synopsis: In an attempt to uncover an image-destroying scandal of rival rock band Heartsteel, you are tasked with worming your way into the life (and heart) of the band's elusive and magnetic frontman Baekhyun. The problem? Baekhyun is your childhood best friend, and he currently hates your fucking guts.
content in this part: Baekhyun x f! reader | rock!au | smut, angst | childhood friends to enemies to ? | warnings: profanity, heavy themes of deceit/trickery/morally gray mc, discussion of class/wealth differences, alcohol consumption, brief mention of past marijuana consumption
18+ warnings in this part: subby!Baekhyun, mild degradation, oral (both receiving)
word count: 7.1k
a/n: all exo members appear in this fic over the course of the story. any other characters are oc's and are not connected to any idol!
part 01. i'ma show you how to crash a party
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Ever since your memories were more than a fuzzy haze of shapes and light, Baekhyun was there. You remember creeping around the corners of your home, following the sound of your mother’s voice. A light piano melody spilled into the air, followed shortly after by the discordant imitation of a clumsier, younger hand. The door to her studio was cracked open ever so slightly, and you peered through, curiously gazing at her new student. A boy, about your age, with skinned knees and unruly hair. He was horrifically shy, and your mother had to repeat her instructions twice before he would reply in a barely audible voice.
On his third lesson, you misstepped, the floorboards creaking underneath your foot. Baekhyun and your mother both whipped their heads at the sound. Before you could turn on your heel and run as fast as you possibly could, she called out your name; not with the sharp scolding tone you were expecting, but a calm one. “Come in here, please,” she said.
You stepped into her studio timidly, looking to the ground in shame. “I’m sorry, Mom,” you mumbled.
“It’s okay. Come up here, sweets. This is Baekhyun, my new student. Baekhyun, this is my daughter.” She got off the piano bench and you took her place, smiling shyly at the boy who, to your surprise, returned it.
“I think it would be helpful if someone else besides me helped to show Baekhyun his scales. Could you help us out?”
And so, you became somewhat of a second teacher to Baekhyun, stepping in to demonstrate whenever your mom’s teaching couldn’t get through to him. Slowly but surely, he came out of his shell, asking questions more often and cracking jokes. He started to show up to his lessons earlier and stay behind later, begging his mom to please let him stay for five more minutes to play, pleeaaase?
He became your closest friend, sticking by you through the elementary school years. You and Baekhyun went to separate schools—you at the local public school down the street from your house and he at the private academy across town. But after school and on weekends, he was there, helping you with your homework after you helped him with piano.
Those were some bright days, and you look back on them fondly, even now after everything that's happened between you. Sun-soaked summers and cozy winters, lit by the purity that could only be held by childhood friendships. How lucky, you thought, to have known a love so kind and pure so early in life, to have a peer know you inside and out.
As you both celebrated your tenth birthdays, you began to notice things, take stock in the differences of yours and Baekhyun’s home lives. It started, for some reason, with the kitchen sink. Whenever you were at Baekhyun’s place, the pockets of silence were eerily quiet. It took a while before you realized that it bothered you so much because you were used to the steady, quiet dripping of your own kitchen sink—a leak that never quite went away. You innocently asked your mom if she could get it fixed, but she just shrugged and said that other things were more important. Then came other revelations—Baekhyun always, always had brand-name groceries. He never had to fill their soap dispenser with water to stretch it out just a little bit longer. His mom was always home to cater to his every whim, while his dad was always away on business trips. And perhaps most apparent to you, the way your mom spoke to her whenever she came to pick you up, with her head bowed, gracious thanks pouring from her lips like a mantra. Not as if they were peers, but subservient, submissive.
“Are we poor?” you asked your mom one day.
She just smiled, tucked your hair behind your ear. “We are strong,” she said. “We know how to survive.”
If any of this registered to Baekhyun, he didn’t show it. He treated your home like his own, hugged your mom like she was his, and ate your food like he did it every day. This in itself served as another stark contrast to your behavior at the Byun home. “Say please and thank you, don’t make too much noise, and always eat everything that they offer,” your mom always said.
Ultimately, these thoughts were just backdrops to your friendship, and you’d much rather remember catching bugs in the woods behind your school or playing pranks on his older sister. These glory years came to a screeching halt when, at age twelve, you opened your front door to find a teary-eyed, wobbly Baekhyun.
“I’m moving,” he sniffed. “Next month.”
Those four weeks passed by in a flash, and the next thing you knew, you were with your mom at the old Byun place, watching the last few boxes get packed into their trunk. Baekhyun was a leech on you, a blubbering mess as he clung to your shoulders and cried. You weren’t much better, sobbing with your face buried into his shoulder.
“This is my new address,” he said, voice thick with snot. He handed you a tear-stained index card with scrawled writing. “Please send me letters.”
“I will,” you whimpered. You stuck your pinky out and he hooked it with his own. “Don’t forget about me, Hyunnie.”
“I won’t.” He sniffed again, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I promise.”
You watched as they drove away, his gaze never leaving yours through the rearview window. As soon as they turned the corner and the car was out of sight, you collapsed into your mom, sobbing hard. She rubbed your back and carried you to the car, too tired to stand.
Later that week, you wrote your first letter to Baekhyun. You talked about how much you missed him and asked him about his new house, and if his mom had said anything yet about you coming over to visit. You waited for his response. And waited. And waited.
It never came.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Tonight— THIRD DIMENSION: Homecoming Show
Doors open at 6:30
Show starts at 8:00
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The roar of the crowd dims as soon as the backstage doors swing shut behind you. You pull out your in-ear and exhale, the adrenaline from performing leaving your body in a single woosh.
“They were really good tonight!” Chanyeol whoops, throwing an arm around you and Jongdae. “I really felt the energy in my whole body.”
“I know, right?!” Jongdae grins. “That was our best performance yet. And you,” he pinches your cheek, “were on fire!”
You roll your eyes, a small smile appearing on your face despite yourself. “The crowd was pretty sick.”
Chanyeol and Jongdae both stop in their tracks, waiting for the other shoe to drop with wide, expectant eyes. When it doesn’t, their jaws drop in almost comical unison. “What, no comments this time? No, oh my god Chanyeol, you were late to start track eight?”
“Or, hey, Jongdae, next time don’t cut off my solo?”
“I don’t sound like that all the time, do I?” you ask. Chanyeol and Jongdae just stare at you blankly. “Well, it was a really good show,” you mutter. “I think they really liked the new song.”
The two chatter on with excitement as the three of you make your way down to the green room. You resist the urge to check your phone like how you did back in the early days, when googling Third Dimension brought up nothing but 3D movie showtimes. It’s been years now, years since a bright-eyed and slightly tipsy Chanyeol introduced you to his friend Jongdae who had a “voice like an angel” (to his credit though, he did), and impulsively suggested starting a band. Years since the beer and weed-fueled songwriting sessions in your apartment, and the free shows in dive bars around the city. There were a lot of lows, a lot of fights among the three of you, but they were all finally starting to feel like they were worth it, now that the last time you had searched your band name actually brought up a picture of the three of you. Since then, you’ve stayed away from the excessive searching, but the itch to go on social media and see the first reactions to the new song you spontaneously debuted is almost too much to bear.
It doesn’t look like you have to do so after all, because the first image you’re greeted with when you enter the green room is your manager, Eunji, furiously typing away on her phone. Her eyebrows are knitted together in what could be either mild frustration or full-on rage. Either way, it doesn’t look too good, and it’s enough to suck the energy out of the three of you instantly.
“Hey, Eunji,” Jongdae squeaks. “How was the show?”
She glares at the three of you, her glasses hanging low over her nose. “The show?” she barks out a laugh. “The show was great. Incredible. One of your best in years.”
Chanyeol carefully lowers himself onto the couch across from her, grabbing a bottle of water with all the same care one might use to defuse a bomb. “Great,” he chuckles. “So why does it feel like you’re about to kill us right now?”
Eunji sighs loudly, turning on the TV and flipping to the YouTube homepage. She clicks on a music video, and your eyes widen when you see the channel name. “Heartsteel?!” you shout, your tone surprising everyone in the room, including yourself. “Did that just come out?”
“I’m afraid so.” Eunji shakes her head in disbelief, muting the video. “It’s like every time we make a move, they’re two steps ahead. When we release an EP, they release a full album. When we do a national tour, they do a continental one. When we debut a song, they release a music video. It just doesn’t end!”
“I mean… it’s not like there can only be one band,” Jongdae says. He’s taken up a perch next to Chanyeol, digging into a bag of trail mix. “And you know, they’re not bad guys. Maybe we can reach out and try to do a collab? We might be able to win over some of their fans that way.”
“Nah,” Chanyeol says, exclusively picking out the M&Ms from the bag. “We tried, remember? It was a no every time.”
“They don’t want to work with us.” Eunji’s lips press together in a firm line. “And you’re right, Jongdae, there could be room for more than one band if they would give anyone else a sliver of the spotlight. They’re based in the same city as us, they have more money, they have more exposure. There’s no way for us to even make a real dent.” Her gaze turns to you. “I think we have to start playing a little dirty.”
You cross your arms. “What does that mean?”
“Most of Heartsteel is made up of real open books. Boy Scout types whose worst sin is like, stealing a chocolate bar from the grocery store when they were younger. But the lead singer… we don’t know anything about him. He could be hiding something big, something that could rip the band apart, at least for enough time for us to make a name for ourselves.”
Jongdae stands. “Whoa, whoa. I really don’t think it’s that serious, Eunji. We don’t need to dig up dirt on Baekhyun and destroy them.”
“Do you know what the ratio of tweets about your new song to their new song is? It’s one to thirty.” She slides her glasses up her face, her eyes glinting dangerously. “Heartsteel can afford to take a hit. We can’t. If this keeps up for much longer, you three are going to lose all momentum and there won’t be any band to continue fighting for, and then what was all of your hard work and sacrifice for?”
The three of you fall into silence. She’s right. Chanyeol dropped out of school for this. Jongdae had a job at a top engineering firm lined up. And you—you haven’t seen Mom in so long, each short vist spent swearing to her that the band is going to make it and then you’ll buy her a new place with kitchen sinks that don’t drip, make it so she never had to worry about money again. If this were to go down the drain because of Heartsteel of all people…
“So what?” Chanyeol raises an eyebrow, relenting. “We have to get into Baekhyun’s inner circle and find out what secrets he’s hiding?”
“Not we,” Eunji says. She stares at you decisively. “You.”
“Me?” You feel the heat rising in your face just the thought of facing Baekhyun again. “Why me?”
She snorts. “Jongdae and Chanyeol are too nice. They’d blow the whole thing up in a day.” They don’t bother to correct her. “But you? I know you hate when we pry, but don’t think we haven’t noticed that the only person who seems to hate Heartsteel as much as I do is you. I don’t know what your deal is, and frankly I don’t care. But what I do know is that I can count on you to do whatever it takes.”
Your gaze flicks back to the TV just in time to see Baekhyun in the music video. He’s unrecognizable to you now, his dark lined eyes piercing the camera with a confidence you never saw in him when you knew him. He sits at the head of a pristine white table like he owns the fucking place, shooting the camera a perfectly practiced smirk as he sings. Suddenly, you’re transported back into the memory of your childhood home, writing the last letter you’ll ever write to him. You remember the hot sting of tears leaving your eyes, the words you wrote echoing in your head. You promised not to forget about me. You promised. Have a nice life, Baekhyun.
“Okay,” you say, firmly. “Whatever it takes.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
HEARTSTEEL surprises fans with an electric new music video. The band has remained quiet on whether this is a standalone single or a pre-release for an upcoming album. Watch here.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
You didn’t grow up hating him, actually. Sure, you were angry at him for ghosting, and you carried that anger with you throughout high school. But one day, you found that you realized that it was all a little silly, wasn’t it? Baekhyun was a kid who had probably just gotten caught up in the excitement of moving away, a brand new school with brand new friends. You had just grown apart, that’s all, and no one was to blame.
You hadn’t yet met Chanyeol or Jongdae, though they were about to tumble into your life soon enough, and you were working your ass off towards a degree that you didn’t give two shits about just to keep your scholarship. You had just bombed an exam, hard, and to get your mind off of it you wandered around the city aimlessly, wallowing in your sorrows. You let your feet carry you as your mind went numb, until the sound of live music caught your attention. It was coming from a nearby park, where a temporary stage had been haphazardly set up. A modest crowd had formed and you joined them, melding into the group of people as if you had always been there.
You looked up at the band and a gasp caught in your throat. There he was. His hair was long and in his eyes, dyed a light brown, but it was unmistakably him. You would recognize that voice anywhere, even through the years that you missed. The way he carried himself was different now, more confident, taking up more space, but the shy laughs in between songs still held the ghost of who he used to be.
“Thank you, everyone, we are Heartsteel!” he said at the end of the set. “We’re very new but we hope that you enjoyed the show regardless.” You waited for the crowd to start parting before you pushed your way to the front of the stage. Excitement thrummed in your heart—It’s him! It’s really him! The band was chatting among themselves, congratulating each other and laughing heartily. Baekhyun was the loudest among them, and you could imagine the stretch of his grin even though his back was to you.
“Baekhyun!”
He turned, and then as if a switch flipped, his gaze hardened, smile fell. “Hello,” he said coolly. “Do I know you?”
Your joy died on your tongue immediately, replaced by the cold sting of rejection. “Baekhyun, it’s me, remember? We were best friends when we were kids.”
He pursed his lips, shaking his head. “No, sorry. Doesn’t ring a bell. Excuse me, I have to help the band take down the stage.” In an instant, he was gone, leaving you alone in the cold night. You heard one of the band members ask him what happened and his terse reply was, “No one. She’s no one.”
You spoke with him only once more. Heartsteel had really started to pick up steam, and Third Dimension had just released their debut album to positive but little reviews. You had both been invited to perform a short set at a local showcase meant to increase exposure for up and coming bands. Your sets were back to back so you were unable to watch them perform, instead spending that time trying to calm down a frantic Jongdae in the wings.
When the night was over, you were walking back to your car when you saw him, leaning against the hood of his own, typing out something on his phone. He had changed even more since the last time you saw him. It wasn’t just his appearance, though that had changed too, with his hair dyed back to black and wearing what would soon be known as his signature accessory, a large silver lip ring attached to a chain, hooked onto the collar of his jacket. But the real difference was in his posture, a stance of arrogance even slouched against his car, a general air of being otherworldly and unobtainable. It made your blood run cold.
“Hey,” you called out.
He looked up without moving his face, giving you the impression that he was glaring at you. Maybe he actually was. “‘Sup,” he replied.
“You guys were really good tonight,” you said. “I really liked your last song.”
Baekhyun hummed in response. “Thanks.”
Awkward silence permeated the air and you decided to try again. “So, I was wondering if maybe sometime we could—”
“Look,” he said, finally lifting his head to look at you, really look at you. His dark eyes looked foreign to you—where there once was fondness and friendship was a deep and dirty annoyance. “I don’t like how you talk to me like you know me. You don’t. So stop it. Or better yet, let’s just agree not to speak at all.”
“But Hyunnie, I—”
“I really, really don’t want to hear it.” He opened his car door and looked back at you one more time. One last time. “I’m trying to make some real fucking music here, not whatever you and Thing One and Thing Two have going on. So just leave me the fuck alone.” He slammed the door shut and sped away. The knot in your throat was thick, your stomach sitting heavy in you like a rock. You got into your car and you let the tears slip for a few minutes. After a few minutes, your resolve hardened and you wiped your face roughly. No use crying over someone who was a stranger to you.
From that day forward, you and Baekhyun passed each other like ships in the night, never acknowledging the other whenever your orbits were brought close together. You watched from the sidelines as he rose to fame, pretended not to see the groupies that grew in number by the day. Your precious Hyunnie was no more, and in his place was Baekhyun, the lead singer who never gave interviews, was rarely seen in public, and remained untouchable onstage.
He was right, after all. You didn’t know him. God knows if you ever did.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
THIRD DIMENSION debuts new single at last stop on their national tour. Listen here.
HEARTSTEEL’s new single charts at an all-time high for the band.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“I need you to do me a massive favor.”
“As long as it doesn’t involve lugging equipment across town like last time, I’m down,” Kyungsoo says. There’s movement on the other end of the line as he gets out of bed. “What’s up?”
“You’re still cool with Jongin, right?” you ask.
There’s a pause. “Well yes. He’s my oldest friend besides you. What are you up to?”
You sigh. “I just want to get into the Heartsteel afterparty tonight, that’s all. You don’t even have to stay, just make sure I get through the doors and then you can leave.”
Kyungsoo groans. “First, there’s no ‘just leaving’ with Jongin, so I’m going to be stuck there all night too. Second, do you know how hard it is to get three people into one of these things? They have so many groupies that they have to vet everyone that walks through the door. A plus one is easy, but plus three? Forget it.”
“Jongdae and Chanyeol aren’t coming. It’s just me.”
Another pause, then the words tumble out steadily. “I’m having a really bad feeling about this. Why aren’t they coming? What interest could you possibly have in going to a Heartsteel afterparty by yourself? You hate Heartsteel.”
“Don’t worry about it.” It’s so hard to lie to him, but you remember that ultimately you’re doing this for your livelihood, for Mom. “Kyungsoo, please. I’ll do anything you want. We can have that movie day you’ve been wanting to have.”
“Hmm,” is the reply, and you know that you’ve got him. “You’ll watch anything I want? Even if it’s silent and old and hard to follow?”
“Yes.”
“Okay fine. I’ll text Jongin. You owe me, by the way. I’m not sure how much you owe me because I don’t know what exactly you’re doing here, but you owe me.”
“I know I do,” you reply. “Thank you, Soo.”
“I’ll pick you up tonight.”
Night rolls around, and you still aren’t exactly sure what your angle here is supposed to be. You stare at your reflection and give your outfit a once-over: black tube top and short, black skirt, with your favorite heeled boots. For a moment, you wonder to yourself if you’re actually going into this with the intention of seducing Baekhyun. Eunji certainly thought so—the last few days you’ve been talking strategy with her and she kept dropping hints about you using your charm and getting him alone. You grimace when you realize that you look like one of his groupies, one of the dozens of women willing to risk it all should an NDA come their way, who shout his name at every concert, screaming when he casts a cool, indifferent glance their way.
You’re overthinking this. It’s a party. People get dressed up for parties.
You climb into the passenger seat of Kyungsoo’s car, who gives you a glance. “You look good,” he comments, putting the car into drive. With anyone else, even Chanyeol and Jongdae, this type of comment would have given you pause, but your long friendship with Kyungsoo had always been platonic. You'd known him since the first day of university, when you bumped into each other—literally body slammed each other—in the hallway where you were soon to be next door neigbors. “Do you want to tell me what this is about now?”
Well, they say that the best lies are the ones baked in half-truths. “I… wanted to catch up with Baekhyun,” you say carefully.
Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow. “Baekhyun? The same Baekhyun that blew you off for a decade and decided to become an annoying prick out of nowhere?”
“Yes, Kyungsoo, that Baekhyun,” you sigh. “I was thinking about going home sometime soon to visit my mom, and it made me nostalgic for him.” That last part was a complete lie, but now that you spoke it out into the universe, you did feel a bit of longing for the past. Simpler days, when the biggest problem in life was your mom not allowing you to go to Baekhyun’s before you finished your homework.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do, but just be careful.” Kyungsoo looks away from the road for a second to look at you, and you see the genuine concern reflecting in his eyes. “The Baekhyun you knew was from a long time ago. As far as he’s shown you, that’s not him anymore.”
The car pulls up to the sleek hotel where the afterparty is being held, a far cry from the dingy nightclubs and bars that you frequented with Jongdae and Chanyeol after your shows. Kyungsoo gets on the phone as soon as you get off the elevator and onto the top floor, marked in velvet ropes and a sign that identifies a Private Event. The two of you wait off to the side, avoiding the small crowd of groupies and cloutchasers trying desperately to negotiate with security.
“Kyungsoo!” comes a voice, followed by a series of gasps and surprised cheers from the crowd. You both look up to see Jongin, Heartsteel’s bassist, emerge from the lounge. He waves the two of you over and gives the security guard a nod. Kyungsoo gets let through, but the guard puts a hand up before you can walk past the ropes.
“She’s with me,” Kyungsoo explains. “Jongin said I could bring a plus one.”
The guard looks at Jongin, who gives a heartfelt thumbs up. He sighs and lets you go in, mumbling something about it not being his fault that crazy fangirls always get through to these things.
Jongin slings an arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulders. “It’s been so long! I was going to call you since we’re back in town!”
“You can call me anytime,” Kyungsoo’s lips curve into an easy grin, the kind that appears when in the presence of old friends. You feel a pang of jealousy for a second—Kyungsoo and Jongin’s story is similar to your own, with Kyungsoo moving away early in life. They eventually reconnected and it’s like nothing ever happened, the friendship picking up right where it left off. It could have been you and Baekhyun like this, had he not turned into a massive dick seemingly overnight. “This is my friend, by the way.”
Jongin looks at you with friendly, inquisitive eyes. “Do I know you?” he asks. “You look familiar.”
“Oh, she’s—”
“A fan,” you blurt in, smiling easily at Jongin. “You might have seen me at some of the shows.”
“Oh, great!” Jongin beams. “Thanks for showing up. I can go see if I can get you some merch or a signed album or something.”
“That’s okay, I don’t want to burden you,” you say, ignoring the way that Kyungsoo is currently glaring holes into the side of your head. “I’ll let you two catch up!” You open the door to the lounge, sneaking a glance back to see an oblivious Jongin chatting away with Kyungsoo, who’s staring at you with an unreadable expression.
There are less people here than you would’ve thought for an afterparty of a band with as much popularity as Heartsteel. A handful people mingle about while classic rock plays quietly over the speakers. With the image and music that they put out, you would have expected a more lively affair, something more akin to a nightclub vibe, not this subdued, slightly upscale atmosphere. You spot a couple of the other members of the band— Minseok and Sehun, the two guitarists chat with a small group, and Yixing, the drummer, entertains a young woman in the corner of the room. There’s no sign of Baekhyun, though, so you make your way over to the bar and order a drink.
The first sip does little to calm your nerves, and you sit there for a long while, running through the possible scenarios. One, Baekhyun never shows up and that’s easy: you go home with your tail between your legs and call Eunji in despair. Two, Baekhyun shows up and is actually nice to you for once. Easy, but about as likely as Kyungsoo enjoying this party. Three, Baekhyun shows up and continues to be an asshole, making your plan and by extension, your life harder. Unpleasant, but unfortunately, extremely likely.
“Um. What the fuck are you doing here?”
You turn, suddenly face to face with Baekhyun, eyebrows furrowed and gaze alight with anger and confusion. Scenario three it is. You haven’t seen him like this in a long time—hair unstyled and freshly washed, face free of makeup. Even that stupid lip ring is gone. (It doesn’t escape you that his lip seems to be free of any holes. Of course it’s fucking fake. Jesus Christ.) “It’s friends of the band only,” he says, barely hiding the disgust in his voice.
“I’m a friend of a friend of the band,” you say coolly, as if your heart isn’t about to beat out of your chest. Your brain is going into panic mode, trying to both keep this conversation civil and not immediately out yourself as a rat.
Baekhyun turns and locks in on where Kyungsoo and Jongin have moved to talking on the couch. “So you tagged along with your boyfriend to what, network a little? Try to get a little more exposure for your band?”
The way he says band as if it’s a silly, trivial thing makes your blood boil. You will the feelings to stay below the surface. “He’s not my boyfriend. And I’m not here to network or do anything for my band. I’m here for you.”
Baekhyun faces you again, his expression losing some of its heat. “Me? I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to speak to you again.”
“I know,” you say, lowering your voice, “Can we talk in private? Please?”
He blinks, his expression blank. “Whatever. Fine, ten minutes.” He leads you out through the back exit of the lounge, which opens onto the other side of the floor, away from the prying eyes of the fans. You follow him to his hotel room, the silence settling over you like a thick fog. He fishes out his room key from his back pocket and opens the door with a quiet click.
“So what?” he says when the door clicks shut behind you. You take a second to look around the room, which is kept militantly tidy. You have a brief thought of Baekhyun's childhood bedroom, which was always one step away from looking like a hurricane blew through it. Yet another reminder that you don’t recognize the man standing in front of you anymore.
“How have you been?” Your voice comes out more timid than you would have liked.
He scoffs, crossing his arms. “That’s it? You crash my afterparty to ask how I’ve been?”
“Okay first of all,” you hold a hand out and he takes a step back, eyes widening in surprise at the sudden change in your tone, “This isn’t your afterparty. How fucking vain are you?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.
“It is what you meant. Shut up. Second of all, why do you talk to me like that? I haven’t done anything wrong to you.”
Baekhyun barks out a laugh. “Right. Okay. You disappear from my life and only show up when I start to actually make something of myself, and you coincidentally have your own little band. And I’m supposed to welcome you back with open arms?”
“What?” Your face is getting hotter and you distantly hear your own voice getting louder, but it feels so far away. The built up anger from almost twenty years is overwhelming now, ugly and searing. “You have that so twisted. You started acting like a dick to me long before the band was around. And don’t say that you made something of yourself like you had to claw your way out of the gutter or something.”
He glares at you. “What the fuck does that mean?”
You’re so close to him now, his back pressed against the wall as you corner him in. “I’m just saying that you keep making fun of my band, but at least we fought for what we have. We didn’t have Mommy and Daddy’s money to fall back on in case things didn’t work out,” you snap, derision dripping from your voice.
Baekhyun’s jaw is clenched, any anger he was concealing in his gaze now fully on display. “Don’t. You don’t know anything about them, and you don’t know anything about me.”
“I think I do know something about you,” you hiss. “You want people to think of you as unknowable, like you’re something that we can’t touch. You stay out of the spotlight on purpose to build up your mysterious image. But you don’t quit the band, you keep touring, you keep singing, because you fucking love it. You love the attention. You’re hooked on being adored by screaming fans everywhere you go.”
“Stop,” he says, gritting his teeth.
“But you push everyone who could be close to you away because you don’t want anyone to know that underneath it all, underneath the ‘cool’ and ‘mysterious’ Baekhyun you’re just a spoiled fucking brat that gets everything that he wants. It’s low, and it’s fucking pathetic, Hyun.”
“Fucking cut it out,” he growls. He puts his arms firmly on your shoulders and pushes you away from him, not hard enough to hurt you but steadily enough to make you take two steps back. “Seriously, stop.” His voice sounds different, thicker, like his anger has suddenly diffused. He refuses to meet your gaze, chest heaving, blush settling high in his cheekbones. He sounds… flustered, almost.
“What? Can’t take it as well as you dish it?” you sneer. His lack of reaction causes your anger to waver, and fuck, maybe you took it too far, and now the whole plan is underwater because you couldn’t keep it together. You’re supposed to get back into Baekhyun’s good graces, not burn down the bridge completely.
In a movement so quick you could have imagined it, his eyes flicker downward. You follow his gaze and oh. Oh. A laugh bursts out from the back of your throat, unintended and compulsive. “Are you… are you fucking hard right now?”
Baekhyun closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall. The strain in his pants is unmistakable and he knows it—no use in hiding it now. “Just stop talking,” he murmurs softly.
“I think you like it when I talk,” you say, resuming your previous position directly in front of him. “It turns you on when someone’s finally calling you out on your bullshit?”
“No,” he replies, eyes still closed.
“What is it then? Was it the name-calling?”
No answer. Bingo. You reach out slowly, carefully undoing the top button of his shirt. Eunji’s words echo in your head. Use your charm. “Hyunnie gets off on being called a pathetic brat,” you coo. “What a fucking rockstar.”
He exhales sharply, his eyes flying open. “What are you doing?” he asks, voice thick and deep.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” you scoff. “When was the last time you got off?”
“A while,” he admits. He still stares at you like he isn’t sure what to make of you, like he’s battling between rage and desire. “Are you sure you want to do this? You hate me.”
You finish unbuttoning his shirt and go to undo his belt. “Well, luckily for you, how I feel about someone doesn’t make a difference in whether or not I can make them cum.” Your eyes flick upwards to meet his, giving him your best seductive smirk. “Maybe once you do, you’ll be a lot more of a pleasure to be around.”
“Okay, fine." Baekhyun closes his eyes, seemingly resigning himself. "Do whatever you want.”
You wrinkle your nose at his apathy and let go of him, making for the door. “I’m doing you a favor, you know,” you say curtly, “You could be a little more grateful.”
“Okay, sorry, fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair, tongue darting out to lick his lips. He swallows, jaw clenched tight. “Please stay.”
“Please stay, and…?” You raise an eyebrow.
“Please… suck me off.”
Satisfied enough, you crash your lips into his, relishing in the little mmph of surprise when you push him back up against the wall. It’s a messy, hot kiss—all teeth and tongue. You set a brutal pace, kissing him like doing so can undo every harsh word you’ve exchanged. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, his voice coming out in a wet gasp when you release it. Your fingers make quick work of his belt, discarding it somewhere behind you. His pants hit the ground and you pull out his cock, stroking it once and thumbing over the already wet tip.
He hisses against your mouth, his hips bucking weakly against you. Sensitive. “How has it been a while since anyone’s touched you like this?” you murmur. “You could have had any woman you wanted from any of your shows.”
“Not interested,” he pants. He tips his head back and you take the opportunity to leave a bite at his collarbone. He shivers, then moans when you run your tongue over the reddening skin. “They wouldn’t know how to…”
“How to talk to you like this?” you finish. He nods shakily. “They like you too much.” You pump his cock a few more times. “You need someone who sees you for what you are. A pathetic, needy brat who will drop his pants for the first girl to call him mean names.”
You sink to your knees, gathering your spit in your mouth and letting it dribble down the length of his cock. You continue to jerk him off, the slick sounds of spit on skin filling the air. He looks down at you, face flushed, chest heaving, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. He goes to touch your hair but you swat it away.
“If you touch me, I’ll stop,” you say, before taking the tip of his cock into your mouth.
“Fuck!” He jerks his head backwards, hitting the wall with a soft thump. His hands are now clenched into fists at his side, his jaw slack as his noises spill out uninhibited. “Fuck, feels so good.”
You swirl your tongue around the tip before hollowing your cheeks and taking him deep, brushing the back of your throat. You hum around him, the resulting moan he makes going straight to your core. He looks fucking good like this, rapidly losing control under your touch, dissolving into arousal. He really is handsome, you think, underneath all that bravado. The cool mask he’s worked tirelessly to put on is gone now and he wears his feelings on his face and body freely, trembling and sighing at each pleasurable sensation.
“You like it?” you ask, wiping the spit from your mouth and jerking him off with it. He nods shakily and you squeeze the base of his cock in warning. “I’m talking to you, so answer.”
“F-fuck yes, I like it. Don’t stop, please.”
“Why should I?” you ask, slowing down your pace. He bucks up into your hand, chasing the friction but it’s not enough. “You were being quite a fucking brat to me earlier.”
“I’m sorry!” His eyes fly open and he looks down at you, eyes pleading and desperate. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being an asshole. About you and about your band. I won’t do it anymore, fuck.”
“Good boy,” you coo, resuming your frantic pace. He cries out, hips stuttering against your hand. It’s only a matter of time now, with how desperately he wants it. “Where do you want to cum?”
“In your mouth,” he whimpers. “Please.”
“Okay, Hyunnie,” you purr. “Whenever you’re ready.” You wrap your lips around the tip and sink down onto his length, your hand covering what you can’t fit into your mouth. You bob your head up and down, settling into a quick rhythm. He moans, desperately rutting into your mouth until he cums, spilling down your throat. You swallow it all and look up at him through fluttering lashes.
“Can—Can I touch you?” he asks, still coming down from his high, chest and face flushed.
You stand and walk to the bed, sitting at the edge of it, bunching your skirt up around your hips. “I want your mouth.”
He comes to you, settling onto his knees in front of the bed. Slowly, he slides off your underwear and parts your thighs, groaning at the sight of your pussy. “You look so good,” he breathes. He hooks his arms under your thighs and descends onto your cunt, kiss-swollen lips latching onto your clit.
You bite back a moan, tangling your hands into his hair. He eats you out like he’s starving, delving your tongue into your slit and back up to suck on your clit. His eyes remain closed, a perfect picture of bliss, muffled whimpers escaping against your skin.
“C’mon, you can do better than that,” you tease breathlessly. He slips two fingers into your hole, pumping his fingers in and out of you while he flicks his tongue against the sensitive nub. You choke on a gasp, your back arching into him as you feel the coil in your stomach tightening. “That’s it, good boy, so close.”
“Wanna see you cum,” he breathes out, staring at your body like he’s in a trance, eyes dark and lust-blown. “Wanna see it so bad.”
“Then make me,” you say. He dives back between your legs, sucking onto your clit with renewed vigor. His fingers curl inside you and then you’re gone, the coil snapping. You cum with his name on your lips and your thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking as he fucks you through the waves of your orgasm until your body is finally still.
The silence in the room is deafening as you try to catch your breath. Baekhyun retreats, sitting down on the floor. He won’t meet your gaze, handing you your underwear wordlessly.
You aren’t sure what to say. Maybe you shouldn’t say anything. The ball is in his court now, and you don’t want to push him away by forcing your way in. You stand, not acknowledging the way that he tracks your movements as you freshen up your hair in the mirror. You head for the door, your hand on the doorknob when he finally croaks, “Wait.”
You turn to face him. His expression is unreadable—a mixture of embarrassment, shame, and maybe some anticipation. “I really am sorry about what I said. Not just right now, all those other times too.”
You soften. “I’m sorry too.”
Baekhyun swallows hard. “Um, we have a little break before the next leg of our tour. Can I see you again?”
And just like that, you’re in. You give what you hope comes across as a genuine smile. “Of course.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
part 2 | part 3
a/n: hello lovers! pt 2 of this is fully written (though unedited) and pt 3 is outlined, so i hope you stick around these next two weeks and see how it goes. writing baekhyun as an asshole is so hard for me lmaoooo i feel so bad but it's for the pLOT. if it’s too uncomfy for u then no worries! see u in the next fic, ty for giving this a chance. ty ty ty sm if u read this far, i'm minorly overwhelmed by the amount of likes the teaser had and i hope this lived up to ur expectations. pt 2 in one week!
tagging: @idkwhatthisisfuck @hellomynameis-jessica @lovecomesbaek @an-annyeoing-recs @raiyainbytes @lovelytrauma @novasreality @ohbubbletea (let me know if u would like to be added!)
synopsis: No one knows, but the only way you’d been able to get off these past six months has been Baek100, a budding audio porn creator known for his elaborate scenes and duality. No one knows, but Baekhyun is the number one viewer of your cozy-game streams, supporting you from afar while also not always having innocent intentions when watching you. As a celebration for hitting 10k subs, you decide to host a private video call with one random, lucky viewer…
word count: 9.9k (an all-time high for me i think)
genres and content: Baekhyun x f!reader | nonidol!au, extremely explicit smut (mdni mdni mdni mdni), mutual pining and obsession, original character (side character), Kyungsoo (side character), Mongryong (lol), light alcohol consumption
18+ warnings and content: some generally pervy vibes, masturbation (f and m), excessive dirty talk, swearing, etc., dominant!baekhyun, fingering, oral sex (both f and m receiving), face-fucking, degradation, humiliation, orgasm denial, overstimulation, light spanking, p in v, crying (not from pain), somewhat unsafe sex (reader is on the pill), creampie
a/n: this is so fucking explicit and dirty and barely has enough plot to be called a fic. please be aware before continuing to read. do not read if you are under the age of 18. i'm serious. you have been warmed.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“I think it’s time for me to go to sleep now,” you say, hitting the minus button on your Switch. While you save your file, you look over at the chat to see the series of protesting messages, various exclamations of noooo and just a little longer pls!!
“You guys are sweet,” you laugh. “But I have some appointments tomorrow so I should be getting some shut-eye. Remember that I stream again on Wednesday night, so I look forward to seeing you all then!” You wave at the camera, reading the chat as the messages change to goodbyes as well, different goodnight! and see u soon! scrolling by. One message is longer compared to the rest and it catches your eye. “Have a good rest. See you on Wednesday!” In a flash, it’s gone, swallowed by the rolling sea of text. You end the stream and sit back in your chair, breathing out a sigh of relief.
You do have appointments tomorrow, but that wasn’t the reason why you decided to end the stream a little earlier than usual. The real reason was a notification that had arrived about 20 minutes ago. The quiet ping! from your phone caught your attention, and you had skimmed the text right before it disappeared: [New Audio] 18+... You began to feel the familiar flicker of heat coiling low in your stomach, and suddenly collecting bugs for Blathers in Animal Crossing was the furthest thing on your mind.
You rush through your bedtime routine, turn out the lights, and slip under your covers, finally tapping on that notification. The post pops up and you skim the body of text.
Baek100:
[New Audio with sfx]: 18+ only. Childhood best friends to lovers. Soft mdom, praise, pet names, oral (listener receiving), intercourse, creampie
Hi everyone! Back again with a new audio, I’m sorry I missed last week’s ;-; The last few have been a little hardcore and I’ve been in the mood for something sweet lately. I hope you don’t mind! Enjoy~
Baek <3
Click here for audio: [25:42]
You settle back onto your pillows, pop in your earbuds, and click the link, closing your eyes. The scenario begins with the sound of knocking, then a door swinging open.
“Hi!” You catch yourself smiling at Baek100’s cheerful voice, in spite of yourself. “Long time no see.”
The audio continues for some minutes innocently, and you let yourself get caught up in the elaborate fantasy of it. Some people might call Baek100 boring (and some have, from the few times you’ve looked in his comment section), but that’s because he actually takes some time to get to the porn parts. You can’t get enough of it, ever since you stumbled on his account a few months ago after your roommate drunkenly admitted that audio porn was the only way she could get off. It honestly piqued your interest — who doesn’t find moaning hot? After filtering through different audios of guys lazily jerking off into a mic, finding his account was like a breath of fresh air. The way he cares enough to craft a narrative, making sure each and every audio is different from the last. And he’s good at voice acting too, always putting the right amount of fondness, or desire, or jealousy, or whatever emotion is called for in his voice.
You drift your hand slowly down your body, dipping under the band of your pajama shorts as the action begins to pick up. “I’m sorry if you hate me after this, but I need to tell you or else I’ll regret it forever. I’m so in love with you. I always have been.” You imagine him kissing you, as the voice in your ear does the same, whispering sweet nothings, like “You’re so beautiful,” and “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” Then he says, brokenly, desperately, “Can I taste you? Please, I need it.”
Arousal surges through you as you dip your fingers into your folds, already coming away wet. You can see the scene so clearly in your mind’s eye: being gently pushed back onto your bed, a man with indistinguishable features kissing down your body. He spreads your legs and gives your clit a soft, open-mouthed kiss before diving in, tongue delving into you, hands keeping your thighs apart. Aside from his elaborate scenes, Baek100 is also known for almost always recording some sort of oral scene. He has them down to a science at this point, moaning and whimpering into the microphone alongside the wet sound effects that he adds in. You rub your clit lazily, fingers circling the nub unhurriedly to match the audio’s pace.
It doesn’t take long to get you completely riled up with him praising you like this, slipping two fingers into your cunt when he asks, no, begs, to fuck you. You imagine him pounding into you, kissing you all over, groaning into your ear. You teeter on the edge of orgasm but you stop, stilling your hand inside yourself. You always, always wait for the moment, waiting for —
“Fuck, are you gonna cum for me, angel?” he grunts. “That’s it, cum all over my cock, my gorgeous girl.”
You resume your pace furiously, orgasm crashing into you as you imagine his teeth pulling on your earlobe, fingers pressing indents into your hips as he chases his own high. He comes with a choked moan, spilling himself inside of you, laughing breathlessly as his breathing slows. You could just turn the audio off now that you’re finished and sated, but instead you finish out the last few minutes of the scene as he kisses you gently, relieved that you accepted his confession. “I love you,” he whispers. “So much.”
Instead of just heading to sleep like you usually do, you decide to scroll through the comments of his post. Even though it’s just been uploaded, there are already a couple. One that calls him the most overrated creator on the site, but a couple of thirsty ones praising his voice, saying how hard they came just from listening. No one even says anything about the sweetness of it, just a bunch of filthy desires. You can’t help yourself — you feel a twinge of jealousy reading those words. Even though you’re technically just like them, just another person getting off to his voice, you can’t help but think that he’s yours, your little secret. You haven’t even told your roommate about him, and she’s the reason why you even got here in the first place.
You snort at yourself and roll over, placing your phone facedown on your nightstand. How could you be getting possessive over someone that’s just a voice to you? You close your eyes and drift into a restful sleep.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
It’s Wednesday, and Baekhyun’s eating dinner when he gets the notification.
[LIVE]: more SDV tonight! braving skull cavern (again) ₍^. .^₎⟆
Immediately, he clicks on the notification and smiles when he sees you, still setting up your game. You have the cutest focused expression on your face, not even paying attention to the camera or chat in the slightest. He types out a comment anyways. Good evening! How was your appointment? He sets his phone back on the table and shovels down another mouthful of noodles. To his surprise, your eyes flit to the screen just in time to catch his message.
“Oh, it was alright!” you say. “Pretty boring. Just my annual checkup and I had to pick up some prescriptions from the pharmacy.” Baekhyun doesn’t reply, but others fill in with their messages of concern. “Nothing serious, don’t worry. I’m good and healthy. Anyways, I think we can get started now. So we’re trying to get to floor 100 of Skull Cavern…”
Baekhyun’s been watching your streams for the better part of a year now, and every day he kicks himself for not interacting with you before. While you aren’t a huge streaming celebrity, you’re big enough now to be unable to catch every single message as they scroll by, and you also have a set of dedicated fans that watch almost every one of your streams. Of course, by definition Baekhyun would be one of those people, but he feels different, separate from them. Not hounding you for your attention, badgering you to play certain games, or straight up harassing you in chat. But watching quietly, listening to the small details of your life that you let slip, chiming in when there’s a moment to do so.
He has you on in the background as he goes about his night, cleaning up dinner, taking Mongryong out for a walk, tidying up around his apartment. He’s editing the latest audio cut for work when there’s the sound of knocking on your stream. He glances at his phone to see you sighing. “I hope my roommate gets that,” you say. The knock repeats, insistent. “Ah, sorry guys, let me go see who that is.”
Baekhyun’s eyes widen when you get up from your chair to reveal that you’re wearing the tiniest little cotton shorts. They hug you like a second skin and when you turn away, he can’t help but notice the curve of your ass as you walk. He swallows, looking away and tries in vain to focus on his laptop in front of him, which is easier said than done when his cock is stirring with interest underneath his sweats.
You return shortly after, quickly settling into your seat before Baekhyun can catch another good glimpse of your body. “It was just our neighbor,” you say. “My roommate was napping.” You continue to play as if nothing happened, as if you haven’t just left Baekhyun hard and aching. He stares at the screen again, gaze roaming your body — the dip of your collarbone, the column of your neck, your lips… God, how many times has he stared at your lips, thinking about all the things you could do with them.
He stares down at his now fully-formed erection and sighs, tossing his laptop to the side and pulling out his leaking cock. He wraps his hand around the base and pumps himself, closing his eyes. He’s done this so many times, endlessly imagining you under him, on top of him, your pretty lips wrapped around his dick. He would give it to you nicely, if you wanted, fucking you sweet and gentle with your hands interlaced. But if you asked… he’d pin you down and slam his hips into you until you were shaking and begging underneath him, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re incoherent. Just how pretty your face would look, jaw slack and eyes glassy and needy, tears streaming down your face. He’d coax out every single moan, every gasp, every whimper until the only word you remembered how to say was his name.
He opens his eyes, jerking himself off with more urgency now, seeking the image of you on his phone. You’re worrying your bottom lip between your teeth in concentration, battling monsters in Skull Cavern. “No, no, no,” you mumble as your health bar rapidly depletes. There’s the telltale chime of your death, and the sigh that leaves your lips afterwards is borderline pornographic. “Fuck,” you whine, throwing your head back.
That tips Baekhyun over the edge and he’s cumming, spilling over his fingers and his stomach, your name leaving his mouth in a hushed whisper. He stays like that for a few beats, breathing heavily as his heart rate settles. He grimaces as he’s brought back to reality by your laughter, having read something funny in chat. A tidal wave of shame washes over him as he reaches for a tissue to clean himself off.
Of course, he doesn’t know you, doesn’t know anything at all about your personal life or what you get up to, but based on your streams you seem like such a wholesome, innocent person. Your cutesy persona wasn’t overdone in an artificial way, but was ever-present, with your pink setup, emoticon usage, and choice in games. Even if that weren’t the case, Baekhyun feels a little guilty having such depraved images flash in his mind’s eye whenever he sees you. It was this guilt that had led him to start posting audios after all — just some way for him to pour out his sexual fantasies about you, make them feel a little more tangible, a little more real. He was already competent with audio editing from work, and hey, the little bit of Patreon money he made on the side was a nice bonus. But in any case, the bottom line is that you definitely don’t deserve some perv like Baekhyun jerking off to you. Not when you’re so nice and sweet.
“We’re reaching the end of the stream but I wanted to make a little announcement before I go,” you say, smiling cheerfully into the camera. “I’m going to make a post on Instagram right now as a celebration of reaching 10k subs! Don’t think I didn’t notice.” You laugh, and the sound makes Baekhyun’s heart melt, just a little bit. “If you comment on it with how long you’ve been watching my streams, you can enter to randomly win a one-on-one call with me! We can play games together or just hang out, whatever you want to do. And since you’re watching this live, you can get a head start.”
Baekhyun practically dives for his phone, pulling up your Instagram profile. He refreshes, then again, then again, until the post pops up. I’ve been watching you for almost a year! he comments. He hears you giggling again on stream. “You guys are fast, huh?” you tease, and it almost feels like you’re talking directly to him. “Anyways, I’ll release the results during Monday’s stream! See you all very soon.” The stream ends, and Baekhyun’s apartment suddenly feels more empty than it was before it started. He refreshes the post again, seeing more and more comments appear, his chances of speaking to you privately sinking lower and lower. He shakes his head at himself. It’s random anyways. Better not get his hopes up.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“Okay, so can everyone see my screen?” You look for confirmation in chat that the random number generator is visible to everyone else. After reading the resounding yes’s, you hover your mouse over the button. “Alright, so I don’t want anyone to have any hard feelings or feel upset. It’s all just fun and games, and you have my word that this is randomly picked. Are we ready?” You hit the button and watch the numbers spin before finally landing on 4. Humming to yourself, you pull up the document that assigned the Instagram usernames of everyone who entered in the order of when they commented. You look for the fourth username and highlight the text, bolding it.
“Congratulations, bhyunbyun!” you say cheerfully. “If you’re watching this, I will be dm’ing you with details very soon.” You read through chat for the remaining minutes on stream, trying not to take too much stock in some of the more aggressive messages of disappointment. You try to stay unbothered by it, but you can feel that your smile is forced, stretched around the edges when you end the stream.
You head out to the living room and sigh.“Ugh, some of these people are so entitled.” You flop onto the couch next to your roommate, Selina, who scooches over to give you room.
“I’m telling you, it’s those gamer guys. They’re a different breed.” She blows on her nails that she’s currently painting a deep burgundy. “They think that you’re their Ramona Flowers or something.”
“I just can’t believe that they think I rigged it. I did the whole thing right in front of their faces.” You sigh, pulling out your phone. “Lemme message the winner, I need your help vetting him to make sure it’s not one of those.” You type in the username and pass your phone off to Selina.
Her eyes widen as she scrolls through his posts. “Dude, he’s so hot. Like seriously, I think this might be a catfish.” She hums thoughtfully but then her lips purse in surprise. “No wait. If this is a catfish, he’s a really convincing one. There’s posts that go back until like 2017.”
You groan, taking your phone back from her. “I’ll just message him and get him to send me some proof.” You let Selina chat your ear off about her day at work while you send the first message.
hi! congrats, you are the lucky winner of the private call with me :D. for safety reasons, would you be willing to send a photo of yourself making a thumbs up with smth that shows today’s date? like a laptop screen or something?
You’re not expecting a response right away, but it’s only a couple of minutes before your phone chimes.
Hey! I was watching the stream but I wanted to let you message me first. Thanks so much for the opportunity >.< Here’s the pic~
It’s definitely the same guy, though softer and unfiltered than in his perfectly curated posts. Closed-lip smile, soft brown bangs hanging just above his eyes, thumb pointed upwards in the gesture you requested. He’s posing with his laptop screen that shows today’s date and time, with an endearing photo of a corgi as his screensaver. He’s really cute.
You flip your screen to show Selina, who nods in approval. “Damn, I might want to be out of the apartment when you two have your call. Give you some alone time.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, cheeks burning. “Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean he isn’t a creep.”
It turns out that bhyunbyun is not a creep. In fact, on top of being infuriatingly attractive, he’s super polite and accommodating of your schedule, working with you to find something that works for the both of you instead of demanding a certain date (and yes, you’re aware that the bar is in hell, but being a woman online means having some horror stories). In the nights leading up to the call, you find yourself lurking on his posts, drawn to him for some inexplicable reason. You scroll through pictures of vacations, fit checks, and the adorable dog from his laptop that the caption identifies as Mongryong.
It’s this newfound fascination that leads to you finally putting a face to your Baek100 audio fantasies. Something must be up with him, because he’s been pumping out a new audio every day for the past week (not that you’re complaining). He also has been more rough lately, sometimes foregoing plot details in favor of just straight up filthy talk (again — who’s complaining?) But before, where your fantasies had involved an unknown male figure, there are now very specific features that come to your mind.
“You’re so fucking slutty when you beg like that,” he growls into your ear. It’s a rare afternoon that you get to actually use your vibrator with the apartment to yourself. You fuck yourself with it on the max setting, your whole body trembling and writhing. “Why don’t you beg for me a little more, angel?”
You bite down on the back of your hand as you keen, hips bucking up to meet the toy. “That’s right, beg for my fingers, you fucking slut.” His voice is sharp and sticky like honey. In your mind, it’s bhyunbyun’s face hovering over yours, smirking down at you as he plunges his fingers into your pussy. It’s his lips in a condescending pout, cooing in faux-concern as you ache for him. “Don’t look away,” he growls. “I want you to look at me when you cum all over these fucking fingers. Cum for me.”
The tension snaps, and you cum harder than you have in a long time, back arching off the mattress, clenching around the toy. Spent and still floating on the high of your ecstasy, you stay lying there staring up at the ceiling, just trying to catch your breath. And then…
[CALENDAR] Call with bhyunbyun - 5 minutes
“Shit.” You scramble out of bed, heading to your desk to set up everything for the call. With the few minutes left slipping away through your fingers like sand through an hourglass, you do a once-over of your appearance in the Zoom preview window. You frantically brush the top of your hair down with your fingers and frown. You don’t look bad, but your cheeks are still a little flushed, and you can’t tell if your face looks guilty. As if, Hi, fan of my streams, I just got off to your face a couple of minutes ago. Nice to meet you! is written all over it.
The clock turns to 2pm, and you enter the call. It takes a couple of seconds for his face to appear, slightly backlit from sitting with his back to a window. His face is soft as he grins and oh yes you definitely are starting to feel a little bit of shame now because this guy just looks so… kind and well-meaning.
“Hello!” you say, hoping that you’re just imagining the shake in your voice.
“Hi,” he replies. “I’m Baekhyun. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too.” Now that the adrenaline from earlier is starting to ebb away, you feel yourself relaxing a little more. “So, you mentioned that you didn’t want to play any games but just so you know, I can set up really quickly if you change your mind.”
“Nah, that’s okay.” Baekhyun runs a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs up to show off his forehead for a moment. He’s so hot. Fuck. “I don’t really play the kind of games you do.”
“You don’t?” You raise your eyebrows. “Why do you watch me then, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Baekhyun clears his throat, looking a little sheepish like you caught him. “Well, I like to play games like League, Valorant, you know. Not really ideal for having in the background when I’m trying to relax after work. So I randomly stumbled onto your streams and I thought your whole vibe was really calming and I’ve been watching ever since.”
“Ah. You have a stressful job then?”
“Honestly, not really, but who doesn’t get stressed about work sometimes?” He laughs. “I do freelance audio design, editing, sound mixing, that sort of thing. Mostly for commercials or music videos. The current company I’m working for right now is good, and they’ve given me some steady employment but when I was going from gig to gig it was pretty stressful.”
Huh. Something about Baekhyun seems familiar somehow, and the thought sticks to the back of your head like an annoying itch the longer he talks. The conversation flows naturally — Baekhyun asks about what your streaming plans are for the future, you ask him what he’d like to see on your channel — but that nagging feeling never quite goes away.
A high pitched bark snaps you from your thoughts as Baekhyun looks off the side of the camera, grinning widely. “Hey, Mongryongie! Look who woke up from his nap.” The corgi pokes its head into frame, peering at the laptop screen curiously. “Look, this is my new friend.”
Mongryong barks, louder this time. “Hey, don’t be rude,” Baekhyun scolds. Another bark. “Hey!” He picks the dog up in his arms. “We can’t bark like that inside, the neighbors got mad last time, remember?” Mongryong cutely turns his head, as if trying to ignore his owner, to which Baekhyun replies sternly, “Don’t look away.”
And it’s as if the world stops turning and time stills, because all of a sudden you realize why Baekhyun seems familiar to you. With those three words, he’s managed to turn this whole entire thing upside down.
Those same three words that you had just cum to minutes ago.
You gasp, and when Baekhyun turns to look at you, you try your best to turn it into a cough. “Sorry,” you choke, “One sec.” You take a sip from your water bottle. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.
Except you can’t really calm down because Baekhyun is Baek100. Because why wouldn’t the universe be so cruel?
If you look especially flustered, Baekhyun doesn’t say anything about it. He continues the call with a now subdued and calm Mongryong in his arms, who occasionally looks at you judgementally as if to say, I know your dirty secret, you WHORE. By some miracle, you manage to keep up the conversation, as if this sweet, polite man in front of you is not only the main character of your wet dreams, but the whole damn architect who built them with his own voice.
Baekhyun’s just asked what kind of food you’ve been into lately. You bite back the urge to say You, obviously, and instead say, “There’s this new Korean restaurant that opened near my place, actually. It’s very good, I went there with my roommate the other day.”
“That’s funny,” Baekhyun says. “My friend actually just opened a Korean restaurant. I’ve been helping out. Only with the decor and stuff, though, I’m basically as helpful as a rock in the kitchen.” He laughs when Mongryong snuffles in his arms in agreement. “Did a lot of taste testing, which was fun.”
“Now that you mention it,” you hum, “the owner seems to be about our age. He was very friendly, but intimidating. He actually glared at us but it turns out that he wasn’t wearing his glasses and he couldn’t see. He was very apologetic.”
Baekhyun’s smile drops. “Wait… you’re not talking about Restaurant SooSoo are you?”
Your heart freezes. Now the universe is getting a little fucking ridiculous. “Um… Yes. It’s literally a five minute drive from me.”
“Holy shit,” Baekhyun breathes. “That’s my friend Kyungsoo. We’re in the same city.”
You both laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, because what are the odds that the guy you’ve been jerking off to is the same guy who happens to watch your streams, and who happens to live in the same city as you? “I can’t believe I’ve never seen you around,” he says in disbelief. “I feel like I definitely would have recognized you on the spot.”
And the way he says it, so full of fondness and maybe something else, if you were to believe your delusional thoughts, pushes you to take the plunge.
“Hey, what are you doing Friday night?”
“This Friday?” Baekhyun scratches Mongryong’s head thoughtfully. “Nothing, really. I was just gonna go bother Kyungsoo at the restaurant. Why?”
You take a deep breath to steady yourself. “There’s this bar that I really like called Heaven. Heard of it?”
“Yeah, think so.” He pauses for a beat. “What, so, is this a date?”
You drum your fingers on your knee nervously. “I really liked talking to you today, Baekhyun. And I wanna get to know you better. So, yes, I’d like it to be a date.”
Baekhyun’s lips form an ‘o’ in surprise, but then he beams, his cheeks turning pink. Cute. “Sure — I mean, yes! I’d love to!”
“Okay great,” you smile. “I’ll message you the details later?”
“Sounds good.” He licks his lips and then adds, “Hey, thanks for this, by the way. And I hope you don’t feel like you have to meet up with me just because we’re close by. If you’re not comfortable I really wouldn’t mind canceling.”
“That’s very sweet of you, but I want to.” You hover your mouse over the End call button. “Talk to you soon?”
“Definitely.” Baekhyun smiles. “See you soon!”
The screen goes black and you let out an exhale that you didn’t know you’d been holding.
What the fuck?
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Baekhyun fiddles with the zipper of his jacket with one hand, holding his phone up with the other. “Is this a terrible idea?” he asks. He leans back against the brick wall, the music from inside Heaven faintly thumping away. He stands outside the bar, waiting for you. He doesn’t know which direction you’re coming from, but he tries to not stand there, swiveling his head both ways like an anxious child crossing the street.
“Yes,” Kyungsoo deadpans. There’s some shuffling on the other line as he finishes up inventory for the night. “Like I said the last five times you’ve asked, I think this is not a good idea.”
“I know I just asked for your opinion and all, but I’m choosing to ignore it.” A group of voices across the street gets his attention, but none of them are you. “This isn’t like… ethically or morally bad, right?”
Kyungsoo sighs. “No, Baekhyun, I guess it isn’t ethically or morally bad to go on a date with someone that you’ve been having constant fantasies about after she’s literally just met you, but something doesn’t have to be ethically or morally bad for me to dislike it.”
“She asked me out, anyways,” Baekhyun says, petulantly. “And she likes your food.”
“Fine, I won’t say anything else about it then. Even if I’m just agreeing to ease your conscience,” Kyungsoo replies. “Is she there yet?”
“Um…” He looks across the street again and then suddenly he sees you. Your gaze locks onto his and you positively light up, lifting a hand to wave at him. Baekhyun feels his heart squeeze in his chest and maybe this isn’t a great idea, maybe an Internet crush is just meant to be an Internet crush, but it’s too late now. “Yeah, she just got here. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“In as little detail as possible please.” Baekhyun can hear Kyungsoo’s grimace over the phone. “But stay safe. Text me if you need anything.”
“Hi!” Baekhyun greets you, shoving his phone in his back pocket. “Nice to see you.” You look fucking incredible, he thinks, looking you over in your short, black dress. All dolled up just for him.
“Hello,” you reply, smiling shyly. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me here. It’s just a walk from my apartment but I hope it wasn’t a long drive for you.”
“Not at all. We’re pretty close to my place too.”
“Who could’ve guessed that we’d be so close?” you laugh.
You’re telling me, Baekhyun thinks. This whole time, he could have ran into you at any moment — on the street, on the bus, just fucking grocery shopping for God’s sake. The universe truly had such a cruel sense of humor.
“Shall we?” you ask, tilting your head in the direction of the entrance.
He reaches out and swings the door open, putting on what he hopes is his most charming smile. “After you.” The bar isn’t too packed for a Friday night, and you’re able to pick out a cozy booth in the back while he orders some drinks. He tries not to stare too hard at your perfectly glossed lips or the curve of your neck when he returns. His fingers brush against yours lightly as he hands you your drink.
“Thank you,” you grin. You scoot over in the booth and pat the spot next to you. “Sit next to me so it’s easier to hear each other.”
Sitting this close to you, Baekhyun can smell your perfume and oh, fuck, this is going to be difficult. In a different life he would be tempted to hike up the short skirt of your dress and take you right here in the dark corner of the bar, covering your mouth with his hand to keep you quiet. But he wills himself into composure. He has to be on his best behavior, starting now.
You tip your head back and he watches you swallow the first sip of your drink. His traitorous mind imagines you swallowing down his cock like that, drinking his cum. Then you smile at him gratefully and the pang of guilt nearly takes his breath away.
Okay. Starting now.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
A couple of drinks in, Selina’s words from earlier start to echo in your head.
“Girl, this is crazy,” she said. “You look so hot, but this is crazy.”
You finally stopped fiddling with your eyeliner, satisfied, and looked back at her. “I know,” you sighed. “Should I just tell him?”
“Mm… not yet.” A mischievous grin settled in on her lips. “Get to know him, wine and dine him, and then maybe you can hit him with the, by the way I know you make audio porn and I get off to you on the regular.”
You groaned, putting your head in your hands. When Selina had returned from her outing that day of your call with Baekhyun, she had come home to the sight of you strewn about the couch, lamenting your predicament. You had explained everything, from finding the Baek100 account months ago to impulsively asking Baekhyun out on a date. She consoled you and gave you pep talks the whole week leading up to the date, and only made fun of you a little bit. “Is this wrong?” you asked. “Am I like… taking advantage of him? He’s a viewer, isn’t he?”
“It’s not like you’re gonna hit it and quit it,” Selina said. She put her hands on your shoulders and looked at you seriously. “You like him, don’t you?”
“I do,” you admitted. “He’s really nice and super cute. He’s not what I expected, you know? He just seems like a down to earth guy. That’s why I don’t want to ruin it by being…” You waved your hands helplessly.
“A horny freak?” Selina supplied, raising an eyebrow.
“Selina.”
“I’m kidding, my love.” She planted a kiss on your cheek. “And you know what, he made the audios in the first place. He can’t 100% be this virginal boy-next-door that you keep describing. Be safe, be genuine with him, and the rest will fall into place.” She turned toward the door, putting her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll be back around noon tomorrow. Call me if you need me, I’ll be leaving my ringer on.” She gave you another look over before she left. “And seriously, you look so good.”
It’s obvious now that Baekhyun thinks so too (You might be a little nervous but you’re not blind). You can feel his heated gaze whenever he thinks you aren’t paying attention, his eyes snapping back up to meet yours when you turn towards him. Your desire for him is thick and heady, strengthened every time he leans his head in close to hear you better or tips his head back to take a sip of his drink. Tucked next to each other in the booth, you can smell his cologne, can see the freckle on the side of his nose from this close. The more time that passes, the more that you’re sure that you want him. You’re not drunk by any means, but the alcohol in your system is making you bolder, braver. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.
You lean over and place a hand on his knee, your lips just barely hovering next to his ear. “I told you that my place is nearby, right?”
You feel him stiffen under you, and then he pulls away, searching your eyes for something. Permission, maybe. “Are you drunk?”
You shake your head, smiling coyly. “Are you?”
“Not really. I mean, no. I’m not.” He runs a hand through his hair, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “I just don’t want to do something that you’ll regret.”
You tilt your head to one side and you catch the way his eyes lock on to the strap of your dress sliding down your shoulder. “Do you want me, Baekhyun?”
He swallows, then nods, eyes dark. “Yes,” he breathes. “Since the moment I saw — since the moment you got here.”
You slide impossibly closer, practically straddling him in the booth. You lean forward as if to kiss him, but pull away at the last second, ghosting your lips on top of his. “Then take me home,” you whisper.
The next several minutes pass in a blur, as Baekhyun pays the check and leads you out to his car. You give him the short directions to your apartment, his long fingers gripping the steering wheel as he drives. You’re barely aware of anything other than your heart thudding in your ears until you’re both in the elevator. As soon as the doors slide shut, Baekhyun has you pressed against the wall, his lips hurriedly devouring yours.
You let out a whimper against him, your hands seeking somewhere to land and settling on the hair curling at the nape of his neck. He kisses you like a man starved, all scorching and breathless, pulling you closer by your waist. He pulls away as the elevator doors open, chest heaving. You take his hand and lead him down the hallway to your apartment and hurriedly unlock the door. When it clicks shut behind you, he’s on you once more, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, your back pressed against the wall.
“Fuck,” he groans, and you feel your arousal deep in the pit of your stomach at the sound of his voice. He’s here, he’s actually here, kissing you and minutes away from (hopefully) fucking you. “I don’t — fuck — I don’t think I can control myself.” He presses his forehead against yours, pupils blown and eyes desperate. “Tell me again that you want this.”
“I want this so bad.” You tangle your fingers in his hair. “Please, Baekhyun, I want you.”
“Shit,” he whispers, awestruck. You move to kiss him but he stills. “Wait —” He sighs and steps away. “This isn’t right.”
The rejection stings and you cross your arms in front of you as if it can ward away the pit in your stomach. “What do you mean? You don’t want to?”
“No, I want to.” He looks guilty all of a sudden, not able to meet your eyes. “I want it really badly and I guess that’s… kind of the problem?” He runs a hand through his hair, already messy from where you’ve pulled it. “Look, I’ve… pretty much had a thing for you since I started watching you, and it wasn’t like… totally innocent.” He huffs, turning pink. “I guess I’m just saying that I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and you seem really nice, genuinely, and I don’t want to… corrupt you?”
“Corrupt me? Baekhyun…” You raise an eyebrow. “You know I’m a grown woman, right?”
He throws his hands up, spluttering. “Yes, I know that! But your whole thing with the cozy games and the pink everything and… you know.” He sighs. “I guess I just don’t want to scare you with how badly I want what I want.”
You shake your head, smiling at him reassuringly. “You won’t. And since we’re admitting things to each other…” You steel yourself, the words dying on your tongue. Baekhyun looks at you expectantly, still slightly on guard but starting to relax. Fuck it. “I know that you’re Baek100.”
Now Baekhyun flushes bright red.
“What the fuck?!”
“It was before we ever met, I swear!” You hug your arms around yourself tighter. “I’ve been listening to your… audios for a while. Months. The raffle was truly random and I didn’t know who you were until we spoke. So really, I should be the one apologizing because I asked you out knowing who you were without telling you.”
Baekhyun stares at you like you’ve grown a second head, stunned into complete silence. “So now that you know,” you continue, “you should also know that since I’m into that and I’m into you that you can’t scare me with anything that you possibly could want to do to me right now.”
He blinks, then puts his head in his hands. For a moment, you think that you truly fucked it up, that he’s seconds away from turning around and leaving you, probably going to delete his account and tell everyone that you’re a fucking freak (goodbye streaming career). He groans loudly. “How the fuck am I about to have sex with the hottest fucking woman alive right now?”
A laugh bubbles up out of your throat. “So we’re still about to have sex?”
He peeks at you between his fingers. “Obviously?”
You reach out and grab his wrists, gently pulling him towards you. “Then why don’t you continue what you were doing then?” you murmur, pressing your lips against his. It starts out a little awkwardly, then sweetly before he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. He presses you against the wall, slotting his knee between your thighs as he leaves bites down the length of your neck.
“Do you touch yourself listening to me?” he asks.
“Yes,” you whisper. The admission feels like a release on its own and you shudder against him. “Ever since I saw your face I’ve been picturing you, too.”
Baekhyun bites down harder at that, earning a yelp. “Funny, because ever since I started making those stupid things I only ever thought of you.” Your hips buck up, grinding against his leg and he squeezes your ass hard in response. “Which ones were your favorite? The ones where I’m nice and sweet? Or the ones where I call you a slut and fuck you until you cry?” The whimper you let out is an answer enough and he chuckles. “So you like being degraded? Who knew that under that cute persona you were getting off to the idea of being my fucktoy.”
He gets down on his knees in front of you and reaches underneath your dress, sliding your panties down. He coaxes one of your legs over his shoulder and bunches the hem of your dress around your hips, pressing a kiss to your aching clit.
“You have no fucking idea how badly I’ve wanted this. I’m serious. All those things I said all those times, they were always about you.” He brushes a finger in between your folds and he swears under his breath. “You’re so wet, fuck.” He slips two fingers inside of you as his lips latch onto your clit and sucks.
“Fuck!” you cry out, grabbing a fistful of his hair. You throw your head back, the pleasure sudden and overwhelming, overtaking you. He alternates between flicking his tongue and sucking your clit, his fingers steadily pumping into you. He curls them and you sob, trying to pull away from the intensity to no avail.
Baekhyun grips your hip hard with his free hand. “Don’t run away from me now,” he murmurs, continuing to thrust his fingers into you. “I thought you wanted this so bad.” And fuck, you can’t help but think that the sweet boy over Instagram DMs is gone now, replaced by the voice that you’ve cum to countless times. All those nights alone in your room, stifling your moans, to this, the same man now coaxing them out of you with his words, his fingers, his tongue.
“Baek, I’m gonna —” He’s off of you in an instant, pulling his fingers out of you. The buildup of your orgasm withers away, unsatisfying and empty. You whine, trying to push his face back against you but he pulls your hand off of his hair.
“Not yet, angel,” he says, standing up. His lips are wet and shiny with you. “I want the first time you cum to be on my cock.”
“I wanna taste you first,” you whisper, before sinking to your knees in front of him. He exhales softly when you undo his belt, hisses when you free his cock and suck lightly on the tip, the salty tang of his precum on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks and sink down lower, taking the rest with your hand, coating his cock with your spit.
Baekhyun’s eyes flutter closed and he tips his head back, his jaw slack, soft pants leaving his mouth. He looks down at you and groans when your eyes meet. “You look so fucking good like this.” He rests his hand on your cheek. “You look like you belong there.” You moan around his length and reach for his wrist, placing his hand on top of your head. His eyes widen in understanding. “Fuck, you’re going to kill me.”
He holds your head in place as he rocks into your mouth, gingerly at first but gathering strength with each stroke. You focus on breathing steadily through your nose, looking up at him even as your vision goes watery. He grunts when the tip brushes the back of your throat, making you gag. “So sloppy,” he murmurs. “You’re drooling all over yourself.”
The wet sounds of Baekhyun’s cock sliding into your mouth and the heavy weight of it on your tongue go straight to your core, and you can’t help but to rub light circles on your clit with your fingers. He pulls out of you abruptly and slaps your cheek with his cock, leaving a trail of spit and precum on your skin. “Uh, uh, stop that,” he commands. “Or I’m leaving right now.”
You whine and cease touching yourself, resting your hand on your thigh. He cups your chin in his hand. “Good girl. Now show me where the bedroom is.” You start to stand but he holds you in place. “I didn’t say to get up. I think you can get there just fine on all fours.”
You hesitate, your breath catching in your throat, and his gaze softens. He crouches down in front of you. “Too much?” he asks, tucking your hair behind your ear.
You shake your head. “I think I’m just so turned on I froze for a second.”
Baekhyun grins at you, a real smile, and your heart tumbles for a second. But just as quick as the moment happened, it passes, and he stands up again. “Get on with it then.”
You lead him to the bedroom on all fours, your ears burning from embarrassment. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the full-length mirror as you pass it — makeup runny, hair disheveled, spit running down your chin. The straps of your dress fallen past your shoulders, exposing the top of your breasts. Baekhyun follows closely behind you, and you can feel his eyes devouring your body hungrily. “Fucking look at yourself. Have you ever done this before? Ever crawled on your hands and knees for dick?”
“N-no,” you whimper.
He barks out a laugh. “You probably love this. You love having me tell you what to do and then you just do it. Mindless cock-hungry slut. Those assholes in your chat would fucking lose it if they knew just how quick you got on your knees for me.” His words leave you breathless, dizzy and shaky with need.
You reach the bedroom and he opens the door for you. Somewhere along the way, he had discarded his remaining clothing, revealing his toned chest and the long, long lines of his broad shoulders. You wait for him at the foot of the bed, watching as he takes in your room. “Do you know how many times I’ve watched you and seen your bed in the background and wondered what you would look like getting fucked on it?” Baekhyun says. “I used to feel so bad thinking about you like that, but the whole time you were thinking about me like that.” He laughs to himself in disbelief. “Un-fucking-believable.”
“Please,” you beg. “Please fuck me, Baekhyun. I can’t take it anymore.”
He hums, as if considering it. “Take off your clothes.” His eyes are glued to your body as you shrug off your dress, the fabric hitting the floor with a quiet thud. “God, you’re gorgeous.” He takes you in his arms and kisses you, hands roaming your body appreciatively. “Condom?” he murmurs against your lips.
“I — um — I’m on the pill,” you admit. “So we don’t… have to…”
Baekhyun stares at you, eyes wide, his dominant persona cracking for a second. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” You stroke his cock once, relishing in the way his hips pulse forward. “I want to feel you cum inside me.”
His eyes flutter shut for a moment, a groan leaving his lips. He spins you around and lightly shoves you onto the bed, coaxing you onto all fours for him. You feel the mattress dip when he joins you, brushing the tip of his cock in your folds. “Can’t you beg for me a little more, angel? It’s unfair that you’ve been listening to me for so long and this is my first time hearing you.”
“Please,” you moan brokenly. You try to fuck yourself back onto him but he holds you in place with one steady hand on your hip.
“Please what?” He smacks your ass cheek sharply, your back bowing under the sting. “Be more specific.”
“Please fuck me. I want your cock in me, I want to cum.”
“Good fucking girl,” he groans, squeezing your ass one last time before sliding home. He waits, hips flush against yours to give you a second to breathe, before snapping into you again and again, setting a brutal pace. The force of it immediately shunts you forward, and you just barely brace yourself before your face hits the pillows.
Baekhyun moans, leaning forward to place a hand on the back of your neck. Not hard enough to restrict your airflow, but with just enough pressure to keep you in place. “Fuck — your pussy feels so fucking good, baby. You’re so wet, shit.”
A symphony of moans pours from your mouth, unbridled and shameless. Even as your arms give out under you and your face hits the pillows, he makes sure your head is turned to the side so your sounds remain unmuffled. “Let me hear you,” he grunts, delivering another sharp slap to your ass. “Tell everyone in this building just how good you’re getting fucked.”
“Baek —” You try your best to keep up with his pace, fucking backwards onto him, but it’s just too much — the buildup from all night, the pleasure from all sides, even just the knowledge that you’re living out your fantasy right here in your bed. It’s all too much all at once, and you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, clenching around Baekhyun’s cock.
He pulls out, ignoring your sob of protest. He flips you over on your back and you quiver under him, hips bucking up and searching for something, anything, to help you reach your peak. You feel the tears flowing freely now, running down your cheeks and onto the sheets below. He pouts, teasing and mean, his thumb brushing the tears away.
“Don’t cry, angel,” he coos. “I got you.”
“I want to cum,” you wail. “Please, fuck.”
He pushes his thumb into your mouth, salty from your tears. “Soon,” he promises, kissing your forehead as he slides back inside your aching cunt. “Just give me a little more, gorgeous.”
You’re thoughtless now, the need for release being the only thing on your mind as Baekhyun fucks into you mercilessly. His eyes are screwed shut in concentration, sweat beading on his temples, his chrome necklace swinging above you in time with his thrusts. You grab onto his shoulders, because if you don’t, you fear that you’ll lose yourself entirely, disintegrating into a puddle of overwhelming pleasure.
“How badly do you want to cum?” he grunts.
“I need it so bad,” you babble, unseeing. “Please, I’ve been good, I’ve been so fucking good for you.”
“Yes, baby, you have.” He plants his hands on either side of your waist and pounds into you, the corners of his lips curving upwards when you cry out even louder. “Cum for me, angel. Cum all over me.”
As if your body is wired to obey him, you cum, your back arching off the bed. Your movements have a mind of their own as you writhe against him, screaming as you splinter into infinite pieces. It feels so good, so fucking good after so long, you let yourself dissolve into bliss as your senses turn to static.
Distantly, you feel Baekhyun pulling out and you have half a mind to ask where he’s going before your thighs are being pushed apart. His mouth descends on your messy cunt, lapping up your wetness with renewed hunger.
“Baekhyun.” Your voice sounds foreign even to you, cracked and hoarse. You weakly raise a hand to halfheartedly push him away but he pins your wrist to your side, delving his tongue inside your pussy. “Baek, I can’t — fuck —”
“You can,” he says, slipping two fingers inside you, immediately finding that spot that makes you shake. “You look so good cumming, I want to see it again. Can’t you cum for me again, sweetheart?”
He pumps his fingers inside of you until you cum again, clamping your thighs around his head, the waves overtaking you until you’re sobbing. He climbs back on top of you and sinks into your aching, sore pussy, silencing your whimper with his lips. You twitch against him, the overstimulation taking you over. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, brushing your damp hair off of your forehead. His thrusts are slower now, but deep, burying himself all the way inside of you before sliding back out again. The sound of it is filthy and raw, your thighs damp with your wetness, spilling out each time he retreats. “My angel.”
You reach up and urge him downwards, tucking his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m yours,” you choke out. “I’m yours, Baek.”
He moans, guttural and needy, slamming into you once more. “Say that again, fuck, baby, please.”
“I’m all yours,” you breathe. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer to you. “And you’re mine.”
He keens once and then he’s gone, rutting into you frantically as he bites down on your shoulder. His pace stutters, erratic, spilling inside of you. He continues to fuck you through it, shaking, his cum splattering between your thighs. “Yours,” he whispers. “I’m yours.”
You cool down against each other, trying to find the will and strength to compose yourself. Your body has other ideas, sinking against the mattress underneath Baekhyun’s weight. He props himself up to look at you, his eyes gentle. He kisses you once, twice.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hey, yourself,” you reply, smiling at him.
He pulls out, both of you wincing at the ache. You can’t help but feel the edges of sleep creeping in, your body exhausted. He brushes his thumb against your cheek. “I’ll clean up,” he whispers. “Get some sleep.”
And again, as if your body is wired to obey, your eyes flutter shut.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
You wake up alone, cold and sore.
You think for a second that maybe you dreamed it all, but the slight stickiness between your thighs and the used tissues in the trash can next to your bed say otherwise. You reach for your phone and there’s no new messages except for a check in from Selina.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You sit up, trying to blink the sleep away from your eyes as you open your messages with Baekhyun. He hasn’t blocked you, so that’s good, but he hasn’t said anything either. Surely he wouldn’t… ghost, right? You feel the sting of tears pricking behind your eyes, and you take a couple of deep breaths to steel yourself.
You hear your front door clicking open and you wipe a couple of stray tears from your face. Thank God, you and Selina can get some food and talk shit and forget this whole thing ever happened. But then you hear his hushed voice, just barely audible from outside your closed bedroom door.
“Yes, I’m doing it right now.” A pause. “I really hope so.” Another pause, and then a huff of laughter. “Okay, I’ll let you get back to work. Thanks, Kyungsoo.” The sound of footsteps leads up to your door and then it swings open gently.
“Oh, you’re awake!” Baekhyun smiles warmly at you and holds up a paper bag and a drink carrier with two iced coffees. “I ordered breakfast.” He sets the items down on your nightstand and sits next to you. He’s wearing last night’s slightly wrinkled clothes and his hair looks haphazardly kept, like he just frantically brushed his fingers through it, but he still looks handsome as ever. He reaches for your hand and brushes his thumb over your knuckles. “I wasn’t sure what you liked,” he admits sheepishly. “So one of the coffees is sweet and the other’s plain, and one of the pastries is sweet and the other is savory.”
“Thank you.” You smile at him, but it drops when a thought occurs to you. “How did you get back in the apartment?”
“I might have, well —” He winces slightly. “I might have left the door unlocked when I went downstairs to pick up the order?”
“Baekhyun.”
“I was only gone for like five minutes, I swear! Besides, if anyone broke in I could handle it. I have a black belt in hapkido, you know.”
You snort, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
He gazes at you with such fondness for a second that it takes your breath away. The expression quickly morphs into one of concern. “I wanted to check and make sure that you’re okay after last night. I’m sorry, I know that I got a little carried away.”
“No, I liked it a lot.” Your ears grow hot at the memories. “Honestly, that was probably the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“Oh!” Baekhyun’s cheeks turn pink. “Well… I’m glad. Same — same for me.”
You settle into comfortable silence for a few beats, Baekhyun absentmindedly tracing circles on the back of your hand, before he says what’s on both of your minds. “So, what happens now?”
“Well… I really want to see you again,” you say, smiling softly. “I really like you, Baekhyun. And last night was incredible but I also want to get to know you outside of… situations like last night.”
“I agree,” he replies. He then sighs lightheartedly. “As hard as it’ll be for me to keep my hands to myself, I agree.”
You smack his hand lightly and he yelps. He pouts at you until you kiss it away, smiling against your lips. You both have to stop yourselves before the kiss goes any further, but, you note with a bit of exasperation and glee, that it takes the both of you considerable conscious effort to do so.
“By the way,” Baekhyun says, “Since we’re gonna start seeing each other, I’ll delete the account.”
Your eyebrows knit together in concern. “Oh. I do appreciate it but I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”
“I want to.” He grins cheekily. “I only ever wanted it to be for you, anyways.”
You hum in thought, and then nod. “Okay. But on one condition.”
“Anything, angel.”
You can’t help the grin that forms on your lips. “You have to make some private recordings. Just for me.”
Baekhyun laughs, like windchimes on a sunny day. When he beams at you it’s as if the sky opens up, bathing you in his warmth. He kisses you one last time, sealing his promise. “Deal.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
man. i have no excuse for this. for real. lmaoooo
thank u to everyone who encouraged this. i hope it met ur expectations <3
𓆩 IN THIS TAPE…. jaemin was supposed to stay a ghost of that summer, your older brother’s best friend, the boy you swore you’d never fall for again. but the moment his hands are on you again, it’s hunger all over, heat that won’t let go, secrets pressed into skin. every fuck feels like ruin, every kiss like a dare. the deeper you sink into him, the more you know it can’t last because before the summer ends, everything will burn. ♪ PLAYLIST ❧PINTEREST
PAIRING na jaemin x ໒꒱ f!reader
STARRING… brothers best friend! jaem, age gap romance (three years) retro early 2000s aesthetics, small town vibes, summer nostalgia, themes of secrecy, obsession, nostalgia sharpened into danger, rough/dirty sex, heavy smut (minors dni) in this entire fic, degradation, strong language, emotional manipulation, y/n is your girl next door, jaemin is mysterious, magnetic, toxic in the way he knows you’ll never stop coming back. possessive, obsessive, mouths full of hunger
TAPE I — THE FIRST MISTAKE
IN THIS TAPE jaemin was supposed to stay a ghost of that summer, your brother’s best friend, the boy you swore you’d never fall for again. but the moment his hands are on you again, it’s hunger all over, heat that won’t let go, secrets pressed into skin. every fuck feels like ruin, every kiss like a dare. the deeper you sink into him, the more you know it can’t last because before the summer ends, everything will burn.
TAPE II — REWIND IT AGAIN
IN THIS TAPE 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.
minors dni. this fic contains heavy smut, mature themes, and intense emotional content throughout. please engage responsibly and respect your own boundaries before reading. this story leans deeply into a summer haze atmosphere, think early 2000s, retro textures, vhs grain, polaroids left out in the sun too long. the imagery is warm, soft, and nostalgic, but the emotions underneath are messy, consuming, and at times destructive.
themes include secrecy, forbidden relationships, blurred moral lines, and the consequences of desire when it refuses to stay hidden. there is a strong focus on physical intimacy, emotional dependency, and the push and pull between love and ruin. please be mindful that this fic explores dynamics that are complicated and, at times, morally grey. everything is written intentionally within a fictional context. read with care, and immerse yourself fully. 💗
synopsis: Completed one-shots of certain events in the Luna-Verse timeline throughout the years in chronological order + short drabbles sprinkled through the years.
╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST
ONE-SHOT CHAPTERS
Love poem ╰ 2013 - At sixteen, Luna drifts through loneliness and self-doubt, until she meets someone who quietly reshapes her world and brings the light back into her life.
If only ╰ 2017 & 2018 - A moment of vulnerability, a confession left unanswered, and a heart quietly breaking— If only things had gone differently, but some stories take time to unfold.
Can I be him? ╰ 2017 & 2018 - Amid the tangled emotions between Luna, Jeonghan, and Mingyu, unspoken confessions and lingering hopes weave a bittersweet narrative of love, regret, and the desperate longing to be chosen.
Love me or leave me ╰ 2018 - After a bitter fight exposes their unresolved tension, a terrifying encounter leaves Luna shaken and Jeonghan becomes her quiet refuge, forcing them both to face, for now, the love and fear they’ve been running from.
Talking to the moon ╰ 2018 - After months of avoidance and awkward interactions, two hearts finally break their barriers, sharing confessions under the moonlight and finding the closure they both desperately needed.
His english love affair (18+) ╰ 2019 - What starts as playful teasing quickly spirals into something deeper, where teasing words and lingering touches lead to a line neither of them can ever uncross.
Nothing matters but you ╰ 2019 - When exhaustion and vulnerability collide, Jeonghan's quiet devotion proves that even in the midst of chaos, only one thing truly matters.
Nobody knows ╰ 2020 - After a year of stolen glances and secret meetings, one reckless moment in the practice room turns Jeonghan and Luna’s hidden relationship into the group’s loudest revelation.
Let the world burn ╰ 2022 - After Luna gets injured during Be The Sun tour rehearsal in Bangkok, her members— willing to do anything and everything for her— refuse to let her face it alone.
She will be loved ╰ 2022 - Despite her injury, Luna takes the stage with unwavering grace, surrounded by the love and support of her fans and members, proving that no matter what, she will always be loved.
Moonstruck ╰ 2022 - Jeonghan’s life had always been filled with quiet realizations about Luna— the way he loved her, the way she changed him— but nothing struck him harder than the moment he knew, with unwavering certainty, that he wanted to marry her.
The boy is mine (18+) ╰ 2023 - In the city of love, Luna finally snaps and learns just how far she’ll go to protect what’s hers.
Say yes to heaven, say yes to me ╰ 2024 - Beneath the moonlit skies of Berlin, a moment years in the making sparks a whirlwind of love, laughter, and unspoken promises, with a diamond shining as bright as their future.
They don’t know about us ╰ 2024 - When their five-year secret relationship is exposed, Luna and Jeonghan navigate the chaos of public scrutiny, media frenzy, and agency interference— only to prove that no one really knows them except the people who truly matter.
Him and I ╰ 2024 - In a momentous night filled with cheers, Luna must confront the void of Jeonghan’s absence, finding solace in the echoes of his unwavering support from afar.
Soldier ╰ 2024 - At his military training graduation, Jeonghan stands tall as a soldier— but it’s Luna’s surprise arrival that brings him to his knees in love all over again.
Candyman (18+) ╰ 2024 - After coming home from Jeonghan’s military training graduation, the uniform, the weeks apart, and the tension of missing each other become too much to resist— until they finally unravel in each other’s arms.
Birds of a feather ╰ 2024 - Amid the rush of the MAMA Awards and the whirlwind of victories, Luna and Jeonghan share quiet moments of love and reflection, as their hearts connect through wins, speeches, and emotions that speak louder than words.
Santa baby ╰ 2024 - On a Christmas Eve brimming with emotion, Luna and Jeonghan exchange gifts that bring tears, laughter, and a profound realization that in each other, they’ve already won the greatest gift of all.
Drive you insane (18+) ╰ 2025 - After weeks of mutual teasing and denial, Jeonghan and Luna’s secret plan to surprise each other with bold hairstyle changes ignites a night of explosive passion, proving they know exactly how to drive each other insane.
No. 1 party anthem ╰ 2025 - At TWS’s first concert in Seoul, Jeonghan and Luna show up looking like the hottest rockstar couple with Seungkwan as their reluctant, third-wheeling son— causing chaos, PDA, and social media meltdowns in their wake.
Juno ╰ 2025 - Luna and Jeonghan spend a chaotic yet heartwarming day babysitting her cousin’s one-year-old daughter, Bomi, which stirs up unexpected feelings of longing and tenderness as they imagine their own future family together.
Teeth ╰ 2025 - Luna’s chaotic, post-wisdom-teeth recovery sends Seventeen into full babysitting mode as she babbles, crashes, and eventually wakes up to a phone full of incriminating videos and a very smug Jeonghan.
Bet on it ╰ 2025 - When Luna’s curiosity about military training lands her on a variety show, she and Jeonghan make a stubborn bet that turns her challenge into a battle of pride, and playful sabotage.
DRABBLES
her rare jealous heart - the one where luna is jealous and jeonghan teases, reassures, and makes her melt in his arms.
too drunk to function - the one where the members want to go home but luna is drunk and only jeonghan can handle her.
think fast, i’m taken - the one where luna pretends to be a random girl and jeonghan totally ruins her plan.
the pms crisis hotline - the one where luna cycles through sadness, anger, frustration, clinginess, and neediness while jeonghan just handles it.
how to start a fight in cosplay - the one where seventeen’s harry potter–themed monthly meeting in london turns into five different arguments at once.
jeonghan’s mistletoe agenda - the one where christmas traditions get a little out of hand.
tiktok siren in his living room - the one where luna pulls tiktok pranks on jeonghan, he turns every single one against her, and she ends up laughing while he reminds her exactly who he is.
the mosquito theory - the one where jeonghan marks his territory and lets the internet connect the dots but still backfires.
ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)
Synopsis: Addiction’s a drug in itself, you want to live without it but it keeps sustaining you and living in you—that’s Yeoreum’s struggle, look further into her life, and her moments with Mark as her story begins to take a turn into deeper pits of complexities. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Pairing: Mark x OC (you are the OC)
Warnings: mentions of funeral, parent death, grief. mentions of food. Sexual assault is alluded towards, suggestive content involving yeoreum and another guy. Lmk if there’s something missed.
Your limbs scream treason, your tear ducts lose hope, your heart struggles to beat in a rhythm tandem to your shallow and rapid inhales. You weren’t sure how long you had run for but it hurt, tremendously but not enough. It didn’t hurt enough to swallow down the grief that had struck your being. Just then, as you stumbled on a tiny rock on the rough concrete, you bumped into a poor guy going about his way in the neighbourhood.
“My ice cream!” He called out in English, pouting over the spilt vanilla cone decorating the dirty cement. “Sorry…” you came out of your daze, embarrassed and disheartened. “Uh…It…It’s okay I should’ve…” he struggles to find the adequate words in Korean, a western accent in his speech.
“No! It’s my fault, so I will pay,” you point towards the melting cream, stifling a hundred tears. “No you don’t have to…” he continued to say something you didn’t understand, your English teacher hadn’t progressed too far with the syllabus yet, maybe third grade after the summer would help you more.
“Listen, I don’t care, just tell me where you live…” you begin in Korean, searching his face for an understanding and when you do you continue, “I’ll bring the money to your place.”
Before even agreeing to that predicament, he looks at you, really looks at you and asks, “Are you okay?”
You wanted to say, ‘I am fine,’ but what came out was gibberish mixed in with sobs and wailing, you hated yourself at that moment, crying into your black and white striped tshirt sleeve and letting the cotton absorb the tears as the boy probably looked at you with disgust, but when you looked back up at him he had pulled out a handkerchief from the pocket of his beige shorts, his hands offering it to you. You had nodded a no and asked where he lived again to which he pointed towards the iron gate behind him. You knew this house, the residence of a kind old lady who you often helped carry groceries or odd jobs like that. As soon as you had extracted that information you ran back, remembering your own grandparents who were beat up by an equal agony.
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Mark Lee had gone about his own way, worried for the girl in the striped tshirt wailing to no avail and running like a madman—in this case madwoman—so as the afternoon passed by and the sun dipped in for a nap and his grandma was still not back home and dinner was yet to be served he grew hungry and also curious. “Mark, go set the table, Grandma’s gone to a funeral so we’ll just be heating the leftovers okay?” His mom spoke and a train of thought formed in his mind. “Who passed away?” Mark’s elder brother chimed in from the couch where he was lying down and reading a book. “Two of the neighbours it seems. They were parents to a girl about your age Mark,” she paused and shook her head, “Poor girl, it seems she will live with her grandparents now…” His mom sighed and went towards the kitchen only turning around when Mark asked, “Mom can we pray for them?”
“Oh sweetie, you’re so kind to think like that, but I’d say it’s better you pray for the girl left behind, everyone’s sending their prayers for those lost but no one’s looking at the girl who has lost them.” His mom responded and Mark nodded, grasping this new perspective as he went to the temporary room he shared with his brother during his visit here to his grandparents’ place. Just then, before he could start the doorbell rang and he ran to get it since he was the youngest. His Grandma entered the house with a heavy sigh, dressed in black from head to toe and her shoulders slouched as she removed her shoes.
“That poor girl…” she muttered under her breath, before reaching into her purse and pulling out a few coins. “Yeoreum said she owed you for spilling your ice cream, but Minhyung listen,” his grandma began, “Tomorrow I’ll go over to her house with some food and you come with me okay? Whatever she owes you for, you forgive, she’s going through a tough time.” His grandma’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh, and it gave him reason to feel that he had messed up. So the next morning, while preparing to go to her house he asked his mother how to say a few phrases in Korean and when the time came he used them.
When they entered her house it was clean and tidy, though an old couple sat on the couch with slum shoulders and mellow faces, the surroundings looked ever so normal and maintained. Wooden furniture, a 4 seater dining table, brown leather couches, a white floral rugs under the coffee table adjacent to the television screen. And then there were the little things, family photos hung up on walls, accolades of the two kids and the two adults and there popped out the head of an eight-year-old You, puffy cheeks and reddened eyes that hadn’t been rested all accompanied by the whining of your younger brother beside you. Mark’s grandmother gently nudged him towards you and so he followed, returning the “owed” money in the form of a couple red packet wrapped choco pies.
You were hesitant at first, but accepted them and handed it to your little brother, ruffling his hair and telling him to go play. “I am still sorry about yesterday, crying in front of you” you spoke slowly but clearly expressing your feelings to the westerner. Just then Mark remembered the phrases he had memorized, “You don’t need to apologise for that…and uh I can understand Korean well, but I can’t speak it, so speak freely, I’m here to listen.”
Your eyes widened, no one had asked you to talk, not until now, everyone either offered generic advice or recycled sympathy, but not once did they consider to give you a shoulder and this boy who you barely knew was asking you to empty out your heart, so in true egotistical fashion, “Why would I talk to you?” You stormed inside your room and shut the door.
“Mark! What did you do!” His grandma screamed at the nine-year-old boy who only did as he was told and lay faultless. “I am sorry about him,” she bowed towards your grandparents and made Mark bow too as they both left.
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“I’m going to audition for SM this year,” you announced, your tongue darting out to lick the chocolate ice cream you held in your hands. “But you’re only 11, isn’t that too young?” Mark protested as the two of you sat at the swings on a summer afternoon where the sun was slightly overshadowed by a few clouds and the weather wasn’t stinging with heat but radiating it like a heater in the winters. It had been about three years since you lost your parents and met Mark Lee, who had become a friend of sorts, that you only met during the summer or winter breaks when all your other friends were busy in festivities or vacations and he came here to his grandparents’ place. “It’s actually not that young, these companies usually prefer younger kids,” Mark’s brother added as he pushed your little brother on the other swing set, much to the little guy’s excitement who kept yelping, “Higher!”
“I am also going to audition this year,” he continues, “SM’s holding an audition in Vancouver.” Mark’s brother, James, was much like you, musically inclined with a knack for dancing. He was also really cute, so you wouldn’t be surprised if he got picked.
“Imagine if you both get selected!” Your brother piped in, biting into his own, strawberry cone. “That would be great, then maybe Mom and Dad would come here more often and you’d meet Mark more too, and of course we’d obviously meet more.” James smiled and you returned the gesture only to be met by a scowl-ish expression from Mark. “What’s got you feeling blue?” You asked, still munching on the cone. “Nothing…Just that I feel left out.”
“Why do you feel left out for something that hasn’t even happened yet?” You ask, jumping out of the swing and landing swiftly on the hard ground of the playground. “It’s just, whenever I come for vacations here, it won’t be the same because you’ll be busy training…I just want to be friends for a long time.” Mark’s lips were stuck out in a pout, eyes mellowed as he stared at the vibrant colours on the ground, gently swinging back and forth.
“Mark, I’ll always be your friend, we don’t meet for the whole year and still hang out with so much fun, I’m sure we’ll still be good friends in the future, believe me.” You shine a smile at him, but deep down you knew you wouldn’t be friends for that long, people always leave, and they have always left you.
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The memories from your childhood often haunt you, in the sense that at one point in your life, though everything was breaking apart, it was simple, you had companions, you had a reason to keep going, but you weren’t so sure now. As you stepped in the studio to record a total of four lines, you sighed deeply, tying your hair up as you began.
“Alright, it’s going to be a quick wrap now, let’s do this okay?” The producer spoke from outside as you gulped water and warmed up. Not even fifteen minutes later, you were done, a stark contrast to the hours others spent in there, perfecting line upon line while you worked with near nothing. It was only after you reached back to the dorms that you saw Jae’s text on your phone. “Party tonight, you coming? I’ll pick you at 10.” About 5 seconds of contemplating later you replied, “Sure, where?”
When you had stepped into the club with him again, he looked towards you again, “You’re not going to…get laid again are you?” He raises his eyebrows in concern, clearly not aware of your ongoing situation with Kangmin. “Do you not want me to?” You sarcastically bat your eyelashes at him before he says something you couldn’t catch amidst the booming vibrations of loud music and flashing lights, but he didn’t look too happy.
So you assumed he wanted you to stick close to him, so you picked up his hand, entwined it with yours and made it seem like you were really stuck with him. He then rolled his eyes and left your hand before heading towards the bar. As you indulged in incoherent chatter and some yellow, lime and mango infused cocktail with Jae, your eyes drifted towards the rest of the club.
The country’s most celebrated idols, models you saw at every banner across the city, actors trending in the dramas on the television, all with pristine images basking in the filth of alcohol, the stench of a sensual environment and the heat of freedom. Truly if a reporter were to know about this club, all hell would break loose. That’s when another thought troubled your mind, what if people knew about you being here? What if they already did? What if people in the industry knew you were hooking up with Kangmin? What if you were an announced slut within the community? You tried to shake them away but they didn’t leave, they kept spiraling, boiling down to the crux of all your problems, panic rose in your throat, lumping up the muscles.
You tried to swallow it down with the alcohol hoping it would melt away but it made it worse, you turned back towards the bar, focusing on a single letter of a whiskey bottle, “a-a-a” you kept reciting to yourself, but not until Jae turned around from flirting with a girl and saw you brushing your hair back like a madwoman. “Yeoreum…” his voice was gentle, like the breeze in spring as winter melts away, his hand rubbed your back, soft like a mother soothing her baby and his words were concerned, like a lover losing his heart. “I’m here, I’m here…come let’s get out of here.” He helped you down the leather bar stool, aiding your trembling limbs to walk well enough towards a secluded spot in this mess.
“Do you want to leave? I’ll take you home, okay?” He assured, hands on your shoulders like they cared and eyes searching for an answer.
“I…Don’t know,” you muttered out, but that was when you saw him, out of all the people who could be here, it was him, standing right there, eyes having met you before yours met him. He stood there a bit shocked, but mostly worried, his movements were quick as he pushed his way through the crowd from the other side of the room.
You didn’t know why, but you felt like you had to hide, you felt ashamed and your panic felt like it was at its peak so you leaned closer to Jae, tip-toeing to reach his ear. Before he could reach you, you were already walking away, far from his reach.
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Mark inhaled sharply, unwelcome tears pricking his eyes as he watched you walk away from him, refuse his help and in the arms of a man he didn’t know. Mark didn’t know why, but he felt anger and sadness all at the same time. He knew you hadn’t talked in a while, but that didn’t mean you could just run away from him, especially when you needed help…or maybe that was it. Mark sat down on the plush leather couch, hands on his thighs as he considered the situation. “Where did it all go wrong?” He asked himself, feeling the need to bury his head in his hands at the sheer helplessness. Swiftly he got up, heading towards the bar, back to the friend he came with, “Let’s just go home please.” He screamed into the other guy’s ears hoping it would reach despite the loud music.
As Mark walked out of the flashy club and breathed in a puff of fresh air, he felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his black jeans. He pulled it out to check as his friend went to get the car, and he saw your name in a bubble on the screen. He swiped up, unlocking the device to read your text, “Can we talk Mark? In person?”
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It was way past midnight as you sat on the swing of your apartment complex, the apartment most SM artists and trainees lived in. You swung back and forth slowly, waiting for him, rehearsing the lines in your head, explanations working their way through the gears of your brain. “Hey.”
You looked up from your grey sweatpants to the man in front of you. “Hey Mark.” You greeted back as he sat on the swing beside you, albeit a little too big for it. He was still in his black jeans and leather jacket, a white top underneath and a dark grey beanie covering his bright blonde hair to avoid grasping attention. Similar to how you hid your face under the oversized hoodie you had borrowed from Kangmin the last time you stayed over at his place.
“Are you okay?” Mark broke the silence, his sneakers rubbing the concrete as he stopped trying to swing. “I’m fine, I just drank too much…so I felt sick.” You lied, not looking at him. “It didn’t look like that,” Mark saw through your bullshit, looking at your slouched figure as you stared at the ground.
“Who was that guy you were with? Did he do something to you?” His voice grew a bit enraged and you finally turned to look at him, pulling down your hoodie as you chose to respond, “He’s my friend. He didn’t hurt me, no one did.”
“If he didn't hurt you, then why did you ask to talk? It’s not like you just want to waste time do you?”
You knew his words weren’t meant to hurt you, you knew he cared but you just got angry, how could he not understand you? How could he not want to just talk to you? Since when did your friendship turn transactional?
“I just wanted to tell you to not tell anyone I was there, don’t say who I was with or what I was doing, alright?” Your voice came off harsh, meant to hurt.
“I wouldn’t have told anyone…” he speaks softly, not looking at you anymore. “But just so you know, there’s people out there that want to hurt you. I've heard unpleasant things from people who I wish I could punch, so just take care, is all I’m saying.” He replies, and you feel angrier. “Who are you to care? You haven’t responded to my texts in forever, you haven’t talked to me properly since almost last year. We aren’t friends anymore Mark, so stop caring about me, it’s not your place anymore.”
Those words were painful to utter. You gripped the metal chains of the swing tighter, hoping they’d somehow pierce your skin and hurt more than what you just said, maybe then these tears would be for good reason. You waited for him to say something, not sure what expression his face held because you weren’t looking at him, but you heard him sniffle, you heard him inhale deeply, like he did when he was trying not to cry.
“It’s not my fault…I don’t have time, I don’t…I don’t have the energy for anything, ever.” He huffed out, getting up, probably about to leave. “You once said, we’d be friends for a long time when we were on a swing just like this. I thought I could believe you, but you’re too busy being his girlfriend.”
You finally looked up at him to see the tears streaming down his face, glassy eyes begging you to say something, his fists were white, blood rushed out to other parts as he held them beside his thighs tight. His lips trembled as he began, “That’s his hoodie isn’t it? You’ve just got all the time in the world to be with people who couldn’t even care about you, you push away everyone who tries and then you feel like no one cares. But we do, we all do! But you’re too busy pitying yourself.”
He walked away after that, feet stomping like a child but with the grumbles of a man.
“I’m sorry,” you wish he could hear that, not like it would patch up anything, but still, you hoped it would somehow fix everything, perhaps then you wouldn’t feel like you just lost everything again.
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“Oh hey, you got a bit late today, why's that?” Kangmin welcomed you in, dressed in sweats and a white tee, hair wet from a fresh shower. “My manager wasn’t letting me go, so it took a lot of convincing, that’s all.” You replied, not wanting to explain to him the way you were considering not coming after listening to Mark’s harsh words the day before. You handed him the hoodie you borrowed a week back, washed and neatly folded, to which he said, “You can keep it, you look cute in it, besides it’d be nice to see a dance practice video of yours while you’re wearing that.” He laughed as you rolled your eyes and made your way to the couch.
“You’re quiet today, what’s up baby?” He asked, sitting right beside you, placing a hand on your thigh, rubbing the cotton of your pants.
“We’re not, like dating right? It’s just all casual right?” You suddenly asked, and he stopped in his tracks to kiss you, looking at you with a raised brow, “Do you want me to date you?” He then asked, turning your chin towards him, looking into your eyes.
“Nope…” you smiled back and he chuckled, pecking your lips. “By the way, there’s a party next week? Will you come? Same club, bunch of idols and celebs, we can all have some fun mhm?” He nuzzled your neck, slowly sucking on the pulse point there, his hands trailing up your tshirt to caress your ribs. You pulled away, looking at him as you bit your lip in consideration, “I’m not sure about next week, we’re gonna start prepping for a new release, so I might not be able to.” You see him roll his eyes, not able to read whether he was annoyed or joking. “I don’t want to be mean but it’s not like they’re going to give you a bunch to work with, you never have that many lines or work, it’s just one night too,” he began, pulling you in again as you felt yourself dip deeper into the plush grey couch.
“I-I don’t know, still I shouldn’t drink much during promotions,” you tried to reason looking away from him. “Baby, it’s just one day, you’ll have fun okay? Trust me.” He caressed your cheek, gentle eyes and a warm smile that seemed mostly genuine. You wanted to brush over the doubt you just felt in your gut but you swallowed it down and nodded a yes. “Okay, I’ll come.” You said as he brushed a strand of your jet black hair back and said, “You hungry for something or should we…?”
You leaned in to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifted you up into his lap, his hand groping your ass as he then kissed your neck, muttering empty, sweet praises that seemed to do nothing, only fulfilling you to forget about the worries in your chest and the insecurities in your nerves. His lips only felt good when you imagined them to be someone else’s, his touch only felt sparkly when you imagined them to be Mark’s, his praises would have been far more effective if they were Mark’s, if only you were in his lap and not Kangmin’s.
About two hours later, as you lay naked in his arms, you stared up at the ceiling, wondering how did it ever get to this, when did you go from wanting Mark to talk to you, to wanting him to be yours and only yours? How did any of this ever happen? How could you want him so much when he now hated you? Just then you heard Kangmin’s phone buzzing. You ignored it at first but it kept buzzing and stopped you from trying to sleep or zone out into your thoughts.
So you pulled away from his muscular arms, wiping off some sweat that had formed and picking his phone to put it on silent but that’s when you saw a text from one of your group members. He wasn’t in your group, a different unit but so many messages from him? Your curiosity got the better of you as you unlocked his phone, remembering the password from a distant memory of having seen him entering it a while back.
Your heart dropped.
You scrolled further back, the light from the phone was hitting your face but your feelings turned darker, and the conversation seemed to be going down a pit of creepy and disgusting.
You tried to not let the tears fall out of your cornea, taking quick, shallow breaths as you closed the texts and opened his gallery to check for any pictures. You found none, except one he took today, you quickly deleted it and removed it from his cloud as well as backup, hoping that would be the last of it. Mark was right, he was right, he was fucking right and you didn’t listen to him.
Your limbs were quick to get out of Kangmin’s white sheets, even quicker to wear your clothes and rush out to the living room. You grabbed your stuff and made a run for it outside, choosing to walk home since it was close enough and dark enough to not be noticed. You wanted to scream, but you felt speechless. You wanted to cry but you felt nauseous, every breath felt like a dagger to your lungs and every tear ran down your face audaciously probably reddening your eyes.
You couldn’t believe he was your first…or at least your “proper” first. Even then, as you hugged your sweater tighter and walked faster the night’s breeze was taunting you with its chill and the harmonious silence of the night made you more fearful in the familiar street you took every so often. Kangmin being a creep was one thing, but knowing that someone so close to you thought that way about you made you so sick.
You hated close to everything by this moment, wondering why the walk took so long as the street light flickered five minutes into your walk. You heard male laughter behind you, a couple drunkards and the like, usually you’d just walk fast enough and feel fine but it was late, the street was empty, devoid of even strays. Goosebumps rose on the surface of your skin, the night felt colder and your steps were harder to quicken, it felt like your feet were refusing to move any faster much like your breathing who found it difficult to catch up with your galloping heart. They were right behind you, their steps growing louder and laughter buzzing obnoxiously, they threw around a few incomprehensible slurs amongst each other, there were five of them and one of you, it felt like a losing battle. Is this how it all ends?
You were pulled out of your panic when they crossed by you and took another turn, you sighed out ever so deeply and relief washed over your tired veins as you started walking faster away. You were saved this time, but what could’ve happened. You were ruining your life, from every corner. One dumb decision after another, what were you turning out to be?
As most of Seoul city slept, with the sole exception of a few convenience stores you treaded your way back to the apartment building, thoughts muddling in your head on how you could make it all better. The sky was a dark shade of blue, stars were barely visible through the city’s haze of pollution, you heard a dog bark before it whined and the sound soon died down as you took an inclined path. Pretty soon you had made your way towards the dorm building but that’s when you turned your head to the side and saw Eunryung sitting on a stool at the convenience store, eating what looked to be rice cakes in red sauce. Your eyes softened as you looked into the brightly lit store. You decided to take a detour and enter it.
When you did enter, the cashier was hunched over the register, reading a textbook with a highlighter in his hands as he muttered a tired, “Welcome.”
Quickly you made your way over to Eunryung, taking a seat beside her. “Hey…” you called out to her but startled her in the process. “Oh hey, is your friend okay now? Why are you back in the middle of the night?” She asked, probably referring to the excuse you had made to leave the dorm earlier. “My friend? Oh she…I didn’t go to see a friend.” You replied, tired of all the lies you had cooked up.
“So you don’t know anyone who lost a parent recently? You were lying?” She stopped picking up her rice cake, her doe eyes staring at you with shock. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, it just…you ever feel like nothing in your life makes sense?” The words left your lips before you could filter them causing Eunryung to shift her stool closer to you, the screech of the metal waking the dozing cashier who dropped his book. You both looked back as he bowed in apology and you returned to the conversation.
“I’m just so scared.” You confessed, trying not to cry, but it seemed like that was all you could do until she put a hand on your shoulder, carefully rubbing it. “I’m sorry for snapping at you that day, but I’m here for you now please, please tell me.” She assured, waiting for you to continue. “I feel like I’ve failed, everything, everyone. I spent so long training for nothing and now I— all I do is lie, I’m sorry Eunryung, I just…want to be happy again.” You spoke through your tears, wiping them against the sleeves of you sweater, hoping it would absorb all the sadness along with the water.
“Mark said he was sorry.” She reveals and you turn your head towards her sharply. “Today, after our dance lesson, he told me to tell you that he was sorry and he told me to give you this.” Eunryung reached into the pockets of her grey hoodie, removing a red packet. A packet of choco pie.
“If he’s sorry, why doesn’t he come to me directly?” You sniffled, still high on your ego. “I don’t know why. But I do know that he’s way overworked, I too have to be in many units like him but he, he has so much work in creating music, variety shows and everything, they don’t let him rest, it’s really bad you know?” She explained, looking out the window of the store into the empty street, where the street light flickered twice on the little kitten sleeping under it, probably grasping for some heat. “It’s not that hard to text me.” You replied, getting off the stool, sliding your sneakers across the marble tiles as you started walking away. “Yea well they don’t let him use his phone all the time. Like back when we had debuted and were trainees, they don’t want him getting distracted or something.” Eunryung spoke like it was obvious but your eyebrows rose up, confusion settling in your expression.
“You didn’t know that? His new manager, though young and cool in certain aspects, is a real fucking asshole.”
You took in a deep breath, picking up the red packet choco pie she had put on the table earlier and sliding it into your pocket. “Eunryung, I need to apologise to him,” you sniffled out feeling like someone had tied your conscience with iron-clad chains. “His dorm’s empty, apart from his manager, as far as I know, everyone’s on their own since 127 has a break.” She got off the stool too, picking up the rice cake container and throwing it into the recyclable section of the trash, as you watched the way the lid flipped up and down like a seesaw.
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It was yet another sleepless night for Mark. The pressures of work and the need for perfection crushed his sleep as he tossed around in his bed crinkled sheets, the blanket didn’t feel cozy but rather uncomfortable and hot, despite the cool temperature outside. Mark got up quickly, sliding on his slippers as he walked out of his room. The wooden floor creaked a bit too loudly, risking waking up his manager but Mark really couldn’t care.
The stress from work was one thing, but the weight of his words that were pulling him further and further into this empty pit of regret was worse, the words that he had stabbed you with, how could he ever say that? His mom had taught him to be kind and understanding, how could he have let the jealousy get the better of him. As soon as Mark was about to step out of the house for a walk, the doorbell rang and echoed through the walls of the 3 bedroom apartment. Mark looked through the peephole with trepidation, and stumbled back in surprise, almost stubbing his toe against the shoe rack. Quickly, he looked at the mirror beside him, fixed his hair under the beanie and grabbed a jacket lying carelessly on the wooden chair of the dining table. He zipped it up quickly and opened the door, letting you in.
“Hey, what are you doing at this time…here?” He struggled to form words, this time knowing the language but not the courage. “I came to apologise Mark.” You said, hands tucked in the pockets of your pants. “It was my fault! I lost my temper and just said whatever. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Mark argued, making way for her to enter. She removed her white sneakers, neatly aligning them perpendicular to the step up towards the living room.
Just as she was about to make her way towards the couch, a creak surrounded the room, it was the opening of one of the doors and the steps of Mark’s Manager, Seoham. “Why are you here so late? What’s going on huh?” He spoke audaciously, as if he owned the place, no wonder Eunryung called him an asshole.
“I came to apologise to Mark, I felt bad and I couldn’t sleep, and I heard you don’t let him use his phone.” You snapped back, the smirk on his face pissing you off. “Relax sweetie, I was just kidding, I let the other girls in all the time, you two aren’t the first to mess around,” he scoffed and Mark immediately chipped in, “It isn’t like that hyung!”
“Sure it isn’t. Whatever, just don’t make too much noise.” Seoham rolled his eyes and went back inside, but the scowl on your face never did go back. “That asshole still controls your phone?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds, you know, it really isn’t,” Mark sat back on the off-white linen couch, sitting on the vertical part of the L-shape. You turned on a lamp beside the sofa, letting the warm yellow light radiate across the room so you could see his face. “Why are you defending him Mark? Why can’t you just say no? I mean what are they gonna do? Fire you? They need you.” You scolded him, your worry laced words bringing a smile to his face.
“Don’t smile like that, you look like an idiot.” You joked, sitting beside him, letting your nails scratch against the linen. “I’m worried for you Yeoreum, you say you’re fine but you, I haven’t seen you truly smile since forever.” He began, looking towards your face searching for the girl he used to know.
“I guess I changed,” you tried to defend yourself, you hated when he saw through you. “No you haven’t, you’re still the same girl who runs away from things instead of letting people be there for her.”
“What?” You cocked your brow at him, another mechanism to draw up walls against his forces. “Let me be there for you, please.” His voice came out like a whimper, like a desperate man praying at the altar. “You weren’t there for me when I needed you.” You announced getting up, “This was a mistake, fuck,” that’s when Mark held onto your wrist, not roughly or forcefully, but begging, clinging on to it like it was all he had left. He was standing up now, his dark brown eyes glassy with unshed tears and blonde hair peeking out the beanie he always wore.
He moved closer to you, muttering please repeatedly. “Yeoreum, I want to be yours, and I don’t want to lie anymore.” His voice was deeper somehow, maturity dripping in his tone, with a tinge of anguish. His lips were not very far anymore, they were slightly chapped and he had a little red bruise on one side, probably from him biting them constantly but they were topped with some lip balm, as if that would fix it.
“Use antiseptic cream for your lips and tell your manager to stop being a control freak.” You pull your hand away from him, walking to the door and shutting it behind you, leaving Mark alone and in despair. “I’m sorry,” Mark wished those words would reach your ears, but even if they did, he knew they couldn’t fix it. Suddenly, Mark wished he was 11 years old again, swinging on a sunny afternoon, being told by the prettiest girl he knew, that she’d be his friend for a very long time. Alas, what he was left with, was not a friend but he didn’t want her to be.
Mark wanted you, he wanted you to love him like he did all these years.
Synopsis: Addiction’s a drug in itself, you want to live without it but it keeps sustaining you and living in you—that’s Yeoreum’s struggle, look further into her life, and her moments with Mark as her story begins to take a turn into deeper pits of complexities. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Pairing: Mark x OC (you are the OC)
Warnings: mentions of funeral, parent death, grief. mentions of food. Sexual assault is alluded towards, suggestive content involving yeoreum and another guy. Lmk if there’s something missed.
Your limbs scream treason, your tear ducts lose hope, your heart struggles to beat in a rhythm tandem to your shallow and rapid inhales. You weren’t sure how long you had run for but it hurt, tremendously but not enough. It didn’t hurt enough to swallow down the grief that had struck your being. Just then, as you stumbled on a tiny rock on the rough concrete, you bumped into a poor guy going about his way in the neighbourhood.
“My ice cream!” He called out in English, pouting over the spilt vanilla cone decorating the dirty cement. “Sorry…” you came out of your daze, embarrassed and disheartened. “Uh…It…It’s okay I should’ve…” he struggles to find the adequate words in Korean, a western accent in his speech.
“No! It’s my fault, so I will pay,” you point towards the melting cream, stifling a hundred tears. “No you don’t have to…” he continued to say something you didn’t understand, your English teacher hadn’t progressed too far with the syllabus yet, maybe third grade after the summer would help you more.
“Listen, I don’t care, just tell me where you live…” you begin in Korean, searching his face for an understanding and when you do you continue, “I’ll bring the money to your place.”
Before even agreeing to that predicament, he looks at you, really looks at you and asks, “Are you okay?”
You wanted to say, ‘I am fine,’ but what came out was gibberish mixed in with sobs and wailing, you hated yourself at that moment, crying into your black and white striped tshirt sleeve and letting the cotton absorb the tears as the boy probably looked at you with disgust, but when you looked back up at him he had pulled out a handkerchief from the pocket of his beige shorts, his hands offering it to you. You had nodded a no and asked where he lived again to which he pointed towards the iron gate behind him. You knew this house, the residence of a kind old lady who you often helped carry groceries or odd jobs like that. As soon as you had extracted that information you ran back, remembering your own grandparents who were beat up by an equal agony.
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Mark Lee had gone about his own way, worried for the girl in the striped tshirt wailing to no avail and running like a madman—in this case madwoman—so as the afternoon passed by and the sun dipped in for a nap and his grandma was still not back home and dinner was yet to be served he grew hungry and also curious. “Mark, go set the table, Grandma’s gone to a funeral so we’ll just be heating the leftovers okay?” His mom spoke and a train of thought formed in his mind. “Who passed away?” Mark’s elder brother chimed in from the couch where he was lying down and reading a book. “Two of the neighbours it seems. They were parents to a girl about your age Mark,” she paused and shook her head, “Poor girl, it seems she will live with her grandparents now…” His mom sighed and went towards the kitchen only turning around when Mark asked, “Mom can we pray for them?”
“Oh sweetie, you’re so kind to think like that, but I’d say it’s better you pray for the girl left behind, everyone’s sending their prayers for those lost but no one’s looking at the girl who has lost them.” His mom responded and Mark nodded, grasping this new perspective as he went to the temporary room he shared with his brother during his visit here to his grandparents’ place. Just then, before he could start the doorbell rang and he ran to get it since he was the youngest. His Grandma entered the house with a heavy sigh, dressed in black from head to toe and her shoulders slouched as she removed her shoes.
“That poor girl…” she muttered under her breath, before reaching into her purse and pulling out a few coins. “Yeoreum said she owed you for spilling your ice cream, but Minhyung listen,” his grandma began, “Tomorrow I’ll go over to her house with some food and you come with me okay? Whatever she owes you for, you forgive, she’s going through a tough time.” His grandma’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh, and it gave him reason to feel that he had messed up. So the next morning, while preparing to go to her house he asked his mother how to say a few phrases in Korean and when the time came he used them.
When they entered her house it was clean and tidy, though an old couple sat on the couch with slum shoulders and mellow faces, the surroundings looked ever so normal and maintained. Wooden furniture, a 4 seater dining table, brown leather couches, a white floral rugs under the coffee table adjacent to the television screen. And then there were the little things, family photos hung up on walls, accolades of the two kids and the two adults and there popped out the head of an eight-year-old You, puffy cheeks and reddened eyes that hadn’t been rested all accompanied by the whining of your younger brother beside you. Mark’s grandmother gently nudged him towards you and so he followed, returning the “owed” money in the form of a couple red packet wrapped choco pies.
You were hesitant at first, but accepted them and handed it to your little brother, ruffling his hair and telling him to go play. “I am still sorry about yesterday, crying in front of you” you spoke slowly but clearly expressing your feelings to the westerner. Just then Mark remembered the phrases he had memorized, “You don’t need to apologise for that…and uh I can understand Korean well, but I can’t speak it, so speak freely, I’m here to listen.”
Your eyes widened, no one had asked you to talk, not until now, everyone either offered generic advice or recycled sympathy, but not once did they consider to give you a shoulder and this boy who you barely knew was asking you to empty out your heart, so in true egotistical fashion, “Why would I talk to you?” You stormed inside your room and shut the door.
“Mark! What did you do!” His grandma screamed at the nine-year-old boy who only did as he was told and lay faultless. “I am sorry about him,” she bowed towards your grandparents and made Mark bow too as they both left.
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“I’m going to audition for SM this year,” you announced, your tongue darting out to lick the chocolate ice cream you held in your hands. “But you’re only 11, isn’t that too young?” Mark protested as the two of you sat at the swings on a summer afternoon where the sun was slightly overshadowed by a few clouds and the weather wasn’t stinging with heat but radiating it like a heater in the winters. It had been about three years since you lost your parents and met Mark Lee, who had become a friend of sorts, that you only met during the summer or winter breaks when all your other friends were busy in festivities or vacations and he came here to his grandparents’ place. “It’s actually not that young, these companies usually prefer younger kids,” Mark’s brother added as he pushed your little brother on the other swing set, much to the little guy’s excitement who kept yelping, “Higher!”
“I am also going to audition this year,” he continues, “SM’s holding an audition in Vancouver.” Mark’s brother, James, was much like you, musically inclined with a knack for dancing. He was also really cute, so you wouldn’t be surprised if he got picked.
“Imagine if you both get selected!” Your brother piped in, biting into his own, strawberry cone. “That would be great, then maybe Mom and Dad would come here more often and you’d meet Mark more too, and of course we’d obviously meet more.” James smiled and you returned the gesture only to be met by a scowl-ish expression from Mark. “What’s got you feeling blue?” You asked, still munching on the cone. “Nothing…Just that I feel left out.”
“Why do you feel left out for something that hasn’t even happened yet?” You ask, jumping out of the swing and landing swiftly on the hard ground of the playground. “It’s just, whenever I come for vacations here, it won’t be the same because you’ll be busy training…I just want to be friends for a long time.” Mark’s lips were stuck out in a pout, eyes mellowed as he stared at the vibrant colours on the ground, gently swinging back and forth.
“Mark, I’ll always be your friend, we don’t meet for the whole year and still hang out with so much fun, I’m sure we’ll still be good friends in the future, believe me.” You shine a smile at him, but deep down you knew you wouldn’t be friends for that long, people always leave, and they have always left you.
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The memories from your childhood often haunt you, in the sense that at one point in your life, though everything was breaking apart, it was simple, you had companions, you had a reason to keep going, but you weren’t so sure now. As you stepped in the studio to record a total of four lines, you sighed deeply, tying your hair up as you began.
“Alright, it’s going to be a quick wrap now, let’s do this okay?” The producer spoke from outside as you gulped water and warmed up. Not even fifteen minutes later, you were done, a stark contrast to the hours others spent in there, perfecting line upon line while you worked with near nothing. It was only after you reached back to the dorms that you saw Jae’s text on your phone. “Party tonight, you coming? I’ll pick you at 10.” About 5 seconds of contemplating later you replied, “Sure, where?”
When you had stepped into the club with him again, he looked towards you again, “You’re not going to…get laid again are you?” He raises his eyebrows in concern, clearly not aware of your ongoing situation with Kangmin. “Do you not want me to?” You sarcastically bat your eyelashes at him before he says something you couldn’t catch amidst the booming vibrations of loud music and flashing lights, but he didn’t look too happy.
So you assumed he wanted you to stick close to him, so you picked up his hand, entwined it with yours and made it seem like you were really stuck with him. He then rolled his eyes and left your hand before heading towards the bar. As you indulged in incoherent chatter and some yellow, lime and mango infused cocktail with Jae, your eyes drifted towards the rest of the club.
The country’s most celebrated idols, models you saw at every banner across the city, actors trending in the dramas on the television, all with pristine images basking in the filth of alcohol, the stench of a sensual environment and the heat of freedom. Truly if a reporter were to know about this club, all hell would break loose. That’s when another thought troubled your mind, what if people knew about you being here? What if they already did? What if people in the industry knew you were hooking up with Kangmin? What if you were an announced slut within the community? You tried to shake them away but they didn’t leave, they kept spiraling, boiling down to the crux of all your problems, panic rose in your throat, lumping up the muscles.
You tried to swallow it down with the alcohol hoping it would melt away but it made it worse, you turned back towards the bar, focusing on a single letter of a whiskey bottle, “a-a-a” you kept reciting to yourself, but not until Jae turned around from flirting with a girl and saw you brushing your hair back like a madwoman. “Yeoreum…” his voice was gentle, like the breeze in spring as winter melts away, his hand rubbed your back, soft like a mother soothing her baby and his words were concerned, like a lover losing his heart. “I’m here, I’m here…come let’s get out of here.” He helped you down the leather bar stool, aiding your trembling limbs to walk well enough towards a secluded spot in this mess.
“Do you want to leave? I’ll take you home, okay?” He assured, hands on your shoulders like they cared and eyes searching for an answer.
“I…Don’t know,” you muttered out, but that was when you saw him, out of all the people who could be here, it was him, standing right there, eyes having met you before yours met him. He stood there a bit shocked, but mostly worried, his movements were quick as he pushed his way through the crowd from the other side of the room.
You didn’t know why, but you felt like you had to hide, you felt ashamed and your panic felt like it was at its peak so you leaned closer to Jae, tip-toeing to reach his ear. Before he could reach you, you were already walking away, far from his reach.
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Mark inhaled sharply, unwelcome tears pricking his eyes as he watched you walk away from him, refuse his help and in the arms of a man he didn’t know. Mark didn’t know why, but he felt anger and sadness all at the same time. He knew you hadn’t talked in a while, but that didn’t mean you could just run away from him, especially when you needed help…or maybe that was it. Mark sat down on the plush leather couch, hands on his thighs as he considered the situation. “Where did it all go wrong?” He asked himself, feeling the need to bury his head in his hands at the sheer helplessness. Swiftly he got up, heading towards the bar, back to the friend he came with, “Let’s just go home please.” He screamed into the other guy’s ears hoping it would reach despite the loud music.
As Mark walked out of the flashy club and breathed in a puff of fresh air, he felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his black jeans. He pulled it out to check as his friend went to get the car, and he saw your name in a bubble on the screen. He swiped up, unlocking the device to read your text, “Can we talk Mark? In person?”
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It was way past midnight as you sat on the swing of your apartment complex, the apartment most SM artists and trainees lived in. You swung back and forth slowly, waiting for him, rehearsing the lines in your head, explanations working their way through the gears of your brain. “Hey.”
You looked up from your grey sweatpants to the man in front of you. “Hey Mark.” You greeted back as he sat on the swing beside you, albeit a little too big for it. He was still in his black jeans and leather jacket, a white top underneath and a dark grey beanie covering his bright blonde hair to avoid grasping attention. Similar to how you hid your face under the oversized hoodie you had borrowed from Kangmin the last time you stayed over at his place.
“Are you okay?” Mark broke the silence, his sneakers rubbing the concrete as he stopped trying to swing. “I’m fine, I just drank too much…so I felt sick.” You lied, not looking at him. “It didn’t look like that,” Mark saw through your bullshit, looking at your slouched figure as you stared at the ground.
“Who was that guy you were with? Did he do something to you?” His voice grew a bit enraged and you finally turned to look at him, pulling down your hoodie as you chose to respond, “He’s my friend. He didn’t hurt me, no one did.”
“If he didn't hurt you, then why did you ask to talk? It’s not like you just want to waste time do you?”
You knew his words weren’t meant to hurt you, you knew he cared but you just got angry, how could he not understand you? How could he not want to just talk to you? Since when did your friendship turn transactional?
“I just wanted to tell you to not tell anyone I was there, don’t say who I was with or what I was doing, alright?” Your voice came off harsh, meant to hurt.
“I wouldn’t have told anyone…” he speaks softly, not looking at you anymore. “But just so you know, there’s people out there that want to hurt you. I've heard unpleasant things from people who I wish I could punch, so just take care, is all I’m saying.” He replies, and you feel angrier. “Who are you to care? You haven’t responded to my texts in forever, you haven’t talked to me properly since almost last year. We aren’t friends anymore Mark, so stop caring about me, it’s not your place anymore.”
Those words were painful to utter. You gripped the metal chains of the swing tighter, hoping they’d somehow pierce your skin and hurt more than what you just said, maybe then these tears would be for good reason. You waited for him to say something, not sure what expression his face held because you weren’t looking at him, but you heard him sniffle, you heard him inhale deeply, like he did when he was trying not to cry.
“It’s not my fault…I don’t have time, I don’t…I don’t have the energy for anything, ever.” He huffed out, getting up, probably about to leave. “You once said, we’d be friends for a long time when we were on a swing just like this. I thought I could believe you, but you’re too busy being his girlfriend.”
You finally looked up at him to see the tears streaming down his face, glassy eyes begging you to say something, his fists were white, blood rushed out to other parts as he held them beside his thighs tight. His lips trembled as he began, “That’s his hoodie isn’t it? You’ve just got all the time in the world to be with people who couldn’t even care about you, you push away everyone who tries and then you feel like no one cares. But we do, we all do! But you’re too busy pitying yourself.”
He walked away after that, feet stomping like a child but with the grumbles of a man.
“I’m sorry,” you wish he could hear that, not like it would patch up anything, but still, you hoped it would somehow fix everything, perhaps then you wouldn’t feel like you just lost everything again.
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“Oh hey, you got a bit late today, why's that?” Kangmin welcomed you in, dressed in sweats and a white tee, hair wet from a fresh shower. “My manager wasn’t letting me go, so it took a lot of convincing, that’s all.” You replied, not wanting to explain to him the way you were considering not coming after listening to Mark’s harsh words the day before. You handed him the hoodie you borrowed a week back, washed and neatly folded, to which he said, “You can keep it, you look cute in it, besides it’d be nice to see a dance practice video of yours while you’re wearing that.” He laughed as you rolled your eyes and made your way to the couch.
“You’re quiet today, what’s up baby?” He asked, sitting right beside you, placing a hand on your thigh, rubbing the cotton of your pants.
“We’re not, like dating right? It’s just all casual right?” You suddenly asked, and he stopped in his tracks to kiss you, looking at you with a raised brow, “Do you want me to date you?” He then asked, turning your chin towards him, looking into your eyes.
“Nope…” you smiled back and he chuckled, pecking your lips. “By the way, there’s a party next week? Will you come? Same club, bunch of idols and celebs, we can all have some fun mhm?” He nuzzled your neck, slowly sucking on the pulse point there, his hands trailing up your tshirt to caress your ribs. You pulled away, looking at him as you bit your lip in consideration, “I’m not sure about next week, we’re gonna start prepping for a new release, so I might not be able to.” You see him roll his eyes, not able to read whether he was annoyed or joking. “I don’t want to be mean but it’s not like they’re going to give you a bunch to work with, you never have that many lines or work, it’s just one night too,” he began, pulling you in again as you felt yourself dip deeper into the plush grey couch.
“I-I don’t know, still I shouldn’t drink much during promotions,” you tried to reason looking away from him. “Baby, it’s just one day, you’ll have fun okay? Trust me.” He caressed your cheek, gentle eyes and a warm smile that seemed mostly genuine. You wanted to brush over the doubt you just felt in your gut but you swallowed it down and nodded a yes. “Okay, I’ll come.” You said as he brushed a strand of your jet black hair back and said, “You hungry for something or should we…?”
You leaned in to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifted you up into his lap, his hand groping your ass as he then kissed your neck, muttering empty, sweet praises that seemed to do nothing, only fulfilling you to forget about the worries in your chest and the insecurities in your nerves. His lips only felt good when you imagined them to be someone else’s, his touch only felt sparkly when you imagined them to be Mark’s, his praises would have been far more effective if they were Mark’s, if only you were in his lap and not Kangmin’s.
About two hours later, as you lay naked in his arms, you stared up at the ceiling, wondering how did it ever get to this, when did you go from wanting Mark to talk to you, to wanting him to be yours and only yours? How did any of this ever happen? How could you want him so much when he now hated you? Just then you heard Kangmin’s phone buzzing. You ignored it at first but it kept buzzing and stopped you from trying to sleep or zone out into your thoughts.
So you pulled away from his muscular arms, wiping off some sweat that had formed and picking his phone to put it on silent but that’s when you saw a text from one of your group members. He wasn’t in your group, a different unit but so many messages from him? Your curiosity got the better of you as you unlocked his phone, remembering the password from a distant memory of having seen him entering it a while back.
Your heart dropped.
You scrolled further back, the light from the phone was hitting your face but your feelings turned darker, and the conversation seemed to be going down a pit of creepy and disgusting.
You tried to not let the tears fall out of your cornea, taking quick, shallow breaths as you closed the texts and opened his gallery to check for any pictures. You found none, except one he took today, you quickly deleted it and removed it from his cloud as well as backup, hoping that would be the last of it. Mark was right, he was right, he was fucking right and you didn’t listen to him.
Your limbs were quick to get out of Kangmin’s white sheets, even quicker to wear your clothes and rush out to the living room. You grabbed your stuff and made a run for it outside, choosing to walk home since it was close enough and dark enough to not be noticed. You wanted to scream, but you felt speechless. You wanted to cry but you felt nauseous, every breath felt like a dagger to your lungs and every tear ran down your face audaciously probably reddening your eyes.
You couldn’t believe he was your first…or at least your “proper” first. Even then, as you hugged your sweater tighter and walked faster the night’s breeze was taunting you with its chill and the harmonious silence of the night made you more fearful in the familiar street you took every so often. Kangmin being a creep was one thing, but knowing that someone so close to you thought that way about you made you so sick.
You hated close to everything by this moment, wondering why the walk took so long as the street light flickered five minutes into your walk. You heard male laughter behind you, a couple drunkards and the like, usually you’d just walk fast enough and feel fine but it was late, the street was empty, devoid of even strays. Goosebumps rose on the surface of your skin, the night felt colder and your steps were harder to quicken, it felt like your feet were refusing to move any faster much like your breathing who found it difficult to catch up with your galloping heart. They were right behind you, their steps growing louder and laughter buzzing obnoxiously, they threw around a few incomprehensible slurs amongst each other, there were five of them and one of you, it felt like a losing battle. Is this how it all ends?
You were pulled out of your panic when they crossed by you and took another turn, you sighed out ever so deeply and relief washed over your tired veins as you started walking faster away. You were saved this time, but what could’ve happened. You were ruining your life, from every corner. One dumb decision after another, what were you turning out to be?
As most of Seoul city slept, with the sole exception of a few convenience stores you treaded your way back to the apartment building, thoughts muddling in your head on how you could make it all better. The sky was a dark shade of blue, stars were barely visible through the city’s haze of pollution, you heard a dog bark before it whined and the sound soon died down as you took an inclined path. Pretty soon you had made your way towards the dorm building but that’s when you turned your head to the side and saw Eunryung sitting on a stool at the convenience store, eating what looked to be rice cakes in red sauce. Your eyes softened as you looked into the brightly lit store. You decided to take a detour and enter it.
When you did enter, the cashier was hunched over the register, reading a textbook with a highlighter in his hands as he muttered a tired, “Welcome.”
Quickly you made your way over to Eunryung, taking a seat beside her. “Hey…” you called out to her but startled her in the process. “Oh hey, is your friend okay now? Why are you back in the middle of the night?” She asked, probably referring to the excuse you had made to leave the dorm earlier. “My friend? Oh she…I didn’t go to see a friend.” You replied, tired of all the lies you had cooked up.
“So you don’t know anyone who lost a parent recently? You were lying?” She stopped picking up her rice cake, her doe eyes staring at you with shock. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, it just…you ever feel like nothing in your life makes sense?” The words left your lips before you could filter them causing Eunryung to shift her stool closer to you, the screech of the metal waking the dozing cashier who dropped his book. You both looked back as he bowed in apology and you returned to the conversation.
“I’m just so scared.” You confessed, trying not to cry, but it seemed like that was all you could do until she put a hand on your shoulder, carefully rubbing it. “I’m sorry for snapping at you that day, but I’m here for you now please, please tell me.” She assured, waiting for you to continue. “I feel like I’ve failed, everything, everyone. I spent so long training for nothing and now I— all I do is lie, I’m sorry Eunryung, I just…want to be happy again.” You spoke through your tears, wiping them against the sleeves of you sweater, hoping it would absorb all the sadness along with the water.
“Mark said he was sorry.” She reveals and you turn your head towards her sharply. “Today, after our dance lesson, he told me to tell you that he was sorry and he told me to give you this.” Eunryung reached into the pockets of her grey hoodie, removing a red packet. A packet of choco pie.
“If he’s sorry, why doesn’t he come to me directly?” You sniffled, still high on your ego. “I don’t know why. But I do know that he’s way overworked, I too have to be in many units like him but he, he has so much work in creating music, variety shows and everything, they don’t let him rest, it’s really bad you know?” She explained, looking out the window of the store into the empty street, where the street light flickered twice on the little kitten sleeping under it, probably grasping for some heat. “It’s not that hard to text me.” You replied, getting off the stool, sliding your sneakers across the marble tiles as you started walking away. “Yea well they don’t let him use his phone all the time. Like back when we had debuted and were trainees, they don’t want him getting distracted or something.” Eunryung spoke like it was obvious but your eyebrows rose up, confusion settling in your expression.
“You didn’t know that? His new manager, though young and cool in certain aspects, is a real fucking asshole.”
You took in a deep breath, picking up the red packet choco pie she had put on the table earlier and sliding it into your pocket. “Eunryung, I need to apologise to him,” you sniffled out feeling like someone had tied your conscience with iron-clad chains. “His dorm’s empty, apart from his manager, as far as I know, everyone’s on their own since 127 has a break.” She got off the stool too, picking up the rice cake container and throwing it into the recyclable section of the trash, as you watched the way the lid flipped up and down like a seesaw.
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It was yet another sleepless night for Mark. The pressures of work and the need for perfection crushed his sleep as he tossed around in his bed crinkled sheets, the blanket didn’t feel cozy but rather uncomfortable and hot, despite the cool temperature outside. Mark got up quickly, sliding on his slippers as he walked out of his room. The wooden floor creaked a bit too loudly, risking waking up his manager but Mark really couldn’t care.
The stress from work was one thing, but the weight of his words that were pulling him further and further into this empty pit of regret was worse, the words that he had stabbed you with, how could he ever say that? His mom had taught him to be kind and understanding, how could he have let the jealousy get the better of him. As soon as Mark was about to step out of the house for a walk, the doorbell rang and echoed through the walls of the 3 bedroom apartment. Mark looked through the peephole with trepidation, and stumbled back in surprise, almost stubbing his toe against the shoe rack. Quickly, he looked at the mirror beside him, fixed his hair under the beanie and grabbed a jacket lying carelessly on the wooden chair of the dining table. He zipped it up quickly and opened the door, letting you in.
“Hey, what are you doing at this time…here?” He struggled to form words, this time knowing the language but not the courage. “I came to apologise Mark.” You said, hands tucked in the pockets of your pants. “It was my fault! I lost my temper and just said whatever. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Mark argued, making way for her to enter. She removed her white sneakers, neatly aligning them perpendicular to the step up towards the living room.
Just as she was about to make her way towards the couch, a creak surrounded the room, it was the opening of one of the doors and the steps of Mark’s Manager, Seoham. “Why are you here so late? What’s going on huh?” He spoke audaciously, as if he owned the place, no wonder Eunryung called him an asshole.
“I came to apologise to Mark, I felt bad and I couldn’t sleep, and I heard you don’t let him use his phone.” You snapped back, the smirk on his face pissing you off. “Relax sweetie, I was just kidding, I let the other girls in all the time, you two aren’t the first to mess around,” he scoffed and Mark immediately chipped in, “It isn’t like that hyung!”
“Sure it isn’t. Whatever, just don’t make too much noise.” Seoham rolled his eyes and went back inside, but the scowl on your face never did go back. “That asshole still controls your phone?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds, you know, it really isn’t,” Mark sat back on the off-white linen couch, sitting on the vertical part of the L-shape. You turned on a lamp beside the sofa, letting the warm yellow light radiate across the room so you could see his face. “Why are you defending him Mark? Why can’t you just say no? I mean what are they gonna do? Fire you? They need you.” You scolded him, your worry laced words bringing a smile to his face.
“Don’t smile like that, you look like an idiot.” You joked, sitting beside him, letting your nails scratch against the linen. “I’m worried for you Yeoreum, you say you’re fine but you, I haven’t seen you truly smile since forever.” He began, looking towards your face searching for the girl he used to know.
“I guess I changed,” you tried to defend yourself, you hated when he saw through you. “No you haven’t, you’re still the same girl who runs away from things instead of letting people be there for her.”
“What?” You cocked your brow at him, another mechanism to draw up walls against his forces. “Let me be there for you, please.” His voice came out like a whimper, like a desperate man praying at the altar. “You weren’t there for me when I needed you.” You announced getting up, “This was a mistake, fuck,” that’s when Mark held onto your wrist, not roughly or forcefully, but begging, clinging on to it like it was all he had left. He was standing up now, his dark brown eyes glassy with unshed tears and blonde hair peeking out the beanie he always wore.
He moved closer to you, muttering please repeatedly. “Yeoreum, I want to be yours, and I don’t want to lie anymore.” His voice was deeper somehow, maturity dripping in his tone, with a tinge of anguish. His lips were not very far anymore, they were slightly chapped and he had a little red bruise on one side, probably from him biting them constantly but they were topped with some lip balm, as if that would fix it.
“Use antiseptic cream for your lips and tell your manager to stop being a control freak.” You pull your hand away from him, walking to the door and shutting it behind you, leaving Mark alone and in despair. “I’m sorry,” Mark wished those words would reach your ears, but even if they did, he knew they couldn’t fix it. Suddenly, Mark wished he was 11 years old again, swinging on a sunny afternoon, being told by the prettiest girl he knew, that she’d be his friend for a very long time. Alas, what he was left with, was not a friend but he didn’t want her to be.
Mark wanted you, he wanted you to love him like he did all these years.
Synopsis: Put yourself into the world of Han Yeoreum, an angel whose wings seem to become invisible to everyone the moment she shines. Never acclaimed, but loved, always forgotten but never betrayed. She’s the one that gives everyone warmth, but what happens when she’s stuck in a season of winter, a season that merely sends out a distant echo of help? This is you, living as her. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Pairing: Pretty obvious signs of Mark x OC.
Warnings: Smut (not with Mark yet sorry 😞) mentions of alcohol and smoking, nausea and anger issues, mentions of anxiety, eating disorder and addiction.
Haechan’s shrill laughter was a sonorous commodity between the walls of the practice room. Jisung and Jeno too joined in on the ridiculing, already coming up with more thoughtfully curated jokes to worsen your situation. Eunryung was patting your back as you hugged your knees and Mark was trying his best to be empathetic for you but you could see the way his pink lips were pursed yet curving up between the cracks of his finger mask. The poor guy was hiding his face to ensure you couldn’t see him making fun of you too.
“Don’t feel too bad now!” Jaemin chuckled between his words, you weren’t sure if it was sarcastic or not because you were already reddening up due to the state of your utter shame, all your senses leveling down because your main focus was to try not to run away from everything at the moment.
“I mean, if anything, it’s all for the better right?” Eunryung tried lifting your spirits but you completely disregarded her efforts, sighing loudly before beginning to defend yourself, more accurately ranting out your experience. “I mean, I wasn’t even going to confess, that was not my intention…at least not for today,” you pause your sentence, gulping down a tear, “he just went on to say that he doesn’t like me, mind you this was unprovoked!”
“That’s exactly why we’re laughing!” Haechan bursts out into that evil cackling once again.
You shoot him a warning side eye before continuing, “I mean I was just sitting there next to him right? He promised me that he’d help me with regulating my falsetto but I don’t even know why he began with what he did- he just said that he doesn’t like younger girls and that I shouldn’t think of him in that way again…” Those stupid tears were back to pricking at your cornea. “He didn’t have to be so blunt about it either.” You sniffled again, your fellow members calming down just a bit from the crazy serotonin boost.
“To be fair, it is Doyoung we’re talking about here— he’s as blunt as a baton. I mean what do you even see in him to like him that much?” Mark finally piped in, gaining an interesting set of reactions from the others.
“Right he’s not worth liking anyway!” Eunryung chipped in too but you turned to her with a mean look. “What’s there not to like?” You responded, voice breaking and the others finally understood that you truly were heartbroken. The room dropped into silence, a piercing one.
“Alright, let’s stop here guys, where were we again?” Haechan broke the awkward air and Mark added, “Let’s practice that last part again before we leave guys!”
You took a deep breath before standing up and taking positions for the song, all other thoughts tried to take a sideline for you to focus on the real task here.
This said task was making debut, you worked almost half your life for this, starting from when you were merely 8 years old, you’ve been here longer than anyone. Despite all the work you put in, you don’t really seem to be getting anywhere. SM promised you that you would debut with Red velvet, but they changed the lineup last moment, and ended up choosing your friend Yeri as the final member. It wasn’t fair to you, but it wasn’t fair for Yeri either, she didn’t deserve to be ignored by you just because they made the choice. You wanted to radiate warmth, you wanted to be kind but for this one thing you really couldn’t.
Naturally, you hated yourself for it. How could you hate someone who didn’t even try or want to hurt you? Why would you blame your short stick on an innocent soul? Did you really just end a friendship over a matter so petty? These questions often left you awake at night, sniffling into those rough sheets and trying not to wake up Eunryung who was your bunkmate.
You hated her too, well not hate, but you were envious, she didn’t train for as long as you did. Natural born talent and a one of a kind visual landed her in so many debut spots. NCT U, 127 and dream. This wasn’t fair to you, there wasn’t one thing she could do which you couldn’t, yet why was she chosen? You were kind to all, so why was no one kind to you. You really tried pushing these thoughts away as you attempted to control your steps but it just didn’t sit right with you. People could just walk in and steal the spot you worked so long for. Maybe not steal, because it’s not like they creeped up into your house and took your prized possession. It was your company’s fault, not theirs. Never theirs.
You really tried consoling yourself, but even then you felt like you had wasted your childhood for nothing. Given all these years of enjoying stupid friendship shenanigans to rehearse vocals even people in the industry couldn’t yet reach. It wasn’t fucking fair.
So you felt the fumes rising up with hot steam in your lungs, tears welling up into your eyes, anger taking over your senses and just as the routine finished you lunged your bag over your body and left the studio before any of it would come out.
“Get a hold of yourself—damn it,” you muttered to your feelings, hoping it reached your stupid nerves. You were meant to give warmth, you were meant to be kind to all—that’s what your parents wanted for you. To be a gentle nurturer. So you swallow it down. Until your system refuses to hold it and you need to rush to the toilet, retching into a stall, hoping for your wrong ideals to also be thrown out, never be digested by your organs and forgotten forever.
This is what you call wishful thinking however. Because everytime you feel sad, everytime you wish something that happened didn’t ever land on the surface of the earth, these same ideas haunt your mind. The train of thought reaches nowhere but green. Deep emerald shades of jealousy etched between the creases of your brain that mark the final spot of the vehicle’s journey.
You somehow manage to get up off the floor, washing your face and getting out of the washroom, only to be met with a worried looking Mark waiting outside. “What are you doing here?” Your tone comes off rude, a contrast to your usual behaviour and it earns furrowed eyebrows from him but he continues nonetheless.
“Do you wanna sneak out for ice cream today? I already asked our managers and they said it was fine, I told them you were upset because of your periods and stuff, sorry I lied.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze barely meeting yours.
“It’s not sneaking out if our managers know, but alright, where do you wanna go?” You throw an arm over his shoulder while walking towards the exit of the building. “Just the convenience store next to the dorms, should be okay right?”
You loved Mark, not in a “having a dream house with two baby hamsters” kind, but a “being there for me when no one is” kind of love. Sometimes you felt like he picked up on the fact you didn’t want to be kind, you felt like it was fine if you weren’t always a politely programmed robot with him. You felt a sense of freedom and trust, he truly was the most reliable friend you made here, and you hoped he felt the same too.
—
Well you were wrong. You didn’t love Mark. You needed him. He was all you ever thought of now. It has been 2 years since making debut and you barely see him outside of dream practices or schedules, and even then it’s not genuine interactions. Most of it is scripted, made to please the fans, or it’s a serious atmosphere meant to mould your careers. So when you learnt the knowledge that he would no longer be part of Dream, you were rather heartbroken.
It’s not like you loved him, but you needed your best friend with you. At least when he was in Dream, you still got to talk, now all that was left were text messages or occasional 5 minute calls. You really had lost him in essence. Maybe it was for the better, he was meant to rule the stage, he wasn’t meant to make you feel better about yourself. He wasn’t your accessory, he had his life and as much as you needed him, he didn’t need you. You weren’t his best friend, you were…you didn’t even know what you were to him. He didn’t laugh the way he did with Johnny or Haechan when he was with you. He didn’t look at you as anything- what were you even to him?
Again, you knew these thoughts were a ploy of envy, you had to ignore them. Move on, you say, yet you stay stuck to those degrading worries. Choosing to keep circling back to the original sin. “What do they have that I don’t?” You think before wearing on a smile 5 minutes prior to a vlive.
“Unnie!” You hear Dae’s adorable voice calling out for you, and you follow it, walking into frame as the camera is adjusted to accommodate You, Dae, Jisung and Jeno.
About five minutes into the live Jeno reads out one of the questions from the plethora of comments. “Yeoreum Noona, you’re studying for the CSAT right? Do you think you’ll do well?” Jeno looks at you with his signature smile, as Jisung and Dae wait for you to answer.
“It’s going fine to be honest, but I don’t think I’ll do that well, I just hope I can get a regular college,” you answer, and the live moves on to more meme-potential topics.
Yes, you were going to give the CSAT, it’s not like SM was giving you any other projects, all brand deals were conveniently not offered to you, you spent a majority of your days cooped up in the dorms. So you thought to not waste the rest of your life and actually make something out of it. You studied for all tests, tried to keep up your grades in school ensuring you’d graduate with top scores.
“Unnie?” Haneul enters your room, her lips in a pout as she offers a plate of neatly cut apples.
“Why are you so worried?” You ask, smiling as you close your book to snack on the apple slice. “Aren’t you overworking yourself? You barely eat, you’re studying like all the time.” Haneul sits beside you, worry still seems to wrinkle between her beautiful face.
“I’m fine Haneul, I swear, I just really want to make something out of my life. I mean you know it and I do too. I’m nothing to SM, they don’t give me brand deals, they don’t let me give my creative inputs, I’ve never been acknowledged for my talents. Just let me have this one thing will you?”
Haneul doesn’t usually show her feelings, but for a moment you could see the way she got taken aback by your harsh remark. You didn’t mean to say that, it wasn’t even her fault, why did you lash out on the sweet girl only trying to help. “Haneul, that’s not really what I meant. I’m just stressed. Give me space and I’ll be fine.” You forced a smile, but because you were so used to being someone you’re not, your grin seemed genuine and allowed the younger girl to not worry for you as much. You hated lying but half your appearance was built on lies. Barely anyone knew you for you, and you felt alone, but who were you to complain? These were your choices, this is your life. You can’t do anything now, except working towards a better future.
—
On the morning of November 15th, 2018, you woke up with anxiety running between your actions. You brushed your teeth, looking over the sticky notes clinging to the bathroom mirror, formulae and dates taking up the space you could have used to look at your appearance. You could barely chew your food, nerves acting up and breaths turning into pants. You did not even register the way your members wished you good luck as you left the dorms. The four girls frowned at your indifference but understood your jitteriness.
You got out of the minivan, rubbing your palms together and blowing air between them to warm up. Just as you were about to enter the centre. Your phone buzzed through the fabric of your jacket pocket. You expected it to be another good luck message from another member of yours. Wrong. It was him, it was his caring words. A long paragraph that encouraged you but also told you that your worth isn’t limited to a mere score on a sheet. His message left a mark on your mood, a tribute to his name.
His name then flashes on your screen, your ringtone playing before you pick up the call. “Yeoreum!! Good luck! You read my message right? Like dude, genuinely I know you’re gonna crush that shit. You’ve always been good at what you do, so like obviously you’re gonna do amazing here as well!” Mark’s sentences were excited, fervent reassurances, he barely paused before continuing, “Also dude, even if you don’t do that well, it’s fine you can always get into uni using the special admissions route right? A lot of idols have used that I’m pretty sure-”
“Thank you, and relax Mark, I’ll be fine, like you said my worth isn’t a bunch of scores on a sheet. Really I’ll be fine, good luck for your recording today by the way,” you say before hanging up the call and switching off your phone. For the first time in a while, you genuinely felt like you could do this. Your anxiety had melted, no longer freezing your memories of information or withholding your movements.
—
Life moved faster than you’d have liked, Mark was officially no longer part of Dream, and much like you predicted your interactions had reduced to occasional texts. He often felt like a stranger, you’d smile if you ran into his busy figure in the company hallways but it was awkward and rather difficult maintaining an actual conversation. You knew goodbyes were an inevitable part of life, but this one hurt more than you would ever care to admit.
You were still benched down in group activities, sitting hopelessly on the metal structure, hoping for the coach to call out your name so you could run out into the field. To no avail, you were sidelined, but you didn’t mind it as much anymore. It gave you more time to focus on your degree and also talk with a guy you had met during a freshman party.
It was around 8:30, if you remember correctly, when seniors of the Media and communications Department took the freshman out to a BBQ restaurant. Drinks and food were lined up on the large, rectangular, wooden table. You sat there freely, not being a very popular member has its own benefits. Few of the students were actually shocked you were an idol because they don’t recall ever seeing you.
Just then, the door of the noisy restaurant opened up and another big, chattering group entered the place. The windchime’s melodious sounds grabbed your attention as you turned around only to lock your gaze to a young boy wearing rimless glasses, his black sweater’s sleeves pulled up to his elbows, loose jeans highlighting his tall figure and perhaps the most pretty smile you have ever seen on a boy.
He ruffled his hair, charm exuding his body, a flock of girls around him and not a hint of nervousness lingered on his flamboyance. Just then, Lee Hyunmin, a senior sitting across from you noticed that group and spoke up, “Sung Hana? You guys also decided to come here? What a coincidence!”
Hana turned around and waved, she was wearing a checkered flannel with a white camisole underneath, she had a downward smile as she greeted the other seniors in your group. “And you guys are the freshmen right? Nice to meet you, I’m Sung Hana and I’m from the finance department. Gosh, you media majors always have the prettiest girls joining in!” She squealed while looking at you, walking closer to your chair.
“I think I've seen you before, pretty, you look so familiar…” she trails off and a girl from your table prompts, “She’s from NCT dream, that group with like 30 members or something.” Hana finally gets it and she exclaims, “Aha! Park Haneul right? Your group has some really nice songs I must say.” Before you could correct your senior about your name, that black sweater guy interrupts you.
“Sunbae, her name’s actually Han Yeoreum,” he pushes up his glasses, “Park Haneul is some other member.” Hana’s face reddens up slightly but she quickly apologises and the two groups decide to join tables while spending the night. You decided to leave early, since you had a schedule the next morning, so as you were heading towards the washroom to freshen up, you ran into him, your shoulders bumping each other.
“Oh sorry,” he says, pursing his lips and you smile back to indicate that it's not that big of a deal. “Thank you for earlier,” you said and he cocks a brow, “For making sure she knew your correct name? Yeah that doesn’t deserve a thank you, it's more of decency.” he crosses his arms and leans against the brown wall that was decorated with brick wallpaper.
“So what’s your name?” You mimicked his posture on the opposite wall as he replied, “Kim Jae-young but most of my friends just call me Jae.”
“So if I call you Jae, you’ll be my friend?” It was your turn to raise a brow and he chuckled at that, running a hand through his hair as he mumbled a “sure.” You knew it was risky business, fraternising with a guy you barely knew, especially when you were an idol, but for once you felt seen and you wished that feeling would continue to stay with you. Before you knew it, you already had his digits saved on your phone.
“So unnie, how are things going with that boyfriend of yours?” You almost choke on your fizzy coke, Dae’s sudden question catching you completely off guard. “Yeoreum has a boyfriend? We moved on so fast from Doyoung hyung now didn’t we?” Haechan’s joke was amusing to all except you. “Firstly he’s not my boyfriend and you, Lee Donghyuck, if you bring up my stupid crush one more time you will not live past 60 seconds of that said joke.” You aggressively pick up a piece of grilled pork and chew on it after your threat.
Haechan pouts, his voice higher now, “You’re so mean!” You roll your eyes as everybody around the table sighs at his childish antics. “Forget about this guy, tell us more about your friend.” Jaemin encourages you as he cuts cooked meat over the hot grill on the table. Eunryung orders three more servings of rice for your table and then you begin.
“He’s not like a romantic interest or anything really, but he’s a good friend, we only share one marketing class and he’s funny so yeah, nothing exciting.” You shrug and for a second you swore you noticed a sigh of relief from Mark but you assumed it was just him sighing from the food’s deliciousness. “Did she mention he’s like incredibly smart, hot and rich?” Tianyu adds for you and Chenle gasps, “noona what else could you want! Start flirting with him or something!” The majority of the group nods between their bites, agreeing with the boy’s bold suggestion. However, a loud glass slamming against the wooden table interrupts the incoherent agreements. “How do we know that guy isn’t just liking her because she’s an idol, what if he’s just a piece of shit?” Haneul’s words were sharp, meant to hurt but not purposefully, the words slipped out of her voicebox or so it seemed.
“I agree with Haneul, let’s not dig into her personal life like this,” Mark added, rather discontented. “You two are just jealous she actually has a life outside of music, you both are cooped up in that stuffy studio or endlessly rehearsing your dances, don’t be so salty,” Haechan began to tease, “learn from Eunryung actually, she’s in as many groups as you are Mark, yet she isn’t being a stuck up bitch.” His lips curved upwards and the others laughed as well but you said, “Did you end up calling my lovely honeybun Haneul a bitch?”
“I was literally defending you!” He tries to defend himself but Renjun says, “I think you’re a little done for now…”
-
“No, I genuinely don’t agree that the nudge theory is ethical.”
“So you’d rather have a product forcefully chugged down your throat instead of being guided gently towards a product? Got it, you have that kink.” You replied back, catching the way the boy’s face coloured in with red as he tried to laugh it off. “That’s not what I’m saying, you know that!”
“I know, I know I’m just joking Jae, so what exactly do you mean?” you cross your arms on the library table, resting your chin over them, tilting your face towards his direction. “Alright, what I think, it’s just my perspective, definitely not what I’d write in the exam but I believe no business or economical tactic is completely ethical if it’s actually beneficial. You can’t have business without bent morals, and that’s okay, in a sense.” You hear him start to get passionate in his words, enjoying the conversation. “I don’t think our society needs to categorise everything as good or bad, humans are past the point of survival as a reason of existence, so why can’t our morals be more complex than just a binary reduction?”
“You make a strong point there, but do you really believe it’s okay for people to not always be good? Or whatever that means?” You sit up straight, tying your hair into a clutch as you wait for him to answer.
“Of course it’s fine. I think you have more depth and value if you have those quote, unquote bad qualities. It builds character if anything. You don’t conform to everything, it shows you have a backbone really.”
His words were not meant for that little part in you that often overrides your mind and tells you how worthless you are. The part in you that causes you to reconsider your own personality and how that’s all a lie because you don’t show people what you are within. Yet, his words gently patted the back of that little thing, telling it that it was okay for it to exist, and you weren’t horrible for it at all. You weren’t seeking validation, even then you still found it without a stretch of a muscle.
“Oh by the way,” he starts picking up his stuff from the table, interrupting your thoughts. “Yea?” You pack up your books too. “Well, you know how my dad owns a bunch of clubs and shit?” You nod to his question, curious where it will lead. “Well there’s one just for celebrities only, like just those famous people and really elite people…I remember you once said you wanted to just go to a party, do you wanna come this Saturday?”
“You remembered that?” The question slipped out naturally from between your lips but he seemed almost offended. “Why would I not? Anyway, you coming or not?” His face tilts to the right while his eyes search for an answer and you say, “I can’t, I promised Mark that we both were gonna meet up over dinner that day, sorry…” you purse your lips and he shook his head, “No problem, just text me if you change your mind I’m actually throwing this party for my friend so yea…” he walks out of the library and you walk towards the other exit, texting your manager to come pick you up.
You came back to your vocal lessons in the company, the instructor giving you tiny bits of techniques to tweak and improve the lacking in your voice, you made notes of it and also followed along to really imbibe the information perfectly. “You’ve been skipping out on lessons a lot these days, why’s that?” The older woman asks as the session was close to its end.
“I’m not skipping you know? I just don’t see the point of working this hard if they just give me like two lines per song. Almost 8 years of training gone to waste it seems!” Your sarcastic tone made her laugh but she did sense the sadness in your voice and did not dig deeper choosing to end the lesson on a good note.
You then began to head out, not much to do on your plate since you finished a lot of your assignments in the library earlier, you didn’t just sit there chattering with Jaeyoung.
At home, you were listening to Dae rant about her IB curriculum, some fancy international board that made students submit a hundred different things for one diploma. Currently Dae was stressing about how her CAS coordinator wasn’t allowing her to include her idol activities. “That stupid little bagel! I told him I’d ask our company to let me participate in songwriting and I’ll write a reflection on it and like I also said I’ll not talk about the paid promotions but the stuff we do for charity but he’s so stuck up about it I’m honestly just done with his ass.” The young girl rolls her eyes, angrily eating her bowl of salad.
“Dae I think you can just mail that IB support thingy? Maybe that’ll work?” Eunryung tries to help, sipping water for dinner. “Yeah I think that should—Unnie is that all you’re having? Where’s your food?” Dae looks at her worriedly, pausing her bites of her balanced chicken salad. Eunryung gulped nervously, her eyes darting across the room as if trying to come up with an excuse.
“Eunryung, we know you have a lot of schedules but I don’t think you should starve yourself this much, you’ll faint.” You say and she gives you a sharp look, almost rude. “I’m fine.” She defends but it was feeble. “Unnie please, you have to eat something, you even skipped breakfast today and only ate that protein bar during lunch!” Tianyu reveals and this statement worries you further. Eunryung always had a tendency to do this, she insisted she didn’t have a disorder and just needed to diet more but you all knew it was a lie. For most of the time you decided it was okay to ignore but it needed intervention now or it would be too late. “You really can’t keep going on like this,” Haneul insisted and you could see the way Eunryung’s fingers picked on the skin of her index finger.
“Eun, we aren’t trying to target or hurt you or anything, we’re just trying to tell you what’s right.” You held her hand, not wanting her to pick at her lovely skin. However, your kindness wasn’t interpreted as care in her perspective because she pulled her wrist away and abruptly stood up. Her chair scraped against the floor with a shrieking sound. “How would you know what’s right? You barely know what it’s like being an idol, you can stuff yourself like a pig for all you care!”
To say that tension took over the room would not just be an understatement but it would be as good as calling a raging storm a burly breeze. Everyone was speechless, so was the girl who had said that statement, her neurons finally connecting out of the influence of shame that she realised what she had said. “Yeoreum- I didn’t mean…”
“It’s true, I barely am an idol, you didn’t say anything wrong. It’s fine. It happens, just take care of yourself, that's all we want, please for the love of god eat something, if not for yourself then as an apology for saying that to me.”
Her words still stung the skin of your insecurities that always rose when you found yourself awake during the late hours of night, sleep having taken its own nap dozing off at the time of its work. You really were barely an idol, all polls had your name at the end, with pity votes of popularity, you saw the jokes online of your photocards being the least exciting pull of the album. Sometimes you wondered if your presence in the group even mattered. You hated feeling this way, because it would always spiral into hatred and envy and blaming other people. Which was not right, it didn’t fall under the category of good, you weren’t supposed to do it. Although Jaeyoung’s words from earlier seemed like a frail hand reaching down, begging you to grasp it and climb up from the self deprecating pit.
You had to take that hand someday, and you know you’ll take it, you’ll accept yourself for your faults one day but for now you were comfortable in that darkness, the pit seemed like a harbour and not a cave, so for now you’ll stay there, out of the eyes of scrutiny.
—
Saturday arrived, October was at its peak with the beautiful autumn leaves crunching with their peculiar dryness as you walked towards your destination. You were walking home after picking up some stuff from a convenience store, a tad bit too excited for the movie night with Mark. Finally, you both would spend some time and talk, you’d have your best friend again, for at least 2 hours which was really long considering how he was busy almost ninety percent of the time. Just to confirm you pull out your phone and text the guy, “Are we still gonna meet?”
It’s been almost an hour over the promised time to meet, you still stare at your text which seemed pretty useless now because it was clear you weren’t gonna meet because he had left it on seen. You figured it was for something important, or maybe he was taking a well deserved rest. He needed it, so you didn’t feel bad. You were scrolling through social media and your messages and that’s when you saw the impossible.
There he was, laughing like an idiot in a picture posted on the story of another group. He and a few other members were hanging out with another group. He called you off for other friends. A plan you were preparing for since days. He didn’t even text you, you weren’t even a low priority, you were barely a consideration. This stung deeper than Eunryung’s words, in fact all those things combined made you fall deeper in that pit you had made for yourself, that one hand seeming blurry due to the tears clouding your vision. There it was, that feeling of being nothing.
You decided on a simple denim skirt and full sleeve black top, wearing a cap which was good enough to hide yourself while getting into the car. You just told your manager that you were going to your friend’s house for drinking and they approved, so technically you didn’t lie. You waited for Jae to pull up and you wasted no time getting into the passenger seat, complimenting his leather jacket look as he drove the sleek sports car.
“You look pretty cute yourself.” He comments very coolly, not even realising the way it sent heat to your cheeks. You had been praised for your visuals before it was nothing new, but this felt different, you felt like yourself.
Nothing could have prepared you for the way the neon lights, booming music that vibrated between your ribs, the smell of smoke and booze would somehow intrigue and pique all your interest. People were lost in their own highs, you recognised a few idols and a lot of the acting industry, models too grinded on each other on the dance floor. You had one shot, loosening up to also join the people dancing.
Jae took a hold of your wrist and you two did some silly steps as he said some jokes you barely made sense out of but it didn’t matter because the words weren’t significant, it was the moment that had a greater value. A moment to yourself, where you don’t have to be anything but the stage is all yours. You felt freed from everything. You hadn’t let loose of all your worries in so very long that this almost felt alien.
You didn’t even realise when you had separated from Jae, you didn’t even realise when you had gotten awfully close to another man, so close that his lips were on your neck, arms wrapped around your waist and hips pressed up against your rear. He slowly pulled you away from the centre towards a couch in the corner, but you didn’t sit. He whispered a request in your ear and you nodded, following him to a VIP room upstairs, you didn’t know what was controlling you, it was so reckless yet you had a feeling it would be fine. You knew this guy, he was a pretty famous model, a few years older maybe two or three but that didn’t matter.
Only thing important to note at the moment was the way his lips felt on yours, the way his hands grabbed your butt, his tongue darting out to taste yours as he shut the door behind him.
“You done this before Yeoreum?” He asks, pulling away to catch a breath. “Not really, what’s your name again?” You say, reaching out to kiss his neck. “Lee Kangmin, you making out with a guy you barely know? This is not the Yeoreum czennies know huh? Isn’t she a goody two shoes?” He picks you up, lightly slapping your ass and going back to kissing you again.
“I don’t care. And, what are you? A groupie? Is that why you approached me? Don’t tell me you’re a fan now huh?” You didn’t know where these bold sentences were coming from, but you felt yourself changing bit by bit.
“You have more people that like you than you think. But for now just try to focus on me.” He lays you down on the bed, unbuttoning your denim skirt and looking up for approval. “Are you sure you want to?”
“Just be gentle at first I’ll manage.” You rest your weight on your elbows as you slightly get up watching the way his face was thinking. “You know what? I think it’ll be better if you ride me…come, straddle my lap.” He sits on the edge of the bed, pulling down the zipper of jeans as he spreads his thighs for you to sit better. “Comfy?”
You nod, suddenly growing a tad bit nervous, not sure how to go about it. “See you’ve made me half hard already so that’s not a worry anymore,” he strokes his length, biting his lips as you stare down at it, a little appalled. “Alright, just put your weight on your knees first, yea like that. Okay now, I’ll align it….” He quickly slips on a condom before settling it between your folds, using his slender fingers to gently caress the clit. “Feel good?”
“Yeah- yea…” he wasn’t doing a bad job, but it wasn’t sending down sparks- okay you spoke too soon, the second his dick rubbed against your folds you were close to being putty. “Want me to put it in right now? Or do you wanna be teased more?” He kisses your neck, being extra careful not to leave a mark.
“Tease…more.” You shamefully utter and he laughs, using his fingers to stretch you out first. Eventually his dick replaced his fingers, it wasn’t too painful but not exactly comfortable at first. However when you adjusted to that feeling, him moving you up and down on his length felt so good.
It was like watching fireworks while submerged within a pool, but you could breathe yet you were panting all at the same time. Your inhibitions melted under this intense heat, and you suddenly forgot you were ever in that lonely deep pit, because you felt so high, like Icarus floating towards the sun. Moans and whines echoed in the room, your eyes had rolled to the back of your head as he went faster.
You wanted the moment to last forever, and just then there it was, so, so close, it was building up, your stomach was churning a bit, goosebumps ran down your skin, his hands groping your breasts and your lips quivering in the excitement of that rush. You wanted to be closer to him, but you didn’t want that, you wanted more, you kept wishing it was more, and he kept going faster but it felt like he wasn’t quick enough to catch up to the knot in your stomach.
You came down from the rush slightly, believing he probably wouldn’t be able to do it, and just then, when you least expected it, he caught a hold of that knot, his dick perfectly angled to rub your clit in such a way that it also touched that particular spot so deep in you that you didn’t even know existed. This newfound rush calmed you in every way. You felt rational, you didn’t feel like you were drowning. This felt reckless too, but it outweighed that fact with how good it was.
You didn’t realise when exactly Kangmin had left, but you remembered him helping you dress up properly and leaving you his number and a cheek kiss, but you were still a little overwhelmed. You managed to walk out of the room, legs still shaking but you found Jae who looked really worried.
“Where the fuck have you been?” He asks, shaking your shoulders and you just stay silent not knowing what to say. “Did you get laid?” He figures out somehow and you nod back, to which he sighs and decides today was good enough to be concluded.
“Let’s get you back home.”
The ride back was tumultuously silent. His usual warmth had been replaced by a certain icy wall that screamed annoyance and even anger. It felt scary, and you felt like you had lost a lot, you weren’t sure how to clear it out either, his silence being louder than anything.
“I’m sorry Jae.” You manage to squeak out and he turns his face towards you. “Why would you be sorry to me? I was just worried something happened to you! Sure these clubs let you have a good time but you have to be within a closely knit group of people you know, you could have been taken advantage of, what if he recorded you? What if there were multiple guys? What then?”
You knew he was right, he was speaking out all the thoughts you would have had if you weren’t trying to let loose, but you followed your instinct and hence disregarded any of those ideas and ended up letting your guard down drastically. You were lucky enough today but what if you weren’t?
“Look, I just really value your safety, you’re one of my best friends at the moment you getting hurt would completely break me you don’t understand.” He says, stopping at the side of the road, turning to face you. You weren’t sure if those were the words friends were supposed to say to each other, but maybe this is what it felt like, having friends who truly cared.
“I’ll be careful Jae, I promise.”
—
You broke your promise in barely a week, rushing over to Kangmin’s house after you guys had started flirting over text. You knew it was wrong, it wasn’t like you, but it was just one more time and it wouldn’t hurt. He was somewhere on similar levels of popularity as you, you both had an equal stake of risk. Technically you being a girl made you have 200% more but it was fine. You were discreet enough for no one to find out.
You were right, that habit persisted and no one did find out, as time passed you had somehow gotten addicted to chasing sexual pleasure. Orgasms filled your mind with thoughts that pushed away other troubles, all you had to focus on was how good the moment felt and nothing else. Others didn’t matter, it was just you and your high. You didn’t just get addicted to it, you required it. You needed it more than you ever needed Mark, you needed it more than you ever needed to accept yourself. You loved this feeling, and you wished you’d never have to say your goodbyes to it.
Just like that, you had made another part of yourself that you’d scrutinise when awake late at night. You had created another filth of yourself to hate on when overwhelmed with feelings. You had dug that pit deeper now, the hand reaching out to you going further and further away. This pit was close to being a grave. And any help that you would now even try to scream, would barely make it as an echo to the outside haven of normality.
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. ♡
