfinder just slightly to the left whenever you were sipping your drink, or smiling up at a paper lantern, or holding up a peace sign in front of a giant tanuki statue.
He didn’t make a big deal out of it.
He never did.
Just snapped quietly, a small smile on his face, pretending to be adjusting settings every time you caught him in the act.
“Stop taking pictures of me looking ugly,” you said as you leaned against a vending machine at golden hour.
“You never look ugly,” he replied without thinking.
You blinked. He clicked his shutter.
You smacked his arm. “Flattery gets you nowhere, Park.”
“I was talking about the vending machine, actually.”
“Oh, screw you—”
By late afternoon, the two of you were barefoot, wading through glowing water and walking across mirrored floors.
The floating flowers, the endless lights, the reflection of stars above and below you — it all felt surreal.
Sunghoon was quiet most of the time, too busy adjusting focus, waiting for the exact second a projection shifted, or the water stilled, or your silhouette lined up against the light.
“Stay right there,” he murmured, crouching low.
You stood still, bathed in blue and purple.
A single glowing lily floated past your ankles.
Click.
When he finally looked up from the lens, his expression was soft, like he’d forgotten where you were — like the whole room was quiet just for a second.
You waved your arms. “Earth to perv?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, standing up and brushing dust off his knees. “Just… this lighting’s good.”
“Mm-hmm. You’re not slick.”
Dinner was ramen from a tiny shop hidden in an alley where no one spoke English and the broth was so rich it felt illegal.
You walked off the food through quiet backstreets, with neon signs humming above your heads and laundry flapping on upper balconies.
Sunghoon carried your bag without saying anything.
You bought him an ice cream without asking.
It was so easy. The kind of night you wanted to fold up and keep in your pocket forever.
At one point, you stopped to take a photo of your own — just a snapshot of him in the warm city light, licking ice cream and grinning.
“Got you,” you said, triumphant.
He raised a brow. “You finally captured my beauty?”
“No. I finally got proof you like vanilla.”
“You said you wouldn’t judge.”
“Too late.”
The fake train ambiance greeted you again as you entered the room — soft station chimes, muffled track sounds looping on the hidden speakers. You kicked off your shoes with a groan and threw your bag down like it betrayed you.
Sunghoon collapsed face-first on the bed. “We’ve walked 23,000 steps. I checked.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“My knees are 47 years old now.”
You laughed as you peeled off your socks. “Okay, Grandpa. Want me to book us an onsen for tomorrow?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he lifted his head slowly, eyes narrowing at the frosted-glass door in the corner.
“…wait. We still haven’t used the sauna together.”
You followed his gaze.
The in-room sauna and jacuzzi setup was tucked into the corner like an afterthought — sleek, surprisingly clean, and wildly over-the-top for the price. You hadn’t dared touch it yet.
You raised a brow. “You serious?”
He was already standing.
“I’m not walking like a gremlin tomorrow. Sauna it is.”
The small wooden sauna heated up quickly — enough for the two of you to sit side by side, towels wrapped around your waists, foreheads already glistening.
It smelled like cedar and something citrusy.
“I feel like we’re in a rich person’s armpit,” you muttered.
Sunghoon cracked up, head tilted back, eyes closed. “I feel like we’re about to get a motivational TED Talk from a man named Daisuke about financial freedom.”
You snorted. “We are literally boiling ourselves in a love hotel sauna. What freedom?”
There was a pause.
Then—
“This is nice though,” he admitted. “Like… surprisingly.”
You hummed, wiping sweat from your brow. “We deserve it. That yakitori hunt was a whole workout.”
A beat passed.
“Also, you were sweating this much at the gacha machine, so I feel like this is just your brand.”
“Don’t come for my capsule toys. They bring me joy.”
“Your suitcase is full of tiny plastic sushi. Let that sink in.”
After the sauna, you both flopped into the jacuzzi — towels still on, bubbles swirling lazily, the overhead lighting dimmed to a soft purple glow.
You leaned back against the edge and sighed so dramatically that Sunghoon mimicked it seconds later.
“Haaaaa~”
“Haaaaa.”
“…Why do you sound like a dying anime girl?”
“Why do you sound like a wounded elk?”
You flicked a handful of bubbles at him, and he retaliated by splashing water into your face.
By the time you both settled down, your cheeks hurt from laughing.
He nudged your foot underwater. “Hey. For real.”
You looked over.
“This whole day was perfect. Thanks for not letting me book some sad capsule hotel instead.”
You smiled softly. “Thanks for accidentally giving us the weirdest five days of our lives.”
A pause.
You both sank a little deeper into the water, the bubbles rising quietly between you.
Nothing else needed to be said.
Not yet.
After the sauna and jacuzzi, everything felt heavier — your limbs loose, your muscles relaxed, your brain pleasantly fuzzy in the best way.
Sunghoon handed you your toothbrush like always. Same side of the sink. Same rhythm. You brushed shoulder to shoulder, bumping elbows whenever one of you leaned over to spit.
You wore your oversized shirt — the one with faded cartoon prints and sleeves too long for your arms.
He wore a black tank top and gray sweats, his hair still damp and curling a bit at the nape.
It looked domestic.
Dangerously so.
You didn’t comment on it.
The sheets were still warm when you both flopped down again — you on your side of the bed, Sunghoon sprawled diagonally, legs halfway off the edge like a kid after a sugar crash.
"What do we watch?” you mumbled, tugging the blanket over your legs.
“I found a channel earlier that only plays weird food documentaries,” he said. “One of them was about a guy in Osaka who makes noodles with his feet.”
You blinked.
“That sounds unappetizing.”
“And yet I couldn’t look away.”
He flipped on the TV, and soon enough, soft narration in Japanese filled the room. Onscreen, a slow montage showed close-ups of dough, broth, and a man lovingly caressing noodles like they were his own children.
You both stared.
Then:
“His foot game’s strong,” Sunghoon muttered.
You snorted, smacking his arm. “Stop.”
A second later, he tilted the screen toward you and snapped a photo of your mid-laugh face.
“Delete it,” you said.
“Nope.”
“Sunghoon—”
“That’s a top-tier smile. Archive-worthy.”
You reached for the camera.
He held it just out of reach, laughing as you tried to climb over him, only to lose your balance and flop onto his side of the bed.
He oofed softly as your elbow landed against his stomach.
And then…
You didn’t move.
Neither did he.
You were both breathing, barely, quiet again except for the soft murmur of the food show and the faint rumble of train sounds from the wall speaker — still looping, still somehow comforting.
Your head rested near his shoulder. His arm lay beside you, palm up.
You didn’t think about how easy it would be to lace your fingers through it.
Because that wasn’t the point.
Not tonight.
Eventually, you mumbled, “I’ll fall asleep right here.”
“Good.”
“Then you’ll complain that I drool.”
“I always do. Doesn’t stop you.”
“…True.”
A beat passed.
Then Sunghoon shifted slightly, pulled the blanket over you too, and said, soft as a sigh:
“Night, dummy.”
You smiled into the pillow.
“Night, Hoon.”
You both woke up later than planned.
To no one’s surprise, the blackout curtains plus the post-sauna coma plus the gentle train track sounds had knocked you both out cold.
When you opened your eyes, Sunghoon was already awake beside you, scrolling on his phone with bedhead and one eye squinting at the light.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted without looking.
You groaned and threw the blanket over your face. “Why are you always so chipper in the morning?”
“I already ordered breakfast. It’ll be here in ten.”
That made you peek out
“Pretty good options. Surprisingly tasty too.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Did you ate already?”
“I may have had a mini croissant. For science.”
The tray rolled in like a hotel drama — miso soup, boiled eggs, tamagoyaki, rice, fruit, juice, and coffee, all neatly arranged in little porcelain dishes.
“This is way too fancy for a place with a pole in the corner,” you whispered.
Sunghoon burst out laughing. “We should eat on the pole.”
“Try it. Break your back.”
You sat cross-legged on the bed, carefully pouring soy sauce into the tiny saucer while Sunghoon buttered his toast like an old man at a countryside inn.
It was… cozy. Stupidly cozy.
He took a photo of the spread — and then one of you holding a strawberry between your lips.
“You’re so annoying,” you said.
“Smile,” he replied.
And you did.
You both dressed quickly — jeans and sneakers, matching windbreakers by accident (he insisted you copied him), camera packed again.
The plan today was Shimokitazawa, the artsy thrift-store-filled neighborhood that smelled like espresso, vinyl records, and dreams of quitting your job.
You wandered between secondhand shops and cafés, trying on sunglasses, picking up ugly mugs, posing in front of graffiti.
Sunghoon’s camera was out the entire time — and even though he pretended he was just testing settings, you saw how he always pointed it at you when you weren’t looking.
You caught him once.
He didn’t deny it.
“I like how you look when you’re not trying.”
You blinked.
He looked away, adjusting the lens. “Lighting’s better.”
“…Right.”
It was small.
You reached for a cold canned drink at the exact same moment.
Your fingers brushed his. Barely. Briefly.
But it lingered — just a half-second too long.
You felt it. So did he.
Neither of you said a thing.
You were sitting on a bench outside a vintage bookstore, sipping soda while he reviewed the photos on his camera.
“What are you deleting?”
“Blurry ones.”
“Let me see.”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“Because some are mine.”
“…Some?”
He paused.
Then smiled a little — not in a teasing way this time.
“Some are just for me.”
You didn’t ask what that meant.
You just let it sit there between you.
Warm. Quiet. Weightless.
But not really.
You returned to the hotel a little earlier than Day 1, shoes dusty, legs tired, hands full of little finds — enamel pins, a thrifted shirt, a random keychain he insisted matched your vibe.
In the jacuzzi again. This time quieter. You both leaned back and let the water do the talking.
Later, you brushed your teeth side by side again, yawning into your sleeves, shoulders bumping gently.
You climbed into bed first. This time, when he laid beside you, you noticed how close your hands were on the blanket.
Not touching.
Just… close enough. You didn’t pull away.
Neither did he. It started small.
Just a joke, really. After another long day out — this time at the Shibuya Sky deck and walking through Harajuku — you’d peeled off your jacket and complained about how sweaty you were.
“You’re melting,” Sunghoon commented, flopping dramatically onto the bed while you stood near the mirror, tying your hair up.
“You’d melt too if you had boobs trapping heat.”
He snorted. “Do you want me to confirm that or—” You threw a pillow at him.
“Okay, but real talk,” Sunghoon said as the door hissed shut behind him. “This sauna is saving my life. I’m starting a petition to install one back home.”
You chuckled, stepping inside after him in your towel, feeling the warm steam immediately cling to your skin.
Tonight felt hotter somehow — and not just because of the temperature.
Maybe it was how Sunghoon looked right now. Hair swept back slightly damp, skin already glowing, the soft edge of his collarbone visible. His towel was secure but low, and he sat with one arm resting over the wooden bench behind you, casual, almost… cocky.
“So,” he started, turning slightly toward you. “You gonna keep avoiding the fact that you made a noise when you sat down yesterday?”
“I did not.”
"You groaned like you were starring in a drama.”
You blinked at him. “Are you being flirty right now?”
He smirked. “Would it work?”
You gave him a look.
He laughed, leaning his head back against the wall. “Relax. I flirt with everyone.”
“…No, you don’t.”
He looked at you again, slower this time.
You felt it — that shift.
The quiet drawl in his tone when he said, “Right. I don’t.”
Ten minutes in, the steam got thicker.
You leaned forward to reach for your water bottle, not realizing your towel had come a little… loose.
You tugged it quickly and pressed it tighter to your chest, but the damage was done.
Sunghoon’s eyes had flicked down.
And then—back up.
He cleared his throat and smirked. “…Nice catch.”
You threw him a glare, cheeks hot, but not from the heat.
“Don’t be gross.”
“I’m not being gross,” he said, tilting his head lazily. “I’m just observant. It’s part of my charm.”
“Your charm is a menace.”
“Yeah?” he said, voice dropping just enough to make your skin prickle. “Still keeping me around, though.”
Later, while drying off, you were both laughing over a dumb quiz show playing on the love hotel TV, towels replaced with your usual comfy clothes. But the air still hadn’t gone back to normal.
You sat on the bed, brushing your hair.
He sat behind you, watching something on his phone, absently letting his fingers toy with the end of your shirt hem.
You didn’t realize he was doing it until he stilled.
Then—
“You always wear this one,” he said softly. “It’s got a little hole in the back.”
You turned to look at him.
“You’re really paying attention, huh?”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“I always do.”
There was no laugh this time. No grin. Just the warm glow from the room lamp and the way his eyes dropped for a second — from your face, to your lips, to your collarbone — before he looked back up.
You swallowed.
He looked way too close all of a sudden.
And yet, not close enough.
You stood up.
Quickly. Casually.
“I’m brushing my teeth.”
“Okay,” he said behind you, quiet… amused. “Run away, then.”The night settled in earlier than usual — maybe because you both agreed your legs needed a break, maybe because the city lights felt better admired from the bed with snacks and cold drinks.
You kicked your feet up, pulling the blanket over your lap while Sunghoon scrolled through the hotel TV’s library.
"We’re not watching something sad,” you warned.
“Why not?”
“Because every time we do, you start doing that emotional whisper voice after.”
He raised a brow, amused. “‘If I die, tell my cat I loved her’ isn’t emotional. It’s factual.”
You snorted and popped a grape into your mouth.
He settled on a coming-of-age romance film — something soft, slow, with golden lighting and friends-to-lovers tension that hit a little too close.
You didn’t comment.
Thirty minutes in, the movie faded into the background. You were half-focused, shoulder-to-shoulder with Sunghoon beneath the same blanket, a bowl of chips between you.
He reached over to grab one, and his fingers brushed yours again.
This time, you didn’t move away.
Neither did he.
You felt him glance at you — not a quick flick, but a lingering stare.
“…What?” you asked, not looking at him.
"Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m admiring.”
Your heart thudded once.
“…What?”
He smiled slowly, eyes dropping to your mouth. “I said nothing.”
Somewhere between the third snack break and the movie credits, Sunghoon nudged your leg.
“Truth or dare?”
You looked at him sideways. “What are we, twelve?”
“Pick.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Truth.”
He leaned back against the headboard, one arm behind his head.
“Have you ever thought about kissing me?”
Your breath caught
He didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t smirk.
He just watched you — calm, unreadable.
You stared at him, pulse ticking louder.
“…Is that a real question?”
His voice dropped lower. “You chose ‘truth.’”
The silence stretched. You felt it thick in your throat, in the space between your knees touching beneath the blanket.
Then, softly—
“Once or twice,” you admitted.
His lips curved, slow and smug.
You shoved his shoulder, embarrassed. “Okay, your turn.”
“Dare,” he said immediately.
You blinked. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to lie.”
You stared at him.
“…Fine. I dare you to—”
“Kiss me.”
Your breath stalled.
“What?”
“I dare you to kiss me.”
He said it casually, but you saw the way his hand gripped the blanket — the slight twitch in his jaw, the sharp inhale he tried to hide.
You licked your lips slowly.
“Sunghoon—”
"It’s just a game, right?” he said, voice velvet-soft.
You looked at him.
At his eyes. His mouth. His flushed cheeks and the way he was so close but not making a move.
Like he was giving you control.
And that scared you more than anything.
Because suddenly, the game didn’t feel like a game anymore.
You leaned in.
Just a little.
Just enough that he felt your breath.
But before your lips touched, you pulled back and whispered, “Next round.”
He exhaled sharply, a chuckle slipping out — part relief, part frustration.
“You’re evil.”
You smiled.
“Just playing the game.”
“I’m sleepy,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
The tension from the game still clung to your skin, warm and heavy. Your heart was doing too much—pounding like you just ran up a hill instead of almost-kissing your best friend.
You tugged the blanket up and turned on your side, facing away from him.
Or so you thought.
Because as you lay back on the pillows, eyes half-lidded and breath evening out, your gaze landed somewhere else.
Above you.
The mirror on the ceiling.
You blinked.
It was such a stupid, love-hotel thing to have, and you hadn’t even paid attention to it since the first day. But now?
Now you saw everything.
You.
Sunghoon.
Lying side by side, under the same blanket, bodies close enough to share heat.
His head tilted toward you slightly, lips parted like he was going to say something—but didn’t.
Your breath caught.
The image in the mirror wasn’t what friends looked like.
It wasn’t casual. It was intimate.
Too much.
Not enough.
You shifted, just barely.
And in the reflection, you watched Sunghoon do the same.
His hand moved above the blanket.
Closer.
Not touching you—but hovering near your waist.
You felt his knuckles brush the hem of your shirt, barely there.
Goosebumps rose instantly.
Your eyes flicked up again—to the mirror.
He was watching it too.
Watching you.
“…Sunghoon,” you said, barely audible.
He didn’t move his hand. Didn’t blink.
“I know,” he said softly, like he already knew what was in your chest. “You’re sleepy.”
But he still didn’t pull away.
Instead, he let his fingers rest lightly against your side—just enough pressure to make you feel it.
His voice dropped, rougher now.
“But if you weren’t…”
Your stomach twisted.
“If I wasn’t?” you asked.
He met your eyes in the mirror.
“I’d kiss you,” he murmured. “And this time, you wouldn’t stop me.”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
The air between you was thick. You felt the heat from his body, the blanket suddenly too warm. His words echoed, burning a hole into your chest.
Still, you didn’t move.
Not away.
Not toward him.
Just… there. Caught.
Heart racing.
Eyes locked in the reflection.
And then—
He pulled his hand away slowly.
A soft breath left your lips.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes.
But you didn’t sleep for a long, long time.
Not with his voice still in your ear.
Not with his hand still ghosting your skin.
And not with that mirror burning above you, showing you something you couldn’t unsee.
“C’mon,” Sunghoon said, tugging your wrist gently as you both stepped out of the taxi and into the Tokyo night. “We’re not leaving Japan without at least one club night. Live a little.”
You gave him a look. “You’re the one who googled ‘clubs that don’t have a cover fee’ and filtered by ‘low noise.’”
“Exactly,” he grinned. “I’m a responsible party animal.”
You snorted, but let him guide you in.
The club was tucked away under a neon sign and a set of stairs, with a cozy, crowded feel—dark corners, glowing drinks, and music that thudded deep in your chest.
He ordered you both something sweet and sparkling. The kind of drink that made your lips sticky and your smile looser.
It was supposed to be harmless.
Just a night out.
You wore a black dress—Sunghoon’s pick, actually, from earlier that day.
“I’m not letting you pack a bunch of oversized hoodies for a night out,” he said back in the hotel. “Show some skin. It’s Japan. Everyone’s hot.”
So you did.
And now?
Now you were paying for it.
Two drinks in, you danced near the edge of the floor, swaying with the beat, laughing with Sunghoon beside you. His hand hovered low on your back—not touching, but close enough to be there if you stumbled.
Until he stepped away for a second to use the bathroom.
And they showed up.
Two guys—tall, confident, clearly a little tipsy.
“Hey, you alone?” one of them asked, smiling too much, eyes dipping low.
You smiled politely, shaking your head. “I’m with someone.”
“Oh?” The second guy grinned. “Boyfriend?”
Before you could answer, you felt it—a hand on your waist. Warm. Familiar.
Sunghoon.
“No,” he said smoothly, his voice sharp behind you. “She’s with me.”
You blinked, surprised by the edge in his tone.
Sunghoon wasn’t the jealous type. Or at least, he’d never acted like it before. Not when guys checked you out. Not when they flirted harmlessly.
But tonight?
He wasn’t joking.
One look at his face and you knew.
The guys backed off, muttering something in Japanese you didn’t catch. But you didn’t care. Not when Sunghoon’s fingers stayed on your hip even after they were gone.
You turned to him.
“…You okay?”
He stared at you for a second.
Then he laughed—short, breathless.
“You have any idea how you look tonight?”
You blinked. “Sunghoon—”
“No,” he said, pulling you gently toward a quieter corner of the club. “I let you out in that dress and thought, yeah, sure, I’ll be normal about it. But then I see guys eyeing you like they have a shot and suddenly I’m—”
He cut himself off.
You stared.
“Suddenly you’re what?”
He looked at you. Really looked.
And for the first time tonight, there was no filter.
“I’m not normal about you,” he said simply. “Haven’t been for a long time.”
Your heart stuttered.
The music faded into nothing.
“…Sunghoon.”
“I know,” he said, eyes flicking to your lips. “We’re best friends. This whole trip’s been fun. Flirty. Safe. But tonight?”
He leaned in.
“Tonight, I want to make it clear.”
Your back hit the wall, gently.
Not rough.
Not rushed.
Just enough to make your breath hitch.
“You’re with me,” he whispered, lips barely brushing your jaw.
And you didn’t move.
Not away.
Not at all.
The cab ride back to the hotel was dead silent.
Not because there was nothing to say.
Because everything had already been said — in the way Sunghoon looked at you when those guys tried flirting at the club, in the way his hand gripped your waist like it belonged there.
And in the way he whispered, low and rough:
“You’re with me.”
The words looped in your head the whole ride. And when you stepped into your room — the one with the ridiculous train-themed decor, mood lighting, and giant mirror above the bed — it was over.
The second the door clicked shut—
He kissed you.
Not like a friend.
Not like someone testing the waters.
Like he knew what you tasted like.
Like he needed it.
His hands were everywhere — cupping your face, sliding down your waist, pressing into your lower back until your bodies were flush. You were barely able to keep up with his mouth — all tongue, teeth, urgency.
You gasped when his lips left yours to nip your jaw.
“Sunghoon—”
“I told you,” he growled, voice wrecked. “I’m not waiting anymore.”
He walked you backward toward the bed, kissing you between every step.
You fell onto the mattress, breathless, heart racing. The mirror above showed your reflection — the two of you tangled in shadows and heat, your thighs parting instinctively as Sunghoon leaned over you.
“You don’t know,” he whispered, nose brushing yours, “how many nights I’ve watched you sleep in this bed.”
His hand slid under your dress, fingertips grazing your thighs.
“Thinking about this.”
You gasped when he squeezed your leg, his eyes never leaving yours.
“You’re soaked through,” he murmured.
“I’ve been—thinking about it too,” you admitted, cheeks warm.
That was all he needed.
Sunghoon yanked off his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the trail of muscle down his abs — you stared shamelessly.
He noticed.
“Like what you see?”
You nodded.
“Use your words, baby.”
“I like it,” you whispered, eyes blown wide. “I want all of you.”
He groaned. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”
Then he was kissing down your neck, tugging your dress off slowly, his mouth dragging over every new inch of skin.
“No bra?” he murmured against your chest.
“You told me to wear something easy to take off,” you whispered.
His eyes burned.
“I was joking,” he growled, “but fuck, that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”
His tongue circled your nipple before sucking hard, making your hips buck.
“Sunghoon—”
“Be patient,” he said, sliding your panties off. “I’m going to make you cum on my tongue first.”
Then he was kneeling at the edge of the bed, pulling your legs over his shoulders, and diving in.
You cried out.
He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning like he’d just tasted heaven.
Then again. Slower.
His fingers gripped your thighs, keeping you open as he licked you deep — tongue teasing your folds, swirling around your clit, then flattening with just enough pressure to make your legs shake.
You tangled your fingers in his hair. “Sunghoon, please—please—”
He paused, pulled back just enough to speak.
“Say it again.”
You moaned. “Please, Sunghoon—make me cum—please—”
“Good girl.”
He dove back in, and you were gone.
Your orgasm ripped through you, thighs clenching around his head as you came with a broken moan of his name.
He didn’t stop — he kept licking, slow and lazy now, lapping up everything you gave him until you were panting, trembling.
He crawled back up your body and kissed you — letting you taste yourself on his lips.
Then you felt him.
Hard. Heavy. Pressing against your thigh.
You reached down, wrapping your hand around him, and his head dropped to your shoulder with a groan.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “If you touch me like that, I’m gonna lose it.”
You smirked, kissing his jaw. “Then lose it.”
He laughed — low and rough — then pulled back to line himself up.
You were still soaked. Still twitching from your first orgasm.
He met your eyes, voice hoarse.
“Tell me you want this.”
“I want this,” you whispered. “I want you.”
He slid in with one deep thrust.
His hips rolled into you, slow and deep.
One thrust — thick, stretching, deliberate.
You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders as he filled you to the hilt.
“Fuck, Sunghoon—”
“I know,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. “You’re perfect like this.”
He stilled inside you, chest heaving. You could feel how hard he was — how much restraint he was using just to not lose control.
Then he pulled back.
And pushed in again.
Deeper.
Your breath hitched.
Above you, the mirror reflected everything — the way your body arched into him, how your mouth parted when he bottomed out, the tension in his jaw as he watched you take him like you were made for it.
You whimpered.
“Look up,” he said softly.
You did.
And your entire body shivered.
The sight was unreal.
His body between your legs.
The way your back curved.
The way your nails pressed into his skin.
Sunghoon leaned in close, lips dragging across your jaw.
“Now imagine if you could see this again.”
You blinked, dazed. “What?”
He reached for his phone.
Tossed a look toward the dresser, a sly smirk playing on his lips.
“I brought the tripod.”
Your stomach flipped.
“You’re joking—”
“Nope.” He was already sliding the legs out, adjusting the angle toward the bed. “Consent. One hundred percent. Just for us. Just for tonight. I want to remember everything.”
Your thighs instinctively squeezed around his waist.
He placed the phone on the stand, hit record, and returned to you.
Settled between your legs again.
Caged you in with his arms.
Kissed you like it would never be enough.
“This okay?” he whispered against your lips.
You nodded, eyes wide, chest rising.
“Say it, baby.”
You swallowed. “Yes. I want it. I want you.”
He groaned — guttural, raw.
Then he started moving.
Long, slow strokes at first.
His hips grinding into yours, dragging over every sensitive spot with maddening precision.
His hand slid under your lower back, lifting your hips slightly — angling you better, deeper — until you were gasping his name.
“God—Hoon—”
“You hear that?” he rasped, breathless. “That sound you make when I hit here—”
Thrust.
You cried out.
“—that’s going to ruin me.”
His thumb brushed your clit in tight circles while he fucked you, rhythm getting messier — your thighs slick, sheets twisted, the air thick with skin and heat and moans.
“Look at you,” he whispered. “Look at how fucking pretty you are when I’m inside you.”
You forced yourself to glance up at the mirror again—
And it was filthy.
Your eyes glassy.
Your body bouncing gently with every stroke.
Sunghoon — hair messy, jaw clenched, sweat slicking his chest — completely lost in you.
His thrusts got faster.
Your fingers clawed at his back.
You were getting close again. Too close.
“Sunghoon—Hoon—I’m—”
“Let go,” he growled. “I want to see it. Want to see you cum all over me.”
His hand gripped your thigh tighter, holding you in place as he slammed into you, dragging your orgasm out until you were moaning shamelessly, your body shaking under him.
You came hard.
Eyes rolling.
Toes curling.
He groaned loudly, head dropping to your shoulder.
Then he pulled out suddenly — tugged his cock in his fist once, twice—
“Where?” he panted.
“Stomach,” you gasped. “Please—”
And he spilled with a sharp grunt, hot ropes across your skin, your belly, his hips still twitching from the force.
The room was silent except for your panting.
You both stared at the mirror.
Then each other.
Sunghoon let out a soft, broken laugh.
“...We’re fucked.”
The room was still warm.
The soft buzz of fake train sounds from the speaker had long since faded into the background, replaced by only your uneven breathing and the low whirr of the air conditioner above the bed.
Your body was still tingling.
Muscles relaxed, core aching in the best way, thighs sticky with the aftermath of everything you just shared.
Sunghoon was lying beside you — one arm tucked under his head, the other draped lazily across your bare stomach. His fingers traced little, absent-minded shapes there, gliding through the mess he’d left on your skin like he couldn’t bear not to touch you.
He looked wrecked. Hair messy. Eyes soft. Lips red from kissing too hard.
But the way he was looking at you now?
Completely different.
Like the teasing and jokes were stripped away.
Like he was finally seeing you.
And maybe for the first time—you were really letting him.
“You okay?” he murmured.
His voice was soft, a little hoarse.
You turned your head slowly, looking at him. “Yeah. More than okay.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Good.”
Then, quieter, “Because that... wasn’t just for fun.”
Your heart stuttered.
“I mean—” he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, looking up at the ceiling. “I know we’ve been friends forever. I know this trip was supposed to be, like, low-budget ramen and chaotic sightseeing and those vending machines you’re obsessed with, and I definitely didn’t mean to—book a fucking love hotel—but—”
You cut him off with a quiet laugh, rolling over to face him. “Hoon.”
He looked at you, eyes wide.
Your fingers reached up, brushing his hair from his forehead.
“I know it wasn’t just for fun.”
You paused.
“...Did you really mean everything you said tonight? At the club? Back here?”
His gaze didn’t flinch.
“Every word.”
Your breath caught.
“You’ve... thought about this?” you asked, almost shy. “Us?”
He nodded slowly, like he was afraid he’d scare you off. “For longer than I should have.”
You swallowed, heart thudding.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He smiled, soft and bittersweet. “Because I didn’t think I had a chance. You’re...you. You flirt with ramen vending machines.”
You laughed, burying your face in the pillow. “I do not.”
“You do,” he teased. “You called that one in Shibuya a good boy.”
You giggled.
Then his fingers stilled on your stomach.
“But the second I saw that guy at the club looking at you like you weren’t the most precious thing in the room... I snapped. I couldn’t keep pretending.”
You looked up at him. “And now?”
He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours.
“Now I want to be the only one who gets to touch you.”
Your breath caught.
“I want to take you on real dates. Hold your hand in public. Make you breakfast. Wake up beside you without wondering if I crossed a line the night before.”
Your chest ached — in the best way.
You wrapped your arm around his neck, pulling him closer.
“Then let’s do that.”
His brows lifted slightly.
“Yeah?” You nodded. “You idiot. I’ve wanted this too.”
He smiled — slow and real, the kind that reached his eyes.
And then? He kissed you again.
Gentle this time. Lingering. No rush.
Just the start of something real.
When you finally broke apart, curled in the sheets, your limbs tangled—
Sunghoon rested his cheek on your chest, humming softly.
“We’re kind of gross,” he mumbled sleepily.
You blinked. “What?”
He pointed up lazily.
You looked. And laughed. The mirror.
Still foggy. Still showing your bodies — flushed and messy and completely tangled up in each other.
“Let’s clean up,” you whispered.
Sunghoon groaned dramatically. “Can’t move. Dead. Died from your pussy.”
You smacked his arm with a pillow. “Romantic.”
He grinned.
Then he sat up—still shirtless, still glowing—and stretched.
As you slipped off the bed to grab your robe, something caught your eye.
That little panel near the bathroom. The one that looked just a little too clean. Too new.
You padded over, curiosity tugging.
Pushed it open— And found the train.
“Sunghoon…”
Your voice was breathless, laced with awe and disbelief as you stared into the hidden room tucked behind the bathroom mirror.
He came up behind you, still shirtless, eyes scanning the strange, atmospheric glow pouring out of the secret space.
“…What the hell?” he murmured, stepping in beside you. The small room looked exactly like the interior of a luxury train car.
Gold-trimmed velvet seats lined both sides.
The projected windows showed nighttime scenery rushing past, as if the whole place were actually moving.
And above it all? Mirrors. Full-length. Perfect angles.
“Did you book this on purpose?” you whispered.
Sunghoon laughed quietly, slipping his arm around your waist. “You’re giving me too much credit.”
You turned to look at him, still flushed, still warm and full from earlier.
He stared back at you—his gaze darker now, hungrier.
“You know,” he said, voice low, “we can’t just find a secret room like this and not do something stupid.”
You shivered.
“Define stupid.” His lips ghosted your neck.
“Take off your robe,” he murmured.
You blinked. “Here?”
“Here,” he said, nodding toward one of the seats. “There.”
Then he tilted your chin toward the mirror above.
“So you can watch.” Your stomach flipped.
He pulled you inside gently, guiding you toward the plush velvet seat like it was a throne.
“Sit,” he said, voice deeper now. “Right here. Legs open.”
You did. Robe sliding down your arms, bare underneath.
The second you sat, the coolness of the velvet against your thighs made you gasp.
Sunghoon dropped to his knees between your legs, spreading them wider, mouth just hovering over your center.
He looked up at you once—dark eyes, flushed cheeks, messy hair. Yours.
“I didn’t get enough of you earlier,” he murmured. “Wanna taste you right. Wanna take my time.”
You whimpered.
Then his tongue was on you. Sunghoon devoured you.
Tongue slow and firm, licking up every drop, nose pressed into your folds, mouth working you open until your head fell back and your hips jerked against his mouth.
You glanced up, dazed—and moaned when you caught the mirror reflection.
Everything. Your legs trembling. Your hands gripping the seat. His messy hair buried between your thighs.
He glanced up mid-lick, locking eyes with you through the mirror.
“Keep looking,” he said, mouth shiny. “I want you to see what you do to me.”
He sucked your clit into his mouth then—hard. You gasped, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
“Oh my god—Sunghoon—!”
“You gonna cum again, baby?” he whispered, licking slow circles again. “Right here, in this fucked-up train fantasy room?”
You moaned—loud, desperate.
“Say it.”
“Yes—please—yes, I’m gonna—fuck—”
He flicked his tongue in a perfect rhythm, and when his fingers slid inside you—two, slow, deep—you shattered.
You came on his tongue, thighs shaking around his head, crying out as he licked you through it, swallowing everything you gave him.
When you finally stopped shaking, he kissed the inside of your thighs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked up.
Still on his knees. Still hard.
But now? Smiling. Smug. Possessive.
“Still alive?” he teased. You gave a breathless laugh. “Barely.”
“Good,” he said, standing. “Because I’m not done with you.” He pulled you up to your feet and spun you to face the mirror.
Your reflection was glowing—lips parted, chest heaving, legs weak.
Sunghoon pressed up behind you, cock dragging along your ass as he leaned in to whisper:
“Bend over the seat.”
You obeyed—bare hands gripping the backrest, legs shaking as he kicked your feet further apart.
He stroked himself behind you, tip brushing your folds.
“Look how ready you are,” he murmured. “Already dripping again.”
He slid in with one thrust. You both moaned. You watched in the mirror as he grabbed your hips and began to move—slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch inside.
Then harder. Faster. Filthy.
The sound of skin slapping, your breathy moans, his rough grunts—it was insane. His hand slid around to grip your throat gently, tipping your face toward the mirror again.
“Watch, baby. Watch me fuck you.” You did.
And it was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen.You—bent over, mouth open in shock. Him—behind you, wrecked, hips snapping, muscles straining.
And you couldn’t last. You were already so full. So overstimulated. So his. “I’m—gonna—again—”
“Do it,” he panted. “Cum for me. Make a mess. I’m right behind you.” You came again—harder this time, louder, a cry ripped from your throat as your body clenched around him.
And with a final groan—“Fuck, yes”—he came too, spilling deep inside you, his hips twitching, hands gripping your waist tight as he gave you everything. You collapsed onto the velvet seat, breathless, shaking.
Sunghoon leaned over you, arms wrapped around your waist from behind.
You both stared into the mirror. Sweaty. Marked. Ruined.
“…Best love hotel ever,” you mumbled.
Sunghoon laughed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
“Welcome to the last stops, baby.”
The water steamed around you, warm and humming, tiny waves lapping at your sides as you sank back into the love hotel’s private jacuzzi.
The bathroom light was dim, glowing low and amber, reflecting off the tiled walls like candlelight.
You barely had time to close your eyes before a pair of arms slipped around your waist from behind.
“Round three,” Sunghoon murmured into your shoulder.
“Already?” you whispered, dazed. “You’re serious?”
“You’re mine now,” he said simply. “I’m never gonna be done.”
You moaned as he pulled you back into his chest, your legs floating around his hips, his hands sliding across your stomach beneath the water.
Then higher.
Until he had your breasts cupped in both palms.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “I’m obsessed.”
You bit your lip, gasping as he started to play with them — thumbs brushing your nipples, squeezing gently like he’d been waiting to get his hands on them all night.
“I always noticed,” he confessed, pressing kisses to the back of your neck. “Every time you stretched in front of me, every time your shirt clung to them when it rained—"
“Sunghoon—”
“—and now they’re mine,” he said, voice rough with need. “So I’m gonna touch them whenever I want.”
His mouth trailed down your neck, then he reached around, shifting you to straddle his lap in the water.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he muttered, lowering his mouth to your chest.
Then he kissed your breasts—slow, wet kisses, tongue flicking across your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth.
You let out a soft moan, your hands burying in his wet hair. He groaned into your skin, pulling your body even closer until your tits were pressed to his face. His voice was muffled. “I could live right here.” You giggled breathlessly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m obsessed,” he corrected, licking again. “Let me worship you.” You felt his cock harden again beneath you, hot and heavy in the water.
“Sunghoon…”
“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, mouth brushing your chest. “One more. Just one more.”
He reached under the water, lining himself up, and slowly eased you down onto him — warm water swirling around your waists as you sank onto his cock, inch by thick inch.
You both groaned. It felt so full like this. So warm. Slippery. Intimate. His forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your waist.
“Move for me, baby,” he whispered. “Nice and slow.”
You rolled your hips, riding him gently in the water, the movement easy and fluid with the water supporting your weight. And he couldn’t stop watching your chest.
“Fuck,” he moaned. “Bounce for me, just like that. Look at them—"
Your tits bounced with every movement, droplets clinging to your nipples, glistening under the soft light. His hands returned to them again and again — massaging, squeezing, sucking one into his mouth as you moved on him.
You whined. “You’re too into this—”
“I warned you,” he growled. “They’re mine now.”
Then he grabbed your hips, took over the pace, thrusting up into you as the water splashed gently around you. Slow, deep strokes. His cock dragging against your sensitive walls, your body already so used to him but still twitching at the stretch. You clung to him, lips brushing his. “You feel so good.”
“I want you to cum on my cock like this,” he breathed. “Wanna feel you clench around me again.”
His hand slid between your bodies, thumb brushing over your clit under the water — slow, tight circles until you were gasping again.
“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “While I’m buried inside you. I want to feel it.”
You did. With a broken gasp, body trembling in the bubbling heat, your walls tightened around him, clenching so hard he swore under his breath—
“Fuck—yes—fuck, you’re perfect—”
And then he came too, moaning into your mouth as he spilled inside you again, his arms tightening around you as if he couldn’t let you go. You stayed there, clinging to him, your body spent and warm, water lapping gently against your skin.
He kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then your boob. Again.
“Seriously?” “What?” he said innocently. “They’re the love of my life now.”
The water steamed around you, warm bubbles churning against your skin as Sunghoon's hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against his hard body. His lips trailed hot kisses down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to send shivers racing through you despite the heat. "Mine" he growled low, voice rough with need, his cock already throbbing against your thigh, slick with the jacuzzi's warmth and his own arousal.
You arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he lifted you slightly, the water sloshing around your waists. His mouth captured yours in a fierce kiss, tongue plunging deep, claiming every inch while one hand slid between your legs. Fingers parted your folds, stroking your clit with firm circles that made you gasp into his mouth. He didn't tease for long—Sunghoon never did when possession burned this hot. Two fingers pushed inside you, curling to hit that spot that had your walls clenching around him.
"Fuck, you're still so wet for me," he murmured against your lips, pumping his fingers faster, thumb grinding your clit. The water made everything slicker, hotter, your body responding with desperate bucks against his hand. But he wasn't done worshipping yet. Withdrawing his fingers, he brought them to your mouth, pressing them past your lips. "Taste yourself. Taste how much you want this." You sucked eagerly, tongue swirling around his digits, eyes locked on his darkened gaze.
Satisfaction flashed in his eyes as he pulled his hand away, replacing it with the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. But instead of thrusting in right there, he stood fully, water cascading off his toned chest and abs, muscles flexing as he hauled you up with him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, the jacuzzi's edge pressing into your back for leverage. "Not like this," he said, voice husky. "I want to fuck you standing, feel every inch of you gripping me while I hold you open."
He shifted, one arm banding around your back to support you, the other guiding his cock. The tip breached you slowly at first, stretching your pussy with that delicious burn as he sank in inch by inch. You moaned, head falling back, the steam-filled air thick with the scent of sex and chlorine. Water lapped at your joined bodies, but it was nothing compared to the heat building where he filled you completely, balls pressing against your ass.
Sunghoon groaned, hips snapping forward in a sharp thrust that buried him to the hilt. "God, yes—tight like this, just for me." He started a rhythm, powerful and unrelenting, each drive lifting you slightly against him, your breasts bouncing with the force. His free hand roamed, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out, then soothing it with his mouth, sucking the peak between his teeth. You clung to him, nails raking down his back, urging him deeper.
The standing position let him angle just right, his cock dragging along your inner walls, hitting your g-spot with every plunge. Water splashed around you as he fucked harder, possessive grunts escaping him. "No one else gets this. No one else fucks you like I do." His pace quickened, hips pistoning, the slap of wet skin echoing in the steamy enclosure. Your pussy fluttered around him, building toward that edge, clit grinding against his pelvis with each thrust.
He sensed it, shifting his hold to free a hand, fingers finding your clit again. He rubbed in tight, fast circles, matching his brutal rhythm. "Cum for me. Milk my cock while I fill you up." The command pushed you over, orgasm crashing through you like a wave, walls spasming as you screamed his name. Sunghoon followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, hot cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts. He held you there, both panting, his forehead pressed to yours as the aftershocks rippled through.
But even spent, his grip didn't loosen. "We're not done" he whispered, already hardening inside you again. "I want more".
Sunghoon's cock twitched inside your still-pulsing pussy, the mix of his cum and your juices leaking down your thighs into the bubbling water. He didn't pull out yet, instead rocking his hips in slow, deliberate grinds that kept the friction alive, his mouth crashing back onto yours. The kiss was messy, tongues tangling with renewed hunger, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as he swallowed your whimpers. "You feel that?" he rasped between breaths, one hand cupping your ass to tilt you higher on his shaft. "I'm gonna fuck you until you're ruined for anyone else."
He thrust up again, harder this time, the water churning wildly as he bounced you on his length. Your oversensitive walls clenched around him, every slide sending sparks of pleasure-pain through your core. You gasped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to beg, but he silenced you with another deep plunge, his free hand tangling in your wet hair to yank your head back. His lips attacked your throat, sucking marks into the skin—dark bruises that would linger as proof of his claim.
The rhythm built fast, his hips snapping with possessive force, cock stretching you wide with each entry. Your clit rubbed against his base, the pressure coiling tight despite the fresh ache from your first climax. "That's it, take it all," he growled, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise. You shattered again sooner than expected, body trembling as another orgasm ripped through you, but he didn't stop. Sunghoon kept pounding, chasing his own release while your pussy fluttered helplessly around him, overstimulated nerves firing wildly.
"Fuck, yes—squeeze me like that," he grunted, finally spilling inside you with a guttural moan, hot ropes of cum painting your walls anew. He held you impaled, panting against your shoulder, but his cock stayed buried deep, semi-hard and insistent. Slowly, he lowered you both back into the jacuzzi, the warm jets massaging your joined bodies as he pulled you onto his lap facing him.
His hands roamed your back, tracing the scratches you'd left earlier, before cupping your face for a slower makeout. Lips brushed softly at first, then deeper, his tongue exploring lazily while his hips shifted beneath you. You felt him thickening again, the third round stirring as he broke the kiss to murmur, "On your knees. Show me how much you need my cock."
You slid down eagerly, the water lapping at your chest as you positioned yourself between his spread thighs. His erection stood proud, veined and glistening with your combined fluids. Wrapping your hand around the base, you leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at the slit, tasting the salty mix of cum and arousal. Sunghoon's fingers threaded through your hair, guiding you gently at first. "Suck it. Take me deep."
Your lips parted, sliding over the head, hollowing your cheeks as you bobbed down, taking more with each pass. The jacuzzi's bubbles tickled your skin, adding to the sensory overload as you worked him with your mouth—tongue swirling along the underside, hand stroking what you couldn't fit. He groaned, hips bucking slightly, fucking your face with controlled thrusts. "God, your mouth... so fucking good. Look at me while you do it."
Eyes locked on his, darkened with lust, you hummed around his length, the vibration drawing a hiss from him. Saliva dripped down your chin, mixing with the water, as you deepthroated him, throat relaxing to accommodate his girth. His grip tightened, possessive, holding you there for a moment before letting you pull back for air. "Enough." he said hoarsely, hauling you up for another searing kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.
He spun you around then, pressing your back to his chest, legs draped over his as he positioned you. One arm locked around your waist, the other parting your thighs wide. "Spread for me," he commanded, fingers dipping into your soaked pussy, scooping out some of his cum before rubbing it over your clit. You moaned too cock drunk to speak, arching into his touch, but he was already lining up his cock, slamming home in one fluid motion.
This angle let him go deeper, the head of his dick battering your cervix with every upward thrust. Water splashed over the jacuzzi's edge as he fucked you relentlessly, his mouth on your neck, biting and licking. "You're mine to use"he whispered hotly, fingers returning to your clit, pinching and rolling it until you were sobbing with overstimulation. Your body betrayed you, hips grinding back despite the intensity, chasing the building pressure. "Yours only-fuck— yours." You managed to replied back.
He didn't let up, pace brutal, cock dragging against your g-spot with precision. The coil snapped violently—your pussy gushed around him, squirting in forceful arcs that mixed with the jacuzzi water, soaking his thighs. "Fuck, yes—squirt for me, baby," he praised, thrusting through it, prolonging the waves until you were a trembling mess.
Sunghoon came with a roar, flooding you once more, his body shuddering against yours. He held you close through the aftershocks, kisses turning tender, lips brushing your temple, your jaw. "All mine,"he murmured, finally softening and slipping out, cum trickling from your abused pussy.
Exhausted, he lifted you effortlessly, wrapping you in a towel before carrying you to the nearby lounge chair. The steam still hung in the air as he settled beside you, pulling you into his chest. His arms encircled you possessively, one hand stroking your hair as your eyelids grew heavy. "Sleep now" he whispered, voice soft and kissing the top of your head. You drifted off to the rhythm of his heartbeat, safe and claimed in his embrace.
The scent of miso soup and freshly baked melonpan woke you before sunlight did.
You blinked against the soft morning glow spilling in through the patterned blinds.
The mirror above the bed was foggy now from the jacuzzi steam the night before — a quiet, ghostly reminder of everything you’d done in this ridiculous love hotel.
The sheets were wrapped around you like a cocoon, and when you turned over, the space beside you was empty. But only for a second. Because then Sunghoon walked in, shirtless, hair a mess, tray in hand. Room service.
“Good morning, superstar,” he grinned. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “You ordered food?”
“I ordered everything.”
He plopped the tray down on the bed — steaming rice bowls, tamagoyaki, cut fruit in flower shapes, and melonpan fresh enough that you could smell the butter. Two iced coffees sat sweating in the corner. You blinked. “You remembered melonpan?”
“You moaned about it in your sleep,” he teased, climbing back into bed. You slapped his chest lightly. “You’re lying.”
“Maybe,” he grinned. “Maybe I just like hearing you moan.”
You groaned, flopping face-first into a pillow. “Stop talking.”
He chuckled. “That’s rich, coming from someone who begged me in a fake train room last night.”
You threw the other pillow at him.
He caught it mid-air. “I’m keeping this one. Smells like your shampoo.”
You peeked out from under the sheets, still flushed.
“Are you… always like this in the morning?”
“Only when I wake up with my favorite person naked beside me.”
He leaned over to kiss your cheek.
Then your shoulder. Then your chest.
You shoved him back with a laugh. “Eat your breakfast.” “I’m trying, but my meal’s hiding under all those blankets—ow, okay, I’m done—!”
He handed you a cup of coffee like it was the holy grail. You drank. Grateful. Warm in more ways than one. After a moment of silence, your voice dropped.
“So… this isn’t just a one-time thing, right?”
Sunghoon didn’t hesitate.
“Babe. I came like a dozen times and cried into your neck. You’re not getting rid of me.” You snorted into your cup. He reached across the tray, brushing your fingers with his.
“I mean it. I want you. All the time. After we go home. Even when you’re being annoying.”
You narrowed your eyes. “When am I annoying?”
“Specially when your annoying,” he smiled. He reached for his phone and, without asking, snapped a picture of you wrapped in blankets, coffee cup in hand, cheeks flushed from laughter.
You groaned. “No—delete that—!”
“Nope,” he grinned, adding it to an album. “This is my favorite version of you. Hair messy, barely alive, and mine.”
You went still. Then softly, “Yours?”
He looked up. “Of course.” Then quieter.
“...Always hoped you’d be.” You leaned in and kissed him slow. Sleepy. Full of a new kind of sweetness.
“Okay,” you whispered. “So what now?”
Sunghoon leaned back against the headboard, arm around you.
“We’ll finish the trip,” he said. “Take more pictures. Eat ridiculous food.”
Then, with a cheeky grin:
“See if the other rooms here have different themes. Maybe one with clouds? A plane? Hospital bed—?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Okay, but hear me out—”
You shoved a piece of fruit into his mouth.
He chewed, smug.
Then he laced his fingers through yours.
“I want to do this every year,” he said seriously. “Travel. Get lost. End up somewhere weird.”
summary: you are the bane of lord jeong’s existence and the object of all his desires.
genre: fluff, angst, smut
warnings: enemies to lovers trope (kind of), fuckboy!jaehyun, arranged marriage trope, jaehyun is down bad, pussy eating, fingering, loss of virginity
As the new social season approaches, your rising anxiety increases tenfold.
It has been four years since you were introduced to society, which is deemed far too long to be unwed for a lady like yourself. Your mother is nearly chewing her own arm off in anticipation of you finding a husband. She definitely would have married you off to the first gentleman caller by now, but luckily for you, your father refuses to tie you to another man unless you provide your stamp of approval. He possesses a soft spot for his only child that your mother never understood.
Unfortunately, the pool of suitors is extremely lacking, forcing you to pass by season after season with no husband in sight.
“Perhaps this year will be different,” Yerim coos. “They say Mrs. Kim’s son is particularly eye-catching.”
“He’s also a right bore,” you grumble, locking your arms together as you stroll into Mrs. Kim’s soirée. You’ve heard many tales of her son, Doyoung, and how he’s finally ready to settle down and take a wife. However, you also heard he is unwilling to sit for a conversation for more than an hour, and how his expectations for his wife are skyrocketing through the roof. “Maybe I shall just put him out of his misery and marry Lee Donghyuck.”
She struggles to conceal her laughter. “I would love to see that.”
The night carries on as expected, with you and Yerim spending your time near the wall while the other ladies dance around the floor. You deny multiple requests for your hand, conjuring up excuses of a strained ankle or an upset stomach.
It is not until the end of the night when you are confronted with your lie.
“A poor tummy, hm? Perhaps you should have stayed home in case you heave all over Mrs. Kim’s beautiful floor,” Jeong Jaehyun says as he approaches you.
You roll your eyes. “I imagine you find it quite hard to mind your own business, Lord Jeong. I would rather not be subject to hearing your grating voice if it is not deemed necessary.”
Out of all the gentlemen in the ton, Jeong Jaehyun is the one who has stooped low enough to classify himself as a proper rake. A man who preys on the hearts of women and lacks commitment — a rake is not a man that a lady would ever want to associate herself with. They do not take the concept of marriage seriously, and you shall likely find them in the bed of another woman before they grace your own.
Jaehyun smirks at you in the way he knows will dig underneath your skin. He has been out in society just as long as you have, and every year, he never fails to irritate you to no end.
“No luck for you tonight? Tell me, what could possibly be wrong with the wonderful men gracing this room? How have they wronged you so that you have denied every single one of them?”
You try to look for an escape, but Yerim has already made an early departure and the rest of the ladies refuse to mingle with you in fear of also being dubbed as a lonely spinster.
“I did not know you were paying attention to me so ardently,” you bite back, and this has Jaehyun’s ears blooming bright red. You smile in satisfaction.
“I-I was not doing anything of t-the sort,” he stutters. “It is simply hard not to notice when you are the only lady actively rejecting possible suitors. If you really want to drive them away, you should just open your mouth and talk to them. That shall have them running for the hills.”
You narrow your eyes and wonder how much of a scolding you shall receive from your mother if you threw your drink in his face. He guesses what you must be thinking, cupping his hand over your glass and handing it to a nearby staff member.
He continues, stepping closer into your personal space. “Soon enough, the only ones who will be left in this ballroom will be me and you.”
“I loathe the day,” you hiss. “It would personally be my worst nightmare.”
He winks at you. “Trust me, you shall not find a gentleman better than me.”
You hear someone clearing their throat and you both glance over to see Kim Doyoung standing in front of you. You immediately drop to a curtsy at his presence, and you hear Jaehyun scoff at the fact that you did not grant him the same etiquette.
“I hope I am not interrupting, Miss,” Doyoung says.
“Of course not, Lord Kim,” you reply. “Lord Jeong was just telling me how he plans to retire early for the night.”
Jaehyun raises an eyebrow at you and you return his bewildered expression with a heated glare. You would be very content if he made himself useful somewhere else, likely with his hands underneath another maiden’s dress.
“Yes, it seems I have another obligation to head to for the night,” Jaehyun says through gritted teeth, displeased by your dismissal of him. “I shall thank your mother for being a spectacular host before my leave, Lord Kim.”
Doyoung nods once. “It would be much appreciated. Thank you, Lord Jeong.”
Jaehyun departs with one more scathing look thrown your way. You grin to yourself, happy to be rid of his presence, until Doyoung starts speaking and ruins your night.
“I have heard from your mother that you are in search of a husband. I find myself in a similar boat, and I would much enjoy it if you were to accept my offer for tea tomorrow afternoon.”
You could say no. It would not be hard to make up another excuse, but your mother would be absolutely livid to discover you have turned down an offer from Doyoung, especially after she practically handed him to you on a silver platter.
One afternoon of tea shall not kill you.
“That sounds lovely. I look forward to our discussion.”
When you turn to beeline for the exit, you catch a pair of eyes peering over at you, and you swear you see a flash of Jaehyun’s hair before he disappears into the crowd.
Hm. You must be seeing things.
—
Your mother acts as if afternoon tea with Doyoung equates to an audience with the king.
She dresses you in a gown she brings out for special occasions and has your handmaidens spray perfume on you until you are drowning in the floral scent. When she accompanies you to the tea parlor, she lists out your annoying habits that you should try to avoid.
You were not made aware that you possessed so many.
“And the way you look at him, darling, it is extremely unflattering. He can tell you hate him by the way you desire to burn him alive with your gaze. Stare at him with conviction. Make his loins stir from one simple glance at you.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Mother, I shall say that I find this advice to be highly unhelpful.”
She growls at you. “You are nearly four and twenty without a single acceptance for a suitor’s hand in marriage. You shall adhere to any advice I am willing to offer you.”
Doyoung helps take out your chair like a gentleman, and you thank him while your mother sits one table behind you, eavesdropping on your conversation.
He cuts straight to the chase. “What traits do you envision for your future husband to possess?”
Your grip tightens around your teacup. You wonder what to say to ward him off, to get him to move onto the next lady.
“A man who will let me maintain my own hobbies and interests. I want to have children on my own time, not on the timeline my husband sets for me,” you answer, knowing that it is not the typical response a lady of your breeding is supposed to say. You are supposed to submit to your husband’s preferences instead of prioritizing your own. “I ask that he respects my wishes and swears his loyalty to me. I will not, in any circumstances, marry a rake.”
“This one is all bark and no bite, Doyoung. I would not take her threats to heart.”
You clench your jaw when Jaehyun approaches your table with a wide smirk on his face. He appears to be dressed for tea as well, but you see no partner by his side to accompany him. He must be here simply to intervene in your meeting with Doyoung.
“Lord Jeong,” you greet in clear distaste. “I was not aware you had been frequenting tea parlors as of late.”
“Ah, you must not be enlightened of my many passions then,” he replies with a cheeky smile. You resist the urge to slap it off of his face. “The madam who runs this shop has a fond affection for me. I always like to drop by and grab a free pastry.”
“How kind of you to take from the hard work of the common people at no charge,” you challenge with the tilt of your head.
Doyoung clears his throat when he senses the tension between you and Jaehyun rising with every scathing remark. You glance back to see your mother staring at you in abhorrence, and you quickly straighten your posture and adjust your tone.
“I apologize, Lord Jeong. I have been enjoying my time with Lord Kim. I am certain you have somewhere else you need to be.”
Jaehyun, to your chagrin, pulls up a chair. “Actually, my schedule is wide open for the day. I would love to join you.”
Doyoung stares at you, wordlessly asking if this is normal behavior, but you are too pissed off to respond. If Jaehyun wanted to cause a scene, he could have done so when you are not trying to prove to your mother that you still care about searching for a husband.
Your fingernails dig into the corner of the table and you lean forward to hiss at Jaehyun.
“Are you positive you have nowhere else to be?”
He smiles. “Absolutely. Now, catch me up on what you two were discussing. I would love to throw my hat into the conversation.”
Evidently, you and Doyoung have yet to be on the same wavelength for what you should and should not bring up in front of Jaehyun.
“I was asking her what she looks for in her future spouse.”
Jaehyun turns to you with a smirk. “Oh, is that so? Well, please, do not silence yourself on my behalf. I would love to hear the answer.”
“I already gave it to him,” you say in exasperation. “Maybe we should turn the tables on you. What does a rake like Jeong Jaehyun look for in a wife? Likely one that easily spreads her legs?”
You hear a gasp from behind you, and you know it is your mother’s shock at your candor. But you shall not allow Jaehyun to get the better of you and humiliate you in front of Doyoung. You hardly care if this statement will earn you a reputation for your crass nature.
The corner of Jaehyun’s lips twitches in amusement, only fueling fire to your flame.
“I would like for my wife to challenge me. It is not as fun when they comply with my every demand,” he says, and you fail to realize how the distance between you has closed in your heated spat. “I like a lady who knows how to speak up for herself, to voice her thoughts without concern for anyone else’s feelings.”
You scoff. Where in the world is Jaehyun going to find a lady like that?
“Good luck with your search, Lord Jeong. I have conviction that there is at least one lady out there who is meant to be with you.”
“I really should be going,” Doyoung says, standing and nearly toppling over the table.
You glance up at him in alarm. “Oh, I am sorry, Lord Kim. Let me just gather my things and-”
“No need, Miss. It must have slipped my mind that my mother asked for my presence back at home. I hope you enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
He scurries out of the tea parlor as if the place had been set to flames. You stare after him with your jaw dropped, offended by his poor excuse to leave you behind.
You growl at Jaehyun. “Oh, you have seriously done it now, Jeong.”
“Come on. Do not tell me you were actually considering that man to be your husband.”
Your mother’s figure looms over you and you shyly look up to meet her judgmental gaze head on.
“I believe it is time for us to return home. We hope you have a wonderful evening, Lord Jeong.”
You’re dragged away by the crook of your arm, glaring at Jaehyun while your mother dishes out the biggest scolding you have ever received in your life.
—
“Your mother has brought me a proposal that I think may be in your favor.”
Your father is hesitant when he enters your study, catching you reading books by the fire. It is often the pastime you favor when your mother is upset with you, which has become more frequent in the past year. Your father is the one who searches out for you to try and talk you down, amending your qualms with your mother for a harmonious household.
“I shall not marry Kim Doyoung, father,” you say with the shake of your head. “He embarrassed me in front of the entire ton today! I will not be able to stave away the mortification for days.”
He sits next to you on the chaise lounge and looks at you solemnly.
“I have not come to converse about Kim Doyoung. I am speaking about Jeong Jaehyun.”
You furrow your eyebrows. “What does Lord Jeong have to do with this? He is the reason why Lord Kim fled from me in the first place.”
Your father wrings his hands around nervously, and you speculate on what has him so antsy. He is usually very candid with you about your behavior, which means you must have crossed a hard line if he’s withholding information from you.
“Lord Jeong’s mother came around this afternoon after your incident at the tea parlor. She thinks her son is acting far too reckless and wants him to settle down. She is considering sending him to his uncle’s house in the country if he does not start listening to her wishes.”
“That does not sound like a bad idea,” you reply with a giggle.
He offers you a strained smile. “Yes, your mother was thinking the same thing. Except she was imagining it for you.”
You leap out of your seat. He must be lying. Your mother cannot possibly be entertaining the idea of shipping you off to her brother’s house. He lives on acres and acres of land without a soul in sight except for the farm animals he cares for.
It would be your absolute nightmare.
“Father, please tell me you objected to this,” you plead, your heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach.
“Of course I did, darling,” he sighs, assuring you. “But then your mother and Lord Jeong’s came to an agreement that I could not oppose. I saved you from being shipped off, but in a few months’ time, you shall find yourself married to Jeong Jaehyun.”
You gasp. “F-Father, you cannot! You promised that I would get the final approval!”
He takes your hands in his and pulls you back towards his side. You are trembling at the picture of you and Jaehyun living as husband and wife. You would fight everyday and drive yourselves into a haze of madness.
“Darling, there shall never ever be a man good enough for you. I knew it from the day you were born, but your mother’s insistence on this matter has forced my hand. I think Jaehyun is a fine young man. You may not grow to love him, but he shall never put you in harm’s way. It is the most important quality a father can ask of his son-in-law.”
You start to tear up. “Please, father. Do not do this. Do not make me marry him.”
He pities you. “We shall start slow, darling. He shall be your escort to Mrs. Park’s upcoming ball and we shall ease into announcing your engagement. If he does anything untoward or compromises your virtue, I swear to you I shall back out of this deal.”
“But why can you not back out now?” You whine, wiping away the tears streaming down your face. “Why can you not save me now?”
He winces as if your pain physically brings him harm. You understand your father has bailed you out of your mother’s many propositions before, but you honestly cannot let this one slip through. Jaehyun is the exact opposite of who you envision yourself marrying.
He has to be just as horrified by this proposal as you are. You have no doubt he’s sitting in a similar situation to you, arguing with his mother over her ultimate decision to alter the course of his life. This must be the first agreement you have landed on in history.
“You shall not realize it now, but I am saving you from a lifetime of heartache, trust me.”
You spend the rest of the night weeping in your bedchamber, burdened by Jaehyun’s constant overbearing presence in your life. You think back on all of the memories you have of him, and if this changes the way you feel about your inevitable coupling.
—
When you first met Jaehyun, it had been your first season out in society. You were optimistic back then, drinking in the fairytales of finding your one true love at your first ball.
You were not the only one jaded by love as many of the other ladies your age had fantasized about their first ball as an eligible lady for years. You would gossip to each other while promenading around the veranda, dreaming of the young bachelor who would swoop you up in his arms and make all your dreams come true.
You had known a few of the men from growing up with them as noble families. They were usually brothers of your closest friends, and your nose would twist in disgust at the thought of being courted by them. You were stubborn about your choice in a husband even back then.
Jaehyun had been the talk of the town that year. He already made an impression on the older ladies, winning them to his side with his dimples and classic charm. You heard of him through Yerim and how many of the other ladies were vying after the massive amount of wealth in his estate. He was one of the richest bachelors of the season, and any lady who was wed to him would automatically be elevated to a higher social status.
You assumed that because of his upbringing, he would act in a more gentleman-like fashion than the rest of his peers. You were proved wrong by his display of behavior at your first ball.
“Is he planning to dance with every lady in this room?” You asked Yerim, watching as Jaehyun once again swept through the floor with a different lady latched onto his arm. “I mean, every dance card in this place has his name written on it.”
She laughed at you. “Can you blame him? He has a lot of prospects. Everyone knows he’s the first pick of the season.”
“It is disrespectful. He is toying with their feelings for his own amusement. I do not like it.”
She poked you with a twinkle of mischief sparkling in her eyes. “No, you do not like that he has not asked you. You want a chance with him, do you not?”
You scoffed at the assumption. “Absolutely not. I have my sights set on a much higher man than Lord Jeong.”
You were so adamant on your superiority over him that when he approached you later that night for a dance, you swiftly rejected him.
“I think you have had enough dances for the night. Would you not agree, Lord Jeong?”
He narrowed his eyes at you, likely wondering what he had done to already get on your bad side.
“One more shall not bring me harm. Unless your dancing skills are not up to par, Miss?”
You grinned at him. “My dancing skills are meant for a man who shall actually appreciate my talents instead of using me to cross another name off his list.”
That was the first time you had drawn Jaehyun’s interest.
—
Your mother had not been so gracious with you by your second year.
You had fumbled through a shoddy proposal from Kim Jungwoo, who was far too nervous to actually place a ring on your finger. You unfortunately injured his ego way too far for him to recover, and he quickly withdrew his proposal with his tail tucked between his legs.
Your mother blamed you for the ordeal and ordered at least five new dresses for you to present yourself in your second season. Luckily, Yerim had not caught any gentleman callers either, and you two began flocking together at every event.
By then, Jaehyun’s infamous status as a rake had spread across the ton.
He had been spotted slipping out of brothels late at night, flirting with married women when their husbands were away, and escorting random ladies to balls just for the fun of it. You never possessed a single ounce of respect for him.
Despite this, Jaehyun would not seem to leave you alone.
Every time you turned a corner, he would be there, waiting to surprise you with an insult or tease you about your almost-marriage with Jungwoo.
“Must we keep meeting like this?” He said after the season was nearly halfway over and you had just turned down another suggestion to dance. He stalked you all the way to the bowl of lemonade while you tried to ignore his grating voice. “No one here is up to your caliber?”
“What do you want, Jeong?” You spat out, tired of his nonsense. “I thought you would be halfway down the street by now, searching for an open brothel.”
He chuckled at your jest. “They have put up warning signs about me to all the women. Apparently I caused a few too many internal fights over my rugged good looks.”
You rolled your eyes. “I find it more likely that they figured out you are sexually impotent.”
“There is only one way to find out for yourself, hm?”
“I would rather gauge my own eyes out.”
“What’s the matter? Am I not as pretty as Jungwoo?”
Johnny Suh had been the one to rescue you, asking you for a dance, which was the first offer you accepted that night. You would glance to the side from time to time to catch Jaehyun’s gaze following you around the floor, but you preoccupied yourself by staying near Johnny, preventing the loathsome creature from approaching you again.
—
Johnny had gotten married to Lady Joohyun by the next year, leaving you without a regular dance partner in your third season. Many believed he would propose to you, but you knew that he had only wanted to make Joohyun jealous after his confession to you one night.
Jaehyun, surprisingly, did not bother you whenever you were with Johnny. He had been noticeably absent from any ball where Johnny was your escort.
You believed your luck had taken a turn until your first appearance after Johnny’s marriage.
“Well well well,” you heard his drawl from a mile away. Yerim looked at you hesitantly after you tensed by her side. “Look who has decided to make an appearance on her own.”
At the time, you were giddy about your chances of a husband that season. Many noblemen had returned from vacation with friends and distant relatives accompanying them, nearly doubling the pool of gentlemen at your disposal.
You were absolutely not going to allow Jaehyun to ruin the year for you. You decided to play civil, to hopefully make amends and let bygones be bygones.
“Lord Jeong,” you greeted with a curtsy, which had Jaehyun stifling a chuckle. “How lovely to see you here.”
“Is it?” He replied with a raise of his eyebrow. “If I recall, you compared me to a horrid bug staining the bottom of your shoe just a few months ago.”
Yerim pursed her lips to prevent a cacophony of laughter from slipping out. You squeezed her arm with a scolding glance.
“That was the old me, Lord Jeong. I am a new woman, so you see. I am about to become a bride after all.”
“A bride? To whom have you been betrothed to? I have heard no news of your engagement,” he said in a flurry, his eyes flashing with a panic for reasons unbeknownst to you.
“You have not heard news of my engagement yet,” you emphasized. “The night is young and I am a very willing maiden. Therefore, if you’ll excuse us-”
“If you are so willing, then shall you entertain me with a dance?” He questioned as he held out one hand, challenging you.
You clenched your jaw in frustration. You were all in favor of extending an olive branch, but dancing with him at the first ball of the season was a tad too far. You did not want to be making a statement for yourself by befriending Jaehyun’s company.
The ladies would assume you held no dignity for yourself and the gentlemen would be appalled by your association with him.
“I have already promised my first dance with Lord Lee,” you lied through your teeth. You knew Donghyuck would not mind dancing with you just to save you from Jaehyun. “I shall see you around, Lord Jeong.”
If you had known better, you would have caught the dejected expression on Jaehyun’s face after you refused him. But all you could remember from that night was his teasing smirk and the playful lilt in his voice as he mocked you.
—
Your memories of Jaehyun do not assure you in the slightest that your parents have made the right decision.
Yerim comes over the next morning after the news of your forced marriage, soothing your cries with warm pastries and fresh tea. She rubs your back while you lay in bed, moaning for your misfortune.
“It is not that horrible,” she says in an attempt to pacify you. “At least he is good looking.”
You blink up at her. “Are you serious? I hardly care about his looks, Yerim! He is deplorable! He does not have a single redeeming quality. My mother wants to ruin my life, I am positive about that fact. How could any other suitor ever want me again once I have been tainted by Jeong Jaehyun?”
She chews on her lower lip. “I know you are not fond of him, but he may not say the same for you.”
Her statement has you peeking over your pillow, curious to hear more. She catches your gaze and exhales sharply.
“Have you ever noticed that he attends events when he knows you plan to be there? Or how he talks about you to everyone who will listen? He may have a reputation for being a rake, but you are the only lady he has asked to dance with since our first season.”
The information slowly dawns on you, but Yerim must be imagining things. Jaehyun has never felt any real romantic feelings towards you. You remain faithful that you share this conviction with him.
You shake your head. “He is deluding you as well. Trust me, Yerim, I know where Jaehyun’s true feelings lie.”
She eventually helps you get out of bed and you fail to exchange a single word with your mother while you break your fast. Yerim nudges for you to say the first word but you refuse.
Your mother only acknowledges your presence later in the night when you are due to be escorted to your first public appearance with Jaehyun.
“You are not dressed.”
You brush your hair in front of the mirror, humming softly to yourself. Yerim left to prepare herself in her own home, but you wish she had stayed to help you fight this battle with your mother.
“That is because I am not going.”
“Whatever game this is that you are playing, I do not find it amusing in the slightest. Lord Jeong will be here within the next hour and I expect you to welcome him downstairs with a proper gown and your best smile.”
As your handmaidens help you into your dress, they exchange knowing glances with each other until you grow tired of their mind games.
“May I inquire what has piqued your interest?” You ask in a bored tone.
Seulgi, your handmaiden of over five years, smiles gently at you. She has been dressing you since your first season, and is very aware how irritated you can get during times like these.
“The staff have just been discussing, Miss, since your mother announced your plans for engagement. We have been in communication with the staff employed at Lord Jeong’s household.”
You perk up slightly. “Is that so? And what have you discovered?”
Seulgi beams at you. “Lord Jeong is positively delighted by your coupling. The staff has never seen him more alert. He has been placing orders for brand new decor for your wing of the house and has requested for his staff to research your favorite delicacies to stock the cupboards. It is quite endearing.”
You frown. Jaehyun has wormed his way into the minds of your handmaidens too. His ability to manipulate others should honestly be lauded.
“How sweet of him,” you say through gritted teeth, holding back your true feelings. Although they spend more time with you, your handmaidens are employed by your mother, which means anything you say in front of them could be parroted back to her.
You devise a plan while they continue to adorn you in jewelry and work at pinning up your hair. If you could get Jaehyun to call off this marriage, you are certain his mother would relent. Your cries may go unanswered because you are simply a woman who was born into the right family, but Jaehyun will run his own household after he is married, which means he has superiority over his mother’s decisions.
You hear his voice filter from up the stairs when you walk out of your room.
“It is honestly my pleasure, madam. Your daughter is a gift that I promise to treasure.”
You huff. Where does he keep pulling these lines from?
As you walk down the steps, you take in the scene unfolding in your foyer. Your parents are speaking to Jaehyun with radiating smiles, laughing at every little thing he says. His mother stands closely behind him, joining in on the laughter with a chuckle here and there.
When your heel hits the last step, they turn to you. For the first time, you identify the twinkle in Jaehyun’s eye that tells you he’s excited to see you.
Could Yerim be right? Does Jeong Jaehyun like you?
“There she is,” your mother says, tugging you over and pretending she wasn’t upset with you an hour ago. “She is beautiful, is she not, Lord Jeong?”
“Stunning,” he whispers, and you desperately want to punch him in the face.
“Let us head out, shall we? We do not want to run late,” you say, itching to remove yourself from the spotlight. Jaehyun nods in agreement, outstretching his arm for you to take it, and you reluctantly wrap your fingers around his bicep. You lead the way to the carriage waiting outside, murmuring loudly under your breath so Jaehyun can hear you. “You are so dead to me, Jeong.”
He helps you into your carriage, and you don’t miss the pained look in his eyes as he forces a smile onto his face.
—
Jaehyun never wanted to fall in love.
He has witnessed enough of his friends losing their sanity over the matter, finding themselves on the receiving end of their mother’s meddling into their lives. Some of them have found happiness while the others have settled for what they were given.
Although Jaehyun is the only child and he knows he must marry to continue his lineage, he never imagined he would marry for love. He would likely find a well-bred lady, one who would simply finish her duty in childbearing and leave him alone otherwise.
Before tying himself to her, he desired a little recklessness in his life. He tugged on the heartstrings of the ladies in the ton and stopped by brothels when he was searching for something quick and fast. It earned him a reputation but he hardly cared about what other noble families thought of him. He knew at the end of the day, they prioritized the wealth of his estate far more than his outside trysts, which means he would have no issue in securing a wife when he wanted to.
He really was not intending on taking an interest in you.
His mother had educated him on the ladies of his season, so he knew a little of your background. You are also the only child in your family, but being born a daughter means you must get married to receive an ounce of your father’s wealth. Still, this fact never seems to spur you on in your quest for a husband. He has noticed other ladies approach him quite confidently yet you stay sidelined at every ball, waiting for the gentlemen to come to you, even though you refuse most of their offers to dance.
And he shall admit that your adamant refusal to dance with him has him intrigued.
Although the other ladies are appalled by his reputation, they remain courteous enough to accept a dance or two, mingling with him when they see fit. Since his first season, Jaehyun has made it his own personal mission to get you to join him on the floor, come hell or high water.
He just never expected forcing you to marry him as being the catalyst for you to adhere to his wishes.
“You shall tell your mother that you want to call this marriage off,” you say as soon as the swell of the music starts and you take to the floor.
He takes a step towards you with a raised eyebrow. “And why would I do that?”
“Because I am positively certain I will make your life a living hell if I become your wife. You may not favor me now, but you shall surely detest me once I am finished with you.”
But as you twirl around the floor, he fails to find his voice to tell you that he does not harbor any hatred for you at all. You may play those parts in public and it may be true for you, but Jaehyun has never thought of you as the chip on his shoulder.
The rest of the ton stares at you with wide eyes, whispering to one another about the sudden closeness between you.
“Is marrying me such a stain on your character? What, am I not on par with the likes of Kim Jungwoo and Johnny Suh?”
It infuriated him to no end when Jungwoo was courting you. The man did not even know a single thing about you! He was lured in by your pretty face, and Jaehyun snickered to himself when Jungwoo soon discovered that you have an independent mind, judging the man whenever he uttered the wrong thing. Jaehyun was over the moon when Jungwoo ended your courtship.
Johnny, however, was a player that Jaehyun was not expecting. The man was tall, handsome, and could definitely handle your sharp edges better than Jungwoo. Jaehyun worried that you two would actually marry so he shipped himself off for a vacation to avoid seeing you walk down the aisle. He was content when he returned home and learned you were still single.
“Marrying you would tarnish my reputation. I cannot imagine the other ladies respecting the woman who ties herself to the world’s most infamous rake.”
He falters at the insult from you. When his mother had approached him with the idea to marry you, she expected him to swiftly turn it down, so it came as a surprise that he accepted the deal fairly quickly. He honestly could not stand the thought of you marrying the boring Kim Doyoung. The man would not understand how to entertain you, how to keep you on your toes and humor you.
He would never say it out loud, but the prospect of you becoming his wife satisfied him. He could already picture you running his estate with an iron fist, organizing the awful ledgers he has to sort through and checking if each member of the staff is well taken care of.
He wants it. He wants to wake up next to you. He wants to dance with you when there is no one else around. He wants to bury himself into you, listen to your sweet little moans as he tangles a hand through your hair-
He shakes his head to ward away the lewd thoughts threatening to crawl forward. The music slowly comes to a lull, and before he can stop you, you are darting out of his grasp and heading towards the balcony.
He sees your mother attempt to follow you but he stops her with the raise of his hand. He shadows you, keeping his eyes trained on the floral pattern of your gown.
He stops when you saunter out, slamming the doors shut behind you as you lean over the railing to catch your breath. He observes you silently, watching as you sigh and run your fingers through your hair, taking it out of its neat updo.
He waits a little before joining you in the open space.
“I did not realize I would become such a burden for you,” he whispers as you stand side by side.
You scowl at him. “How did you think I would react? Did you think I would jump into your arms and you would carry me off into the sunset?”
“You hate all of the gentlemen in the ton. You have to concede to this fact. And I understand I am not better than the rest of them, but you know me. I would never bend your will or coerce you into submission. You will be free to do as you please, I will not prevent you from your happiness.”
“But you are preventing me! Does this not register with you? I do not want to marry you. You must feel the same way, do you not?”
He hesitates, and the brief second seems to confirm your answer. You exhale and your hands tighten their grip on the railing.
“How long?” You ask in a small voice.
He swallows. “I do not know.”
“I cannot marry you, Jaehyun.”
“I shall inform my mother of your decision tonight. I apologize for causing you grief.”
You spin and saunter back into the ballroom, leaving Jaehyun’s heart crumpled into a mess on the floor.
—
Jaehyun plans to escape his troubles by embarking on a year-long vacation.
Perhaps it is enough time to move on from you, to stop worrying about you all the time and wondering who you might be with. His announcement to the staff about ending your engagement before it has even come to life has his mother in tears. They were instructed to halt all preparations for your wing of the estate and to eat whatever stock of food they had purchased for you.
He’s barely holding himself together as he packs up his things, intent on leaving and not coming back until he is ready to face high society again.
“Lord Jeong, you have a visitor at the door.”
“I am fairly occupied,” he says without missing a beat, grabbing any article of clothing he can find and throwing it into his suitcase.
But then they tell him that you are the one waiting by the door, and that has his feet moving swiftly.
You are fidgeting in the foyer, squirming as members of his household staff walk around you, carrying pieces of the decor that was meant for your bedroom.
“Lord Jeong,” you say with a curtsy, and his eyebrows furrow from the contrast of your behavior last night to today.
“How may I help you?” He asks coldly, desperately wanting to distance himself from you. You never make any task easy for him.
“I wanted to continue our conversation.”
“I did not think there was much more to say. You made your feelings very clear.”
“May we speak in private?”
He guides you into his office, leaving the door open an inch in an effort not to compromise you. You clear your throat once you are alone.
“I have thought it over and have decided to accept your proposal.”
He narrows his eyes. “You have decided to accept? Forgive me, but the last time we spoke, you distinctly voiced your opposition to marrying me. What has changed?”
You look away, your mouth twisting in the way it does when you are particularly peeved by him.
“You are right,” you admit begrudgingly. “I do not like any of the gentlemen in the ton, and I fear I never will. At least with you, I shall still have my freedom and get my mother off my back. I cannot stand another season of this — the balls, the dresses, the constant dancing. I am tired and I just want to live.”
The tension in his shoulders starts to fade. It is not exactly what he wants to hear, but he will take your acceptance if it means he does not have to leave for a year just to forget you.
“So we are carrying through with this?”
You purse your lips. “I cannot fall in love with you. Not in the way you want me to.”
He nods. “T-That is perfectly fine. I was not expecting you to.”
“And we will forgo childbearing until it is absolutely necessary.”
“That sounds plausible.”
“And Yerim is allowed to come over whenever it suits her.”
“Of course.”
You chew on your bottom lip and he resists the urge to take it in between his teeth.
“Where is my ring?”
He blinks twice. “Forgive me?”
“My ring. You must have one picked out.”
He pats his pockets but blanches when he realizes he’s not carrying his mother’s ring with him.
“Can you wait here for a second?”
He sprints upstairs to his mother’s room, startling her handmaidens when he pounds on her door. She opens it with wide eyes.
“Jaehyun, what-”
“Where is your ring?” He asks breathlessly. “The one that father gave you?”
“In my jewelry box. Why?”
“May I have it? Now? Please?”
She fumbles around to look for it, and Jaehyun bounces on the balls of his feet while he waits, fearful that if he does not get that ring on your finger, you shall disappear through the front door and he will never see you again. As soon as his mother hands him the band, he runs back down to his office, relieved when he sees you still standing by the window.
He drops to one knee in front of you and you stare back at him, unamused. He decides to skip the speech in case you change your mind, slipping the ring on your finger as you admire the diamond sparkling in the light.
“It is beautiful,” you murmur, and he thanks the heavens for your approval. You lower your hand as you state, “I shall not attend another lousy ball just for show. We shall wed as soon as we can and negotiate the details after.”
Like a puppy chasing after its tail, he submits to your every request, dreaming of you and him under one roof.
—
The next week is chaos in the Jeong household.
Members of the staff rush left and right, preparing themselves for a wedding they thought had been called off. The favorite gossip of the ton have been surrounding your wedding, pertaining to why you were getting married this quickly, how you went from despising one another to falling in love, and if tying the knot would finally promote Jaehyun from being a rake to a proper lord.
Jaehyun is keen to sit back and watch it all unfold. He has barely seen you as you have been wrapped up in dress fittings and moving your belongings into his home.
It is only the night before your wedding that you rush to his office in a panicked state.
He is startled when the door swings open and you stand there in nothing but your nightgown. You hold a candle in your hand as you scurry to his side.
“What-” he starts, wondering what could be troubling you.
“My mother has divulged to me what a husband is meant to do to his wife on the night of their wedding. I shall inform you that I do not approve of such indiscretions, if that was not made clear before.”
His cheeks flush red when it dawns on him what you must be referring to. Yes, he has conjured up many fantasies late at night, but he never assumed you would willingly lie with him on your first night together as husband and wife.
“Y-Yes, that is understood.”
“Furthermore, I shall not become the wife who sits idly by while you run to a brothel to satisfy your needs. You shall only lie with me, when I feel I am prepared and ready to accept you.”
He leans back in his seat, one eyebrow raised. “Do you think so low of me that I would disrespect you in such a public fashion?”
You huff. “Jaehyun, I am astonished that you have not done so already.”
He narrows his eyes. Before he can retort, the door bursts wide open again and your handmaiden comes rushing in.
“I apologize profusely, Lord Jeong!” She cries. “We were not made aware of her destination. You are not meant to see her like this-”
“You do not need to apologize to him, Seulgi,” you interject with a sigh. “And he shall learn to see all sides of me soon enough.”
Your handmaiden stutters for a response but you poke your finger at Jaehyun with a stern gaze.
“Do not dare forget what I said.”
“How can I when you come traipsing through here in the middle of the night, disturbing me before the biggest day of our lives?”
You exit with a dramatic flair, slamming the doors behind you as your handmaiden follows after. He slumps in his chair, exhausted and wondering how far he has to go to earn your trust.
His mother wakes him the next morning bright and early, chirping happily for the marriage she has waited years for. He readies himself on his own, pulling on his stuffy suit and tie. He thinks about how you must be faring with the glitz and glamour.
His mother and yours had invited almost the entire population of the city to the wedding. People that Jaehyun has never met in his life greet him at the chapel, congratulating him for the momentous occasion. He thanks them with a nervous smile, worried if you will actually show up at the end of the aisle.
Thankfully, when the music plays and the doors open, you step out, dressed in a long, satin white gown. He loses his breath when he looks at you, the picture perfect beauty of a bride. You hesitate under the scrutiny of the ton’s gazes, tightening your grip around your father’s arm.
Jaehyun inhales and exhales slowly. His heart is beating so hard that he can hear the thumping echo in his ears. He can hardly believe this day has come, and even more so that you agreed to marry him.
You must be running through the same thought process, for when your father hands you over to Jaehyun, you stare at him wide eyed. He takes your hand in his, soothing you by running his thumb over the back of your wrist. It unwinds you a little when you stand in front of the priest.
The priest drones on and on about eternal love and the sacred vow between husband and wife. Jaehyun keeps his eyes trained on you, watching you from the corner of his eye to ensure you are faring well.
When you turn to him to seal your lips in a kiss, his heart stops beating.
“Breathe,” he whispers just before his mouth touches yours. He can feel you trembling in his hold.
“Why do they have to keep looking at us?” You murmur.
“Because you are too pretty for them to look away.”
“You are full of it, Lord Jeong.”
His tongue traces over your bottom lip before he can stop himself. A couple’s first kiss at their wedding should be a light peck, something God would approve of.
Jaehyun does not give a damn what God thinks.
There is a small gasp in the audience when his tongue slips into your mouth. You arch into him, calm for the first time in hours.
When you break away, you blink up at him, and his curiosity flares up. Did it feel good for you too?
The crowd erupts in applause and you step away from him, smiling shyly at them. Jaehyun kicks into autopilot, walking you back down the aisle as you laugh with the people surrounding you.
When you are escorted into the gardens for your reception, he swallows.
“Well, it is over.”
You purse your lips. “Y-Yes. That kiss was-”
Your mother comes around the corner, crying as she envelops you in a hug. You pat her back awkwardly as she sobs.
“Oh, darling, I am so happy for you! So, so happy!”
Then Jaehyun’s mother mobs him, cooing about how handsome he looks. You find yourselves on opposite ends of the large space, controlling the flock of people who demand to know the next steps of your marriage.
Jaehyun fields questions left and right that are clearly an invasion of his privacy.
“How many children do you two want to have?”
“I think the best time to start making babies is right after the wedding. It’s when your hormones are at their peak. Do you not agree, Lord Jeong?”
“My theory is that you should lock yourselves away for at least two months so the seed will sprout and grow. Does that not sound wonderful?”
By the time he finds his way back to you, you both are worse for wear.
“Lord Jeong, Lady Jeong!”
You grab Jaehyun’s hand and sprint into the hedge maze. He tries not to trip over your skirt as you weave through the walls of the garden, catching your breath once you find yourselves trapped in the middle.
“They are incessant vultures!” You hiss, ripping the veil from your hair and tossing it to the side. “I mean, honestly. Who granted them the authority to decide when and how I should have a child?”
“Lady Baek almost gave me advice on how her husband gets it up! As if I need to hear such disturbing counsel regarding a man about to turn seventy!” He grunts.
You shudder. “We shall camp out here until they have all grown too tired to stick around. What was my mother thinking when she invited that many people?”
You collapse on the ground together, paying no mind to the grass stains covering your dress or the dirt coating the bottom of his pants. You listen to the steady sound of each other’s breathing, grateful to be away from the incessant noise.
He clears his throat. “What were you saying earlier? About the kiss?”
You cough. “Oh, um, nothing. It was merely surprising, that is all.”
“Sorry if I did not live up to your expectations.”
“That was not what I meant,” you mumble, fiddling with the fabric of your dress. “I hardly expected you to kiss me so… passionately. In all of the weddings I have attended, the groom never devours his bride like that.”
“I did not devour you,” he corrects, flustered by your accusation.
A moment passes before you burst into a fit of laughter. He should be mad with you, but when he glances over to see you giggling into your palm, he finds the corners of his lips lifting upwards.
You settle into your harmonious laughter for a few minutes, riding on the blissful cloud of your new marriage. He did not think it had become such a huge burden on his shoulders, but he is relieved he no longer has to deal with mingling in crowded ballrooms, debating on whether he should ask you to dance or leave entirely.
The recollection has him springing to his feet. You stare up at him in confusion when he holds out his hand.
“Join me.”
“You cannot be serious, Jaehyun.”
He clicks his tongue. “I obliged to all of your rules. Come here and dance with me.”
You grumble as he helps pull you up. Once you are in his arms, he wraps a hand around your waist, holding you steady as you rest your hand on his shoulder.
The moonlight dances over your features and he swears he has never seen a sight more beautiful.
“Yerim was telling me something the other day that I found interesting,” you say.
He quirks up an eyebrow. “What did she say?”
“That you only attend balls when I am present. And that you will speak about me to anyone who will listen.”
“Do not let it go to your head,” he teases weakly.
You do not allow him to escape that easily because evidently, you love to embarrass him at any given chance.
“How long, Jaehyun?”
He thinks about the night out on the balcony when you were asking him this question with the intention to break his heart and never return.
“A long time,” he confesses. “Likely when we first met.”
You shake your head. “Why? Why me? Out of all the women in the ton-”
“The rest of the women in the ton could never hold a candle to you,” he swears, looking deep into your eyes, hoping you memorize every word. “I know you think of me as a reckless rake who will insert myself into any woman’s bed, but you must know how devoted I am to you. You are the only person I find myself laughing with, the only person who can keep up with me and drive me insane all at once. I dream of you. I understand this marriage is all a means to an end to you, but you are the only lady I have ever wanted.”
He nearly chokes when you pounce on him, smashing your lips together until he’s stumbling back into the hedges. His hands rest on your hips as you chase after him.
Your tongues fight for dominance and he realizes just how hungry he is. He has been holding himself back to preserve your dignity, but with God as his witness, you are now his wife and he gets to make you writhe in pleasure if it is his sole desire.
He bunches up your skirt, slipping his hand underneath the mountains of fabric. He growls when your corset gets in the way of the prize he really wants.
“Get this off,” he hisses, tugging at the tight strands that hug your bodice.
“Our mothers will come looking for us,” is all you can reply with.
“I do not care,” he says. “I need you.”
But a gasp interrupts your fervent entanglement. You jump apart to see his mother standing in front of you, appalled by the sight of you two.
“Jeong Jaehyun, I raised you to be a gentleman!” She scolds, approaching you and helping you look presentable again. You avoid her glare. “You both need a lesson in understanding what is acceptable for you to do in public. Just because you are married does not give you the right to behave like animals!”
She tugs you away with a huff, and Jaehyun’s head crashes against the hedge, his cock aching to be stuffed inside you.
—
You are avoiding your husband.
You do not know what has gotten into you. At first, you were loathing the creature you were forced to marry, hoping one day he would magically incinerate and you could avoid having to call him your husband. But then he was confessing to you, telling you everything a lady has always wanted to hear.
It is the first time you have ever experienced the spark of attraction to a gentleman. It is the first time you became content in getting married. It is the first time you felt… desire.
But you are not supposed to let Jeong Jaehyun get the best of you. You hide away in the daytime at Yerim’s home, brushing off her probing questions.
“It’s your honeymoon. Should you not be at home?”
You smile tightly at her. “And miss spending time with you? Of course not. Now, tell me all about Na Jaemin.”
You do not return back to the Jeong estate until supper, where you have a tense gathering with your husband across the dining table. True to his word, Jaehyun refuses to touch you until you initiate it first, which is driving you both mad with insatiable lust.
“How was your day with Yerim?” He asks stiffly, spooning soup into his mouth.
“G-Good. Sir Na has taken a liking to her. He lives in the countryside, however, and I selfishly do not want her to move away if they are to be betrothed.”
“Yes, it might be quite terrible if you were left alone in the presence of your husband with nowhere to flee.”
You narrow your eyes. “If you are insinuating something, Jaehyun, then please do not subject me to your mind games. I would rather you speak the truth.”
He smiles devilishly. “You first.”
You keep your mouth sealed shut for the rest of the meal. Even when you prepare yourselves to climb into bed together, your bedroom is filled with such unspeakable tension that you could cut with a knife.
You occupy yourself by opening a book, observing from the corner of your eye as Jaehyun turns on his side and blows his candle out. You tap your nails against the hardcover, blurting out your next statement before you can stop yourself.
“You never told me about your day.”
He muses over how to reply before he states, “I was lonely, craving a wife who wants nothing to do with me.”
You pout like a child. “I told you I am not going to fall in love with you.”
“I remember.”
It’s summer when Yerim and Jaemin get engaged. Yerim’s mother is so thrilled that she hosts a celebration party, where you and Jaehyun attend arm-in-arm, pretending to be civil with one another. You are bombarded with an onslaught of questions pertaining to how your marriage is faring, and if the ton can expect a new baby boy or girl to arrive any day now.
You stick with the excuse of, “We are trying,” to get them to go away.
Yerim pulls you aside to her bedchamber later that night, smiling widely. The joy in her expression has not left her face all night, and it comforts you to know she will be taken care of in the countryside, despite being so far from you.
“What a night!” She exclaims, falling on her mattress in glee. “I have never been this happy before, I swear it to you.”
“I can tell,” you laugh, patting her knee. “It satisfies me to know Jaemin has you this giddy.”
She chews her lip when she sits up, and she has the expression on her face that screams she has a secret.
“Can I tell you something? In the confidence of our friendship?”
“Of course,” you say, sitting next to her on the bed.
She twiddles her thumbs, clearly thrumming with nervousness. “The other day, Jaemin and I were alone.”
You gasp. “Yerim! You are not supposed to be with him unchaperoned until after you are wed!”
Her cheeks bloom a bright shade of red. “We did a lot of things we are supposed to do after we are wed.”
Your curiosity gets the better of you, and the prompt scolding you are about to give her dies down in your throat.
“W-What did he do?”
“Amazing things,” she exhales dreamily. “Do you know how good it feels when they put their mouth… down there?”
“Yerim!” You say, scandalized.
She giggles. “So you and Jaehyun still have not-”
“No,” you confirm with the shake of your head. “No, we have not. And we will not until we absolutely need to.”
She nudges your shoulder. “He is your husband now, you know. Not a rake who is looking to bed you just because he can.”
You clear your throat and rise from your spot on the bed. “We should head back downstairs. People might be searching for you.”
She’s slightly downcast by your quick dismissal but follows you without protest. You are warm from the brief discussion, imagining what Jaehyun would look like nestled in between your thighs, staring up at you with unadulterated hunger.
The vision abruptly leaves your mind once you land on the last step, spotting your husband being flanked by Sooyoung, a girl he used to be very friendly with. She is giggling at him, her hand caressing his bicep as she hangs off his every word.
You freeze, your throat growing dry at your husband openly flirting with another lady in front of you. In Jaehyun’s defense, he does not seem to be paying any attention to her, his eyes fluttering around the room.
When he finds you, you dart towards the exit, ignoring both Yerim and Jaehyun’s cries of your name. As you request for your carriage to be brought forward, a hand wraps around your wrist.
“You have made assumptions.”
You tear your hand away from Jaehyun with a glare. “I hardly care who you speak to. I am going home, the party’s over.”
He growls your name and the staff lingering nearby pretend to look disinterested.
“Do not behave like this.”
Once your carriage rolls up, you climb in, refusing Jaehyun’s help. You try to close the door behind you but your husband pushes his way inside, preventing you from making your dramatic escape.
“I do not possess any feelings for Sooyoung,” he sighs. “I never have.”
“I do not care! I am merely humiliated by the fact that you would display your affection for her in front of everyone! I know those people, Jaehyun, and I strictly told you before we were married that I would not become the wife who would stand idly by while her husband is wrapped up in an affair!”
“I am not in an affair!” You are both screaming too loud to hide your troubles from the outside. “I have never had an affair. I am devoted to you! I dream of you! How many times must I say this to you? Sooyoung approached me, asking me how I have been. I told her I was not interested in her folly and I was waiting for your return. What took you so long with Yerim anyways?”
You are riled up with anger and frustration. “She was educating me about how a proper husband takes care of his wife. Tell me, did you ever get on your knees for Sooyoung? Did you press your mouth in between her thighs?”
His eyebrows raise to his hairline, clearly not expecting you to quip back with that. You fold your arms across your chest, pouting and refusing to look at him.
You gasp when his hands suddenly pull up your dress and he sinks to his knees. You back yourself up against the wall of the carriage.
“Jaehyun, what are you doing?” You hiss.
“If you wanted to know what it feels like, you could have just asked.”
You glance around worriedly but the carriage still moves on, and the drapery covering the windows protects anyone from the outside to witness your husband wiggling his way underneath your dress.
You do not stop him, interested in how determined he is to prove himself to you. Your fingertips dart out to hold the sides of the carriage when his lips graze over your core.
You cup a hand over your mouth to keep your moans at bay. You have never dared to touch yourself in your most sensitive area. It’s unseemly for a lady of your status, and you feel as if you shall be damned to hell if you ever crossed that line.
But Jaehyun is your husband, so this must be allowed in heaven, right?
You lurch forward when his tongue runs over your folds. You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as he starts to lick at your dripping cunt. He laps at you as if you are his next meal and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You are entirely too sensitive that you could cry, your body shuddering as Jaehyun buries himself deeper into your pussy.
The carriage comes to a halt as you sob, your hands tangling into his hair as your peak washes over you. When he pops his head back up, he’s grinning with your slick covering his chin.
“How was it, my dear wife?”
“Get inside the house.”
The staff are flustered when you scramble past them. Jaehyun’s hands dig into the flesh of your waist as he leads you inside, dismissing the staff by hoisting you up on the singular table in the foyer, knocking down his mother’s favorite vase.
You bring his mouth to yours as the spark inside you bursts into flames. Months of tension finally unravel as he pushes your thighs apart, slotting himself in until he’s rolling down into your core.
“Jaehyun,” you whine. “Please.”
“Did Yerim tell you what men can do with their fingers?” He asks, his bottom lip dragging over your jawline.
“N-No.”
You squeak when he unlaces your corset, practically ripping it in half in his efforts to peel it off of you. His mouth is drawn to the swell of your breasts, taking your exposed nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the bud.
A maid comes from around the corner at the sound of the broken glass from the vase, but she chokes when she sees her employers dangling off a tiny table, enraptured in one another.
When he slips a finger inside you, you’re driven wild with lust. None of the noble lords and ladies would recognize you if they saw you now, encouraging your husband to use his teeth while sucking at your breasts and begging him to stuff more fingers inside your cunt.
“Dear God,” you sob when his thumb circles at your clit.
You have never felt pleasure like this in your entire life. Is this why women get married? Is this why they subject themselves to uncomfortable corsets and boring dances?
“You like it, do you not?” He questions in a mocking tone, hovering over you with a darkened gaze. “Imagine how we could have had this months ago if you had only swallowed your pride. Falling in love with me does not sound so horrifying anymore, does it?”
His teeth sink into the juncture of your neck as you chant his name. You cum when he inserts another digit inside your wet hole, curling his fingers forward, causing you to feel boneless in his grasp.
“I will not have our first time be like this,” he says, licking his fingers clean and carrying you in his arms.
“The bedroom is too far,” you reply, wanting to jump his bones immediately.
He chuckles. “You made me wait months. I think you can handle a few minutes.”
The room is spotless when you walk in, making you feel slightly guilty for ruining the staff’s hard work. But then Jaehyun drops you on the mattress and unlaces his breeches, and your focus hones in on his lower half. Your vision grows heavy when he reveals himself.
You never quite understood what gentlemen were packing down there, but you surely never would have guessed this. His member is long, thick, and veiny, startling you when he wraps a hand around his base.
“W-What are you planning to do with that?”
He laughs. “My wife, this is meant to go inside you.”
Your brain stops working for a second. He senses your hesitance, smiling playfully as he leans over you, kissing you gently.
“I shall take it slow. It shall feel good once you get used to the stretch.”
“Do you promise?” You say timidly.
He nods. “It helps that you are already so wet.” You scoff when he swipes his fingers over the wetness coating your thighs. He kisses every inch of exposed skin he can find, helping you loosen up to take his massive cock. “It is going to hurt the first time, but I swear it will get easier.”
“Who said we would be doing this again?” You inquire.
His chuckle vibrates against the shell of your ear. “Trust me. We shall definitely do this again.”
He lines himself up to your entrance, distracting you with a kiss. You never believed kissing could be worthwhile, but you find that you do not mind the act at all when it comes to your husband.
But Christ, is he trying to split you in half?
“Hurts,” you whimper as he gradually pushes in.
He stops immediately. “Do you want me to pull out?”
You shake your head. “No, no. Just… make it feel better.”
“You like it when I touch you here,” he says, returning his thumb to your clit, rubbing the nub in slow circles.
You close your eyes, powering through the overwhelming pain with the small windows of pleasure. Jaehyun does not appear to be experiencing the same issues, gritting his teeth when he bottoms out.
“You are squeezing me too tightly,” he groans. “Ease up a little, wife. I am going to finish before we have truly started.”
“I cannot! You are intent in destroying me!” You retort.
“Fuck,” he curses, dropping his head to rest between your neck and shoulder. “Tell me when I should start moving.”
“Moving?” You pale. “Is this not the entire thing?”
“I thought your mother explained this to you the night before our wedding?”
“She never discussed the specifics!”
His hands cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. You blink back the tears threatening to spill and he smiles at you, assuring you that everything is going to be okay.
“Do you trust me? You must trust me a little at this point.”
“A little,” you grumble. “Don’t push your luck.”
He moves to sit on his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders and holding them in place while he thrusts into you. Initially, he’s apologizing for the pain, but you slowly adjust to his size and your wetness begins to emit a thwacking sound against the flesh of his thighs.
Moans spill out of your mouth before you can stop them.
“That is it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”
You would not think that Jaehyun’s praise would have such an effect upon you. You are whining for him as his cock batters into your pussy, staining the sheets with the mix of your wetness.
“I shall not last,” he says through bated breaths. “You are squeezing me too tightly.”
Moments later, he spills into you, filling you with the warmth of his cum. He withdraws himself to replace his length with his fingers, swirling them inside your cunt until you are falling over the edge of your third climax.
He collapses next to you, his chest rising up and down. You gaze at him shyly.
“So when shall the baby come?”
He smiles at you. “It normally does not take the first time. We have to keep trying until you feel the babe start to grow.”
You narrow your eyes. “You are surely making that up.”
He winks. “Trust me. We shall practice until you acquire a taste for it.”
—
You and Jaehyun apologize profusely to the staff the next day for your behavior, but they simply smile and tell you to work hard in your baby making efforts.
You are both startled when you approach the breakfast table to see his mother sitting there, sipping on her morning cup of tea.
“M-Mother?” Jaehyun stutters. “What are you doing here? I thought you were away handling matters of the estate.”
She smiles knowingly at you, and you slink behind your husband’s back, feeling like a child who has been scolded for eating too many treats.
“I wanted to check in on you. I arrived last night.”
“Last night?” You and Jaehyun both question in shock.
You recall his messy display of fingering you in the foyer for everyone to witness. Did his mother see her son ravaging you? Did she watch you fall apart under his touch?
Her grin seems to convey your answer. She gestures to the chairs beside her.
“Come and sit. I want to hear all about my future grandchild.”
You return to your bedchamber after breakfast feeling mortified. Jaehyun tries to soothe your worries with a gentle hand at your back.
“It is very normal for a husband and wife to be intimate.”
“Not for a lady to expose herself in front of her mother-in-law and the staff!”
He winces. “I am certain that they found the scene to be arousing, if anything.”
You dig your head into the pillows, pouting. “You fail at lifting up my spirits.”
You feel him peppering kisses over your shoulder, his hands wandering where they should not be. You try to swat them away but he whines in your ear.
“She already knows about us anyway. Let me have a little fun.”
You turn on your side to face him, grazing your fingers over his cheek. You hate that Yerim was right — your husband is very handsome.
“When I said I would never fall in love-”
“It is fine. I understand.”
“No, no,” you correct, tracing his jawline. “I was going to say that I think I could. If you give me enough time and if you do not act like an insufferable rake, I could see myself loving you.”
He smirks. “I am quite flattered.”
You roll your eyes. “Can you do that thing with your mouth again?”
“Happy to oblige, wife.”
this fic was posted for early access to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here!
a jealousy that gnaws at the meat of the heart, puncturing the chambers with it’s honed tusks. a vortex of some crude and ludicrous envy had been bisecting your boyfriend’s soul.
satoru has had girls before: impish one nights with colleagues, strangers who wanted a taste, temporary relations solely based on coital desires. yet, he was tormented by the mere ghost of your ex boyfriend—from high school.
the phantom had been harrowing him. a guy before him. an ex lover at that. you had off-handedly snorted about how your ex had gotten married. that was all but enough for an inquisition by satoru. “no, i did not have sex with him. only made out and..” “and what?” “got ate out once.”
heaven and hell must have conjoined to give you a boyfriend like him because the fleeting mention of an ex had satoru gravitate you to the edge of a searing orgasm.
“he ate you out, yeah?” he uttered with pure vex, inching his fingers close to your wet panties. his three fingers rubbed slow circles on your sticky clothed mound, tracing your protruding outline. a deep groan escaped from the crevices of his teeth, a lick on his canines and a slow tug from the hem of your panties. there it was, the raw cunt with it’s slobbering folds. “what’s got you so wet huh? me or that highschool fucker?” oh, he was so jealous.
“god—please. only you ’toru” you pleaded, wanting the feel of his tongue on your sweetness. but right now, his ego was debased. and you were to suffer for it.
“he touched you like this?” his slender fingers glided up and down your dampness, the middle and ring fingers caressing the puffed folds. the pace was too leisurely. a stupendous restraint for a man who was known to be chaotic. your breath hitched when you felt the melding of the two together—swiping, spreading your secretion everywhere. truly vile, more than anything before.
“spread you like this?” another question eliciting nothing but a futile whimper. you opened your eyes—only to be graced by his ones. the coldness of the arctic encapsulated within those mist blue ones. “no? must’ve been a shitty boyfriend then, right baby?”
he lowered himself to your heat, face inches away from the smear of your sweet juice. your pussy lips palpating for his kiss. a yearner for his tongue. “he ate you out yeah?” not a question really. need not an answer. “fuck, i wonder how?”
“did he start with some licks like this”, satoru’s tongue darted out. curled from it’s core, the pinkish tip made kitty-like licks at the center. a stride from the hole to the clit. following it was a soft kiss on your it.
“mhm—wonder what this pussy tasted like to him” his licks fastened. your stomach coiled in pleasure. and so you tried to close your thighs, albeit, that was redundant because he held it in place. “nuh-uh, don’t even dare” a warning.
his blues desaturated in to grey, a beastly hunger taking over. he had flattened his tongue, pressing it on the whole of your pussy and taking in long tastes of the sweetness.
“hm, fuck, he ate you out. sure”. sarcasm pertinent as he was lapping at your folds. each plush getting kissed and smothered by his tongue. a single drop on water ran from your cunt down to the meat of your ass, a stained trail. he was quite literally salivating on you. drooling on your pussy.
tongue swirled in your inner folds, a delirious pace having your back arching away from the bedsheets only to be halted by him, a firm push down on your pelvis. his hand slithered from your hips to your thighs, spreading you out even more, knees pressed on to the pruned sheets.
“please. please. please. gojo—please” an incessant rambling had him lift up from your pussy. a string of spit connected and a smirk on his face. “you cryin’?” he didn’t turn his eyes away. not at all, instead, continued his brute act. his tongue rubbing back and forth on your needy cunt.
with a few more strokes, he had gotten up. the snow in his eyes gleamed an avalanche. his chin wet with your squirt. he had no intention of wiping it away, no, because it was a showcase of your pleasure caused by him only.
Synopsis: the ways in which your roommate is a little inappropriate, but it's okay because he's gentlemanly 4.7k
Warnings: smut, a lil fluff ig cause he's sweet, no p in v, some aspect of free use, mention of somno but no actual act, cunnilingus, dubious/unethical behaviour, do not let your roommate do any of these things to you unless he looks and acts like Nanami, grinding, pussyjobs, some voyeurism, pretty mild all things considered I think, Nanami art by @/prenkuarts on twitter, not proofread
Perverted roommate!Nanami is a classy pervert.
He doesn’t consider himself something so lowly — he’s more refined, more respectful, and sophisticated. Indeed, it’s hard to even see him as such because his perversion carries a certain façade of thoughtfulness.
In almost all regards, he’s the perfect roommate: he cleans up after himself, isn’t loud, pays his rent on time, very friendly and caring, and agreeable. But there’s something off about him. Something that raises alarm bells, suggesting he’s not a typical roommate.
For example, you always had a problem with your vibrators dwindling out of charge mid-’selfcare’ session, but since moving in with him, you’ve never run into that problem.
In fact, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve charged any of your toys. Yet somehow they’re always full battery. You could chalk it up to a miracle or luck, if you didn’t suspect that your Type A roommate, who runs the entire apartment like a tight ship, had something to do with it.
When you confront him about it, he merely looks at you over his glasses, placing his book down on the wooden table with a sigh. “Yes, I charge your toys. I began noticing that you oft forget, and your mood’ll sour for the rest of the day. To avoid conflict, I’ve decided to take on the responsibility of ensuring they do not die on you when you’re at your most vulnerable.”
Then, as though it’s an afterthought, he adds, “I am more than happy to stop, if that’s what you’d like.”
His dull eyes hold nothing but the truth. No shame, no creepiness, no hint of danger. Just fact.
Frowning, you retort, “I don’t get grumpy.”
“You called me a boomer who doesn’t deserve the right to vote simply because I said good morning the first time it happened,” he deadpans, already lifting his book up.
“Fine,” you say, glaring at him to send your message across. “But don’t be sniffing around. Literally.”
Perverted roommate!Nanami dryly replies, “There goes my evening plans.”
Another thing you’ve noticed is that you have a habit of forgetting to bring your towel in the bathroom with you when you shower. Despite that, there’s always a fresh one waiting for you on the rack. You’ve never noticed the door opening or a presence watching, perhaps running his eyes over your wet, soapy body, maybe even touching himself through his slacks. So it took you a while to consider it a problem; your first thought was that there’s a ghost that doubles as a fairy godmother always looking out for you before your mind jumps to your salaryman roommate, who’s law abiding and has a strong moral compass.
Again, when you confront him, he flips the pancakes he’s making for breakfast and utters no defence.
Instead, he says, “Yes, I enter the bathroom as you use it to place a towel on the rack — you never lock the door and I’d prefer to inconvenience myself for a couple seconds than to spend minutes mopping the floor after you make a run for your room naked and sopping wet.”
You take the plate he’s readied for you, noticing he’s prepared yours before his own, and wonders cautiously aloud, “Okay, but you’ve never lingered, have you?”
Perverted roommate!Nanami says, “I linger only as much as is necessary to note that you do not wash your scalp long enough and cannot reach a particular spot on your back. Though I suppose I’m simply grateful I have a roommate that practices personal hygiene. The last one wasn’t quite as clean.”
“Well, if it bothers you so much,” you begin, scowling at the subtext of insult, “then you should wash me yourself, since I’m clearly not doing it to your standards.”
“Perhaps I will,” he says. He takes a sip of his coffee and adjusts his glasses. “Expect me later. I shall teach you how to do it right.”
You huff. “Fine!”
“Great.”
That later rolls around soon enough.
Of course, you didn’t actually mean for him to wash you himself; you’re a grown woman!
But you’ve really done it now.
You’re on edge, standing under the shower, not reaching for your shampoo bottle or washcloth. You stand there, back turned to the door, nervous, and wondering if he would really do it. He’s so prim and proper — would he actually do something so inappropriate, so ill-advised, and scandalous?
The answer comes in the form of doors opening and a heavy presence filling the space. You stiffen, holding your breath.
It’s just a little nudity, you tell yourself. He’s seen naked women before. Hell, he’s seen you naked before. And he’s never done anything…but do you want him to?
Perverted roommate!Nanami mutters right by your ear, “Do let me know if I’m too rough.”
Shampoo is lathered on your head, rubbed firmly in your scalp by his strong hands. It’s good. Like getting massaged at the salon. Releasing a low moan, you find yourself leaning back onto him, only for your eyes to open at the realisation that he’s fully clothed.
Your hands feel behind you, touching his thick thighs through the material of his pants clinging to the muscles. “Kento?” you ask, voice hushed, though still audible over the sound of running water, “why’re you wearing clothes?”
“You wanted me to be naked?” he asks back. His voice is raspy with amusement. “Filthy girl…did you expect this to turn into something more? I said I would wash you, properly and thoroughly. I never said I’d fuck you against the tiles. Though,” he adds, “if you were to ask nicely, like a good girl, perhaps I’d consider it.”
Oh, you’re not going to give in first.
Never.
So, as he adjusts you to rinse your hair out, you say, “No. The one with a raging boner in their pants should be the one to ask first. Throw in a please and a ‘mommy’ in there, and I’ll consider it.”
Perverted roommate!Nanami coats your hair with your conditioner, clipping it expertly in the exact position you always do to leave it for a couple minutes. He huskily retorts, “I’ll be sure to remember those conditions when I’m at my most desperate.”
“Which is usually when?”
His hands covered in soap begin venturing down, cupping the mounds of your breasts, feeling the weight and flicking the hardened buds of your nipples. Your back arches.
Lips graze the shell of your ear. “When I hear you moan my name at night with your fingers buried knuckle deep in your cunt, or when you’re riding that flimsy dildo of yours, imagining it’s my cock, all while knowing it’s not anywhere near as big as I am.”
A gasp escapes you. He knows. He knows and he listens and he absorbs every moan, every confession, every orgasm you rub out of yourself that he doesn’t get to taste himself.
Fingers part your puffy pussy lips. They don’t touch the inside, only slowly rubbing the outside, leaving you panting and throwing your head back on his broad shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind that you’re leaving conditioner and soap all over him.
No, he’s probably much more preoccupied with the sight of your heaving breasts, glistening for his pleasure. His spare hand can’t get enough of them. He alternates in squeezing them both, rolling and pinching the nipple to tug breathy moans from you.
“Ken…”
“Do you clean well enough between your legs? Should I show you how to do it, hmm sweetheart?” Without waiting for a reply, he dips his fingers where your juices are readily flowing. He makes a tortured noise behind you. “Filthy. Downright filthy.”
You shake your head, pulling his hand away.
Spinning to face him, you see how he hasn’t even gotten out of his work clothes, how the water has made his shirt transparent, how he’s unbuttoned the first two buttons revealing the smooth plane of his chest, how locks of hair are stuck to his forehead, how he’s licking the droplets off his lips as his eyes come to life with hunger, and you can certainly see the thick, undeniable outline of a rock hard cock caged down his left thigh.
Weakly, you force a brave tone as you say, “That’s not how you clean a pussy, is it, Kento?”
Hands clutching your waist, he gets down to his knees, pushing you onto the cold tiles. The water pummels his back, soaking him beyond comfort, yet he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t bat an eye, doesn’t give a single fuck as he throws one of your legs over his shoulder and dives right in.
You cry out at the tongue that flicks your clit with no hesitation.
His rough hands are keeping you steady, preventing you from slipping and sliding, or maybe keeping you pinned so you won’t be able to squirm away from him.
Perverted roommate!Nanami groans. “So this is how you taste, fresh from the source. So fucking sweet. It doesn’t compare to my imagination — not even a little bit.”
You ride his face, grinding your clit against his nose. He laps at your sopping slit, suckling on every errant drop, worming his way through every crevice, leaving nothing untouched or untasted.
“Is this how you grind your cunt on your little toys?” he questions, demanding and staring intently up at you. “Do you imagine it’s me? Do you wish I’d walk in and replace your toy with something real?”
“Yes! Yes, Ken!”
Fingers thicker and longer than yours, undeniably masculine, push in. They stretch your soft walls, curling against that spot inside you right under your cervix that has more juices seeping out.
“Then you must only ask,” he growls. “I’ll gladly wring out as many orgasms as you want. And I won’t run out of charge, no matter how long you use me. I’ll make you feel good until you’re satisfied, until you’ve had your fill of me, until you decide to throw me aside.”
It’s hard to fathom why you’d ever discard him when he’s so damn good at eating you out, but that’s hardly what’s on your mind now that he’s thrusting his fingers relentlessly against your g-spot and flicking the tip of his hot tongue on your clit.
When you cum mere minutes later, he doesn’t stop.
Your roommate drinks up the juices oozing out of you, the wetness you’re leaking on his tongue, and sucking hard at your clit as though it’s a dispenser that’ll keep it flowing out and out so he won’t have a reason to part sooner than he’d like.
But you paw at his head, mewling, “No more, Ken. Ngh, it’s too much!”
Blinking, glasses misty, and practically drowning, he pulls away. He’s dazed, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. He stands up, pushing his hair back and shielding you from the water. You’re shuddering, shivering, shaking.
He angles the small shower head over your hair, rinsing out the conditioner with one hand as the other keeps you upright. Perhaps you hear or feel him smell your hair and the crook where your neck and shoulder meets here and there. Perhaps he brings that shower head down to between your legs and lets the water pressure bring you to another orgasm.
Perhaps he pulls his cock out and jerks himself off, staring at your body as he does.
It’s huge.
Naturally.
The mere sight of it has you growing dizzy under the hot water. You know he’s dizzy too with the way he’s throwing his head back and gasping for breath. He’s tugging on his cock furiously. So fast that water is splashing everywhere. Beads of precum slide out, falling to the ceramic basin, and you can only think about what a waste it is.
His clothes still cling to him, all wrinkled and leaving nothing to the imagination. Gone is the controlled, refined salaryman you admire. In his place is a beast of a man drinking up your body, mulling the remnants of your taste on his tongue, and bringing himself to completion.
A hand pushes you down by the shoulder. He tuts. “T-there are -hah fuck- rare occasions I’d ever want to see you on your knees, sweetheart — waiting for my cum is one of them.”
Thumb hooking your jaw down, his flushed cockhead looms above you. You stick your tongue out, practically panting in anticipation for the taste of it exploding all over your face.
“Such a good girl,” he growls, rubbing your cheek.
“Hurry, Ken,” you whine. “I’m getting all prune-y.”
Ropes of pearlescent cum spurts all over you, some landing on your forehead, hair, cheeks, and most on your tongue. You greedily swallow, and then kitten-lick at his tip when most of it’s gone. He groans, cock bobbing and cheeks tinted with pink.
Some time later, when he’s cleaned you and himself up, he says, “I’ll get started on dinner. Take your time.”
Perverted roommate!Nanami disappears, leaving you cold despite the scalding heat of the water.
From then on, it becomes an unspoken routine between you, one that expects him to saunter in the bathroom as you use it to aid you in washing up, except he mostly focuses on cleaning up the pussy he makes a mess out of in the first place.
You soon stop using your toys as frequently as you did before.
Besides that, it’s also normal to expect him to help you stretch out in the mornings, on the weekends when you’re both free. You roll out your yoga mat, put on your leggings and sports bra, and bend in positions you really shouldn’t in the company of a hot-blooded male.
It never used to be a problem; you could put yourself in downwards doggy all you want without wondering if his eyes are on you. Now, you feel their weight on every part of your body, marking you through the thin material of your clothes.
And yeah, maybe you do purposefully jut your ass out in his direction. In your defence, however, you didn’t think he’d one day step up and press a thumb right up against your pussy lips.
“Kento!”
“I don’t see panty lines through your leggings,” he notes, matter-of-factly. His large hands cover the globes of your ass, feeling for what he expected there to be. It’s almost impossible to tell if he’s happy or unhappy by what he’s discovered.
You arch your back, stretching your torso, pretending to not care about how he’s kneeling behind you, nor about how when you push your ass back his boner presses right up against your crotch. With a shrug, you say, “I can’t stand getting wedgies, so I’m not wearing any.”
Perverted roommate!Nanami hums, hand venturing down your back, finger slightly tucking itself under your sports bra, and pushes your upper half down into a lewd version of child’s pose. He’s helping you really stretch out, and you moan with the ache.
Still pressing a thumb to your clothed cunt, he muses, “Yoga helps with stretching your muscles, but I do think it’s a shame it doesn’t help in stretching you out here, where you’re most needy.”
Without needing to look back, you know his eyes are fixed on the print of your pussy visible through the thin material. He can see how it opens up for him the further you stretch out. And you’re sure he can feel the growing warmth and wetness where he’s pressing down with his thumb.
“W-what’re you doing?”
That thumb starts rubbing your clit. You jolt. He holds you down.
“Don’t mind me, sweetheart. Do what you must. I’m simply helping out.”
There’s nothing simple about any of this, and yet the way he’s talking, so calm, so cool, so damn collected, makes you think you’re the pervert for getting wet.
With him right there, very few positions are possible. But you’re not interested in yoga anymore. Maybe you never were to begin with.
You arch even more, shoving your ass to his bulge. Through his sweatpants, his cock bumps your throbbing clit. His hands grip your ass, tightening. They pull you back, harder, bumping again and again till you’re moaning into the mat.
Perverted roommate!Nanami grunts. “You’ve certainly gotten more flexible since you started — what a pleasure to test it out for myself.”
“Right, testing it out,” you say, chuckling breathlessly. “That’s all you’re doing, I’m sure.”
He thrusts his hips forward, thick cock slotting perfectly between your legs and kissing your clit through the layers. Your nails dig into the mat. “Yes, of course,” he says. “Are you suggesting I’m doing something inappropriate?”
“No, Ken. You’re just being a good roommate. The greatest roommate ever, r-rubbing your dick against my pussy so -hah- early in the morning.”
The girthy thing is so warm, and if you focus, really focus, you can almost feel the veins and the cockhead. Or maybe you’re imagining it.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he drawls. “I’m only helping you stretch.”
Despite being unconvinced by his words, you say, “Well, thank you very much, Kento.”
“Thank me when you cum,” he replies, amused.
“So confide—HNGH!”
Strong hands lifted you up by hips, angling you so that your pussy is flushed with his groin. In this new position, he can press all of him to you, can reach your clit even better. And it’s so fucking good your eyes roll to the back of your head.
He grinds his cock onto you as though you’re a pillow or a fleshlight, just a mere toy to rub one out too. But he’s not moaning and whining like you are. Apart from occasional shaky exhales or low grunts, he’s quiet, sounding like he really is focused on aiding your morning yoga routine.
That’s why after you cum — voice muffled by the mat and hips rocking back, riding out your orgasm — you lay limp in his hands, too embarrassed to face him.
Perverted roommate!Nanami brings you up, cool air brushing over your hardened nipples and lips skimming the length of your neck. He asks, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No.”
“Then why are you hiding your pretty face from me?” he asks, this time tone colder, almost scolding.
Mumbling, you answer, “Because I came like some bitch in heat.”
“And you think I didn’t?”
Before you can give a response, he’s standing up. Your face is smushed to his groin, where an addictive length lies heavy, and where a wet spot meets your lips. The hand he has threaded through your hair angles your head back. You peer up at him, wide eyed and forced to mouth at his softening cock.
“Never doubt the effect you have on me,” your roommate huskily warns. “Any time you start to worry about anything concerning me, you should confront me. Tell me off for being tactless, for being rude, or hurtful; the last thing I’d ever want is for you to think less of yourself. And I’ll apologise for my mistakes.”
Oh god, he’s so hot, so tall, so domineering.
The cock you’ve been thinking about since you saw it face-to-face is hidden behind one or two layers, and it’s taking everything in you not to rip through them, to taste him, to have him fill your throat up.
He doesn’t let you lick at the spot, although you’re already tasting his salty spend on your lips. Instead, he brushes your hair back and mutters an apology for disrupting your solo-yoga session.
Rather cheekily, you admit, you say, “If you’re really sorry, then you’d clean up the mess between my legs.”
Perverted roommate!Nanami’s lips twitch. “I always clean up everything around here, don’t I?”
Though, as he says that, he’s already kneeling down, pulling at your leggings. He lets you lie back down, bare except for your sports bra. Your hips are carried up so that your lower half is lifted up to his face.
“No rest for the wicked,” you say, feeling his breath fanning over your swollen folds, stubble scratching your inner thighs deliciously.
A full blown smile brightens his face, and you’d think you two were talking about the weather, and not about eating you out.
“No,” he agrees, “we’re wholly undeserving.”
Then his mouth consumes you whole.
Perverted roommate!Nanami has no qualms with pulling your dresses or skirts down. He never minds how much or how little you wear around the apartment, but as soon as it’s time to step out, he’ll furrow his brows and look you over, either ending his appraisal with an approving nod, or with a disapproving purse of his lips.
“Isn’t this a little short for grocery shopping?” he asks, pinching the hem and tugging. His fingers graze your thighs, skimming the curve of your ass or brushing against your panties.
You roll your eyes. “Don’t be such a grandpa. This is fine, Ken.”
He shakes his head, flicking the dress up. With one light movement, it reveals your entire crotch to his eyes. In a flash, your pussy’s cupped by his large hand. You gasp.
“If I can easily do this, then someone else can,” he informs you, increasing the force in which he’s gripping you, forcing you onto your tiptoes to avoid the pressure on your clit.
Clutching his muscular arm, you argue, blinking in bewilderment, “No one’s going to do this.”
“They’ll be thinking about it,” he mutters, jaw tensing till a muscle ticks. “No one should know what colour panties you’re wearing or how warm your pussy feels.”
“Except my roommate,” you finish the sentence off for him, intending for it to be a scathing indictment of his wholly hypocritical actions as you glare up at him.
But he only nods.
“Except for your roommate.” He releases you. “Go change, please — I can’t focus on getting the best deals on the produce if I’m constantly worrying about whether you’re flashing anyone every time you bend down.”
Since he’s paying, you think it best to stomp back to your room and put on pants, though not without missing the way he brings his hand to his nose and inhales deeply.
It’s not normal to police the way your roommate dresses, you know, but since he’s doing it for your own safety, you don’t really think much about it. Plus, he always treats you to whatever sweet treats you want, on him so quid pro quo, or whatever.
Perverted roommate!Nanami’s room is always open to you.
A lot of the time you just walk in, barging inside at whatever time you want. Say, 3am, when he’s sleeping on his stomach, shirtless and with his glasses neatly folded on his bedside table. You almost feel bad for what you’re about to do.
Bleary eyes open as you open on his bed, shaking him awake. “Kento!”
“Sweetheart?” he croaks. He’s forcing himself to sit up, running a hand down his face to wake himself. “What’s wrong?”
A little embarrassed, like reason has taken over you, you shake your head though he probably can’t see that movement. “Actually, forget it. It’s stupid.”
Resting a hand on your thigh, he squeezes. “It’s alright. You can always talk to me, you know that.”
You play with his fingers, admiring their length, and whisper, “I’m horny, Ken. Like, really horny. I was using my toys for a while but it’s not enough.”
With a sigh, he falls back to bed, unable to decide whether he’s more relieved that you’re fine or amazed by your mind in an inconvenienced way. “I see. So you strolled in here, jumped on my bed, and woke me for…”
Cheeks flushed, you answer, “I don’t know. Advice? You always know what to do.”
“Advice on how to…”
“Ugh, get me off, Ken! God, you’re slow when you’re half-asleep.”
If he takes offence to that, he doesn’t say. Perhaps he knows you lash out when vulnerable.
Perverted roommate!Nanami huffs, adjusting on the bed. Maybe you made the wrong decision, maybe you overestimated how close you two are despite all the very wrong things you’ve done together, maybe he’s disgusted by how eager you are. But as you consider leaving, he nudges you onto him.
“Forgive me — the only thing I can think of right now is to offer myself up. Take your pick. Whatever means you’d like to get yourself off, you may choose. I’m all yours.”
Excitedly, you straddle his hips, resting your entire weight on his clothed cock, which is already hard and hot beneath you. You moan, leaning on his abdomen. “Ahhh. That’s fucking good.”
“Seems like you were already thinking of this before you came in,” he notes, amused and not sounding the least bit mad. Both of his heavy hands rest on your thighs, they radiate warmth, rubbing away the chill of the night.
His chuckle goes over your head now that you’re grinding on him wantonly, just happy to be able to scratch your itch. Fuck, he feels even better than any of your toys. It’s magical how instantly soothed your hungry cunt is. “Mm, Ken! You’re so hard.”
“The better for you to grind on,” he replies, pleased with himself.
“You have an old man’s sense of humour,” you tell him, smiling.
Hands pull you down, shushing you. He brings the fallen covers up over the both of you. Now, you’re laying on top of him, feeling the hardness of his muscular chest, cocooned by the blankets and hips moved by his own hands.
Perverted roommate!Nanami moves you up and down his cock, grunting when your clit catches onto his cockhead. “Fuck, I can feel how soaked you are. You really were playing with yourself for a while, weren’t you?”
“Hmm. I’m sorry, Ken. This is so wrong of me, I know, but I just needed you.”
He coos, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s alright. I’m happy to help, always.” Then, to himself, he mutters, “Better you turn to me than some other man.”
“What was that?” you ask, distracted by how fucking amazing it is to be using his cock for your own pleasure.
Shaking his head, he aids your movement himself, holding your ass down so you’ll really feel every inch of him. “Nothing, sweetheart. Let’s just get you to cum like this, I’ll clean you up with my mouth, then we can sleep, yes?”
“I can sleep here?”
Perverted roommate!Nanami says, “Of course. You’re always welcome in my bed. Next time you need to cum, you needn’t wake me — just rub yourself on any part of my body. I won’t be mad, unless you leave without giving me a thank you.”
Not much later after he says that, you finally orgasm, mewling onto his chest where you drool. He doesn’t complain, only coos and continues moving you up and down to help you through the waves of pleasure.
“There there, sweet thing. It’s alright.”
Satisfied, you press a kiss to his chin. “Thank you, Ken.”
Those hands urge you up and up till you’re straddling his face and clutching the headboards. He pulls your panties to the side and says, “I don’t want to hear a thank you from those lips.”
“Oh.”
Three orgasms later, he holds you to him after you’ve made a mess all over his face, uncaring of how sticky and sweaty you both are.
Perverted roommate!Nanami doesn’t use this moment of intimacy against you in any arguments, which are far and few between, doesn’t set expectations of a committed relationship, and doesn’t mock you for needing him.
He’s only grateful for any moments you spare him.
And sure, it’s not like you’re a saint either.
It’s clear, as you wake up with him between your legs smiling when he mumbles a good morning to your clit, that you’re right where you want to be.
