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Miyeong has always been affectionate. Touchy, even. She didn’t have the usual reluctance and anxiety most people have—that Celine has—over getting too close to another person, of invading someone else’s space, forcing yourself into it or at least feeling like you are, or that you might, and then you’d be left with no choice but to deal with the painfully awkward aftermath.
So: Miyeong has always been touchy. She’s never had the usual reservations most people have over that sort of thing. She’s never been most people, period—but Celine would be lying if she said she didn’t think there’s something a little strange with the way Miyeong’s been touchy with her lately.
Celine is familiar with all the ways Miyeong touches her. She’s familiar with the way Miyeong always hugs her like it’s been ages since they last saw each other even if they’ve hardly spent any time apart since the formation of the Sunlight Sisters, and the way her arm always seems to find its way around Celine’s shoulders or her waist, and how her fingers will absentmindedly seek out Celine’s hand, twining them together like it’s second nature. Like it’s nothing at all to Miyeong, and yet somehow it means everything and more to Celine. It’s been like that since the very beginning, back when they’d only just met, when Miyeong slipped into the little group that would eventually become the Sunlight Sisters with effortless warmth.
She’s never been an easy person to be around. She wouldn’t say she’s unpleasant, necessarily, but most people would certainly describe her as standoffish or just too hard to approach. She wasn’t the type who would let just anyone in, or to give anyone any room to wiggle their way into her space beyond what she’s willing to give them. But Miyeong never seemed to care. The walls Celine put up weren’t a hindrance to her, but something to scale, or maybe, really, just breeze right past with her easy smile and disarming way she has of making space for herself in someone else’s life without ever feeling like an intrusion.
Maybe that’s what made it so easy for Celine to slip and then fall for Miyeong, against her better judgment.
But the point is: there’s something different to the way Miyeong is touchy with her now.
It’s in the way Miyeong’s touch lingers a little longer now, like when she hugs her or reaches for her and then holds on shade longer than she usually would or is even necessary. There’s nothing calculated about it, nothing purposeful, exactly, but her touch does feel heavier somehow, weighted with something that isn’t usually there. Like when she rests her head on Celine’s shoulder, it feels less casual and less fleeting, like there’s a quiet need in the way she leans her full weight in, like she’s starved for the closeness, the comfort, for the relief of being held in return. Celine tells herself it doesn’t mean anything, that Miyeong is just being like that because she’s pregnant and pregnancy just does that to people, that it messes with their heads and their bodies and just generally makes everything so much more miserable, and right now, Celine is all Miyeong has, and so Celine is the only person around to catch Miyeong at her lowest, when she’s this vulnerable—but that doesn’t make being the only one there to catch her any easier.
Things were tense between Celine and Miyeong after Miyeong told them she was not only in love with a demon, but pregnant with his baby too. It’s only now, four and a half months later, that things have gone back to mostly normal between them. It isn’t that Celine is okay with any of that now, it’s more that she’s just accepted the reality of their situation begrudgingly. She’d tried to convince Miyeong, early on, to just give up the baby for the sake of her own safety, but Miyeong is stubborn, always has been, and she’s the type that once she sets her sights on something, once she’s made up her mind about something, there’s just no way to make her change her mind anymore. She’s since given up on trying to do that, and Celine is Celine, she’s only human, only in love with Miyeong, has been since they met all those years ago, so it wasn’t long before she settled on being Miyeong’s caretaker for the time being, at least until the baby is born. What they would do—what Celine would do—once the baby is born is something for her to worry about when they get there. All that really matters right now to Celine is that Miyeong is safe and healthy, and that she maintains the fragile sense of unity and peace they have between them right now, despite everything.
And now here they are—months into this strange new rhythm of their lives. Between them. Miyeong leans on her more and more each day, and Celine lets her, because what else can she do? It’s just the two of them here at the village. Celine is all Miyeong has. No one else knows her the way Celine does, or understands her the way Celine does, or the weight of the burden she’s carrying. And, frankly, Celine just doesn’t trust anyone else to take care of Miyeong. She might not be happy about their present circumstances, but she’s not going to leave Miyeong, not going to give up on her, either.
The only problem is Miyeong is making it difficult for her to do that in perfect, controlled peace, because this isn’t just Miyeong leaning on her for help or for support or for comfort. It’s not just the way her touch lingers, but also the way Miyeong seems to seek her out all the time now, sitting close enough that their legs press together, resting her head in Celine’s lap when she’s tired, constantly reaching for her. It’s sweet, yes, and innocent, probably, and theoretically it’s everything Celine’s ever wanted with Miyeong—to be the one she wants, the one she looks for, reaches for, all the time—but it’s all so relentless that Celine can feel herself cracking under it.
Celine is not delusional. She knows that whatever this is, it’s not love—or, at least, it’s not love the way she wants it to be. Because she knows Miyeong does love her, just not in the same way Celine loves Miyeong. She’d long given up on the hope that Miyeong would ever feel the same way about her. No, what this is is proximity. It’s the very simple fact that while she’s here in the village to wait and sort out the pregnancy of it all, Miyeong has no one else to be soft with. To reach out for. To touch.
She tells herself she can handle it. That this is just how it is, that it’s just Miyeong seeking comfort from someone she trusts with her whole life, someone who, despite everything, despite the gravity of her betrayal against everything they swore to protect as Hunters, will still choose her. But when she reaches back—because she does, she always reaches back—she’s not sure she’s convincing anyone, least of all herself.
It becomes clear to Celine that this isn’t just about Miyeong’s need to touch, but also her need to be touched.
Tonight, like most other nights, lately, Miyeong is curled up against Celine’s side, head tucked into Celine’s shoulder like she’s trying to make herself small even though there’s no hiding the swell of her belly anymore. Four and a half months along, the bump presses faintly against Celine’s ribs whenever Miyeong shifts, serving as a quiet, unspoken reminder of everything that’s changed between them. Miyeong breathes in these soft, quiet sighs. She keeps an arm slung across Celine’s waist.
Celine just lets her do as she please, as she always does and always has. What else can she do?
And it’s all normal for the most part—so familiar it’s almost routine—until Miyeong thoughtlessly drags her hand over the curve of Celine’s side, fingers catching in the hem of her shirt like they’re searching for something.
Celine freezes. It’s nothing, it’s barely anything, but the touch feels different. It lingers. It presses. The pads of Miyeong’s fingers graze bare skin when Celine’s shirt shifts, warm and soft and careless in a way that sends a sharp, electric jolt up Celine’s spine. Her stomach clenches involuntarily, a tight knot curling low in her belly, and for a fleeting second she forgets how to breathe altogether.
She still tries to convince herself it’s nothing but Miyeong keeps her hand there, tracing the dip of Celine’s waist, and Celine can feel the heat from her palm seep in, spreading outward, burning in a way that makes her body react before her mind can catch up. Her thighs press faintly together where she’s sitting, like she can ward off the faint ache that’s starting to spark between her legs.
Before she can stop herself, Celine blurts out, panicked, “Why are you doing this?”
Miyeong tenses, then she tilts her head up just enough for Celine to see her face in the low light of the room. “Doing what?” she asks quietly, eyes wide.
“This,” Celine says, and she hates how fragile her voice sounds. She gestures vaguely, helplessly, at the way Miyeong’s holding onto her, at the way her fingers are curling into her like she’s afraid to let go. “This.”
Celine carefully extracts herself from Miyeong’s hold. It’s jarring, having all of the warmth pressed up against her, touching her, coiling deep and low in her gut, and then going back to being something entirely separate from Miyeong. Cold, lonely. She brushes that thought aside and musters up the strength to look Miyeong in the eye, unflinching, when she asks, “Seriously, Miyeong. Is—is something… wrong? I—” She suddenly deflates, momentum coming to a screeching, grinding halt. “I don’t mean to make it sound like you’re doing anything wrong,” she clarifies, “it’s just… You’ve been…”
Touching me so much lately, is on the tip of Celine’s tongue, but so is, and it’s driving me crazy. You touch me, but I can’t touch you, not like that, and it drives me crazy that I can’t. You drive me crazy, you know that?, so she purses her lips and just leaves it at that.
Miyeong doesn’t say anything. She just looks at Celine, lips parting like she might, but instead she exhales, slow and shaky. And it’s that look—soft, raw, vulnerable to the point of breaking—that undoes Celine, despite her best efforts to stand her ground, to not let herself slip again (and again, and again) because of Miyeong.
“I’m sorry,” Miyeong says eventually, wringing her hands.
Instantly, Celine feels terrible. “Miyeong,” she says, tentatively reaching out for Miyeong’s hand. “What is it? You can tell me. You can talk to me.” I’d do anything for you, is what she really wants to say. You know that, so, of course, she leaves that part out. Leaves it unsaid, like most of the things between them.
Miyeong’s fingers twitch in Celine’s loose hold, like she’s not sure whether to pull away or hold on to Celine tighter, harder. Finally, she manages, “I… don’t know how to explain it.”
Celine tries not to react in any particular way, really. She keeps her expression quietly encouraging and supportive, or at the very least, neutral. Free of judgment.
Miyeong exhales, long and uneven. Her gaze darts down to their joined hands, and then it lingers there for what feels like an eternity before she looks up at Celine through her eyelashes. “It’s like,” she starts, pausing and then pressing her lips together as she thinks a little better about it, before she forces the words out in a rush, “It’s like there’s this… ache I can’t get rid of, somewhere deep inside me. I’m—I’m tired all the time, but I can’t sleep, and I’m lonely, even when you’re right here with me, and I’m—”
She stops again, falters, and instead of finishing the thought, she moves. Her free hand comes up, tentative, brushing over the line of Celine’s jaw with a touch so light it’s barely there. Her thumb grazes Celine’s lower lip before she seems to realize what she’s doing. This almost pained look flashes across her face before she lets her hand fall, curling weakly against Celine’s chest instead. She lifts her head, looks Celine in the eye, and it’s only then that Celine notices how flushed Miyeong’s face is, and how dark her eyes are, glazed over with something that Celine is too afraid to name because she knows it’s only going to complicate things—only make things worse—for the both of them.
Celine should have known that by agreeing to let Miyeong keep the baby on the condition that he wouldn’t ever be allowed near Miyeong ever again, or near the baby ever, she would land herself in this situation. She should have known it would backfire on her one way or another. It’s just, how could she have ever expected or imagined that it would backfire like this?
“I’m sorry,” Miyeong says again, pulling her hand back to her side and then cradling it in her other hand, like she’d hurt herself, wincing. “I-I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Celine, and I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to or—or—that would hurt you—” She cuts herself off abruptly when she realizes what she was about to say. Where it was going.
Celine flinches like she’d been hit.
The funny thing is, Miyeong has always known. Celine’s always tried her hardest to keep her feelings for her under control, to never let herself get carried away by them and to ruin the friendship she has with Miyeong just because of some silly way Miyeong makes her feel, but that’s just the thing about Miyeong. She sometimes knows Celine better than Celine knows herself, or maybe it’s just that Celine hasn’t actually been doing that great a job at pretending she hasn’t been in love with Miyeong from the moment they first met. Either way, Miyeong’s always known.
Celine didn’t think about it often, but deep down she knew there was no way someone like Miyeong—someone who could read her moods from just a glance and always just knows how to deal with her when everyone else might have given up on account of her being unapproachable or cold or bitchy, or any of the other things she’s heard people whisper and murmur about her—wouldn’t notice. Maybe it wasn’t even about how she looked at Miyeong, or how her voice always softened when she said her name. Maybe it was just that Celine had never been very good at hiding the things that mattered from Miyeong.
It had been years ago, sometime in those early, hectic days after the Sunlight Sisters first debuted and their schedules were brutal and their lives still mostly belonged to the people who managed them. Celine thought she had everything figured out and that she was being careful, like she’s always taken pride in being—the other two girls would be out because it was their one weekend to visit family after weeks of being cooped up in dance rehearsals and late-night recording sessions at the studio—and so she snuck a girl back into the dorm. The girl was one of their backup dancers, and she’d been making eyes at Celine, trying to suss out if Celine was interested too or not—and Celine was, of course, she was young and lonely and needed to just get away from it all, even for a night. From her duties as a Hunter, from her feelings for Miyeong. From having to hide who she really is and what she really wants. Celine is only human, after all, no matter what people might say or think about her, and it’s not like she’s immune to a pretty face, or the promise of a good, hard-earned orgasm. That was how Miyeong caught her in the narrow kitchen, pressed up against the counter with the backup dancer, mouths locked in something hungry and desperate.
Celine sent the girl off and then braced herself for the worst. For disgust, for judgment. Rejection. But Miyeong had only looked at her with that same gentle smile when she said, “You don’t have to look at me like that. I’m not going to say anything. I’m not going anywhere.”
And she hadn’t. She never said anything, and she never left Celine’s side. She never treated Celine any differently after that incident.
Which brings them here. Celine hadn’t let herself think about that night in years. But now, with Miyeong sitting in front of her—flushed, restless, and touching her like she’ll die if she doesn’t—she can feel the echo of it, that same knot of fear and longing twisting tight in her chest.
She knows she should stop this. She knows she should be the voice of reason, as she’s always been—but when she looks at Miyeong, all she can see is that she’s tired in a way that sleep can’t fix, stretched thin by months of carrying this new life inside her. She looks like she’s drowning in the silence of this place and has no one else to reach for.
“I can help you.”
Miyeong blinks at her, startled. “W-what?”
Celine takes a deep breath then exhales slowly. She squeezes her eyes shut, like she can’t believe the words that are coming out of her mouth—and she can’t, not really—but she keeps her voice admirably level even as her stomach twists. “If this is what you need right now, then I can help you.”
Miyeong just stares at her, wide-eyed and trembling now, and Celine tries not to look away.
“Celine,” she tries, nervously fiddling with her fingers, the fabric of her maternity dress, which Celine helped her pick out, worrying at her lower lip. When she speaks again, all she can get out is, “You don’t have to.”
All Celine says back is, “I know.”
She knows she doesn’t have to do anything. She could stand up, walk away, put a safe distance between them, and Miyeong would let her. But she doesn’t move. She just sits there, rooted to the spot, with the image of Miyeong—fragile and flushed and trembling with everything she’s had no choice but to hold inside her, threatening to burst out any moment now—burned into her mind.
“This is just…” Celine exhales slowly, feeling the weight of the decision press down on her chest. “This is just for now. For you. That’s all.” She trusts Miyeong to read between the lines and figure out that what she’s really saying is, This doesn’t have to mean anything, not to you, and we never have to speak about this again once all is said and done.
It’s quiet for a while, and when Miyeong finally looks up at Celine, there’s a flicker of relief there. Relief, and gratitude, and what is unmistakably an apology. For knowing, and for still asking anyway, for still reaching for Celine anyway. For not flinching away and instead leaning into Celine’s touch, slow and deliberate, like she’s surrendering to it, when Celine reaches for her, brushing her thumb over Miyeong’s cheek, testing the quiet, careful space between them one last time.
“Okay.”
Miyeong shifts first, easing herself to sit closer to the edge of the mattress, and Celine follows, guiding her with a light touch at her elbow, her hand at the small of her back. Then, she gets off the bed entirely to kneel down in front of Miyeong. Miyeong exhales softly, her hands folding over her lap, and Celine stays there for a moment—just looking at her, grounding herself in the reality of what they’re about to do. It’s dead quiet again, neither of them daring to say anything again just yet, and all there is for a while is the slow, careful shifting of bodies, settling into place.
Celine’s eyes flicker back up to Miyeong’s face. “Is it okay if I…?”
Miyeong blinks at her, then nods.
Celine nods back then takes a deep, steadying breath. Celine’s fingers find the edge of the soft cotton, easing the maternity dress up just enough to bare the smooth length of Miyeong’s thighs. She moves slowly, methodically, like she’s afraid of startling Miyeong and having her change her mind, but it’s almost mostly, really for her own sake that she’s taking her time with it. It’s not because she thinks Miyeong might break, but because she doesn’t trust her own hands not to shake or betray her once she finally gets them on all of Miyeong’s smooth, bare skin.
The fabric bunches around Miyeong’s hips. Four and a half months along now, the curve of her belly is impossible to ignore. Not huge yet, but still big enough that it changes the way Miyeong moves, the way she breathes. Enough that it’s a quiet, undeniable reminder that Miyeong is in love with someone else, someone who isn’t Celine, and is carrying his child.
She won’t—can’t—touch her there. Not when it isn’t hers to claim. Not when Miyeong isn’t, either.
When she straightens again, her palms hover uncertainly over Miyeong’s hips before finally settling there, just enough contact to steady them both. It’s quiet for a long moment. Too quiet. Then Miyeong tilts her head, eyes searching Celine’s face, and asks, “Are you okay?”, like she can feel all of the tension rolling off her.
Celine laughs, despite herself, and despite the fact there really isn’t anything funny about this situation at all. “I’m supposed to be asking you that,” she says, smiling wryly.
Miyeong’s lips quirk into a small, faint smile. “I just didn’t think you’d be so nervous.”
Celine can’t help but cock a brow at her, surprised.
Miyeong looks a little more embarrassed when she explains, “It’s just… you’re you, Celine. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone more sure of herself than you are.”
Celine looks away. She doesn’t know if she can really agree with that assessment of herself. She’s never felt more unsure of anything in her entire life—but it’s too late to back out now, especially when she was the one who said it would be okay, that it wouldn’t have to mean anything. She smooths her hands lightly over Miyeong’s knees, grounding herself in the moment. “I just want to make sure I’m careful with you,” she tells Miyeong softly.
Miyeong smiles down at her, gentle, patient, and says, “I trust you,” so earnestly it kind of just breaks Celine’s heart. That seems to be a thing with Miyeong: she’s always breaking Celine’s heart without trying and without even really meaning to, all just by being Miyeong.
Pushing that thought aside, Celine lets her fingers slip higher and higher up Miyeong’s bare thighs, hesitating for just a second before she hooks them carefully under the waistband of Miyeong’s panties. She moves slowly, deliberately, carefully, and the soft fabric drags over Miyeong’s thighs, catching faintly on her smooth skin, until Celine’s eased them down just far enough for her to see the telltale damp spot darkening the cotton.
Celine’s heart lurches. It’s ridiculous how much it affects her, how just seeing the proof of Miyeong’s need feels like taking a hard, solid punch to the chest, forcing all of the air out of her lungs. She has to remind herself that this isn’t about her, and there’s no way it could ever be. That Miyeong would have reacted this way no matter who was sitting, kneeling, right in front of her. She isn’t delusional. She won’t be delusional. She forces herself to swallow that truth down, tells herself it’s good, even, because it’s easier than letting herself get carried away by the thought that Miyeong is actually aroused by her. That she actually wants her, not just any mouth or hand to help her find the relief that’s eluded her for so long.
Her hands are steady, but her pulse isn’t. She pushes the panties the rest of the way down, setting them down carefully on the floor, and then, with the same deliberate slowness, she nudges Miyeong’s knees. Not parting them just yet, but asking Miyeong to part them for her instead. Miyeong shifts without protest, leaning back slightly, her weight resting on her hands. It’s not intentional, probably, but the motion arches her hips forward, presenting herself, and Celine swears she stops breathing altogether.
There she is. Miyeong, glistening, waiting.
The part of Celine that knows she should be careful with Miyeong is, for a moment, at war with the part of her that wants to just bury her face in Miyeong’s cunt and finally find out what she tastes like, like she’s longed to do for so long now. Her mouth practically waters at the sight of Miyeong laid bare like this for her. Bare, and spread wide open. Reining in her urges, she gently squeezes Miyeong’s thighs, plump and soft, the extra bit of weight she’s put on since getting pregnant—not that Celine minds, obviously; Miyeong is and always will be beautiful, and as bittersweet as it is, Celine can’t deny she’s even more beautiful now, with this kind of glow to her—and says, “Tell me if it feels weird.”
Miyeong makes a face at her. “Why would it?” she asks, as if it hurts her that Celine would think she would find this weird, or abnormal, or anything like that, after everything they’ve been through.
Celine winces, embarrassed. “I-I don’t mean anything by it,” she murmurs, scrambling for some way to get herself out of this. “It’s just—”
“You’re not the first woman I’ve been with like this,” Miyeong cuts in, and it feels like someone’s punched Celine in the chest again, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”
When Celine still can’t get herself to say anything, still too stunned to speak and still too busy trying to process the bomb Miyeong just dropped on her, Miyeong blushes and explains, “It was back in high school, with a girl from my hometown.”
Celine thinks, Ah. Suddenly it makes a little more sense. It doesn’t make it any less shocking or bittersweet, but it does make more sense to her now. She gets it now, at least. Celine’s been someone’s experimental lesbian fling before too.
“Celine,” Miyeong mumbles, brows furrowed in concern, like she knows what Celine must be thinking right now.
Celine shakes her head and says, “I’m sorry. I’m just… surprised, that’s all.” That isn’t entirely a lie, at least. "And I didn't mean it like that. I just... I just wanted you to know that if at any point you want to stop—we can."
Miyeong doesn’t look entirely convinced, and she even looks a little guilty now too, like she’s starting to regret having ever mentioned that to Celine of all people, like she should have known it wouldn’t be the consolation she thought it would be, but she just nods quietly in response.
Celine eases forward, trying not to think too hard about how she isn’t the first woman Miyeong’s ever been with, swallowing down the bitter taste of unreasonable, incomprehensible envy she feels over that, and braces her arms around Miyeong’s thighs. She just breathes for a minute, steadying herself, then she darts forward and slides her tongue up the length of Miyeong’s cunt.
Miyeong gasps, sharp and unsteady, the sound torn out of her before she can bite it back. Her hips jerk reflexively, like her body doesn’t know whether to shy away or press closer, and her hands scramble for something—anything—to hold onto. They clutch uselessly at the sheets for a second before one finally finds its way into Celine’s hair, fingers tangling there, soft at first but quickly tightening as the feeling hits her harder than she expects.
Celine moans against her when Miyeong tugs at her hair seemingly without meaning to, the vibration spilling into Miyeong’s skin and making her tremble. She presses her palms to Miyeong’s hips to steady her, grounding her, holding her in place as she works her mouth carefully over her. Her tongue moves slowly and deliberately, circling her clit with a kind of patience she didn’t know she still had in her, savoring the taste, the heat, the way Miyeong shivers under her touch.
She doesn’t let herself get carried away—not yet. She focuses on being precise, on making it good for Miyeong. Her tongue flicks gently over Miyeong’s clit before pulling back to lave broad, slow strokes along her folds, alternating between teasing and steady, rhythmic pressure. Each time she lavishes attention to Miyeong’s clit again, licking, sucking, Miyeong gasps louder, fingers in her hair curling tighter, holding onto her like her life depends on it. Celine hums low in her throat, the sound vibrating against Miyeong as she sucks softly, carefully, her thumbs brushing circles into Miyeong’s trembling thighs to keep her calm and grounded. Steady.
“C-Celine,” Miyeong gasps, sobs, hips bucking up and up like she’s trying to fuck herself on Celine’s mouth, only to whine in frustration when she can’t quite do that, not with Celine holding her down. She finds a way around that, though: because she can’t bring her hips up, she pushes Celine’s face further into her pussy, like she means to suffocate her and isn’t that a thought? “Oh—oh, fuck, Celine.”
Celine has spent years—years—wondering what Miyeong would sound like if she ever got to touch her like this, what her voice would break into when she finally gave in, how she would gasp, how she would moan her name. And in all those years she’s gone to bed with other women, chasing fleeting comfort in their arms, distraction, she always imagined it was Miyeong instead. Always imagined this very moment. But now, it isn't just a fantasy anymore, not a cruel trick of her mind. This time, it’s real. It’s Miyeong, now, coming apart on her tongue. It’s Miyeong, now, not just any other woman who’d give anything to sleep with a Sunlight Sister, for the right to brag that she got to sleep with a celebrity, moaning out her name just like she’s dreamed for so long.
Suddenly she feels like she could just cry from how utterly destroyed she is for Miyeong. It’s all so overwhelming, just—too much after years and years of having to tell herself to be okay with getting nothing at all, not from Miyeong, and it hits her that there really is no going back, not from this. It was one thing to convince herself she’d be okay never getting to have Miyeong the way she’s always wanted, but now she has tasted her, and she feels ruined. Ruined for anyone else, and ruined at the thought that she will never get to have this again.
Celine reaches up and slides two fingers inside Miyeong, still lapping at her clit. She ignores the way her own cunt pulses, begging for any bit of relief at all. She knows she’s wet, she can feel it, white-hot between her legs, but there are more important things that demand her attention right now: the way Miyeong tugs at her hair insistently, and the way she clenches down around Celine’s fingers as they move inside her, curling deep and just right, and the way Miyeong’s so wet Celine is soaked with her. The way she moans out, “Celine, oh my god,” just totally wrecked, her voice breaking so beautifully around Celine’s name that it feels like Celine’s hearing her name spoken for the first time.
If this is going to be the last and only time she gets to have Miyeong to herself, then so be it. She’ll just have to make the most of it.
Celine adjusts her angle, curling her fingers deep, just right, and the reaction is immediate: Miyeong lets out a broken, desperate sound that punches straight through Celine’s chest and lands hot and heavy between her legs. Her walls clamp down around Celine’s fingers, fluttering and squeezing like they’re trying to keep her there, hold her inside, and it makes Celine groan against her. She pushes in again, harder, and Miyeong gasps, arching into her hand like she can’t decide if she wants to get away from the feeling or closer to it.
She doesn’t give Miyeong the chance to think a little better about it. She mouths back over Miyeong’s clit, sloppy and wet, her tongue flicking and sucking, spreading the taste of her everywhere. Her free hand pins Miyeong’s trembling hips in place so she can’t shy away, so she can’t do anything but take it—and Miyeong does. She moans loud, the sound sharp and choked, and the moment she feels it roll through Miyeong’s body, Celine feels it in her own cunt like a shockwave.
“Celine—fuck, Celine—” Miyeong moans, her voice cracking, her legs twitching helplessly. “Please, I-I can’t—I can’t, slow down—”
But Celine knows she doesn’t mean it, not when her body is telling her otherwise. Miyeong cants her hips as much as she can, pushing down into Celine’s mouth, her pussy clenching down even tighter around Celine’s fingers like it’s still begging for more. So Celine gives it to her: she fucks her harder, faster, scissoring her fingers and curling just to feel Miyeong’s walls grab at her like she’s afraid to let go.
It’s messy, and wet, wet everywhere, wet all over, Miyeong’s slick soaking Celine’s face and fingers, dripping down her wrist, and every whimper and every moan feels like it’s aimed straight at the persistent, yelling ache between Celine’s own thighs. It’s becoming unbearable, the way she’s throbbing, so turned on she’s dizzy on it, but she doesn’t touch herself. She won’t, not now. Not when she finally has Miyeong right where she wants her, the way she’s always wanted her.
She tries to focus on here and now, at the task at hand, on how wet Miyeong is for her, but she can’t help it. Before she can stop herself, the thought worms its way in, sticky and jealous: did he ever make her moan like this? Did he ever fuck her like this, have her shaking like this? Celine sucks harder on Miyeong’s clit, relentless, determined, until Miyeong is shaking against her. She almost crushes Celine’s head between her thighs from how overwhelmed she is.
“Celine—oh, god—Celine!”
Celine hums against her in answer, the vibration making Miyeong buck again, and she feels that telltale, frantic tightening around her fingers. Miyeong’s close. So close she’s gasping between sobs, begging, please, Celine, over and over, Celine Celine Celine, so close she’s clutching at Celine’s hair like she’ll drown if she doesn’t hold on to something.
Miyeong’s thighs tremble violently, her whole body tensing as she stutters out a half-formed plea, “I—oh, oh, don’t stop, please don’t, Celine—” before the words dissolve into a choked cry. Celine feels the way she clenches down, tighter and tighter, her cunt fluttering desperately around her fingers, and then Miyeong’s coming, shuddering apart on her tongue.
She writhes helplessly, hips jerking, a raw, wrecked sob ripping out of her as she spills over Celine’s hand and mouth, soaking her completely. A gush of fluid slides over Celine’s tongue and she tries to swallow it all down, desperate, greedy, like it’ll be enough for her to go back to how things are between them if she can just keep as much of Miyeong inside her like this, but most of it leaks out and drenches her chin and cheeks. Miyeong’s voice is ragged, throat scraped raw, still gasping out Celine over and over like she doesn’t know what else to cling to. Like it’s the only thing still grounding her as her orgasm tears through her.
That’s it, Celine thinks, wants to say, come for me, Miyeong. You’re just as beautiful as I imagined you’d be. She eases her fingers out just so she can use both her hands to hold Miyeong down, keep her steady, as she continues to lap at her like she’s starved for it—and she is, god, she is—licking up through her folds, fast and firm, and every broad caress of her tongue makes Miyeong tremble against her arms. She slides her tongue inside Miyeong, feels Miyeong squeeze tight around her, and then Miyeong is sailing right off the edge again, and this time, she sounds like she’s actually crying from the overstimulation. But even then, Celine doesn’t let up, keeping her face buried in Miyeong’s cunt and licking into her over and over and over until she’s coming again, and then still Celine keeps going, relentlessly riding the wave of Miyeong’s second orgasm to chase after a third. She milks every last wave of pleasure until Miyeong’s voice breaks and she slumps back, trembling and utterly undone.
“Celine,” Miyeong not so much says as breathes out, but Celine’s head still feels like it’s submerged underwater, and it all happens so fast it doesn’t even feel real, like her body is moving entirely of its own accord: her pants are around her knees, and she’s got a hand, the same hand she’d fucked Miyeong with, working furiously between her legs.
Miyeong doesn’t say anything, or maybe she does, but Celine can’t hear it with how loud her heart is pounding in her ears, and she can’t see, hear, think, or feel anything beyond how badly and how desperately she needs to come. She’s so worked up that she doesn’t even have it in her to be ashamed of the fact she’s letting Miyeong watch her touch herself, but it would be a lie if she said she hasn’t ever fantasized about that either. She has the decency to at least try to keep it down, to hold her own moans back. To not moan out Miyeong’s name like she always does in private. She even keeps her head down, eyes squeezed shut as she focuses on the wet slide of her fingers against her soaked, swollen clit.
But then Miyeong says, “Celine,” again, and there’s a tightness to it, like this is doing something for her too, and like she wants to be the one touching Celine instead, that makes her peel her eyes open and look up at her. Miyeong reaches down, cradling Celine’s face in her hand. She drags her thumb against the corner of Celine’s mouth, catching on lower lip, and then across her cheek, across all of the slick—her slick—still smeared there, and Celine’s entire body jerks like she’s been shocked, the reaction tearing through her before she can stop it. It’s instinctual, visceral, a hot rush that makes her thighs press tight together and her fingers falter for a split second between her own legs. It’s too much, having Miyeong watch her touch herself, to touch her herself like this, that she feels it like a spark straight to her clit, so sharp it almost hurts.
“Miyeong,” Celine gasps out, moving her hands faster, harder, leaning into Miyeong’s touch as she brings herself closer and closer to the edge, her entire body winding tight with it, ready to go off any second now, “Miyeong,” and then her entire body seizes with pleasure, making mortifying, awful noises as she comes apart on her own fingers, the same ones that were inside Miyeong just a few minutes ago.
Celine droops forward and leans her head against the inside of Miyeong’s still trembling thigh. She pulls her hand back up from between her legs, wincing at how wet she is. She squeezes her eyes shut, chest heaving, and feels Miyeong’s fingers combing through her hair like she means to soothe or comfort her.
The room feels too quiet now. Too heavy. Only their breathing fills the space, ragged and uneven at first, then tapering off into something softer, slower. Miyeong is still stroking her hair, absently now, like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it, and Celine stays there a moment longer than she probably should. She doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to face what comes after.
But eventually, she pulls back. It’s careful, almost reluctant, the way she eases herself away and sits back on her heels. Neither of them say anything as they get dressed up and decent again. Miyeong smooths her maternity dress back down over her thighs and Celine wipes her hands on her pants before thinking better of it.
Still, neither of them say anything, like they’re both too afraid to speak, to fuck this up somehow. In the end, because it seems to be the running theme of the evening, Celine takes one for the team and clears her throat, breaking the silence because someone has to. “Do you… feel better now?” she asks, trying so hard to be casual, neutral, about it that it just sounds incredibly off to her own ears.
Miyeong blinks at her, a soft, unreadable look passing over her face before she exhales slowly. “Yes,” she answers in a murmur, nodding once, slowly. Then, without looking directly at Celine, she adds, “Thank you.”
Celine wants to say something, anything, but all the words that come to mind feel too heavy, too dangerous. She swallows them down, nodding instead, like she can pretend this was simple. Like she can pretend that she can go back to how things were like tonight never happened. That this doesn’t have to mean anything at all, not to Miyeong, and not even to her.
“I think I’ll head back to my room now,” is what she does say in the end, still not quite able to look Miyeong in the eye after seeing all of her like that, bare and vulnerable. But maybe it’s less about that and more about how Miyeong saw her too, every bit as bare and vulnerable, all of the things she’s tried to keep from Miyeong. “Goodnight, Miyeong.”
Miyeong looks at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable in the dim light, then she nods once and says softly, “Goodnight, Celine.”
Celine turns to go, but she barely takes a step before Miyeong calls her name again.
“Celine.”
She stops and looks back, heart suddenly hammering like she’s about to step off a cliff. Miyeong is standing now, smoothing her dress absently, and then she crosses the small space between them. They’re close—close enough that Celine can feel the warmth of her, close enough that for one reckless, fleeting second, she thinks about kissing Miyeong. She got to fuck her before she ever even got to kiss her; the irony isn’t lost on Celine. But worse than that is the thought—or the hope, maybe—that Miyeong is thinking about kissing her too.
But Miyeong doesn’t. Of course doesn’t. Instead, she just reaches up, fingers brushing against Celine’s face with a touch so light it makes her heart ache. She holds her there for a moment, thumb grazing her cheekbone, a soft, gentle, apologetic smile tugging at her lips. Then she lets her hand fall back to her side without saying anything more.
Celine doesn’t say anything. She just looks long and hard at Miyeong for a moment, taking her in like this is the last time she’ll ever get the chance, and then she finally steps out of the room.
The door clicks shut behind her, and only then does she let out a shaky, uneven breath. She looks down at her hand—the way it trembles—and then curls it into a fist, letting her nails dig harshly into the meat of her palm.
Celine walks away before she can look back, before the part of her that still wants Miyeong can betray her again and reach for what isn’t hers to take.