𓆩†𓆪

It’s been an entire year since you said “I do.” 

It's not like you really had a choice. 

Park Sunghoon was not the love of your life. A piece of you shattered as you stood helpless at the altar. 

As a little girl, you dreamed of falling in love. Of waking up next to a man who had it all. 

You imagined picking out the perfect white dress to wear as you walked down the aisle.

Weddings are supposed to be the best day of your life, not the worst.

His family was disgustingly wealthy, and when their only son started acting out of line—

A ring was the swiftest way to knock him back into shape. 

You didn’t have to work. The house was paid off, and the Park family business brought in more than enough profit to drown in.

But the office was your only escape from him and the women he brought in and out of those doors. 

Your hands trembled as you flipped through your keys. The blisters on your feet ached as you pushed open the front door. 

You let out a deep sigh as you kick off your heels.

Every single choice you made was to keep yourself out of this goddamn house for as long as humanly possible. 

With tired hands, you unbuttoned the first two buttons of your blouse. The weight of the day is finally catching up to you. 

And of course, the fridge wasn’t stocked. Cereal would have to do. 

The kitchen was large but empty. Most of the house was. It’s not like you had a lot to bring into the marriage. And you never cared to spend Sunghoon's money on home decor.

If you could even call this place home.

You pulled out a chair at the dimly lit kitchen island. Your bare feet rested against the barstools as you stared aimlessly out the window ahead. 

The sound of stumbling footsteps above confirms that once again, Sunghoon has company. 

You finished up your meal, at least what was left of it, before heading up the dark staircase. 

The door to Sunghoon's room was cracked open, and a sliver of dim light cut through the dark hall. 

You couldn't help but glance into the room as you walked by. 

He knows exactly what he’s fucking doing. 

Breathless sighs and wet sounds of pleasure you would rather not hear echo throughout the hall. You weren’t completely sure if it was on purpose. 

A self-deprecating laugh cuts through your throat. He knows what time you get off work. 

You viciously kicked the door shut. A loud bang exploded throughout the lifeless house. 

Cursing and the rustling of sheets followed as you dragged yourself down the hall towards your own bedroom. 

Sleeping with other women had to be his way of getting back at his parents—or maybe blowing off some steam. 

You pretended like it didn’t bother you, especially when things got loud, and you had to be up early the next morning. 

You shut your own bedroom door, the isolation setting in as you plopped down onto the massive bed in the center.

This sucks. This fucking sucks. 

Not even the hot water could comfort you as it cascaded down your skin. The steam was suffocating as you tried to scrub off the stress and burden of the day. 

Like clockwork, you climbed into your cold bed, letting the mattress dip slightly under your weight. 

You set your alarm, scrolling through your phone to distract you from the ungodly noises echoing from down the hall. 

It was a mindless hell-scape. You knew it was bad for your health, but you needed something—anything to get your mind off things. 

You didn’t even post your engagement. Somehow word just got around. And in time, you were receiving half-hearted congratulations and unsolicited marriage advice. 

You didn't even change your last name on the sites. Legally, you were Mrs.Park, but emotionally, you didn’t feel that way in the slightest. 

How could you when your husband treats your marriage like a punishment? 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to drown out the pleasurable moans of his name falling from another woman’s lips. 

And God, you just wanted to be held. 

Tears started to fall; it was a common occurrence with the stress of the office and coming back to something far from what you’d consider home to be. 

You held yourself tighter, after all—it’s not like you have anyone else who will.

Hours went by, your chest ached, and your eyes burned. 

The house was quiet again, and the sound of your soft sobs cut harshly through the silence. 

Accepting defeat, you crawled out of bed, loosely throwing a soft robe over your body before making your way back towards the kitchen. 

You needed alcohol, something—anything to help put your mind to rest.

As you reached the top of the stairwell, your body went into shock. 

Sunghoon, lazily resting in the kitchen. 

The oven blinked back  the time. 

2:24am

With a shaky breath, you descended the stairwell. Aware of your less-than-sharp appearance. 

You walked past him without a glance or a word, heading straight for the wine cabinet. 

The tension was thick as you made your selections. The glasses clinked as you poured yourself a drink. 

His eyes stayed focused on you. 

“Are all your guests gone?” You spat out sharply as you took a small sip of your wine. The taste sweetly coated your throat as you swallowed.

Your elbows rested against the countertops as you glared at him over the top of your wine glass. 

“I just had one guest, thank you very much,” Sunghoon replied, his voice nonchalant as he turned to grab his own glass of wine.

“You’re such a brat. I see why your family needed to whip your ass into shape.” You muttered, the words nearly as harsh as the alcohol tearing down your throat. 

“At least they’re smart enough not to make business deals that sell out their own daughter in the process.” Sunghoon bit back. He took a sharp swig of his own wine as the venom of his words cut through your skin. 

“Man-whore.” You spit out, your words throwing back the same laced venom. 

“You’re just jealous.” He replies, finishing the rest of his wine glass in one go. 

The words make you scoff. It must be the tear stained look on your face, or the sobs he heard between deep strokes.

“No, just done with the bullshit.” You reply, voice heavy as you finish your wine. Without hesitation, you swiftly poured yourself another glass. 

Sunghoon watches. Scoffing as he sets his own glass down on the opposite countertop. Crossing his arms over his chest. 

“What bullshit? You have a 4-carat ring, this entire house besides my room, and I let you keep that silly little job you care so much about.” Sunghoon replies, his expression stoic, devoid of anything even remotely human. 

You let out a laugh of disbelief. He can’t be this much of an immature dick. 

“You know what. I’ve tried to be the bigger person here, but fuck this.” You replied. Swiftly drowning the rest of your alcohol. 

Sunghoon's cold gaze watches. His shoulders tense at your words, and you swear you could see something else cracking through that cold, bitter exterior. 

The ring on your finger feels all too heavy as Sunghoon lets out a condescending laugh.

“Fuck what?” He replies. 

“Everything! This marriage, this goddamn house! You?” You cried out, the words burning your throat. With a weak sob and a choke in your words, your true feelings finally come to light. 

“You’re ungrateful, you know that?” Sunghoon spits out, his jaw tightening as his gaze narrows strongly. 

“No. You’re the ungrateful one. I’ve given you your space. I haven’t spent a penny of your goddamn money.” You choke out. Hot tears stream down your face as the emotions of the past year start to surface. 

A whole year of this. No more. 

You trembled as you ripped the wedding band from your finger. Without a second thought, you chucked it clean across the kitchen. 

Sunghoon's expression is stunned as the metal hits his chest, echoing loudly in the silence as it hits the tile floor. 

“I’m done”

“You’re what?” Sunghoon whispers, his voice quivering as he glances between the sparking ring in the floor and your tear-stained face.

“You heard me.” 

The world feels like it’s spinning. For a year, you’ve tried to give space, give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Maybe he would at least try to turn things around. If you were kind enough, maybe he would try to make an effort to make this work.

You turned on your heels, heading straight out of the kitchen towards the arch of the front door. 

“Hey!” Sunghoon shouts, his steps heavy as he follows you down the hall.

“Where are you going?” He shouts. His voice quivering as he stopped a few feet away from you. 

“Away from here. Away from you.” You sob, grabbing your keys and slipping on whatever pair of shoes was left by the door.

Sunghoon watches as his cold expression starts to break. His eyes dart between you, the keys in your hand—

“Please—“ Sunghoon whispers, his voice cracking under pressure as he stands tense on the other side of the dark hall. 

You don’t care to hear his words. The last thing you want from him is more sad, pathetic excuses. 

And without another word, you’re out the door. 

⋆⋆⋆

Sunghoon could hardly breathe as he sat alone with himself in the silence. 

She’s gone, after all this time; she finally pulled the fucking trigger. 

He lets out a shaky breath, running his hands over his face. 

God, he feels like the biggest asshole on the planet.

And maybe that’s deserved.

Sunghoon hesitates before locking the door behind you, the house still eerily quiet, even more so with your car gone from the driveway. 

He pulls himself back into the kitchen, pouring another glass of alcohol to help clear his head. 

That ring. 

His breath catches as he sees the shimmering band left on the cold tile. 

Sunghoon wishes he could lie to himself, tell himself it didn’t hurt when you tore the band off your finger. 

To him, the wedding was nothing more than a punishment.

To him, you felt like a punishment. 

The alcohol, the other women, it was all a ploy to get a hold of some type of control—

A ploy to barely hold on to the reckless life he used to have. 

He never wanted to be a family man, not at this age anyway. 

Your twenties are supposed to be for fucking around, self-pleasure, and indulgence.

Not caring for a wife you never even really wanted. 

But the truth is—every night when those women left, every night when he heard the sobs you thought were caught in your pillow. 

It only broke him down more. 

And damn, nothing hurts more than his completely empty, lifeless house.

Sunghoon put down his drink before swiftly bending down to pick up the ring from the cold, hard floor. 

He twisted it in his hands, his stomach churning as he remembered the chains he felt around his throat when he slipped this jewelry onto your delicate finger. 

He hasn’t kissed you since the wedding. Hasn’t even tried.

But day in and day out, you still come through that door with a brave face. 

Neither of you wanted this, but maybe just maybe he could try to make it work. 

And if he has any say? There won't be another year of lifeless distractions. 

⋆⋆⋆

You stumbled into the office fifteen minutes late. 

Your back ached from the hotel mattress, and your eyelids felt heavy from the lack of restful sleep. 

Of course, your coworkers don’t notice that, for months now, you’ve been dragging yourself into this building with what little strength you could muster. 

Your desk is exactly how you left it. 

The morning sun cuts through the blinds as you set up your laptop, scrolling through emails, making a quick to-do list for the day. 

“Hey!” 

A casual voice calls out. 

You swiftly recognize it as your boss. Your shoulders tense as she approaches with a wide, perfect smile on her face. 

“I hope you're doing well this morning, Mrs. Park.” Your boss says professionally as she stands tall at the edge of your desk. 

“Doing great! And you?” You reply, forcing a wide smile with what minuscule strength you have left. 

“I’m doing amazing, thank you for asking! Well, I guess I shouldn’t beat around the bush—“ your boss says, that toothy corporate grin only growing. 

“Mhm…” you reply softly as you turn to face her, hands trembling at your side as you await the news. 

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard the news Stephanie is going on maternity leave and she’ll be out for the rest of the holidays.” Your boss replies.

Your heart sinks. Maternity leave? 

You glance over at your coworker's empty desk, adorned with family pictures, crayon drawings signed proudly—

The empty weight on your left hand doubles. 

You’ll never have that. Not with him. 

You pull yourself together, smiling even brighter as you react to the “good news.” 

“Wow, I didn't even know she was expecting!” You reply forcefully as the words burn in your throat. 

“So, um…naturally, for the rest of the fiscal year, if it’s not too much, she does have some clients that need to be taken care of. And I would hate to ask her to do that remotely—“ your boss announces. 

Of course. They want you—the one with no kids to take on extra work, unpaid. 

But as long as it keeps you out of that house—

“I can take her clients. No problem, just send them my email, and I’ll be in contact.” You reply. 

Your boss's expression melts. 

“Thank you, God, what would this office do without you! I’ll have them forwarded to you right away.” 

Your boss turns on her heels, and the sound of her shoes against the cold tile echoes as she leaves the hall. 

As if your life couldn’t get any worse. 

⋆⋆⋆

The day dragged on, and your eyes felt heavy as they stayed glued to the screen of your laptop. Your to-do list only grew longer and longer. 

People started to fizzle out as you sent email after email. 

Before you knew it, you were the only one left at the office. 

The sun started to set, and the windows let in warm shades of yellow and orange. 

You had to put your head down just to rest your eyes for a few seconds. 

With a soft groan, you put your head in your arms, folding them over the hard, cold desk. 

Your heavy eyelids fluttered shut from exhaustion, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. 

After a few brief moments, your phone buzzes. 

“Incoming call, Sunghoon Park.” The robotic voice calls out. 

You let it ring. 

“Incoming call. Sunghoon Park.” 

Again? You let it go to voicemail. 

After a few more hours, with the sun set low on the horizon, you pack up your things. 

You can barely walk straight as you drag yourself out of the concrete escape. 

The click of your heels makes your head throb as you tread through the dark parking garage back to your car. 

You toss your things into the passenger seat before turning on the engine. 

The screen illuminates to life, your phone automatically connects to the speakers—

“Now playing voicemail from Sunghoon Park.”

The robotic voice interrupts your music. 

Your fingertip hovers over the red button, but before you can end the call.

“Hey.”

His voice comes through the speakers, except this time it’s not commanding.

This time, it’s soft and apologetic.

You let it play. Is this seriously about to be your first apology? 

It takes storming out and sleeping in a hotel to get an '’m sorry'?

“Listen, I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now. Believe me. No pressure, but if you want to, please…come by the house tonight. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I’m just worried.” 

And after those words, the voicemail disappears.

⋆⋆⋆

Your hands tremble as you stand at your doorstep, fidgeting with your keys.

Sunghoon is the last person who deserves your sympathy. 

But yet the way his voice sounded was so sincere. He called you once, just once, and left that message like he meant it. 

And your heart was tugging at you to go back.

The smell of fresh-roasted vegetables fills the air. Your brows furrow as you shut the door quietly behind you. 

With caution, you stalk towards the kitchen; the entire living room has the overhead lights and lamps lit. You’ve never seen the house so bright. 

Candles warm the space, the rugs? Freshly vacuumed. 

“Hello?” You asked as you stepped into the kitchen. Sunghoon must’ve felt bad enough to at least hire a maid.

But your heart drops when you round the corner. 

“Hey...” Sunghoon replies softly. Food roasting in the oven, the countertops lined with fresh groceries. 

“What are you—is this your way of trying to apologize?” You question, narrowing your gaze as you watch him stand at the stovetop. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows. He’s still casually dressed in slacks like he’s just got out of a meeting.

“Y—you came?” He gasps as he sees your tired, tear-stained face in the doorway. 

“Listen, I know this isn’t nearly enough to make up for…everything.” He continues. 

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms as you glance at him with a stoic expression. Your head is still thumping from all the alcohol and shitty rounds of sleep. 

“I hope you like pasta? I’m ashamed to admit I don’t even know what you like.” Sunghoon concludes as the vegetables simmer over the top of the stove. 

“Pasta is fine.” You reply blankly. Your shoulders are still tense. You scan his every move and calculate your every word. The last thing you want his him using those against you. 

“Could you pass me that olive oil?” He says his voice is tight as he keeps storing the vegetables sizzling on the stove top. 

You hesitate before stepping through the doorframe. Grabbing the olive oil left on one side of the counter, and met him by the stove. 

Sunghoon forces a smile as he takes it, his hands trembling as he tries not to burn the vegetables on the stove. 

“So um…I was honest when I said I don’t know really anything about you. Your favorite food, favorite movie, favorite song—“ Sunghoon mumbles softly as he tosses the food around some more. Once it’s cooked through, he reaches over the hot stovetop to turn off all the appliances. 

“Playing chef isn’t going to undo everything.” You reply weakly, your voice shaky, your head still pounding.

“I know it’s not enough, I'm not really sure anything will be enough to fix this,” Sunghoon replies, the plate in his hands trembling as he loads up two separate plates. 

“You don’t even have to stay if you don’t want to, it’s just—God, when you left last night. It really shook me, I’ve never felt so much regret, so much frustration with myself.” Sunghoon continues, his voice cracking under the pressure as he bends down to open up the oven. 

He pulls out a pan of fresh golden breadsticks, and he puts one onto each plate before he reaches up into the wine cabinet. 

Our heart hammers hard in your chest as he speaks. The two of you sit at the kitchen table. The dark, crafted wood was comically large for the two of you. 

Sunghoon sat at the head, and you joined him at the corner. 

He smiles at you as he sets down two wine glasses. The image immediately pulls you back to the argument of last night. 

You tear your eyes away from him, fingertips fidgeting in your lap. 

Your thumb brushes across your ring finger—a nervous habit.

But there’s no band around your finger. 

“Sunghoon, I guess I could say the same. About you. I mean, I don’t really know anything about you besides the fact that you’re an arrogant dick.” You reply, twirling your fork around your plate before taking a bite. 

“Well, and I guess I don’t really know you besides the fact that you’re hardworking and kind and definitely not deserving of an arrogant dick like me, but you’re eating my cooking right now and I—“ Sunghoon stops himself midway. His own fork was trembling in his hands. 

Your eyes go wide at his confession. You swiftly take another bite of food before your jaw can hit the ground. 

Sunghoon awkwardly clears his throat and shakes his head. His eyes were darting between you, the plate, and—

“How’s the food?” He stammers out frantically.

You swallow the rest of your pasta. Taking a sip of your wine to wash it down. 

“It’s fine, a little salty but edible.” 

“Great, that’s a lot better than I was expecting,” Sunghoon replies as he nervously takes another sip of his drink. 

There’s a quiet beat, the air laced with tension as the sound of silverware on plates clicks through the silence. 

Sunghoon clears his throat. 

“I um, know this marriage wasn’t really a choice. For either of us, but—I think I want to learn how to fall in love.” Sunghoon replies, his voice shaky, trailing off at the end of his sentence. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you process the words.

“Fall in love?” You ask weakly smiling back at the pure absurdity of his words. 

“Yeah fall in love, with you. My wife. I’m choosing to learn, starting now.” Sunghoon confesses, his face slightly flushed and hot as his clammy hands grip his silverware tight.

“So now I’m your wife?” You bite back. The tension from the fight is still fresh. You want to forgive him deep down, but…

“I want to be the type of man that makes you want to put that ring back on your finger.” He whispers, his eyes softening as he glances over your expression. 

His eyes linger on the color of your eyes, the slope of your nose—

“I guess that starts now, then…” You whisper back half-heartedly as you finish the rest of your plate. 

Without another word, Sunghoon forces a smile, leaning across the table to collect your dishes and his own. 

Sunghoon turned on the faucet as he started to run the plates. Something warm tugged in your chest.

“Need help with those?” You asked softly. Your feet were aching as you stood up from the dinner table. 

“No, no, you don’t have to.” He stammered out, wiping the steam from his brow as he started to scrub the soapy dishes. 

You snuck up behind him and grabbed the soft hand towel resting across his shoulder. His gasp made you snicker as you took the rinsed dishes and dried them.

Sunghoon put the forks back in the drawer as you put the plates away overtop your head. It’s crazy how fast dishes get done with two. 

The tension left in the dark kitchen was nothing short of awkward. 

You caved in, heading up the stairs like every other night before. You stopped in the hall, noticing Sunghoon's room door cracked open slightly. 

The light was left on, and there was a mattress wrapped in fresh plastic leaning against the wall. Half of a bedframe was put together as screws and tools littered the ground. 

Sunghoon’s heavy footsteps stopped right behind you. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck as he noticed what you saw. 

“Rearranging?” You asked playfully as you turned to look at him, his expression wide. 

“No, no, I bought a new bed—and mattress.” He choked out. Sunghoon gently pushed the door open the rest of the way before bending down to pick up a pack of instructions. 

“When I said I wanted to start over, I meant it.” He confessed as he started to scan the room for his next tool. 

Damn, he’s really committed to this bit.

You sank down on one of the lounge chairs. His room was massive. The king-sized mattress looked small in the expanse of it all. There was a large set of windows covered by dark curtains. 

The warm light from the side lamps gave the room a soft, dim glow.

Sunghoon got to work putting the bed together. You watched, eyes lingering on the curves of his biceps as he assembled the wood and steel. 

You just sat there, watching. God, it was so awkward not knowing what to talk about with your own husband. 

“So um..how’s work been?” Sunghoon asked as he tactfully twisted the screws into place. His eyes locked on his hands as they worked. 

“Work was fine. It was fine.” You replied, sinking back into the chair, resting the ache in your back. 

“You were out later than normal,” Sunghoon replied before sticking the screwdriver in his mouth to set two pieces of the bed together. 

He noticed? 

“Yeah I’m I had some extra work thrown at me. One of my coworkers is on maternity leave, so I told the company I’d take her clients.” You replied.

Normally, you wouldn’t share this much, but the atmosphere was already changing. 

“That’s insane of them. Should’ve split the load between the whole department.” Sunghoon replies, glancing over his work at you for just a moment before going back to building. 

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t mind. It just work.” You replied, sitting more casually as you conversed with him. 

“Yeah, but it’s exhausting you. Seriously, do you even have time for anything else?” Sunghoon completes, his voice soft and casual. You can’t help but let your eyes once again trace those biceps you never even noticed before. 

“If I do, I’m too tired by the time I get off.” You shrugged. 

Sunghoon's expression faltered, only for a moment, before his attention went back to focusing on the project at hand.

“Can you help me put the mattress on?” Sunghoon interrupts as he pushes the bed back against the wall. 

You stood up from your chair to help him. The two of you lift the mattress and slide it back down into place. 

“Looks comfy.” You replied as the two of you tore the plastic off the brand new thing. 

“You should join me.” Sunghoon blurts out. His expression widened, cheeks flushing as he realized what he had just said. 

“Excuse me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No, no, God, that’s not what I meant. Not sex, unless you want to? I meant like—sleep. Like for real sleep.” Sunghoon stirred. His voice was interrupted by your snickering laugh. 

You laughed softly as he stuttered over his words, all embarrassed like a fool. His face was in shock, disbelief. 

He made you laugh. An honest, real laugh.

And it’s the most perfect sound he’s ever heard. 

⋆⋆⋆

Your hands trembled as you slipped out of your work clothes, tossing them mindlessly onto the ground before slipping into your pajamas. 

Just a plain pair of shorts paired with a white tank. Sunghoon? He’d have to earn the sexy stuff. 

With a quiet pace, you patted down the hall, stopping right at his door. You sucked in a sharp breath as you knocked. 

“Sunghoon, seriously? You’ve been married for over a year now. What’s going on?” 

An older female voice cut through the silence. 

“Mom just..can we not do this now? It’s late.” You heard Sunghoon reply with a frustrated groan. 

You put your ear to the cold door. Listening as the voice came through the speaker. 

Your mother-in-law, of course. She has her reasons. 

“Are you and she even trying? Please tell me you're at least trying for a baby. This timing is unacceptable!" A gruff female voice once again breaks the peace and quiet. 

“That’s none of your business, Mom,” Sunghoon replied, his voice already growing more frustrated the longer your mother-in-law stayed on the line. 

“Don’t tell me she’s having problems conceiving. Is that what this is about? If so, what a waste of—“

“No. You don’t get to talk about her like that. I won’t let you.” Sunghoon shouted. A heavy silence followed. 

Did he just defend you? 

“It’s late. I’m going to bed. And if you throw her name around like that again, I swear you won’t like the outcome.” 

And with a soft beat, the call needed.

The rustling of sheets and footsteps swiftly followed as Sunghoon made his way to the door. 

With a soft click, the door swung open. Sunghoon rested against the doorframe, looking down at you appreciatively. 

You jumped back frantically, looking everywhere but him in an attempt to hide the fact that you were eavesdropping. 

“Hey, are you ready?” Sunghoon asked calmly. 

“Yes, I’m exhausted. Still excited to try out this brand new mattress though.” You replied, trying to hide the confused frown tugging at your lips. 

What could your mother-in-law possibly be about? Kids weren't a part of the deal…or were they? 

Regardless, you hadn’t had proper sleep in how long? The conflict would have to be pushed to the morning. 

“Just let me know if you’re cold…or hot,” Sunghoon replied as he pulled the large, thick comforter back. 

You nodded before walking to the side of the bed. Sliding into the fresh linens. 

The scent flooded your senses, and the blankets were soft against your bare skin.

You turned over your shoulder. Pulling the blankets up to your neck as Sunghoon turned off the lights. 

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness. The sound of cars passing interrupted the otherwise pure silence. 

Sunghoon let out a tired sigh as he joined you. You felt the mattress dip under his weight as he settled next to you. 

God, there was so much space. 

The two of you subconsciously curled up at the corners of the bed. One of your arms hung off the mattress along with one of Sunghoon's legs. 

And between you?

Wide. Empty. space. 

You let your eyes flutter shut. The drag of the day was finally catching up to you now that you were horizontal. 

With a tired sigh, you phased in and out of consciousness. 

And the last thing you felt before you were out was the softness of Sunghoon's hand on your waist. 

⋆⋆⋆

You stirred as the sun poured between the cracks of the window curtains. 

For once, you weren't waking up to a cold, empty bed by the blare of an alarm. 

Sunghoon was still quietly resting behind you. His arm loosely draped around your waist and nothing more. 

You turned over your shoulder to face him. The quiet chirp of the birds outside could be heard in the peacefulness of the morning. 

Sunghoon. 

His lips were softly parted, chest rising and falling with a slow rhythm. His dark hair fell in messy waves against his pale skin. A perfect contrast. 

His thick brows were slightly furrowed as he slept. The slope of his nose–

It made your heart race. 

With a deep breath, Sunghoon stirred awake. You tried to put some inches of distance between you before he realized you were quite literally admiring him while he slept. 

“Good morning,” Sunghoon grunted, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Morning.” You replied casually as you propped yourself up on your elbows. 

Sunghoon glanced at you, shaking his head as his eyes adjusted to the light. 

His gaze traced your face, the curve of your chest. The lines of your body as you lie in bed with him, like you’d done it countless times before. 

“How did you sleep?” He asked, awkwardly clearing his throat before brushing his dark hair off his forehead. 

“Great, actually. The mattress was great.” You replied with a soft smile of disbelief. 

Tension. It was definitely there—simmering in the empty space between you. 

The moment was intimate by nature, the two of you vulnerable in bed together, the domestically of it all. 

Usually, in movies, this is the part where you kiss. 

And more often than not, that kiss turns into more—

The two of you let out a weak laugh. A telling sign you both felt that spark. 

Whatever plan Sunghoon had? You hate to admit it, but it was fucking working. 

“That’s good to hear…” Sunghoon whispered as he closed some of the distance. His hand reached out, eyes wide as he hesitated. 

You gave him a knowing look, soft, almost aching. The tension tugged at your heart…

Sunghoon's hand trembled as he held your waist. Without words, he closed more of that distance…

And soon you were glancing into his dark eyes. Lips parted, so much left unsaid as your heart raced in your chest and your hands trembled at your sides. 

“You really don’t have to try so fucking hard, you know.” You whispered, eyes soft as you glanced at his expression.

It’s like the icy cold exterior of before was starting to melt.

And then he leaned in. Nose brushing against your cheek, the faint lingering of his cologne still dusting across his skin. 

His lips part as they find your own. Sunghoon's breath shakes as he finally presses his lips to your own. 

Your hands hesitate, and your eyes don’t exactly close either. Your heart's racing, and you don’t even know what to do. 

Sunghoon pulls away, just enough for his warmth to leave your lips as he glances into your eyes. 

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t—“

“Sunghoon.” You interrupted, chest coiled tight with a feeling you couldn’t name. 

His gaze softened as he glanced down at you. His chest pressed up against your own, legs tangled together beneath the sheets. 

You hand cupped the side of his face, reveling in the soft sigh that he let out at the gesture. 

Then your fingertips moved, brushing through the dark, messy locks of his hair. 

And then you pulled him in, and your lips found his in a soft, chaste kiss. 

The deep, breathy groan that escaped Sunghoon's throat was everything. His eyes fluttered shut, brows perfectly furrowed as he kissed you back with intent. 

The two of you naturally fell into a rhythm. Lips parting and moving in sync. Your bodies were hot as they started to seek each other out. 

His breathing got heavier as you kissed. Hands teasing, fingertips pushing limits. Gasps that said, 'let this be real.' And touches that burned with an agonizing plea to start over.

Sunghoon broke the kiss to catch his breath. His grip found your waist as he pressed his body up into yours. 

His soft lips found the corner of your lips before they kissed the edge of your jaw. 

You melted into the sheets, head tilting as he kissed down your throat like he’d done it a thousand times before. 

Longing turned to confidence as Sunghoon pulled a weak gasp from your throat. 

That sound alone was enough to turn him on. 

God, what were the two of you missing? This tension, this heat between you was burning hot. All from a kiss?

You gasped as Sunghoon's thumbs brushed against your bare skin. where your top had ridden up just a few inches.

It felt so wrong yet so right. Like something new but also something you’ve been wanting forever in the same. 

You don’t know if you were clouded by longing, hurt, hormones, or a mix of all three.

But something about having your husband on top of you for the first time?

“Tell me to stop.” Sunghoon rasped as he kissed down your neck. His hands were growing more confident with their touch. 

Without realizing, he pressed his hips up into yours, pulling a gasp from both of your lips. 

Your eyes went wide at the gesture. At how bad you wanted it. Even if you’d never truly admit it. 

And there was no way in hell you were telling him to stop. 

Words got caught in your chest as you glanced at him. Finally feeling what you’ve been aching for for all this time.

“Don’t stop.” 

His breath was hot against your skin as he kissed your neck again. Softly, slowly, like he wanted to savor every second. 

Sunghoon's hands slid beneath the edge of your shirt, his thumbs teasing as they brushed across the softness of your skin. 

And then the phone rang. 

Sunghoon groaned with disappointment as he pulled his lips away. 

He kept one hand resting on your waist as he reached over the bedside table. 

“God no…it’s my mother.” Sunghoon groaned. Reluctantly pulling away from your warmth. 

The rang again, and his eyes darted between the screen in his hand and the much more enticing version of you. 

“You should answer it.” You replied softly, voice barely over the sound of a whisper. 

“I guess you’re right…you know how she is,” Sunghoon replied before picking up the phone with a professional hello. 

Before you knew it, he was swiftly headed out of the bedroom, the sounds of his mother's nagging only echoing as the door shut behind him. 

You fell against the pillows, finally letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

Here you are, in Sunghoon's bed, the faint woody scent of his cologne still lingering. 

And so was the warmth of his touch. 

⋆⋆⋆

Like always, Monday came around quickly. You stumbled into the office, phone already ringing, a laptop full of emails on the verge of springing open. 

The workload given to you was intense. The office that was usually your solitude started to morph into something else. 

And just as you pulled open your laptop and plugged it in to charge—

Footsteps. 

“Please God no…” You mumbled. The last thing you needed was to get caught up in workplace drama.

“Did you see the pictures of Stephanie’s baby on Facebook?!” Your coworker replied enthusiastically in a tone too loud for the early morning hours. 

You winced, shaking your head before putting on the best fake smile you could manage. 

“I’m not on Facebook…” you replied without even glancing up from your laptop. 

“Oh, right. Well, look, isn’t he adorable? Steph and her husband didn’t even do a gender reveal. Said they wanted it to be a surprise.” Your coworker replied, tilting her phone over your desk to show you. 

You shut your eyes, sucking in a deep breath. 

Don’t overreact, don't overreact. This is totally not the reason you have all these extra clients in the first place—

“That’s so sweet. I’m happy for her.” You replied bluntly before typing away at another invoice. 

“He looks so much like his dad it’s insane.” Your coworker continued. 

“Speaking of…how’s your husband been?” 

You swallowed an audible groan at the attempt of even more small talk.

“Fine, he’s fine, just busy.” You replied again bluntly. Your fingers only hitting the keys of your laptop even harder now. 

“Do you know if he’s coming with you to the office party. I’m kind of in charge of catering food and need a headcount.” She replied. 

Immediately, you were pulled out of your work. Did she just say holiday party? 

“What holiday party?” You asked curiously. Never in all the time you’ve worked at this company have you remembered them hosting a holiday party.

“Yeah, boss wants to start new traditions for the culture or whatever." She replied. “It’s nothing fancy, totally casual.” 

“I see.” You replied, glancing at your bare ring fingers, you thought. 

“I’ll  have to see if he’s available, but for sure put me down on the list.” You smiled weakly. 

“Yes! Perfect, it’s the second Friday before Christmas, 7pm.” She replied, typing out some more information on her phone before bidding you goodbye. 

 “I’ll see you there.” You replied before turning back the the half-written email that you had up on your screen. 

You couldn’t help but feel nervous about bringing the idea up to Sunghoon. 

⋆⋆⋆

The sound of sports on the television hummed softly in the background as you arrived home.

The faint scent of spice lingered in the hair, and the floor was cold against your feet as you kicked off your shoes at the door.

“Sunghoon?” You called out softly as you came down the hall. His car was parked out front. He must’ve gotten home early. 

The light was left on in the kitchen, signaling someone must’ve been home. Like always, you threw down your keys and took off your coat. 

A white sheet of paper was left on the kitchen table. You know you shouldn’t look at your husband's business, but your curiosity got the best of you. 

The sheet was cold and sharp between your fingertips as you picked it up, glancing over your shoulder to make sure Sunghoon wasn’t going to catch you in the act. 

Your heart started to race, your pulse was so heavy you could feel it thumping in your ears. 

He got tested. And everything came back clean. 

It’s almost like you didn’t know how to feel. Mortified? Anxious? Excited? 

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs quickly put a stop to those thoughts. Before he could see you, you put the packet back down exactly where you found it. 

“You’re home.” Sunghoon smiled, his eyes widening as he saw you standing in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, long day…” You replied, your heart skipping a beat as you saw him round the corner.

“Do you um…want to order dinner? I wasn't really sure if I should cook something.” Sunghoon smiled. 

“Takeout sounds good.” You smiled. God, things were still so fucking awkward between you. Especially after the kiss. 

“I’ll have something delivered. There’s a game tonight, or we can watch a movie if you’re not into that.” Sunghoon replied as he motioned for you to join him on the couch. 

The house felt warm and cozy. A stark contrast to how cold and dark it was just a few weeks ago. 

The dinners, the warm nights. You wanted it to be enough to repair everything. You could see that he really was trying. 

But forgiveness can’t always be bought. Sometimes it has to be repaired. 

And more often than not, that takes two sets of hands.

After Sunghoon ordered the food, you quickly changed into something more comfortable. 

Sunghoon's favorite basketball team was about halfway through their game. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, scared that if you turned and glanced at him, it would bring up every emotion you’ve been trying to bury.

The party. Right, the party.

“Sunghoon?” You whispered, just loud enough to tear his focus away from the game. 

“Yeah?” He replied softly. 

“I know this is probably dumb, but. The office—there is this new tradition, I guess. We’re having a holiday party in a few weeks, and I’m supposed to bring a plus one.” You choked out. 

“A holiday party? Sunghoon asked calmly, raising a thick brow in your direction. 

“Yeah, it’s like stupid, but…there’s free food from the office? And you know, be a part of the culture, I guess.” You replied, heat ran down your neck as you spoke. 

There was a quiet pause. A painful, quiet pause that felt like it went on forever. Knots twisted in your stomach, and nervous sweat ran down your brow.

Sunghoon smiled. He actually smiled. His perfectly straight smile complemented the face you were already starting to become so fond of. 

“Sounds like a good time.” He replied. His dark eyes glancing into your own as he reached out a hand. His touch gently found your skin, his warmth flooding your nerves as he placed his hand overtop your own. 

“And for the record. I don’t think it’s dumb.” 

⋆⋆⋆

The rest of the night was peaceful. The subtle brush of a hand, the way Sunghoon gently wiped the edge of your lips after dinner. 

The tension was thick, the game had gone into overtime, and the two of you kept slipping closer and closer. 

The kiss. 

You still couldn’t get it out of your head. Was it a heat-of-the-moment thing? Sunghoon hadn’t even tried to kiss you since then. You can’t be that bad of a kisser, right? 

“Hey.” 

At the sound of his voice, you nearly jumped off the couch. His soft voice tore through your heart, grounding you in the moment as the noisy game faded into the background. 

“Yeah?” You whispered softly. The air between you is thick. You shifted under yourself against the couch. 

“Can I just…” Sunghoon whispered, his voice barely audible as the edge of his fingertips brushed against your thigh.

The tension sizzled between you. Neither of you spoke, not wanting to risk tearing what was pulsing apart. 

Your eyes met his, heart hammering at the soft and dark look in them. 

As your chest went tight, you couldn’t help but look down, gaze following the shape of his perfect lips. You knew it, and so did he. 

Neither of you could stop thinking about the kiss.

And without another word, Sunghoon's lips were back on yours. 

With a sharp gasp, your soft hands flew to his hair. Gently tangling on the midnight stands as his grip found your waist. Confident, hungry—picking up right where he left off the first morning. 

Sunghoon gently nipped at your bottom lip. Gasping as he pulled away just enough to breathe.

“Shit, I’m sorry I—“ 

“Shut up. Just shut up.” You chuckled, smiling into another heated kiss. 

Your core went tight at the sound of his laugh. A deep chuckle erupting from his chest that spread warmth everywhere his touch had yet to find. 

His hands were gentle as they guided you, his body shifting over top of yours as he lay you down on the couch. 

Sunghoon was lost in you. Lost in your scent, in your warmth, in your entire being. 

Rationality was nowhere to be found. 

Just like before, Sunghoon's hands dipped under the fabric of your shirt. His touch was gentle yet commanding as he started to press his thumbs against your bare skin. 

You gasped into his open mouth at the gesture. Sunghoon only replied by pressing into you more. Moaning as he swallowed the breath from your lungs. 

With a near whimper, Sunghoon broke away. Trailing feather light kisses across your jaw as his hands held you beneath him in place. 

“Kissing you makes me feel…different.” He breathed out. His breath caught as he pulled your body close into his. 

“What’s so different?” You replied. His breath was shaky as his lips dragged across the sensitive ridges of your neck. 

“I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not adrenaline. It’s something else.” Sunghoon whispered, smiling against your skin before he found your hips again. 

You hummed softly as his lips gently melted against your own. Your heart fluttered as he moved with precision. 

After another long moment, Sunghoon pulled away. Resting his forehead against your own as he panted for breath. 

“It’s like I could never get tired of this. Like I could kiss you all night and never want to stop.” He confessed, letting out a breathless laugh as he listened to the words leaving his own tongue. 

Sunghoon smiled against your lips as he leaned in again. His breath hitched as he kissed you light and slow. 

A soft groan vibrated in his throat as he broke away. Only to kiss you harder.

“Fuck” he cursed with a low, pleasured chuckle. His lips brushed softly against your own as he spoke. 

His hands slid further up your base skin. His thumbs traced your sides, feeling every dip and curve.

 “I’m such—God…” Sunghoon cursed as his plump, soft lips tore apart from your own. His hot body pressed into yours, pulling a gasp from your lips. 

“I’m such a fucking idiot…” he whispered with a self-deprecating tone as his lips dragged softly down your neck. 

His grip on your waist tightened as the air coiled tight. 

“This whole time I could’ve—we could’ve…” Sunghoon panted, his breath hot as it fanned softly beneath your ear. 

He places a chaste kiss on the soft skin there. He hesitated before he pulled away to glance into his eyes. 

“Sunghoon…what are you—“

“I heard it. You crying. Every single night.” He confessed, his voice shaking as a hand left your body to cup the side of your face. 

He glanced down at you, his expression soft as the pad of his thumb gently brushed across your cheek. 

“I—I wasn’t crying.” You lied as all the memories came back. Your heart twisted. You couldn’t do this, not now. Now, when things were finally taking a step in the right direction. 

Sunghoon took a sharp breath in. His soft, dark eyes grew glassy as he fought back tears. 

“You were crying. Because of me.” Sunghoon choked out. His expression turned pained. Like the fact in itself struck a hole through his heart. 

“And I did nothing.” He whispered. His voice was so soft you could barely hear it over the sound of your own breathing. 

“All I’ve done is hurt you. Because I was angry, and I don’t know what else to do. I felt trapped. At first, I didn't want this.” Sunghoon confessed. The silence between you was loud; desolate tears pooled in the corner of his eyes as he looked at you. 

This soft, innocent woman, he just had his lips on.

A woman who, despite it all, did only the right things. 

Tears fell harder from his face as he continued. Your throat closed up as he failed to hold back a sob. 

“I slept with other people…you didn’t deserve that. You never, ever deserved that. Not from me, not from anyone.” Sunghoon cried as his other hand now found your face. 

He studies you through tears, his lip quivering as his fingertips brush across your perfect lips. 

“And I know you saw the papers too.” He swallowed sharply. Inhaling deeply as he tried to gauge your reaction. 

“What papers?” You questioned softly, hot tears pooling in your own eyes as your heart sank into your chest.

“I got tested. For everything. Came back clean.” Sunghoon choked out. 

He leaned in, his breath ghosting across your lips as his warm tears fell onto your cheeks. 

“And the crazy part? That’s the bare fucking minimum. A whole year and just now I have enough sense to show some basic human decency.” He confirmed. 

The air between you grew silent. The void only getting torn apart by a sharp sob from both of you. 

Sunghoon sobbed again, the sound itself so painful it nearly tore your heart apart. 

“I’m so fucking sorry.” Sunghoon cried, breaking down as his forehead rested against yours. 

“You’re my wife. And I touched someone else.” Sunghoon cried, his chest tightening as all the guilt spilled over. 

“And I think cooking you a half-burned dinner is going to fix it.” He rasped out. The tears slowly came to a painful stop. 

You didn’t even realize how much you were crying, too. How much were you hurting. All the memories came back, the name-calling, the dismissal. 

“I should’ve held you in my arms this entire time…you should’ve walked out on me a year ago.” He continued, his lips parting as he only pulled away to weakly wipe his tears. 

You glanced up at him with a tear-stained gaze. Your hands moved without even thinking. 

Softly, you gently wiped away his tears. Your fingertips lingering for just a moment—

That kind reaction? It only made him break down more.

“I’m so fucking sorry…I’m sorry for it all.” Sunghoon panted before he closed the distance, his lips finding yours in a hot, heated kiss. 

You kissed him back, hands moving everywhere that you felt they weren’t allowed before. His breath was hot, and whimpers and moans only grew louder. 

“Wait..” he panted against your lips, his breath hitching as your palms slid down his chest. 

You were equally as needy. His confession, his lips, and his touch all came crashing down at once. 

The sound of your lips leaving his echoed in the quiet night. You still lingered close, feeling the strength of his chest beneath your fingertips.

“We’re moving too fast,” Sunghoon whispered, almost like he was trying to convince himself. 

“You think we’re moving too fast?” You asked curiously. 

“I just don’t want our first time to be like this. I don’t want to be full of guilt and regrets.” Sunghoon continued. 

“I want it to be out of trust and love. And I know it’ll take time—but if you’ll have me? I’d never ask for anything else in this world ever again.” 

“And I mean that, from the bottom of my heart, I mean every fucking word.” He choked out with a gentle sob. 

It almost felt like too much. Were things moving too fast? What if he didn’t actually mean it? He had to have some kind of anterior motive. 

But when you glanced into his eyes, all you saw was something broken. A man who was lost, with nowhere else to go. 

You saw it yourself, the meals, the test. The way his arm drifted across your waist as he slept. The way he didn’t press you for anything more—

The way his eyes didn’t leave yours the entire time he confessed. This was your marriage on the line. 

Not his money, not your body. You and only you. 

You and only you are what he was pleading for.

It felt like barbed wire was tightening around your throat as you spoke. It’s like you weren't even thinking. Your heart knew it before your consciousness could even manage. 

“I forgive you.” 

Your voice, hushed and whispered, hit him harder than he could’ve imagined. The words laced with truth, and longing for something that could’ve been this entire time. 

“You don’t have to do that.” Sunghoon rebuttals, his voice shaking like he couldn’t believe how true your words felt in his heart. 

“I want to. Because I—“

“I’m starting to fall in love with you.” You replied. It’s true.

Why else did you go back when he called? Why else did you stay? He didn’t deserve another chance, yet you gave it to him. Deep down, you knew the only reason why. 

It was because you loved him. At least you were starting to.

Sunghoon kissed you, deeper than he ever had before. It was hungry, needy—he poured everything into his breath that he could say with words. 

“And I’m starting to fall in love, for the first time in my entire fucking life.” He chuckled at the absurdity of it. 

“I’m falling deeply in love with you. And I have no plans of stopping.”

Sunghoon pulled away, his flushed ears peaking through the strands of his midnight hair. 

He smirked with disbelief as his hand slid to find your own. His fingertips slot perfectly against yours. 

“Will you come to bed with me?” He asked with a hushed whisper.

“I—I-I…” you choked out, overwhelmed by all the unspoken applications of it.

“We don’t have to do anything. I just want you close.” Sunghoon confessed as you glanced into his eyes. Searching and needy.

“Yeah. I’ll come.” You replied softly. The corners of your lips tugged into a smile before you even noticed it. 

Sunghoon cut out the lights before guiding you up the stairs and down the hall.

The hall that you cried down so many times, the door to his room that you used to stand outside of full of only dread. 

But not anymore. 

The two of you climbed into the king-sized bed together. Except this time, the two of you don’t bother to leave any space. 

The woody scent you’d grown to love filled your senses. Sunghoon's strong biceps were warm against your skin as his arm rested across the curve of your hip. 

And the two of you drifted off to sleep wrapped up in each other's arms. 

⋆⋆⋆

The holiday party was all the office cared to talk about. Seems like the bosses' plan to change the work culture seemed to be working out. 

The night of the party, you came home to change and grab your plus one. 

“Sunghoon? You almost ready?” You called out from the kitchen as you set down your keys and phone like muscle memory. 

“Almost.” He called out from the top floor of the house. His voice muffled as it traced through the rooms and down the hall. 

Just as you turned to head up the stairs yourself, a perfectly wrapped box caught your attention. 

The tag hung off the side of the box as it sat on the dinner table. You stalked closer, curiosity getting the best of you despite the time crunch. 

You lifted the tag between your fingertips. Reading your name scribbled across the tag in Sunghoon's handwriting. 

A gift? For you?

Footsteps caught your attention as Sunghoon came down the stairwell. His dark hair was perfectly styled to frame his features. He smelled like fresh cologne and just the perfect amount of lingering musk. 

“That’s for you.” Sunghoon smiled as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. 

“From who?” You questioned with a contagious smile.

“From me. Go on, open it.” 

Your fingertips trembled as you pulled at the smooth ribbons of the box. 

The sound of wrapping paper tore through the air as you unraveled the gift, heart racing with anticipation of what could possibly be left inside. 

You could hardly breathe as your eyes fixated on what was in the box. 

A necklace. Dazzling, catching the dim kitchen lights. It was delicate and classy. The diamonds perfectly embedded in the silver. 

Sunghoon smiled as his hands slid around your waist. His breath was warm against your ear, his breath shaking as he whispered. 

“Go ahead and get dressed. I can’t wait to see you in it.” 

There was a sharp pause as your heart raced between your ears. 

“This is beautiful, wow…thank you.” You replied as you set the delicate jewelry back into the box.

Sunghoon hummed softly before he pressed his lips to your neck. His touch is featherlight, just below your ear. 

His touch lingered across your waist before he let you go. The tension between you was already so thick. 

Sunghoon leaned against the counter, watching from behind as you made your way up the staircase. 

The minute you got to your room, you locked the door, letting out a breath you didn’t even realize was caught in your throat. 

Piece by piece, you stepped out of your work clothes. 

Your fingertips brushed against the cool satin of your dress as you pulled it over your hips. The ruby red caught the light in a gentle sheen. 

The hem of the tea-length dress stopped a few inches above the ankle. Your hands shook as you reached behind yourself. Biceps straining as you fumbled with the zipper. 

“Goddamit..” you cursed under your breath as you struggled to get a good grip on it. You twisted over your other shoulder for a better shot. 

It was no luck. The metal zipper slipped out of your fingertips once again, leaving the back of your dress hanging wide open. 

The vigorous attempts had you out of breath. With a sharp exhale, your palms found the polished mahogany wood of your dresser. 

After a few long moments of recovery, you tried again. Arms aching as you reached behind to grab the tiny zipper.

“Fuck…” you cursed as the zipper once again slipped through your trembling fingertips. 

Just as you shook out the knots in your arms, a soft knock came from the other side of the door. 

“You almost ready?” Sunghoon called out.

“Yeah, just…getting dressed still.” You replied, grunting as you tried to pull the zipper again. 

You let out a defeated sigh. Trembling as you called out. 

“Can I get some help, actually? The zipper to my dress is stuck and I—“

Before you could even explain yourself, Sunghoon was coming through the door. 

His breath caught as he saw you standing there, the straps of your dress hanging off your shoulders. The skin of your back is open and exposed. 

“Hold still.” Sunghoon muttered, his voice soft as he swiftly closed the distance between you two.

His hands hesitated before they found the zipper resting dangerously low on your back. 

You pushed your hair out of the way in a weak attempt to distract yourself from the warmth of his touch. 

As his fingertips pulled the zipper up, you couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath. 

“There…” Sunghoon muttered, completely breathless as he spun you around by the forearms.

“Thank you…” You replied before nervously smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric of your dress. 

Sunghoon smiled, his eyes softening as he glanced at you in that stunning ruby red gown. 

His hand reached out, gently wrapping your fingers in his own. 

You just watched, breath hitching as high slowly guided your hand to his lips. 

Sunghoon gently kissed the back of your hand. His lips are featherlight against your skin. 

The scene of his eyes fluttered shut and his lips pressed to your skin made you flustered.

“You look beautiful.” Sunghoon choked out. The words were nearly crippling as they fell from his lips. 

"Thank you." You replied, smiling softly as he admired your figure, lips parted in nothing but awe.

Sunghoon licked his lips, his eyes giving you one last look—

"The necklace…" He whispered as he noticed the torn box resting peacefully on the edge of your dresser.

He reached around you to take the diamonds out of the box. His fingers worked with delicacy as he put the silver around your neck.

You nearly gasped as the cold metal of the jewelry hit your skin. Sunghoon was focused as he adjusted the length, letting the pendant hang perfectly across your collarbone.

"God, you look so fucking perfect," Sunghoon whispered as he spun you around, letting you glance at yourself in the large mirror from across the room.

Your reflection stared back at you. The two of you dressed to perfection, the way his hands lingered on your waist—

"I mean it…" Sunghoon whispered, his voice dropping an octave as his hand gently cupped your jaw.

His fingertips were soft as they guided you with his touch. His lips found yours again—soft and chaste. His lips just dared to take more before he broke away with a gasp.

"I think it's time to go." You whispered, clearing some of the tension from your throat as you glanced at the clock on the wall.

"You're right. You ready?" Sunghoon smiled before his touch dropped from your skin, leaving you with a shiver of cold.

"Never been more ready." You replied, following him out of your room and down the hall.

A year ago, you would've never imagined walking hand in hand with him down the same hall that broke you apart. 

And for the first time ever, his touch doesn't feel like it's to prove a point.

⋆⋆⋆

The drive to the venue was peaceful. Your breath fanned against the glass windows as you looked at the decorations outside. 

Houses and lamp posts were lined with twinkling white and red lights. The streets were bustling with people frantically shopping for the holidays. 

"Wow…didn't know we had the budget for this." You whispered as you finally arrived at the address. 

The hotel was nothing short of luxury. Floors and floors of windows expanded beyond you could see into the night sky. 

The valet was already waiting to take the car. Sunghoon passed the keys before swiftly stepping around the front of the car to let you out. 

He offered his hand, the ghost of his breath visible in the cold as he stood out in the open air.

Warmth surged through your heart as you took his hand in yours. Sunghoon gave it a comforting squeeze before pulling you along.

The faint smell of pinewood mixed with peppermint flooded your senses as Sunghoon led you to the conference room.

Loud, muffled chatter could already be heard from the other side of the door. 

Sunghoon finally let go of your hand as he pushed open the double doors. 

The room was modestly decorated. Garland and lights hung by the crown molding of the walls. Christmas trees were perfect and pristinely filled as they lined the walls.

"Wow, so this really is where the budget went." You whispered under your breath as you took in the scenery.

Sunghoon chuckled as the two of you entered the room. 

"Oh my God, he's real!" Your coworker announced, setting down her drink before she closed the distance between you two.

"Yeah, he's real. This is my husband, Sunghoon," You replied as you introduced him. The title rolling easily off your tongue.

"Nice to meet you." Your coworker replied professionally, giving the two of you a casual nod.

"There are drinks over there, like small treats and stuff, too. Help yourself! You know if we don't eat it all it's going to rot in the breakroom for weeks." She replied before another professionally dressed man came into view.

"Right you are." You replied, watching as the man you knew to be her husband wrapped his arms around her lovingly.

The atmosphere was casual, just as planned. There was a mixture of small talk and exquisite laughter. The crowd seemed to talk about all things work and family.

"Sunghoon, is it? I'm Jake from accounting." Your other coworker introduced him self professionally before extending a hand.

"Nice to meet you," Sunghoon replied before giving Jake a firm handshake in return. He was definitely in his element, charming all the guests with his practiced charisma. 

As the two talked business, the details flew right over your head. Ever now and then, you would pick up a phrase or two. 

"We're up twenty two percent from the last quarter—" You heard Sunghoon reply, the words and numbers holding no actual weight. 

The only thing you could focus on was his stance, his confidence, the way his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

Your eyes lingered on his every movement, watching the veins in his forearms as he shifted his drink in his hand.

"Yeah, my wife and I are trying to figure out our next step, you know? Our company offers a generous amount of maternity leave, so we're trying to plan accordingly." Jake said like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The name of your company brought you back into the conversation.

Work, right. This was a work party.

"Wow seems like good benefits. I see why my wife is in no rush to leave." Sunghoon replied casually before taking another sip of his drink.

"We won't have to worry about taking out that benefit anytime soon if you know what I mean," Sunghoon replied with a cheeky smirk.

"What?" You muttered under your breath, your hand hesitant as your grip around his arm loosened.

"Ah honeymoon phase is long gone by now, isn't it?" Jake replied. Earning a deep chuckle from Sunghoon.

"Oh yeah, we've been going through a dry spell, we're lucky if anything can happen before she knocks out for the night. Maternity leave won't be on my mind for a while—"

"Sunghoon." You interrupted, pulling your grip completely away from his arm at his response.

"What I'm just telling the truth, you pass out the second your head hits the pillow." Sunghoon defended, putting his arms up in false surrender.

Your jaw locked with frustration. For one night, can't he just behave?

"Sheesh, twelve months in and things are only going downhill in the bedroom department?" Jake replied. Earning another deep, charismatic laugh out of Sunghoon.

"Tell me about it," Sunghoon replied, smiling before taking another sip of his drink.

You were fuming. The heat was hot as it ran down your neck. You had to get out of there before you did something that would cost you your job for good.

With a shallow attempt at a deep calming breath, you turned on your heel. The door out clear in your sights.

Your palms and heels were sweating, and the lights and decorations all of a sudden felt suffocating.

"Let me grab your contact, and I'll get you in touch with the rep for—wait!" Sunghoon called out as you walked away. His attention dropped from Jake completely as he watched you leave.

"Shit,” Sunghoon cursed under his breath as he left his half-full cup on a nearby table before following you out.

The hotel door slammed hard behind you. The air had grown colder, bitter against all the bare skin exposed by the design of your dress.

“Wait!” Sunghoon called out, reaching out to grab your hand before you forcefully pulled it away.

“I’m going home.” You commanded. Feeling the air between you freeze as you waited for the car.

“What are you feeling okay?” Sunghoon asked kindly, his voice and expression soft as he studied you.

Jaw tight, tears threatening to spill at any moment.

You crossed your arms over your chest for warmth as you waited for the valet. 

“Can we not do this here?” You spat out more pained than venomous.

“Do what? Are you cold?” Sunghoon asked before taking off his blazer and putting it over your shoulders.

His cologne filled your senses, and you were so angry. It felt like your heart was being torn apart between all the memories of the past weeks. It felt like the Sunghoon in that conference room was a completely different person.

“You just don’t know when to stop talking, do you?” You choked out, hot tears falling down your frozen cheeks as the valet pulled the car to the hotel door.

Sunghoon went quiet, letting out a sharp breath as he retrieved the keys before hopping back into the driver's seat.

“That Jake guy—”

“Don't.” You replied, slamming the door to the passenger seat hard before Sunghoon pulled out of the parking lot.

The two of you didn’t speak the entire ride home. Somehow, you mutually knew that would only make things worse.

You questioned everything as you stared out the window. Your job, this marriage, the repair you thought had been mended.

The minute you got through the door, you kicked off your heels.

“Look, whatever I did or said—I’m sorry, okay? I can’t fix this if you won’t talk to me,” Sunghoon pleaded. Locking the door behind him as you stumbled into the dark house. 

“You humiliated me! In front of everyone! Like I don’t already have a hard time at work as it is.” You cried out, tearing his blazer off your shoulders before tossing it vigorously to the floor. 

“I’m sorry…” Sunghoon whispered, his expression turning soft, his movements hesitant, before he stepped closer. 

“You say that a lot these days.” You replied. Smearing makeup across your face as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand. 

“Trust me, I know that.” Sunghoon relied before letting his hands hold the sides of your face. 

Your heart shattered. His own eyes were glassy as he held back tears. You couldn’t help but sob. 

“I—I was just wanting them to like me. I guess I was just trying to look relateable, I didn’t mean to—“

You sucked in a sharp breath as you listened to his words. Your breath was shaky as he held you close to his chest. 

“Hurt you. It feels like that’s the only thing I’m good at.” Sunghoon replied, choking back a sob as his hands dropped from the sides of your face. 

A cold shiver went down your spine at the loss of his touch. 

“But I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I can’t bear to do that,” Sunghoon confessed, his fingertips trembling as he slowly removed the top button of his shirt. 

You let the tears fall as your arms stayed crossed tight over your chest. 

You watched as Sunghoon kicked off his shoes before tossing his car keys on the kitchen counter. 

“Come on. We’re not ending the night like this.” Sunghoon replied, his voice commanding his hand sought out yours again. 

You hesitated before letting your fingertips thread between his own. The gesture made your heart ache with warmth, his touch soothing the cool chill of your skin. 

He led you up the dark stairs before swiftly pushing the door to his room open. 

You sank down onto the bed. You just sat there and stared, legs and knees too weak to move on. 

Sunghoon rolled up his sleeves up to his elbows before he turned on one of his bedside lamps. A soft, warm glow was cast across the room, leaving dramatic shadows across both of your faces.

Sunghoon fell to his knees, his breath sharp as he reached out to brush his fingertips across your thigh. 

“Let me make this right,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice husky and deep as his grip slightly tightened. 

“You made this….us. You played it off as a joke.” You choked out. Your words were harsh, but in the same you couldn’t muster up the strength to brush him off.

“I know, I know…” Sunghoon replied with a shaky breath. 

“Tell me how this feels,” Sunghoon whispered as he wiped away your tears. He leaned in, his breath shaking as his lips hovered above yours. 

You sniffled quietly, but you didn’t pull away. His touch was calming, comforting. And despite everything—

You couldn’t resist.

His lips found yours softly. His touch was so delicate, he kissed you as if at any moment you could break.

And that might have been the truth. 

With a soft whimper, you kissed him back. Warmth spread throughout your body as his lips moved slowly and gently against yours. 

It felt like his touch was healing the wounds from the inside out. Every breath, every gasp, every shutter was stitching up the tears between your hearts. 

You fell into a slow rhythm of push and pull. Sunghoon's hands slid further up your thigh as his lips fell away from yours with a gentle suck. 

The satin fabric of your dress was smooth beneath his fingertips as he subconsciously inched it higher and higher. 

With a weak gasp, Sunghoon tore himself from your lips, panting for breath as he peppered fragile kisses beneath your jaw. 

You tilted your head as he kissed your neck. Taking his time, savoring the angle you just opened up for him to mark. 

“Better?” Sunghoon replied as he pulled away from your skin, leaving behind a faint mark. 

“Better.” You replied, pulling him back into your embrace. 

Your back fell against the mattress as Sunghoon climbed onto the bed. His body seeking out yours with devotion. 

His grip trembled as he pulled apart the next button of his shirt, flashing a sliver of perfectly pale skin beneath. 

His forearms crashed on either side of your head before his lips were back on yours. Hot and hungry, moving with an intensity that wasn’t there before. 

“Oh my God…” Sunghoon panted against your lips. He sucked in a sharp breath as his lips softly brushed back against your own. 

He smiled into another kiss, letting his hips drop in the process. 

You gasped as his hips rolled softly into your own. Just barely, like he himself wasn’t sure of just how far this was going to go. 

“You tell me to stop. I stop…” Sunghoon whispered. His voice was low and raspy as his lips dragged back down your skin. 

Sunghoon's hands pushed the dress further up your thighs. His mouth dragged down your neck before finding its place at your collarbone. 

“Sunghoon..” you moaned. Actually moved as his thumb barely brushed the inside of your thigh.

“Fuck…” he cursed, the top of his ears flushing red at your strangled noises. All brought on by the nature of his touch. 

“My name never sounded better.” 

Sunghoon pulled away to glance into your eyes. His fingertips stopped high on your thigh. 

“I need you to tell me just how far you want this to go,” Sunghoon questioned, his voice shaking as he held back. 

Your chest tightened as you met his gaze. In that moment, the world felt so small. The only thing that mattered was your husband on top of you. The woes of the party and the past were a fleeting thought in the midst of the heat. 

You let out another shah breath, your eyes locked on him and only him before you replied—

“All the fucking way.”

“So you’d let me taste you?” Sunghoon smirked against your skin as his fingertips slipped dangerously high. 

You gasped at his touch, hips lifting off the mattress from just how needy you were. 

And you couldn’t control it. 

It has been so long since you’ve been touched like this. So long since someone—anyone had wanted to make you feel this way. 

And you couldn’t imagine being beneath anyone else. 

“Go ahead…” you replied. Biting back the smile on your lips as Sunghoon pushed the red dress up over your hips. 

You shivered at the cold as he exposed your bare legs and thighs. You shifted nervously under him, but his touch was firm and grounding. 

Sunghoon panted as his fingertips reached between your thighs. Peeing away the delicate fabric already stuck to your damp folds. 

He cursed under his breath at the sight, his jaw fell open as he discarded your panties to the floor. 

“Holy shit…” Sunghoon cursed as he saw you completely bare for the first time. 

Your heart was beating fast. All you could do was lie there and let him stare, let him savor you and everything your body had to offer. 

“You’re beautiful,” Sunghoon whispered softly before he kneeled between your thighs. 

You let out a self-deprecating chuckle as you helped spread your legs. Opening yourself up to him even more. 

Sunghoon's hands slid slowly up the back of your thighs. His lips followed his touch as he kissed between them tenderly. 

Every nip and suck made you shudder. Sunghoon couldn’t help but hold you down to the mattress as he marked and claimed you as his own. 

He left small bruises between your legs, his breath stopping right before he reached where you needed him most. 

And without another word, his mouth found you. 

You gasped deeply at his touch; his touch was soft as he ran a shallow stripe between your folds. He lapped softly at your core like you were something delicate.

“Sunghoon.” You whimpered shamelessly. Your head hitting the pillows as he left you spread wide open. His tongue flicking between your damp folds.

His eyes flicked up to meet your own as his mouth lapped at your pussy. He was already drunk on you, on your scent, on your taste.

“Fuck…you taste amazing.” Sunghoon groaned into your pussy. His fingertips dug into the soft skin of your thighs as he gently lapped at your entrance. His eyes rolled back at the taste before he explored you more. 

“Oh fuck—“ you cursed as you felt the tactical flicks of his tongue. Sunghoon was studying you. Every flinch and gasp he pulled from you only dragged him on more.

Sunghoon gripped you tight as his lips found your clit. His tongue ran lazily around the bus as he savored you. He flicked at the slower nub with shallow, teasing licks—

“Fuck!” You cried out even louder at his motions. Your thighs trembled as he let his focus lock on that sensitive aching bud. 

With a deep groan, your fingertips slid down to thread in the midnight strands of his hair. The softness helped to ground you, keeping you from slipping out of consciousness from his efforts. 

Sunghoon let out a primal groan as your hips bucked softly into his face. One of his hands slid from your thighs to the lower part of your stomach to hold you down as he continued to feast. 

You cried out his name. Shuddering against his mouth as he held you down. Heat pooled low in your stomach where he was holding you down. Sweat ran down your back as your hot skin melted into the cool sheets.

“Sunghoon I—“ “Don’t hold back.” Sunghoon groaned into your dripping cunt. His lips found your clit again, placing flat, thick stripes against it before sealing his mouth around it. 

“Oh my god…” You whimpered, hips lifting off the dampened sheets to chase his tongue. You didn’t even realize how hard you were pulling at his hair. 

Sunghoon let out a satisfied groan as he felt your thighs trembling against his ears. He was completely lost in it all. 

His eyes fluttered shut as he savored the desperate pleas from your lips; he took it all in. Your taste, your smell, the softness of your skin beneath his grip. 

“Sunghoon!” You cried out, thighs trembling, hips bucking sharply against his mouth. 

Your toes curled as he pushed you over the edge with nothing more than his tongue. You felt one lick, then two, before the rhythm had you gasping for air. 

You came hard. His tongue fucking youthrough your orgasm like it was second nature. Arousal rushed through your body like the aftermath of a broken dam. 

You shamelessly coated his tongue as you came. Waves of your glistened arousal coated his lips and chin. 

After what felt like eternity, your body started to come back down from the high. The grip you had on Sunghoon started to loosen as your thighs found their place back on the mattress. 

Sunghoon continued to eat you out through your orgasm. His mouth kisses you through every shutter and writhes. 

When you fell lip against the sheets, Sunghoon released his grip. Giving your cunt a few short licks before he came up for air. 

You watched breathless, chest tight as he wiped your come from his lips with the back of his hand. 

His tongue then darted out to savor the rest before he climbed back up your body. 

Without another word, his lips were back on yours. A deep growl escaped from his throat as his body pushed impatiently into your own. 

You kissed him back, letting your lips move hot and slow against his own while your hands worked to remove the buttons of his shirt. 

Sunghoon shirked against your lips in response. His breath caught as he took your lips in his, the taste of you mingling with the scent of him. 

“Do you have any idea how good you taste?” Sunghoon confessed, breathless against your lips as you peeled away the layers of his shirt. 

The dim light cast soft shadows across his bare figure, highlighting the muscles and curves of his arms.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” Sunghoon whispered as he tossed his shirt to the ground. His hands were immediately back on your body. Brushing against the cool red satin.

“I've wanted something real…I never thought you’d want me like this, and I guess that’s why the joke—“

“Shh…” you replied. Your expression, soft as your fingertips, cupped the sides of his face. 

Sunghoon let out a soft whimper at your touch. With an intimate gasp, he turned his head to brush his soft lips against the inside of your palm. 

“I know I either talk too much or not enough…I’m a complete fucking wreck.” Sunghoon chuckled with a self-deprecating tone. 

Your lips dropped into a slight frown as you held him. 

“Hey, look at me…” You whispered, watching as your thumbs brushed gracefully across the soft angles of his cheeks. 

“Remember all those weeks ago. When you called me back after I stomped out.” You replied, remembering the moment all too vividly. 

“How could I forget? I saw you, I saw everything just crumbling apart.” Sunghoon replied, letting his dark eyes finally lift to meet your own. 

“You told me you wanted to learn to love me.” You replied. Sucking in a sharp, shaky breath before you continued.

“I do…God, you’re already my everything,” Sunghoon replied, kissing your palm again before meeting your gaze. 

“I don't want you to feel like you have fix everything…” You whispered intimately. Voice so soft you almost couldn’t hear it over the sharpness of his breath. 

“It’s all my fault, though…the reason you're hurt, the reason you’ve been hurting.” Sunghoon continued, letting his head drop to your shoulder as he pulled you in close. 

“Sunghoon. Do you love me? Because I swear to god if you do? If this is real?”

“I love you. I fucking love you. You’re my wife, my everything.” Sunghoon interrupted. His voice was sharp without a stutter. 

He lifted his head to kiss you again. Heated and messy with no coordination, only sheer desperation. 

“Then let’s make this real.” You replied. Lifting your hips to meet his own. 

Sunghoon's eyes widened as he got the message. After all this time of push and pull of waiting—

His hands immediately went to the back of your dress. You sat up just enough for him to pull the zipper down. His fingers were hot and trembling. 

He pulled back, glancing at you lovingly before pushing the fabric down your shoulders. 

Sunghoon couldn’t help but watch in awe as each inch of skin was revealed. Slowly, he took his time peeling away the layers one by one. 

Your dress was soon discarded alongside his shirt. The two of you fell against the bed so naturally. Bodies melting together like two perfect pieces of a puzzle.

Your legs parted as his hips fell against your own. You couldn’t help but wimper at the feeling of his hard, heavy cock being held back. 

Sunghoon returned your smirk as he grinded down softly, just giving you a preview of what he had to offer. 

“So we’re really doing this? Are you sure this is what you want?” Sunghoon whispered as your hands found his waist. Sliding to the front of his pants.

“I want this more than anything.” You relied, biting your lips as you pulled down the zipper. 

Sunghoon moaned softly as your knuckles grazed his cock. God, he was so sensitive already. The two of you knew this wasn’t going to last long. 

You felt heat rush to your head as you finally freed him. Pushing his boxers and pants down past his thighs. 

Sunghoon kicked off his clothes, letting them fall somewhere he paid no mind to.

His cock was already thick with need. Flushed and leaking at the tip. Precome slapped against his stomach as his cock sprang free. 

You trembled at the sight. He was so big—

“You can take it. I know you can.” Sunghoon replied softly as he saw the shock and worry on your face.

He leaned in. Kissing you as his hands guided you into position. 

“Can’t believe it took you a year to realize…” Sunghoon chuckled at your response to his size. 

“If I realize beforehand? We would’ve fucked along time ago.” You teased back with a smile. 

Sunghoon tore his lips from your own, letting them latch beneath your jawline as his hips settled against yours. 

“I guess we’re going to have to make up for lost time,” Sunghoon replied as his cock slid between your hot, slick folds. 

Sunghoon's jaw fell open as he felt you already so wet from his touch and your orgasm. 

“Shit, I’m not gonna last,” Sunghoon confessed with a breathy laugh. His hands slid between your bodies, lining up his cock and adjusting the angle of your thighs. 

“Don’t care. I’ll take that as a compliment.” You replied confidently, letting Sunghoon push your thighs apart just right. 

You gasped as he notched the top of his cock in your entrance. Slowly letting his hands slide across your skin before he penetrated your hole. 

“Ah—it’s a lot.” You moaned. The feeling of just his tip had your toes curling against the sheets. 

“This is the only time I want you hurting from now on…” Sunghoon grunted as he pushed in another inch. 

“Fuck.” Your back arched off the bed as you shouted another curse. Sweat started to pool at your brow, and he was hardly even halfway into your cunt. 

“Fuck you feel unreal…I’m already gone for this pussy.” Sunghoon groaned, shifting his grip on the sheets on either side of your head. 

You glanced into his eyes, your nose brushing against his as he shifted further in. The rim of your entrance is burning at the invading stretch. 

“Shit—I’m seriously already about to come,” Sunghoon whispered against your lips with a grin. His hands tightened around your thighs, pushing them back towards your chest. 

He opened you up enough to take him; his lips softly kissed you through every moan as he filled you to the brim. 

You felt tears pooling in your eyes as his heavy cock finally thrusted all the way inside your wet, warm walls. 

“You still with me?” Sunghoon asked, lifting a hand to cup your cheek as he started to move. 

The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard tapping the wall with every thrust of his hips.

Sunghoon panted, breathless and euphoric as you took every single one of his inches and ridges. 

Your tits bounced with the force of his thrusts. Sunghoon watched from above, his gaze lingering on how perfect you looked all laid out and full of him.

Your hands clawed at the back of his shoulders as you pulled him close. The heat is finally satisfying in the best way as your bodies are molded together as one. 

Sunghoon watched you with an expression nothing short of awe. After a moment, he dropped his forehead against your own. 

You whimpered as his hands slid down your body, helping to angle your hips just right. He thrusted into you slowly and deeply, groaning with pleasure as you pulsed around him. 

It felt so right. His touch, his words, his glances. 

And for the first time, you truly felt seen. 

Sunghoon panted as he kissed you again, taking the air from your lungs. His hips were gentle yet precise. Every moment is calculated to prolong your pleasure. 

You didn’t even know what to say. All you could do was hold him close as he whispered sweet praise against your skin. 

He pulled an airy gasp from your lips as he thrust deep into your heat. The tip of his cock tapping against your cervix—the gesture making your thighs clench.

“Ah, Sunghoon.” You moaned, letting your hands slide through his hair and across his skin with no direction. 

Sunghoon bit down hard on his lip as you clenched around him. Your wetness drips down the inside of your thighs from the force of his thrusts. 

“Too much?” He questioned, gripping the sheets roughly as he pulled his hips back.

“Just enough.” You replied, letting your hands slide down his body to pull him back into you. 

Sunghoon let out a breathless laugh as he continued. His abdomen tightened, his pace faltering. 

He was close. 

“I’m—shit I’m close you feel too fucking good.” Sunghoon laughed with disbelief, his hips shuddering above you once more. 

“Will you come inside?” You asked, eyes widening as the words left your mouth without even thinking. 

“Yes. Hell fucking yes.” Sunghoon smiled against your lips as he kissed you senseless. His grip tightened around you as he drove faster into your cunt.

“I love you so fucking much.” Sunghoon gasped, his jaw falling open as he drove into you one last time before he came. 

Heavy breaths fell from his lips as he filled you with his come. The moment was so tender and intimate, the only thing you could feel was him painting your walls with evidence of himself. 

After a few short thrusts, Sunghoon fell limp against your shoulder. The two of you are basking in the aftershocks, full of nothing but pleasure.

You kissed his head, taking your fingertips through the sweaty strands as his heart raced against your chest. 

“Sunghoon?” You choked out, your voice cracking with emotion. 

“Yeah?” He replied with a hum as his body only sank further into yours. 

The smell of sex filled the air, the faint lingering scent of his cologne now felt like it was taking on new meaning.

You opened your mouth to reply, your mind screaming at you to tell him what had been repeating in your head.

And with a sharp breath, you replied…

“I love you too.” 

He lifted his head and glanced into your eyes lovingly as he gently pushed your hair behind your ear. 

“Thank you for giving me one more chance,” Sunghoon whispered deeply. 

Your expression softened at his words, your heart swelling with warmth and love. 

“After everything, all I wanted was for you to give us a chance. That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to really leave.” You choked out with a sniffle.

“You’re the only one who’s ever even tried to see me, like really see me,” Sunghoon replied. 

“Trust me, I know when someone’s hurting. And to be honest, that’s really what I saw.” You vented. 

“So you’ll have me? All of me? Even with the messy past and shitty mistakes?” Sunghoon questioned. His eyes pained as he held back a sob. 

Your heart melted as you smiled up at him. 

The man on top of you wasn’t the same one who you stood next to at the altar. 

No cameras, no witnesses…

 Through all the tears, the fights, the misunderstandings. He still fought for you. 

And in that moment, you realized, despite the circumstances—

You couldn’t have chosen better yourself. 

“As long as you meet me halfway. I’m yours.” 

⋆⋆⋆

kates note: thank you guys for waiting for this fic!! My life has been so crazy, mentally I wasn’t in the best place and I just had awful awful writers block. But the good news is I’m feeling a lot better and have been writing again! I missed all my mutuals and amazing followers. I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as me. I’d love to hear your thoughts so don’t be afraid to holler in the tags or in my inbox. Good news is I’m working on some requests as well as another sci-fi fic at the moment! So hopefully it won’t be long until next time.

like always take care!

xoxo kate

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PILOT | WELCOME, INTERNS! ↳ a new year means new juniors in the office. you take the day to introduce yourself, making sure they're aware of the terms and conditions.

INTERN 1 - YANG JUNGWON | THE INNOCENT(ISH) ONE ↳ he's eager to impress, but clearly inexperienced | first time/corruption Your hand lingers over his tie, tugging him a little closer. His breath hitches, eyes wide and unsure, but he doesn't pull away. "Y-you'll show me, right? How to make you feel good?"

INTERN 2 - LEE HEESEUNG | THE SMOOTH TALKER ↳ he knows how to draw things out, leaving you begging before he could even finish talking | teasing/oral fixation Pinned against your desk, his lips hover just shy of yours. "You want me to stop talking?" he murmurs, smirking as his mouth trails down your jaw. "Then let me show you what else it's good for."

INTERN 3 - PARK JONGSEONG | THE JEALOUS ONE ↳ gets territorial when he sees others bat an eye at you | possessive/rough sex Your blouse is halfway undone when he presses you hard against the wall, voice low and heated. "You think anyone else gets to see you like this? I'll make sure you remember who you belong to."

INTERN 4 - SIM JAEYUN | THE PUPPY LOVER ↳ desperate to please you in every way—adores being told he's doing a good job | service/praise kink He's on his knees between your legs, looking up at you with desperate, puppy-like eyes. "Am I doing good, boss? Say it again... please?" Your fingers tighten in his hair, and his grin widens at the sound of your approval.

INTERN 5 - PARK SUNGHOON | THE OBSESSIVE ONE ↳ always distracted by your skirts; gets off on the idea of ruining your expensive outfits | clothing kink/desk sex His fingers hook under your skirt hem, tugging it up slowly. "You really thought you could walk around the office in this and I wouldn't notice?" his tone is dark and amused. "Guess I'll just have to remind you who you're dressing for."

INTERN 6 - KIM SUNOO | THE SWEET BUT DANGEROUS ONE ↳ plays the shy intern until the door's closed, taking control and showing you exactly how dangerous his charm is | innocent act/power switch He tilts his head, all soft smiles and wide eyes as he closes the office door behind him."You think I'm too sweet for this, don't you?" he whispers, fingers brushing dangerously low on your thigh. "Let me prove you wrong."

INTERN 7 - NISHIMURA RIKI | THE BOLD, YOUNG INTERN ↳ pushes your buttons and challenges your authority but secretly craves being put in his place | brat tamer/risky locations You shove him back into the elevator wall, and he only smirks, defiant. "FInally showing me who's in charge?" he teases, voice low. "Go on then—make me behave."

FINALE | THE EVALUATION ↳ after meeting all the interns, it was time for their evaluation. who's going to stay and who isn't?

don't forget to comment if you'd like to be on the tag list!

© avtrns 2025 | please do not copy, repost, or translate my work

TAGS: smut, nsfw content, fingering, heavy mentions of cheating, (somewhat) detailed explanation of said infidelity, dacryphilia, unprotected sex (don't be like them y'all), creampie, soft dom jake, he profusely apologizes while they're fucking, reader kicks herself a lot for being weak, (sort of) happy ending, but it's not glorified

INSPIRED BY BEYONCÉ'S "ALL NIGHT"

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌၊|• 5:22

You felt like your heart was being pulled clean out of your chest when you walked into your apartment, the one you shared with the man you loved so deeply, only to find him in bed with another woman. The bed you allowed him into, the home you transformed into the resting place for both of you. Torn to shreds, forever tainted by the image of Jake with someone you’d never even met.

“You’re a piece of shit!” you screamed the moment the girl was gone, trying desperately to suppress the sobs bubbling in your chest. You didn’t want him to see you weak, to let him have that part of you when he treated you so horribly.

“I know, I…I’m sorry,” he tried an apology, tears in his own eyes that felt like mockery, some cruel joke. He reached out to you, but you slapped his arm away angrily.

“Don’t ever fucking touch me again,” you gritted, stepping back like you didn’t even recognize him anymore. “How dare you? How dare you do this to me and cry like you’re the victim in this?”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“Didn’t mean anything when you were fucking her in my goddamn bed?” you shouted as you walked into the bedroom and grabbed a suitcase from the closet, taking heaps of his belongings from everywhere in the room and shoving them haphazardly inside. “I want you out of here,” you whispered, trying desperately to hold on to your composure for a few minutes more. “You’re dead to me. It’s over.”

“Please, don’t do this—”

“Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you cheated on me, you asshole.”

You shoved the bag into his chest and grabbed his wrist as you dragged him through the apartment and to the door. He tried to apologize again, to convince you not to do this, but you wouldn’t budge. The hole in your heart was too large to be fixed with a flimsy Band-Aid—an empty apology.

“Get out, Jake,” you breathed, a tear rolling down your cheek against your will.

“This is our apartment. Our house,” he protested, and you scoffed.

“Where do you get off?” you asked, your hurt masked with disbelief and anger. “This stopped being your apartment the moment you brought that bitch in here.”

He didn’t respond. He knew he had no defense, no excuse, no reason for you to forgive him. To give him any mercy, any lenience whatsoever.

“Get out, Jake,” you repeated with finality. “I never want to see you again.”

He sighed deeply, eyes still glossy and tinged with regret. The hurt he brought to himself by breaking your trust and ruining the good part of your life. Everything you’d built together, every ounce of love in your heart for him, gone in one night. Over one girl whose name he couldn’t even remember.

Only when he walked out and the door finally clicked shut did you let go. A loud, painful sob broke loose and sent a shudder through your body, bringing you down to your knees on the cold hardwood floor. You held your hands over your face and cried harder than you ever had. Cried for yourself, for your shattered heart, for the beautiful life you could have had with the man you loved with every fiber of your being. Your everything, but you weren’t his.

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Every step through your apartment was a reminder. Pictures scattered across every room, every wall, every space on a table or countertop. It was littered with memories of Jake, even taking forms that weren’t just photographs.

The barstools you sat in every morning when you ate breakfast together, the sweatshirt he left draped on the lounge chair in the corner of the living room months ago that he always swore he’d pick up but never did. The smell of his cologne forever burned into the sofa’s soft material, leaving an everlasting blanket over the house like a candle that never goes out. Hell, even the front door reminded you of him when he’d come home after a long day and collapse into your arms.

Your life lost its color when Jake left it.

The days at work were bleak and monotonous. You never looked forward to anything, didn’t care to. Your friends worried about you, watched as you fell into a depression that crept up and took over you slowly, taking its time as it tortured you to no end. You didn’t often leave the apartment, and when you did decide to take part in dinners or shopping trips, it was only the shell of you. They eventually stopped asking.

You couldn’t bring yourself to touch anything in the apartment. No matter what you disposed of, burned, or did whatever it took to never look at it again, his ghost would still linger. He would still be beside you every night in bed, haunting you as the spirit of something that once was.

Something that he took in his hands and squeezed until it broke, leaving you to pick up the pieces. Only you couldn’t glue them back together, and the evidence was permanently splintered into his palms.

Days turned into weeks, and those turned into months, all filled with loneliness and the growing void in your heart where Jake used to sit.

The vision of him with that girl haunted your nightmares—even your daily life—as a presence so unyielding that it was almost suffocating. His hands on her body, touching her the way you liked to be touched, kissing her like he was starving, his hips stuttering with every sinful thrust. It felt like punishment, having to live where it took place. Having to sleep in the bed she once lay in as he took her so passionately, thinking you wouldn’t find out. The chilling reminder that you weren’t enough, when you would have traveled to the ends of the Earth for him.

‘What did I do wrong?’ you’d ask yourself on the nights it hurt the most, after drowning yourself in sorrow and sometimes even alcohol, just for it to take only a fraction of the sting away. But you never found the answer you wanted, because it didn’t exist. The truth—unfortunate and harsh as it may have been—was that you never did something to deserve it; Jake didn’t love you the way you wanted him to. The way he said he did.

Admitting that was the hardest part.

But over time, things became a little easier. It was like a baby taking its first steps, slow and careful. You didn’t feel the same ache in your chest every time you looked at a picture of you together. You didn’t lie in bed every night, wishing he were there to hold you until you fell asleep. Slowly, you let yourself feel, embraced the pain he caused, and used it to make you better. Stronger. After a year and one month since the night that shattered your heart, you finally began to move on from Jake Sim.

Perhaps life without him wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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A storm breezed through the city, the rain so heavy that it interrupted your thoughts. Thunder clapped on occasion and made you jump out of focus as you sat quietly in the living room with a cup of coffee, trying your hand at knitting. You picked it up as a pastime to distract your lonely mind, and it often worked, but the frequent interruptions from the thunder and lightning made it hard to focus. You were always a little scared of storms.

You heard a knock on the door and stopped working, turning your head to the entryway, where a few moments later, another knock sounded. Confused at what anyone would be doing at this hour, you stood up and padded over to the door, not bothering to check the keyhole, and simply opened it.

You froze.

Jake stared back at you from the other side of the doorway. His hair was drenched, his clothes dark and weighing down on his body from being soaked through. Water beaded at the tips of his hair and dripped down his face. His eyes, big and practically burning a hole through you with their gaze, were wet with the threat of tears, as if they suddenly formed upon seeing you.

He looked beat. Bags under his eyes. No life behind them, like yours, during the first two months of sorrow and ongoing depression.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, their pink knuckles turning white from how tense his fingers were.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, anchoring yourself to the edge of the door. You felt like your legs would give out at any moment if you were to let go.

Jake didn’t reply. He stepped forward wordlessly with water still cascading down his face. The sound of rain splashing against the side of the apartment building. The soft hallway light illuminated his face and forced you to see the version of him that you fell in love with all that time ago, so effortlessly and entrancingly beautiful.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He breathed. “Like what?”

“Like you used to,” you whispered, like it pained you to say. “Like you still love me.”

“Who said I don’t?”

He stepped closer again. His foot reached the threshold of the doorway as he planted his feet and stood still. He was toeing the line between you, the one that separated the outside—where he was exiled to for over a year—to the inside, where his presence lingered, a constant reminder of his mistakes, how he threw you away like you meant nothing, like the two years you spent together were so easily disposable to him.

“You don’t have the right to say that,” you said and swallowed, your voice firm but laced with the hurt and betrayal that still haunted your body. “You don’t have the right to show up here like this, after a whole fucking year and say things like that to me after what you did.” You maintained the facade, like you’d been anticipating this moment. You wouldn’t falter like you did that night. You wouldn’t let him show you how his actions affected you. You wouldn’t shed a tear that stung against your skin and served as proof that he still had that power over you. “It’s not fair.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“You don’t get to do that,” you lashed with a raised voice, your anger masking the vulnerability beneath.

“It’s driving me insane,” he bit back. “I know I screwed up—I know,” he said, like it was something minuscule. Like the mistake was a mere harsh comment in the heat of an argument that he wanted to take back. Certainly not like he broke your trust and left a permanent stain in the fabric of your life that no amount of cleaner could ever remove.

“You cheated on me, Jake. And I had to fucking watch.”

“I know, and believe me, I’ve regretted that every day.”

It almost sounded like he meant it.

You almost gave in right there. Because he seemed so sure, just as hurt as you, as if he weren’t the one who drove the wedge between you and caused the pain and turmoil. He looked at you with those eyes—the ones you swore to forget in fear of falling victim to them again, so sincere, so loving. Soft and gentle, like a part of him still cared.

“I finally started to move on,” you told him, stifling the urge to step into his embrace, his familiar warmth that you’d missed for months on end. “I’ve been going on dates. A few of them were with this guy that I actually like. I’ve actually been feeling better, and now…Now you have the nerve to just show up and ruin everything I’ve worked for.” You felt the wound in your heart slowly reopen, the stitches you worked so hard to tighten broken in nearly an instant.

“You ruined us,” you whispered. “Not me.”

“You’re all I think about,” he replied, like the things you were saying weren’t even true. Like he wasn’t even listening, and you were only trying to convince yourself that you’d moved on. He heard it in your voice; how you were grasping onto the only remnants of resistance you had left. And it was so obvious to him. You wore your heart on your sleeve.

“Jake, stop, just—stop.”

“Please.”

He sounded desperate. And it killed you. To hear him like this and wonder if he did regret what happened. If he could change the way you wanted him to. If you were to take him back, would he make the same mistakes, or would he finally be the loyal man you once believed him to be?

“I can’t.”

His foot stepped past the threshold and into the house, onto the cold hardwood in the entryway that he had stood in so many times. Greeted you with the comfort of his embrace after a long day of work. Whispered the softest of hellos and praises as he kissed you with a sweetness no man had ever graced your lips with before. Loved you like no one else did in the sanctuary of the place you called home together.

The same place where he pleaded with you to stay, to forgive his sins and let him try to make up for what he knew you’d already lost.

“Please,” he echoed so quietly that you almost didn’t hear as he slowly lifted a hand and caressed your cheek with a tenderness your body was too quick to recognize.

You wanted to shove him away, but you couldn’t. In the end, no matter how much strength you could muster, how many things you could throw at him, how many times you could tell yourself again and again that what he did was irreversible, it wasn’t enough. You still loved him.

When he finally kissed you, it said all of the things he wished he could have before. The apologies he desperately wanted to give, wrapped with care and presented in the softness of his caress, how gently his lips brushed against yours, but not asking for more. Merely existing with you as he relished the feeling after so long, after breaking what you built together. He stepped forward, past the final barrier between the heartbreak of the past and whatever the future held inside.

Your house welcomed him like an old friend.

The rain fell harder outside, and his hair was still damp, his skin still cold to the touch. But inside, it was warm, familiar, tainted still with the memories that lingered in every corner of every room. Though you didn’t want to admit it, you felt a release with his kiss. Your body sighed. For the first time in months, you were able to relax. Was it under unfortunate circumstances? Of course, but now, it didn’t seem like you wanted to remember what he put you through, what he caused. You wanted to forget. And he would let you.

You allowed him to deepen the kiss. Invited him in as you wrapped your arms around his neck and craned your head further. Parted your lips and let him take the wheel like he always had, but not without your permission. He knew that if he overstepped for even a moment, it would be truly over.

Every step further inside was another mistake, another reminder that he shouldn’t have been there. But the simple fact was that Jake couldn’t live another day without you. Perhaps, as wrongful as it was to say, the infidelity gave him clarity. Perhaps he was a terrible person. And maybe you were a little fucked up, too.

Jake slid his hands beneath your thighs and lifted you with the ease of holding you so many times in the past, just like now. You wrapped your legs around his waist without thinking and let him carry you through the living room, down the hall, and into the room you once shared. The room that stored memories of every night you spent with him, but amongst them sat the worst—him with a woman that wasn’t you. A chill shot through your body as if it were trying to warn you, but you ignored it in weakness.

He placed you down on your back and knelt between your legs, waiting until you parted them to lean forward and hover just above your face. His eyes took in the sight of you beneath him, a mixture of unguardedness and desperation etched into your face. He leaned down and kissed you more gently, his touch reverent as his fingers dragged along your sides, refamiliarizing himself with you.

His fingers curled into the hem of your top and pulled it up. You didn’t think twice about lifting your arms to let him take it off. Countless times, he had seen you just like this, half-bare and waiting for him, but this time was infinitely different. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want him; you needed him.

“I missed you,” he purred as his hand slipped between your thighs, and he shoved two fingers into you without a hint of a struggle. The pillow braced your head as it fell back against the silk fabric, and your body instinctively arched into him.

“I hate you,” you rasped in his ear, but the words lacked conviction, and they bordered on a moan.

“I know.”

As he moved his fingers in a familiar dance, you pressed further into him. It felt like a promise, like his every move was a testament to the love he still felt for you, no matter how rich it seemed coming from him. He worked with such precision and determination that you knew there was truth to his words. He would show you how he felt, how his regret burned a hole through his heart, how it felt like torment to keep breathing if not alongside you, as if he weren’t the reason for it.

His fingers pushed as deep as your body would allow, brushing along the walls that surrounded them, pulling noises from your throat that he’d longed to hear for so many painful days. So much time to make up for, and not enough time to do it.

“Jake,” you half-whispered into the air, his name so foreign on your tongue after the months of separation, and the room absorbed his name like it was meant to stay. Like it wasn’t whole without him, and you feared the same about yourself. You were so scared of letting him back in, but hadn’t you already gone too far?

Jake only smiled, thumb brushing over your clit, applying pressure as if to say that he was more, so much more than any other guy life tried to toss in your direction. He knew how you worked, what made you melt deeper into his touch, what pried the beautiful clusters of noises from your lips, and exactly what he needed to do for you to fall apart in his arms like you were now, trembling in his grasp as he peppered kisses down the column of your neck. As he worshipped every inch of the body that was permanently engraved into his memory.

When his lips met yours again, it wasn’t sweet like the others. It was hungry and messy, all tongue and teeth as his fingers, slick and soaked in cum, caressed your waist. You whimpered into his mouth, savoring the taste you wanted so badly to forget, but never could.

Your remaining clothes were shed in a matter of minutes, careful yet quick, fueled by desperation. There were no longer any barriers to separate you from him.

Your palms skated along his golden skin, and, against your will, you thought of her again. How she got to do this, to see him like this in your bed. But your thoughts, wandering and frantic, were stunted by him sliding inside of you, forcing you to grip him tighter. After the time that passed, you had to re-adjust to him again. You’d been abstinent with every date you tried to go on, and even if you hadn’t, none of them would’ve held a candle. Not to the size, and surely not to anything else. The way Jake held you, felt inside you, knew your body better than anyone else—it was incomparable.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized in your ear with a whisper as his hips drove into yours rhythmically, setting a pace he knew you could handle.

“Was she worth it?” you asked on impulse.

“No,” he simply answered and reached for your hand, entwining his fingers with yours. “Wasn’t worth losing you,” he paused to breathe when you rolled your hips against his and gasped for air. “Wasn’t you. Didn’t feel like this.”

The sting of tears in your eyes came back against your wishes. The ones you thought you could suppress in fear of showing your weakness.

He never made you feel objectified when you were together, but now, you almost did, because something changed when he broke your trust. You didn’t want to believe that he’d changed, that he regretted what he did. You didn’t want to be so weak as to take him back like this, so soon and with no forethought. You wanted to move on, and you almost had.

You realized then—as he lifted your knee and kissed you until you couldn’t breathe—that you were still the same. No matter how much time passed or how far apart you’d grow, a part of you would always belong to him. It would always outweigh the rational part of you, just like it did now. And you hated it. For all the pain he caused, Jake was still your everything.

“I love you,” you confessed like it was a vow, a promise to him that you would never break as your tears flowed freely. “I’ll never not love you.”

He smiled widely against your lips, held you tighter, and kissed you harder, his every move more calculated than the last as he sank deeper. His kiss turned sloppy—tongue messily forcing itself past your lips, the sound obscene and meshing with the slick ones from each thrust—as he pulled back and finally hit your G-spot. Brushed harshly against it and angled his hips just right for his tip, swollen and aching, to press into it with every thrust.

Your body couldn’t allocate enough strength to uphold your composure, and you grasped onto him as the sobs bubbled to the surface and finally broke through your reserve. The tears were wet as they cascaded down your cheeks, pushed out by the combination of pleasure and sadness brewing inside of you. You’d never felt so humiliated in your life, and it almost seemed that he liked it. That he wanted you to melt for him the way you always did, no matter how wrong or toxic it was.

“I love you, too, baby,” he all but grunted in response, fueled by the sensation of your pussy fluttering around him and the sweet, gratifying noises that spilled from your lips. It sounded so sure, so sincere, but it was hard to believe, given the half-dazed and blissful state he was in, almost like a high. When it was all he had to say to keep you under him—his grasp—like this.

As the pressure on the spot remained constant, you whimpered into his ear, and your cheeks became stained with the aftermath of salty tears, some droplets still glistening in the dim moonlight that streamed in from your window. Jake lifted his head and kissed them away with a newfound tenderness, a side of him you hadn’t seen since long before you split, since you were happy. Since before he committed the one offense he swore to never take part in, and you truly believed he wouldn’t.

Perhaps you were still naive, after all.

“Fuck,” you moaned as another tear rolled down your cheek, scolding yourself again for giving him another shred of your voice. “Just—just like that. Please.”

You wanted to push him away and tell him to leave, but he was so good, so perfect when he fucked you. And you would have been lying if you’d said that you didn’t miss the nights you often spent tangled up in one another in the confines and shelter of the place he used to call home. The place that was missing its second inhabitant and housing the same emptiness that plagued your body. You missed falling asleep in his arms like it was the safest place in the world. You missed the domesticity of waking up beside him in the morning as sunlight streamed through the blinds to illuminate his face, how he would smile at you and speak to you in the softest voice. You missed it all.

You pulled back to look him in the eye with a face that displayed every ounce of pain you held back for the last thirteen months. His pace remained stable, the pressure increasing with every deep, intentional stroke of his cock, and it forced another brutal string of sobs from your throat, each one more pained and agonizing than the last from the wrenching heartache of knowing there was a time when you thought he returned your love just as purely.

You remembered the prospect of that shattering in your face as you watched him give to another woman what he promised would only ever be yours. How it felt to have your heart torn apart in a matter of seconds without the ability to stop it. How the hurt and betrayal coursed through you with no relent. How the mere sight branded itself on your brain as a constant, painful reminder.

His gaze met yours, and you saw a flicker of the man you once knew behind his eyes. They looked back at you, broken and brimming with tears of their own that turned you inside out. He couldn’t feel the regret, couldn’t let his turmoil seep through the cracks, and just let you see. He could never begin to understand the grief that you experienced, the humiliation that still taunted you in every waking moment, from the cold, empty state of the apartment, to the endless cycle of memories popping into your mind no matter where you were, because Jake was everywhere, all at once, but never beside you.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again, and you tried to ignore it for the sake of your heart. He kissed more of your tears away as his own dripped onto your cheeks, your neck, and whatever skin was close enough to catch them. “I’m so sorry.”

You only cried harder, too weak to respond in the crossfire of the orgasm that finally fought its way to the surface and the immense pain in your chest, right where your heart sat, as if someone were trying to rip it straight out with their bare hands. Perhaps that would’ve hurt less.

Jake lifted a hand to lace his fingers with yours, and he kissed you so softly that it felt almost like the ghost of one. It had suddenly become so intimate, a dance of love and passion and betrayal; his gentle kiss and the holding of your hand in his. His hips rolling into yours to create the friction your body ached for, and his tears mixing with yours on your cheeks as you cried, flushed and too pale to be normal. But none of this was normal.

You finally came with a soft whimper that was barely audible, but exemplified more than any scream or moan could say. Your nails dug crescent-shaped crevices into the back of his hand and his shoulder blades, and he never stopped kissing you, not even for a fleeting moment. He’d yearned to touch you again for so long, and he would have been damned to take advantage of what could have been his last night in this apartment, this room, this bed, and beside you.

You let a content moan slip past your lips as the warmth of him spilled inside of you, his thighs and your sheets unsurprisingly slick as the mixed release dripped and pooled between you, a filthy display of your weakness to him. Even after you reached that climax together, came down with him in a messy, unorganized scene, he moved. Only slightly, only to prolong the sensations and the pleasure, to distract from the mental turmoil.

“I love you,” you promised to him again, sounding more sure of the three words than ever, because you did love him. You always loved him, even through the horror and disrespect, even through the torture of loneliness, and even through the moment of weakness that turned into a confession of a love that bloomed again in your heart like the first flower of spring, and the time away was only a cold winter, a pause, a period of reflection, and nothing more. 

Through everything—the hole in your heart and the endless stream of tears that still fell from your eyes—one thing remained constant: you loved Jake.

“It hurts to love you like this,” you whispered with nothing left to lose, your body barely sparing enough breath. “It hurts so bad.”

His lips ghosted over your temple, and he closed his eyes, taking a breath that was too long to be meaningless. “Then don’t let it.”

“I can’t.”

He pulled back to look at you and brushed a few stray hairs out of your face, his eyes scanning back and forth. “Let me love you again,” he said as if it were the easiest thing in the world to ask of you. “Please.”

You searched his eyes for insincerity, and to your dismay, there was none. For all that Jake had caused with his actions, whether they were reckless or not, regret was his strongest emotion, not just tonight, but every night since the one that ended it all.

“And I promise, I will never take it for granted again.”

Your eyes fluttered as a wave of anxiety flowed through your body, nearly shivering as the crisp air breezed into the room. The stars that you wished upon every day of the last thirteen months, the nights you prayed and begged, the days you forced yourself to keep living, all came back to you. This, for all intents and purposes, was the final decision. It was the one thing you desired for days on end, but you were scared. Scared of being hurt again, and terrified that you would never recover if history were to repeat itself. In your time away from him, you somehow fell harder for Jake, or at least, for the version of him that you fell in love with, and the one that presented itself before you now, in this moment.

“I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t.”

A beat passed. You breathed carefully, swallowed gently, and thought. Did nothing but think and consider and stare at the face of the man you once wanted to marry, who looked back at you like you were his everything, like everything he once told you wasn’t all a lie.

Perhaps your time apart allowed your love to mature and grow into something meaningful. Something grounding, something that could withstand the pain and last a lifetime. Something that wouldn’t end like last time. Jake had grown, and so had you. Maybe—if tonight were anything to go by—this would be eternal, like you always dreamed it would be. Or maybe it was doomed to fail again, and this was a mere moment of weakness and pent-up feelings, a flame too dangerous to be re-lit.

But now, after desperately wishing for this very moment, you couldn’t let him slip through the cracks again. Jake had changed.

And for that reason, you would try.

“Okay,” you nodded, and he smiled like he’d just won the lottery.

He slotted his lips with yours, the kiss tender and filled with love and happiness and everything unsaid, every doubt he had, every action he wished he could take back. You felt his lips stretch into a smile and giggled softly as he kissed along your cheeks to collect every shed tear.

“It hasn’t been the same here without you,” you told him honestly. “Nothing here matters without you.”

He finally pulled out and lay beside you, scooping you into his arms, and held your head securely atop his chest as you curled into his side. It felt normal, familiar, safe, like it always did with him.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized again, and he took your hand in his, resting the two gently beside your head and just above where his heart sat, full and warm again. “You never deserved any of that. I don’t deserve this. I…I promise, I will never hurt you like that again.”

“I believe you,” you whispered and pressed a kiss to his chest.

“I love you.”

You smiled wider than you ever had. Your heart soared at the words, so simple and easy to dilute, but when they came from him, here, now, they had never sounded so genuine.

“I love you, too, Jake,” you echoed back. “Always.”

Maybe the wound wasn’t so deep, after all.

how i missed you, my love...

And Jake had learned to keep his head down, stay polite, and pretend he didn’t notice the lipstick on receipts or the phone numbers scrawled in sharpie on napkins.

After all, he believed in love at first sight.

He believed in the kind of love that came with soft music playing in the background, violins swelling, maybe wedding bells in the distance. Cheesy? Absolutely. But he held onto it like gospel. Because when he met her, he’d know. He’d hear the music, feel it in his chest. And once he found her — his person, his other half — he’d give her everything. No hesitation. He’d learn all her favorite songs, bring her flowers just because, rub her feet after long days. He’d do anything to make her happy. He’d put a ring on her finger so fast it would make her head spin.

So, yeah. Jake had a romantic streak.

He was a weak man — even weaker when it came to pretty girls. The type who blushed if you smiled at him too long, who held doors open even if his arms were full, who got flustered when someone complimented his hair.

Which made it all too easy for him to fall weak for you.

He still remembered the first night you stepped into the restaurant — late, long past midnight, when most of the staff had already clocked out. He was crouched near one of the booths, sweeping up broken glass a group of drunk guys had knocked over earlier. The night had been a mess, his knees ached, and his hands smelled like dish soap.

The soft pling of the doorbell barely registered, but the sharp click of heels and a burst of laughter over the low hum of jazz made his head turn.

And then he saw you.

You wore a short, glittery dress that shimmered with every step you took. Your legs bare, heels high, and your makeup flawless — dark lashes, red lips, cheeks kissed with highlighter that caught the light like magic. Your hair was wild and glittery too, a little messy in a way that looked intentional. You were giggling at something on your phone, voice sweet and careless, like you had the whole night in your hands.

Two girls trailed in behind you, dressed similarly — short skirts, rhinestones, perfume thick in the air — talking fast and loud about… tips?

“Did you see that guy in the second row? Told me he was a lawyer and gave me a hundred just to blow a kiss.”

“He ate it up. I swear, some of them would hand over their whole paycheck if you stepped on them.”

Jake blinked.

Wait.

Were you… dancers?

You slid into a booth near the back, not even glancing his way, still smiling at your phone while one of the girls flagged down a server. You looked like sin wrapped in glitter, like you belonged somewhere far flashier than this half-forgotten late-night diner with a flickering neon sign and sticky menus.

Jake, still on the floor with the broom in his hand and glass in a dustpan, stared too long. And in that exact moment, something in his chest shifted.

Not soft violins.

Not wedding bells.

Just heat — low and heavy, curling under his ribs like smoke.

It wasn’t romantic. It was instinctual. Instant. That aching kind of pull where his hands suddenly felt too big, his mouth too dry, and he couldn’t look away no matter how much he told himself to get back to sweeping.

You didn’t even know he was there.

You were laughing at something one of the girls said, tossing your head back like you’d done it a thousand times, like the world had never made you wait for anything. There was a confidence in the way you moved, a slow, unbothered ease that turned heads without trying. Like you knew eyes were on you, and you didn’t just allow it — but expected it.

Jake swallowed hard and tried to drag his gaze away, but it was like trying to stop watching a fire. A beautiful, burning, glitter-covered fire.

He told himself he wasn’t staring. Just… observing. Noticing.

Noticing the curve of your lips when you smirked. The way your fingers tapped the table to the rhythm of the jazz overhead. The shimmer of your skin where the light hit your collarbones.

He was doomed.

You hadn’t said a single word to him. Barely looked in his direction. But Jake was already caught — throat tight, heart thudding, completely at the mercy of a woman who didn’t even know his name.

Jake hadn’t moved from behind the bar in at least ten minutes.

He was supposed to be restocking glassware. Maybe wiping down the surface. Instead, he was leaning just slightly forward, arms on the counter, eyes fixed on the booth in the back like it held the secrets of the universe.

You were laughing again, head tossed back slightly, and one of the servers — Haeun, who normally didn’t look twice at anyone under six figures — was practically glowing under your attention. Your friend had ordered some ridiculous cocktail with three different liquors and a sugar rim, and the bartender hadn’t even blinked before getting to work, whistling as he filled the glass with extra flair.

Jake had never seen the restaurant like this, like the staff was suddenly working under a spell. Plates came out of the kitchen that looked straight out of a five-star dining spread. Nothing was undercooked. Nothing was cold. It was like the chefs in the back knew you were there.

And the servers? They weren’t just polite — they were smitten. Like you and your friends weren’t just customers, but goddesses gracing their temple. Every tiny drink request, every little laugh or teasing complaint, was met with eager smiles and fast hands.

Jake stood there behind the bar, still as a statue, pretending to wipe the counter that was already spotless.

He wasn’t even holding a rag.

His heart would jump every time your eyes swept the room, and he ducked slightly, like you might see right through him. Like the heat curling low in his stomach might somehow show on his face.

He was still trying to look busy — fingers awkwardly adjusting straws that didn’t need adjusting — when Beomgyu breezed by to grab a printed check off the bar top. Beomgyu, a server with too many bracelets and a constant smirk, barely glanced at him until Jake finally found his voice.

“Hey, uh—” Jake cleared his throat. “Who… who are they?”

Beomgyu paused, blinked at him like he was joking, then let out a low whistle. “Oh, right. You’re new,” he said with a knowing grin, eyes flicking back toward your booth. "They're Burlesque dancers. They work the club two blocks over. Real popular. Real talented. Especially her.” He nodded toward you. “She’s the main act. Comes in after her sets sometimes. Tips good, smells expensive, and gets whatever she wants.”

Jake looked back at you, just in time to see you steal a cherry from your friend’s drink and pop it into your mouth, slow and playful, like the whole room was yours to play with.

Beomgyu clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. “Careful, man,” he said. “She’s got that kind of face people ruin their lives over.”

Jake didn’t answer.

Because he already knew.

He was absolutely fucked.

Jake didn’t stop watching as Beomgyu finally made his way over to your table with the check, casually tossing a folded receipt onto the edge of the booth like it was no big deal. You didn’t even blink. One of your friends glanced at the total, nodded, and without hesitation, you reached into your purse.

What came out was a mess of crumpled bills, tips collected from a night that clearly paid well. Cash — fifties, hundreds, even a few thousands— which you started sorting with practiced ease, manicured fingers gliding across the paper like it was nothing.

Jake watched as you smoothed out a fifty, then another, then took the whole stack and slipped it into Beomgyu’s hand.

No — not hand. You pressed it directly against his chest, right over his nametag, fingers splayed just enough to be suggestive. Beomgyu grinned like he’d just won a goddamn lottery ticket, and you? You winked at him like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t just knocked the air out of Jake’s lungs from across the room.

“Thanks for the service, baby,” you purred. "You’ve got a sweet face. Don’t waste it on minimum wage."

Beomgyu laughed, muttered something back — probably shameless, because that’s who he was — and you were already standing, adjusting your dress with a flick of your wrist. One last flip of your hair, one last sparkle of glitter under the overhead lights, and then the door chimed again.

Jake stood there, frozen behind the bar, as the door closed behind you.

Gone. Just like that.

His fists clenched slightly on the countertop, knuckles white.

It wasn’t anger, not really. Not even resentment. It was something hotter and smaller — seething, yeah, maybe. Tight in his chest. Watching you flirt with Beomgyu so easily made something twist in his stomach. Something raw and jealous and embarrassingly irrational.

Because why wouldn’t you flirt with someone like Beomgyu?

He was tall, charming, and always knew what to say. Confident in a way Jake had never even pretended to be. Jake wasn’t that. He was just… a guy who wiped tables and kept his head down.

The second you were gone, the door still swinging behind you, the scent of your perfume somehow still lingering in the air, he turned to Beomgyu, voice low and throat tight. “What’s the name of the club?”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, smirking like he knew exactly what was happening. “You serious?”

Jake just stared at him.

Beomgyu let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Velvet Room,” he said, slapping a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, lover boy.”

By the time he got home, he was a man possessed.

Velvet Room. Two words. That’s all it took.

His fingers hovered over the search bar for maybe half a second before he hit enter, and the first result had him nearly choking on his own breath. There you were — front and center on the homepage of the club’s website, captured mid-performance under violet lighting, wearing what could generously be described as a dress.

Jake stared.

Was that mesh? Lace? Glitter? Was that— were those even real straps or just a suggestion of fabric pretending to hold everything in place?

He sat back, breath caught in his throat, hand halfway to his face like shielding his eyes might somehow undo the image now seared into his brain.

Your leg was extended, perfectly posed in a pair of heels that looked like they cost more than his rent. One gloved hand wrapped around the velvet curtain at the edge of the stage, the other trailing down your thigh. Your lips were painted a deeper red than he remembered, parted just enough to look obscene, and your eyes — even through a screen — made him feel like he’d been caught staring.

He scrolled.

And scrolled.

And scrolled.

There were promo shots. Performance clips. Flyers with your name in looping, stylized letters — Miss Honey, Velvet Queen, The Girl With the Diamond Smile. He didn’t know which was your real stage name, but it didn’t matter. It was you. All of it.

Jake didn’t realize how close he was to his screen until the tip of his nose nearly bumped it.

He was red. Full-body, secondhand-embarrassment, “am I even allowed to be looking at this?” red. His ears burned. His throat was dry. His stomach twisted in a way he absolutely couldn’t justify with respectful appreciation.

Because it wasn’t just the outfits — or lack thereof. It was the confidence. The way you moved on stage like you knew exactly what people wanted and didn’t mind making them beg for it. The way you looked at the camera like you were daring someone — anyone — to try and touch you. And the worst part?

Jake wasn’t thinking about just touching you.

He was thinking about kneeling.

He slammed his laptop shut so fast it rattled the table.

And then just… sat there. In silence. Staring at the computer, blinking like it had personally ruined his life.

Which, to be fair, it kind of had.

So what if he took later shifts now?

Sleep could wait.

What couldn’t wait was the aching need crawling under his skin, the itch he couldn’t scratch, the relentless pull in his chest every time he thought about you, which was all the time now. Every shift, every night, every time the door chimed and he looked up just a little too fast.

That’s why he was currently half-hidden behind the bar, pretending to inventory the liquor shelf while he scrolled through your profile — yes, your public social media. It hadn’t taken him long to find. The name was tagged on the club’s official page. From there, he was doomed.

He followed you without thinking. Didn’t even have time to feel shame about it. 

Now he scrolled like he was studying, like if he stared long enough, he might learn something deeper. Something secret.

You were unreal in every photo. Dripping in glitter, wrapped in satin, biting your lip in mirrors, flashing stage lights and feathers and heels that looked like they belonged in some art museum dedicated to temptation.

And Jake? Jake was practically manifesting you into the restaurant with how hard he was staring.

Right now, his thumb hovered over one particular photo. You, center stage. Lingerie-styled corset, sheer stockings, thigh harnesses. The lights painted your skin in gold. One hand on your hip. The other to your mouth. Eyes locked on the camera like you knew. Like you saw right through the screen and straight into him.

Jake blinked. Swallowed.

You weren’t smiling in the picture. Not really. You just… stared. Bold and unbothered. Like the idea of being worshipped didn’t faze you at all — like it was routine.

And Jake…

God, Jake felt like he’d been caught.

His jaw was tight. His ears burning. His phone tilted dangerously close to his chest as if someone might see.

The photo had a thousand likes.  

He’d stared at it for fifteen minutes.

He whispered under his breath like a prayer.

“Please come in tonight.”

As if you might hear it. As if the universe might pity him enough to let him see you one more time, maybe just walk through the door, wink, laugh, steal his soul again.

Jake sighed and shifted his stance behind the bar, scrolling to the next photo. And immediately regretted it.

It wasn’t a photo. It was a video.

He hadn’t noticed it before — posted days ago, tucked between glossy snapshots of your legs crossed on a red velvet couch and a mirror selfie with glitter across your chest. The thumbnail alone should’ve warned him: you mid-spin, hair wild, garter catching the stage light like it was made of diamonds.

He tapped it.

The video started with music. Slow, sultry, heavy on the bass. The camera was steady, focused, and clearly taken from the front row. Jake froze as the lights rose on stage, revealing you, center spotlight, in a barely-there set of black lace and straps, a sheer robe dragging behind you like smoke.

You walked forward, hips rolling with every step, one hand running up your thigh before gliding down the front of your corset. Then you smiled — not the kind of smile you gave Beomgyu or the servers. This one was dark, confident, dripping with control.

Jake’s hand clenched tighter around his phone.

You turned, slow, revealing the arch of your back, then looked back over your shoulder right as the music dropped — and the robe fell.

His jaw went slack.

The crowd in the video cheered, but Jake barely heard them. All he could focus on was the way you moved — controlled, sensual, dangerous. Like you weren’t just performing, you were hunting. And the look in your eyes? God, it was a look that didn’t just invite submission — it demanded it.

When you dropped to your knees and slid your hands up your thighs, Jake nearly dropped his phone.

He shifted again, subtly this time, trying to will away the pressure growing beneath his belt. His face burned, redder than ever, like the air itself had thickened around him. The video wasn’t even a full minute long. But it was enough to break him. Enough to ruin the last bit of innocence he had when it came to you. 

He exhaled shakily and locked his phone screen, pressing it face-down on the counter like it might help cool the heat crawling down his spine.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

And when the door chime rang a few minutes later — heels clicking, perfume thick in the air — Jake’s head snapped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

You walked in like a vision, surrounded by a small group of girls who were laughing, glittering, still glowing. But Jake didn’t see them.

He only saw you.

You looked like a swan — no, something worse, something unholy dressed like innocence. All white. Sheer. Feathers lining your arms, trailing behind you like you’d walked through the clouds. Your dress — if it could even be called that — clung to you like it worshipped you. Straps hung artfully off your shoulders, and a slit along your thigh teased just enough to make his throat go dry.

And then you did it.

Right in front of him, without even knowing he was watching.

You reached up and unwrapped the feathery scarf from around your neck, unbothered, like a movie scene designed to kill men too soft for this world. Your fingers brushed against your collarbone, swept across your throat, and Jake had to physically look away.

He turned so fast his hand smacked the edge of the bar, and in a moment of pure desperation, he bit down on his knuckle — hard — eyes squeezed shut.

Because God, he wanted to bite that neck. He wanted to mark it, suck bruises into the skin, feel your fingers tug at his hair while he buried his face there, needy and obedient.

Get it together, he begged himself. She doesn’t even know your name.

He stood frozen, pretending to sort cocktail napkins that didn’t need sorting, praying his face wasn’t as red as it felt. From the corner of his eye, he could still see the shimmer of your dress, the sway of your hips as you moved past.

You were taking your usual booth.

Of course you were.

And now Jake had to survive another night in the same room as you, knowing exactly what your voice sounded like through speakers, knowing how you moved when you danced, and knowing what kind of thoughts that video had unlocked in his brain.

He couldn’t help it.

He glanced up. Just once.

And that’s when it happened.

Your eyes — glittering, lazy, lined in silver — met his.

And you smiled.

Not at the group. Not at the room. Not vaguely in his direction.

At him.

Jake froze. His heart skipped a beat — no, several. His mouth parted just slightly, breath caught in his throat like it was physically stuck.

You smiled like you knew something. Like you’d seen the way his jaw clenched when your fingers brushed your neck. Like you felt the weight of his stare from across the room. And then — oh God — you tilted your head, just a little, the ghost of something teasing tugging at the corner of your mouth.

That did it.

Jake practically bolted.

He spun on his heel so fast he nearly knocked over the stack of cocktail menus. “Break,” he mumbled — to no one in particular — and disappeared through the back hallway, heart pounding in his ears.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind him.

Lock. Click. Silence.

Jake braced both hands on the edge of the sink and leaned forward, jaw tight, eyes wide, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His reflection stared back at him — flushed cheeks, sweaty forehead, pupils way too dilated. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice cracking as he turned on the faucet.

Cold water burst from the tap, and he didn’t hesitate. He cupped it in both hands and splashed his face once, twice — three times — until droplets ran down his neck and soaked the collar of his shirt.

It didn’t help.

You’d smiled at him.

You looked at him.

He wasn’t ready for all that. 

Jake gripped the sink tighter, exhaling slowly, forehead pressed to the cool mirror like it might ground him. His breath fogged the glass. His pulse was still a mess.

Get it together.

He forced himself to straighten up, wiping his dripping face on the inside of his sleeve before slicking his hair back with wet fingers. It didn’t help much, just made him look more disheveled. Like someone who’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

He closed his eyes and groaned, low and frustrated. His fingers gripped the edge of the sink again, knuckles whitening as he leaned his weight onto it.

Think of something else. Anything.

Deadlines. Rent. The freezer in the back that always leaked. That weird stain on the booth cushion he still hadn’t gotten out.

None of it worked.

All he could see behind his eyelids was the glint of glitter on your collarbone. The way your lips parted when you laughed. The way your eyes had lingered when they met his.

He groaned again, quieter this time. Half desperate, half already resigned. 

He was a goner. Utterly, hopelessly, embarrassingly gone.

But he couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. No matter how fast his heart was beating or how red his face still felt. No matter how badly his knees wanted to buckle just thinking about how close you were — right now, probably lounging in that booth like a queen, expecting service.

And what was he doing? Cowering over a sink like a schoolboy who’d seen his first pair of legs.

Jake inhaled sharply and blew it out through his nose, bracing himself like he was about to walk into war. He ran his hands through his hair again, wiped the last of the water off his neck, and gave himself one last pathetic look in the mirror.

“You’re fine,” he whispered, absolutely not believing himself. “You’re fine. It’s just— it’s just a customer.”

A stunning, glittering, lingerie-wearing, dominant-energy customer who had smiled at him like she already owned him—

“Fuck.”

“Knock, knock. Hey, lover boy,” Beomgyu’s voice cut through the door like a blade, followed by two sharp knocks. “If you’re done having your crisis in there, your section’s asking for water — and by your section, I mean her.”

Jake froze.

“She asked for me?”

“Not directly,” Beomgyu said, voice far too smug for Jake’s liking. “But she’s looking around like she’s waiting for someone specific, and your name’s the only one she doesn’t know yet. Don’t keep the goddess waiting.”

Jake blinked at the door.

Oh god. You were waiting.

His stomach flipped. His knees screamed at him to sit down and stay down. But somehow, he reached for the handle. He took one last deep breath, wiped his palms on his apron, and opened the door.

Time to die trying.

Jake stepped out of the bathroom like a man on death row.

The hallway felt longer than usual, like it stretched for miles, dimly lit and echoing with every uneven step of his worn-out sneakers. Beomgyu walked beside him with the smug confidence of someone who’d never been emotionally destroyed by a single smile.

“You got this,” Beomgyu said, clapping a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “She’s just a woman. A very hot, very powerful, very out-of-your-league woman. But still a woman.”

Jake shot him a look that was equal parts shut up and I hate you.

Beomgyu grinned. “C’mon, man. Look at you. Fluffy hair, nervous energy? That’s catnip for women like her.”

Jake muttered something incoherent, trying to will his legs to stop shaking as they reached the end of the hallway. His hand caught the edge of the bar for balance, not dramatically, but enough that Beomgyu gave him a pitying glance.

“You sure you’re not gonna pass out?”

“I hate this,” Jake whispered.

“You love this,” Beomgyu replied. “Now go before she thinks you’re ghosting her.”

Jake exhaled through his nose and turned toward your booth.

And there you were.

Like something out of a fever dream he didn’t know he’d had until now.

You were leaned back against the booth’s velvet seat, one leg crossed over the other, the feathery white wrap now draped loosely over your shoulders. The slit in your dress exposed a length of bare thigh that made Jake forget how walking worked for a second.

But what really did him in was what you were doing.

You were touching up your lipstick.

Right there. In front of him.

Compact mirror tilted lazily in one hand, your other lifting the stick of deep red to your already perfect lips, dragging it slowly over your bottom lip with practiced ease. Like this was routine. Like you had no idea there was a boy across the room watching you like his soul depended on it.

Your eyes flicked up — not to the mirror, but past it.

To him.

Jake stopped.

He just— stopped walking.

Right in the middle of the floor, like a deer in headlights, legs suddenly disconnected from his brain.

Your lips curved up, slowly, as you pressed them together once, blotting, then slid your compact shut with a soft click.

He watched your mouth like it was dangerous. Like it could ruin him. Like it already had.

Jake didn’t move. Couldn’t. His feet were glued to the floor, breath caught in his throat, nerves buzzing like static. It took Beomgyu looping an arm through his and physically tugging him toward your table to get his legs working again. “C’mon, Romeo,” he whispered with a smirk. “Let’s go meet the queen.”

Jake stumbled the first step, then followed, limbs stiff and awkward like someone just booted him into real-time.

You and your friends turned as they approached. The laughter faded just enough to make room for something quieter. Curiosity. Attention.

Everyone was looking at him now.

Jake felt like he was on a stage without knowing his lines.

Beomgyu cleared his throat casually as he reached your table. “Ladies. Hope everything’s been good so far.”

You hummed, smiling, “Perfect as always, sugar.” Your eyes were locked on Jake though, and he felt it all the way down to his knees. “And who,” you asked, voice velvet-smooth, “is this pretty boy?”

Jake blinked.

Opened his mouth.

And made a sound.

It wasn’t a word. It wasn’t even a full syllable. Just a soft, little “nn—” that barely escaped his throat before sheer panic clamped it shut.

Beomgyu, bless him—or curse him, depending on how Jake wanted to remember this night, laughed under his breath and patted Jake’s back like he was introducing a skittish puppy.

“This is Jake,” he said. “Busboy. Rising server. Good with his hands, terrible with his words.”

The table melted.

“Oooh, Jake,” one of your friends purred. “He’s adorable.”

“Look at those cheeks. Baby, are you blushing already?”

“I’d kill to have you in the front row of my show,” someone whispered, low enough to send a chill down Jake’s spine.

Jake felt like the ground might open up and swallow him whole. That would be fine. That would be merciful.

But then you leaned forward, elbow on the table, chin resting on your palm as your eyes dragged down his form and back up again—slow, unhurried, hungry.

“Mm,” you murmured. “He is pretty.”

And that—that—was what finally broke the spell.

Jake’s mouth opened. Words came out. He didn’t even register what they were at first, just that his brain kicked into gear and his voice followed like a reflex.

“Uh—hi. I mean. Hello. Welcome in. I mean you’ve already been welcomed but—hi. Again.”

A beat of silence.

Then the table exploded with laughter. Not mocking — not cruel — just loud, playful, indulgent. The kind of laughter that rolled over him like warm water and made his ears turn bright red.

Jake’s eyes darted to the floor, then to the table, then to anything that wasn’t you, but you were all he could feel — your presence like gravity, pulling his attention back to you with no resistance.

And when he did look at you, you were already staring.

Head still resting on your palm, lips curled in amusement, lashes heavy as you dragged your gaze up and down him again like you had all the time in the world.

“Wow,” you murmured, smiling lazily, “you really are precious.”

Jake’s mouth opened again—no sound this time. Just a blink. Like his brain had skipped a step.

One of your friends leaned into the table, elbowing you lightly. “Stop it. He’s gonna melt.”

“I think he already is,” another whispered, loud enough for Jake to hear.

You tilted your head, eyes still locked on him. “Tell me, Jake. Are you always this shy around pretty girls, or is it just me?”

Jake blinked twice. “Uhh—”

You smirked. “Careful. That wasn’t a rhetorical question.”

Beomgyu was grinning now, clearly having the time of his life.

Jake, meanwhile, felt like he was holding onto his last shred of sanity by a thread. He knew he was blushing. He could feel the heat crawling all the way to his ears, down his neck, probably staining his soul at this point.

But somehow, somehow, he managed a sentence.

“Just you,” he muttered, eyes flicking to yours before dropping again. “Definitely just you.”

You blinked. Then you laughed — soft and warm, like approval wrapped in silk.

“Good answer, pretty boy.”

Jake felt that one in his spine.

“So, Jake,” one of them cooed, leaning forward with her chin in her hand, “do all the busboys look like that here, or are you just special?”

Another giggled, “He looks like he still says ‘yes ma’am’ and means it.”

Jake just laughed — a little awkward — the kind of sound that came out high and breathy, but real. He wasn’t used to this much attention, not from girls who looked like they stepped off magazine covers, and definitely not from you, sitting at the head of the booth like a queen, swirling your straw in your drink like you had nowhere else to be.

Every time one of your friends tossed a flirt his way, Jake took it like a champ. Smiling, blushing, chuckling along.

But you?

Every time you slipped in with something — a sly comment, a low purr of his name, a deliberate glance — his whole demeanor changed.

His spine would straighten, like he forgot how to breathe.

His throat would bob, an audible gulp escaping before he even realized it.

Or worse — he’d try to respond. Pathetically.

You’d say something like, “If you keep looking at me like that, Jake, I might start thinking you're in love,” and he’d mumble something like—

“Um. I mean. I… wouldn’t blame me?”

And that killed.

Your lips twitched. Your eyes lit up.

You ate it up.

Because it was real. Honest. No clever deflection, no fake confidence. Just flustered Jake trying his best to keep his head above water while you circled like a swan with teeth.

Eventually, the table started settling into more casual conversation — well, as casual as it could get with feathers, legs, and flirtation still lingering in the air. Beomgyu, still smirking, finally spoke up.

“You ready to order, ladies?”

Jake jolted back to life.

“Y-Yeah, I’ve got it—” he said, already pulling out his tablet, fingers practically flying across the screen before anyone had finished a sentence.

“I’ll get the grilled shrimp plate,” one of the girls said.

Jake nodded, already typing.

“Salmon for me, extra lemon,” another chimed in.

“Three side sauces,” the third added.

Jake didn’t even blink. “Got it.”

You waited until last, of course.

“I’ll have the steak,” you said, dragging the word out like it was something indecent. “Medium rare.”

He nodded, eyes glued to the screen. “Y-Yes. Medium rare.”

“With the roasted garlic butter.”

“Yes.”

“And the mashed potatoes. Creamy.”

“Absolutely.”

You leaned in just slightly, resting your elbow on the table again. “You taking all this down, pretty boy?”

Jake nodded without thinking. “I’d remember your order even if I forgot my own name.”

Silence.

Then your smile curled—so slow, so satisfied. Like you’d just confirmed something you already suspected. Like watching him unravel was the most delicious part of your night.

You leaned in, your voice a soft whisper meant only for him.

“You’re fun.”

Two words. Just that.

But they wrecked him.

Jake pressed “send” on the order like it was a lifeline, barely managing to keep his hands steady. His grip on the tablet slipped for a second, fingers fumbling before catching it midair, and his face went scarlet again.

Beomgyu let out a quiet chuckle beside him — the sound of a man watching a friend fight for his life in real-time.

“Alright,” he said smoothly, stepping into the space between you and Jake like a shield. “While my boy recovers from cardiac arrest, what did you girls perform tonight?”

The attention shifted like a tide — just enough for Jake to breathe again.

One of your friends perked up, already sipping on her cocktail. “We did the 2000s set tonight. Lots of sparkles and short skirts.”

The others chimed in with giggles and exaggerated dance moves, playfully miming bits of their act. Jake stood there, listening with wide eyes, the edge of your whisper still ringing in his ears like an echo he couldn’t shake.

You hadn't looked away from him, though.

While your friends chatted with Beomgyu about dance sets and heel catches and who almost fell off the stage (again), your eyes stayed on Jake — heavy-lidded, curious, a touch amused.

He could feel it. That heat crawling across his skin again. That weight of being seen.

Jake tried not to look like he was malfunctioning on the spot. Instead, he fiddled with the cheap chain around his neck — suddenly the most fascinating object in the universe — tracing the links like he hadn’t worn the thing every day for the past two years.

Beomgyu, of course, was thriving. 

“So,” he said, glancing between you and your girls, “you all done for the night, or…?”

One of the dancers groaned dramatically. “I wish. We’ve got another show in a few hours.. The crowd gets rowdier the later it gets.”

“Ugh, the late ones are always handsy,” another chimed in. “Gotta dodge hands while balancing on six-inch heels. Love that for us.”

Then someone else — maybe the one with the glossy pink lipstick and the barely-there top — turned to Beomgyu and Jake with a mischievous grin.

“You boys should come. Front row, if you’re lucky.”

Beomgyu, already sliding into flirt mode, leaned on the table. “I am feeling lucky tonight.”

Jake, meanwhile, still hadn’t looked up, eyes fixed on the floor like it had the answers to life’s hardest questions. His brain was a blur of she’s looking at me she’s still looking at me what does front row mean is that a metaphor oh god is she still—

And then you spoke.

“I’ll give you both front row seats,” you said, voice slow, deliberate. “Special treat. You’ve been such good boys tonight.”

Jake’s breath caught.

Beomgyu, of course, jumped on it. “Say less. I’ll be there with bells on.”

And then — like a spotlight — all eyes turned to Jake.

The table went quiet again.

Waiting. Watching.

Your eyes, especially, felt like they were holding him in place.

Jake finally lifted his head, slowly. He glanced at you. Just one look.

You were leaning in again, eyes half-lidded, mouth tilted in that knowing smile, like you already had your answer but wanted to hear him say it anyway.

And Jake? He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But his head dipped into a slow, hesitant nod — almost trance-like. 

Like his body responded before his brain could catch up.

A few of the girls giggled softly, nudging each other like they’d just witnessed something far more interesting than dessert. Beomgyu gave Jake a smug sideways glance, clearly resisting the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

But you? You didn’t laugh.

You just smiled.

Soft, sure, and dangerous.

“Good boy,” you murmured — not loudly, not for the table, but just enough for Jake to hear.

And God, did he hear it.

His eyes widened just slightly, and his jaw clenched like he was trying to physically stop whatever reaction you’d just triggered from showing on his face. He looked like he was holding his breath. Like the words hit something in him he hadn’t realized was starving.

You sat back with a satisfied hum, as if sealing a deal neither of you ever actually spoke out loud. “Guess I’ll have to be extra sweet on stage tonight,” you added lazily, eyes still on him. “Since I’ll have such a cute little audience.”

Jake was gone.

Absolutely ruined.

His throat bobbed as he tried to swallow down whatever sound was threatening to escape, some mix between a nervous laugh and a plea for mercy.

Beomgyu chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of the show. “Looks like he just short-circuited.”

Jake finally forced himself to glance down at the tablet again, eyes flicking to the screen even though the order had long since been sent. He cleared his throat, the sound tight, like his vocal cords had turned to dust. “I’ll, uh… I’ll go check on your drinks.” He turned a little too quickly, bumping his hip against the edge of the table, muttering a curse under his breath as he all but fled toward the bar.

And behind him, your laughter followed. Low. Warm. And laced with something that made Jake’s knees feel like jelly.

The rest of the time you and the girls were in the restaurant?

Jake got no chance to recover.

Every time he thought he might escape to the back for a moment to breathe, to panic, to maybe slide down the walk-in freezer wall in shame — Beomgyu got him first.

It was uncanny.

Like the moment Jake’s brain formed the thought of fleeing, Beomgyu’s hand was already on his shoulder, steering him toward your table again.

“Refill this.” “Give them their sides.” “Deliver the dessert with your pretty smile.”

Seriously. How did he know? Was he psychic? Was Jake just that transparent?

And the worst part was you never stopped watching him.

Sometimes subtle — eyes drifting to him over your glass. Other times, blatant — chin in your hand as you stared, clearly enjoying every second he tried not to combust under your gaze.

So, when your group finally paid and left — blowing kisses, slipping bills, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume — Jake nearly collapsed.

Until he remembered what was coming next.

The club.

Your show.

And somehow, he was going.

Clocking out felt like walking to the gallows. Jake signed his name on the sheet with trembling fingers, heart hammering. The streets outside were buzzing, neon lights reflecting off rain-slicked pavement, a couple of drunk girls laughing across the road, someone yelling at a taxi to slow down.

Beomgyu, of course, was as relaxed as ever, twirling his keys on his finger like this was just another Tuesday night.

“You good?” he asked as they walked.

Jake gave him a haunted look. “Do I look good?”

Beomgyu grinned. “You look like a virgin on his way to confession.”

“I feel like I’m about to die.”

“Same thing.”

Jake didn’t even realize how close the club was until they were standing right in front of it.

Five minutes. That’s all it took to reach the entrance of something that looked like it had been pulled straight out of a dream. Or a sin.

The Velvet Room.

The name glowed in a deep red neon script above tall black doors. The front was velvet-roped, the line stretching around the block — high heels, tight dresses, cologne clouding the air. Music thumped faintly through the walls, low and heavy like a pulse. And guarding the door? Three men who looked like they could snap Jake in half with a hug.

Jake swallowed hard, already calculating how quickly he could turn around and run without embarrassing himself.

But Beomgyu strode forward like he owned the place.

“Yo!” he called out, raising a hand.

The tallest bouncer turned — big guy, bald head, tattoos creeping up his neck — and his whole face lit up. “Beomgyu, you bastard,” he laughed, grabbing Beomgyu in a half-hug, half-headlock. “Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Got invited,” Beomgyu said, clapping the guy’s back. “Special seats.”

The bouncer looked at Jake then — a little squint, a glance up and down — and then nodded like he knew exactly what was going on.

“First-timer?” he asked.

Jake blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

The guy chuckled. “Don’t pass out. The lights are bright and the girls are lethal.”

Then, with zero hesitation, the velvet rope unhooked. “Go on in.”

Just like that, Jake was stepping into another universe. He wasn’t sure what he expected — maybe something loud, sweaty, chaotic — but the inside of The Velvet Room felt like stepping into luxery.

The air was thick with perfume and dim light. Everything was bathed in deep reds, soft golds, and rich blacks. Velvet curtains hung from the ceiling like theater drapes. Crystal chandeliers cast a low, warm glow that shimmered against polished floors. Tables were spaced in dark alcoves and shadowed corners, lit only by flickering candles.

The stage was the heart of the room — elevated, dramatic, framed by velvet and spotlight. A thick gold pole gleamed in the center. Heavy music thrummed through the air, slow and bass-heavy, just enough to make your heartbeat sync to it.

Jake stood frozen for a second just inside the entrance, taking it all in. He felt like he should’ve worn something better. Or cologne. Or armor.

Beomgyu, of course, didn’t hesitate, he gave a quick nod to another staff member and turned to Jake with a grin. “C’mon. Front row, like promised.”

Jake followed silently, weaving between already-full tables, every pair of eyes dressed to kill. He didn’t miss the looks he got — mostly from women, some curious, some amused. He had no idea what they saw in him, but he was too distracted to care.

At the front was a low, velvet-wrapped booth right up against the stage, close enough to see the tiny rhinestones embedded in the edge of the platform. 

Jake sat down slowly, like he was afraid he might break something — or worse, that he might already be out of place just for breathing in this space. The plush seat dipped under him, cradling his back, the velvet soft against his palms as he steadied himself.

He was so close. 

Close enough that if someone stepped to the edge of the stage in heels, he’d see every curve of their calf, every shimmer of fabric, every drop of sweat or glitter painted across their skin.

And you were going to be on that stage.

In front of him.

Beomgyu leaned back like he did this every weekend, tossing his arm over the back of the booth, sipping his drink like it wasn’t already thick with tension in the air.

Jake, meanwhile, was fighting for his life.

He wiped his palms on his jeans under the table, his heart a steady, brutal thrum beneath his ribs. He wasn’t sure if he was cold or burning. Maybe both. Probably both.

On the table sat a crystal glass with a cherry-topped drink in it — pink, sweet, totally not his, and he had the sinking feeling it had been sent with intent.

He didn’t touch it. He didn’t dare.

The music began to fade into silence. The lights lowered further, casting everything in deep shadows except the glossy black of the stage.

A murmur ran through the crowd like a spark through gasoline.

And then—

A spotlight.

It hit center stage in a sudden bloom of gold.

And you were there.

Bathed in gold light, center stage, poised, and utterly untouchable.

Jake’s brain short-circuited the moment he registered what you were wearing. Or rather… what you weren’t.

There was no real fabric. No dress. No corset. Just pearls.

Strands of them wrapped delicately around your neck, trailing down your chest in looping drapes that barely covered anything. They twisted around your torso, looping across your waist and hips, and dipped just low enough to be indecent. Some hung loose, swaying with every slow movement you made, catching the spotlight and sparkling like stardust.

Jake couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t blink.

His eyes locked onto you like his life depended on it. Every inch of you glowed. Hair cascading wild and soft over your shoulders, skin kissed by stage light, lips painted a sinful red he’d recognize in a heartbeat, even from across a dim room.

A roll of the hips, a lazy twist of your wrist, a finger gliding down a strand of pearls that sat between your breasts like an arrow. Every step closer to the front of the stage felt choreographed to kill.

Jake didn’t even register the noise of the crowd. The applause. The whistles. The low hum of appreciation from tables all around.

Because to him? It felt like you were dancing just for him. Like the rest of the club had vanished the second your eyes locked onto his again. And they did.

Half-lidded. Heavy. Amused. Like you already knew what kind of mess he was, sitting there, jaw tight, hands clenched in his lap under the table like prayer would save him from this. You ran a hand down your thigh, pearls catching in your fingers, and he swore something in his chest snapped.

Jake didn’t even realize he’d leaned forward until Beomgyu murmured beside him, “Careful, man. You’re drooling.”

Jake barely heard him. He couldn’t even process him. 

Because the lights shifted.

The music kicked in—playful, flirty, the slow tap of high heels and a retro jazz beat, and suddenly you were moving.

Your hips swayed in rhythm, perfectly in time with the twinkle of pearls as they danced across your body. Every twist and roll was pure choreography, confident and magnetic. You didn’t just perform. You owned that stage.

Then the other girls stepped out from the shadows, dressed in matching heels and sleek, stylized lingerie — their faces lit with mischief, feather fans poised like weapons.

Soft pinks. Icy whites. Glitter glinting under the lights.

Feather fans opened wide with practiced grace, fluttering like wings as they framed the stage, surrounding you. The sound of them slicing the air gave Jake goosebumps.

You spun once, playful, letting the pearls swing across your chest— 

And then they dropped.

Gone.

The audience gasped.

Jake nearly choked.

The pearls lay coiled on the stage like the aftermath of something sacred, abandoned. And all that remained was you, completely bare behind those massive white feather fans, held carefully in your hands, one lifted just under your chin, the other draped across your hips.

Your eyes found his again.

And you smirked.

It was hellish. Evil. Gorgeous.

Jake’s entire body tensed.

His hands gripped his jeans, trying to adjust himself without being obvious, which was impossible when he could barely move. Every muscle in his body was strung tight like a live wire, and he didn’t know whether to breathe or beg.

You dipped down low in front of him, moving with the music, fans swishing just enough to reveal the long curve of your thigh. You tilted your head, mouthing along to the lyrics.

“They say I’m a good girl…”

Jake’s heart stopped. 

The song. The attitude. The sheer weaponized femininity. It was over.

You stepped forward again, closer to the edge of the stage — closer to him — and with one flick of your wrist, you fluttered the fan just enough for him to see the ghost of your body behind it.

Then you winked.

Jake gripped the edge of the table so hard it creaked beneath his fingers. His legs were shaking. His face burned. His thoughts? Gone. Just static. Need. Awe.

He was completely helpless.

The song carried on—playful, sultry, teasing—your hips moving in time with the beat, fans twirling just enough to give glimpses, never too much, never quite enough.

And your eyes—God, your eyes—kept coming back to him. Again and again. Pinning him to his seat like he was the only one in the entire room. Like this was all just for him.

Was it? Because it felt like it.

When the final beat hit, you struck your last pose. One fan raised high above your head, the other perfectly angled at your hip, barely covering what needed to be covered.

Your lips parted into a wicked little smile.

And then—

A single wink followed.

Jake’s breath caught like someone had punched him in the chest. He couldn’t have moved if the building caught fire. His pulse thundered in his ears, and his grip on the table didn’t loosen until the stage lights faded and the crowd erupted in wild applause.

The curtains closed. The girls disappeared in a cloud of glitter and heels.

And all Jake could do was sit there.

Staring.

Hands still gripping the table, knuckles white.

Beomgyu let out a low whistle beside him. “Holy shit. That was…” He glanced at Jake and paused. “Dude. Are you breathing?”

Jake didn’t respond.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

He was still gripping the table like it was the only thing tethering him to reality, chest rising and falling with shallow, stunned breaths, eyes locked on the now-empty stage like you might reappear and kill him with a second look.

Beomgyu waved a hand in front of his face. Nothing.

Then—

Smack.

Jake flinched as Beomgyu slapped the back of his shoulder — not hard, but firm enough to jolt him out of his trance.

“Hey, Romeo,” Beomgyu said, leaning in, voice low. “Snap the fuck out of it. You look like you just saw God’s tits.”

Jake blinked rapidly, eyes wide. “I think I did.”

Beomgyu laughed. “Okay, fair. But you can’t die yet. The night’s not over.”

“I can’t take another set.” Jake’s voice was hoarse. “She’s gonna kill me.”

“You say that like you don’t want to die by thigh chokehold.”

Jake opened his mouth to protest—

But he had no argument.

Beomgyu pushed a glass of water into his hand. “Drink. Breathe. Calm the fuck down. You looked like you were about to come just from eye contact.”

Jake downed the water like his soul depended on it, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand. He could still taste adrenaline on his tongue. His heart hadn’t slowed. His knees hadn’t stopped bouncing.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “She’s gonna kill me.”

Beomgyu snorted beside him. “You’re already halfway to the afterlife, bro.”

And Jake believed him. Because just as he dared to close his eyes — just to breathe — the lights dimmed again.

A hush fell over the crowd. Anticipation thickened the air.

And then—

You stepped out.

And Jake’s soul left his body.

It wasn’t just lingerie this time. It wasn’t just seductive.

It was fantasy.

You wore a sheer, black bodysuit that clung to every inch of your body like it had been painted on — nearly see-through, with intricate lace patterns covering the barest amount of skin in the most deliberately torturous places. Tiny crystals glittered like dew drops over your thighs, shoulders, and chest, catching the lights every time you moved.

A leather harness cinched your waist. Thin straps trailed up to your throat like a collar. The bodysuit dipped scandalously low at your hips, showing off more skin than it hid. Thigh-high boots laced all the way up your legs, leaving your thighs kissed with garter straps and nothing else.

And when you turned, spinning to face the crowd — to face him — you smiled.

That same smile. Like you knew. Knew exactly what you were doing. Like you had him by the throat without ever laying a finger on him.

And Jake? He didn’t even want to fight it.

You moved with practiced ease, every step slow and commanding, each sway of your hips a tease. The music was slower this time—bass-heavy, sensual, the kind of rhythm that pulsed through the floor and into his chest like a second heartbeat.

A few whistles rose from the crowd. Cheers. One guy stood up two tables away, clapping like he was at the opera.

But none of it mattered. Because your eyes were still on him. Not wandering. Not grazing. Locked.

You walked to the edge of the stage, your boots clicking in time with the music, the sheer bodysuit glimmering under the lights like liquid temptation. 

Jake was bracing for you to bend forward again—maybe blow another kiss, throw another wicked wink— But then, you did something worse.

You turned. And stepped off the stage.

A narrow staircase waited at the side, draped in velvet and half-hidden in shadow, and you descended like it was part of your routine, like it wasn’t already making Jake feel like the floor was tilting beneath him.

The room shifted with you. Heads turned. Eyes followed. A few gasped. The energy changed completely.

You moved through the tables like silk through fingers, brushing hands against shoulders, tossing a wink here, a hip sway there. A man reached for your hand, and you let him kiss your knuckles before slipping away with a smirk.

You danced, teasing little hip rolls between steps, letting your hands drift up your sides with every beat.

He swore the world narrowed again. His vision tunneled. Because you were walking straight for him. Your eyes didn’t waver. Not once.

And then—without hesitation— you slid right into his lap. Like you belonged there. Like he wasn’t real until you touched him.

Jake froze.

Every single nerve ending in his body lit up. His thighs tensed beneath you. His hands hovered in the air, unsure of where the hell to go. His breath came out in one short, startled exhale that hit the shell of your ear.

You smelled like honey and something darker. Your arm draped loosely around his shoulders as you leaned in, fingers toying lazily with the chain at his neck — the same one he’d been nervously tugging earlier.

You were so close. Skin to skin in places. Heat to heat.

He didn’t even hear the crowd anymore. Didn’t hear Beomgyu whisper “Holy fuck” next to him. Didn’t feel the dozens of eyes staring. He only felt you. The weight of you in his lap. The heat of your thigh pressed on him. Your perfume threading through his every breath like a drug.

And just when he thought you’d pull back, maybe say something else wicked and low— you leaned back instead. Smooth and effortless, your body arched just slightly, the sheer lace of your bodysuit shifting against his shirt, your chest brushing his on the way down. Your fingers reached back and curled around the drink he hadn’t touched—the one left for him.

You brought it to your lips and took a sip.

Jake stared.

Stared at the curve of your throat, the way your lips parted, the soft sound you made after the swallow.

And then— you set the glass down. You turned back to him. And with the same slow, unhurried confidence that had been killing him all night— you slid your fingers under his jaw and tilted his head up.

His eyes flew to yours—wide, stunned, helpless.

“Eyes on me,” you said softly.

Jake’s hands found your hips like they’d been searching for a place to rest all night. You were warm. Soft and strong under his palms. So close he could feel every breath you took.

The music throbbed around you both, low and thick, the lyrics dripping through the speakers like honey.

You started to move again, hips swaying lazily, your body rolling gently in time with the beat—still in his lap, still commanding the entire room without sparing a glance at anyone else.

Jake was entranced.

His mouth was parted, his lashes low, breath coming harder now with each shift of your body against his.

This wasn’t a dance. It was a lap dance. A slow, devastating one. Right there in front of the entire club.

But you never looked at anyone else.

Just him.

And then—

The beat shifted.

Louder. Heavier. The lights flashed once in sync.

And you grinned.

Just as Jake’s grip tightened reflexively, just as he breathed out your name like a question—

You jumped off him.

Effortless. Smooth. One perfect step back—heels clicking, hair flipping, hips still swaying—before you ran.

Jake’s heart stuttered. His hands dropped to his lap, stunned, empty. He blinked once. Twice. And you were already halfway up the stage again. Just in time for the next number.

A burst of color and light. Smoke machines fired. The crowd erupted.

Other dancers poured out from the wings, their costumes glittering under the strobes—silver, red, jewel-toned bodies spinning and laughing and catching the beat like firecrackers.

The light shifted, and a single, searing white spotlight beamed down from above, cutting through the fog like a blade.

It caught on you.

Spinning.

Midair.

You were on the pole, suspended like something holy and unholy all at once, but this time…

You were wearing even less.

The bodysuit was gone.

In its place was little more than black lace and glinting gold straps, the fabric sheer enough to blur the line between stagewear and sin. A single golden chain looped around your waist, catching on the curve of your hips, while another glinted around your throat like a collar.

Your thighs gripped the pole effortlessly, flexing as you twisted upside down in one fluid motion, your hair flowing like ink.

The air caught fire.

Your skin shimmered under the lights—each twist of your body controlled, sensual, perfectly timed to the beat. You dropped a few feet down the pole in a slow, spiraling descent, legs extended, arching back like you felt every set of eyes in the room—especially his.

And then, halfway through your spin, you looked down.

Right at him.

Smirking.

Glowing.

Like the devil in a halo of light and smoke. 

And you knew exactly what you were doing.

Jake couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe—

Not when you were descending the pole one final time, thighs flexed, body arched, boots clicking softly against the stage as you landed.

The music slowed—drawing out into that deep, sultry final chorus—and you moved with it. Dancers moved behind you like a ripple of color, hands in the air, echoing your power but never taking it.

This was your stage. Your finale. Your moment.

You spun once more at center stage—arms raised, hair fanning out—before dropping into a low, controlled squat, legs spread, one arm resting lazily across your knee as you lifted your chin to the crowd..

The lights dimmed one final time.

Blackout.

For one long, silent second, the room stood still.

And then—

Applause erupted. Thunderous. Deafening. Cheers, whistles, claps, people rising to their feet, the entire club practically shaking from the noise.

Jake didn’t hear any of it. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. All he could feel was the ghost of your weight in his lap. The heat still lingering on his thighs. His pulse, racing.

You had walked off stage—disappeared behind the curtain—but it didn’t matter.

You were everywhere. 

On his skin. In his lungs. Under his nails and behind his eyes.

Jake couldn’t process anything after you left that stage.

Other acts came on — dancers in wild costumes, spinning lights, loud music, louder cheers — but it all blurred into static.

Because none of them were you. 

He just sat there, blinking slowly, heart racing in waves, like his body hadn’t realized it was over. He didn’t even realize the show had ended until the lights came back up and people started filing toward the exit. Someone was speaking into the mic, thanking the audience, but the words barely registered. That is, until Beomgyu clapped him on the back and said, “Time to cash in that backstage invite, lover boy.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

“You did get the note, right?” Beomgyu grinned. “C’mon. She’s waiting.”

And just like that, Jake was being dragged.

They moved through velvet curtains and tucked-away hallways, past drunken laughter and perfume-clouded air, through a side door with a glowing EXIT sign and down a narrower corridor filled with pulsing bass, giggling voices, and glitter-streaked bodies.

Jake couldn’t keep up.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

They turned a corner—nearly bumped into a half-naked man in rhinestones—and then Beomgyu was knocking on a door and opening it like he owned the place.

Jake stepped in after him and froze.

The dressing room was insanity.

A sea of open wardrobe racks, lingerie tossed over chairs, wigs propped on mannequin heads, mirrors glowing with soft lights, half-dressed dancers strutting between one another like it was nothing.

So much skin. Too much skin.

Jake immediately looked down, face going crimson.

“Yup,” Beomgyu said, completely unbothered, already chatting up a dancer in fishnets and a lace robe.

Jake stood to the side, hands stuffed in his pockets, cheeks burning as a few of the performers noticed him.

“Who’s the cutie?” one girl asked, twirling a curl around her finger.  “He looks like a lost puppy,” another giggled, brushing past him deliberately.

 Jake nearly stumbled. “H-Hi—um—”

 “Awww, he blushes.”

It was a lot.

Too much.

He barely managed a bashful smile and a mumbled “just visiting” before Beomgyu disappeared behind a rack of fringe skirts with two dancers, leaving Jake awkwardly holding his own wrist near a makeup table.

And then—

The girls by him vanished.

Just—poof. Gone.

Jake barely had time to wonder what scared them off before—

He felt it.

That same pull. That same heat.

He turned—

And there you were.

Fuck.

All you were wearing was a thin tank top and panties, your skin still dewy from the stage, makeup smudged beautifully like it belonged on you that way. Fluffy socks hugged your ankles. And you looked so relaxed. Like you didn’t just crawl into his skull and ruin him. Like you hadn’t sat on his lap and melted him like butter.

Your hair was damp and messy, lips bare, a water bottle hanging from your hand.

And you were looking right at him.

Jake stared.

In wonder. In disbelief. In awe. Because you weren’t just beautiful — you were glowing. The kind of effortless, devastating glow that shouldn’t be allowed outside of dreams. The kind that made Jake feel seventeen again, awkward and useless and soft in all the wrong places.

You grinned. That same slow, sinful curve of your mouth that had him by the throat before you even touched him. “What?” you teased, voice light as you took a sip of water. “Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?”

His eyes flicked away — immediately. Then back to your face. Then away again. Then down. Because God. He didn’t know where to look. Your tank top clung to you like a second skin, loose at the neckline but thin enough to show shadows and curves he didn’t dare focus on. And your panties—he couldn’t even think about them without his knees locking.

“Didn’t know you were this shy off the floor,” you laughed, stepping closer. “You looked so brave when I was in your lap.”

Jake’s face burned. He let out a noise — half-gasp, half-squeak — and you giggled.

Then, without giving him a chance to recover, you reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Come with me.”

“Wha—?” His eyes shot wide. “Wait, what about—”

“Beomgyu?” You glanced back lazily. “He’s having fun. He’ll be fine.”

Jake followed your gaze, just in time to see Beomgyu, sprawled comfortably on a velvet couch, surrounded by four dancers in various states of undress. One had her hand in his hair. Another was sitting on his thigh, whispering in his ear.  He was grinning like a man who died and woke up in heaven.

“…Yeah,” Jake mumbled, “he’ll be fine.”

You didn’t wait for his full answer.  tugging him gently along by the wrist, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like dragging a shell-shocked Jake deeper into a maze of costumes and chaos was no big deal.

The chatter and laughter behind them started to fade, the lighting shifting from neon to softer vanity glows, past makeup stations and mirror-lined walls, deeper into the backstage corridors that few people ever got to see.

Jake’s heart thundered. His hand was still in yours. His brain wasn’t working.

And then—

Stairs.

Narrow. Quiet. Tucked into the corner like a secret.

You didn’t say a word. Just glanced back at him with a look that made his knees wobble, then started up. He followed blindly, eyes flicking between the hem of your tank top and the curve of your thighs as you climbed, the silence thick with things he didn’t dare name.

At the top, a single black door.

No number. No label. No clue.

You opened it with a twist of your wrist and stepped inside, tugging him behind you.

Jake blinked once. Then again.

Oh.

It was yours.

No question about it.

Everything in the room whispered you — soft velvet drapes in deep reds and purples, a rack of glittering costumes by the wall, a vanity covered in makeup, jewelry, perfume bottles, and half-empty glasses of champagne. Candles — actual candles — sat unlit near a record player that was softly spinning something jazzy and low.

The lighting was warm. Golden. Intimate.

And there was a faint smell of perfume and skin and something floral lingering in the air.

Jake stood there, stunned, blinking slow, like he’d stepped into another dimension. “This is—”

“My space,” you said simply, letting go of his wrist and stretching your arms over your head with a long sigh, body arching like a cat. “I don’t usually bring people here.”

Jake’s throat went dry. “Oh.”

“Mmhm.” You walked across the room barefoot now, socks muffling your steps as you grabbed a bottle of water from the vanity and took a sip. “But you’re special, aren’t you?”

He stared. Didn’t trust his mouth. Didn’t know where to look.

The tank top hung off one shoulder now, slipping lower, teasing more skin. Your panties peeked out beneath the hem. You looked casual. Effortless. Lethal.

Jake, meanwhile, was standing there like he’d forgotten how to be human.

And when you finally turned around and said, “Well? You just gonna stand there and stare, pretty boy?”—

He nearly melted.

He wanted to say something smooth. Something charming. But all that came out was a breathy, “Uh.”

Your smile deepened. “Adorable.”

You turned back to the vanity, setting your water bottle down and running your fingers through your damp hair like you weren’t absolutely wrecking him just by existing.

Jake finally took a step forward. Then another. The floor felt uneven. His limbs weirdly heavy. Like the air in your room was thicker — warmer. “I… uh, it’s nice,” he managed, gesturing vaguely at the room. “Your… wardrobe. Space. Room. Thing.”

You looked at him through the mirror. That lazy, knowing glance. Like you could see right through him. “You nervous, Jake?”

His name in your mouth hit like a jolt to his chest.

He straightened a little too fast. “No. I mean—yes. Maybe. Kind of?”

You laughed — low, soft, and just a little wicked. Then you turned, fully facing him now, leaning back against the vanity with your palms flat on the edge. The golden light spilled across your skin, painting your collarbones in shadows, catching the curve of your waist where your tank top had ridden up.

You tilted your head. “You were doing so well earlier. All that staring. The hands on my hips. Letting me ride your lap like I owned it.”

Jake made a noise. Something between a gasp and a squeak. His face went red. “I-I wasn’t letting—”

“Oh?” You arched a brow. “Was I taking what I wanted, then?”

Jake couldn’t answer. His mouth opened. Closed.

You stepped closer.

And then—

Your fingers hooked in the waistband of his pants.

Just a light touch. Just enough to make him freeze.

“Relax,” you whispered, smiling up at him. “I’m not gonna break you.”

Jake swallowed hard. “That’s… not what I’m worried about.”

“Oh?” you purred. “Then what are you worried about, pretty boy?”

He hesitated. Just for a second. Eyes flicking from your mouth to your bare thighs to the soft, mischievous glint in your gaze.

“That I won’t be able to stop you.”

The words hung there. Heavy.

Your smile didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened — slow and dangerous. Like you liked that answer. Like you were counting on it.

You leaned in, so close he could feel the warmth of your breath ghost across his jaw. Your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt now, slipping beneath it, just brushing the bare skin of his stomach — and he tensed. 

Not in resistance. But in anticipation.

Your nails scratched lightly. Teasing. And your voice, barely above a whisper, slid right into his ear: “Who says I want you to stop me?”

Jake’s breath hitched so hard his entire body jerked.His hands were hovering again — not knowing where to land. Not knowing what was allowed. What would push. What would ruin.

But you took the choice from him. You grabbed his wrists gently, and you placed them on your waist.

“I’m right here,” you whispered. “I want you to touch me.”

Jake groaned — like it physically hurt to hear you say that. 

You stepped in fully now, flush against him. And he felt it — all of you. Bare legs brushing his jeans, tank top soft against his chest, your mouth just inches away. “You’ve been such a good boy tonight,” you said, nails dragging lightly up the back of his neck. “Watching. Obeying. Letting me have my fun.”

He exhaled, shaky. “I—I wasn’t trying to—”

“But you did.”

Your hand slid into his hair. Gripped.

Jake shivered.

He was still holding onto your waist, fingers trembling against your skin like he didn’t trust himself to hold on any tighter. His eyes were wide, glazed over with something that looked a lot like awe… and something far more desperate.

You leaned in just enough for your lips to barely brush his cheek. “You’ve been watching me all night,” you whispered, tone light but laced with intention. “Letting your eyes linger. Pretending you weren’t imagining things you’re too shy to say.”

Jake’s grip on your waist tightened. “I wasn’t—”

“Liar,” you teased, brushing your nose along his jaw. “You haven’t looked away from me once.” You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again. He looked wrecked — flushed, breathless, still trying so hard to be good.

And you loved it.

You let one hand trail down from his hair, dragging across the line of his throat, fingers grazing his chest. His heart was pounding. 

“Tell me, pretty boy,” you said, voice soft but dangerous, “do I make it hard to breathe when I’m this close?”

Jake gasped. His eyes fluttered shut. He leaned in instinctively, but stopped himself. Still trying to behave. Still trying to be good.

You brushed your lips across his again — not a kiss. Just enough to make him ache.

And it worked.

You felt it. The shift. The sound he made — something choked, something broken.

And then—

He snapped.

With a low, desperate sound, Jake crashed forward, catching your mouth with his in a kiss that was messy and breathless and starving.

His hands gripped your waist tight — not careful now, not holding back — and you barely had time to smirk against his lips before he was pulling you closer.

And without breaking the kiss, he lifted you. Like you weighed nothing. Like all his hesitation had burned away.

You gasped softly against his mouth, arms winding around his shoulders as he moved toward the vanity in just a few urgent steps.

And he never broke the kiss. Not for a second.

Jake’s hands held your waist like a lifeline, fingers gripping you tighter than before — no longer trembling, no longer hesitant. Just real.

Hungry.

When he set you down on the edge of the vanity, the motion was clumsy and rushed, but grounded, like he couldn’t think straight with your lips on his but still needed you there.

You made a soft, breathless noise against his mouth — the kind that drove him insane — and he kissed you deeper in response.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t practiced. 

It was messy and warm and a little shaky, like every inch of him was trying to memorize what you tasted like, what you felt like, what it meant to finally touch you back.

Your legs parted just slightly to pull him closer, and Jake stepped between them, chest pressed to yours. 

His breath was shaky, uneven against your cheek, but his hands were steady now — one planted firmly on your waist, the other sliding up your back like he needed to feel every part of you. You could tell he was overwhelmed. Still buzzing from the shock of finally giving in. Still trying to process that you were here, letting him touch you, kiss you, have you like this.

But even in his desperation — the flushed cheeks, the breathy exhales, the way his lips ghosted down to your jaw like he couldn’t help himself — there was something deeper beneath it.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

Your fingertips brushed the back of his neck. “I think I do.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were glassy, a little wide, but dark with focus — entirely on you.

“I’ve been losing it,” he said, lips still parted, voice shaking. “Every time you walk in that restaurant, every time you look at me like that…” His hand slid down to your thigh, fingers gripping lightly. “You have no idea how close I was to dropping everything and begging.”

Your breath caught.

Jake leaned in again, mouth brushing yours. “But I didn’t,” he whispered. “I waited. I let you tease me. I let you lead.” He kissed you again, dragging his hand up your thigh, keeping you flush against him. “But now?” he murmured between kisses. “Now I get to touch you.” A kiss. “You're in my hands now.” Another kiss. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You ran your hands up under his shirt, feeling him tense slightly, and whispered, “So what are you gonna do with me, pretty boy?”

Jake’s groan was soft — frustrated and wrecked — as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

You tilted your head just enough to catch his gaze, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “You don’t know where to start?” you murmured, voice low, playful, but laced with the same heat that was burning through him. 

His hand tightened on your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver. “You have no idea what’s been going on in my head.”

“Then show me,” you whispered, your hands sliding higher under his shirt, tracing the lines of his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. “I’m right here.”

That was all it took. Something snapped in him—not loud, not violent, but quiet and devastating. His lips crashed back onto yours, hungrier now, less restrained, like he was done holding back. The kiss was deep, messy, a tangle of want and need, and you matched it, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you. His hand on your waist slid up to your ribcage, thumb brushing just under the edge of your shirt, teasing the bare skin there. 

“Careful,” you teased against his mouth, breathless, your fingers curling into his hair. “You’re gonna break the vanity.”

“Don’t care,” he growled softly, his lips trailing down your jaw, to the sensitive spot just below your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, and you felt the faintest scrape of his teeth, just enough to make your pulse jump. “I’ll fix it. I’ll fix anything. Just—God, let me have this.”

You laughed, soft and shaky, tilting your head back to give him more access. “You’re acting like I’m going anywhere.”

“You better not,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, vibrating against your throat. His hand slid higher, fingers splaying across your back, pulling you impossibly closer until you could feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat against your chest. “I’m not letting you out of my sight now.”

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him flush against you, and he let out a sound—a low, broken groan that sent heat pooling in your stomach. His hands were everywhere now, one gripping your thigh, the other sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, like he couldn’t decide where he needed to touch you most. Every movement was desperate, reverent, like he was trying to memorize you, to make up for all the time he’d spent holding back.

“Jake,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, but it was enough to make him pause, his lips hovering just above your collarbone. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and searching, like he was waiting for you to say something—anything—that would tell him what you wanted.

You reached up, cupping his face, your thumbs brushing over his flushed cheeks. “You don’t have to hold back anymore,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the way your heart was racing. “I’m yours. Do whatever you want.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his hands frozen on your hips, like he was afraid moving would break the spell. Then, something shifted—his gaze deepened, turning worshipful, like you were something sacred he’d been longing to kneel before.

“God,” he whispered, voice breaking, low and rough. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” His hands trembled slightly as they slid up your sides, fingers catching the hem of your top. He paused, searching your eyes for permission, and when you gave the smallest nod, he exhaled, shaky and grateful. “I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he slowly lifted your top, peeling it over your head with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “Every night, every damn shift at that restaurant, watching you laugh, watching you move—I wanted you like this. Just for me.”

The cool air hit your skin, but before you could register it, Jake’s hands were there, warm and steady, tracing the curve of your shoulders. His lips followed, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the newly exposed skin, like he was committing every inch of you to memory. “So perfect,” he breathed against your collarbone, his voice thick with awe. “You’re so damn perfect, and I—I couldn’t let myself believe you’d ever let me see you like this.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers slid to the clasp of your bra, hesitating just long enough for you to feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and adoring. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice soft but strained, like it was taking everything in him to hold back. You nodded, and he unhooked it with careful hands, letting the fabric fall away. 

He didn’t rush. His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your ribs, and he leaned in, pressing a slow, worshipful kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “Every time you smiled at me, every time you leaned close—I was dying to touch you, to know what it felt like to have you this close.” His hands followed his words, fingers tracing patterns across your skin, gentle but firm, like he was mapping you out. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The most perfect woman—God, you don’t even know.”

His lips found the curve of your breast, and you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair. He groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your skin, and pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes wide and overwhelmed. “I’m losing it,” he admitted, his voice raw, a little desperate. “I’ve thought about you like this so many times, and now you’re here, and it’s so much better than I ever imagined.”

His hands, still trembling faintly, settled gently on the curve of your breasts. His touch was soft at first, like he was handling something fragile. His thumbs brushed over your skin, tracing the contours with a tenderness that made your breath catch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick, almost breaking. He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your breast, soft and warm, a kiss so gentle it sent shivers racing down your spine. His mouth moved slowly, worshipful, kissing along the curve of your breast, his tongue darting out just enough to make you gasp again, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Perfect,” he breathed, his voice muffled against your skin. “You’re so perfect, I can’t—” He cut himself off with another kiss, his lips closing softly around your nipple, teasing with the lightest flick of his tongue. The sensation pulled a quiet moan from you, and his groan in response vibrated against your skin, low and wrecked.

But then something shifted. The gentleness in his touch began to fray, his restraint unraveling as your reactions fueled him. His hands grew firmer, cupping your breasts with more urgency, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made your back arch. His kisses turned hungrier, more insistent, his lips and tongue working in tandem, teasing and sucking with a roughness that sent heat pooling low in your stomach. “You drive me crazy,” he rasped, his voice rougher now, edged with a need he couldn’t hide.

His body pressed closer, hips slotting between your legs, and you felt him—hard, desperate—grinding against you in a slow roll that made you gasp. The friction was electric, and he groaned into your skin, his mouth still working over your breast, rougher now, teeth grazing lightly as he sucked harder. His hands slid down to grip your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the vanity, his grinding becoming more forceful, more desperate. Each movement sent sparks through you, the heat of him pressing against you making your head spin. His mouth never left your breasts, alternating between them, kissing and sucking with a hunger that felt like he was trying to claim every inch of you. His teeth grazed again, just enough to sting, followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue, and you whimpered, your fingers tugging harder at his hair.

Jake’s hunger spiraled, his control fraying further with every sound you made. His kisses turned sloppy, wet and fervent, as he sucked harder. He didn’t hold back now, leaving blooming marks across the swell of your breasts—small, possessive claims that made your breath hitch. 

You arched into him, pressing your chest closer to his mouth, encouraging him, craving more of his wild devotion. “That’s it, baby,” you murmured, voice low and breathy, laced with heat. “You’re so good, Jake—so good.” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, the sound muffled against your skin as he buried his face deeper, lips latching onto your nipple with renewed intensity. His hips pressed harder against you, grinding with a desperate rhythm, the rough friction of his jeans against your core making your head spin. Each roll of his hips was needy, like he was chasing something he couldn’t quite reach. 

“Good boy,” you purred, your hands sliding down his neck, nails scraping lightly as you pulled him closer, your chest arching further into his mouth. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” Your praise sent Jake spiraling, his whines growing louder, more desperate, as he pressed himself against you. But then, with a sudden spark of mischief, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back gently but firmly. He stumbled slightly, his lips parting from your skin with a soft, wet sound, his eyes snapping to yours, wide and confused, like a kicked puppy. His flushed cheeks and glassy gaze made your heart twist with both affection and heat.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing, as you reached up to pat his face gently, your fingers lingering on his jaw. His expression was full of longing, his breath hitched as he watched you, waiting, hoping. You slid off the edge of the vanity, letting the tension build as his eyes followed every inch of you.

Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, you held his gaze, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. Slowly, you slid the fabric down your legs, stepping out of them with a grace that made his breath catch audibly. His eyes tracked the movement, his hands twitching at his sides like he was fighting not to reach for you. You dangled the panties in front of him for a moment before stepping closer, tucking them into the pocket of his jeans with a deliberate brush of your fingers against his thigh. “Something to remember me by,” you whispered, winking at him as you turned and sauntered toward the plush couch in the corner of the room.

Jake stood frozen, his chest heaving, watching you with a look of desperation. You settled onto the couch, sinking into its soft cushions, and spread your legs, letting your body bare itself to him completely. The sight seemed to break something in him. His eyes widened, his lips parting as a low, guttural sound escaped him, like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Oh, God,” he choked out, his voice raw, and then he was moving—frantic, clumsy, almost tripping over himself in his haste. His hands fumbled at his shirt, yanking it over his head with such force you heard a seam rip. He didn’t care, tossing it aside as his fingers scrambled to undo his jeans, shoving them down his legs in a rush. He nearly stumbled, one foot catching in the fabric, and you couldn’t help the soft laugh that slipped out, though it only seemed to spur him on.

“Fuck, you’re—” he started, his voice breaking as he kicked his jeans away, leaving him in just his boxers, his arousal painfully obvious. His eyes were locked on you, on the way you lounged on the couch, open and inviting, your smirk daring him to come closer. “You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, crossing the room in two long strides, dropping to his knees in front of you like he was worshipping at an altar.

His hands found your thighs immediately, fingers digging in with a desperate edge as he looked up at you, his face flushed and eyes wild. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice trembling with need. His hands slid up your thighs, slow but hungry, and he leaned in, pressing a shaky kiss to the inside of your knee, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tell me what you want, please,” he begged, his voice low and wrecked. 

You reached down, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly as you tilted his head up to meet your gaze. “Oh, pretty boy,” you purred, your voice dripping with heat and affection. “Just keep looking at me like that. And don’t stop touching me.”

His breath shuddered out, and he surged forward, his lips trailing higher up your thigh, his hands gripping you like he was afraid you’d vanish. “Never,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with devotion. “I’m never stopping.”

Jake’s lips moved higher, creating marks along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Each press of his mouth was hungry, leaving a trail of faint red blooms that made your pulse race. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, fingers digging in with a possessive edge, holding you open as if he couldn’t bear the thought of you pulling away. His breath was hot, uneven, and when his lips reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, his face hovering just above your core. A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, raw and unfiltered, as he took in the sight of you, bare and spread before him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and desperation. “You’re so—God, you’re perfect.” Before you could respond, before you could even process the intensity in his eyes, he leaned in without hesitation, his tongue dragging a slow, bold stripe up your folds. The suddenness of it shocked you, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as your body jolted, the sensation electric and overwhelming. 

“Jake,” you gasped, your hands flying to the couch, fingers gripping the cushions tightly as he dove in fully, his tongue exploring you with a fervor that made your head spin. He licked and sucked, loud and unapologetic, the wet sounds of his mouth against you filling the room. His tongue moved everywhere it could reach, teasing your folds, circling your clit, then dipping lower, as if he was determined to taste every inch of you. His hands kept your thighs spread wide, fingers pressing into your skin with a desperate strength, holding you open like you were a feast he’d been starving for.

“Slow down, baby,” you tried to say, your voice breathless, half-laughing, half-moaning as you squirmed under the intensity of his attention. But Jake didn’t seem to hear you, too lost in his need, his face buried between your legs, his tongue working relentlessly. His groans vibrated against you, low and needy, each one sending a fresh wave of heat through your core. He was ravenous, licking and sucking with a messy, unrestrained hunger, his lips and tongue moving with a single-minded focus that made your toes curl.

“Jake, oh God,” you moaned, your head falling back against the couch, your fingers digging deeper into the cushions as you gave in to the overwhelming pleasure. “You’re so good,” you murmured, your voice shaky but full of praise. “So fucking good, baby, just like that.”

He groaned louder at your words, the sound muffled against your skin, his tongue flicking faster, more insistent, as if your praise was fuel to his fire. His fingers dug into your thighs, leaving faint marks of their own, and he sucked harder at your clit, drawing a sharp cry from you. “Can’t get enough,” he mumbled against you, his voice slurred, barely coherent, his mouth never stopping. “Never gonna get enough of you.”

Your hips bucked against him, chasing the heat of his mouth, and he moaned, encouraging you, his grip tightening to keep you exactly where he wanted you. “Jake,” you gasped, your voice trembling, your hands gripping the cushions so tightly your knuckles whitened. The pleasure was overwhelming, building too fast, too intense, and when his lips closed around your clit, sucking hard, you shattered. A sharp cry tore from your throat as you came, your body trembling, waves of pleasure crashing through you. Jake didn’t stop—he licked up every bit of your release, savoring you like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

But he didn’t pull away after. If anything, his pace quickened, his tongue diving back in with renewed fervor, licking and sucking with a messy intensity that made your already sensitive body jolt. “Jake, stop,” you whimpered, your voice weak, your thighs shaking as the overstimulation set in. Your words seemed to fall on deaf ears, though—his eyes were half-lidded, glazed with need, his mouth working you even faster, the wet sounds of his tongue and lips loud and unapologetic.

You tried to squirm away, your body instinctively retreating from the intensity, crawling backward on the couch. But Jake’s hands shot to your hips, pulling you back with a desperate whine that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. “No, no, stay,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled, pleading, as he sucked your clit into his mouth with a loud slurp. The sensation was so intense it stole your breath, your body arching off the couch despite yourself.

“Jake, please,” you gasped, your hands weakly pushing at his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to ease him off. But he didn’t budge, instead, he grabbed your hands, his fingers intertwining with yours, holding them tightly as he pressed them against your hips, keeping you pinned. “Just relax,” he murmured, his voice soft but thick with want, barely audible between the sloppy kisses he pressed to your core. “You’re okay, baby, just let me—let me have you.”

You sobbed softly, the overstimulation tipping into something dizzying, almost unbearable, as your body trembled under his touch. Your strength melted away, your head falling back against the couch as you collapsed. 

“So good,” he mumbled, his words slurred against you. “Taste so fucking good.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, spilling over as you gasped, your voice breaking into desperate sobs. “Jake, please,” you cried, your voice shaky, barely audible over the wet sounds of his lips and tongue. “Slow down—stop, it’s too much!” Your hands, still clasped in his, tugged weakly, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened.

“Need more,” he mumbled, his voice muffled, slurred against your slick skin. “Need to make you feel good—need to satisfy you.” His words were frantic, almost incoherent, as if he was pleading with himself as much as with you.

Your sobs grew louder, your body shaking as you arched against the couch, caught between wanting to escape and being utterly trapped by the overwhelming sensation. “Jake, I can’t—” you whimpered, tears streaming down your cheeks, but before you could finish, he shifted, his mouth never leaving you. Without warning, he slid two fingers inside you, the sudden intrusion making you cry out, your body clenching around him instinctively.

The stretch was intense, his fingers curling just right, finding that spot inside you that made your breath hitch and your hips buck despite your protests. “So perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing your swollen clit as he pumped his fingers in and out, each thrust paired with a hard suck that made your body jolt. “Need you to come again, please, baby.”

You were a mess, sobbing and gasping, your hands squeezing his so tightly it hurt, but you couldn’t pull away, couldn’t do anything but let him consume you. His fingers moved faster now, curling and stroking with a precision that made your thighs tremble, while his mouth stayed relentless, sucking and licking your clit with a desperation that felt like he was trying to draw your soul out of you. “Jake, please,” you begged again, your voice breaking, but it was useless—he was too far gone, lost in his need to please you, to taste you, to feel you unravel under him.

The pleasure built relentlessly, your body betraying you as Jake’s fingers curled deeper and his mouth sucked harder, pushing you over the edge again. Your second orgasm crashed through you, a sharp, shuddering wave that left you sobbing, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as you clenched around his fingers. A broken moan tore from your throat, and Jake groaned in response, lapping up every bit of your release with slow licks until the sensation was almost too much.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips leaving your skin with a soft, wet sound. He sat back on his knees, his face glistening with your slick, his eyes heavy with awe. His chest heaved, his lips parted, and he looked at you like you were the only thing that existed. “Baby,” he rasped, his voice rough and trembling, “can I—can I fuck you? Please, I’ll do so good, I swear. You’ll love it, I’ll make you feel so good.” 

You could barely think, your body still buzzing, thighs twitching from the intensity. But you nodded, your voice shaky as you whispered, “Yes, yes, yes,” over and over, the words spilling out like a mantra. Jake’s eyes widened, a soft, pathetic whine escaping him as he scrambled to sit up, fumbling with his boxers. He shoved them down, revealing his hard cock, already leaking precum, the tip flushed and glistening. He shuffled closer, his hands trembling as he guided himself to you, grinding his length against your folds.

The slick sounds of him sliding against you filled the room, obscene and intoxicating, as he coated himself in your wetness. “Jake,” you gasped, your voice hoarse, your hands gripping the couch as you arched toward him. “Put it in, please.” 

He let out a loud whine, his head falling forward as he obeyed, his hands guiding himself to your entrance. Slowly, so slowly, he pressed in, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep control. “Fuck,” he whimpered, his voice breaking as he felt you stretch around him. “You’re so tight—God, so fucking tight.” Jake groaned deeply as he buried himself fully inside you, his hips pressed flush against yours. His body hunched forward, trembling, his forehead nearly touching yours as he gazed down at you, tracing every detail of your face—every gasp that parted your lips, every twitch of your brow, every subtle shift in your expression. A faint trail of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth, his breath hitching as he tried to process the overwhelming reality of you beneath him.

You met his gaze, your chest heaving, your own eyes heavy with need. His stare was so intense, it made your heart pound harder. “Jake,” you whispered, your voice shaky but firm, “move. Please.” Your hands tightened on his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, urging him on.

He let out a shaky breath, almost a whimper, and nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. Slowly, he pulled back, dragging himself out until just the tip remained, the sensation making you both shiver. Then, with a desperate thrust, he pushed back in, and you both moaned loudly, the sound filling the room. The feeling was electric, your body arching into him as he found a rhythm, his thrusts growing faster, more urgent, each one hitting deeper, sending sparks of pleasure through you.

Before you could catch your breath, Jake’s mouth found your breast again, his lips closing over your nipple with a hungry, messy intensity. You looked down, your vision hazy, and saw only his tousled, messy hair as he suckled, his tongue flicking and circling, drool slipping down your skin as he groaned against you. The combination of his thrusts and his mouth sent you spiraling, your hands flying to his hair, gripping tightly as you whined, “Jake, oh God, yes.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, wide and glassy, filled with a needy adoration that made your heart race. He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his lips swollen and glistening, a trail of drool connecting him to your skin. “Tell me,” he murmured, his voice soft and pleading, almost a whimper. “Tell me what you want, baby, please.” 

“Harder,” you gasped, your body arching into him, your nails digging into his scalp. “Harder, Jake, I need you.”

He moaned, a low sound, and obeyed instantly, his hips snapping forward with more force, each thrust deeper, more intense, making you cry out. “Like that?” he mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled, desperate for your approval. “Is that good?”

“So good, baby,” you purred, your voice breathy and he whined in response, his thrusts growing even more eager, his mouth working harder. His lips closed around your nipple again, sucking, grazing his teeth lightly just the way you liked, his entire focus on drawing more of those sounds from you.

Your hands tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as you tilted your head back, overwhelmed. “Bite me,” you whispered, your voice firm despite the haze of pleasure. “Mark me up again.”

He groaned, the sound vibrating against your breast as he followed your order without hesitation, his teeth grazing your skin, leaving a mark that stung just enough to make you moan. His tongue soothed it immediately, and he looked up at you, eyes pleading for more. “More?” he asked, his voice shaky, his thrusts slowing slightly as he waited for your command.

“Keep going,” you ordered, your thighs tightening around him. “Don’t stop, baby, keep moving.” Your words were like a switch, and he dove back in, his mouth latching onto your other breast, sucking and licking with renewed desperation, his hips picking up speed again, driving into you with a rhythm that made your whole body shake. His whines were constant now, muffled against your skin, each one a testament to how much he wanted to please you, to be good for you.

Without warning, you felt his thumb slide between your bodies, finding your clit with a precision that made your breath catch. He pressed down, rubbing hard, fast circles, the sudden intensity igniting a fire that overwhelmed you. Your body arched, a scream tearing from your throat as the pleasure surged, too much, too fast. The world tilted, and you felt yourself squirt, the release so powerful it sent shockwaves through you, your vision blurring as you blacked out for a fleeting moment, lost in the white-hot haze of ecstasy.

Jake groaned, deep and guttural, as he felt you clench around him, your release soaking him. The sensation pushed him over the edge, and he thrust deep one last time, his hips stuttering as he came hard, spilling inside you with a broken, desperate moan.

Jake’s body kept trembling above you, his breath hot and uneven against your skin as he rode out the last waves of his release. His thumb slowed to a gentle, almost absentminded caress on your clit, and his lips stayed soft, suckling lightly, as if he couldn’t bear to pull away. His weight shifted slightly, his forehead pressing against your skin as he let out a shaky breath, his voice barely audible, muffled against you. “Did I… did I do good?” he mumbled, the words hesitant, laced with a need for your approval that made your heart twist.

You giggled softly, the sound light and warm despite the lingering haze of pleasure coursing through you. Your fingers threaded through his messy hair, stroking gently as you tilted his chin up to meet your gaze. “Oh pretty boy,” you murmured, your voice teasing but full of affection, “you did so good.” 

Jake’s face lit up, a wide, boyish grin spreading across his features, his eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and relief. The sight of him—disheveled, still panting, but beaming like he’d just won the world—made your chest ache with fondness. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice brighter now, almost shy, as his grin grew even wider.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, giggling again as you tugged lightly at his hair. He let out a soft, contented hum, and then, his lips found your collarbone first, pressing soft kisses along the delicate line, each one lingering as if he were savoring the taste of your skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, vibrating against you. “So fucking beautiful, I can’t even—” He trailed off, his lips moving to your chest, kissing the swell of your breasts, the valley between them, then up to your throat, each kiss punctuated with a quiet, adoring whisper. “I’ve dreamed of this, you know. You like this, in my arms, letting me touch you..”

His words, soft and heartfelt, made your heart flutter, and his kisses sent warmth spreading through you. Your body responded instinctively, your walls clenching around him where he was still buried inside you, and Jake gasped, a sharp, surprised sound, his cock twitching in response. His eyes widened, flicking down to where you were joined, and he let out a shaky breath. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, his voice half-laughing, half-wrecked.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulled out, his gaze locked on you as he did. His hand moved to grip his cock, and he watched, utterly mesmerized, as his cum slid out of you, glistening against your folds. “God, look at you,” he whispered.

You whined softly at the empty feeling, your body still sensitive, your thighs twitching as you shifted on the couch. The sound drew his attention back to your face, and he leaned in, kissing your cheek, like he was trying to soothe the ache he’d left behind. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his hand sliding up to rest on your hip, grounding you.

Your body was still buzzing, sensitive and trembling, and you let out a soft, shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jake,” you said, your tone gentle, “can you get me some water?”

He pulled back immediately, his eyes soft and eager to please, nodding without hesitation. “Yeah, of course,” he said, his voice still rough from exertion but filled with care. He stood, his movements quick but careful, and crossed the room to the small table in the corner of your wardrobe, grabbing a water bottle. His hair was still a mess, his skin flushed, but there was a quiet determination in the way he moved, like nothing mattered more than taking care of you.

When he turned back, water bottle in hand, his eyes scanned the couch—and his brow furrowed when he saw it was empty. “Baby?” he called softly, a hint of confusion in his voice. Then he spotted you, standing in front of the vanity, your silhouette framed by the soft light. You were staring into the mirror, your gaze fixed on your reflection, and as Jake approached, his footsteps slowing, he saw what held your attention: the constellation of marks he’d left across your front. Red blooms and soft bite marks dotted your breasts, collarbone, and throat, a map of his devotion painted across your skin.

He stepped closer, the water bottle still clutched in his hand, his eyes following yours in the mirror. “You okay?” he asked, his voice quiet, a mix of concern and awe as he took in the sight of you. He set the bottle down on the vanity and moved behind you, his hands hovering for a moment before gently resting on your hips, his chest brushing against your back. His gaze met yours in the reflection, and he swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the marks he’d made.

Your lips curved into a slow, playful smirk, your eyes locking with his in the reflection. The shift in your expression was subtle, a glint of confidence and teasing challenge dancing in your gaze. Jake’s eyes widened slightly as he caught the change, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively.

“What’s that look for?” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His reflection showed a flicker of uncertainty giving way to anticipation. Your smirk widened, and you tilted your head slightly, letting your body press back against him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the faint stir of his arousal.

“Just thinking,” you purred, your voice low and teasing, “about how good you look when you’re all worked up like this.” You reached back, your hand finding his, guiding it slowly up your side as you held his gaze in the mirror. “And how much I like seeing your marks on me.” Your words made his eyes darken, a soft groan escaping him as he pressed himself closer, his hands roaming up to your waist, fingers trembling slightly with renewed desire.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy,” he whispered, his lips grazing your neck, kissing one of the marks he’d left earlier, his eyes flicking back to yours in the mirror. “You like teasing me, making me lose it all over again.” His voice was half-playful, half-desperate, and you felt his body shift, pressing himself more firmly against you, already hardening again.

“Maybe,” you replied, your smirk turning wicked as you arched your back just enough to make him groan again, his hands gripping you tighter. “What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?”

Jake’s hands tightened on your waist as your wicked smirk and teasing words sent a fresh wave of heat through him. “You’re killing me,” he rasped, his voice rough, lips brushing your ear as he pressed himself closer, the hard line of his arousal evident against your lower back. “You know that, right?”

You tilted your head, letting your smirk deepen as you shifted your hips, grinding back against him just enough to make his breath hitch. “Oh, I know,” you teased, your voice sultry and low, your eyes never leaving his in the reflection. “But you didn’t answer me, Jake. What are you gonna do about it?” 

He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the marks littering your chest, a mix of pride and desire flashing across his face. “Anything you want,” he murmured, his voice almost a plea, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts gently, thumbs brushing over the sensitive marks he’d left. “Just tell me, baby. I’ll do anything.” His lips found your neck again, kissing softly, as if he couldn’t stop himself.

“Then touch me,” you commanded softly, your tone firm but laced with affection. “Show me how much you want me.” You arched your back further, pressing your chest into his hands, and he moaned softly, his fingers immediately obeying, caressing your breasts with a tenderness that quickly turned hungry. His lips trailed down to your shoulder, kissing and nipping at the skin, leaving fresh marks as he whispered, “Fuck. I really can’t get enough of you.”

He pressed himself harder against you, grinding slowly, the slick heat of him making you shiver as he whined softly into your skin. “Tell me more,” he begged, his voice shaky, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror. “Tell me what you want, please.”

You grinned, turning your head slightly to catch his lips in a quick, teasing kiss before pulling back. “Bend me over,” you said, your voice a sultry challenge, watching the way his eyes widened. “Right here, Jake. Make me feel you again.”

Jake’s reaction was instantaneous, his hands tightened on your hips, guiding you with a gentle but urgent pressure as he bent you over the vanity, your palms pressing against the cool surface for balance. The mirror reflected your flushed face, your body arched and ready, and Jake’s eyes, wild with need, locked onto yours in the reflection.

Without hesitation, he positioned himself behind you, and with one smooth, eager motion, he slipped his cock back inside you. The wet, slick sound of your connection filled the room, mingling with his broken moan and your sharp gasp as he filled you completely. The stretch was intense, perfect, sending a jolt of pleasure through your already sensitive body. Jake didn’t pause, his hips immediately finding a rhythm, thrusting in and out with a desperate urgency that made your breath catch.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your lips parted, cheeks flushed, then your gaze shifted to Jake, his brows furrowed, mouth slightly open, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing in his world. His thrusts were deep, steady, each one pulling a moan from you as you gripped the edge of the vanity, your body rocking with his.

“God, Jake,” you moaned, your voice breathy but teasing, “look at you—so needy for me.” His eyes flicked up to meet yours in the reflection, and he whined louder, his thrusts stuttering slightly at your words, his hands gripping your hips tighter.

“Needy for you,” he confessed, his voice breaking, rough with emotion as he leaned closer, his chest brushing your back. “Only you. Fuck, from the first day you walked into the restaurant, I was—I was obsessed.” His words spilled out, frantic, his hips still moving. “I’d spend hours on your socials, scrolling through your pictures, your videos… imagining you like this. Imagining us.” His voice trembled, almost embarrassed, but too far gone to hold back. “Every smile, every post—I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You laughed, a soft, teasing sound that made his eyes widen in the mirror. “Oh, Jake,” you purred, your voice dripping with playful mockery, “stalking me online, huh? That’s so cute.” You arched your back further, pressing yourself into him, and his whine was immediate, high and desperate, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, don’t say that,” he whimpered, but his hands betrayed his urgency, sliding up from your hips to cup your breasts, his fingers finding your nipples and pinching them, making you gasp. His lips latched onto your neck, leaving fresh marks. “You drive me insane,” he mumbled, his voice muffled, his thrusts growing rougher, more forceful, each one shaking the vanity beneath you. The wood creaked, the mirror rattling slightly as his hips snapped against you, the rhythm relentless.

“Jake,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the pleasure built.

“Fuck, say it again,” he begged, his voice raw, almost pleading, as he licked a stripe up your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before sucking another mark into place. “Say my name, please, baby.” His hands slid down to your hips again, gripping hard as he pounded into you, the vanity shaking so violently you thought it might give out.

“Jake,” you moaned louder, your voice trembling with the intensity, and he groaned, his hips stuttering as your words pushed him closer to the edge. “So good, baby, you’re so good,” you murmured, your own voice shaky but full of praise, knowing how much it drove him wild. 

“I can’t—fuck, you’re too much,” Jake panted, his voice raw and trembling, his hands clinging to your hips with a desperate strength, fingers digging into your skin as if you were his only anchor. His breath was hot and ragged against your neck, each exhale a shaky burst that sent shivers racing down your spine. His lips grazed your ear, his body pressed so close you could feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat against your back. “Tell me what to do,” he begged, his voice breaking, a raw, pleading edge to it that made your pulse spike. “Please, baby, tell me.”

Your head spun, the heat of his body, the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, and the sheer need in his voice overwhelming you. “Deeper, Jake,” your voice breathy but firm, a sultry demand that sent a visible shudder through him. His response was immediate—a low, broken moan spilled from his lips as he adjusted, his hips angling to thrust even deeper, each movement hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your vision blur and your body arch into him, a gasp tearing from your throat.

“Like that?” he gasped, his voice trembling with desperation, his eyes flicking up to meet yours in the mirror. You could only nod, your moans growing louder, more frantic, as the pleasure built to a fever pitch, his cock driving deeper, filling you completely with each thrust. The vanity creaked beneath you, the wood groaning under the force of his movements, and you heard the faint clatter of objects shifting—your perfume bottle, a hairbrush, a small makeup compact—teetering precariously on the edge as his relentless pace rocked the surface, and with a particularly hard thrust, the objects on the surface gave way—a lipstick rolled off, clattering to the floor, followed by the soft thud of your hairbrush and the sharp clink of the perfume bottle tipping over, its contents spilling faintly, the floral scent mixing with the raw, heady air of the room.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging in as he drove into you, his breath hitching with every movement, his lips brushing your neck, leaving wet, sloppy kisses in their wake. “Fuck, you’re so good,” you gasped, your praise making him groan louder, his thrusts stuttering slightly as your words pushed him closer to the edge.

Pleasure built, tight and unbearable, until it snapped. A scream tore from your throat as your body convulsed, your sudden climax crashing over you like a tidal wave, your walls clenching tightly around Jake, pulling him deeper. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, your arms giving out as you collapsed forward, your cheek pressing against the cool surface of the vanity, the spilled perfume stinging your nose faintly. The mirror reflected your flushed, pleasure-drunk face, your lips parted, eyes half-closed, as your body rocked with the force of his relentless thrusts, the vanity creaking louder, more objects shifting—a small jewelry dish skittering to the edge, threatening to fall.

Jake didn’t falter, his hips driving into you with deep, hard strokes, each one pushing your body further across the vanity. “Fuck, fuck, you’re—God,” he mumbled, his voice slurred, delirious with need. His cock twitched inside you, chasing every shudder, every gasp you gave him.

Your body was pliant now, overwhelmed by the aftershocks of your release, each thrust sending fresh waves of sensation through you as you gasped and moaned, your fingers weakly clutching the mirror. 

Suddenly, his rhythm faltered, his thrusts growing erratic, and you felt him tense behind you. With a low, guttural moan, Jake threw his head back, his eyes squeezing shut as he came, his release spilling deep inside you. His hips stuttered, pressing flush against you as he groaned loudly, the sound broken, his body trembling with the intensity of it. His hands breath heaving, his lips parted as he gasped for air, still lost in the haze of you.

You were spent, your own breaths uneven as the intensity of your shared pleasure lingered. Jake’s hands softened on your hips, his fingers tracing gentle patterns as he exhaled shakily. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out, and you winced at the sudden empty feeling, a soft whimper escaping your lips at the sensitivity.

Jake’s eyes snapped to yours in the mirror, concern flickering across his flushed face. Before you could assure him you were fine, he maneuvered you with surprising tenderness, turning you to face him and wrapping his arms around you. Your legs felt like jelly, and you clung to him, your arms looping around his neck as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the plush couch across the room. His touch was steady as he laid you down gently, making sure you were comfortable, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Stay here,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead before pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to your lips. He straightened up, still a little unsteady himself, and disappeared into the bathroom connected to the room. You heard the faint sound of running water, and moments later, he returned with a warm, damp cloth in his hand.

Jake knelt beside the couch, his movements careful as he gently parted your thighs, his touch soft. “Just gonna clean you up, okay?” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for confirmation. You nodded, still catching your breath, and he began to wipe you down with the warm cloth, his hands gentle, cleaning away the evidence of your shared intensity. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, almost to himself, his free hand resting lightly on your thigh. 

With a small smile and a soft tug, you reached for him, your fingers curling around his arm as you pulled him down toward you. Jake let out a surprised, soft laugh, his body following your lead without resistance, collapsing gently onto the couch beside you. His face ended up nestled against your chest, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he settled in close. You smiled, your fingers sliding into his messy hair, playing with the soft strands, tugging lightly as you traced soothing patterns against his scalp.

Jake sighed, a contented hum vibrating against your chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. His lips brushed your skin, not hungry, but soft and affectionate, as he nuzzled into you, his cheek pressed against the curve of your breast. A wide, boyish smile spread across his face, his eyes half-closed, radiating warmth and adoration. “This is perfect,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against you, his arms tightening slightly as if he never wanted to let go. “Just wanna stay like this forever.”

You giggled softly, your fingers continuing to play with his hair, twirling the strands as you felt his body relax against yours, his breathing slowing, his smile never fading. The weight of him, the way he melted into you, made your heart swell, and you pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, savoring the quiet, intimate warmth of the moment.

A/n: reblogs and commentary are appreciated!!

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While other girls were still sleeping through late lectures or dragging themselves to morning shifts at coffee shops, you were learning how to smile on demand. How to master the art of stillness, of becoming a canvas that could be painted over and stripped bare at the same time. You weren’t born into the industry; no family name to slip you in through the side doors, no wealthy parents pulling strings. You built yourself from nothing, brick by brittle brick. Every audition, every rejection, every night of watching someone else step into the light while you packed your bags and swallowed down the ache, it all sharpened you.

And eventually, it paid off.

The covers, the campaigns, the glossy spreads that made people stop on street corners just to stare up at a three-story version of you. You’d become the face of brands whispered about in boardrooms and splashed across neon skylines. The kind of woman who made headlines simply for walking into a room.

But all the while, you’d pushed everything else away. Friendships that once felt permanent had withered under your absence. Family dinners became distant obligations, then rare appearances, then nothing at all. Lovers turned into shadows you didn’t have time to chase. Every hour you weren’t perfecting yourself was an hour someone else could get ahead.

And now, standing in front of a mirror lined with golden bulbs, hair and makeup sculpted into something nearly divine, you finally had the thing you’d clawed after for so long. The beauty, the power, the recognition.

But not the warmth. Not the easy laughter that once used to echo through your chest. Not someone who looked at you and saw more than the shine.

You had given yourself to the world and the world had devoured you, left you gleaming on the outside but hollow where it mattered.

And so you walked into the gala, champagne flute balanced in your hand, diamonds catching the light, a smile that belonged more to the cameras than to yourself. You were radiant. You were untouchable. You were unbearably alone.

The gala breathed money. It clung to the air like perfume, heavy and heady, the kind of scent that burned the back of your throat if you inhaled too deeply. Crystal chandeliers dripped overhead, scattering light across marble floors polished to a mirror’s shine. The hum of conversation rolled like an ocean swell, booming laughter, the low grind of deals disguised as pleasantries, champagne glasses clinking like the percussion to an orchestra of wealth.

Men in crisp suits and women in gowns that sparkled under the lights floated in circles, their smiles too white, their laughter too sharp, their eyes darting for the next person more powerful than the one they were speaking to. Every corner of the room was designed to dazzle and intimidate: golden candelabras, tables drowning in white roses, waiters moving like shadows with silver trays of hors d'oeuvres.

And in the middle of it all, there was you.

Not dripping in jewels, not wrapped in glitter. No, you had chosen simplicity as your weapon. A gown of liquid satin that clung and draped in all the right places, black as spilled ink, or was it red, deep enough to look like blood under the lights? It didn’t matter. The fabric shifted with every movement like it had been sewn from fire itself. Elbow-length gloves embraced your arms, a deliberate contrast to the bare curve of your shoulders. Your hair had been knotted into something impossibly intricate, each strand held in place like it had been sculpted by a master’s hand, a crown without jewels.

You did not blend into the gala. You commanded it. Radiated it. Like a flame in a room full of moths.

People flocked to you, industry giants, heirs to fortunes, celebrities accustomed to adoration. They greeted you with too-wide grins, voices curling with false warmth. You sipped champagne, lips barely wetting the glass, and returned each word with a practiced ease. A tilt of your head here, a curve of your smile there. To anyone watching, it looked effortless. To you, it was exhausting.

Because beneath the glitter, you saw it all for what it was. Pretension. Greed wrapped in silk ties. Vanity polished into diamonds. They weren’t here to connect, to celebrate, to live, they were here to posture, to circle each other like wolves disguised in satin. And you, draped in satin yourself, were expected to play the part.

So you laughed at jokes that weren’t funny. You nodded at stories told a thousand times before. You let their gazes linger on you, drinking in the illusion you’d perfected. All the while, you felt the quiet churn of your thoughts: how hollow it all was, how loud the silence inside you felt even amidst the roar of money and champagne.

Yet still, you glowed. Because even loneliness can wear the most dazzling mask.

The gala was noise, frenzied, glittering, suffocating noise, until the crowd rippled. Not loudly, not even obviously. Just a subtle shift, like a current changing direction, faces turning toward the doorway. You didn’t need to glance up to know someone important had arrived; you felt it in the way the laughter momentarily faltered, in the tilt of heads craning for a look. And when you finally did lift your eyes, there he was.

Jay. Park Jongseong. Red Bull’s wild card. Their most successful driver under 25. Heck, even their most successful driver yet.

He was the kind of handsome that didn’t have to try, but still looked as though the world had been styled to frame him. A black suit tailored within an inch of perfection, lapels catching the faintest glint of chandelier light. His hair was slicked back, neat but with a looseness that made it seem unfairly natural. He walked like the room belonged to him, long strides unhurried, one hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers, the other loosely holding a glass of champagne.

The drivers were always celebrities in their own right, but he carried it differently, less polish, more gravity. Where others smiled too big, he smirked. Where others chased attention, he drew it without lifting a finger.

He moved like a storm through the room, not hurried, not loud, but inevitable. The cut of his suit was immaculate, shoulders broad and sharp, his every stride measured in a way that made the world itself seem to adjust around him. His hair, slicked back to reveal the clean, chiseled lines of his face, caught the light in a sheen that made the women watching practically swoon. One hand in his pocket, the other lazily cradling a flute of champagne, he radiated the kind of confidence that didn’t need to be announced. It simply was.

And then he was in front of you.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk as his eyes swept over you in a deliberate, almost insolent drag. He sipped his champagne, lips grazing the rim of the glass, and lowered it with a faint smirk. “Didn’t expect to see a runway doll at a race. I’d pegged you to be more…” He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “…magazine type.”

You raised your brows, refusing to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze, though the height difference forced him to look down at you(as criminal as it was distracting). You let the corner of your lips curl into something equal parts amused and sharp.

“Funny,” you said smoothly, swirling the champagne in your own glass before taking a delicate sip. “I didn’t expect a glorified taxi driver to make it past valet parking. Yet here you are.”

The smirk deepened. His gaze flickered down your gown, slow enough to be noticed, quick enough to deny. “Ouch. Do all cover girls bite, or just the ones who think they’re too good for small talk?”

“Small talk?” you echoed, laughter feathering your words. “I call it ‘verbal warm-up.’ You know, for the real conversation. Not sure you’d survive one of those.”

“Oh, I can survive plenty,” he drawled, taking another sip. His eyes gleamed with a spark you recognized instantly, the same one you wore in interviews, photoshoots, anywhere a camera dared to linger. The spark of someone who played to win.

You leaned closer, enough for your perfume to curl into the air between you, sweet and heady. “Then tell me, driver boy,” you murmured, “do you always start conversations by insulting women, or am I just special?”

“You’re definitely special,” he admitted without hesitation, though the smirk never left. “Most women would’ve giggled and taken it as a compliment by now.”

“Well,” you shot back, tilting your head, “lucky for you, I’m not most women.”

He laughed, low, genuine, surprised. The sound curled around you like smoke, warm and irritatingly pleasant. “God, you’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” you echoed, feigning innocence as you lifted your glass to your lips again. “I’m in a satin gown, holding a glass of champagne. What’s so dangerous about that?”

His eyes flickered down, not just at the gown but at the way it sculpted against your body, then back up, bold enough not to pretend otherwise. “That’s exactly what makes you dangerous. You know it. And so does everyone else in this room.”

You hummed, letting silence stretch, savoring the weight of his gaze. “Tell me, Jay, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

“Not when the company’s this good.” He grinned, sharp and bright, tilting his glass in mock salute. “Besides, you’re the one keeping me here.”

You laughed, really laughed this time, surprising even yourself. “You’ve known me for, what, three minutes? And you’ve already convinced yourself I’m the highlight of your night?”

“Am I wrong?” he countered.

You hesitated, just long enough for him to notice, then masked it with a smirk. “You’re cocky.”

“And you’re pretending you don’t like it.”

“Please,” you scoffed, stepping half a pace closer, letting the electricity hum in the space between you. “I’ve seen cocky. You’re not special.”

“Then why are you still talking to me?”

You opened your mouth, closed it again, then tilted your head, amused. “Because watching you dig your own grave is… entertaining.”

“Good,” he said easily, leaning just enough to bring his voice closer, lower. “Because if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.”

The air crackled. Neither of you moved away.

Around you, the gala carried on, music swelling, conversations bubbling, but in that moment, the world seemed to have shrunk to just the two of you: your sharp words, his sharper grin, the champagne fizzing on your tongues and the weight of unspoken challenge sparking between your bodies.

Finally, you arched a brow. “So, what’s the endgame here, Jay? You gonna keep throwing lines at me until one sticks?”

He smirked, slow and certain. “No. I’ll just win tomorrow, and then you’ll owe me a date.”

You blinked, startled by the audacity, then laughed outright. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He lifted his glass, took a deliberate sip. “If I win tomorrow, you go out with me. No excuses.”

“And if you don’t?” you challenged, amused.

“Then you can call me your chauffeur for a day,” he shot back without missing a beat. “Drive you wherever you want. Carry your bags. Hell, I’ll even shine your shoes if it makes you smile.”

Your lips curved into something between a laugh and a scoff. “You’re insane.”

“No,” he corrected, leaning just enough that his cologne wrapped around you, dizzying and unfair. “I’m confident.”

You held his gaze, long and unflinching, your smile sharpening. “Fine. You’ve got a deal.”

He grinned, victorious, before straightening again and slipping his free hand back into his pocket. “Good. Don’t forget to wear something nice.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart thudded harder than it should have. “Win first, driver boy. Then we’ll talk.”

“Oh, I will,” he promised, turning to leave, his voice trailing behind him like smoke. “And when I do, you’d better be ready.”

And just like that, he was gone, swallowed back into the glittering crowd, leaving you with a fizzing glass, a pounding heart, and the unnerving realization that for the first time in a long time, you were excited. The comments hung between you, sharp-edged and taunting, like the first move in a game neither of you had agreed to play, but both were suddenly dying to win.

The morning of the race began quietly. Not in the literal sense, the city had never known quiet. Even from the hotel balcony, the hum of engines was a low growl carried in the wind, the streets already crawling with fans draped in flags and sponsors, chanting names that echoed like a war cry. Helicopters swept overhead in slow, lazy arcs, their blades chopping through the haze of exhaust and sun. Somewhere below, a street band played, horns clashing in messy joy, swallowed up by the roar of traffic.

But inside your room, there was quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against your chest, heavy and insistent. Curtains drawn against the sharp morning light. A glass of half-finished champagne abandoned on the nightstand, the bubbles long gone. You sat before the vanity, untouched makeup scattered like soldiers at rest, and stared at yourself in the mirror.

You looked the same as you always did. Beautiful. Composed. Unshakably polished, as if a thousand lenses were already trained on you. And yet, something was off. Something unsettled the way you carried yourself, the way your lips wanted to curve even when no one was watching.

You blamed him. Jay. Goddamn Park Jongseong.

The memory of last night hung around you like smoke. The sharp gleam in his eyes when he’d leaned down, smirking, the deliberate way he’d sipped his champagne as if the entire room existed only for his amusement. The words he’d left behind, “When I win, you’ll owe me a date,” were etched into your skull with irritating clarity.

You should’ve dismissed it. You had dismissed men like him before: cocky, self-satisfied, sure the world bent at their feet. And usually, you did it with ease. A polite smile, a laugh that wasn’t a laugh, and then you moved on, untouchable. But now, sitting here, your cheeks betrayed you. Dusting themselves pink like they were conspiring against your will. And worse, you caught yourself smiling.

Not the forced, calculated smile you’d perfected for the cameras. Not the one designed to be glossy and unreachable. This one was softer, unbidden, curling at the corners of your lips like sunlight creeping into a darkened room. You pressed your lips together until it faded, annoyed at your own reflection. You weren’t supposed to feel this way. Not about him. Not about anyone. You had spent years ensuring your life had no room for distraction, no space for weakness.

And yet, you thought of his laugh, low and startled, when you’d insulted him without blinking. You thought of the way he’d leaned closer, confident but not suffocating, as though he was daring you to pull away and knowing you wouldn’t. You thought of the height difference, how you’d refused to tilt your chin up, yet still felt the gravity of him hovering above you.

You cursed under your breath and reached for the corset. The gown for today’s event lay draped across the bed, another work of art you were expected to embody, this one even bolder, cinched tight at the waist, laced at the sides so snug it left no space for breath, only posture. You slid the fabric up your body, cool satin hugging your skin, and began threading the strings.

One pull. Two. Three. Each tug was practiced, mechanical. You’d laced yourself into thousands of gowns before, your hands knowing the rhythm as well as your heartbeat. But today, the motion felt different. Every pull was punctuated by thought. By him.

You imagined the sharp way he’d smirk if he could see you like this, pulling yourself tight, sculpting your body into perfection. The way his gaze had flicked across you last night, slow and unashamed, as though he’d been cataloging every detail for later. You tugged harder at the strings, annoyed by the heat that flushed your skin.

Stop, you told yourself. Stop thinking about him. He was a driver, a man built for speed and adrenaline, a creature of noise and motion. You were not. You were structure. Precision. Elegance. You belonged to still frames and glossy covers, not engines and fire.

And yet, when you pictured him behind the wheel, dark eyes narrowed, jaw set with determination, you couldn’t deny the pull that tightened somewhere low in your stomach. Adrenaline, yes, but not the kind you’d ever known. His world was dangerous, unpredictable, alive. Yours had been carefully painted, curated into something flawless but flat.

For the first time, the thought of stepping into someone else’s orbit didn’t feel like surrender. It felt like freedom. You let out a shaky breath, pulling the final string taut until the corset hugged your ribs. Standing, you faced yourself again in the mirror. The gown sculpted you into a vision: powerful, immaculate, untouchable. The very image you’d worked for years to perfect.

And yet, behind your eyes, something flickered. A spark. A restless energy that had nothing to do with the gown, or the gala, or the endless rotation of cameras waiting outside. It was him. Jay, with his smug grin and his impossible confidence. Jay, who had dared to turn the spotlight back on you when you were used to being the one controlling it. Jay, who had made a bet that should have been ridiculous but somehow left you breathless with anticipation.

You hated it. You loved it.

As you slid on your gloves, the silk whispering against your skin, you thought of his voice again: “When I win, you’ll owe me a date.” The arrogance in it, the certainty. You should have rolled your eyes, brushed it off, forgotten it as easily as you’d forgotten every man who had ever tried to play games with you.

But instead, you found yourself wondering what it would be like if he did win. If you had to sit across from him at some dimly lit restaurant, champagne in hand, his gaze fixed on you the way it had been last night, like you were the only thing worth seeing.

Your stomach twisted. Not with dread, but with something warmer. Something that terrified you. Because all your life had been colors and magazines, angles and flashes, practiced smiles that never reached your eyes. You had given the world perfection, and the world had applauded, but it had never set you free.

And now, because of one arrogant driver with slicked-back hair and a mouth that wouldn’t quit, you felt something stir. Something reckless. Something alive. You caught yourself smiling again, soft and dangerous, as you fastened the final clasp of your gown.

Perhaps, you thought, just this once, you’d let yourself lose control.

The morning bled into midday, and with it came the ceremony. These events were never about the race itself, not for people like you. For the VIPs, the sponsors, the faces splashed across glossy pages and endorsement deals, it was a theater of power. Cameras whirred, journalists crowded behind velvet ropes, and every handshake, every posed photo was meant to be consumed by the world and digested into headlines.

You moved through it with the same grace you always had.

The organizers guided you to the paddock, a labyrinth of tents and banners bearing the names of corporations worth billions. Men in branded polo shirts and women in tailored blazers buzzed around, clipboards in hand, radios crackling at their belts. The air smelled of engine oil, rubber, and champagne, luxury woven seamlessly with raw machinery.

When you entered the cordoned-off lounge, every head turned. Of course they did. They always did. You wore your armor well: the corseted gown, the silk gloves, heels that clicked against the polished floor with authority. Your expression was composed, your smile measured, your eyes carrying the weight of someone who knew she was being watched from every angle. Cameras flashed immediately, the photographers practically salivating. A few called your name, trying to coax a bigger smile, but you gave them only what you wanted to give, nothing more.

The introductions began.

One by one, you were presented to the drivers, the rising stars and seasoned champions alike. They lined up in their suits, fireproof uniforms in a riot of colors: Ferrari red, Mercedes silver, McLaren orange. Each man bore the same smile, practiced and polite, the same firm handshake, the same boilerplate comment about how nice it was to meet you. You responded with equal politeness, words flowing from your lips as smoothly as champagne from a bottle.

You shook hands with the young one whose fanbase screamed at pitches high enough to shatter glass. You posed for a photo with the veteran whose records stretched back a decade. You laughed at a joke from another, though you forgot it as soon as you stepped away.

It was all the same. Faces, smiles, cameras, hands. A dance you had done before in different ballrooms, different industries. A dance that always ended in exhaustion.

And then, Jay.

He wasn’t first in line, nor last. He stood a little apart, his helmet tucked casually under one arm, the other hand resting at his side, gloved in black. His uniform was a deep, commanding blue trimmed with streaks of neon yellow and sponsor patches, Red Bull stitched across his chest, the logo gleaming under the harsh lights. He wore the suit like it was designed for him, every line emphasizing the long cut of his frame, the breadth of his shoulders.

He looked devastatingly composed. Effortlessly gorgeous. And entirely, unmistakably aware of it.

Your gaze found his almost against your will. His eyes locked onto yours instantly, sharp and unflinching, as though he had been waiting for this exact moment. A smirk tugged at his mouth, subtle, dangerous, familiar. The official beside you cleared his throat, reciting Jay’s name as though anyone in the world could’ve mistaken him. “And this is—”

But the introduction was unnecessary. You already knew who he was. And he, clearly, knew you. Your hand extended before the words even finished leaving the man’s mouth. Elegant. Steady. Practiced.

Jay shifted his helmet into the crook of his arm, freeing his other hand. The black glove enveloped your silk one, the leather smooth but firm against your skin.

It should’ve been quick. A handshake, polite, forgettable. The kind that was made for cameras, destined to be captured, circulated, forgotten by everyone except the tabloids that thrived on stills. But it wasn’t. Because neither of you let go.

His grip was warm through the glove, strong but not crushing. Your fingers curved against his palm before you realized it, and his thumb pressed ever so slightly into the back of your hand, deliberate enough to be felt but subtle enough to be excused. You held his gaze, refusing to look away, though your heart betrayed you with its sudden, traitorous thud.

Around you, cameras flashed. The official moved on with his practiced spiel. Voices buzzed, laughter erupted somewhere nearby. And still, neither of you moved.

The smirk deepened on his lips. Your lips quirked in response, unbidden, dangerous.

And in that suspended silence, something happened. Something that had nothing to do with the spectacle, the race, the cameras. Something private, unspeakable, electric. His eyes raked over you then, slow and deliberate.

Not the cursory glance of politeness. Not the quick sweep of a gentleman acknowledging beauty. No, his gaze lingered. Started at the curve of your shoulder, the slope of your collarbone, the satin draped across your ribs. It slid lower, tracing the corseted lines of your waist, the impossible cinch of fabric against your body. Down, down, a lazy, predatory drag, until his eyes reached the arch of your hip beneath the gown, the bare sliver of skin where silk met glove.

And then, just as slowly, his gaze returned to your face. His smirk said everything. Your stomach tightened. Heat climbed your throat. You should’ve pulled away. Should’ve let go, broken the moment before it became obvious. But you didn’t. Your hand stayed in his, your body rooted, your chin lifted with defiance you weren’t sure you actually felt.

Finally, after what must have been far too long, you let your fingers slip from his grasp. The cameras snapped furiously, capturing the moment as though it were another performance, though none of them could have understood what passed between you in that silence.

You turned, smiled politely at the next driver waiting his turn, and spoke the rehearsed words you’d spoken a dozen times already. But your mind wasn’t on him. It wasn’t on any of them.

It was on Jay. Still watching you. Still smirking. Still standing there in his Red Bull suit like the embodiment of speed and fire, with the audacity to look at you as though he already knew you were his. And for the first time, you didn’t feel bored. You didn’t feel hollow. You felt… alive.

The sky hung low and heavy over the circuit, clouds bruised with the promise of rain. The weather reports had been debating all morning whether it would hold or whether the heavens would open and drench the track. Everyone knew how unpredictable this part of the world could be.

“Cloud cover at fifty percent, crosswinds picking up on the main straight,” the commentator’s voice crackled over the massive screens as you entered the VIP box. “We’ll see how long those mediums last if the drizzle comes through.”

Inside, the air-conditioning hummed faintly, champagne flutes glittered on silver trays, and well-dressed men and women leaned over the glass railing to peer down at the pit lane below. But your eyes weren’t on the luxury. Not on the crystal chandeliers or the exclusive catering.

They were on him. The pit lane buzzed with motion. Mechanics in matching fireproof uniforms swarmed like bees, checking tire pressure, tightening wheel nuts, double-checking telemetry screens. Drivers emerged from the garages one by one, helmets tucked under their arms as they walked toward the grid.

Jay was easy to spot.

The navy-and-yellow Red Bull suit clung to his tall frame, the sponsor logos sharp against the fabric. His helmet gleamed under the floodlights, a glossy navy shell with streaks of electric yellow curling like lightning bolts. He carried himself with the casual arrogance of someone who knew all eyes were on him. And yours most of all.

Engines screamed to life, one after another, until the air itself vibrated with their roar. The sound was physical, pressing against your chest, rattling through your bones. The formation lap began: twenty cars crawling forward, weaving side to side to heat their tires, engines snarling like caged predators.

From above, you could see them snake through the corners, a kaleidoscope of colors, Ferrari red, Mercedes silver, McLaren orange, Red Bull navy, each car shifting, braking, accelerating, warming up before the real violence began.

Jay’s car glided smoothly, each swerve controlled, precise. The commentator’s voice carried over the speakers: “Eyes on Jay Park today, starting P3, right behind the Ferraris. He’s been in incredible form all weekend. If anyone’s going to challenge for the win, it’ll be him.”

Your pulse kicked. The cars lined up one by one, sliding into their grid slots with surgical precision. Jay’s Red Bull slotted neatly into third place, the neon-yellow nose pointed hungrily at the long straight ahead.

“Thirty seconds to lights out,” came the call.

You leaned forward, breath caught in your throat, hands gripping the railing though you didn’t remember moving. The lights blinked above the track, one, two, three, four, five. The engines screamed louder, revs climbing to an almost unbearable pitch. The lights went out. And the race exploded. Cars launched off the line, tires spitting smoke, engines howling. The front row Ferraris shot forward, but Jay’s Red Bull was right there, slipstreaming behind.

“Great launch from Jay! He’s side by side into Turn One—”

The first corner was chaos. Cars jostled for position, brakes locking, smoke pouring as twenty drivers tried to squeeze through a bend barely wide enough for two. A McLaren clipped the curb, sparks flying. The crowd roared as one car spun off, gravel spraying.

Jay didn’t flinch. He dove into the inside line, inches from disaster, threading the needle between a Ferrari and a Mercedes.

“He’s through! Jay moves up to P2!”

You gasped, a hand flying to your chest. Every inch of your body buzzed with adrenaline that wasn’t even yours. The laps blurred into a relentless rhythm: engines screaming down the straights, tires squealing through corners, DRS wings snapping open for overtakes. The commentators shouted over the roar:

“Lap 12 of 58, Ferrari leads, Jay right on his tail, only three-tenths behind. He’s within DRS range!”

You could see it, his car glued to the rear wing of the scarlet Ferrari, the two machines dancing at 200 miles per hour, separated by barely the width of a coin. Every lap, Jay tested the Ferrari’s defense, feinting left, then right, darting into braking zones only to back out at the last second.

The tension was unbearable. The whole VIP lounge buzzed, people shouting, clapping, sipping champagne with feigned calm. Someone turned to you, grinning.

“Who are you rooting for?”

You froze. The words tangled on your tongue. You should’ve laughed, deflected, named a team at random. But your eyes betrayed you, glued to the navy blur darting after the Ferrari, your heart hammering in your throat. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because the truth was obvious.

“Here we go, lap 20, and the pit window’s opening.”

The Ferrari blinked into the pits first, mechanics swarming with military precision. Fresh mediums went on in 2.3 seconds, and the red car screeched back out.

Now it was Jay’s chance.

He dove into the pit lane, speed limiter kicking in, the roar of the engine strangled to a whine. His car slid to a halt, mechanics descending in a blur, tires off, new ones on, fuel adjustments, wing tweak.

“Two-point-one seconds! That’s the fastest stop so far today, brilliant work from Red Bull!”

Your nails dug crescents into your palm. He shot out of the pit lane, merging back onto the track just as the Ferrari rounded the bend. Side by side.

“Jay’s ahead! That pit stop has jumped him into the lead!”

The crowd erupted. Your chest felt like it might burst. By lap 32, the clouds finally broke. The first drops spattered across the glass of the VIP box, fat and heavy. Within minutes, the drizzle turned to a slick sheen on the track. Cars struggled for grip, tires screaming, spray kicking up in great rooster tails behind them.

“Conditions are changing, do they risk another pit for inters, or gamble it out on slicks?”

You held your breath. Strategy calls made and broke races. “Box, box,” came the commentator, repeating the radio chatter. “Jay’s going in for intermediates.”

The pit stop was flawless again, but by the time he rejoined, the Ferrari had clawed back the lead. For the next ten laps, the two cars battled wheel-to-wheel, skidding, sliding, hearts of pure steel guiding them through sheets of rain. Your glass sat untouched. Your food cold. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your world narrowed to two cars slicing through water, engines howling like beasts, every camera angle flashing Jay’s car back onto the big screens.

“Five laps to go, Ferrari leads, Jay right behind, the gap under half a second!”

The tension in the lounge was unbearable. Even the wealthiest sponsors were on their feet, ties loosened, champagne forgotten. The commentators screamed over the roar: “Jay is closing in, down the main straight, he’s got DRS, he’s gaining, he’s gaining, he’s alongside!”

The two cars barreled into the corner side by side, wheels inches apart, spray blinding. For a moment, it looked like disaster, two titans refusing to yield, physics be damned. But Jay held firm. Braked later. Cut inside.

“He’s done it! Jay takes the lead!”

Your vision blurred for a heartbeat, heat flooding your face. You didn’t cheer, you couldn’t. But your chest rose with a silent, desperate plea: Hold it. Hold it. Win. The rain eased, the track still slick, the crowd on their feet. The Ferrari was relentless, lunging at every corner, but Jay’s Red Bull was unshakable. He defended like a man possessed, every move precise, every risk perfectly calculated.

Down the final straight, engines at full scream, tires slicing through spray, the checkered flag waved. “Jay Park wins the Grand Prix!”

The roar was deafening. Engines, crowd, commentary all collapsing into chaos. His car flashed across the line, fist punching into the air from the cockpit. Fireworks exploded above the drenched track, the navy-and-yellow blur crowned in smoke and rain. Around you, people cheered, clapped, toasted glasses. But you stood frozen, breathless, every nerve alive.

Because all you saw was him. Helmet glinting. Suit drenched in victory. And though he couldn’t see you through the glass and distance, though he had no reason to look, your eyes stayed locked on him.

The man you swore you wouldn’t care about. The man you couldn’t stop hoping would win. And he had.  The floodlights washed the track in white-gold brilliance as the winning cars rolled into parc fermé, each nose painted with streaks of rubber and spray, engines ticking with residual heat. Mechanics vaulted the barriers, their whoops and shouts swallowed by the thunder of the crowd.

And then the winners emerged. Jay climbed out of his Red Bull, helmet under his arm, chest rising and falling under the cling of his fireproof undershirt. His hair was plastered damp against his forehead, sweat and rain dripping down his temples, his jaw set in a victorious grin that cut straight through the noise. He slapped hands with his pit crew, pointed up toward the stands, then climbed the steps toward the podium.

The crowd surged with sound. Red, yellow, and navy flags rippled like waves across the grandstands. Cameras flashed so brightly the stage looked carved from starlight.

You pressed a hand against the glass of the VIP suite, drawn forward without realizing it. Everyone around you was clapping, cheering, some lifting their phones to record the moment. But for you, there was only him.

Jay. Standing taller than the rest, his damp suit gleaming under the lights, the golden trophy cradled against his side.

The national anthem began. The first-place flag unfurled upward on the massive screen behind him, accompanied by a triumphant swell of brass. Jay didn’t move, didn’t flinch, only stood there with his hands behind his back, chin tipped upward. The definition of untouchable.

Your throat tightened. He had won. And though you hadn’t said it aloud, though you hadn’t even let yourself think it too clearly, you’d wanted this. Needed it. As if his victory was some private promise only the two of you shared. The anthem ended. Applause shattered the stillness. And then the champagne came out. The bottles were shoved into the drivers’ hands, the corks popped, foam bursting in white arcs across the stage. Jay was merciless. He doused the Ferrari driver to his left, soaking him from head to toe, before tilting the bottle over his own head, droplets glittering as they ran down the planes of his face. His smile was wolfish, uncontained, the kind of expression that lit something dangerous low in your stomach.

And then, just for a heartbeat, his gaze lifted. Straight toward the VIP box. Toward you. It was impossible, ridiculous even. The crowd was tens of thousands deep, the lights blinding, cameras flashing like fireworks. He shouldn’t have been able to pick you out.

And yet. Your chest squeezed. He smirked, slow and deliberate, his tongue brushing the corner of his mouth as though sealing some private joke. And you knew with a bone-deep certainty, he was looking at you.

The chaos spilled upward. Drivers, team principals, mechanics, and sponsors flooded toward the hospitality suites. Journalists darted through the hallways, recorders outstretched, their questions drowned in the avalanche of congratulations and champagne-soaked laughter.

The VIP box, once a quiet, pristine space, now hummed with bodies and noise. Glasses clinked, hands clasped, everyone desperate to shake the hands of the men who had just survived sixty laps of fire and rain. The celebration swelled until the walls themselves seemed to hum. Laughter ricocheted off glass, champagne sprayed again when someone shook a bottle too hard, music thrummed low from hidden speakers. The VIP suite had transformed into a living organism, pulsing with bodies, with congratulations, with too-loud stories of how everyone had known Jay would win.

You played your part. Smiles, nods, answering questions you barely heard. Someone pressed a glass into your hand; you sipped once, twice, but the bubbles went flat on your tongue.

You found yourself swept along in it, smiling, nodding, exchanging polite congratulations with people you neither knew nor cared about. Every handshake felt meaningless, every compliment hollow. Because you were waiting. And then, he was there.

Jay entered the box with the calm of someone who’d just conquered the world. His suit was unzipped halfway down, exposing the cling of his undershirt to the line of his chest, the fabric damp and translucent from sweat and champagne. His fireproof gloves hung from one hand, his helmet from the other. His hair was a mess, dark strands plastered wetly against his forehead, some sticking out in defiance, others dripping down the nape of his neck. He looked devastating.

And he knew it.

Everyone surged toward him at once, sponsors, investors, wide-eyed admirers. He bore it with effortless arrogance, smiling when necessary, clasping shoulders, nodding at congratulations. He was magnetic in the crowd, the center of gravity around which the whole room tilted. A sponsor laughed too loudly at something he said. A woman in glittering emerald leaned too close. His teammates thumped his back, someone shoved another glass at him. He bore it all with the same infuriating ease, the damp mess of his hair only making him look more untouchable. But there was a subtle impatience in the way his gaze roamed the room, as though he was searching for something, no, for someone.

You. When his eyes landed on you, it was like being struck. The noise of the room dimmed, blurred, until all that remained was the slow, deliberate way he started moving in your direction. Each step purposeful, predatory, his damp hair glinting under the chandelier light.

Your breath caught. He cut through the crowd until he was in front of you. The space around you seemed to fold inward, collapsing the world into the two of you alone. You extended your hand, because that was what protocol demanded. Formality. Politeness. He took it. His glove was still on, rough, ridged fabric that scratched lightly against your palm. But beneath it, the strength of his grip was unmistakable. He didn’t let go. Not immediately. Not even after a beat too long.

Instead, he leaned in, the scent of sweat and champagne clinging to his skin, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “Looks like I won, sweetheart,” he murmured, low enough for only you to hear.

The words lit through you like fire, scorching down your spine, pooling heat low in your stomach. You inhaled sharply, but he was already pulling back, the smirk etched deep into his face, his hand finally releasing yours with deliberate slowness, as though the separation was his decision alone.

And then he was gone, turning back to the crowd, shaking more hands, collecting more congratulations. Leaving you rooted in place, heart pounding, hand tingling with the ghost of his touch.

The celebration swelled around you, champagne flowing, laughter echoing off the high glass walls. But none of it mattered. None of it touched you. Because all you could hear was his voice, curling like smoke in your ear.

Looks like I won, sweetheart.

And for the first time in years, the forced smiles didn’t feel so heavy. For the first time, the world felt alive. You tried to slip into the background. Found a quieter corner near the balcony, away from the crush of bodies. The night air slid cool against your flushed skin, city lights glittering beyond the glass. But it didn’t matter.

He found you anyway. Jay detached himself from the throng with a sharpness that almost startled you, like he’d been waiting for the first excuse. His glass abandoned on a table, his helmet slung casually under one arm, his damp undershirt clinging to every line of his torso. He cut through the chatter, stride long and certain, eyes locked on you as though there weren’t fifty other people between.

Your pulse spiked.

He didn’t slow when he reached you. Didn’t hesitate. He simply stepped into your space, close enough that the damp heat of him pushed against the cool air, close enough that you could see the droplets of champagne still clinging to his lashes.

“Enjoy the show?” he murmured, voice low, pitched just for you.

The corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“I usually am.” He smirked, that same one from the podium, slow and curling. “Though I have to admit…” His gaze swept deliberately over you, slow enough to make your breath falter. “…winning feels better when I know who’s watching.”

You hated the way your stomach flipped. Hated it, and wanted more. Before you could answer, someone called his name across the room. A sponsor, beckoning with an eager wave. Jay ignored it. His attention stayed locked on you, heavy and unrelenting. Then, without warning, his free hand slid to your back. Firm, hot even through the satin of your gown. “Come with me,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a request.

You blinked, caught between shock and something that felt far too much like anticipation. “Where—”

He didn’t give you time to finish. His grip tightened, guiding you with unshakable certainty as he steered you away from the balcony, away from the chatter and champagne. You felt eyes on you as he led you through the room, his hand never lifting, his pace unhurried but commanding. Some guests glanced, eyebrows raised, whispers blooming behind hands. But no one dared step in his way.

Not when he walked like that, like the victor claiming what was owed. The noise dulled as soon as you crossed the threshold out of the VIP suite. The heavy door swung shut, muffling the music, the laughter, the endless congratulations.

The hallway beyond was stark and utilitarian, bare concrete walls, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, the hum of machinery bleeding faintly from below. The glamour fell away all at once, leaving only the skeletal structure of the paddock. Your heels clicked against the floor as he pulled you with him, stride relentless, pace growing faster the further you went.

“Jay,” you hissed under your breath, heart hammering in your ribs. “What the hell are you—”

He cut you a sharp look over his shoulder, and the words withered. His expression was electric, every line of him still strung tight with adrenaline from the race, from the win, from you. You swallowed hard, the sound loud in the silence. The corridor sloped downward, deeper into the bowels of the paddock. The roar of the crowd outside dimmed to a low vibration, replaced by the hum of generators, the occasional bark of a mechanic’s voice. Fewer people passed the further you went, until the world felt deserted, just the two of you moving like inevitability through its veins.

Your pulse kept time with the sound of your steps, quick, quick, quicker still. And then he stopped. Before you. The Red Bull garage loomed ahead, its shutters half-closed, the glow of harsh white light spilling onto the concrete. The scent of oil, rubber, and hot metal wafted through the air. The space was quieter now, stripped of chaos, the skeleton crew tidying up after the day’s victory.

Jay turned to you fully, helmet still tucked under one arm, damp hair falling into his eyes. His hand slid from your back at last, but the imprint of it burned. The corner of his mouth lifted. Slow. Dangerous. “End of the line,” he said softly.

And though you stood in the echo of machines and shadows, with no one to witness, your body told you exactly what he meant.

The garage smelled of gasoline, hot rubber, and victory. The echoes of mechanics clattering away in other corners of the paddock seemed far removed, muffled by the thick tension simmering between the two of you. Jay had you pressed against the glossy flank of his car, the very machine that had carried him to the top of the podium minutes ago. His eyes, sharp as headlights cutting through fog, were locked solely on you.

Your gloves were the first thing he went for. Not in haste, but with a patience that made your pulse stutter. He took your right hand in his, turning it palm up, his thumb pressing into the satin-covered wrist like he was taking your pulse. You felt it, fast, uneven, betraying the cool composure you tried so desperately to keep. His lips curved into a half-smirk, half-knowing smile as he tugged the hem of the glove.

The satin peeled back inch by inch, exposing bare skin to the air, and the world shrank until the only thing you could feel was the drag of fabric and the heat of his stare. You forced yourself not to look away, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. His eyes flicked up from your wrist to your face, dark and unreadable, though a spark of amusement glinted there as if he was savoring every second of this power play.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low and rough from the strain of racing, “I don’t usually take trophies in garages.” He paused, letting the second glove dangle from his fingers before dropping it on the hood behind you. Then he laced both of your hands in his, his gloves rough against your skin. “But tonight feels different.”

You arched a brow, lips curling in a faint smirk of your own. “Cheesy line, race boy,” you whispered, though your tone betrayed the way your body leaned ever so slightly closer, betraying the thrill thrumming in your chest.

Jay’s smile widened, teeth flashing as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek. “Maybe. But it got you to smile.” His fingers tightened around yours, the way he held both your hands in his making it feel almost reverent despite the hungry edge to his movements.

You tilted your chin, a mocking gleam in your eyes. “Don’t think you’re special. I smile at all the winners.”

“Sweetheart,” he chuckled under his breath, gaze dragging down your face, over your lips, and lower, “we both know I’m not just any winner.”

The garage hummed with electricity, but it wasn’t the buzzing lights overhead or the cooling car beside you. It was him, his hands still tangled with yours, his touch firm like he didn’t plan to let go.

The garage was nearly empty now, most of the noise faded into a dull echo down the pit lane, but inside, it felt like the world had narrowed to just him, just you, just the hum of the cooling engine beside you. The car’s glossy red paint reflected fractured slivers of both of you: his body caging you in, your lips parted, your pulse fluttering high in your throat.

Jay still had your hands caught in his, his racing gloves rough and warm against your skin. His eyes traced your features with a focus so unrelenting it made you shift, as though he was memorizing every inch of you. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted one of your hands higher, pressing his lips to the inside of your wrist. The kiss was brief, but it left a scorch that made your breath catch.

You tried to laugh, tried to break the spell. “Is this your victory lap?” you murmured, voice thinner than you wanted it to be.

Jay’s lips brushed over your pulse once more before he answered. “This,” he whispered, finally sliding the second glove off and dropping it carelessly to the floor, “is better than any podium.”

You exhaled sharply when he freed your hands. Almost immediately, you laced your fingers into his hair, still damp from sweat, slicked back but soft under your touch. He groaned quietly at the motion, leaning into it, his hands roaming down the curves of your arms, then lower, your waist, your hips, until they settled there like he had every right.

You let your nails graze lightly against his scalp before dragging them down, slow and deliberate, until your palm was flat against his chest. The racing uniform was still zipped halfway down, exposing a triangle of flushed skin and the rise and fall of his breath. The fabric clung to him, every inch of toned muscle molded by years of work, by tonight’s victory. You let your hand slide over it, down the rigid lines of his abs, feeling him tense under your touch.

“God,” you whispered, half to yourself, “you’re solid.”

Jay tilted his head, smirk cutting across his face. “Like what you feel?” His voice was low, smug, but his eyes betrayed something softer, a flicker of hunger so intense it almost startled you.

Instead of answering, you pressed both hands to his chest now, pushing lightly until he let himself fall back against the car’s frame, giving you room to breathe. Your fingers slid down to his wrists, tugging at the leather of his gloves. He didn’t resist when you pulled one off, then the other, your motions unhurried, your eyes locked on his the entire time. You wanted him to feel it, that you were peeling away the last barrier between you.

The gloves dropped with a soft thud, forgotten. His bare hands wasted no time. They roamed up your arms again, tracing every dip, every hollow, until they found the curve of your waist. One hand slipped around your back, the other grazed the side of your ribcage, pausing where the strings of your corset cinched tight.

“Complicated little thing, isn’t it?” he murmured, brushing the lace with the edge of his knuckle.

You tilted your head, lips curling. “Afraid of a challenge?”

His smirk deepened. “Never.”

And with that, he hooked a finger into the lace and began pulling, slow, deliberate, almost maddening. The silk cords slipped free little by little, each motion loosening the armor you’d spent so long lacing yourself into. With every tug, the air felt heavier, charged with something raw and electric.

You held his gaze, refusing to look down, refusing to flinch as he undid you one ribbon at a time. Instead, you reached up again, fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw, then curling back into his hair. You dragged lightly this time, nails teasing his scalp, and the soft groan that slipped from his throat sent a bolt of heat down your spine.

The corset eased, your chest rising and falling faster now that there was space to breathe. Jay’s fingers lingered at the loosened edge, not rushing, just resting there, warm against bare skin.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, almost reverent, though his smirk lingered at the corner of his mouth. “Undone. Just for me.”

You swallowed, lips twitching into the faintest smile despite yourself. “Careful,” you whispered back, letting your thumb brush across his lips. “You keep saying things like that, I might start believing you.”

He kissed your thumb, slow and burning, his free hand pressing firmer against your waist. “That’s the idea.”

The garage seemed to pulse with the silence between words, with the drag of fabric loosening, the rasp of your breaths tangled together, the heat of his body crowding yours. The moment hung there, balanced on a knife’s edge, the smell of oil and champagne lingering in the air, his fingers still resting against the loosened lace of your corset, your thumb brushing the softness of his lower lip. You’d never let anyone linger this close, never allowed anyone to hold you still and strip away your defenses so carefully, like each string of silk was another layer of you he was claiming.

And then he tilted his head.

Not much. Just enough for his mouth to graze against the pad of your thumb, his lips warm and soft, the barest hint of a smile pulling at them. You sucked in a sharp breath, pulse stuttering, but you didn’t pull away.

If anything, you leaned closer.

Jay caught that movement instantly, eyes flickering up to yours, and you swore the smirk died for a moment. In its place was something heavier, something that made your knees feel unsteady. His hand on your waist tightened, anchoring you against him.

“Sweetheart…” he murmured, his voice a low rasp.

And that was it, the thread that snapped. You closed the last inch of space between you, pressing your lips to his. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t neat. It was messy, hungry, like the both of you had been holding your breath for hours and finally exhaled into each other. The taste of champagne still lingered faintly on his mouth, cool against the heat of your own.

Jay groaned softly into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips as he angled his head, deepening it. His hand slid up your back, fingers splaying wide as though he couldn’t get enough of holding you there. The other hand cupped your jaw, thumb stroking lightly over your cheek, grounding you even as the kiss set you alight.

You tangled both hands in his hair, finally dragging them through in the way you’d been aching to. The strands were damp, silky, and he tilted his head with the pull, pressing closer until your spine met the solid curve of the car behind you. His chest was firm against yours, heat searing through the thin barrier of your gown and his half-open suit.

When you finally pulled back, it wasn’t because you wanted to. It was because your lungs screamed for air. You broke the kiss with a gasp, lips tingling, breath shaky. He didn’t go far, though, his forehead rested against yours, noses brushing, his thumb still stroking your cheek.

You tried for composure, for control, but your voice betrayed you, low and unsteady. “That… was reckless.”

Jay chuckled softly, his lips brushing yours again like he couldn’t stand the distance. “Reckless is kind of my thing.”

You smirked despite yourself, breathless, your hands still knotted in his hair. “Don’t get cocky, race boy.”

He grinned, and before you could catch your breath properly, he kissed you again, slower this time, lingering, a promise tucked beneath the press of his lips.

The second kiss was different. The first had been fire and recklessness, a spark catching dry tinder. But this one, this one was deliberate. Controlled. Like Jay wanted to savor you, taste every reaction, drag it out until you were trembling from nothing more than his mouth.

He kissed you with aching slowness, his lips brushing and lingering, retreating just to come back again until you were chasing him for more. The corner of his mouth tugged upward against yours every time he felt you lean into it, every time he heard that small, desperate sound slip from your throat.

When you finally parted your lips, just slightly, his tongue slid against yours in a tease, light, fleeting, before pulling back. You made a soft sound of protest, fingers tightening in his hair, and that was all the invitation he needed. His tongue swept against yours fully now, confident, coaxing, deepening the kiss until your knees went weak.

He tasted like champagne and adrenaline, sharp and intoxicating, and you could feel him smiling into it, smug at the way you melted against him. You bit down gently on his lower lip just to wipe that arrogance off his face, but instead of recoiling, Jay groaned, low and throaty, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hand tightened at your jaw, thumb sliding across your cheek as if to steady you, as if he’d unravel otherwise.

“You’re trouble,” he whispered against your lips, before capturing them again.

This time, his kisses turned hungrier, less polished, his teeth grazing your lips. He nipped at the corner of your mouth, tugged softly on your lower lip before soothing the sting with his tongue. You gasped at the sensation, clutching tighter at his hair, and he smiled, biting again just to hear that little noise from you.

Then his lips left yours entirely, and you almost whined at the loss, until he trailed downward.

The first brush of his mouth against your jaw was feather-light, a tease. Then firmer, dragging teeth and tongue along the delicate line there. You tipped your head back instinctively, granting him more space, and he made a pleased sound deep in his chest.

His lips found the curve of your neck, hot and open-mouthed, sucking gently until heat pooled low in your stomach. You felt every scrape of his teeth, every slow swirl of his tongue as he worked at sensitive spots, pulling little gasps from you that echoed in the quiet garage. He lingered, biting softly, then soothing the mark with a kiss that was far too gentle for how unraveled you felt.

Your hands dragged lower now, sliding from his hair down over his shoulders, across the solid breadth of his chest. His body was searing, hard under your palms, and when your fingers grazed over the open V of his suit, he shuddered against your throat, biting down just a little harder.

“Jay—” you breathed, half warning, half plea.

“Say that again,” he murmured into your skin, his breath hot, his lips moving lazily along your neck, nipping, tasting. “God, I like the way it sounds.”

His kisses grew slower again, lingering at the hollow of your throat, where he pressed one final bite, enough to make you gasp, before sucking it tender and soothing the ache with his tongue. When he finally pulled back, his mouth was pink, slightly swollen, and his eyes, dark, heavy, utterly focused on you, made your breath catch.

He rested his forehead against yours again, lips brushing yours as he whispered, “Still think I’m just some cocky race boy?”

Your smirk wobbled, your voice barely steady. “Maybe… but you’re good with your mouth.”

Jay chuckled, low and dangerous, before kissing you again, messy, consuming, like he wasn’t done proving it.

Your back hit the car with a muted thud, the glossy hood cool against the heat rising in your skin. Jay pressed forward instantly, caging you in with his body, the hard planes of his chest flush against yours, his breath heavy and ragged as though the race hadn’t ended at all.

His hands roamed lower, sliding beneath the loosened edge of your corset. The pads of his fingers brushed along bare skin, up over the ridges of your ribs, until he teased the swell of your breast with maddening restraint. The touch was feather-light, barely there, yet it sent a shiver down your spine that made you arch into him.

You gasped softly, your hands snapping up to clutch at his wrists. It wasn’t to stop him, it was to anchor yourself. To remind your body not to completely unravel under the weight of a single touch. But the way you gripped him, the way your nails pressed into his skin, gave you away.

Jay’s eyes caught yours, and for a moment, his smirk was gone. What replaced it was darker, sharper, lust so fierce it burned through his usual polished charm. His pupils blown wide, his jaw tight, his breathing uneven. He looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, voice a low growl, “how badly I’ve wanted to do this since the second you walked into that gala.”

And then he kissed you again, harder, hungrier, his tongue claiming your mouth as his hands finally pressed fully against your breasts, coaxing a broken moan from your lips. The sound seemed to ignite him. He groaned into the kiss, his hands kneading, teasing, his thumbs brushing against your nipples through the satin. Every little sound you made, every arch of your body, was like fuel to him.

You could barely breathe, your body strung tight with need, your fingers dragging down his chest, clinging to the fabric of his half-unzipped suit. He broke the kiss just long enough to pant against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, low and fervent, and before you could even ask, he moved.

With one smooth, powerful motion, Jay hooked his arms under you, lifting you off the hood as if you weighed nothing. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, but he only tightened his hold, carrying you with effortless strength toward the cockpit of his car. The adrenaline in his veins had shifted from racing to you, and it made him reckless, unstoppable.

He lowered you into the driver’s seat, a space designed for one, never two. The snug cockpit cradled your body, forcing your legs up, making you hyperaware of how scandalous, how forbidden, this was. The leather was warm beneath you, the steering wheel inches from your chest, the seat molded for him alone.

Jay slid in after you, somehow managing to wedge his body into the impossibly tight space, his chest pressed flush against yours, his thighs trapping you completely. You could barely move, barely breathe, except for the way he allowed you to, the way his body dictated.

“This seat,” he whispered hot against your ear, his lips grazing the shell of it as his hands slid up your thighs, “was made for me. But right now? It’s all yours.”

Your breath hitched as his palms brushed higher, thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin just beneath the loosened edges of your corset. The position forced you open, forced you vulnerable, and every brush of his fingers pulled another desperate sound from your throat.

You tried to form words, to steady yourself, but all that left you was a shuddered, “Jay…”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze feral, devouring. His hand cupped your cheek again, tilting your head so he could kiss you slow and deep, swallowing the sound of your moan as his other hand slid beneath the loosened fabric of your corset completely, caressing bare skin, dragging fire wherever he touched.

The cockpit was suffocatingly tight, the steering wheel pressed against your side, his body heavy against yours, but the closeness made it intoxicating. There was no escape, no room to think, only him, his hands, his mouth, his eyes burning into you like you were the only prize worth winning tonight.

The cockpit wasn’t built for this, for bodies pressed this tight, for breaths mingling, for clothes being peeled away in frantic, deliberate motions. But maybe that was what made it so intoxicating: the sheer impossibility of it, the risk of being caught, the suffocating closeness that turned every brush of skin into a spark.

Jay’s hands moved first, tugging at the loosened edges of your corset, undoing the last knots of lace with infuriating precision. Each pull of the ribbon revealed more of you, until the garment slipped loose around your torso. You gasped softly as cool air met heated skin, your hands instinctively covering yourself, but Jay caught your wrists, pinning them gently but firmly against the seat’s frame.

“Don’t hide from me,” he whispered, his voice husky, his eyes devouring you. “Not tonight.”

With agonizing slowness, he peeled the corset off completely, tossing it carelessly into the footwell. His gaze roamed unapologetically over your body, lingering at the delicate lace of your lingerie. Black, sheer, clinging to every curve, your last layer of armor.

You shifted under his stare, but before you could speak, he bent low, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, his breath hot against lace. His teeth grazed lightly over a peak through the fabric, and your moan echoed in the tiny space, making his cock twitch against you.

Your fingers trembled as you tugged at the zipper of his race suit, dragging it the rest of the way down. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, baring the sweat-slicked expanse of his chest, every muscle defined, sculpted by years of pushing himself to the edge. You couldn’t resist trailing your nails down over the hard lines of his abs, drawing a hiss from his lips.

“Your turn,” you murmured, your voice low but daring.

Jay smirked, standing just enough to push the rest of the suit down his hips. The fireproof undershirt went next, discarded in a rush, until only his briefs clung low on his waist. The sight made your breath stutter, broad shoulders, lean waist, every line of him glistening with victory and desire.

Now it was just lace and briefs, two bodies stripped down to hunger and heat, pressed together in a seat meant for one.

Jay climbed back in, forcing himself into the impossibly tight space, his chest flush to yours, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs. He pushed them wider, the lace riding up, the position scandalous and raw. His erection strained against the thin fabric of his briefs, pressing against your core, the friction delicious even through the last barriers of cloth.

He groaned, low and primal, his forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck… you feel too good already.”

Your fingers tangled in his damp hair again, dragging him into another kiss, messy, biting, desperate. His hands roamed everywhere: gripping your hips, caressing your thighs, brushing the curve of your breasts through lace until you were gasping into his mouth.

The cockpit creaked faintly with your movements, leather groaning under the strain, but neither of you cared. Every motion, every breath, was frantic with the knowledge that this was forbidden, reckless, and oh so delicious.

The press of leather against your back, the hard wheel jutting against your ribs, Jay’s body caging you in, it should have been unbearable. But his hands, his mouth, his heat made it the most intoxicating prison you’d ever been in.

He ground against you first, slow, testing. His hips rolled forward, the thin fabric of his briefs brushing hard against the lace at your core. You gasped into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders. He swallowed the sound greedily, kissing you harder, deeper, like he couldn’t stand the idea of air between you.

Another roll of his hips had you moaning, the friction deliciously raw in the confined space. He chuckled darkly against your lips. “Already needy, sweetheart?” His voice rasped, low and smug, but the way his cock throbbed against you betrayed his own unraveling.

Your only answer was to arch against him, your hips meeting his in a shameless grind that drew a hiss from his throat. His hand slid down, slipping beneath the lace at your hip, fingers skimming over bare skin before cupping you fully. He groaned when he felt the damp heat waiting for him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging his fingers along your folds, slow and deliberate. “You’re soaked. All for me.”

You could only moan, your head tipping back against the seat as his touch teased and coaxed. The lace became nothing more than an obstacle, so he hooked his fingers into it, tugging until the delicate fabric tore with a soft snap. The sound was obscene in the silence, your last barrier gone, leaving you bare beneath him.

He didn’t give you time to think. His fingers slid inside, two at once, filling you as his thumb pressed firmly against your clit. The cry that ripped from your throat echoed off the metal walls, and Jay grinned ferociously, kissing you again as his hand worked mercilessly.

The cockpit rocked faintly with your movements, his fingers thrusting deep, curling in just the right spot. You clung to him, nails biting into his skin, your hips rolling against his hand helplessly. He groaned into your mouth, his cock grinding harder against you, straining against the confines of his briefs.

“Say my name,” he growled, his lips brushing your ear as he fucked you with his fingers, his thumb circling ruthlessly.

“Jay—” you gasped, broken, your voice catching as your body trembled.

“That’s it,” he praised, biting down lightly on your neck. “Say it like that when you come.”

Your release hit fast, sharp, your body clenching around his fingers as waves of pleasure crashed through you. You moaned his name just as he commanded, your thighs shaking, your hands clawing at his chest. He kissed you through it, swallowing every sound, until you sagged against the seat, trembling.

But he wasn’t done.

Jay pulled his fingers free, glistening, and without breaking eye contact, he shoved his briefs down just enough to free himself. Your breath caught at the sight, thick, flushed, already leaking with precum for you. He gripped himself once, guiding his cock against your entrance, smearing your wetness along the length.

The space was so tight, your bodies so crammed together, that when he pushed in, it was deep immediately. You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you inch by inch, stretching you until there was nothing else, no air, no thought, just him.

“Fuck—” he groaned, head dropping against your shoulder, his hips stilling once he was buried to the hilt. “You’re… perfect.”

The position forced your legs up around his waist, the seat holding you open, vulnerable, as he began to move. The thrusts were short but devastating, the confined space giving him no choice but to drive deep every time. The car rocked with the force, the steering wheel pressing against your side, your moans bouncing off the tight walls.

Every stroke hit that spot inside you, dragging more cries from your throat. Jay kissed you through them all, his lips messy, biting, his tongue sliding against yours as he fucked you hard and desperate.

The sound of skin slapping, of your wetness clinging to him, filled the cockpit, obscene and feral. His hand slipped between your bodies again, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from you.

“You’re mine now,” he growled against your lips, his thrusts growing rougher, more reckless. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, moaning as your body tightened again, the pleasure building impossibly fast under his ruthless pace. “Jay—I’m yours—”

His groan was guttural, broken, as he buried himself deep, grinding against you, his fingers ruthless on your clit. The second orgasm tore through you, your scream muffled by his mouth as you clamped down around him, your body shaking violently.

That was all it took. Jay cursed, thrusting hard, and then he was spilling into you, hot and overwhelming, his hips jerking as he kissed you like he’d never stop.

The cockpit reeked of sweat, sex, and victory. Your body trembled in his hold, his chest heaving against yours, both of you panting, wrecked. And Jay, still buried deep inside you, pressed his forehead to yours with a feral grin. “Sweetheart,” he panted, brushing his lips against yours, “I told you, this win was mine.”

The cockpit still reeked of sex, heat clinging to your skin as Jay’s hips rocked lazily into yours. You were still trembling from your second release, legs hooked around his waist, every inch of you stretched and filled. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot, his lips brushing yours with every ragged exhale.

And then, footsteps. Your heart stopped. The muffled sound of voices outside the garage, the heavy scrape of the main door being shifted, the faint squeal of rubber soles against cement. You gasped, panic spiking in your chest, but Jay’s hand was instantly over your mouth, his eyes locked on yours, dark and feral. “Don’t,” he mouthed, a dangerous grin tugging at his lips.

The voices grew louder. Someone was right outside, calling casually to another, their tone careless, oblivious. And instead of stopping, Jay’s hips rolled. Deep. Slow. You whimpered into his palm, your nails digging into his back as he bottomed out inside you, the thick stretch stealing your breath. He chuckled low in his throat, the sound wicked, and ground harder against your clit with every measured thrust.

Your wide eyes begged him to stop, but his expression only darkened, reveling in the risk. “Shh,” he whispered against your ear, his hand pressing firmer over your lips as his cock dragged out of you, only to slam back in, silent but devastating.

You tried to shake your head, but your body betrayed you, the tight clench around him, the desperate roll of your hips despite yourself. His teeth grazed your neck, biting lightly to swallow his groan. Outside, a door slammed, voices fading. They were leaving. Relief flickered, until Jay snapped his hips forward hard, making you squeal into his hand.

“Thought you were scared?” he rasped, eyes glittering as his pace quickened, each thrust deliberate and deep, the seat creaking beneath you. “Then why are you so fucking tight around me?”

Tears pricked your eyes at the intensity, your muffled cries filling the tiny cockpit, every sound swallowed by his palm. The sheer obscenity of it, of being stuffed full of him, trembling, while someone had been seconds away from catching you, sent you spiraling.

His thrusts grew ruthless, reckless, chasing your release even as your body writhed under his control. “Come for me,” he ordered, his voice low, commanding. “Be my good girl and soak my cock while they’re right outside.”

The words shattered you. The orgasm ripped through your body violently, your muffled scream vibrating against his hand, your walls clamping down around him so tight it drew a guttural curse from his throat. He followed a heartbeat later, thrusting hard, spilling deep, his body shuddering as he pressed his mouth to your shoulder to muffle his own ragged groan.

For a long moment, the only sound was your uneven breathing, the faint creak of the car as your bodies trembled together. Then, finally, Jay lifted his hand from your mouth, his grin smug and devastating.

“Guess we like playing with fire, sweetheart,” he murmured, still buried deep inside you.

The garage had gone still again, the distant echo of footsteps fading into nothing. Inside the cockpit, though, it felt like the whole world had stopped. Just you and Jay, bodies tangled, skin damp, breaths still shaky from the chaos of what you’d just done. You slumped against him, your cheek pressed to the damp skin of his shoulder, the faint salt of sweat clinging to your lips. He was still buried deep inside you, his length softening slowly but not leaving, keeping you stretched, stuffed, impossibly full. The intimacy of it made your chest tighten.

Jay’s hand smoothed up and down your spine, languid strokes that settled into something more tender than you expected. His mouth pressed featherlight kisses along your hairline, then down your temple, lingering as if memorizing the shape of you.

“You feel,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, “like you were made to fit me.”

You shivered, your lashes fluttering shut, a sigh catching in your throat. His words could’ve sounded cocky if not for the rawness in his voice, the way he said it like a confession.

Your hands were clumsy, still trembling, but you slid your fingers up into his hair, loosening the slicked strands until they fell wild around his face. He let out a quiet hum when your nails scratched lightly at his scalp, tilting his head to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Don’t say things like that,” you murmured, the sound muffled, though a smile betrayed you against his lips.

“Why not?” he asked, playful, but his tone had gentled. His forehead leaned against yours, his breath slow, steadier now. “It’s true.”

You let out a shaky laugh, pressing your hand against his chest, feeling the heavy drum of his heart. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” he murmured, nudging your nose with his, “are dangerous.”

The cockpit was cramped, suffocating almost, but in that moment it felt like the most intimate corner of the universe. Your bare thighs stuck to his racing briefs, your lace crushed and ruined between you, his release slipping warm and messy where you were still joined. You shifted faintly and felt it all over again, the obscene fullness of him still inside you, the dull, tender ache he left in his wake. It made you whimper before you could stop yourself.

Jay’s lips curved, but not in the sharp smirk he’d worn all night. This one was softer, reverent almost. He kissed you again, slower now, mouths moving lazily against each other, no urgency, just taste and heat and the kind of sweetness that left your stomach fluttering.

When he pulled back, barely, his thumb brushed your jaw, his eyes dark but softened. “You good?” he asked quietly, not the cocky driver who’d whispered filth against your skin, but the man beneath it.

Your throat tightened at the question, at how gently he asked. “Yeah,” you breathed, honest. “Better than good.”

His smile deepened, and he kissed you again, lingering, unhurried.

The afterglow wrapped around you both, a haze of warmth and mess and whispered breaths, the race and the chaos of the world outside melting away. For the first time in longer than you could remember, you didn’t feel like a model on display, or like he was a driver on the podium, you just felt like two people, stuffed together in a seat too small, too close, too intimate, unwilling to let go.

And Jay, still inside you, still keeping you full, seemed in no hurry to move either.

“Stay like this a little longer,” he whispered, pressing one more kiss to your lips.

The air in the garage had cooled, a faint draft licking at your overheated skin. Slowly, reluctantly, Jay shifted inside you, slipping free with a drag that made you both hiss at the sticky aftermath. The seat creaked as you straightened, trying to catch your breath, the ache between your thighs a constant reminder of what you’d just done.

Jay chuckled low, the sound warm as he pressed one last kiss to your swollen lips. Then, with surprising care, he reached for your gloves where they’d been discarded, sliding them gently back over your hands like he was redressing something fragile. His fingers lingered, tugging each fingertip snug, eyes glinting with fond mischief.

“You ruin me,” he murmured, voice husky but softer now, like he wasn’t used to whispering things this raw.

You smirked faintly, tugging at the strap of his briefs still clinging low on his hips. “You’re one to talk.”

The cleanup was messy, but intimate. He passed you tissues from a supply cabinet, grinning at the flush creeping up your neck as you dabbed yourself clean. He didn’t look away, not once, but there was no judgment in his gaze, only that infuriating mixture of hunger and tenderness that left you weak. When you reached to tie your corset again, he stopped you, brushing your hands aside.

“Let me,” he said simply, fingers threading the strings, tightening them with slow, practiced patience. His knuckles brushed the small of your back, his head bent close enough you felt the ghost of his breath against your spine. When he finished, he pressed a kiss just above the laces, unhurried, reverent.

Your chest ached. You didn’t want it to, but it did.

By the time you pulled the satin of your gown back into place and slipped your heels on, Jay had stripped out of his briefs and back into his race suit. His hair was still messy, damp, but when he zipped himself up and raked his fingers through it, the picture of the untouchable driver returned, except now, you knew how soft he could be beneath it.

Silence fell as he opened the side door, the two of you slipping into the dim corridor that stretched toward the exit. His hand brushed yours once, then again, until finally he took it, lacing his fingers firmly with yours. The silence wasn’t awkward, it was heavy with something unspoken, something you weren’t ready to name.

You walked that way all the way to the exit.

At the threshold, the cool night air spilling in, Jay paused. He turned to face you, still holding your hand. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, a shy, boyish grin that lit up his face in a way you’d never seen on track or on podiums.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, almost nervous, “about that bet…” His thumb brushed across your knuckles. “I think I earned something.”

You raised a brow, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. “And what exactly do you think you’ve earned?”

He laughed quietly, ducking his head for a moment before looking back up at you. “Your number,” he admitted, grin widening. “And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, a date that doesn’t involve me sweating through a race suit.”

The simplicity of it knocked the air out of you. For all the fire and filth you’d just shared, this, him asking shyly, like a teenager, felt more dangerous.

You smirked to cover the flutter in your chest, slipping your phone from your clutch. “Hand it over, racer boy.”

~Fin

masterlist

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands, ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie,  ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk  ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful,  ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @artemesiareads, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw,  ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy,  ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001  ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq, ⟡ @strawberrykkk1

✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

He leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window, his dark hair slightly tousled, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The amber liquid swirled as he stared out at the city, his mind replaying the conversation from earlier that day. His mother, Park Ji-yeon, had dropped a bombshell over lunch at their family’s sprawling estate in Gangnam.

“Sunghoon-ah,” she’d said, her tone deceptively sweet as she sliced into her kimchi jjigae. “You’re not getting any younger. It’s time to settle down.”

Sunghoon had nearly choked on his rice. “Eomma, I’m twenty-three. I’m not exactly collecting pension checks.”

Her eyes had narrowed, that familiar glint of determination flashing. “I’ve spoken with Mrs. Kang. Her daughter, Soo-jin, is perfect for you. She’s elegant, well-educated, and from a respectable family. I’ve already arranged a meeting for next week.”

The memory made Sunghoon’s jaw clench. Kang Soo-jin. He’d met her once at a charity gala—polished, poised, and painfully artificial. She’d spent the evening name-dropping designers and subtly flaunting her family’s wealth. The idea of spending his life with someone like her made his skin crawl. He wasn’t opposed to marriage, not entirely, but he wanted something real—something that didn’t feel like a business merger.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling him from his thoughts. A text from his best friend, Jay: “Heard about the arranged marriage fiasco. You good, man?”

Sunghoon snorted, typing back: “Define ‘good.’ I’d rather jump into the Han River than marry Soo-jin.”

Jay’s reply came instantly: “Then don’t. Find a way out. You’re Park Sunghoon, you always figure it out.”

A way out. Sunghoon set the whiskey down, his mind racing. He needed a plan—something drastic, something his mother couldn’t argue with. That’s when the idea hit him, reckless and bold, like something out of the K-dramas his sister was always watching: a contract marriage.

If he was already “taken,” his mother would have no choice but to back off. But who could he convince to play along? It had to be someone trustworthy, someone who wouldn’t get the wrong idea, and definitely someone who could handle the scrutiny of his high-profile life.

His thoughts drifted to you.

You, Y/N, were the furthest thing from Sunghoon’s polished world. A barista at a cozy café in Hongdae, you lived paycheck to paycheck, your biggest worry being whether you could afford to fix your ancient laptop or pay your rent on time. At twenty-three, you were fiercely independent, with a sharp wit and a tendency to speak your mind—a trait that often got you into trouble but also made you unforgettable.

You’d met Sunghoon by chance six months ago. He’d wandered into your café late one night, looking like a lost puppy in his tailored suit, clearly out of place among the fairy lights and mismatched furniture. He’d ordered a black coffee, and when you’d jokingly asked if he wanted “a side of existential crisis” with it, he’d actually laughed—a low, genuine sound that had surprised you both.

Since then, he’d become a regular, stopping by whenever his schedule allowed. You didn’t know much about his life beyond what the tabloids screamed—“Park Sunghoon: The Ice Prince of Seoul’s Elite”—but you liked his quiet humor, the way he’d linger at the counter to chat, and how he always tipped generously. There was a spark between you, unspoken but undeniable, though neither of you had ever dared to acknowledge it.

Tonight, as you wiped down the counter after the evening rush, the bell above the door chimed. You glanced up, expecting another overworked college student, but there was Sunghoon, his black coat dusted with snowflakes, his expression unreadable.

“Hey, stranger,” you called, tossing the rag aside. “You’re late. We’re out of your fancy espresso beans.”

He smirked, shaking snow from his hair. “Good. Your regular coffee’s better anyway.”

You raised an eyebrow, sensing something off. “Rough day? You look like you just lost a fight with a boardroom.”

“Worse,” he said, sliding into a seat at the counter. “My mother’s trying to marry me off.”

You laughed, assuming he was joking, but his serious expression made you pause. “Wait, for real? Like, an arranged marriage? In 2025?”

“Welcome to my life,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “She’s got her heart set on pairing me with some heiress I can barely stand. I need a way out, Y/N.”

You leaned on the counter, intrigued. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your grand escape plan, chaebol boy?”

He hesitated, his dark eyes locking onto yours. There was a flicker of something—nervousness, maybe?—that you’d never seen in him before. “I need someone to marry me. Temporarily. Like… a contract marriage.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” he said, leaning closer, his voice low. “It’d be a business deal. Would you do it with me? We sign a contract, pretend to be married for a year, maybe two, until my mother backs off. I’d make it worth your while—money, a place to live, whatever you need.”

Your heart pounded, not just at the absurdity of the proposal but at the way his gaze held yours, steady and intense. This was straight out of a K-drama, complete with the brooding male lead and the impossible situation. But you weren’t some starry-eyed heroine. You had bills to pay, a life to live, and no time for fairy tales.

“Sunghoon, I’m a barista, not a rom-com actress,” you said, crossing your arms. “Why me? You’ve got a whole rolodex of socialites who’d jump at this.”

“Because I trust you,” he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. “You’re real, Y/N. You don’t care about my last name or my bank account. And… I don’t know, I just feel like you’d get it.”

You studied him, searching for a catch. The logical part of your brain screamed that this was insane—marrying a near-stranger, even on paper, was a recipe for chaos. But another part, the part that noticed the way his fingers fidgeted with his coffee cup, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, was curious. Maybe even tempted.

“What’s in it for me?” you asked, keeping your tone light to mask the butterflies in your stomach.

“Name your price,” he said. “A new apartment, tuition for that art degree you mentioned once, a car—whatever you want. I’ll take care of everything.”

You whistled, leaning back. “Wow, you’re really selling this. What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, but then he hesitated, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Well… we’d have to make it convincing. Public appearances, maybe some events together. And you’d have to move in with me.”

“Move in?” you echoed, your voice rising. “Like, live with you? In your fancy penthouse?”

“It’s part of the deal,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “My mother’s nosy. She’d know if it wasn’t real.”

You laughed, half in disbelief, half in nervous excitement. “This is insane, Sunghoon. You get that, right?”

“I know,” he said, his lips twitching into a small smile. “But I’m desperate. And I think you could use a break from this place.” He gestured at the café, where a leaky pipe dripped in the corner.

You followed his gaze, your resolve wavering. Your life wasn’t glamorous—late nights, sore feet, and a landlord who raised the rent every chance he got. Sunghoon’s offer was a lifeline, but it came with strings. Big, messy, potentially heart-breaking strings.

“I need time to think,” you said finally, your voice softer now.

He nodded, standing up and sliding a business card across the counter. It was sleek, black, with his name and number embossed in gold. “Take as long as you need. But… don’t take too long, okay? The meeting with Soo-jin is next week.”

As he walked out, the bell chiming behind him, you stared at the card, your mind spinning. A contract marriage with Park Sunghoon. It was ridiculous, reckless, and maybe the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to you.

The next few days were a blur. You worked your shifts, smiled at customers, and tried to ignore the way your heart raced every time you thought about Sunghoon’s offer. You’d always prided yourself on being practical, but this? This was uncharted territory.

On your day off, you sat in your tiny studio apartment, the walls paper-thin and the air faintly musty. You pulled out a notebook and started listing pros and cons, like you were planning a grocery trip instead of a fake marriage.

Pros:

Financial security (goodbye, ramen dinners)

A chance to pursue your art degree

Living in a penthouse (hot showers! No leaks!)

Sticking it to Sunghoon’s meddling mom

Cons:

Lying to everyone you know

Pretending to be in love with a guy you barely know

The risk of actually falling for him

The fallout when it ends

That last one made you pause. You’d always kept Sunghoon at arm’s length, treating him like a friendly customer rather than… well, whatever he was becoming. But there was no denying the way your pulse quickened when he smiled, or how you’d started looking forward to his late-night visits. Could you really live with him, act like his wife, and keep your heart out of it?

Your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. A text from an unknown number: “This is Sunghoon. Any thoughts yet?”

You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. This was your chance to back out, to stay safe and keep your life simple. But as you glanced around your cramped apartment, the weight of your dreams pressing against the reality of your bank account, you made a decision.

You typed back: “I’m in. Let’s talk details.”

The next evening, you met Sunghoon at a quiet restaurant in Itaewon, far from the prying eyes of Gangnam’s elite. He was already there when you arrived, dressed down in a black sweater and jeans, but still looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine. He stood as you approached, pulling out your chair with a small, nervous smile.

“You came,” he said, like he hadn’t been sure you would.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you teased, sliding into the seat. “I’m not the one proposing fake marriages.”

He chuckled, but there was a tension in his shoulders, like he was carrying the weight of the world. “Fair enough. So… how do we do this?”

You leaned forward, your voice low. “First, we need ground rules. No funny business, Park. This is a business deal, not a love story.”

His eyes flickered with something—amusement, maybe, or disappointment. “Agreed. No funny business. We’ll keep it professional.”

You spent the next hour hammering out the details: a one-year contract, renewable if needed; a generous monthly stipend for you; a shared penthouse but separate bedrooms; and a strict no-falling-in-love clause, which you insisted on even as your stomach twisted at the thought.

“We’ll need to sell it,” Sunghoon said, sipping his coffee. “My mother’s sharp. She’ll smell a rat if we’re not convincing.”

“Meaning?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hand-holding, maybe some couple-y stuff in public. Nothing too crazy, just enough to make it believable.”

You nodded, ignoring the way your heart skipped at the idea of holding his hand. “Fine. But if you try to call me ‘jagiya’ in private, I’m out.”

He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Deal. Anything else?”

You hesitated, then said, “Yeah. Don’t break my heart, okay? I know this is fake, but… let’s keep it clean.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something more. But he just nodded. “I promise.”

By the time you left the restaurant, the contract was drafted on a napkin—sloppy, but binding in its own way. As you stepped into the chilly night, Sunghoon beside you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just signed up for more than you’d bargained for.

The sterile glow of the law firm's conference room felt like a hospital ward, all polished wood and sharp edges. You sat across from Sunghoon, your palms clammy as the lawyer, a middle-aged man with a permanent frown, droned on about non-disclosure agreements. The nap agreement from that night in Itaewon had evolved into a crisp, intimidating stack of papers, each clause a reminder of the surreal choice you’d made.

Sunghoon, dressed in a navy suit that probably cost more than your rent for a year, looked calm—too calm. His posture was perfect, his expression neutral, but you noticed the way his fingers tapped a subtle rhythm against his thigh under the table. Nervous. It was a tiny crack in his polished facade, and it made you feel a little less like you were spiraling into madness alone.

“Miss Y/N,” the lawyer said, pushing his glasses up his nose, “You understand that this contract is legally binding for a minimum of one-year terms, renewable only by mutual consent? Upon termination, you’ll receive the agreed-upon compensation, provided all confidentiality clauses are adhered to.”

You nodded, your throat dry. “Yes, I get it.”

The contract was airtight: one year as Park Sunghoon’s wife on paper, complete with a monthly stipend of ₩50 million (about $40,000), a furnished penthouse in Gangnam, and a full ride for your art degree at Hongik University. In exchange, you’d play the doting wife at public events, live under the same roof, and keep your mouth shut about the arrangement. There was even a clause about “appropriate public affection” to maintain the illusion—hand-holding, smiles, maybe a staged peck on the cheek if the cameras were rolling.

Your eyes flicked to Sunghoon, who was scanning the document with a focus that made you wonder if he was memorizing it. “You good with this?” you asked, keeping your tone light despite the knot in your stomach.

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours. “Yeah. You?”

You shrugged, faking nonchalance. “Guess I’m ready to be Mrs. Park for a year.”

The lawyer cleared his throat, clearly unamused by your sarcasm. “If there are no objections, please sign here and here.” He slid the contract toward you, pointing to the dotted lines.

You picked up the pen, its weight heavier than it should’ve been. This was it—no turning back. You scrawled your signature, the ink bleeding slightly on the paper, and passed it to Sunghoon. He signed without hesitation, his handwriting sharp and precise, like everything else about him.

“Congratulations,” the lawyer said dryly, gathering the papers. “You’re now legally married.”

The words hit like a punch. Married. To Park Sunghoon. You forced a laugh, glancing at him. “No confetti? No cake?”

He smirked, loosening his tie slightly. “I’ll owe you a cake. Let’s get out of here.”

Two days later, you stood in the doorway of Sunghoon’s penthouse, a duffel bag slung over your shoulder and a cardboard box at your feet. Your entire life fit into those two items, a stark contrast to the sprawling, minimalist luxury before you. The place was straight out of an architectural magazine—open-concept, with sleek black marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a view of Seoul’s skyline that made your jaw drop. The air smelled faintly of cedarwood and wealth.

Sunghoon appeared from the hallway, casual in a white T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair damp like he’d just showered. “You made it,” he said, eyeing your meager belongings. “That’s… all your stuff?”

You bristled, hugging the duffel tighter. “Not everyone needs a walk-in closet, Park. Where’s my room?”

He led you down a corridor lined with abstract art, stopping at a door. “Here. I had it set up for you.”

The room was bigger than your old apartment, with a king-sized bed, a desk by a massive window, and an en-suite bathroom that looked like a spa. A sketchpad and a set of expensive colored pencils sat on the desk—new, still in their packaging. You turned to him, surprised. “You… got me art supplies?”

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “You said you wanted to study art. Figured you’d need them.”

The gesture caught you off guard, a flicker of warmth softening the edges of your wariness. “Thanks,” you mumbled, setting your bag down. “So, what now? Do we start practicing our lovey-dovey act?”

He leaned against the doorframe, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Not yet. First, we need to survive dinner with my mother tomorrow.”

Your stomach dropped. “Tomorrow? Already?”

“She’s insistent,” he said, his tone grim. “She wants to meet her new daughter-in-law. We need to be convincing, or she’ll sniff out the lie faster than you can say ‘contract.’”

You groaned, flopping onto the bed. “Great. Nothing like a high-stakes family dinner to kick off our fake marriage.”

The Park family estate was a fortress of elegance, nestled in the heart of Gangnam. Chandeliers dripped crystal, and the dining room table could’ve seated a small parliament. You felt like a fish out of water in your borrowed dress—a sleek, burgundy number Sunghoon had insisted you wear, claiming it was “appropriate for the occasion.” It hugged your figure in a way that made you hyper-aware of every step, especially with Sunghoon’s hand resting lightly on your lower back as you entered.

Park Ji-yeon, Sunghoon’s mother, was a vision of timeless beauty, her sharp eyes scanning you like a hawk assessing prey. Beside her sat Sunghoon’s older sister, Min-ji, who offered a warm smile that felt like a lifeline.

“Y/N, darling,” Ji-yeon said, her voice smooth but edged with scrutiny. “Sunghoon tells me you met at a café. How… quaint.”

You forced a smile, channeling every K-drama heroine you’d ever seen. “Yes, Mrs. Park. I work there. Sunghoon was a regular, and, well, one thing led to another.” You glanced at him, hoping your nerves didn’t show.

Sunghoon’s hand slid to yours under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’s being modest,” he said, his voice warm. “Y/N’s the only person who could make me drink decaf and like it.”

Min-ji laughed, but Ji-yeon’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “How charming. And so sudden, this marriage. No engagement, no introduction… just a wedding.”

You felt Sunghoon tense beside you, but you jumped in before he could speak. “We didn’t want to wait,” you said, leaning slightly toward him, your shoulder brushing his. “When you know, you know, right?”

Ji-yeon’s gaze flickered between you, calculating. “Indeed. Well, Y/N, I hope you’re prepared for the responsibilities of being a Park. Our family has… expectations.”

The rest of the dinner was a minefield of pointed questions and subtle jabs. Ji-yeon grilled you on your background, your education, even your taste in wine, while Sunghoon deftly redirected the conversation whenever she got too close to the truth. By dessert, you were exhausted, your smile brittle.

As you left, Sunghoon’s hand found yours again, this time lingering as you walked to the car. “You did good,” he murmured, opening the passenger door for you. “She didn’t suspect a thing.”

You exhaled, sinking into the seat. “She’s terrifying. I need a drink.”

He chuckled, starting the engine. “You and me both.”

Back at the penthouse, you kicked off your heels, collapsing onto the couch. Sunghoon loosened his tie, pouring two glasses of wine from a bottle that probably cost more than your old rent. He handed you one, sitting beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his arm through his shirt.

“To surviving round one,” he said, clinking his glass against yours.

You took a sip, the rich flavor calming your nerves. “Your mom’s intense. Does she ever… chill?”

“Nope,” he said, leaning back. “She’s been like that since I was a kid. Always planning, always controlling. It’s why I need this to work.”

You studied him, the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “Why do you hate the idea of marrying Soo-jin so much? I mean, she’s annoying, sure, but is it just her?”

He was quiet for a moment, swirling his wine. “It’s not just her. It’s what she represents. My mother’s been trying to mold my life since I was born—perfect grades, perfect job, perfect wife. Soo-jin’s just another piece of her puzzle. I want…” He trailed off, glancing at you. “I want something that’s mine. Not hers.”

The honesty in his voice hit you harder than you expected. You set your glass down, turning to face him. “Then let’s make this work. We’ll fool her, Sunghoon. We’ll be the perfect fake couple.”

He smiled, but there was something soft in it, something that made your chest tighten. “You’re tougher than you look, Y/N.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “And you’re not as icy as the tabloids say, Park.”

For a moment, you just sat there, the city lights twinkling outside, the silence between you comfortable. But then his phone buzzed, shattering the moment. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening.

“What?” you asked, sensing the shift.

“It’s my mother,” he said, his voice flat. “She’s invited us to a gala next week. Says it’s the perfect chance to ‘introduce you to society.’”

Your heart sank. Another performance, another test. “Great,” you muttered. “More pretending.”

He looked at you, his gaze steady. “We’ve got this. Right?”

You nodded, but as you sipped your wine, you couldn’t shake the feeling that pretending was starting to feel a little too real.

The next few days were a whirlwind. Sunghoon’s assistant, a brisk woman named Ms. Kim, showed up with a stylist, a makeup artist, and a rack of designer dresses for the gala. You spent hours trying on gowns, each one more extravagant than the last, while Sunghoon worked in his home office, fielding calls and emails.

But at night, when the penthouse was quiet, you’d find yourselves on the couch again, sharing takeout and stories. You told him about your childhood in a small town, your dream of becoming an artist. He told you about sneaking out to skate on frozen ponds as a kid, the one place he felt free. The walls between you were crumbling, and you weren’t sure if that was part of the plan or something neither of you could control.

One night, as you practiced “couple poses” for the gala—his arm around your waist, your hand on his chest—you caught him staring. Not at your face, but at the way your fingers rested against his heartbeat.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, stepping back. “Nothing. Just… you’re good at this.”

You smiled, but your heart was racing. “Told you I’m a quick learner.”

As he walked away, you touched your hand, still warm from his chest, and wondered how long you could keep calling this a game.

The grand ballroom of the Lotte Hotel Seoul shimmered like a fever dream, its chandeliers casting prisms of light across the sea of silk gowns and tailored tuxedos. The air was thick with perfume, ambition, and the soft clink of champagne flutes. You stood at the top of the sweeping staircase, your arm looped through Sunghoon’s, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it over the string quartet below.

Your gown, a deep emerald creation with delicate lace sleeves, felt like armor—beautiful, but heavy. The stylist had swept your hair into an elegant updo, and the diamond necklace Sunghoon had insisted you wear glittered coldly against your skin. You weren’t Y/N the barista tonight; you were Y/N, Park Sunghoon’s wife, and the weight of that role pressed against your chest.

“Ready?” Sunghoon murmured, his voice low and steady. He looked devastating in his black tuxedo, his hair swept back, every inch the untouchable chaebol heir. But his eyes, when they met yours, held a flicker of something warmer—reassurance, maybe, or a shared secret.

You forced a smile, gripping his arm a little tighter. “As I’ll ever be. Let’s not trip down the stairs and ruin the illusion.”

He chuckled, the sound easing your nerves. “Follow my lead. We’ve got this.”

As you descended, heads turned. Whispers rippled through the crowd—“Is that her?” “Park Sunghoon’s wife?” “She’s not what I expected.” You kept your chin high, your expression serene, but inside, you were cataloging every glance, every smirk. This was your first real test as a couple, and failure wasn’t an option.

At the bottom of the stairs, Park Ji-yeon waited, her silver gown making her look like a queen surveying her court. Beside her stood Kang Soo-jin, the heiress Sunghoon was supposed to marry, her crimson dress clinging to her like a second skin. Soo-jin’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass, her eyes flicking over you with thinly veiled disdain.

“Sunghoon, darling,” Ji-yeon said, kissing his cheek before turning to you. “Y/N, you clean up well. I was almost worried you’d show up in… what was it? An apron?”

The jab landed, but you laughed, light and practiced. “Thank you, Mrs. Park. I figured I’d save the apron for the kitchen at home.” You leaned into Sunghoon, your hand brushing his chest, and felt him tense slightly before relaxing.

Soo-jin stepped forward, her voice syrupy. “Y/N, is it? Such a… charming story, you and Sunghoon. A barista and a billionaire. It’s like a fairy tale.”

You met her gaze, your smile unwavering. “Isn’t it? Sometimes life surprises you.” You glanced at Sunghoon, letting your eyes soften just enough to sell the lie. “I’m lucky to have found him.”

Sunghoon’s hand slid to your waist, his touch warm through the fabric of your dress. “I’m the lucky one,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge that made Soo-jin’s smile falter.

Ji-yeon clapped her hands, drawing attention. “Let’s not stand here gawking. Sunghoon, Y/N, you’ll join us at the main table. The press is watching.”

The gala was a whirlwind of names and faces—CEOs, politicians, socialites, all eager to curry favor with the Park family. You smiled through introductions, laughed at bad jokes, and sipped champagne to steady your nerves. Sunghoon was a natural, charming without effort, but you noticed the way his jaw tightened when someone mentioned his “sudden marriage” or asked about your background.

At the main table, you were seated between Sunghoon and his sister, Min-ji, who whispered, “You’re killing it, Y/N. Mom’s rattled, and that’s rare.” Her grin was infectious, and you felt a surge of gratitude for her kindness.

Ji-yeon, however, was relentless. “Y/N,” she said over the salad course, her voice carrying, “what do your parents do? We know so little about your family.”

The table went quiet, forks pausing mid-air. You’d prepped for this, but the spotlight still burned. “My parents run a small bookstore in my hometown,” you said, keeping your tone warm. “It’s nothing grand, but it’s home.”

“How sweet,” Soo-jin said, her smile predatory. “A bookstore. So… quaint. Must be quite a change, moving into Sunghoon’s world.”

Sunghoon’s hand found yours under the table, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “It’s a change I’m grateful for,” he said, his voice firm. “Y/N brings something real to my life. Not everyone can say that.”

The dig wasn’t lost on Soo-jin, whose eyes narrowed. You squeezed his hand back, your heart doing an inconvenient flip at his words, even if they were just part of the act.

The night wore on, and you found yourself relaxing into the role. You laughed at Sunghoon’s dry humor, leaned into his touch when he draped an arm over your chair, and even managed a playful whisper in his ear during a lull, earning a genuine smile that made your chest ache. The line between pretending and feeling was blurring, and you weren’t sure how to stop it.

After dinner, the band struck up a waltz, and couples flooded the dance floor. Ji-yeon’s voice cut through the chatter: “Sunghoon, Y/N, you must dance. It’s tradition for newlyweds.”

Your stomach twisted. You’d practiced a few steps with Sunghoon in the penthouse—clumsy, laughing attempts that ended with you stepping on his toes—but this was different. Hundreds of eyes would be on you, judging every move.

Sunghoon stood, offering his hand. “Shall we, Mrs. Park?”

You took it, your pulse racing, and let him lead you to the floor. The music swelled, and he pulled you close, one hand on your waist, the other guiding yours. His grip was steady, his posture confident, and as you began to move, you realized he was an excellent dancer.

“Don’t look at your feet,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Look at me.”

You lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him. The room faded—the crowd, the cameras, even Ji-yeon’s piercing stare. It was just you and Sunghoon, swaying to the music, his dark eyes holding yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured, spinning you gently. “Better than when you crushed my toes last week.”

You laughed, the sound surprising you. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Never,” he said, his lips twitching into a smile. But his hand tightened on your waist, and for a moment, you forgot this was a performance. The way he looked at you, the way his touch sent sparks across your skin—it felt real.

The song ended, and the crowd applauded, snapping you back to reality. Sunghoon stepped back, bowing slightly, but his hand lingered on yours a second too long. You curtsied, your cheeks flushed, and as you returned to the table, you caught Soo-jin’s glare, sharp and venomous.

Later, as Sunghoon spoke with a group of investors, you slipped away to the balcony for air. The city sparkled below, but your mind was a tangle of emotions. The dance, Sunghoon’s words, the way your heart kept betraying you—you needed a moment to breathe.

“You’re quite the actress.”

You turned to find Soo-jin leaning against the railing, a flute of champagne in her hand. Her crimson dress glowed under the balcony lights, but her expression was ice-cold.

“Excuse me?” you said, keeping your voice even.

She stepped closer, her heels clicking. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I know a gold-digger when I see one. Sunghoon’s just a stepping stone for you, isn’t he?”

Anger flared, but you held it in check. “You don’t know anything about me. Or us.”

She laughed, low and mocking. “Us? Please. Sunghoon’s only with you to spite his mother. You’re a placeholder, a cheap distraction. He’ll tire of you soon enough.”

Her words stung, hitting every insecurity you’d buried. You opened your mouth to retort, but a voice cut through the night.

“That’s enough, Soo-jin.”

Sunghoon stood in the doorway, his expression thunderous. He stepped between you, his presence a shield. “You don’t get to talk to my wife like that.”

Soo-jin’s smile didn’t waver. “Wife? For now, maybe. But we both know this won’t last, Sunghoon. You can’t run from who you are.”

He took a step closer, his voice low and dangerous. “I know exactly who I am. And I chose Y/N. Get used to it.”

Soo-jin’s composure cracked, her eyes flashing with fury, but she turned and stalked back inside without another word. Sunghoon exhaled, running a hand through his hair, then turned to you.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, but your throat was tight. “Yeah. She’s… intense.”

“She’s jealous,” he said bluntly. “And she’s wrong. You’re not a placeholder, Y/N. You’re…” He stopped, like he’d said too much, and the unspoken words hung heavy between you.

You wanted to ask what he meant, but the vulnerability in his eyes stopped you. Instead, you touched his arm, your voice quiet. “Thanks for having my back.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable, then nodded. “Always.”

The ride home was quiet, the city lights blurring past the car windows. You replayed the night in your head—the dance, Soo-jin’s venom, Sunghoon’s defense. Your heart was a mess, and the contract’s “no falling in love” clause felt like a cruel joke.

At the penthouse, you kicked off your heels, the silence between you heavy. Sunghoon loosened his tie, his movements restless.

“You were amazing tonight,” he said finally, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I mean it. You held your own.”

You managed a smile, unzipping your dress at the side. “Team effort. You’re not bad yourself, Mr. Park.”

He laughed, but it was strained. “Y/N… about what Soo-jin said—”

“Don’t,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you intended. “She’s just trying to get under my skin. I’m fine.”

He studied you, his eyes searching. “You sure?”

No, you weren’t. But admitting that would mean admitting how much his words, his touch, his presence were starting to mean to you. So you nodded, turning away. “I’m sure. I’m going to bed.”

As you walked to your room, you felt his gaze on your back, heavy and unspoken. You closed the door, leaning against it, your heart racing. This was supposed to be a game, a contract, a lie. So why did it feel like you were falling for real?

The penthouse felt like a cage, its sleek luxury mocking the chaos in your heart. Three days had passed since the gala, and Sunghoon’s defense against Soo-jin still echoed in your mind—his voice, firm and protective, calling you his wife. But the warmth of that moment was fading under the weight of his distance. He was drowning in work, leaving before dawn and returning long after you’d retreated to your room. His smiles were fleeting, his words clipped, and the growing silence between you was louder than any argument.

You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by scattered pencils and half-finished sketches. Your latest drawing—a study of Sunghoon’s hands, their elegance and strength—stared back at you, a quiet confession you couldn’t voice. The contract forbade feelings, but your heart was breaking the rules, and the ache was unbearable.

The doorbell jolted you from your thoughts. Frowning, you glanced at the clock—9:23 p.m. Sunghoon hadn’t mentioned visitors. Brushing charcoal dust from your jeans, you opened the door to find a delivery boy, barely older than a high schooler, holding a steaming bag of takeout.

“Order for… Mrs. Park?” he said, squinting at the receipt.

The title still made your stomach flip. “That’s me, but I didn’t order anything.”

He shrugged, thrusting the bag at you. “It’s paid for. Have a good night!” He darted off before you could argue.

Inside were boxes of japchae, bulgogi, and your favorite spicy kimchi jjigae, still hot. Tucked between the containers was a napkin with a scrawled note: Stop skipping meals. You’re worse than me. —S. Your chest tightened. Even buried in work, Sunghoon had noticed. You set the food on the counter, the note tucked into your pocket like a secret.

When he came home at 11:47 p.m., you were still awake, nibbling on the japchae. He looked wrecked—tie askew, hair mussed, shadows under his eyes. “You’re up late,” he said, dropping his briefcase by the door.

“Thanks for the food,” you replied, gesturing to the containers. “Didn’t expect you to play delivery fairy.”

He managed a tired smile, grabbing a water from the fridge. “You looked like you were about to eat your sketchbook yesterday. Had to intervene.”

You laughed, but it felt hollow. The distance between you was a chasm, and you couldn’t keep pretending it was fine. “Sunghoon,” you said, setting your chopsticks down. “What’s going on? You’re… gone. Physically, mentally, all of it.”

He froze, the water bottle halfway to his lips. “It’s just work, Y/N. You know how it is.”

“Do I?” you pressed, standing. “Because it feels like you’re avoiding me. Ever since the gala, you’ve been a ghost.”

His jaw tightened, and he set the bottle down with a thud. “I’m not avoiding you. I’m trying to keep things together.”

“Things?” you echoed, stepping closer. “What things? The company? Us? Or is there something else you’re not telling me?”

His eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe, or fear—but he masked it quickly. “You’re reading too much into it. I’m just swamped.”

The dismissal stung, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?”

The words hung in the air, raw and exposing. Sunghoon’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something real. But his phone buzzed, slicing through the tension. He glanced at it, his face hardening.

“I have to take this,” he said, already turning toward his office.

“Sunghoon—” you started, but the door clicked shut, cutting you off.

Frustration burned in your chest. You weren’t his real wife, but you were his partner, weren’t you? Why was he locking you out? Grabbing your phone, you texted Min-ji: Can we meet? I need to talk about Sunghoon. Her reply was instant: Tomorrow, 2 p.m., Café Bloom. Hang in there.

Café Bloom smelled of roasted beans and fresh pastries, its cozy vibe a stark contrast to the storm in your head. Min-ji was already there, her usual brightness dimmed by concern. “Y/N,” she said as you sat, “you look like you haven’t slept. What’s wrong?”

You exhaled, the weight of everything spilling out. “Sunghoon’s shutting me out. He’s barely home, and when he is, he’s… not really there. I don’t know if it’s the company, or his mom, or me. I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Min-ji’s expression turned serious. “Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, but you need the truth. Sunghoon’s company is in deeper trouble than he’s letting on. There’s a hostile takeover bid from a rival conglomerate—not Soo-jin’s family, but close enough that Mom’s using it to push her agenda. She’s threatening to cut Sunghoon off completely if he doesn’t agree to merge with Soo-jin’s company. He’s been fighting it, but it’s killing him.”

Your heart sank. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Because he’s stubborn,” Min-ji said, frustration lacing her voice. “He thinks he can fix it without dragging you into the mess. But there’s more. Mom’s got people watching you two, looking for any crack in your marriage. She’s convinced it’s fake, and if she proves it, she’ll use it to force Sunghoon’s hand.”

The news hit like a punch. “Watching us? Like… spies?”

“Not spies, exactly,” Min-ji said, sipping her latte. “But she’s got connections—people who report back. Photographers at events, even staff at the penthouse. You need to be careful, Y/N. And you need to talk to Sunghoon. He’s drowning, and he won’t ask for help.”

You nodded, your mind racing. The stakes were higher than you’d realized, and Sunghoon’s distance wasn’t just work—it was sacrifice. But the secrecy hurt, and you couldn’t keep playing this game blind.

That night, you waited up, determined to break through. Sunghoon stumbled in at 1:03 a.m., his suit rumpled, his eyes bloodshot. He stopped short when he saw you on the couch, a mug of tea gone cold in your hands.

“Y/N? It’s late,” he said, his voice rough.

“We’re talking,” you said, standing. “No excuses, no phone calls. I met Min-ji today. She told me about the takeover, your mom, the merger. Why didn’t you trust me with this?”

His face paled, and he sank onto the couch, rubbing his temples. “Min-ji shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t blame her,” you cut in, sitting beside him. “I deserve to know. We’re supposed to be a team, Sunghoon. You can’t keep me in the dark and expect me to play along.”

He looked at you, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. My mother… she’s ruthless. If she thinks you’re a liability, she’ll go after you—your art, your future, everything. I thought I could handle it alone.”

“Alone doesn’t work,” you said, your voice softer now. “We signed that contract together. Let me fight with you.”

He was quiet, his eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, he reached for your hand, his fingers cold but steady. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for.”

“I do,” you said, squeezing his hand. “And I’m not running.”

For the first time in days, he smiled—a real, broken smile that made your heart ache. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one,” you teased, but the air was heavy with unspoken truths.

He exhaled, pulling you closer until your shoulder brushed his. “Okay. No more secrets. The takeover bid is from HanTech. They’re offering a buyout, but it would gut the company—layoffs, rebranding, everything my father built. Mom’s pushing Soo-jin’s family as a merger partner to counter it, but their terms would give them control. I’ve been meeting with investors, trying to raise capital to fight HanTech, but it’s not enough.”

The weight of it crushed you, but you kept your voice steady. “What’s our next move?”

He looked at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Our?”

“Our,” you confirmed. “I’m your wife, fake or not. We do this together.”

He nodded, a spark of determination returning. “There’s a charity auction tomorrow night. Big players will be there—potential investors. If we can charm them, show a united front, it might buy us time.”

“Then we charm the hell out of them,” you said, a fierce resolve settling in. “But Sunghoon… no more walls. Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said, his voice low and raw. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering, and the simple touch sent your heart racing. The line between pretending and feeling was razor-thin, and you were teetering on the edge.

The next evening, you stood before the mirror in a sapphire-blue gown, its off-shoulder design accentuating your collarbone, the fabric shimmering like starlight. Sunghoon had chosen it, saying it matched your eyes, and the memory of his quiet compliment warmed your cheeks. Your hair was styled in loose waves, a diamond choker glinting at your throat.

Sunghoon appeared behind you, his reflection in the mirror stealing your breath. His tuxedo was tailored to perfection, his hair swept back, every inch the chaebol heir. But his eyes, when they met yours, were soft, almost vulnerable.

“You look…” He paused, searching for words. “Like you belong here.”

You turned, smiling to hide the flutter in your chest. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. Park. Ready to save your empire?”

He offered his arm, a playful glint in his eyes. “With you? Always.”

The auction was held at the Four Seasons, its ballroom dripping with opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light, and the air buzzed with the chatter of Seoul’s elite. You and Sunghoon moved through the crowd, your arm looped through his, your smiles practiced but genuine. You laughed at his dry humor, leaned into his touch, and played the perfect couple, all while scanning for allies.

During a lull, you excused yourself to the balcony, needing air. The city sparkled below, but your mind was on Sunghoon—his promise, his touch, the way he’d looked at you tonight. You were falling, hard, and it terrified you.

A voice broke your thoughts. “Enjoying the view, Mrs. Park?”

You turned to find a man in his forties, his suit impeccable, his smile too sharp. “I’m Choi Min-ho,” he said, offering a hand. “HanTech’s CFO. I’ve been… curious about Sunghoon’s new wife.”

Your guard went up, but you shook his hand, keeping your smile. “Y/N. Nice to meet you. Curious in what way?”

He chuckled, leaning against the railing. “Oh, just business. Sunghoon’s fighting a losing battle, you know. HanTech’s offer is generous. He’d be wise to take it—and you’d benefit, too. A fresh start, no strings.”

The implication was clear: he knew, or suspected, your marriage was a sham. “My husband’s not one to give up,” you said, your voice cool. “And neither am I.”

Choi’s smile didn’t waver. “Loyalty’s admirable. But if you ever… reconsider, here’s my card.” He slipped it into your hand, his fingers brushing yours too long. “Sunghoon’s not the only one with secrets.”

Before you could respond, Sunghoon appeared, his expression thunderous. “Choi,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Step away from my wife.”

Choi raised his hands, smirking. “Just a chat, Park. No harm done.” He walked off, leaving you with the card and a chill down your spine.

Sunghoon turned to you, his eyes searching. “What did he want?”

You hesitated, then handed him the card. “He’s trying to rattle us. Said you’re fighting a losing battle. And… implied he knows about us.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, but he took your hand, grounding you. “He’s bluffing. HanTech’s desperate. We’re getting to them.”

You nodded, but Choi’s words—Sunghoon’s not the only one with secrets—echoed in your mind. What did he mean? Was there something Sunghoon was still hiding, or was it just a ploy?

Back inside, you danced with Sunghoon, his arm steady around you, his gaze never leaving yours. The world faded, and for a moment, it was just you two, hearts beating too close. But as the song ended, you caught Ji-yeon’s stare from across the room, cold and calculating, and reality crashed back.

Later, in the car, you leaned against the window, the card burning a hole in your clutch. Sunghoon reached for your hand, his voice soft. “You were incredible tonight. Thank you.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “We’re a team, right?”

“Right,” he said, but his grip tightened, like he sensed the storm coming.

At the penthouse, you slipped off your heels, your mind racing. Choi’s words, Ji-yeon’s stare, the secrets—something was brewing, and you needed answers. Tomorrow, you’d dig, starting with HanTech. But as you glanced at Sunghoon, loosening his tie, his eyes catching yours with quiet intensity, you wondered: could you handle the truth, whatever it was?

The penthouse was a fortress of glass and steel, but it couldn’t shield you from the storm brewing inside. Choi Min-ho’s cryptic words from the auction—Sunghoon’s not the only one with secrets—had burrowed into your mind, festering alongside the weight of Ji-yeon’s relentless scrutiny and the fragile trust you’d built with Sunghoon. The contract marriage, once a clear-cut deal, was now a tangled web of emotions, and you were running out of time to unravel it.

You woke to sunlight streaming through your bedroom window, the city below already humming. Sunghoon was gone, a note on the kitchen counter scrawled in his sharp handwriting: Early meeting. Back by lunch. Don’t skip breakfast. —S. The gesture warmed you, but it couldn’t erase the unease gnawing at your heart. You needed answers, and you couldn’t wait for him to hand them to you.

Over coffee, you pulled out your laptop, diving into research on HanTech. Their takeover bid was aggressive, backed by a consortium of investors with ties to Soo-jin’s family. Choi’s involvement as CFO suggested he was more than a messenger—he was a player, and his interest in you felt calculated. A quick search on his name turned up polished profiles and bland interviews, but a buried article from a small business blog caught your eye: HanTech CFO Linked to Shady Offshore Accounts. The piece was vague, lacking hard evidence, but it hinted at secrets worth digging into.

You texted Min-ji: Need your help. Can you find anything on Choi Min-ho or HanTech’s finances? Discreetly. Her reply was swift: On it. Give me a day. Be careful, Y/N. You tucked Choi’s business card, still in your clutch from the auction, into your desk drawer. Meeting him was tempting, but too risky—yet.

Sunghoon returned at noon, looking sharper than his note suggested, his suit pristine but his eyes tired. “You’re up,” he said, dropping his keys on the counter. “Thought you’d sleep in after last night.”

“Couldn’t,” you said, closing your laptop. “Too much on my mind. We need to talk about Choi.”

His expression darkened, but he nodded, sitting across from you. “What did he say to you, exactly?”

You recounted the balcony conversation, leaving out nothing—Choi’s veiled threats, his implication about secrets, the card. Sunghoon’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming the table. “He’s trying to scare you,” he said. “HanTech’s desperate. They know we’re close to securing an investor to block their bid.”

“Then why did he say you have secrets?” you pressed, your voice steady but searching. “Is there something I don’t know, Sunghoon?”

He met your gaze, his eyes conflicted. “Y/N, I’ve told you everything that matters. The company, my mother, the merger pressure—it’s all on the table. Choi’s just playing mind games.”

You wanted to believe him, but the doubt lingered, a splinter you couldn’t pull out. “Okay,” you said, forcing a smile. “But if we’re a team, no more surprises. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said, his hand brushing yours, the touch brief but electric. “We’ve got a plan. There’s a dinner tonight with Kim Joon-ho, a potential investor. If we convince him, we can fend off HanTech without my mother’s merger. You in?”

“Always,” you said, but your mind was already elsewhere, plotting your next move.

The dinner was at a private room in Le Ciel, a Michelin-starred restaurant overlooking the Han River. Kim Joon-ho was a silver-haired tycoon with a warm laugh and sharp eyes, his wife, Eun-sook, a former actress who radiated charm. You wore a sleek black dress, your confidence bolstered by Sunghoon’s quiet approval as you left the penthouse. His hand rested on your lower back as you entered, a gesture that felt less like an act and more like instinct.

The evening went flawlessly. You charmed Eun-sook with stories of your art, while Sunghoon pitched the company’s vision to Joon-ho, his passion cutting through the corporate jargon. By dessert, Joon-ho was nodding, promising to review the investment terms. “You two make a good team,” he said, raising his glass. “Rare to see a couple so in sync.”

You clinked glasses, your smile genuine, but Sunghoon’s hand under the table found yours, squeezing lightly. The line between fake and real was dissolving, and you weren’t sure you wanted to redraw it.

Back at the penthouse, you kicked off your heels, adrenaline still buzzing. “We did it,” you said, turning to Sunghoon. “Joon-ho’s in, right?”

“Close enough,” he said, loosening his tie, a rare grin breaking through. “You were incredible tonight. I almost believed we were a real couple.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. “Almost?” you teased, but your voice betrayed you, soft and searching.

He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Y/N, this… us… it’s not just a contract anymore. Not for me.”

Your breath caught, the world narrowing to the space between you. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m tired of pretending,” he murmured, his hand brushing your cheek, his touch igniting sparks. “I don’t know when it happened, but you’re not just my fake wife. You’re… everything.”

The confession shattered your defenses. You leaned into his touch, your voice barely a whisper. “I feel it too. But the contract—what happens if—”

“Screw the contract,” he said, his voice fierce. “We’ll figure it out. I want you, Y/N. For real.”

Time stopped, and then you were kissing, his lips urgent and warm, your hands tangling in his hair. It was desperate, raw, a release of everything you’d held back. The penthouse faded, the contract, the threats—all of it drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

But reality crashed back with the sharp ring of your phone. You pulled away, breathless, as Sunghoon’s forehead rested against yours. “Ignore it,” he whispered.

“I can’t,” you said, your voice shaky. You grabbed your phone, the unknown number sending a chill through you. Against your better judgment, you answered.

“Mrs. Park,” a man’s voice said—Choi Min-ho. “We need to meet. I have proof your marriage is a fraud. Han River Park, tomorrow, 7 p.m. Come alone, or I go to Ji-yeon.”

The line went dead. You stared at the phone, your pulse roaring. Sunghoon’s eyes searched yours, concern etching his face. “Who was that?”

You hesitated, the weight of Choi’s threat pressing down. Telling Sunghoon risked everything—his company, your heart—but hiding it felt like betrayal. “It was Choi,” you said finally, your voice steady. “He says he has proof our marriage is fake. Wants to meet tomorrow.”

Sunghoon’s face hardened, but his hand cupped your face, grounding you. “He’s bluffing. We’ll handle this together. No more secrets, remember?”

You nodded, but fear coiled in your gut. Choi wasn’t just a threat—he was a blade, and you didn’t know where it would cut.

The next evening, you stood at Han River Park, the wind sharp against your skin. Sunghoon had insisted on coming, hiding nearby with a discreet security team. You wore a wire, a tiny device taped under your jacket, Sunghoon’s voice a faint reassurance in your ear: “I’m right here, Y/N. You’ve got this.”

Choi appeared at 7:02 p.m., his suit crisp, his smile smug. “No husband tonight?” he said, glancing around.

“He’s busy,” you said coolly. “What’s this proof you claim to have?”

He pulled out a tablet, swiping to a grainy photo—Sunghoon signing the contract in the lawyer’s office, your signature visible. Another image showed you moving into the penthouse, timestamped days after the “wedding.” “Sloppy,” Choi said. “A real couple doesn’t need a contract. Ji-yeon will love this.”

Your stomach lurched, but you kept your voice even. “That’s it? Photos? Could be anything. Why not take this to Ji-yeon now?”

He smirked. “Because I’d rather have you on my side. Leave Sunghoon, and I’ll make sure these disappear. You’d be set for life—no fake marriage, no lies.”

Anger flared, but you played along. “And if I say no?”

“Then Ji-yeon gets everything,” he said, leaning closer. “And your little art dreams? Gone. HanTech doesn’t play nice.”

You stepped back, your voice firm. “You’re pathetic, Choi. Threatening me won’t save your takeover.”

His smile vanished, but before he could retort, Sunghoon emerged from the shadows, his presence commanding and a revolver in one hand. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice lethal. Two security guards flanked him, their faces stone. “Hand over the tablet.”

Choi’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly, tucking the tablet away. “This isn’t over, Park. You can’t hide forever.”

He walked off, but Sunghoon’s hand found yours, steadying you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, but your mind was racing. The photos were real, and Ji-yeon was a ticking bomb. “We need to end this,” you said. “All of it.”

Back at the penthouse, you and Sunghoon sat at the dining table, the tablet’s images now in your possession—Choi had handed it over under pressure. Min-ji arrived, her research on HanTech’s finances in hand: offshore accounts, shady loans, enough to discredit Choi if leaked strategically.

“We go public,” Sunghoon said, his voice resolute. “Expose HanTech’s dirt before they can use the photos. It’ll weaken their bid and buy us time to secure Joon-ho’s investment.”

“And your mother?” you asked, the weight of her wrath looming.

He exhaled, his hand covering yours. “We tell her the truth. About the contract… and us. She can’t control me anymore.”

The plan was risky, but it was freedom. You nodded, squeezing his hand. “Let’s do it.”

The next week was a blur. You leaked HanTech’s financial scandals through an anonymous tip to a trusted journalist, and the media pounced. Choi’s reputation crumbled, and HanTech’s bid faltered. Joon-ho signed the investment deal, giving Sunghoon’s company the lifeline it needed.

The final hurdle was Ji-yeon. You and Sunghoon faced her in her office, the contract on the table. Her eyes were ice, but you stood tall, Sunghoon’s hand in yours.

“You lied to me,” she said, her voice venomous. “A contract marriage? Pathetic.”

“It started that way,” Sunghoon admitted, his voice steady. “But it’s real now. I love her, Mother. And I’m done letting you dictate my life.”

Ji-yeon’s gaze flicked to you, searching for weakness, but you met it head-on. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said. “Not for you, not for Soo-jin, not for anyone.”

She laughed, cold and brittle. “You’ll regret this, Sunghoon. Both of you.”

But her threats were empty. With HanTech weakened and the company safe, her leverage was gone. She stormed out, leaving you and Sunghoon in the quiet aftermath.

That night, you stood on the penthouse balcony, the city glittering below. Sunghoon joined you, his arms wrapping around you from behind. “It’s over,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple.

You leaned into him, your heart full. “Not quite,” you said, turning to face him. “We still have a year on that contract. What do we do about that?”

He smiled, pulling you close. “We rewrite it. No clauses, no lies. Just us.”

You kissed him, slow and sure, the future wide open. The contract had brought you together, but love would keep you there—real, messy, and yours.

The Seoul skyline glittered under a twilight veil, its lights pulsing like the city’s restless heartbeat. You stood on the penthouse balcony, wine glass in hand, the October breeze teasing the hem of your oversized sweater, your bare legs prickling. Sunghoon stepped out behind you, his presence a magnetic pull, as familiar as your own pulse. His black hoodie clung to his frame, hair slightly tousled, but his eyes burned with that dark, unraveling intensity that always made your core tighten.

“It’s chilly,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you from behind, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold. “Gonna catch a cold, baby.”

You leaned into his heat, smirking. “Worth it for the view. Besides, you’re my personal furnace.”

His low chuckle vibrated against your back, his hands tightening on your hips. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll warm you up right here,” he teased, his voice a dangerous purr.

The past months—HanTech’s takeover, Ji-yeon’s wrath, Choi Min-ho’s threats—felt like a fading nightmare. The scars lingered, carved into the bond you’d built with Sunghoon, a bond that had outgrown its contractual chains. Two weeks ago, you’d faced Ji-yeon, Sunghoon claiming you as his choice, not his obligation. Her influence had crumbled—HanTech’s bid collapsed, Kim Joon-ho’s investment saved the company, and Soo-jin vanished. Sunghoon was free, and you were no longer playing a role. But the contract, still binding for six months, loomed like an unspoken challenge. Were you lovers, partners, or something more? The love was real, but the future was a tightrope.

“You’re quiet,” Sunghoon whispered, his lips brushing your neck, igniting a spark low in your belly. “What’s on your mind, hmm?”

You set your glass on the railing, turning to face him. His eyes, dark and piercing, stripped you bare. “Us,” you said, voice steady despite the heat pooling between your thighs. “The contract. What’s next?”

He exhaled, his breath misting in the cool air, and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “Been thinking about that since the night I tasted you,” he said, his voice rough, the memory of that kiss—raw, desperate, all-consuming—flashing in his eyes.

Your breath hitched. “And?”

He pulled out the contract, its edges frayed, and held it up. “This started us,” he said, his gaze locked on yours. “But it’s a fucking leash. I want it gone, Y/N. I want us real—no clauses, no bullshit. Just you and me.”

Your heart pounded, desire and fear tangling. “And if we fuck it up without the contract?”

He closed the distance, his hand cupping your face, thumb grazing your lower lip, making you ache for more. “Then we fuck it up together. I’d rather burn it all down than fake this anymore. I love you, Y/N. Not as a deal, not as a lie. I want you—every inch, every breath.”

His words set you ablaze, your body humming with need. You laughed, the sound shaky, needy. “You’re killing me, Park.”

“Good,” he growled, his smirk wicked. “You’ve been killing me since the day you walked in.”

You grabbed the contract, and together you tore it, the rip a final release. The pieces fluttered to the floor, and you surged forward, crashing your lips against his. His kiss was hungry, all teeth and tongue, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him. You felt him, hard and ready through his jeans, and a moan escaped you, swallowed by his mouth.

“Inside,” he rasped, voice thick with want, his fingers digging into your skin as he steered you toward the door.

You barely made it to the living room, your mouths locked, hands tearing at clothes. Your sweater hit the floor, his hoodie following, revealing the carved planes of his chest, the faint scars from his skating days you’d memorized with your fingers, your lips. His hands slid under your bra, thumbs brushing your nipples, drawing a gasp as your core throbbed, slick and desperate.

“Y/N,” he groaned, unclasping your bra with a flick, his lips trailing fire down your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Are you sure?” you whispered, voice trembling with want as you tugged at his jeans, your fingers fumbling in your haste.

He growled, kicking off his shoes, his hands yanking your leggings down, leaving you in just your panties. “I’ve never been more sure,” he said, his eyes raking over you, dark with lust. “I want to fuck you until you forget your own name.”

Your laugh was half-moan, your hands shoving his jeans down, freeing him. He was hard, thick, the sight making your mouth water. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, and he hissed, his head tipping back, jaw tight.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, grabbing your wrist to stop you. “Keep that up, and I won’t last.”

You smirked, stepping closer, your lips brushing his ear. “Then don’t. I want you to lose control.”

He snapped, lifting you onto the couch, your back hitting the cushions as he hovered over you, his body a delicious weight. His lips claimed yours, rough and desperate, as his hands tore your panties off, leaving you bare. His fingers slid between your thighs, finding you wet and ready, and he groaned, low and feral.

“So fucking wet,” he murmured, circling your clit, making you arch, a needy whimper escaping. “All for me?”

“Yes,” you gasped, hips bucking as he slipped a finger inside, then another, curling them just right, hitting that spot that made your vision blur. “Sunghoon, please—”

“Please what?” he teased, his voice dark, his fingers pumping faster, his thumb relentless on your clit. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck me, Sunghoon. Now.”

He didn’t hesitate, positioning himself between your thighs, his cock teasing your entrance. “Look at me,” he ordered, voice rough, and you obeyed, locking eyes as he thrust into you, slow at first, stretching you, filling you until you gasped, your body clenching around him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips snapping harder, deeper, the rhythm relentless. “You feel so good, baby.”

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, your moans mingling as he fucked you into the couch, each thrust driving you higher. His lips found your nipple, sucking hard, and you cried out, the pleasure overwhelming, your climax building fast.

“Sunghoon,” you whimpered, nails raking his back. “I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he growled, his pace brutal, his hand slipping between you to rub your clit. “Let me feel you.”

You shattered, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls pulsing around him as you screamed his name. He followed, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spilled inside you, his thrusts slowing but not stopping, drawing out every wave of pleasure.

You collapsed together, sweaty and breathless, his body still pressed against yours, his lips brushing your temple. “Fuck,” he panted, a lazy grin spreading. “I need to propose every day if this is what I get.”

You laughed, weak and sated, your fingers tracing his jaw. “Don’t tempt me, Park.”

He kissed you, slow and sweet, his hand lacing with yours. “I meant it,” he murmured. “I’m keeping you forever.”

“Good,” you whispered, kissing his chest. “I’m yours.”

The next month was a whirlwind of new beginnings. You moved fully into Sunghoon’s room, your art supplies taking over half the penthouse. He surprised you with a studio space in Hongdae, a loft with skylights perfect for painting, your name on the lease. You enrolled in Hongik University’s art program, your sketches no longer just dreams but steps toward a future you could see.

Sunghoon’s company thrived under his leadership, free from Ji-yeon’s shadow. He worked hard, but he came home to you every night, trading boardroom battles for takeout and late-night talks. Min-ji became your closest ally, her teasing about your “grossly cute” relationship a constant source of laughter.

But Ji-yeon hadn’t vanished completely. She sent a letter, delivered by courier, a week after the confrontation. It was brief, her elegant handwriting laced with frost: You’ve won this round, but don’t think it’s over. Family is forever, Sunghoon. You burned it in the kitchen sink, Sunghoon’s hand on your shoulder, a silent vow to face whatever came together.

One evening, as you sat on the couch, your head on Sunghoon’s chest, he broke the comfortable silence. “I’ve been thinking about something,” he said, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.

“Hmm?” you murmured, half-asleep from the warmth of him.

“A real wedding,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “Not for show, not for my mother or the press. Just us, the people who matter. What do you think?”

You sat up, your heart pounding. “Are you… proposing?”

He smiled, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a ring—simple, with a single emerald that caught the light like your gala gown had months ago. “I guess I am. Marry me, Y/N. Again, but for real this time.”

Tears spilled over, and you laughed, throwing your arms around him. “Yes, Sunghoon. A thousand times, yes.”

The wedding was small, held in a seaside villa in Jeju, with Min-ji as your maid of honor and a handful of close friends. You wore a flowing dress, no diamonds, just wildflowers in your hair. Sunghoon looked at you like you were the only thing in the world, his vows raw and unscripted, promising to love you through every storm.

As you danced under string lights, the ocean whispering nearby, you knew this was the real vow—not the contract, not the gala, but this moment, your hearts unbound, your future yours to write.

Epilogue: One Year Later

The studio smelled of paint and cedar, your latest canvas—a vibrant abstract of Seoul’s skyline—drying by the window. You were halfway through a new piece when the door opened, Sunghoon stepping in with a paper bag from your favorite café.

“Thought you’d need a break,” he said, setting a latte and a croissant on your desk. He leaned against the wall, watching you with that quiet pride that still made your heart skip.

“You’re spoiling me,” you teased, wiping paint from your hands before kissing him, the taste of coffee lingering between you.

“Always,” he said, pulling you close. “Got a surprise, though.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Another one? You’re getting predictable, Park.”

He grinned, handing you an envelope. Inside were two plane tickets to Paris, dated for next month. “For your first gallery show,” he said. “I pulled some strings. Your work deserves to be seen.”

You stared at the tickets, then at him, tears welling up. “Sunghoon… how?”

“Because I believe in you,” he said simply, kissing your forehead. “And because I love you more than anything.”

You wrapped your arms around him, the studio fading as you held on to the man who’d become your home. The contract was a memory, the lies a stepping stone to a truth stronger than any vow. Whatever came next—art, love, life—you’d face it together, hearts open, unbound.

@heesvnqie | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

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your parents being away on business only meant 2 things: freedom, and spending the week with sunghoon.

though only being a few years older, he was very present throughout your life. he would always accompany you to school in the mornings, even when you both attended separate schools and caused him several tardiness warnings. remembered all the little things, he loved making you feel seen and happy. sunghoon took great pride in almost always being the one to break you out of your shell every now and then, it didn’t matter where or with who he would be happy either way.

to you, he was something of a father figure. though you have a father who is alive and well, the emotional disconnect was nearly too intense to bare most days. sunghoon made space for you, listened to you, took such well care of you it became bloody stupid at some point. you sought an absolute comfort in his presence. his heart was so full of it when it came to you.

to sunghoon, on the other hand, you were his calm, his favourite face to come home to after a long day. he spent most days being as silent and closed off as he could be, only letting his guard down when necessary. people often mistook him as rude pr impolite because of his quiet nature, angering him to no return. however, if he knew he would home back to his apartment that night to your face, he would leave every frustration at the door.

you were his everything. moving from just a few houses down from you to his apartment on campus was one of the hardest things he’d done. he hated not being able to see you every day, that he wasn’t able to run over in less than 5 minutes to protect you from whatever harmful words your father decided to drunkenly throw at you. it killed him that you, his beautiful angel, were now so far.

he loved you so much it began to eat at him that he was barely able to hold you in his arms anymore.

you were so special, his perfect girl.

his.

well, not exactly. yet.

with a sigh, sunghoon jumbled with his keys and opened his apartment door. he tossed his bag and kicked off his shoes, making a b-line for the couch in the very dark apartment.

as sunghoon sat down on the couch, he felt as if sleep was immediately overwhelming all his senses.

that was until he heard the shower running.

there’s no fucking way i left the shower on this morning

he marched towards the bathroom and swung the door open.

to his surprise, it’s you. hands and clothes smudged with a cherry red dye and holding the handheld shower head.

his eyes immediately soften and he smiles.

“what’s all this, angel, hm?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

you smile widely at him and shrug, “got bored,”

sunghoon’s smile grows as he huffs with amusement, shaking his head.

“i can see that. need some help, baby?” he rolls up his hoodie sleeves and walks towards you, hand on your lower back.

you shake your head in response, smile plastered to your pretty lips.

sunghoon hums, leaning down to place a quick peck on your shoulder.

“i’m assuming you’re staying the night” he asks, backing up and out of the bathroom.

“yeah, is that okay? i know it’s late and i didn’t let you know first. i’m sorry hoonie-…”

“you never have to ask, angel, you know you can always stay with me, right?” he interrupts. when you nod, his smile returns and he nods back in acknowledgment.

“i’ll be in my room if you need anything, love. be careful yeah?”

“m’kay!”

he scoffs yet his fond smile remains.

—

around an hour and some red dye later, you found yourself with dark cherry coloured hair. you were exhausted of the ideas only being “what if’s” and were ready for a change.

after washing up and tidying the bathroom the best you could, quietly, you entered sunghoons room.

he was at his desk, glasses perched so pretty on his nose. he was wearing a hoodie that you had gifted to him on his twentieth birthday, black with his initials embroidered onto the sleeve. he still hadn’t changed into lounging wear and was still sporting a pair of his signature baggy jeans.

he was attractive and as far as you were aware of, he fucking knew it.

you thought of him often, probably more often then you felt comfortable admitting to yourself. you saw him as something of a father figure yet somehow you can never get the idea of him fucking you pussy raw, bent over whatever the nearest surface was for hours until you felt full to the brim.

pushing your nasty thoughts aside, you enter further into the room and sit on whatever edge of his bed was closest to him.

“give me three minutes, angel, then i’m all yours. just need to finish this report for class” he says, eyes glued to his desktop.

“s’not gonna take long hoonie i just wanted to show you my hair” you answer, fidgeting with your necklace’s pendant. for your eighteenth birthday earlier in the year, sunghoon bought you a beautiful silver pendant engraved with a bunny on the front and his initials carved into the back.

“well in that case..” he answers slyly, turning around in his chair to look at you.

“do we like?” you ask, slightly nervous. “it’s different i know but i kind of love it” you smile at him.

for a second too long sunghoon swore he felt himself get unbelievably hard in his pants. you looked so stunning. yes it was new but god, you were so beautiful.

sunghoon lets out a shaky breath before collecting his thoughts.

“you um… wow… so pretty, baby” he mumbles, standing him and placing a small kiss at the crown of your head. “suits you so good…”

you smile up at him, biting your bottom lip. sunghoon’s pants suddenly feel a little tighter than usual, he excuses himself the the washroom in the name of his nighttime routine and discards his stupid health report.

once he’s successfully, and most importantly, quietly, rubbed one out in the bathroom, he returns to his room where he finds you curled in his bed, wearing nothing but one of his shirts.

sunghoon’s thoughts begin to race once more but sleep overtakes any feelings of desire, ultimately deciding to slide in next to you’re tired body as he buries himself in your warm embrace.

—

you wake up to the bright rays of sun peaks through the blinds as well as whatever norwegian death metal sunghoon decided to set as his alarm.

you groan into a surface you soon realize to be sunghoon’s chest as you begin to stir awake.

“…hoon?” you mumble.

he hums into your hair as a response, holding you tighter against him.

while your mind wakes itself, you take time to note the way in which you both had slept. his bicep laid under your head, working as a pillow. you had one hand resting on his chest, the outside arm around his torso. he had also managed to wrap your outside leg around his waist which granted him the power to pull you flush against him.

you also note the very clear absence of clothing between the two of you. him, wearing a pair of sweat shorts and what you assume to not have anything else underneath. and you, wearing nothing but one of sunghoon’s shirts.

when you again realize what position you both have molded into, your body immediately tenses.

you could very easily rub you bare cunt onto his hip. he could very easily take you right then and there.

instead, you both lay in sweet silence as sunghoon’s alarm blares through the small room.

“hoonie… you gonna turn off the alarm…?” you ask, feeling groggy as ever.

he hums once more.

“five more minutes, angel…”

you huff and do your best to wiggle out of his grasp, climbing over him and clicking off his alarm.

sunghoon watched you in amusement as you turn off the alarm. he watches the way your tired body crawls on top of him, how his shirt rides up your back, exposing your bare ass and thighs.

all he can do is smirk and lay back. he knew he was growing hard, but he didn’t care. and very clearly neither did you.

once you managed to turn off the alarm, you felt sunghoon’s hand rub up and down, from the top of your ass to the back of your knee.

the position you were in really was a sight. on all fours, ass facing diagonal to sunghoon, giving him a clear view of everything he’s wanted to ruin for months.

“since when’d you stop wearing those cute panties to bed, baby girl, hm? y’know the ones with the lil’ strawberries all over ‘em..” his voice was low, dark, somewhat primal, like he was holding back.

you flush bright pink, refusing to look back at him. you knew you were in a vulnerable position, but you also knew you were with sunghoon. and as much as you wanted him to pump you full, you also knew he would never do anything to hurt you or put you in danger. you meant absolutely everything to him and he would rather get shot in the head thrice before doing anything to harm his perfect girl.

“answer me dolly..” he says, voice stern yet always soft when addressing you.

“a while ago…” you mumble, feeling your whole body go hot.

“a while ago, hm? why’s that angel? too hot at night for you?” he asks, teasingly. he grips the skin on your ass, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb afterwards.

you nod in response, no words nor sounds seem to be working in your favour at the moment.

“fuck…” he groans, “ain’t she so pretty… my baby’s so fuckin’ perfect… knew this pussy was gonna be pretty…” he says, running a finger down your folds. you whine at his touch and arch into the mattress.

“you like that, my angel? hm?” he asks.

you nod aggressively.

smack.

“words dolly, need words… does it feel good yes or no?”

your ass stings, a red hand print appeared on the skin. and yet, it only eggs you on.

“yes hoonie… feels s’good…” you mewl.

his smirk grows wide. you were already a mess beneath him and he’d barely done a single thing.

“can i keep goin’ or do you wanna stop?” he asks, voice weary. as much as he wants you he needs to make sure you want it as much as him.

you begin to nod repeatedly, mumbling a string of nonsense containing phrases like “don’t stop” and “i need you so bad”.

with your confirmation, sunghoon sits up and flips you over. he slips out of bed and drags you by your hips, swinging your legs on top of his shoulders.

“gimme a colour, sweet girl” he asks softly, rubbing your thigh tenderly.

“g-green… please hoonie please…” you whine.

and with that, he begins.

each lap of his tongue against your cunt sent you further and further into ecstasy. he was so rough with you yet treated your body as if it were made to be worshipped.

he let his hands travel up your thighs and to your stomach, to which you flinched. he immediately pulled back and grabbed your face, making sure you’re okay.

“angel what’s wrong? you wanna stop?” he’s scared, concerned and so unbelievably gentle all at the same time.

“n-no i don’t wanna stop…” you shake your head, grabbing his wrists.

“then what is it, my baby?” he strokes your cheek and wipes the hair out of your face.

“i just…” you inhale in preparation, “hoon ‘m insecure ‘bout… y’know…” you mumble, gesturing to your stomach and thighs.

you’d always been very selective about what you ate, dieting often, installing crazy work out regiments into your day to day life. your weight kept fluctuating and never ended up stabilizing. you’d always be insecure about shopping and not knowing what would fit and what wouldn’t, always cautious about outfit choices when in public, always comparing, always judging yourself.

it was toxic but it’s all you really knew.

his face drops.

no. fuck no.

you may have critiques about your appearance and body. that’s inevitable. but sunghoon? you have always been and will continue to be the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on. he was obsessed with what you called your “imperfections”. he loved every part of you.

and he was dead set on showing it.

“my angel, listen, insecurities are something we all live with. they aren’t just things we can decide to stop worrying about, it takes time to heal. but i need you to understand that i am, and will always be, so undeniably in love with everything that you are. you will always be my perfect girl and i’d rather die than have you forget that, my love”

he slowly backed away as he found his place between your thighs. sunghoon looked up at you like you had single handedly hung the moon and stars, like you has crafted each galaxy with your bare hands. you card your hands through his dark black locks as you look down at his beautiful face.

“let me show you baby… lemme show you how crazy you make me, yeah?”

you nod.

“words dolly, c’mon now..” he teases.

you giggle, giving him a clear yes.

“that’s my good fuckin’ girl”

he eats you out like a man starved, making you shake and cry and scream out his name as if having neighbours was simply just a concept.

he had three, long fingers pumping in and out of your sopping cunt, his kitten licks on your clit never ceasing.

he feels you clench around him, causing him to smirk.

“you gonna come dolly? hm?” he teases.

you nod rapidly as you babble.

“you gonna scream my name when you do angel? let everyone know you’re mine? eh baby girl?” you squirm in his grasp as he slaps your thigh, a warning for you to stay still.

“hoonie i c-can’t hold it…” you whine, jolting from the second slap which had landed directly onto your clit.

“no more ‘hoonie’ bullshit until we’re done, angel. i want none of it.” sunghoon’s tone now only demanding and lustful as he slaps your clit again, causing you to cry out.

“fuck-! daddy i can’t-!” you cry.

“atta girl, yes you can.. fuckin’ slut come… c’mon baby come all over me…”

your mind goes completely numb as you finally let go onto his hand. you’re out of breath and seeing stars. barely processing the fact that he’s now flipping you over onto your stomach, your ass up and facing him.

“gimme a colour, dolly” he asks, his voice returning to the gentle speech you’re so very used to.

“green! green green… please… need you so bad…”

he chuckles at your fucked out state, hand coming in contact with your ass again.

“my needy girl… what is it you want angel? hm? talk to me babe” he teases.

“need you inside… daddy need you inside please…” you continue your nonsensical babbles.

“you gonna let me fill you up, my love? fuck you full of me?” he continues to egg you on as he slips off his shorts. you glance over your shoulder at him, taken aback by his size.

you knew he was big.

but holy shit was he huge.

a hard slap to your clit strips you from your thoughts.

“you gonna answer the question angel or are you gonna just gawk at my cock, huh?” he says, smirk undeniable as he speaks.

“yes daddy..” you mumble.

“yes daddy what, love? you need to be more specific to get what you want my precious girl…” he speaks as he lines himself up at you dripping entrance.

“want you to fill me up daddy… please i need it so bad…” you whine, voice frail.

he smiles, this time less teasingly.

“don’t worry, my sweet girl, i’ll give you what you want”

then, he pushes in. slow and steady as he lets you adjust to his size. he groans when he finally bottoms out. looking down at the mess he created only made him grow harder inside of you.

“move.. please..” you ask weakly.

sunghoon chuckles and leans down to press a loving kiss by your shoulder blade.

“as you wish, my angel…”

the next thing you know you’re five orgasms in with no sign of sunghoon stopping any time soon. he’s fucking you hard and raw in doggy like he’d never felt pussy ever in his life.

he felt insane inside you. he wanted to mould you to him, make it so he could slide in with zero prep. make you his perfect little sleeve.

your babbles grow louder as you feel yourself approaching your sixth orgasm, your body goes somewhat limp as you clench around him again.

“fuck- angel you gonna come again so soon? mm.. gonna let me fill you up again? fuck you full of me? huh baby? make you all fuckin’ mine? my perfect fuckin’ toy aren’t you angel… daddy’s perfect girl…”

his words alone are what brought you all the way as your hole flutters around him and you find yourself shaking due to the impact.

“f-fuck so good angel… so fuckin’ good… ‘m so close baby… you’re so perfect fuck… love you so much dolly…” he babbles, letting your abused cunt milk him for the fifth time tonight.

as he fucks you through both your highs, a panting mess, he looks down at you. you’re all fucked out on his bed, hair tangled,

beads of sweat pooling between your pretty tits. you looked so perfect in his eyes.

sunghoon pulls out and leans down, wiping the hair our of your eyes.

“hoonie..?” you ask, voice raspy and quiet.

“yes, my sweet girl?” he responds, returning to his soft spoken ways.

“are we done..?” you question, struggling to sit up. he immediately grabs hold of your elbow and supports your back as you find a comfortable seated position.

“yes my love we’re done” he smiles, planting a kiss to your head as you nod.

“you need to go pee though, sweetheart, mkay?” he mumbles, voice muffled by your hair.

sunghoon helps you up and carries you to the washroom, you pee and he starts drawing you both a bath. you sit together in the warm water, your back against his chest as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, soft praises and many “i love you”’s.

you throw on the shirt that has previously started this whole debacle, making sure to put on a pair of sleep shorts which, in this case, was a pair of sunghoon’s boxers.

you both end up back in bed, giggling, exchanging soft kisses, random moments of passion (mainly on sunghoon’s end, he’s a horny fuck).

sunghoon pulls you into his chest and gazes down at you.

“you’re so fucking beautiful, y/n” he says, it’s nearly inaudible, as if you’d break if he spoke too loud. “wanna be with you like this forever”

“i love you, hoonie… so much…” you say, a hand loosely running through his hair.

“i love you so much more, my perfect angel”

—

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You, on the other hand, couldn’t be any more taken by this situation, let alone this guy. Who knew that matching—completely anonymously—on a sugar dating app on a random, lonely weekend would have you here? This guy was sexy as fuck. And while you tried to keep your jaw from touching the floor, you couldn’t help but take him in for the small time you could without him thinking you were crazy. Tall, clean, put together. His silky, shiny black hair was tousled—like he ran his hands through it all the time. But it looked good, it suited him. Silver-rimmed glasses that were perched on the edge of his nose and his moisturized plump lips. For him to be a very seemingly adult man, almost everything about him was very boyish. So charming.

“Hi,” you smiled nervously. “It’s nice to meet you.” Sticking your hand out for him to shake to which he reciprocated. His hands were soft, well-kept. And he smelled of a candle—most likely one he might have been burning in his home, pumpkin spice. But a mixture of musk that he sprayed from his cologne. “Likewise, the app…given that we couldn’t see what the other looked like…needless to say, I’m pleasantly surprised. You’re gorgeous.” He holds onto your hand a fraction longer than necessary before nodding gently—his smile mirroring that.

“Thank you, you’re…you look good too.” Clearing your throat, you let his hand go and scoot forward in your seat.

After you both ordered your beverages and pastries (which he so graciously paid for), you decided to really kick off the conversation. Riki broke off a piece of his lemon cake and asked, “I’m sorry, the app didn’t specify but I know it’s for ages twenty-one and older. But what’s your age?” You hummed as you sipped your iced coffee, contrary to the chilly weather out—you’re just a girl. “I’m twenty-one,” you verify. “You?”

“Twenty-seven,” he put a piece of the fluffy pastry in his mouth. Brows furrowing at the softness and immaculate flower. You, on the other hand, were aghast. “No way,” holding your chest as if letting it go would make your heart stop. “You look so young. What’s your secret?” Riki smiles, actually smiles, showing perfectly straight teeth. “Genetics, and no kids.” He chuckles. “I’d like to think I take good care of myself.” He tapped the table lightly, the metal from his watch clinking a bit. “So what do you do? Out of curiosity. I assume you’re a student.”

“Yessir,” you huff. “I am a student. Biology major, film and television minor.” It wasn’t that you hated college. You enjoyed the freedom and the fun and the partial responsibility you carried on your back. But over the last few months, you had been struggling immensely in the financial department and life was getting more and more difficult by the day.

Family asking what you were even planning to do with a biology and film degree. That your passions were useless. Friends wanting to go out for drinks—even though you don’t drink—and you used that as an excuse to not go. Even though you were really pinching pennies and barely even had two of those to rub together.

So downloading this sugar dating app was your last cry for help after sending emails, crying in offices, and selling half of your closet online just to not even be able to have enough for your bills anyway. Thus, right now the passions didn’t feel useless. But you knew it would take a while to be able to bear the fruits of your labor and you couldn’t wait any longer.

Riki smiled, “that’s amazing. What do you plan to do with them? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You shook your head, “no, no worries. Um…” You sipped your coffee and felt it burn coming down despite it being cold. Riki’s gaze had been doing that to you these last few minutes. “I wanna be a vet.” You nodded. “But I also wanna do screenwriting. They don’t really go together but…I love them both so…” You slowly smiled. “My heart lies with both and I…well I figured while learn something in the midst of the tens of thousands I owe, why not make it worthwhile?”

The older man laughed gently at your spirit. “I agree, doing what you love is always the best thing. That way, it doesn’t feel like work.” His well-manicured finger traced the rim of the white mug that held his hot chocolate. Steam brushing his rings just a bit.

“What about you?” He adjusted his glasses as he leaned further back into his seat, brows quirking. “Guess.” He says, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps bulge slightly against the fitted sweater. “What do you think I do for a living?” He teases, his tone light but challenging.

Something in you deflated, but in a good way. The pressure, the intensity of his gaze didn’t really make you freeze up for the moment and you allowed yourself to indulge in his playfulness. “Would you mind standing up?” He raises a brow but obliges, standing up straight. It’s almost like he got taller since he sat down. He watches you inspect him curiously, wondering what you’re thinking. “Well?” He asks after a moment, running his hand through his hair. Oh so he does do that all the time.

You laugh, “sorry, you can sit.”

He follows your command, his eyes never leaving yours. “So?” He asks, leaning forward slightly. His curiosity is piqued.  “Well…” you hummed in thought. “You’re very well put together. Obviously…you have money to give and spend otherwise we wouldn’t be here.” 

He nods approvingly at your observation. “That’s true.” He says, his voice low. “But what else?” He asks, eyes glinting in amusement at this little game.

You nod to him, “you’re wearing a knit sweater. Super cute by the way, where’d you get it?” Shrugging cutely as you rest your chin in your hands. Elbows planted on the table.

He laughs at your compliment, his chest shaking with mirth. “I got it at this boutique downtown.” He says, running his hand down the soft fabric. “And?” His smile remains on his face as he waits. Riki’s really enjoying this. “So…downtown is typically where gold collar workers live and/or go to shop. Don’t ask me how I know.” You wave him off with a laugh.

“Gold collar?” He chuckles, amused at your term. “Is that your way of saying I can afford nice things?”  You held your hands up in defense. “Hey, all I’m saying is that broke people don’t go down there.”

He shrugs, nodding in agreement. But gestures his hand for you to keep going, his smile still present. You put your hands out, facing upward on the table. “May I see your hands?”

He unballed his fists without question, placing his hands—palms touching yours. His hands are well taken care of, no callouses or rough patches. Nails neat and trimmed. His fingers are long though, slender, sort of like him in that regard. But it was clear that appearance—either—meant everything in this line of work or he was just super into vanity. Which didn’t bug you—there was nothing wrong with a clean man. You’d prefer that. You beamed, “so I was right about gold collar.” You sighed in satisfaction. “I’m literally a genius like this shit is crazy.”

“That I don’t doubt,” He slowly pulls his hands back, briefly removing his frames to blow on them as they had fogged up. As his cheeks reddened against his fair skin. “You want a hint?” “Absolutely not, what do you take me for? I shall figure this out. This is like the Career Ladder but…in a cafe.” You snort as you look at the condensation of your iced coffee form a ring around the plastic cup. Making you put a napkin under it. “Would you consider yourself smart?”

“Without a doubt,” he answers honestly, his confidence shining through. He’s intelligent and he knows that and he’s far from afraid to admit it. But there’s something about the way you’re asking that makes him pause. Like he’s waiting for you to try to catch him in a lie or something.

“How many close friends do you have?”

He thinks about it for a moment before answering. “Not many.” He admits softly. “I have acquaintances and colleagues I trust, but actual close friends?” He shakes his head slightly. “Not many, maybe like two?” “If you don’t mind me asking, you obviously don’t have to but—have you had issues socially? Growing up?”

He hesitates before nodding slowly. “Yeah.” He says softly. “I’ve always been more comfortable with adults rather than kids my age.” He watches your reaction closely—which was an open one, a non-judgmental, safe one. “I was always the weird kid who preferred books and shapes over playground games.” He laughs softly at the memory. “I don’t think my classmates liked me very much.” Smiling knowingly, tilting your head as you look at him endearingly. “Riki, I think you’re an architect.”

Riki leans back, blinking at you like he just saw a ghost—or maybe like you just read his mind. “Wait…what gave it away?” His tone is half amused, half incredulous. You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, I don’t know…maybe the way you answered my questions.” You tap the table lightly. “The hands—soft, meticulous, trimmed nails. Lets me know that in some way, you clearly value your appearance. But you interact with a lot of people and looks are everything. Presentation is everything. The shapes thing—tells me you love geometry or metrics. That’s like the very basic fundamentals of architecture. Preferring books over playgrounds. Even your glasses, the little way you adjust them when thinking.” You glance upward in thought. “Half of your answers told me who you were, but maybe some parts here and there were just a long shot.” Waving off as you smile.

“You’re very observant,” he sips his hot chocolate that wasn’t hot anymore—just chocolate. “Can I give you more details about what I do?”

“By all means,” smiling and nodding eagerly.

His eyes softened at your attitude—your seemingly blatant interest in him. “I…am a licensed architect. Senior. I specialize in a myriad of styles like residential and urban design.” He tapped his foot as he spoke. “But I also am in the process of starting my own firm. Aside from that, I invest in real estate, stocks, index funds—I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I just like watching money grow…I’m a…” He looks down shyly, the crimson on his cheeks making another appearance as he smiles politely. “A bit of a nerd about this stuff.”  “Nerdy, yes. But…” You shrug with a smile, indifferent and in a lot of admiration. “That’s kinda hot, honestly.”

Riki freezes for a fraction of a second before chuckling softly, a low, amused sound. “Hot? I—well…thank you,” he mutters, a little caught off guard, but clearly pleased. He adjusts his glasses, running a hand through his hair again, this time slower, like he’s savoring the moment.

“Mhm,” you say softly, eye contact not breaking now that you were in control of this conversation. It wasn’t until now that you realized that you two weren’t in private anymore. And that more time had elapsed than you thought. The flame of the once bustling cafe is now dying slowly. 

Riki checked the time on his watch and understood now that the cafe closes in thirty minutes. “Hey…they close in a bit. Are you done for the night or do you wanna maybe…?”

A smile spreads across your face slowly. “Keep hanging out?”

Riki’s lips curl into that small, knowing smile of his. “I like the sound of that,” he says softly, pulling a fifty dollar bill out of his pocket. “I’m just gonna put this in the tip jar and I’ll be back…” He stands with a bashful expression, turning to go to the counter.

—

You two step outside and you look at him expectantly. “So? What to do next?” Fiddling with the charms of your bag as you strolled down the bustling city square. “I was thinking about going to the park? Or you’d rather be somewhere warm?” Riki scanned you, inspecting your body language for any indication of chill—not seeing any but taking your bag off of your shoulder gently. “I got it…”

“Thank you,” smiling softly as you adjust your sweater. “Yeah, it is a bit cold for the park.” He nodded eagerly, “yeah, yeah. Okay.” Smiling and adjusting his frames as they kept slipping down his nose. “Uh…we could go to my car if you want? Like—just chill and talk there?”

You snort, “wanna get straight to business, huh?” Turning your head to look up at him to find his eyes already glued to you. “Right in the car?” Riki tilted his head, assessing the situation and giving you a nod. “Fair. But I mean…considering our arrangement, I figured we could talk about more than just me? I wanna know you too.” He clears his throat, sniffling a bit as his nose was a bit red from the chill in the air. “Only if you want to. Or if you even wanna contin—”

“I do, Riki…relax.” Placing your hand on his arm—his sculpted, firm arm that you could feel through the plush and expensive threading of his sweater. “I’m cool with it. Could help break the ice, honestly.”

He snorts, “you think there’s ice?”

“A bit,” you pinch your fingers together. Riki huffs a laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Fair enough. Guess I need to work on my…ice-melting skills.” He blinks, kicking himself at how stupid he thought he sounded.

“Mm, you’ll get there,” you tease, bumping his arm lightly with your shoulder as the two of you weave past the thinning evening crowd. He glances at you again, lingering a moment too long before looking away. “My car’s just around the corner,” he says, tone casual but careful. “It’s warm, I promise. Heated seats and everything. Perks of…well, being me.” His grin is self-deprecating but a little smug too.

You roll your eyes with a small laugh. “So you’re saying you’re trying to flex on me with seat warmers?”

“Hey, don’t knock it 'til you try it.” he chuckles, tugging his keys from his pocket. “C’mon. I’ll even let you pick the heat setting.”

That earns him a raised brow from you. “Oh? Now that’s a dangerous offer.”

“I live dangerously,” he shoots back, deadpan, though the twitch of his lips betrays him. When he finally unlocks the sleek black car waiting at the curb, he moves ahead to open the passenger door for you—subtle, gentlemanly, not pushy. The warmth inside greets you instantly, and you sink into the plush leather seat, adjusting yourself while he slides into the driver’s side. The hum of the engine fills the space as the heater kicks in. You rub your hands together, watching him adjust his glasses again, his profile illuminated by the streetlight pouring through the windshield. He looks back at you after. Holding up your bag. “Do you want it in the back? With you? Want me to hold onto it?”  “Well, aren’t you considerate?” You grinned, taking the bag from him, gently removing it from his grasp. Settling it on the floor by your feet. “Thank you.” You sigh, taken by how fast your Friday is moving. When you got up this morning, you were nearly shitting bricks at the fact that you were going to be on this venture with some random rich man that you didn’t know. To make matters all worse, he’s quite literally the hottest man you’ve had the pleasure of looking in the eye. 

Nerdy, tall, dark hair…Oh Lord help you. Just your type.

But that didn’t matter, his looks were just a plus. On top of how nice he was being. He’s only ever looked at you with softness in his eyes since he sat down at the cafe and has been nothing but a gentleman. Which gives you some sort of consolation given that you expected a lot worse.

But looks and personality don’t mean shit here, you needed his fucking money.

You surveyed his car, making note of the infotainment system that spanned the entire dashboard. The leather seats still had the new smell. And the interior was such a pretty shade of brown. Very fit for the fall. “You have a nice car.”

He nodded as an acknowledgement of your compliment. “Thank you. But like I said, I wanna get to know you. As a person?” He smiles gently as he turns to face you fully.

You snorted, “as a person?” Narrowing your eyes, you shook your head at his seemingly ridiculous statement. “Wouldn’t that kinda ruin the allure? The…fantasy of this entire thing?”

Riki furrowed his brows, “why would it?”

“Because…” You shrug cavalierly. “If I’m supposed to be your…sugar baby then it’s practically my job to act. To make this a world for you.”

“That’s why I wanted to discuss this because I don’t need you to act.” He paused, gulping before he spoke. “I just want a companion…I’d rather you just be yourself.” Riki pursed his lips in thought, showing off the beauty mark on his chin. “I know that this relationship is essentially transactional but we did meet on a sugar-dating app. And…well…this is a date for me.” 

You blink at him, caught off guard. “A date?”

“Yeah,” he says plainly, adjusting his glasses as if that makes the statement less vulnerable. “A date. I don’t…really go on them much. And even if I did, I don’t think I’d be this—” he gestures vaguely between the two of you, his sweater sleeve sliding down his wrist. “—comfortable.”

You swallow, your fingers fiddling with the strap of your bag at your feet. “Comfortable?”

“Mhm.” He leans against the seat, fixing his sleeves to cover his arms. “You’re easy to talk to. You don’t…look at me like I’m a wallet with legs.”

That makes you laugh, though there’s a sharp edge to it. “Well, let’s be honest, Riki. If you didn’t have a wallet, we wouldn’t be here.”

He flinches, just barely, but his smile doesn’t falter. “True. But I don’t think that’s all it is.”

You bite your lip, suddenly hyper-aware of the heater humming, the low glow of the dashboard lights reflecting in his glasses, the way the world outside the car feels so distant compared to the cocoon you’re in now. “So…you want a girlfriend? And you wanna pay me to be your girlfriend?”

Riki exhales a short laugh, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to buy time. “Not exactly. I don’t want to…buy you.” His voice dips lower, more careful. “I want to support you. And in return, I get someone who’s actually here with me. Not an act. Not…plastic.” His eyes flicker to yours, earnest behind the glasses.

You tilt your head, studying him. “So what—you’re saying you want the illusion stripped away? No roleplay, no sugar-baby persona?”

“I’m saying,” he leans slightly closer, resting an arm casually on the center console, “that I’d rather pay for your tuition and your time—your time—than some empty performance. It matters to me that when you laugh, it’s real. That when you look at me…” His words trail off, but his meaning hangs heavy in the heated air between you.

You swallow again, your throat closing up despite yourself. Fuck, you hated the sincerity behind his eyes and this was starting to make you extremely aware of who you were as a woman. All of the things that you wanted to leave behind and being with him was almost going to force you to confront these things. Because to you, whether he admitted it or not: he wanted a girlfriend. “So…do understand that I also have a life outside of this.”

“As do I,” he nodded, face clear of doubt. “I’m not asking you to give that up. I’d rather you didn’t. I want you to…” He nodded as his eyes flitted to the side in thought. “Live like a normal twenty-one year old should.”

“Okay…” you hummed. “So this means that you’re fine with me…” you shrugged one shoulder, testing him. “Say…dating? Like, seeing other people?”

His jaw slacked just a little as it ticked. “Oh baby no,” he shook his head in finality. “I don’t share.”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth to muffle it as the other held your stomach. “What?”

“I’m a very jealous man, I’m sorry. Plus, I firmly believe that after some time with me, you’re not gonna want anyone else.” He said with full conviction, that this was the first time that he hadn’t been eager to please nor thrown by any sudden compliments that he wasn’t used to hearing.

You sit up, the first time you’d been very drawn to conversation with him the entire night. “Okay, so what exactly am I dealing with here? As far as…terms, you as a person—matter of fact, let me ask so…what type of man are you?” You met his gaze with a curious look.

“That’s a very layered question, I mean…so many different types of men have curated this.” He gestured to himself. “Like…I’ve been fortunate enough to have many men, besides my father, guide me through relationships, careers, life shit…”

“Give me a gist.” You wave off.

He stayed silent for a second, sifting through and racking his brain for things or words or moments that he’d be able to give a full image of himself on a platter for you. “Okay, as far as my character. I’m going to tell you the things that I think I am and what people have told me I am.”

“I’ve been told I’m attentive,” he starts, voice steady but soft, “patient. People say I’m…consistent. Reliable. I don’t flake. I don’t play games.” His eyes meet yours, unwavering, like he wants you to truly understand him. “I care about the people I let in. Very deeply. Sometimes too deeply.”

You nod, letting that sink in, curious now, wanting him to continue.

“I’ve also been called…intense.” He chuckles softly, a low, almost self-deprecating sound. “I can overthink, overanalyze. And I take pride in details. Whether it’s work, or life, or relationships. I…expect honesty. Directness. And I give the same in return.”

“Okay…” you rest your cheek on your fist, giving him your undivided attention. 

“But I’d like to think that I’m careful, I can be very stubborn. Like once my mind is set on that then I will not budge because at that point I’ve weighed every possible outcome before making a decision. I’ve trusted my gut everyday up until this point and I’m in an amazing position in my life. And I take that very seriously.” He says firmly. “But I’m working on not being that way…I just trust myself so much that it comes hard to believe other people when they tell me literally anything. Career-wise, usually.”

You blink at him, impressed despite yourself. “Wow…" you murmur, a mix of admiration and wariness in your tone. “Like…that's exhausting just listening to you explain that.”

He laughs softly, a quiet, almost shy sound that doesn’t match his confident demeanor. “It’s…how I operate. I can’t help it. But that doesn’t mean I expect you to be the same way.” His eyes soften, scanning your face. “I just…wanted you to know what you’re dealing with. Not to scare you.”

You tilt your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Not scared…just…aware. That’s a lot to unpack.”

He nods slowly, letting the pause linger. “I know. And I’m not asking for a decision right now. I just want you to know…if you’re in, I’m all in too. I don’t do things halfway. With work, with people, or…with you in this case. I take you seriously as long as you give me that in return.”

Something in your chest tightens at his words. It’s bold, almost reckless, and a little intoxicating. You shift slightly in your seat, the heater hum low and warm, the car a tiny world of its own. “You make it hard not to be intrigued,” you whisper, voice softer than intended.

Riki leans back into the seat, just enough to gauge your reaction. Even more so to make the tension tangible. “What about you?”

“Um…hmm…” You huffed. “Also a lot to say…but I’d say that I’m a little cynical. Bitter. Very pragmatic, especially in this…” You gesture between you two, “Not saying I’m not a believer—”

“It’s just not something that’s normal for this circumstance—I get it.” 

“Yeah…but besides that I’d say that I’ve been told I’m loyal. Honest as well—this goes on my end too—I don’t see a reason to lie to anyone unless they’d have some sort of power or prove to be a risk to my life.”

“When I’m comfortable, I can be a very affectionate person. Verbally and physically—but I usually do like…acts of service because that doesn’t always involve either.” You laugh softly toward the end, a tinge of self-deprecation in there somewhere. But Riki doesn’t laugh. He watches. And listens. Attentively.

“But fuck…Riki I can be mean. Very mean and I hate that about me. I don’t like it.

Riki’s gaze softens even further, his jaw loosening as he leans slightly forward. “Mean?” he echoes quietly, curiosity and concern threading his tone. “How…mean are we talking?”

“Since we’re being honest here…I’m a very sensitive person and…this sounds crazy…walk with me…” You hold up your hand before he can say anything or judge you but he dismisses with an encouraging nod. “When I love someone and something they say or do upsets me or even rubs me the wrong way…I just retract. It makes me pull back because in some way…I see that person saying that hurtful thing as rejection. And when I love someone, I see them as perfect. Even through all the flaws—they’re still perfect and can do no wrong in my eyes. So to have a moment of hurt tied to someone I think is just my everything…makes me not even want to be around them.”

Riki stares at you for a long beat, his brows knitting ever so slightly, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle only you could give him. His voice comes quiet, low, but steady. “That…doesn’t sound crazy to me at all.”

You blink, caught off guard. “It doesn’t?”

He shakes his head, slow and deliberate. “No. It sounds…human. Sensitive, yeah—but also honest. You love hard. And when you do, you hold people so high that the fall from grace feels catastrophic.” He exhales, almost like he’s talking himself through the thought. “That kind of love…it’s rare. It’s scary as hell but it’s rare.”

Your throat tightens at his words, because you weren’t expecting him to get it. Most people just called you dramatic. Too much. Too emotional. You look down at your lap, fiddling again with the strap of your bag, voice softer now. “It doesn’t feel rare when it’s happening. It just feels…like I suffocate people. Or worse, like I set them up to fail.”

Riki’s lips twitch into the smallest smile—not mocking, but almost tender. “Maybe. Or maybe you just haven’t found someone who can stand in that kind of fire without flinching.” His eyes flicker to yours, unwavering. “Don’t mistake intensity for weakness. You’re not broken for feeling that way.”

Something in your chest aches at that—like he’s reaching for a part of you you usually keep padlocked. You let out a weak laugh, but it’s laced with disbelief. “You make it sound like it’s some…gift. Like it’s noble or something.”

“It is,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He leans back slightly, gaze still locked on you. “Take it from me, love is terrifying. Absolutely scary. But the great thing about this…” he gestured around the car. “...Is that we aren’t there yet. Not even a fourth of the way there yet. I can’t promise that I won’t piss you off because we are going to get mad at one another. That will happen. But I can promise now that if you wanna do this, that I got you.” He folded his hands over his stomach—mainly as a way to keep from reaching to touch you.

“You got me?” You ask skeptically.

“Mhm. Financially, you don’t have to worry yourself about whatever it is you worry about. Bills, paid. I’ll be giving you a monthly allowance of…literally anything. Name your price.” He nods to you.

You gulp, this was actually becoming real. And now you were faced with a decision: name your actual price—meaning you factor in the things you truly have been wanting. Or play it safe, be respectful after you two just shared that little heart-to-heart. You did feel like it was fine that you were only here for the money, because you were. But it got hard to take advantage of him when he had just told you how hard he loved and that was going to give you his all. Whether this turned out the way he wanted it to be or not.

So you chose the latter. “I’m good with two-thousand a month.” 

He physically drew back, face screwed up almost comically—partially in disgust. “Two—dude that’s someone’s rent money. I’m not giv—are you trying to insult me?”

Your jaw drops. “Insult you?” You lean forward, laughing in disbelief. “Riki, I just asked for what is literally life-changing money for me and you’re acting like I offered you a coupon to Olive Garden.”

He squints at you like you’ve grown three heads. “Two thousand? A month? Babe, that’s…that’s cute. That’s adorable. I said name your price, not…lowball yourself.”

You snort, trying to cover the flush creeping up your neck. “Excuse me for not immediately asking Daddy Warbucks for ten bands just for existing.”

“I’d respect you more if you did,” he shoots back, smirking now. “You don’t even know what ‘reasonable’ is in my world. You saying two grand is like me handing you a Starbucks gift card and calling it a salary.”

Your mouth hangs open, a laugh escaping despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re undervaluing yourself,” he says smoothly, no hesitation, like it’s not just about money anymore. His gaze is steady, almost challenging. “So try again.”

The air in the car goes still. You can feel his eyes daring you—pushing you past your own hesitation, the little voice in your head that tells you to play small.

“…Okay,” you say slowly, biting your lip, letting a mischievous smile curl on your face. “What if I said five?”

He tilts his head, lips twitching. “Getting warmer. Still very cold though.”

“Seven?”

His smile widens, like a predator humored. “Closer.”

Your brows fly up. “You’re crazy.”

“No,” he says, leaning forward now, elbows resting on his knees. “I’m serious. You’re worth more than scraps, sweetheart. So stop testing me and tell me what you really want.”

“Fifteen.”

He squinted, nose scrunching. “Still warm.”

“Bro,” you snorted. “Fine, twenty-five.”

“Thirty and we have a deal.”

The air goes quiet again, heavy, but not suffocating. You feel your pulse thrum in your ears as you shift in your seat. There’s something dangerous about the way he says it, not just the money but the conviction behind it. Like he’s not just negotiating an allowance—he’s staking a claim.

“…So that’s it? Thirty or nothing?” you ask, lips quirking, trying to lighten it.

“Thirty or nothing,” he echoes, his grin widening, teeth flashing like he just checkmated you. “So what’s it gonna be?”

“This is my money?”

He nodded obviously, “your money.”

“And I don’t have to use it on anything but what I want to use it on? Not bills, not anything catered toward livelihood and responsibility?”

“Not a dime.” He shook his head. “I have that handled. Any necessities like…bills, nails, hair, clothes I’ll be paying for.”

“Nails and hair? That’s like—”

He shook his head until you shut up. “A lady doesn’t pay for hair or nails, that shouldn’t have to come out of your allowance. That thirty-thousand is for anything you want. You could save it, invest it, spend it on makeup—if you do wear it often then I’ll pay for that too but—anything you see that you want that I’m not around to purchase…you use your allowance.”

You stare at him, part of you waiting for the punchline, but he doesn’t blink. Doesn’t budge. You shift again, suddenly aware of how small the car feels, how close he is. “You’re basically bribing me into liking you.”

“No,” he corrects smoothly, leaning in just a fraction. “I’m making sure you never confuse survival with choice. If you’re here with me, I want it to be because you want to. Not because you’re stuck worrying about bills, or tuition, or groceries. Freedom looks good on people.” His eyes catch yours, holding them steady. “I want it on you.”

The silence that follows is deafening, your chest tight, your mouth dry. For once, you don’t have a quick comeback. Just the dangerous, dizzying realization that maybe—just maybe—he’s dead serious about all of this.

“Deal.”

—

Riki pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building. It wasn’t much. Just a brick building, streetlights, and the occasional raccoon. But it was good for short notice, a ten minute walk from campus, and the rent wasn’t totally crushing. 

The wind sang and sent a brisk reminder of the impending weather—the rain that was forecasted. So you turned to the man beside you, who was already looking at you with the kind eyes he always did. “This you?”

“Yessir,” you nodded awkwardly. “I mean I did direct you here didn’t I?” Smiling in humor.

He laughed softly, “you did, in fact.” Adjusting his glasses, he asked, “so…when can I see you again?” Clearing his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed and he bit his lip to suppress a smile. 

You blink at him, caught off guard by how…boyish that question sounds coming from a man who just offered you thirty-grand like it was gas money.

“When can you—” you huff out a little laugh, shaking your head. “Riki, you just negotiated my entire future in your car and now you’re asking me out like a high schooler.”

He grins sheepishly, running a hand over his jaw. “I like a little balance.” His eyes glint under the streetlight, warm and steady. “So…when?”

You look down at your hands in your lap, chewing your lip. The easy answer would be never again—keep the distance, keep the power in your court. But then you remember the way he spoke in the car, all conviction and care, like he wasn’t just talking to you but making vows no one asked for. And a part of you felt like you owed it to him. Even though you really didn’t owe him a damn thing. But he was so kind, so gentle with you that you couldn’t dare to turn him down. Despite the jaded part of you that wanted to eat him for lunch.

“You know what…you can come get me after class on—wait what days are you like, off from work? Or like when do you get off?” You paused, holding both hands and making a seesaw, scale-esque motion—indicating your attempt at fairness.

Riki’s mouth curved at that, not just a smile but the kind that told you he was quietly cataloguing every detail of how you just asked him—your hands miming scales, your voice trying to sound casual but betraying your nerves.

“I’m flexible,” he said smoothly, but then tilted his head like he couldn’t resist teasing you. “But if you’re asking about my ‘office hours’…I’m usually done around five. Fridays are lighter. Weekends…” His brows lifted, gaze steady on you. “…I’ll move things around if it means seeing you.”

You blink at him, caught between flattered and overwhelmed. “You make it sound like scheduling the Pope.”

He chuckled, low and warm, leaning back against the headrest. “Maybe. But unlike the Pope, I’ll actually show up.”

That earned a soft laugh out of you despite yourself. “Okay, Mister Reliable. But I figure that…I want to further break the ice and…cook for you.” You nod, soft smile still there. “I love to cook for people and this is like…a love lan—” You paused. “A way to show I care.”

He notes your slip but doesn’t say anything. Just nodding and running a hand through his hair. “I’ll send extra money for groceries—matter of fact, just tell me what you need to get and—”

You shake your head. “No, it’s a surprise. I’ll get it myself.”

He snorts, feeling his face heat up and grateful for the moonlight that you don’t see it. “Okay, well I’m sure Blue will be happy to meet you.”

You draw back, “I thought you said you had no girlfriends or kids.”

“I never said I didn’t have any fur kids.” He snickers. “I have a best friend, his name is Blue. He is my dog.” Riki says clearly.

Your jaw drops, half-relieved and half-exasperated. “Riki, you cannot just—” you swat his arm with a laugh. “I’m thinking you had a girl or baby or something like…”

“Nah. But I will tell you not to be worried. Blue is very friendly. You’re not afraid of dogs are you?” He frowns. “Because I can put him away before you arrive.”

You shake your head quickly, still laughing. “No, no—I love dogs. I just…you know, wasn’t expecting you to casually introduce me to a fur kid mid-conversation.”

Riki smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Casual is my specialty. But Blue will like you, I promise. He’s a good judge of character.” He glances at you, teasing in his tone. “Plus, I kind of want him to approve before you get too comfortable with me.”

You shake your head with furrowed brows. “I feel that. Dogs are very good judge of character.” You paused again, bouncing your leg now. “So…does Tuesday at six sound good?”

Riki’s smirk slowly turns to a wide smile, pleased with you at the moment. “Mhm, perfect. But do know that this is the last planning you will be doing.”

“Glad to know we’re on the same page, partner.” You grabbed your bag in preparation to leave and before you could even touch the handle—Riki was already out and on your side of the vehicle. Opening the door for you and subsequently helping you out. 

You got a whiff of that musk again, the pumpkin spice. But overall, he just smelled clean. Sounds crazy but all rich people sort of have the same smell, maybe smelling like money is a thing.

“It was wonderful meeting you. And I can’t wait to see where this goes.” Riki slowly brings your hand to his lips, kissing the back of your hand without letting go of your gaze.

You catch your breath at the sudden tenderness, your fingers tingling from the warmth of his lips. “Yeah…me too,” you murmur, voice a little softer than you intended.

Riki gives your hand a final squeeze before letting go, letting it drop slowly to your side. “I’ll text you later tonight,” he says, the smile on his face easy, unforced. “We’ll set up that cooking thing. Blue will be ready for his first inspection.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

“Consider it…training,” he quips, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You pass, you stay. You fail…” He makes the air between you feel electric. “You’re still probably safe, but I'll never let you live it down.”

You grin, stepping back and tucking your bag over your shoulder. “You're already the worst, like seriously.”

He watches you for a beat longer, like memorizing the way you move, before finally nodding and heading back to his car. You can’t help but feel a little flutter—half nerves, half excitement—thinking about the strange, unexpected little world you’ve just stepped into.

—

As soon as you opened your front door, your phone buzzed:

Riki Nishimura transferred $5,500 to your checking account ending in (...XXXX)

Note: Advance + groceries for dinner <3

Since when did you need five-thousand dollars for groceries? Were you tripping? Did you both not agree to your allowance just being thirty-thousand? Plus, you and him didn’t even really get to work things out yet.

You stand in the middle of your apartment, the door still halfway open, staring at your phone like it’s grown horns.

“Five thousand?” you whisper to yourself, blinking hard as if that’ll make the number shrink. Nope. Still there. Your bank app is suddenly glowing like the gates of heaven. This is the most you’ve seen in it since you got it in high school.

Closing the door with your hip, you set your bag down and flop onto the couch, scrolling back up to double-check the transaction. 'Advance + groceries for dinner <3.'

You snort, tossing your phone onto the cushion beside you. “Since when does Whole Foods charge five grand for groceries, Riki?”

The worst part? Your stomach does a nervous flip—not from guilt, but from how easily he just…did that. No hesitation, no warning, like dropping a casual tip. He had called thirty thousand “reasonable,” and now he’s giving you this money like spare change. It seemed surreal even though this was all of what you wanted.

Your phone buzzes again.

Riki: Don’t freak out. Just something to get you started. :)

—

Tuesday came by faster than you knew and by the time Riki had made it to your house for the scheduled time, you were already on your way out the door. 

With two grocery bags in hand—reusable plastic bags because we care about the environment—you exited through the front entrance of your redbrick building. Scanned the block for the black vehicle you saw—not being able to find it through the sea of cars that were parked along the street but a beep was enough to draw your attention. 

Pulling the car a little further up in front of you, Riki climbed out and hurriedly made his way toward you. “Hi, how are you?” His smile was the same as always: dazzling. But warm, and kind on the soul. “Sorry, I couldn’t remember which building was yours but I got the general area.” He gently removed the bags from your grasp and held his arm for you to grab. 

“No, it’s okay.” You linked your arm with his. “The street can be a bit confusing. But I’ve been doing a lot better these last few days.” You looked up at him though he wasn’t facing you and was helping you down the steep sidewalk. 

He did perk up at the admission, though. “That’s great, my love. What made them so good?” He opened his backseat after you let him go. Setting the bags on the floor so they can fit snuggly, careful not to tip them over during any turns. 

You shrug, “I may have had something to look forward to.” Smiling at your cheesiness as you saw him give you his attention now that the two of you were face-to-face. “Y’know? Seeing you?”

The older man laughed softly. “You like me already?” He edged closer to you as he gently pulled you in for a hug, rubbing your back in a way that wasn’t just friendly. But secure. That in this neighborhood that was so rough around the edges, you were safe and nothing could touch you. 

“You’re alright, I guess.” You smirk, jabbing at him a little. “Don’t go getting a big head now.” Pulling back as you took another whiff of the cologne he wore today. Softer, a bit more perfume-esque. Soft linen. He reminded you a lot of you. Signature scents are cool but sometimes you might want to just catch a vibe with a fragrance.

He opens your door, “Call me Megamind then.” He sings-songs as watches you enter, ensuring your seatbelt is on before he makes his way to the driver’s side before pulling off.

You two chit-chat for a few minutes before you inquire. “Wait, I thought you lived downtown?” Brows furrowed, you looked at your surroundings—seeing that he was passing by the city square that was just by the lower area that you spoke of. 

“No, you assumed I lived there because that was where I chose to shop for that sweater I wore one time!” He laughed, his hand finding yours while he drove with one hand. 

Caught off guard by the gesture but still pleased, you smiled as you reciprocated the affection. Squeezing his hand tightly, “I’m sorry!”

He glances at you briefly, smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t apologize. I like hearing what you assume about me. Helps me see how you…picture me.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. “Well, in my head, you live in some glass high-rise with a skyline view, a wine cooler, and like…a bathtub that could fit six people.”

Riki’s laugh bursts out of him, low and surprised. “A wine cooler? That’s the detail you’re sticking with?”

“You just give me that vibe.” you shoot back, grinning as you turn to face him more. “And one of those weird coffee table books that’s just pictures of architecture no one reads but it makes you look cultured.”

His fingers squeeze yours as he shakes his head, chuckling. “Damn, you got me pegged. I do have the cooler, and…” he pauses, glances at you with a mischievous spark in his eyes. “…there is a coffee table book.”

Your mouth drops. “I knew it!” You laugh, smacking the back of his hand playfully before realizing—you’re still holding it. Which makes the whole gesture softer somehow, not just teasing but intimate. “So you’d get pegged?”

Riki’s eyes widened as he turned to glance at you briefly. “Young lady, where did you learn such language?! And it’s a figure of speech!” He snorted, suppressing a laugh as he turned onto the expressway—the air feeling lighter now as he scolded you in jest.

You laughed, genuinely laughed as the sound permeated the vehicle and it took you a minute to gather yourself. Riki reciprocated as he squeezed your hand. What you said wasn’t that funny, not really. But your laugh—as obnoxious and mildly ugly as it was—brought joy to him. For once, he felt warm. Comfortable. That the search for companionship that he’d be seeking for the last few years was paying off well. His smile softened as watched you cool down.

“C’mon, you’re twenty-seven. Six years my senior, it’s not like you haven’t been around the block.”

Riki side-eyed you, lips twitching as he bit back another laugh. “First of all—disrespectful. Second of all, just because I’ve been around the block doesn’t mean I’ve been in every alleyway, genius.”

You smirk, tilting your head at him. “So you’re admitting you’ve at least peeked down a few alleys.”

“See, this is what I get for holding your hand,” he muttered, though his thumb absentmindedly brushed over your knuckles like he had no intention of letting go. “I try to be sweet and you turn it into something completely…perverted.”

You grin, leaning into your seat, smug. “Don't act like you don't like it.”

His laugh was low, the kind that warmed the air in the car. “Maybe I do.” He shrugged one shoulder, letting the silence and white noise of the cars speeding down the road fill the car.

You broke it though because you talk too damn much. “So, where do you live? Where’s Casa di Riki?”

Riki just dignified your silliness with a smile, “From you, I live about twenty minutes out. Just one town over. Very suburban.” He nods slowly as he merges into a new lane. 

“The city too much for you?” Leaning back into the leather seats, you crossed your legs as you reapplied your lip gloss. Pulling down the overhead mirror. Oh what would the world be without lip gloss?

He shook his head as if you were minding what he was doing. “Yes and no? I love cities but I just kinda prefer something a little more peaceful. I’m very particular about my quiet and where I live it’s so peaceful. There’s a lake nearby, nice neighbors, nice community.” He hummed, “plus I spent so long with my home and renovations and essentially building it from the ground up that I’d die before I’d give it up.”

“Yes, I forgot you were an architect. You said...residential and urban design?” You said as best you could without getting gloss on your teeth.

Riki’s heart warmed at your attentiveness. “Aww…you remembered.” He brought your joined hands to his lips.

The gesture made you freeze for half a second, the brush of his mouth against your knuckles so casual yet deliberate it sent a little current through your chest. He didn’t make a show of it—just pressed the kiss like it was second nature, eyes still on the road, thumb smoothing over your skin like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Don’t ‘aww’ me,” you finally managed, snapping the mirror closed and giving him a side-eye to hide the fact your pulse was going nuts. “It’s not like you’re forgettable.”

That earned you one of his sideways grins, slow and sharp like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you. “Careful. Keep talking like that and I’ll start to think you actually like me.”

You scoffed, tugging your hand but he only tightened his grip. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just remember things. I’m observant. And actually listen when people speak to me.”

He scoffed playfully, “yeah, yeah,” brushing you off with a smile. “Whatever you say,”

You smiled softly, “so…what made you wanna really move to the ‘burbs? Old age? Can’t keep up anymore…”

Riki laughed loudly. “Dude, you have one more time to joke about my age.”

You grinned wide, proud of yourself for getting that rise out of him. “What, I’m just saying…you’re like one more sweater from being a retired PTA dad.”

His laugh was so loud it bounced around the car, head shaking as he looked at you like you were ridiculous—but adorable anyway. “PTA dad? Really?”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you shot back, eyebrows raised, lips tugging into a smirk. “Suburbs, lake house, dog named Blue… all you’re missing is the khaki shorts and Asics.”

“Oh my God.” He leaned against the headrest, groaning dramatically but smiling so big you caught it in the reflection of the window. “I am not buying dad shoes. Ever.”

You giggled, leaning back smugly. “We’ll see. It starts with the suburbs. Next thing you know you’re grilling in socks and sandals, calling the neighbors ‘buddy.’”

“I already do the buddy thing…” He sighs as he turns to head onto the highway exit.

“See?”

—

Pulling up to Riki’s house was something that put a bigger knot in your stomach than you'd like to admit. Something haunted your every thought before bed as you wondered and fantasized about the glamor and galore of what was to be behind or around his home. 

You expected glass, marble, ceramics, maybe even some technology here and there. But at least for the exterior you had some thoughts. 

A dramatic sixty-floor high-rise building where he had the penthouse and butlers and again, the glass, the marble. Maybe even the firm couches that just hurt your ass by just looking at them. And even somehow maybe it would be all gray and black. Not sure why you thought that, you just assumed every eligible bachelor would just go that route.

Or if not that, then some humongous mansion with a fountain in the driveway, a gate that needed a code, and enough empty space to echo when you coughed. You imagined chandeliers bigger than your bedroom and rooms so wide they felt like they were built for ghosts.

But pulling up to Riki’s place? It was…none of that.

The car rolled to a slow stop in front of a house that didn’t scream money but whispered it—subtle, tucked behind a row of trees that framed the driveway. It was large, yes, but not ostentatious. Classical stone with warm wood trimming, glass where it counted but not so much it felt like a fishbowl. You spotted planters by the steps—actual thriving greenery that someone clearly tended to, not just thrown there for aesthetic.

The porch light flicked on automatically, casting a glow across the driveway like the house was greeting him. Greeting you. It wasn’t a mansion. It wasn’t a skyscraper. It looked like a home.

Your lips parted before you could catch yourself. “Oh…” you breathed, leaning forward a little in your seat as if that would let you take in more. “This is…not what I pictured.”

Riki smirked as he parked, clearly amused by your awe. “What did you picture?”

You hesitated, embarrassed to admit it, but your face gave you away anyway.

“Penthouse?” he guessed. “Marble floors, glass walls, some ridiculous colorless bachelor pad with a sectional couch and a fridge that only has water bottles?”

You snapped your fingers, laughing. “Exactly that! Wait—do you have the fridge, though?”

He chuckled, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Of course I do. But I actually keep food in mine.”

Even the neighborhood itself was just as he said: peaceful. Nothing about this place exuded poor, that’s for sure. But it was humble, homely, and not kitschy at all. Without even meeting his neighbors you could tell that Riki fit in with them just fine. That they all worked within similar fields of public service. Teachers, doctors, physicians, dentists, surgeons, psychologists, architects, engineers. The people that live here are the people that do good. That matter. That the world can’t spin without and even then, you couldn’t blame Riki. This is the type of place people dream of retiring at. Where they have neighborhood watch groups, community pool hangouts, kids hanging out and playing in the street. Families and people here live in harmony and it only fueled more inside of you that you couldn’t believe you got lucky with Riki by this point.

He had opened your door and helped you out. Then grabbed your groceries as he fumbled his link of keys. He didn’t have many. Just the car key, home, maybe office, what you’d assume to be a key card/ID for his firm, then a cute key chain with a photo in it that you couldn’t see from here and never thought to mind. Most likely him and Blue. “Can’t wait to see what you make.”

You smiled, “I’m actually excited too, can you handle spice? I should’ve asked before. But I won’t make it—” You followed him up the porch as he clicked his car locked and already had his house key ready.

“I’m good with spice, it’s okay.” He pushed the door open with his shoulder and held it for you, letting you step in first. The moment you crossed the threshold, you froze—not because it was over the top, but because it was so…him.

Warm wood floors stretched through the entryway, and the first thing you noticed wasn’t furniture or fancy tech but the way the house smelled. Not sterile, not overly perfumed, but lived-in. A mix of pumpkin spice, laundry fresh, and faint dog. The kind of scent that told you someone cared about their space but didn’t obsess over making it look like a showroom.

To the left, you saw a built-in, recessed bookshelf that went from floor to the high ceiling, stacked not only with architecture journals but—much to your delight—comic books, random novels, and even a few cookbooks. A big potted plant stood proudly next to it, thriving like it was his favorite child.

The space was cozy but expansive, like when crafted this, he wanted space but not so much to where it’d make the home feel empty or like filler. The windows were just like the bookshelf—floor to ceiling and it truly did open home up. He must love natural light, as did you. Throw blankets on the couch, colors that fit the season of autumn: brown, gray, some hints of color but everything about this home was perfect. 

You couldn’t stop your mouth from curving into a slow smile as your eyes flicked around, cataloguing every little detail. It wasn’t some cold showroom house—it was layered, personal. It felt like Riki.

“This is…” you started, but words failed you, so you just turned to him with that wide-eyed look that made him chuckle under his breath.

He kicked his shoes off neatly by the door, balancing the grocery bags in one hand like it was second nature. “Not the marble-glass bachelor pad you imagined?”

“Not at all,” you admitted, stepping carefully onto the wood floors like you didn’t want to scuff them even though they were clearly meant to be lived on. “It’s—warm. Homey. Like, I could actually sit here and not feel like I’m messing up the aesthetic.”

“That’s kind of the point,” he said simply, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal that he’d curated a house that felt like…well, him.

You were about to ask him something else when a sharp click-clack of nails on wood echoed down the hallway. Before you could process, a blur of fur bounded toward you, tail wagging like a metronome gone haywire.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, dropping into a half crouch as Blue came skidding to a stop in front of you. A big, elegant dog—golden fur, big brown eyes, and open mouth that indicated what you hoped to be a smile. But you weren’t new to this—you stuck your hand out. Waiting for Blue to accept you before you scared him and reached over his head. 

You side-eyed Riki as he looked between you both expectantly. This was the moment of truth.

And before you knew it, you were nearly being taken down by an animal that didn’t know his size. “Oh hi, baby! Hi!” You cooed as you ruffled his fur and removed your shoes. Riki swiftly moved them to the rack as he watched you both.

Blue was in your lap at this point and you had to dodge his licks everywhere you could. But this only meant to him that you wanted to play, so where you stood up and ran further into the house, past the foyer. Which only gave Blue permission to chase after you—claws skidding across the wooden floor as he chased after you. 

“Hey, no playing in the house.” Riki groaned as he smothered a smile, bringing the groceries to the kitchen. Placing them on the island.

You darted around the couch, laughing so hard you could barely breathe, Blue hot on your heels like this was the best day of his life. “He started it!” you called back, half-yelp, half-giggle as the dog lunged for your arm with harmless excitement.

Riki leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold like some sitcom dad resigned to his fate. “Yeah, sure. That’s exactly what it looks like—you terrorizing my poor dog in his own house.”

“He’s fine!” you protested, finally letting Blue catch you. He barreled into your legs and nearly knocked you backward, tail wagging like a metronome on speed. You dropped to your knees, scratching his ears while he tried to crawl fully into your lap again. “See? He loves me.”

Riki shook his head, but there was a grin tugging at his mouth that he couldn’t hide. “Great. Two men in this house officially wrapped around your finger.”

You shot him a look over Blue’s furry shoulder. “Oh? Who’s the other one?”

Riki only raised a brow, not answering as he grabbed a bag of vegetables to start unloading, the picture of innocence.

Blue barked once, like he was in on the joke, and you gasped dramatically. “Blue knows! He totally knows.”

“Blue knows you’re a bad influence,” Riki shot back, but the way his lips curved, it didn’t sound like a complaint.

You kissed the dog’s head. “I didn’t know that golden retrievers were this nice.” Smiling, as Blue finally calmed down and trotted over to his owner. Nuzzling his leg as a greeting and sitting before him politely. Looking expectantly.

Riki’s brows furrowed incredulously. “Really? There’s like a whole archetype of men depicting their behavior.” Crouching to show Blue affection, he gently held his face and grazed his head with his thumbs. 

“Yeah but I always thought golden retrievers were racist.”

Riki froze mid-head pat, looking down at Blue with a frown, smooching his puppy’s head. “Fair. But don’t put that on him.”

You stood to your full height, “yeah, but I will say your dog has converted me.” Making your way to the other side of the first floor to where he was, right by the island. The weirdly tall island. “Why is this so high up?” You inquired, running your hand across the smooth marble countertop.

Riki also stood, “I’m six foot one, tall person requires tall surfaces. I wanna minimize my back issues the best I can for now.” He turned on the sink to wash his hands with hand soap, offering some to you as well to which you accepted it. 

“I forget you’re pushing thirty.” You nudged him, lathering the soap in your hands as you ensured to clean your wrists and fingernails. Doing stuff like this with him feels entirely too intimate. But in a comforting way, a way that almost feels like if you just tried hard enough that this could be your life. That the congenial lifestyle with the congenial home and the congenial dog and the congenial neighborhood could be something in your crystal ball. That wealth didn’t need diamonds or glitz, but community and comfort within four walls.

As your hands brushed his, it instantly felt like the water was burning. But you couldn’t pull away.

The older man noted your slight daze, eyes looking into the sink aimlessly and just turned off the faucet. Riki grabbed a hand-towel and gently dried your hands first, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Not rushed, not clinical, but careful—pressing the fabric between your fingers, brushing over your palms.

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close he was standing. The smell of his cologne mixed with the soap, the faint scrape of his rings against the towel, the way he didn’t look away from you even as he focused on his task. “I think you’d be happy to live to see my age.”

“My grandpa used to tell my mom that all the time. Now she says that to me whenever I call her old.” You smile softly, letting him toy with your hands as if you were a marionette. 

Riki huffed a small laugh, still drying between your fingers like it was some delicate ritual. “Smart man.”

You tilted your head, studying him. The way his lashes dipped as he focused on your hands, how his touch lingered longer than necessary, like he was memorizing the shape of you through skin and soap.

“Do you ever feel old?” you asked, half teasing, half genuine.

That made him pause. His eyes flicked up, catching yours—steady, unflinching. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But not right now.”

The words hung between you, heavier than you expected. Your chest tightened, but before you could respond, Blue barked from the living room, like he couldn’t stand being left out.

You laughed softly, pulling your hands away before the moment could swallow you whole. “Guess he’s jealous.”

Riki smirked, tossing the towel onto the counter. “Can’t blame him. Want me to give you the tour?”

—

Riki’s home was just like him. Almost to a tee. Exactly like the man that owned it. Everything of his—just like him—had a reason for why it existed, where it was meant to go, its function. Like this home was created by a robot or some sort of genius. Which you’d hate to admit but…he is one. 

His home had many rooms but he brought you to his favorite ones, or just the part of the house he favored the most. His huge backyard was mainly just a play area for Blue, but also an entertainment area for guests when he would have them over. Seeing as the weather was cold, he had tucked most of the chairs and tables away in the shed, preserving it for spring and summertime. 

Then he had the second floor, with an open pathway to look over the living room to inspect the floor to ceiling windows. He stopped you, holding your shoulders gently. “I think this part is my favorite, during the day you can see the lake from here. It’s about a mile away but…if you squint then…” He shrugged, adjusting his frames and squinting as if the traditional chandelier wasn’t illuminating the glass. Making it hard to see out due to the darkness on the other side.

You leaned over the railing, squinting with him even though there was nothing to see but the reflection of the two of you in the glass. “Wow,” you deadpanned. “What a view. Truly breathtaking.”

Riki chuckled, his hands slipping from your shoulders but hovering like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull away completely. “You’re ruining the magic.”