𝗦𝗶𝘅𝘅

The frat house is crowded as usual, with people getting drunk and high on whatever substances they prefer in their system. On any other night, Jay would find the scene irritable and annoying. 

After all, he always keeps himself in check, always sober and in control of his actions and thoughts, always so, so responsible. He’d prefer watching from the sidelines and being of help for when Riki starts throwing up from too much drinking or when Heeseung sings too loud after his second fill.

Jay is always responsible. He never lets himself on the loose.

But tonight, as the aftermath of his near-fight with Heeseung and him having to rush to the hospital after the burgundy-haired alpha collapsed in his omega’s doorway, despite Jay himself being too shaken to stand, he thinks he’s fine with getting slightly reckless.

Slightly reckless, in this case, is drinking more than the two red cups he usually gets.

“Why are we using fruits to represent anatomy?” 

Back to the situation at hand, where he’s sitting on top of a tall stool around the kitchen island, Sunoo is throwing Jake a grimace. Beside him, Riki already has his head bobbing to the music, a telltale sign of a blackout drunk that would usually result in Jay and Sunoo cleaning his mess up. A defeated sigh leaves his lips involuntarily.

Jay downs another shot.

"I don't want to be too explicit," Jake shrugs, like it's the most normal thing to do. "So, peach or cherry?"

Jay knows how this will go.

Riki is an ass guy, judging from the way he likes to slap anyone's butt within his proximity. Jake is both because he's an indecisive little shit who's just too greedy to pick. If pussy was on the options, he'd pick all three.

Sunoo, despite his reckless endeavor with alphas, Jay has never heard him doing anything more than a messy make-out and a blowjob. But he might be an ass guy too, just because he has a juicy fat ass. Heeseung—well, if he was here, anyway—would've said boobs, because Jay knows him a little too well which makes him privy to the former's (previously) sexually active life.

And Jay—he's too respectful to even answer that.

True to his own guess, Riki shakes his head drunkenly from beside an expressionless Sunoo. "My girl is perfect," he says, then grins cheekily. "But I like taking her from the back. Shit, you shouldn't know that."

"We shouldn't, dumbass. Why are you airing out your bedroom activities to us?" Sunoo rolls his eyes, but there's no bite to it. Everybody knows how loose Riki's tongue can get when he's wasted. On any other sober days, he would gate-keep the hell out of his omega. "Anyway, peach."

Jay has guessed almost everything right. He downs another shot.

A shit-eating grin appears on Jake's face. "I knew it, Sunny, you're an ass guy!"

"It's not really a groundbreaking discovery," Sunoo shrugs his shoulders, then turns to Jay. "Jay hyung, what about you?"

Jay is a respectful guy, so there's no way he would ever answer that. He shakes his head, already dizzy from the buzzing alcohol in his system.

"I don't like talking about this."

A chorus of groans echoes around the island. Only Sunoo smiles at him.

"You're no fun, Jjongsaeng," Jake shoves his shoulders playfully. "It's harmless conversation. As for me, I like anything they give me, but I love pussy the most. Which will make me a butterfly guy."

Sunoo lets out a loud groan, while Riki is already giggling. "Are you calling pussy a butterfly? Hyung, please shut the fuck up."

It's ridiculous, really. Jay loves his friends, but they sometimes do questionable things that makes him want to rip his own hair out. If Jungwon was here, he would be up his ass and plot ways to get on his nerves. If Sunghoon was here, well, Jay likes his company the most because he's the calmest and doesn't say controversial shits that could get them cancelled. His friends can be insufferable sometimes, but the most annoying one at this moment is none other than Heeseung.

Thinking about the burgundy-haired alpha just makes his wolf bitter all over again. Seriously, what did he do wrong? Heeseung should've been thanking him instead for keeping his omega dry from the rain. Not taking him down in an almost-fistful physical attack, and definitely not this silent treatment between them that makes their shared apartment smaller than it is, on-edge pheromones suffocating the air.

Jay is pissed. Pissed that they haven't made up yet and pissed at himself for being too kind.

Is he too kind? Should he just let her get soaked in the rain?

He grabs his red cup, ready to feel the alcohol again, and sighs quietly when there's only a drop left inside. Jay is about to stand and refill more booze, but he's stopped by a firm hand on his wrist.

He looks up to a worried Sunoo.

The younger alpha gives him a once-over. He probably looks so red in the face right now, but nobody seems to notice because Jake and Riki are somehow trying to bite each other's heads off arguing about the proper fruit representative for a pussy.

"You're drinking a lot tonight," Sunoo finally says, ever the observant. "Did something happen?"

Everything happened.

Is what Jay wants to say badly.

That near-fight with Heeseung happened. That still-awkward tension between him and Riki's mate happened. That weird glances mated alphas throw at him whenever he's around their omegas happened. That flirty and hopeful stares omegas give him whenever he so as looks their way happened.

And, despite everything, him still not meeting his mate happened.

If anyone should be envious, it's Jay. Not Heeseung. Not Riki.

"Envious of?"

Shit. He said that out loud, didn't he?

He was about to deflect, but now that Sunoo is fixing him with that foxy gaze, glinting with relentless curiosity that won't back down no matter the excuses, Jay knows he has nowhere to go. He looks to his left, where Jake and Riki has reconciled and agree that no fruit matches with a pussy's shape because apparently pussy is too special for fruit comparisons, settling on calling it flower instead, and now have started discussing about how diabolical it is to compare a dick to an eggplant, and sighs.

Jay thinks he needs new friends. Better friends, even. Except Sunoo. And Sunghoon.

"Hyung?"

When Jay's sure that Jake and Riki are too wasted and distracted to eavesdrop, he finally relents.

"I…Sunoo-yah," he swipes a tongue across his bottom lip. "Is there something wrong with me?"

This is why he hates getting drunk. Because his body recognises alcohol as invitation to start talking deep shits and pouring his heart out like an endless stream of river. It's not a bad thing to be vulnerable, but Jay has guarded his heart so tight that only certain people have the privilege to listen to his deepest secrets.

Thankfully, tonight is just his luck. Rather than exposing himself to a stranger, which has been his biggest fear when getting drunk, it's Sunoo who's listening to him attentively. The brown-haired alpha is looking at him softly, amber eyes full of understanding and encouragement, and it makes the tension in his shoulders slowly melt away.

"Why'd you say that?"

Jay is quiet for a moment. Right, why would he? Then he remembers Heeseung and Riki, those omegas and alphas, and, finally—his own wolf.

"Am I too…" he sucks in a breath, not wanting to sound self-absorbed, but it's what he's been hearing from people.

"Am I too much of a green flag?"

Sunoo didn't expect that from him, judging by the micro-surprise in his expression. Maybe he should stop there and let Sunoo reply, but now that he finally lets it out, Jay finds it easy to just continue.

"Is it wrong to be a kind alpha? I think it wasn't, but seeing how anxious and weary alphas can get when I'm being a gentleman to their omegas…" he trails off, hating the fact that it's his best friends' faces that appear on his mind. "I think it's a mistake. I shouldn't be too kind, right?"

There's a muffled silence between them, dampened by the loud bass from the living room and the sharp citrus turning bitter in the air. Jay looks off to the kitchen island, realising that it's now just him and Sunoo in that space; Jake and Riki are now joining the beer pong just getting started in the backyard.

Across from him, a look of understanding crosses Sunoo's face.

"There's no such thing as being too kind, hyung."

"Then why am I being punished for it?" He cuts in sharply. "Why do I feel bad for doing those things to them?"

He still remembers, the day Riki showed up in his apartment, crying because his lifelong crush wanted Jay to help her with her heat. Riki begged him not to agree, and Jay had done so—it didn't feel right to do that, especially when he knows about the younger boy's feelings for his childhood friend. But then Riki changed his mind and convinced him to say yes, because 'I didn't want her to go through it alone in indescribable pain, and I don't want to ruin our friendship if it's not me that she wanted. Please help me, hyung, she's just presented as an omega. It'll be too dangerous for her to do it alone.'

He had agreed out of sympathy for his younger friend, but somehow him agreeing had bloomed jealousy in the alpha's heart. Jay understands—Riki is still too young, and young alphas are the most territorial creatures to walk on this Earth—but it still hurts his feeling to be treated like a Mr. Steal Your Girl, when he has never stolen anything except omegas' hearts unintentionally.

Riki had apologised and admitted to his immaturity, but still, it wasn't enough to erase weeks of awkward silences and clipped conversations over a single apology. His omega has been extra cautious around Jay, and it always makes him sore to hold back from being himself around her. Or around any taken omegas, for the record.

So, really, he'd appreciate it a lot if Sunoo could just be honest with him and tell him, 'Yes, hyung, you're too kind for your own good,' instead of sugarcoating it.

But of course Sunoo would say the opposite.

"The ones who did that to you aren't the people you helped, right?" Sunoo says, smooth voice weaving through the music like it's meant to find Jay no matter the noise. "It's always the jealous alphas. But I'm sure those omegas were thankful for you for helping them. You're not being punished, hyung. You're just too good that you kinda intimidated these alphas into thinking that their mates would run to you the second they look away."

Jay doesn't know what to say to that. Sunoo always has this way of charming people with his words, the kind that can convince a criminal that they're a saint with that lilt in his voice that only he has. He's not sure if Sunoo really means it, or if it's the truth as it is.

The younger alpha sees right through him. "You're doubting me."

"No! No, I'm just—" Jay pauses, hating the fact that he is indeed doubting his friend's words, and decides to just be honest. "Okay—yeah. You're right. It's hard to believe you."

Sunoo hums, not the slightest offended. He leans forward, turning his head to watch the ongoing beer pong, seen through the transparent sliding door. Jay follows his line of sight, and feels his chest tighten when he sees Riki making out with his omega.

It's the familiar ache that he felt when he saw the mating mark on Riki's neck. The same longing he feels whenever his mated teammates talk about their fulfilled love life. It's like a circle of bubble that Jay doesn't dare burst, being the only one outside of a room full of people who have found the meaning of love.

I wish I could have that too.

Sunoo catches him before he could mask his scent. He throws Jay an expressionless look. For a moment, Jay prepares himself for a 'Gotcha!' comment from him, but the younger alpha only gives him a close-lipped smile.

"Ah, hyung. I should've known. You want a mate, don't you?"

"I don't," Jay is quick to deny, but upon seeing the knowing glint in Sunoo's eyes, he realises there's no point in denying. He sighs for the umpteenth time that night.

"Yes, I do. But it's not as easy as you might think."

"Why? I'm pretty sure there are many omegas who'd throw themselves at you."

"But I can't because I…" Jay licks his lips, "I don't find anyone I like enough yet."

Sunoo doesn't say anything for a long, stretched moment. Jay almost squirms under his dissecting eyes. It feels as though Sunoo is picking him apart by his gaze and his scent alone, seeing parts of himself that he wouldn't show bare. It's unnerving yet weirdly comforting at the same time, having someone who can see right through him despite the walls he built.

"Hyung, everything about this gentleman persona and you wanting a mate—there's only one thing I can say."

Jay swallows thickly, mind sobering up with each passing second. "What?"

"You are with this kindness not without a purpose," Sunoo says calmly, like he hasn't just dropped the most riddled sentence that sounds too Shakespeare-ish to Jay's drunken mind.

"Huh?"

"I'm saying, there is someone out there who needs your kindness, hyung. Your patience. Your heart," Sunoo flashes him a small smile, sincere and genuine. "You'll meet them someday. And when you do, you'll understand why you are the way you are. You are never too much for someone who's meant to hold you."

Jay hears him, truly, but that promise sounds so distant and far away. Like a reality he's witnessesing from a different universe, through a portal of lifelong waiting and yearning. He wants to believe it, wants to hold onto every syllable and let it be his new faith, but the deepest, ugly part of him doesn't believe he belongs to that kind of destiny.

He doesn't say anything. Not that he has the chance to when the smell of burning chocolate greets his senses and soon, an upset Jungwon is already filling up the space with his broad shoulders and moody pheromones.

A black leather jacket, zipped up to his chin, hugs his body, highlighting his wide figure under the kitchen light, paired with leather pants. Jungwon's hair is messy, untamed around the frame of his eyes, and Jay knows why when he sees the helmet in his arm.

"Hyung, be honest. Do I look too baby-faced?" The alpha pouts, gesturing at his body. "Even after wearing this whole gear? I even rode my precious bike to see her!"

Jay doesn't have to stay to know that Jungwon's whining about the older omega he has a crush on, someone that used to babysit him when he was 10 years old and is now still treating him like a baby. He would've stayed to listen and comfort the younger alpha, really, but unfortunately for Jungwon, Jay also needs some comfort for himself before he loses his fucking mind.

He grabs his red cup and stands up, needing the alcohol to be in his system now more than anything. The other two alphas don't notice him leaving, and if they do, Jay's sure Sunoo's more interested to hear about Jungwon's failing love life than his already-doomed one.

Jay makes his way through the crowd, giving polite smiles to everyone in his way. He's not really a fan of this kind of crowd—it's more of Heeseung's and Riki's crowd—but it's the least of his concerns now. The alpha squeezes past dancing omegas whose stares linger, past a group of alphas who give him a nod of acknowledgement, past a pair of lovers making out on the wall.

That makes him falter.

Jay blames it on the alcohol. Really, he's usually not like this. It's actually easier to act like not having a mate among friends who are already mated doesn't affect him when his thoughts are more coherent and making sense. But right now, as he watches the couple giggling at each other, lips in ears and soft eyes looking into soft eyes, a pinch of envy twists in his chest.

Jay huffs, leaving the scene faster than he'd like to admit. Seriously, if he was so good and kind like everybody had said, if he's the picture-perfect alpha like every family member had boasted about, then why is it only him alone with no one to hold? Why is it always him who's cleaning after everybody's mess when he only watches on the sidelines as they get their happy ending? Why is it that people who run from love are more favoured than someone who's always been ready like him?

What about him? What about his happy ending?

After what felt like hours, Jay finally finds his booze. Jake has an eccentric preference of placing the booth all over the frat house, and the one in the kitchen has long ran out. He's standing at the booth by the stairs right now, the majority of them still untouched. Jay pours into his cup full to the brim. His senses are already tingling with the thoughts of drinking more.

When the alcohol buzzes through his system, Jay lets out a satisfied sigh. God, he's so carefree tonight. But whatever, he's pretty sure Sunoo can drive them home safely. Right now, Jay's focus is only on making himself feel better and forget whatever ruckus that has unfolded the past few weeks.

He pours more when his cup empties. From where he's standing, the bass doesn't really reach him, a bit distant from the speaker now blasting Miley Cyrus' Party In The U.S.A.. It makes the conversation around him sounds clearer in his ears. Including the ones coming from upstairs.

Jay pays them no mind. He's not here for gossips or shits and giggles—he's here to cool off. But when something sweet, something that reminds him of his mom's berry strudels and morning coffee drifts into his nose, Jay's senses sharpen.

Is someone baking? He wonders alone. The last time he left the kitchen, there were only Sunoo and Jungwon. As far as he remembers, neither could touch the oven without risking an explosion.

So where does this sweet scent come from?

It gets sweeter the more he spends his focus on it. Jay looks around, mind still buzzing, unable to find the source of the scent that has piqued his interest through the haziness. His nose twitches. Even in his drunken state, Jay can't help but notice how constrasting the scent is to his sharp citrus.

And for some reason, his wolf likes it.

"Is it from the stairs?" he mumbles, stumbling to the foot of the stairs, drink sloshing in his cup.

But just as he's about to look up, he's already colliding into a soft body coming down from upstairs.

"Ah!"

Oh no.

Jay watches in horror as the drink in his hand spills all over the person's shirt, staining the white fabric with yellowish mark that almost looks like someone's piss. He freezes, mouth gaping in surprise, but the only thing his hazy mind picks up is 'Yes, he's finally found where the scent comes from.'

It's from the victim of his booze.

Or rather, the furious omega who's looking down at him with a sneer on her face right now.

"Hey!" You yell, face burning red. "Look at what you did!"

Oh, Jay is definitely looking. For some reason, his eyes are glued to your face, taking in every feature decorating your sweet face. The perfectly sculpted brows that are now frowning deep, the round eyes that are narrowing down at him, the full lips that are pulled into a tight, dissatisfied line.

Such an angry omega. But also the most beautiful he's ever laid his eyes on.

"Hey, stupid alpha. I'm talking to you!"

Jay has never seen you before. Who are you? Why are you making his heart beat so fast? Why is his wolf wiggling his tail at the sight of you?

"Oh my fucking God. So fucking annoying."

Even when you're glaring at him, under the dim light of Jake's frat house, you look very, very pretty. Are you even real, or just a drunken manifestation of his desperation for a mate?

Jay's too starstruck and drunk to notice how dumb he must look right now, but you've had enough of the alpha gaping at you like a dying fish. You shake his shoulders, manicured nails digging into his shirt.

"Earth to dumbass alpha! Hello??? You just spilled your drink all over my Limited Edition Cherry Chanel Baby Tee!"

Oh, right. Jay snaps out of his reverie, and drops his eyes on your chest to see the damage he's done.

But instead of realising his mistake, he's realising something else instead.

The wet patch darkens your shirt from its usual shade, sticking to your chest like second skin. From where he's standing so close, just a step below you on the stairs, his eyes level with your chest, Jay has a belated realisation that you have such perfect…boobs.

They're slightly bigger than average, perfectly-shaped and round, and they sit so nicely that Jay feels like they'd beat his expensive pillows in softness. A thought, a small thought that sober-Jay would never have, crosses his mind.

Jay wants to bury his face in your chest to test it.

Oh my God. This is bad. Drunk-Jay is so, so bad. He's really malfunctioning tonight.

You, on the other hand, are already at your wits' ends. It doesn't help that the shirt feels so sticky, so uncomfortable and it irritates you to the core. Also, why the fuck is this stupid alpha staring at your chest like—like he wants to touch it?

"Hey!" you push his shoulder again, but the alpha doesn't budge. You grit your teeth. "My eyes are up here, dumbass!"

Jay breathes out. "Che…rry."

Your brows furrow in confusion.

"What?"

"Cherry." Jay repeats, eyes never leaving your chest. His mind is dissolving into mixed up conversations—he can hear Jake's voice, your voice, and the bass mixing together.

"I prefer…cherry."

There is a heavy silence that follows, loaded with bubbling anger, drunk confusion, and a very, very horrific realisation that he's talking about your chest. Your mouth falls open.

With a handsome face and neat shirt like that, you can't believe that this alpha is such a fucking pervert!

"Yah! Are you crazy?! What cherry?!" You scream, attracting more attention on the two of you. Jay barely blinks. "Are you talking about—about my boobs?!"

Jay blinks blearily, then nods.

"Your…cherry."

You let out a scandalised gasp. Humiliation starts creeping up your face, painting your skin even redder than before.

This is ridiculous. This is diabolical! The audacity of this alpha—!

Before you know it, your hand already swipes across his cheek in a surprised, harsh slap. Jay's head jerks to the side, his own eyes growing wide at the impact. A ringing silence echoes between the two of you, followed by a chorus of gasps from the onlookers.

After literally getting slapped into his senses, Jay sobers up in that one single moment and realises with a dread, What the fuck did he just do?

He slowly looks back at you, touching his stinging cheek like you had personally offended his whole bloodline. You're glaring at him, chest heaving rapidly like you can't contain your anger any longer.

"You fucking pervert!"

Jay's breath hitches. He's a pervert?

"Get away from me!"

The alpha lets his body get shoved to the side like a door blocking the way. He stands there, motionless, as he watches you leave, angry steps making your hair bounce. Shame and guilt start crawling up his chest when his mind decides to replay the scene, realising in horror how out of character he had been and how rude he was to you.

Oh God. Oh my God.

Seriously, Park Jongseong? Cherry? That's the first thing you say to the literal love of your life?

"Isn't that Park Jongseong?"

"Oh my God, I thought he was a green flag?"

"I guess even a green flag still has a knot to satisfy."

"Park Jongseong is a pervert?"

Jay squeezes his eyes shut and runs a hand down his face. He doesn't really care about his reputation, so the whispers barely bother him.

What he cares more is the lingering scent of acidic espresso and rotting cherries in the air, trailing after you even when you're long gone. His cheek still burns, but he couldn't care less because—you know…he kind of deserved it.

Fuck.

And Jay doesn't even know your name.

"All alphas are nothing but a knothead!"

You spit, seething in anger as you glare at anyone in your way. Not even the loud music can muffle your voice, sending death threats and insults to a certain alpha (and literally all other alphas.)

Maybe it's just your bad day, because just as you finally see your exit, an alpha—stupidly broad-shouldered alpha, fuck alphas and their ridiculous proportions—bumps into you. You click your tongue and look up at him.

"Why do you guys stupid alphas only think with your dick, your cock, and only your small fucking knot?!"

The alpha stares at you in horror. It seems like today is more of his unlucky day than yours.

"I-I don't—"

"What? You don't have a dick?" You cut him off, irritation pulling at your nerves. Tonight is such a shitty night. "Isn't that the only thing you alphas are proud of? Thinking with your knot and tricking omegas with your cock?!"

The poor alpha stands there cowering, hanging his head low as if he's already accepted his fate of being the receiving end of your hatred towards alphas and…dicks.

You push a trembling finger on his chest, eyes prickling with tears. Fuck these hormones and emotions, fuck this soft scent that makes people think you're nothing more than a weak, defenceless omega—you've had enough of everything.

"Am I wrong? Isn't that why Riki cheated on me?!" You yell, not caring if people catch your words. "Because his dick can't get enough with only one pussy?!"

A ripple of murmurs and whispers start spreading around you. Even the DJ has turned the volume down slightly, taken aback by the sudden drop of the bomb of truth.

A cheating scandal? That's the juiciest gossip college students could have ever had.

The nameless alpha looks at you, eyes wide in surprise mixed with disappointment when he hears your words.

"Oh my God—there's no way—Riki cheated?" He stammers. "Nishimura Riki cheated?"

"Who the fuck is Nishimura Riki?" Your brows furrow, first time hearing that family name. "It's Hirota Riki! My stupid, cheating ex who's immature and younger than me and just plain dumb like a textbook alpha!"

The relief physically vanishes from his face. Then, as if realising what you have said, his face mirrors your confusion. "Wait—you mean Maki? That German-Japanese guy?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. Of course people know him. You almost forgot that your ex, other than being a piece of garbage and a pain in your ass, is also a famous model for the college magazines. His face is everywhere, in every campaign and poster and advertisements, wearing clothes that always gains attention.

Clothes that you designed and sewn by hand.

The back of your eyes burn with tears, but you blink them back, not wanting people to see your sadness. You'd rather they have your anger and rage, because lashing out and being called crazy for screaming seem less vulnerable than the little drops of tears down your cheeks.

You push at the alpha weakly, every fibre of your being just begging to go home and forget everything about tonight.

"Are you okay, angry omega?"

"Shut up," you hiss, voice shaky. "I'm leaving this place."

The crowd parts for you as you make your way to the exit. You sway slightly, too drained from spending your energy screaming at everyone and no one at the same time.

You hate the prying eyes. You hate the pitying words. You hate the whispers. But there's nothing you can do when it's you who accidentally aired out your ex boyfriend's scandal in your fit of anger.

It's been two months since the breakup—a breakup that you thought was healthy and reasonable. Maki told you that he was going to get busy with growing his career, balancing his job as a freelance model with being an engineering student was starting to take up most of his time. Somewhere in between schedules, he no longer could find the time to love you, to fit you in his world of fame and glory.

You didn't want to hold him back. Even when you had liked him more than you ever did anyone, you still let him go. The relationship lasted only for nine months, and you never really expected anything serious or long lasting from dating someone in college.

But tonight, a friend let the truth slip.

Maki didn't break up with you because he wanted time for his career growth—or whatever bullshit he spouted at you. No.

He has been seeing another omega behind your back. Someone from the same major as you.

It's no surprise that you didn't find out any sooner. Being a fashion major warrants competitiveness and rivals—and you're not exactly well-loved by your fellow designers. You're the notorious omega known for your ridiculous standards, your pride and stubbornness, and your sharp tongue. It's your brilliant designs that get people to at least pretend to be your friends, hoping to steal a bit of your creative talent—but you always smell bullshit from miles away.

So, really, it upsets you that you failed to detect Maki's bullshit first. And people have been keeping it from you because they like to see your downfall.

And what better downfall is there than seeing your ex cheating on you with your fashion rival?

It's not like you liked him to the point of love—no. It's the betrayal that makes your mouth feel dry, heart heavy in ways it never had been before, like an anchor pulling down ships to sink.

Before you know it, you're already outside. The air is too chilly for your skin, amplified by the wet stain on your chest. You bite your lips, on the verge of tears when you're reminded of that perverted alpha.

Another alpha that only caused you humiliation. Really?

How can someone look at you like you're the most divine being one minute, then blatantly stare at your chest the next?

It's beyond you, really. Alphas are just evolutionary failures.

You fish out your phone from your wallet and look for an Uber. You're not too drunk to drive. If anything, you've never felt more sober in your life. It's just skills issue—you just cannot drive. Even when you have a whole damn Porsche in the garage of your family's mansion; a gift from your overly-doting parents who got too excited when you managed to get into fashion school—it still terrifies you to hold the steering wheel.

All of these privileges and wealth, yet no success in the dating department (and driving classes). Your whole life, you have dated a cheater, a closeted alpha who was too scared to tell you that he liked knots better than your pussy, and just a total manchild who sulked back whenever you pouted.

"Seriously," you mutter, confirming your location on the screen. "When will it be my turn to date an actual manly alpha?"

You pause. Now that you think of it, even so-called green-flag alphas give you the ick.

They're just a bunch of performative males. Just look at the college's beloved cheater. Maki was acting like a green forest itself when he was courting you!

None of these alphas can be trusted!

"I will just die single," you decide, closing the app once your driver is confirmed. Your parents have more than enough money to support you anyway.

You stand at the porch in silence, the sound of the bass can be heard faintly through the walls. The stickiness of your shirt is now long forgotten; you've given up thinking about it when the memory of your ex comes back. There are more pressing matters at hand that need your attention.

Like the upcoming fashion week, no doubt will get you into another spiral of self-doubt and stress. Like your parents who keep insisting you meet this one young, handsome bachelor that apparently would be just your type—but you're still hurt by Maki's action that you haven't found the right timing to say yes. Like your favourite cherry Chanel baby tee, now ruined and stained, and you wonder if you should send it for dry cleaning or pay a fortune to scalpers—

"Miss?"

A deep timbre greets your hearing. It's soft and a tad bit familiar, like you've heard it somewhere before.

You turn around and immediately frown when you see him.

It's that perverted alpha.

"What?" You reply, already annoyed. The alpha blinks at you, looking more sober than before. His collar is folded neatly now, and the red tips of his ears are hinting more on shyness than alcohol influence.

He gives you a nervous smile. "I came to apologise."

Tch. Another performative alpha. But this one likes to stare at your chest too much.

You roll your eyes and turn back to the front, wishing for your driver to arrive fast.

"Just save your breath and go. You don't even know what you're apologising for."

One thing you hate about men, especially alphas, is that they never mean their sorry's. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything'. Everything is too generic. They don't have any idea what they apologise for. The phrase has lost its value from how often it flows out of their mouths without meaning.

But this alpha is a bit more stubborn than you think. He shuffles closer, still keeping a safe distance, and stands next to you. Now closer, you can smell the citrusy scent wafting from him—sharp and refreshing, something that reminds you of summer. It has to be his pheromones.

Well, okay. He has sexy pheromones. You'll admit that. Too bad that the owner is already on your blacklist.

"I apologise for spilling my drinks on you and ruining your baby tee," he begins, turning his body facing you. But you refuse to look.

"It's the Limited Edition Cherry Chanel baby tee," you correct him. From your peripheral vision, you can faintly see him grin.

"Yes, I'm sorry for ruining your Limited Edition Cherry Chanel baby tee."

Okay. He's obedient. But it could be performative. Maybe he's just trying to get into your pants. You're not oblivious to how beautiful you look. You know that your family has good genes.

"And I apologise for staring at your chest inappropriately. I came off as a pervert even when I didn't mean to," he breathes out, voice lowering down in shame. "I'm sorry that I made you uncomfortable."

Something tugs at your heart unexpectedly. It surprises you that this alpha actually knows what he's apologising for, unlike your previous exes who only said sorry to get your nagging self off their backs. You shift slightly, unwilling to let this new change get to your head.

"Well, apology heard," you retort, still strong on not letting the alpha get too close—or accepting his apology. "But I'm not sorry for slapping you. So don't expect an apology from me."

An amused chuckle slips past his lips. His lemon scent bursts in the air, sounding too elated for your liking.

What's so funny?

"I guess I deserved it," the alpha, whose name you just realise you never know, replies as he touches his cheek with a brush of his fingers. You take a glance, satisfaction blooming in your chest when you notice the red mark on the tender skin.

That's what alphas like him deserve. Omegas run the world anyway.

You don't bother to say anything, just letting the cold breeze of night wind engulf you. It seeps into your bones, making you shiver almost too aggressively. The driver is still five minutes away, taking suspiciously long time at the red light just in front of a Burger King drive-thru.

You feel eyes on you before you feel his movements. The alpha sheds his trench coat, brushing wrinkles off the fabric before he hands it to you. You almost sigh, both out of relief and annoyance because really, you could use some extra layers right now but seriously, does it have to be in the most cliche, K-drama-worthy situation ever?

"What is this," you flatly ask, unimpressed.

"You're cold."

"How did you know that I'm cold?"

You watch the tip of his ears blush, and then his eyes traitorously drop to your chest before quickly lift up to face you again.

"I just…noticed."

You roll your eyes before looking down. "I know it's soaked, and it's—"

The words die on your tongue.

Your nipples. They're erect from the cold, mounting the thin, drenched fabric of your shirt in deadly-obvious pebbles. You brain dissolves into incoherent blabbering as a heat of embarrassment creeps up your neck. It's seriously the worst day ever to choose not wearing a bra.

You don't know if it's shame, or anger, or both, but when you look up to the now-blushing alpha, there's rage boiling over like a kettle about to whistle.

"I fucking knew it!" You couldn't hold yourself back this time, snatching the coat and smacking the alpha with the fabric. The alpha's eyes widen as he cowers to dodge your attack.

"You're just a pervert!"

"I-I'm not! I'm sorry—ow! Ow!"

You don't relent and keep hitting him with his coat, tears of shame threatening to spill over.

"What are you sorry for, you performative wolf?!" Smack! Smack! "You just ogled at my chest again!"

"I didn't mean to—ow! I'm sorry!"

With one final hit, you throw the coat at his face with all your might. He clumsily catches it, eyes wide with shock. The anger is hot, too hot that the cold doesn't bother you anymore, in fact you think steam might rise from your head in any second. With a huff, you stomp down the porch, ignoring his cries of sorry's from behind.

"I-I'm sorry! It's a misunderstanding! I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable again!"

"Shut the fuck up! You better not show your face anymore!" You flip him off without looking back.

However, upon seeing the Uber driver, you take a U-turn and stomp back to the alpha. His eyes immediately light up, there's a thin layer of moisture in his eyes. Maybe the coat hit his eyes or he's just so performative he'd cry if he could, you don't really care.

"You came back," he breathes out. "I'm sorry—"

"I said shut up!" You yell, already too irritated and overstimulated. While you're at it—embarrassing yourself to the point of no return—you snatch his trench coat and sling it over your chest shamelessly.

The driver is also an alpha, and you're not risking flashing your tits to another pervert.

"I'm taking this. Bye!"

"Wait!"

"And I am NOT returning it!"

With a harsh slam of the door, the car finally drives into the horizon, leaving behind a confused and guilty and perverted alpha as he chases after your Uber. Your chest heaves deeply, adrenaline running hot as your face flushes. You pretend not to notice the bag of chips and burger in the driver's lap, or the way the perverted alpha stands smaller in the side mirror as he watches you leave.

You just hope you never see that alpha again.

You never see that alpha again. However, as if you had personally offended the Earth and the entire Solar system, the Goddess doubles it down and sends your cheating ex to your studio instead.

His presence is too invasive that you feel him before you see him. His pheromones, now making your hair stand instead of providing the comfort that it used to do, breaches your senses when you round the corner. You had just stepped out to get some lunch, already grumpy from resisting your persistent mom and her chosen alpha for you to mate, when you see Maki walk down the hallway like it was his runway.

Your stomach drops. Like it's survival instinct, you turn back around and speed-walk to your studio. It's like a drum war being hit inside your chest, and you hope you're fast enough because you really, really don't want to deal with him right now.

Just as you're about to close the door, a force of Maki's hands pushes it back open. You stumble backwards, eyes wide in surprise as Maki effortlessly slips inside. His body, tall and wrong and crowding, swallows the room like a black hole sucking in the light and leaving you empty and alone in the darkness.

There's a lazy smirk playing at his lips.

"If it's not my favourite ex."

His voice is dripping with honey, a sweet poison that always gets to you no matter how hard you pretend it doesn't. It's sticky and uncomfortable, it makes you squirm and feel like there's something you should be scrambling for. It gets under your skin and Maki always gets the reaction that he wants.

You snap, face pulling into a scowl.

"What do you want, Maki?"

Maki lets your voice fade, acting like he didn't hear you. With his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the young alpha straightens, easy eyes meeting your sharp ones. And when he speaks, the words roll off his tongue so smoothly, like seeing the person he used to love didn't affect him the slightest. Like you didn't have such an impact on him the way he does you.

"Did I cheat, Y/N?"

The question strikes you dumb for a moment, but you recover quickly. Of course. Words spread fast on campus, especially if the source is the frat house. You knew it'd reach Maki eventually, but you didn't expect it to be this fast. It's like every person inside that house was an extension of Maki; the golden boy, the people's favourite, the face painting every cover of magazine.

You try to hide the tremble in your fists.

"You did."

Maki hums noncommittally.

"Do you have proof?"

"Liz told me," your voice grits out, "You'd been fucking around with your new girlfriend since you were with me."

The alpha tilts his head, still wearing that laid-back expression that you wish you could slap off his face. "Did she?"

"Yes. Now get out of here, you fucking stink—"

"Why would she help you, Y/N?" Maki calmly cuts you off, a bored tone in his voice. Like he'd rather be anywhere else but here, like he'd rather deal with a child than you. His smug face makes your skin prickle. You hate how easily he can hit your nerves.

Maki takes a step closer, taunting as ever.

"Had you started thinking that you have friends now?"

It's a soft blow that lands hard in your chest. Maki used to know you, therefore he knows all the ugly parts of you. And seeing him turning every knowledge he has of you into a weapon against you feels like being forced looking into a mirror that you've spent your whole life avoiding.

Your fists shake, nails digging into soft skin, almost drawing blood.

"Even if she lied to me, you got together with your new girlfriend so quick after the breakup," you spit between gritted teeth, holding back more than words. "That told me enough."

Maki is silent for a few heartbeats, his face unreadable.

"So what?"

There's a drop in your heart. Confused, disbelieving. "What?"

"What's wrong with moving on from you so fast? You didn't think you were so special for me to weep around, did you?"

There's a vaccuumed silence that swallows you whole. His words, casually laid out like he was discussing the weather, like the matters of your heart was something he wasn't concerned about, seep into your skin and every fibre of your being. The thoughts turn and curl, igniting a numbing buzz that replays his voice like a broken record.

Special. What's so special about you?

And when even you cannot find an answer, you feel the first crack in your chest.

Maki revels in your silence; in the first sign of submission. His smugness is loud in the studio, his pheromones flaring with dominance. He advances, taking deliberate steps, circling you like a predator assessing its prey.

"You've always been like this. So fiery, so passionate. All this energy yet no particular direction to go to," he drawls out, the words tumbling out lazily. He stops right in front of you, only a few centimeters away, and makes a show of looking around your studio.

He takes in the rumpled fabric, the crumpled sketchbooks, the spilled coffee. It appears as what he just observed: too much energy with no proper control. Loud. Messy. Reckless.

You.

"You can't even keep your studio tidy, Y/N," he breathes out a sigh.

"What's so unforgettable about you?"

When you had first started fashion school, you'd been told by every living person that money couldn't buy talent. No matter how big your mother's name is in the beauty and healthcare industry, no matter how prominent your father is in the automobile sector—you're nothing more than a mundane, passing student if you don't possess talent. And here, people always feel the need to remind you of that fact, especially after learning about the affluent background you come from.

So you learned. It's not like you got here through nepotism, anyway—you got in through your own grit. Your parents had always wanted you to get into med school, and the only thing you're good with when it comes to medicines is drawing the anatomy by hand. That sketch turned into figures and furls and soon, your dream to study fashion finally bloomed.

You have the talent and you have the grit. People always pass you nice compliments and constructive feedbacks you often dwell on—but the sleepless nights didn't really matter when you could finally see your collection walking down the runway front-row. You wear your confidence loudly that sometimes it's easy to forget that some people hate shiny things.

Your designs are so forgettable.

Said the new lecturer one day, tearing your sketchbook apart in front of the whole class came the third semester.

It was humiliating; the kind that burned your skin and the back of your eyes. Your nails cracked under pressure, trying so hard not to shed tears in front of so many pairs of eyes. But no matter how hard you try to reassure yourself, the comment lingers. It becomes an invisible knife that twists each time someone so much as look at your designs the wrong way.

And the first mistake you did was open up about it to someone.

The second mistake was that someone was Maki, of all people.

Because now, that alpha—all pride and arrogance—is throwing back the exact same insult at you right in your reddening face.

What's so unforgettable about you?

What's so unforgettable about you?

What's so unforgettable about you?

"Nothing," Maki finishes, eyes never leaving your face, as if savouring every twitch of hurt in your features.

There's nothing unforgettable about you. Not your designs; someone else probably invented something far more interesting than you. Not your face; you're just another pretty omega in a sea of more pretty omegas. Not your scent; you smell like pastries that people can easily get from any bakery. And certainly not you as a whole.

That's what he meant by it, right?

You're just a plus-one. An afterthought. The reason why skip buttons exist.

A heavy lump forms in your throat.

Maki takes your silence as a win and steps back.

"Now be a good girl and retract your statement. I never cheated on you," he says with conviction that you start questioning your own truth. "It's just your omega hormones messing around with you."

The door closes with a thud, leaving behind a ringing silence, the echo of his insults bouncing off the walls. There's a thin veil of moisture in your eyes, but you refuse to cry.

You refuse to cry for the rest of your time in your studio, trying to fix some of the mess, hating yourself even more when you realise that you care about his comments more than you should.

You refuse to cry on your way home, sitting in silence at the backseat of your Uber, replaying Maki's words in an endless loop that you wish could stop.

You refuse to cry when you have nothing to eat for dinner, stomach growling in hunger for some warm, homecooked meals, yet you have to settle for takeout again.

You refuse to cry when you sit in the middle of your living room, a luxury apartment far too big for one person to live in, trying to eat the soggy noodles and too-drenched fried chicken.

But like any normal human being, you have a heart too—a soft one at that. You can only hold on for so long.

It's hard to ignore the vast, empty space of your apartment; of the two vacant rooms down the hallways; of the single mug, single cutlery set, single-everything because for some reason you half-know and half-not, you just don't have…friends. At least not those who can reach the depths of your being—just fleeting, surface-level friends. Or companion.

Or whatever it was that Maki said that finally got to your head.

The dam finally breaks when you enter your room.

For the first time in your life, your nest that you always keep tidy on the love couch you have by the window, your safe haven where you lie in to find comfort, becomes the spot that you want to avoid the most.

There, arranged into a circle, are all the things that smell like solace and consolation after a rough day—or at least used to. Maki used to be like that—used to be your person, used to be your comfort place. So it's almost pathetic that you are still clinging onto his hoodie, his sweatshirt, the mittens he gave you last winter, the plush bunny that he won at an arcade, for comfort long after the breakup happened.

God, you didn't even want that bunny. You wanted the black cat.

You pick up his hoodie. It's the one he asked you to wear during a movie night, the one he received as a gift from GAP after a modelling gig with them. With shaky hands, you press your nose into the fabric, trying to catch the person who used to care for you—the person he was before he is now.

His scent lingers, faint and fading, but it's still there. Pine and frost, cold and sharp as his features. But instead of the warm feeling that you used to get, his scent makes your stomach twist and churn, a bile rising behind your throat.

The first drop of tears slides down your cheek.

He's no longer your safe space. Hadn't been since that breakup. Hadn't been since the night he kissed another woman behind your back.

Without thinking, you throw the hoodie on the floor. The fabric lands with a soundless thud, but the indication is loud regardless. When you look back at the love couch, the sight almost breaks you into pieces.

Your nest is all destroyed.

With a cry of fury, you lunge, hands tearing his sweatshirt apart next. At your force, the plush bunny tilts sideway, further breaking the perfect circle that used to be your nest.

"It's just a nest," your voice trembles, but the words ring hollow. Inside, your wolf twists and turns, aggressively shaking her head.

A nest is never just a nest.

"I don't care!" you shout, stomping on the plush bunny. "It's not like—it's not like anything would ever comfort me anymore."

Your knees buckle, too worn after carrying the weight of your inner battles for so long. You slump on the floor, sobs wrecking your chest, the sound raw and scratched. As if on instinct, you bring your knees close to your chest, staring at the mess with a solemn, teary gaze.

You don't even know what you're crying for. It's not like you still have feelings for Maki; or at least, there's no positive feelings for him except for lingering resentment and a strong sense of betrayal.

Is it because what the destroyed nest symbolises?

That you're nothing but a lonely, easily-discarded omega?

That nothing will ever be safe enough for you to rely on anymore?

You might act strong on the outside and bite every bullet with squared shoulders, but if only they knew what you truly feel inside.

If only they knew.

A loud, shrill ringing from your phone cuts you off your silent misery. You drag your body to where your mattress is located at the center of your bedroom, your mom's contact name blinking to be picked up.

With a wipe on your cheeks and a sniffle, you answer the phone.

"My lovely daughter! How are you? Are you eating well, sweetheart?"

I just destroyed my nest. "I'm good, Mom. Just had dinner."

"Come visit this weekend! I'll send our chauffeur to you. I'm planning to—"

"Mom."

You look around your room. At the space that feels too big to fill in, the discarded fabric on the floor. Then, at your disheveled reflection in the mirror.

"Yes, daughter?"

You bite your lower lip, trembling. You look like a mess. Just like what Maki had said.

"I wanna go home."

There's a split second of silence before your mom's voice echoes again.

"You mean you wanna move back here, sweetheart?"

"Mhm," you almost sniffle but you catch yourself, not wanting to give yourself away. "I wanna live with you again."

"Oh, my! That means you agree that alpha, don't you?"

Sigh. You almost forgot about that. The silly condition your pouty mom makes if you ever want to live with them again. One that you've been trying to avoid, too busy with the fashion week preparation and planning revenge on your heartbreak.

But is there really anything to lose?

If you agree, you'll be in close proximity with what you'd say your comfort: your family, and the mansion you used to grow up in. A blind date is just free dinner and having an alpha shower your with praises and compliments. You might have to put up with a little bit of boasting here and there, but it's nothing you can't handle.

So long as you can escape this loneliness, even if only for temporary…

"Yeah," you breathe out. "I'll meet him."

Just let me go home to you, Mom.

Park Jongseong's cheek is still stinging.

But instead of acting like any other man who just got slapped would, he's wearing a giddy smile on his face. He's lying down on the couch, his apartment being the hangout spot of the day for the weekend, but thoughts about his friends are scattered away. Jay is absolutely gone and lost in cloud nine, a cherry-shaped cloud wearing the face of a certain beautiful omega that has been running on his mind as of late.

"Geez, this guy has turned crazy," Sunoo shakes his head before he nudges the older alpha. "Jay-hyung, I brought some ice packs for your cheek."

Jay absentmindedly reaches out his hand, barely registering his friend's words. "Sunoo-ya, Britney Spears was right."

Confusion knits Sunoo's brows closer. "Britney-noona?"

Jay hums. "I want her to hit me one more time."

Sunoo gives him a deadpanned look and then shoves the ice pack in his face. Jay yelps from the sudden cold contact.

"Ow!"

"Well, if you can't find her, I'm more than willing and capable to hit you one more time in her stead."

The older alpha huffs, pressing the cold compress into his swollen cheek. "You don't understand, Sunoo," he defends, "Her hands were so soft and she's so….beautiful."

"She slapped you."

"I deserved it."

"Yeah, cause you were ogling at her chest."

"I—" Jay gulps. Well, now it doesn't sound so good. "I mean…yeah, I did. I stared too long, in fact. That's why I said I deserved it."

Even while saying so, there's still this stupid smile decorating his handsome face. Sunoo can only shake his head, hands on his hips like a tired mom handling her teenage son's first underage drinking. It sounds that bad because it was that bad.

"I can't believe this is the end of Jay-hyung's gentleman era," Riki snorts from the floor. He's been hogging Jay's latest edition of PlayStation all to himself, secretly eavesdropping the two alpha's conversation.

Jay doesn't take it nicely. "What do you mean? I am still me."

"Mhm. Gentleman by day, boob enthusiast by night. Totally not a pervert."

Jay is open to criticism, especially anything to improve himself. But there's nothing to improve here. Jay is just…in love. Okay, that's a bit too soon. Jay is infatuated would be the best way to describe his situation right now because there's no doubt that he, as in human-Jay, and his wolf, like you.

Yes, in a romantic way. Yes, in a 'he wants to court you' way. Yes, in a 'I need her name and a priest now because he does hope he can marry you' way.

He's everything but he's not a pervert. No. And Jay has a hard time receiving criticism about his personality if it comes from a certain alpha named Nishimura Riki, and another alpha named Lee Heeseung. Call it pettiness or a vendetta, but those two have no right to say shit about him. Right now or ever.

Beside him, Sunoo starts to sigh. "Riki."

"What? At least we know why omegas like you now."

Jay's expression hardens. There's a twitch in his jaw that doesn't go unnoticed by Sunoo.

"What do you mean by that?"

Riki, still not sensing the sudden drop of temperature in the room, casually shrugs. "I'm saying maybe you've always been looking. Heeseung-hyung and I knew better."

A heavy silence blankets the room, suffocating each corner with unspoken rage. Sunoo almost recoils from the sudden bitterness that comes from Jay's pheromones. He casts a worried glance at the wounded alpha.

"Yeah." Jay lets out a quiet laugh. "Because both of you thought I'd steal your omegas."

Riki goes rigid. He puts down the console, finally registering the damage that came out of his mouth. He whips his head around, only to be met with a sharp glare from Jay.

"Jay-hyung…"

"No, let's talk about it." Jay gently pushes away Sunoo's hands that come up to comfort him, putting down the ice pack with calm fury that radiates more heat than if he had shouted. He fixes Riki with a burning glare that could've melted the ice pack.

"Let's talk about how I am always the collateral damage of your love story."

Riki gulps. Truthfully, he has never seen Jay angry. And even when he did, that anger was never directed to him. But this time, being the receiving end of such disappointed eyes, Riki wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

"Jay-hyung, you know I don't mean it like that."

"Which part? The pervert part? Because you and Heeseung surely treat me like one whenever your omegas are around," Jay says, still soft, but the venom is there. "As if I was some horny wolf waiting for the time to pounce on them. Let me ask you, Riki. What was so wrong with wanting to help you when you literally asked me for help?"

"I—I know. You're never wrong—" Riki swallows, too paralysed from how fast the situation took its bad turn. "I just…shit. I'm sorry, hyung. You're such a good alpha—"

"Am I, really? Because with you two, I never feel like one."

Riki tries to say something back, mouth gaping like fish out of water. Jay heaves out a long sigh, ruffling his already-messy hair. As if on cue, the door to his apartment opens and comes in Heeseung, whose eyes immediately widen in alarm upon sensing the tension in the living room.

"What are we fighting about?"

"About your terrible jealousy issues," Jay grits through his teeth, looking up to meet eyes with Heeseung. The latter almost flinches from how sharp his gaze is. Jay takes another deep breath.

"God, you know what? I understand jealousy. I truly do. I wouldn't want any alpha near my omega too. But that would be any alpha but you two. Because I trust you. I trust you so much and it actually," Jay halts for a moment, realising how intense his emotions have been running. But the reassuring pat from Sunoo serves as his motivation.

He needs to say this. He needs to. Otherwise he'd drown in undeserving guilt and shrink himself again.

"It actually hurts when you guys don't feel the same about me."

The tension thickens it could be cut with a knife. Riki's expression crumples, the alpha who's usually prideful and cocky is now in shambles upon seeing his older alpha breaking down like this. Heeseung fails to find any words, the guilt is lodged in his throat that barely any voice would come out, blocking any syllables from being spoken.

"I just wanted to help. My kindness has no underlying meanings. I didn't offer to help because I wanted to have your omega in bed, Riki. I was thinking about you. I was thinking how I could stop you from crying because you were my friend first and it—it hurt to see you cry so much like that."

Jay is still soft. His voice is still gentle, and that's what makes this whole situation uglier. That's what makes the guilt press harder. Both alphas in question could only stare at their feet, reflecting on their actions towards Jay.

"And you, Heeseung. Would you rather have your mate get soaked that night?" Jay doesn't let him answer. "I don't think you would. I couldn't just leave knowing she'd get drenched in the rain, knowing how much my friend cherishes her and would freak out if she got sick."

Heeseung purses his lips. He was so busy mending what was broken with his omega that he didn't realise how much he's been hurting his friend.

The apartment is silent, save for the PlayStation menu playing its music on loop. Riki can't bring himself to look at Jay, perfectly fine with tucking his chin low and hiidng his shame. Heeseung still has a hand on the doorknob, the metal feels cold on his slippery palm.

"Jay-ah…"

"I'll be in my room. I want to be alone for a moment."

The anger has long left his body. All he feels now is exhaustion and relief, like finally putting back a heavy backpack he's been carrying for months.

The three watch as Jay disappears behind the door of his master bedroom. It closes with a gentle click, as if even in anger and disappointment, Jay wouldn't ever be harsh to his friends. Heeseung and Riki immediately let out a breath they didn't know they were holding while Sunoo watches them with amusement.

"It took him a lot of courage to say that, you know." Sunoo takes a seat on the couch, grabbing the console that was left untouched by Riki. "You guys better apologise and make up to him properly."

"I am such an asshole," Riki whines and drapes his body across the couch, letting his head fall into Sunoo's lap despite his protest. "Hyung was right. It's all about trust. And I was acting like an insecure dog."

Sunoo snorts. "You're a big puppy, Riki."

Heeseung is still quiet. The memory of the punch that almost landed on Jay's face still haunts him, even before the confrontation. He knew it needed to be talked about eventually, he just didn't expect it to be in a situation like this. But alas, Jay has been a sponge that absorbs everybody's emotions, the reliable one—it's about time that the patient alpha loses it.

Just as he's about to enter the apartment fully, the door is suddenly pushed open from behind and Heeseung gets shoved inside instead. Immediately, the smell of burnt chocolate fills the air and the insults he prepares for the intruder die on his tongue.

"Sunoo-hyung!" Jungwon barges in, a pout protruding on his lips. "Noona called me his little brother again!"

Oh, Goddess of the Moon. Please protect this friendship.

Heeseung walks silently to his room, ignoring the trio alpha now fighting for Sunoo's attention. Jungwon, however, upon seeing Riki, immediately scowls at the younger. His pout disappears and his complaints die in his throat.

"YOU! Nishimura Riki. You're not cheating, aren't you?"

Riki blinks confusedly.

"Cheating? In FIFA or PUBG?"

"On your girlfriend!"

"Fuck, no!" The blond-haired alpha sits up, taking full offence from the sudden accusation. "I would jump off the cliff first before I'd ever dare cheat on my lovely mate. What the fuck are you on? You know I'm loyal as fuck."

Sunoo pinches his arm. "That's too many curse words, Riki."

Jungwon shakes his head. He pushes the younger off the couch and claims his previous spot, laying his head comfortably on Sunoo's lap. The scandalised look on Riki's face hasn't faded, the alpha is still glaring at Jungwon like he has offended Riki's ancestors.

"Nothing. There was just this omega yelling about getting cheated on during last Friday's party."

"And? What does that have to do with me?"

"The cheater's name is also Riki! You don't know how disappointed and heartbroken I was for those three seconds when I thought it was Nishimura Riki. It turned out to be Hirota Riki," Jungwon nudges Sunoo's hand, urging the older to pat his head. He's still heartbroken, please comfort him, thank you. "I was so close to committing a murder on you that night."

With that explanation, a look of understanding passes Riki's face. He slumps and sprawls on the floor, relief bleeding out of his muscle.

"Oh. That's Maki. Riki C. He's the disgraceful Riki. I don't fuck with him. Not anymore."

"You better not!" Jungwon hisses at him like an angry kitten.

"Wait, so you're Riki B?" Sunoo tilts his head. One of his hands is playing with Jungwon's hair. "Then who is Riki A?"

"The other Riki is Taki, and no, I am Riki D, because this dick—"

"Nishimura Riki!" Sunoo and Jungwon simultaneously yell, drawing out a cheeky laugh from the youngest.

From inside his room, Heeseung could hear the commotion. He shakes his head. Oh, Goddess of the Moon. Please save Nishimura Riki.

Living with your parents has been as peaceful as it can get. Nothing much can be said, considering that it has only been a week.

For the time being, you manage to get your mom off your back about meeting this handsome alpha that she'd like to have as a son-in-law. You hide behind the excuse of being busy with the fashion week, which is not totally a lie.

Fashion week is one of the biggest assessments there is. It means two months of outsourcing high-quality fabrics, sketching and crumpling papers and sketching, hours spent in the studio, finding suitable models for your runway and, the most important part: piecing your imagination and hardwork into a clothing worth wearing and parading.

Which is why you're spending your time in the studio on a Saturday, leisurely going over your sketches again as you wait for your fabrics to arrive. It had been preordered a month ago and the delivery was scheduled today. Precisely, two hours ago.

But you try not to worry. It's only 12 p.m., and there's probably traffic on the road since the working civilians are supposed to be having lunch now. But one hour turns into two. Then another one passes.

Before you know it, it's almost five in the evening, yet there's no sight of a truck or even a ring from the company itself. By the time you dial their office number, you have already done a cherry set on your nails, tidied up the space to accommodate your resources, and even sketched a whole damn new collection.

"Hello, this is The Nakakita. How may I help you?"

The Nakakita. A Japanaese establishment that is owned by the Nakakita family. You wouldn't have gotten in touch with such a prestigious supplier of the Japanese fabric materials had it not been for your cheating ex's connection in the fashion industry.

Maki is all things, and resourceful is one of them.

"Good evening. I'm Y/N. There's supposed to be a delivery for order #1284 today to my studio. Japanese denim, linen cotton, blended silk?"

Well, you might have sounded too demanding. But that's the least of your concern now.

"Oh, Miss Y/N. I'm terribly sorry, but this order was cancelled."

If your jaw could drop down to the ground right now, it would cause a huge-scale earthquake across the city.

"What? I never cancelled it, though?"

There is a sound of clicking on the keyboard from the end of the line. "Um…it was cancelled by the account holder two weeks ago. By Mr. Hirota Riki, approved by the heir himself, Mr. Nakakita Yuma."

What the actual fuck. Two weeks ago was when Maki had confronted you about the rumour spreading about his infidelity. Despite feeling a bit intimidated (not that you'd ever admit), you did no such thing and let his reputation continue to get tarnished. You still firmly believe that he did cheat and whatever manipulation he pulled on you was just an attempt at making you feel miserable.

Not only is his ego as big as he is and a gaslighter, but he is petty, too?!

You let out a disbelieving scoff. Oh my Goddess…That alpha is really something else. As if shattering your dream of having a mate wasn't enough, now he wants to interfere with your career path as well?

What a fucking weirdo.

"So, what happened to all those fabrics? I already paid for the deposit."

"Based on this record, it has been delivered to Miss Kim Areum three days ago and your money is in the process of being refunded back to your bank account."

And as if all of those things weren't enough to pull you under, Maki just has to deliver the final blow to the most sensitive part of your heart.

Of course he'd give those resources to his new girlfriend. Of fucking course.

It's like a cellotape on skin. Peeling it off would sting, taking away your body hair that gives you heat, and leaving sticky residue that wouldn't come off easily. Your relationship with Maki—during and after the breakup—has always left you with this hollow, sinking feeling that weighs heavy on your shoulders.

No matter what you did, if the relationship has ended or not, it'll always leave burn marks that you have been trying so hard to heal. And whether the world has moved on or not, it's always you bearing the ugly aftermath.

"…Miss?"

"I see," you finally speak, voice hoarse from suppressed anger. "Let Yuma know that my attorney will be in contact with your team soon."

"Wait—"

Not letting them finish, you end the call and toss your phone on the couch. Your perfectly blowed hair is now disheveled, untamed by your fingers as you pace the room. There's unshed tears hanging low on your waterline, waiting for the time to fall down, yet you still refuse to give in.

"Fuck!"

It's so unfair. It's so fucking unfair. It wasn't you who left, nor was it you who cheated and being disloyal—yet you are the one who have to pay the price for his crumpling ego? And now he's putting your hard-earned place in the fashion school on the line?

What a fucking manchild.

"What am I supposed to do? Goddess, help me—what am I supposed to do?"

You sink into the couch, the tears now slide down your cheeks with no restraints. There's a choked sob coming out of your throat, your scent souring with every hiccup slipping past your lips.

Time is not a luxury that you can afford now. Confronting Maki would only mess with your head more and result in nothing. You'd love to find a way to sue The Nakakita, but that's a matter that you'd like to solve after the fashion week ends.

Fuck. You barely have two months on your hands, yet you have just lost your resources that you have ordered a month ago. Finding a new supplier would be tough—since not many of them would take indiviual customers due to economies of scale. You are no wholesaler or retailer; catering to you would be expensive for them.

But you have to find a way somehow.

With a shaky hand, you tuck your hair behind your ears and grab your laptop. The tears are uncontrollable at this point, but it's not a sign to give up or stop. Your dainty fingers start typing fast on the keyboard, trying to search for any textile businesses that would make some space for you.

This is not how you imagine your evening would end. You had pictured measuring and cutting fabric pieces to fit your six-piece collection, getting prepared to start assembling them and fitting your models.

Yet here you are, giving calls after calls, accepting rejection after rejection from every business you try to contact. It's exhausting, the tears are now just cracked vulnerbaility on your cheeks. Somewhere along the way, you have accidentally snapped your manicured nails while typing.

"I'm sorry, you have to place an order three months prior in order to secure the fabrics."

This is the sixth one.

You barely hold back a sigh. "I see. Thank you for your time."

You slam your phone on the couch and start rubbing your face. This is hell. You're sure a truck had hit you somewhere on the road and this is your hell, punishing you for being such a bitchy omega to everyone around you.

But how could you not be one when everybody always gives you a reason to protect yourself?

Taking in a shuddering breath, you open your bleary eyes and stare at another line of name on the screen.

Sinar Textile.

It's operating until 8 p.m., which is unusual for many companies. Talking about the time, your stomach growls on instinct, as if reminding you of the skipped lunch and forgotten dinner that you are yet to acknowledge.

"This is the last one," you whisper to yourself. "If this too fails, I will fucking kill Maki."

You punch the number on your phone screen, exhaustion clinging to every movement. It's inhumane to sabotage someone like this; you wonder if you can sue Maki too somehow. He deserves it more than anyone in this world.

It takes five rings before the call gets picked up. A cheery voice greets you.

"Good evening! I am Jake from Sinar Textile. How can I help you?"

You rub your temple, appreciating the friendly tone while it lasts before you start threatening this poor Jake to agree to your proposal.

"Hi. I'm Y/N. I'm looking for a few bolts of fabric for my upcoming collection."

A rustle is heard from Jake's side. "Hello, Miss Y/N. When do you need the fabrics?"

You tap your fingers on your thigh. "Two weeks from now."

There's a few seconds of silence before Jake speaks again. "Are you a wholesaler or a retailer?"

I fucking knew it. "Um," you gnaw at your bottom lip, nerves grating your edges. "Neither. I'm in fashion school, and I need them for my fashion week."

Please. Please accept me. Please take my request. Oh Goddess, this is the least you can do for justice.

But unfortunately, Jake is not your Goddess. "I am sorry, Miss Y/N, but our business strictly provides for wholesaling and retailing establishments only. As for indivi—"

"Please," you let out before you could stop yourself. "I'll take scraps or leftovers. Or even any cancelled order. I'll take anything but please don't turn me down."

You are never one to beg. Especially not to alphas. And while you're not sure about Jake's secondary gender, he's still a man and it still feels humiliating to beg.

But you don't have many choices now, do you? You care more about your degree than your dignity as of now.

The hesitance in Jake's silence is loud. "Miss Y/N, I am a mere part-timer here. I'm afraid I don't have the power to decide."

"Then let me talk to the person in charge, please."

You feel bad for Jake for putting him in a tough spot like this. But to be fair, he's receiving your kindest energy now—since you've lashed out on many other receptionists prior to this call, when you were still brimming with anger.

"Please wait a moment."

You inhale sharply. Is this really happening?

It doesn't take long before a feminine voice takes over the call. "Hello. You're speaking to the CEO of Sinar Textile. I am Mrs. Park."

You straighten up. "H-Hello, Mrs. Park. I apologise for the late disturbance."

The woman hums. "It is not a big deal. My receptionist has told me about your situation. Unfortunately, we do not supply for individuals like you."

The hope blooming in your chest deflates instantly. You close your eyes as you gather your composure.

"I—Please, ma'am. I don't know how to tell you that I desperately need them for my fashion week." For a strange reason, you feel yhe need to give her context. You're no careless student who forgot to book her supplier until last minute—you just got sabotaged. "My supplier terminated our agreement after my…ex-boyfriend intervened."

The woman seems to consider this, as her next words give you a sliver of hopium. "Please email me your sketches. Then I will consider. What's your name again, Miss?"

"Y/N. I am Y/N."

"Y/N?" She repeats, and if you tried to listen hard enough, you'd be able to detect the hint of recognition in her tone. "Great, Miss Y/N. Email me at [email protected], then I will let you know my decision."

Relief floods your senses like a tidal wave. With trembling lips, you try to piece your words together.

"Thank you, Mrs. Park. I—I'll take anything. Leftovers—or any defects. I can do it. Please consider my request."

"No worries, Miss Y/N. I'll get back to you the soonest tomorrow."

And with that, the call ends. You slump in your seat.

You could've gotten the details of their wholesale customers and buy from them, but from experience, you knew that getting the materials directly from the sources is hundreds time better in terms of quality and the price. And you have reports to submit much later on, where your budgeting would be questioned like you just laundered the national income.

Later that night, you arrive home with this aching need to be comforted. Instead of a pile of all the soothing scents you've encountered in your life, you open the door to your empty bed, void of any nest. Your mom's bedroom is just one door away, but it's too late to ask for cuddles, isn't it?

You open your wardrobe, staring at the empty spot where your nesting blankets used to be.

"It's just a nest," you convince yourself. "I'll feel better after waking up."

Completely ignoring the twisting pain in your gut, you settle yourself under the cover after washing up.

Sundays are fun days, and this time, your kind of fun is rushing your chauffeur to take you to your studio and threatening him into disregarding every traffic rule he's ever learned about.

"Miss, the light is red."

"I don't care."

"We will get fined."

"I will pay," you urge.

The chauffeur closes his eyes. "Please don't tell your mother."

And that's how a fifteen-minute drive could be cut into ten minutes of ride only. Your thanks barely leaves your lips as you rushes out, trying your best to look put-together while also lightly sprinting to the private studio that you've rented since your first year, located inside the university compound.

This morning, you woke up to an email from Sinar Textile. Mrs. Park, bless her heart—seems so taken with your sketches and has decided to give you some leftovers of their previous arriving batch from Japan. It's like the Goddess has finally taken pity on you overnight, and proving that the evil shall perish altogether (Fuck you, Maki).

You spend the entire ride mentally redesigning half your collection. Leftovers are more than enough. You'll make them work. You always do.

By the time you reach the studio, your mood has improved significantly.

There are bolts of fabric, stacked near the door to your studio. Two men wearing short-sleeved Polo stand around the stack, chatting with each other while waiting for your arrival. You waste not even a second and approach them faster.

"Good morning!" You greet them enthusiastically, so unusually you, but you're too giddy to care. "Are you from Sinar Textile?"

The shorter of the two greets you back, a puppylike smile stretching wide on his face. "Hello! You must be Miss Y/N. I'm Jake, and this is Sunghoon. We are the part-timers from Sinar Textile."

The latter bows to you. Up close, you finally notice the wolf ears nestling among his pitch-black hair. Oh, so he's a wolf hybrid. No wonder his pheromones are still strong to your nose despite the thick scent patch glued to his neck.

Well, first of all—Sinar Textile sure hires only super good-looking guys to work with them. If you weren't so into your post-breakup feelings, you might think about asking for their numbers after this.

"Nice to meet you two. Now, shall we?"

"We're waiting for Jay."

Your brow jumps at that. Who is that? "Jay? Is he supposed to be here?"

"Yeap! He went to take the last bolt of your Japanese denim—oh there he is!"

You know the saying, every good thing comes with a price? While yes, there is a price tag to every bolt of fabric tha you receive from Sinar Textile today—apparently, there is a hidden tax that you have to pay the Goddess for granting you with this opportunity after Maki's stupid stunt yesterday.

And that tax is Jay. Or more precisely, if your memory hasn't betrayed you—the pervert alpha from the frat house party a few weeks ago.

There he is indeed, walking down the hallway in a similar black Polo shirt. He's carrying a bolt of Japanese denim, but does he have to carry it on his shoulder like that? It looks so show-off-y, what with the way his biceps stretch against the sleeves, bulging muscle straining under the weight of the fabric. His face is as handsome as you remember it, and without the dim light of the porch, every cut of his face is clearer for your eyes to see now in broad daylight.

Damn it. Why does he have to be so infuriatingly good-looking?

Your smile has never dropped so fast, but it's the opposite case for the alpha, because as soon as he recognises you—you've never seen a smile light up so fast.

"Cherry?"

You could barely tone down your irritation. Who the hell is Cherry?

"Are you the other part-timer?"

Jay blinks confusedly. He glances at the clipboard in his hand, and then his eyes widen imperceptibly.

"Oh—I apologise. You're Miss Y/N, right?"

"Yes, that's me," you narrow your eyes at him. But Jay only smiles back. "And you are Jay."

His eyes shine—what the heck?—at the mention of his name. "You know my name? It's actually Park Jongseong, but you can call me Jay. It sounds better when you say it."

You try to ignore the offended gasp coming from Jake.

"Are you flirting with me?"

"I'm not!" Jay is fast to deflect, shaking his head when you only stare at him thretaeningly. "I just—I think—I just want to…talk to you?"

Jake and Sunghoon wince from sheer awkwardness.

"Aren't you here for Sinar Textile?"

"Yes."

"Then we're here strictly for business. I am going to open my door and you three will carry the bolts inside, and then you leave. Understand?"

If Jay were to have wolf ears like Sunghoon, they'd droop like wilting flowers from your tone alone. "I understand," he gives in, then shoots a serious look at two of his friends behind you.

"Boys, let's get moving!"

Jake springs up with a salute. "Aye aye, captain!"

You sigh and unlock the door to give way to them. The three boys lift two bolts at the same time, marching in like soldiers ready for the battlefield. Jay stops briefly in front of you, and you prepare another scolding if he tried to say something absurd again.

"Where would you like these?"

You almost falter by the unexpected, but you don't let it show. "At that corner. I tidied up that space for these bolts yesterday."

Jay nods and wordlessly steps further inside. You watch as the three men move effortlessly together, avoiding mannequins and putting down the bolts gently like true experts. They seem close, judging by how at ease they are with each other. Probably just three best friends working part-time together to kill the time while gaining extra pocket money.

Jake, being the first one to reach the corner, claps his hands and looks around. There's amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Wow, this is my first time at the fashion building and I already got to be in a private studio."

You quirk up an eyebrow. "Are you from around here?"

There's a surprised chuckle from the beta. He slaps a hand on Sunghoon's shoulder, but the wolf hybrid barely budges.

"Yeah, we attend this university too! I am from engineering, Sunghoon is from law school, and Jay is from the business department—obviously, if he wants to inherit this company."

Your curiousity is growing like a moving snowball. "Inherit…?"

"Sinar Textile is owned by his parents. He's just doing this on the weekend when he's got nothing to do with his basketball team," Jake casually says like he didn't just drop the bombest bomb you've heard the entire week.

That says a lot, considering The Nakakita incident yesterday.

And—What?! Sinar Textile is—what—so Mrs. Park is his mother?

You are left with no words. Not that you could muster anything, when said guy is already speaking. "Stop referring to me like I'm not in the same room as you."

Jake pouts at that. "Well, you're busy with your clipboard, so why not?"

"I am counting the inventory and preparing the invoice for Miss Y/N," Jay smoothly says, while he's scribbling something on the clipboard. You ignore the efficient way his hand moves, the veins popping on his forearms, and the pout he makes when he's focusing.

When he chances you a glance, you scowl back at him. The alpha only smiles.

It's so irritating. Why does he keep smiling?

"Alright boys, get back to the van. I'll follow you after I'm done with the invoice."

"Stop bossing me around! We are the same age!" Jake protests.

"Well, technically, I am your boss."

"A boss baby! You are not even the CEO yet!"

Sunghoon only sighs and drags Jake by the arm to follow him. He stops momentarily in front of you, gives you a short bow and a 'thanks'—that you reply back with a 'thanks' too, what the heck?—before he leaves with the beta. Jake waves his hand at you, his previous pout melting into a wide grin.

"See you again, Miss Y/N!!! Please invite me to your fashion week!"

If it weren't for Sunghoon's tail and wolf ears, you'd think that Jake was the hybrid. Probably golden retriever—that seems to suit him more.

It's only when Jay clears his throat that you're reminded you're left alone with him in this studio. Instinctively, you back into the door, putting more distance between the two of you. Jay doesn't seem to mind or take offence, he just gives you that easy smile that's been putting you on edge since fifteen minutes ago.

"Two bolts for Japanese denim, linen cotton, and blended silk each. This is your invoice. You may make the first payment when we send you an email," Jay speaks, his tone professional, as he hands you a piece of paper the size of A4. "Please sign here."

You take the pen painfully slowly, trying to avoid any physical contact, and sign.

"If you need anything more, please feel free to contact me." You glare at him. "Or any of us, really! But don't hesitate—my mom told me to put you on our priority list."

There he goes again. Typical alpha trying to flirt his way into your pants. As if you had forgotten about his perverted gaze a few weeks ago!

You cross your arms and dare to look into his eyes. "Thank you. I will contact Jake."

Jay purses his lips. "That's great. Jake works every Saturday and Sunday, while Sunghoon works after 3 p.m. on weekdays. Please feel free to reach out."

He opens his mouth, seemingly to add something, but decides against it when he smiles instead.

"It's actually nice to see you again," he mutters almost quietly, his tone soft and delicate, the grip of professionalism loosening. "I've been hoping I could run into you again."

But you're not easily swayed by sweet-faced alphas like him. "So you can, what, stare at my chest again?"

Jay's ears perk and blush a deep shade of pink. "What? No! Y/N—" he shakes his head, eyes pleading. "I really meant it when I said that I didn't mean to! I swear I'm not a pervert. Please forgive me."

"But you still stared."

"I…did." His voice becomes quieter, the confession feels like cold air hanging in the studio.

Jay shifts in place. The way you stare at him all cold and menacingly seems to undo him more than anything. From where he stands, he can catch a whiff of your scent—the sweet cherry that's been haunting him since that night.

You're so pretty even when you're mad, glaring at him like some kind of a criminal like this. A sight that he's not used to, because people often look at him like an angel sent from the Goddess as an apology on behalf of the alpha population.

"Y/N," he begins, already making up his mind. Your name falls easily from his lips now that he finally gets the chance to know it. "I would like to apologise. I made you feel uncomfortable twice, and probably unsafe, too. I deserved to get beaten more than what you did that night."

"Yeah, I should poke your eyes for good measure. Making sure your eyes don't stare at omegas like that again."

"I don't do that with other omegas, though. Only with you."

"So, congratulations? I'm your first victim?"

Jay panics. "No!"

"Your favourite victim?"

"No!"

"Your exclusive victim?"

"Please stop saying victim."

"Then stop staring at my boobs. You're doing it again." The corner of your lips lifts when the crimson on his ears deepens. Okay. It's kind of fun teasing him, and truthfully, you're no longer that upset from his behaviour that night.

"No, I'm sorry," Jay dips his head lower, staring at his feet, not catching your intention. "It's very wrong of me. I sincerely apologise. Please forgive me."

Your heart does something strange. The sincerity in his voice is unlike any other you've heard from not even a single alpha before. It's raw with honesty and vulnerability, like he actually spends every night dwelling on this mistake of a first impression he had made of himself.

But you say nothing. You simply stare at the alpha whose eyes are remorsely fixed on the ground.

"I know you probably don't trust me."

You snort. "Obviously."

"But I hope one day you'll feel safe around me."

There it goes again—your heart, lurching like Jay was a K-drama main lead saying something corny to win the heroine over. But this is not fiction, and Jay is not your alpha, nor are you his omega.

"Are you threatening me with a next time?"

He shifts again. "May I earn another first impression someday?"

You almost scoff at that. You wish there's no next time or someday! ...Though, you admit, if you put aside the two—or three if you count just now—times he stared at your boobs, it has been quite alright to talk to him.

He just has this aura that puts people at ease around him. Maybe it's his face, or the citrusy scent coming from him that easily tops every other masculine pheromones you have ever sniffed, but Jay just has a way with words that makes you feel like old acquaintances.

Whatever. A pervert is still a pervert!

"Actually, my family has chosen an alpha for me."

Jay's smile falters. "Oh."

You lift your chin proudly. "Yeah! Apparently his family is very wealthy, and he's ridiculously handsome too."

Jay only blinks at you, taking every hint of rejection like a champ. "I see. I mean—that's what you deserve. An omega like you doesn't deserve anything less than that."

Your eye twitches. Why is he so damn good with words? You can't tell if it's genuinelt who he is or if it's all performative. And that infuriates you.

With a newfound determination to flaunt an unknown alpha, you triumphantly nod. "And everyone says that he's the most perfect gentleman. My mom said that he's—" How was he again? "—Very capable and hardworking. I can't wait to marry him!"

Now, you're pushing it. You don't want to marry that alpha. Hell, you're just about to accept the dinner invitation after this!

"That's good…" Jay scratches his cheek. Damn it. Jay realises that you're really trying hard to reject him, even when he hasn't said explicitly that he likes you.

But Jay is a man who can take a hint.

"That's quite a reputation. I really hope he treats you well."

"He will."

Jay purses his lips, trying to swallow down his disappointment. Of course. A pretty omega like you is rarely ever single or unclaimed, even though he doesn't see any mark on your nape or sense any alpha presence around your scent.

Sigh. Just as he finally found an omega that he genuinely likes.

"I wish you and your alpha the best, Miss Y/N." Jay lowers himself to a 90-degree bow. "Thank you for trusting Sinar Textile, and I'm sorry again."

And with that, Jay takes his leave, until the echo of his footsteps fades into oblivion. Once you're confident that you're out of his earshot, you instantly fish for your phone and call your mother.

"Mom!"

"Hello darling~ Did everything go well with the shipment?"

You bite your nails. "Yes, yes it did. Mom, I need your help."

"What is it, sweetheart? Have you finally decided to buy that new handbag from Bonia?"

"No, Mom. I think," you close your eyes and sigh exasperatedly. Truly, there's no one else that puts you in worst case scenarios but yourself and your life decisions.

"I think I'm ready to meet that alpha that you like so much."

As expected, your mother squeals into the phone and you have to force your phone away from your ears.

Great.

Now you have to mentally prepare yourself to sit with an alpha boasting about his wealth and alpha-ic achievements for approximately two hours.

All because you wanted to avoid Jay.

Or so you thought.

Of course, fate—the little evil author that it is—decides that humiliation ritual would be the perfect trope for your failing love life.

Because why the hell are you seeing Jay coming out of the black Mercedes now parked in your mansion?!

"Mom!" You whisper-yell, already halfway bolting upstairs when you see him and his parents start walking towards the door of your house. "You said that the alpha's name was Park Jongseong!"

Your mom, who's been gushing over how handsome and perfect Jay is for you from behind the curtain where the both of you are spying on the newly-arrived guests, only nudges your shoulder gently.

"He is Park Jongseong. And those are Mr. and Mrs. Park."

"No! That's—that's Jay!"

Your mom coos, fanning her face dramatically and turning to your father. "Oh my, honey, did you hear that? They're already on nickname terms with each other."

You feel like climbing the stairs and purposely falling and rolling down to the ground.

This cannot be real!

"Wait," your mother suddenly stops her dramatic gesture. She fixes you with a curious gaze, eyes squinting suspiciously.

"How do you know him?"

Maybe jumping would be faster and easier.

On the other side of the door, Jay has been fiddling with the collar of his suit for the tenth time. Beside him, Mrs. Park is frowning, swatting at his hand when he reaches for his tie again.

"Why are you fixing your tie again? It already looks perfect."

Jay swallows. "I don't know."

No, he actually knows why. Jay has never been able to lie truthfully—an irony that always amuses his friends. His body is vibrating with never-ending nerves ever since he had reluctantly agreed to his mother's planned family dinner with the omega she has taken a liking too.

Yeap. To put it simply, Jay is nervous.

And his mother catches it, if the soothing accent of her scent is telling something. "You'll like her," she convinces. Then, as if it was an afterthought, she adds, "You already met her."

If Jay was shocked, he didn't let it show.

Well, it doesn't matter, does it? When his wolf and himself have been so captivated by you.

Whoever this omega is, Jay wants to apologise in advance. He thinks he needs a couple of months to properly move on from the wonder of you before he'll be ready to accept any dating arrangement again.

"If you're confident that I'll like her, then I hope she's the person I have on my mind, Mom."

And that is the truth. If he had already met this omega and his mother's instincts are sure that he'd fall for her—then it can't be no one else but you.

Jay had crossed paths with many omegas. He had been flirted with, pursued, and even outright confessed to more times than he could count, yet no one had occupied his thoughts quite like you.

And to think that you're spending your time with another alpha…

Jay swallows down the bitterness and forces his pheromones to calm down.

Too lost in his frantic, chaotic mind, Jay hasn't realised that he's already standing in front of the door. It swings open before any of them could press the doorbell, revealing a beautiful couple and…

"Cherry?"

His cherry.

When the scowl appears on your face, Jay feels like a diver finally coming up to the surface for air. The nerves that have been jagging every edge vanish almost instantly, now replaced with a relief so profound it feels like being given a second chance at life again.

It's really. Really. You.

"It's Y/N, you dummy."

That hostile gaze. That frown and unfriendly tone.

It's really you.

The smile that spreads across Jay's face is so hopelessly fond that Mrs. Park immediately knows she doesn't have to do any matchmaking tonight. Your frown deepens, hating the blatant display of joy that's coming from him.

What is he so giddy about?!

Meanwhile, your mother is completely oblivious to the glare you're shooting at him.

"I told you, they're already using endearments for each other!"

You hope the ground could swallow you.

Jay hopes the ground could move and bring him closer to you.

part two coming soon <3

divider from @/cursed-carmine

permanent taglist: @kristynaaah @seungiesdoll @in-somnias-world @rikismists @loviseamms @ikeupop @k3nza @heezeunx @ot7archives @petulapetula @sugarcwtie @whiskymiller

the alley was considerably quieter than the main street. just the distant drone of air conditioning units and some stray newspaper rustling in the breeze. your phone's flashlight created a modest sanctuary of light around you as you walked, revealing the typical creepy alley scene—fractured concrete, scattered debris, service entrances with their blinking crimson security cameras.

you pulled your jacket tighter and accelerated your pace. almost there. almost home. almost—

what the hell was that?

you halted abruptly, your sneakers squeaking against the damp pavement. somewhere ahead, emanating from one of the side alleys, was this muffled whimpering sound. barely perceptible, but there was something desperately human about it that made your chest constrict.

then came the other sound—something wet and rhythmic that felt fundamentally wrong in a way that made your skin crawl.

every survival instinct you'd ever developed was screaming at you to turn around, to mind your own business and get the hell out of there. but what if someone was hurt? what if they needed help?

"this is so stupid," you whispered to yourself, but your feet were already carrying you toward the sound, your phone raised like some kind of pathetic weapon.

you peered around the corner of the side alley, and—

oh shit. oh fuck. oh no no no no no.

there was a boy, presumably your age, tall and lean with sharp features that would've been attractive under literally any other circumstances. his dark hair was dishevelled, like he'd been engaged in strenuous activity, and his clothing appeared normal enough. just some guy you might pass on the street without a second thought.

except for his hands.

his hands were completely saturated with blood. dark, viscous, dripping onto the concrete in steady drops that made tiny percussion sounds in the silence.

at his feet lay a girl. probably around your age, her body contorted at angles that made your stomach revolt. her clothes were stained with the same dark substance coating his hands, and she was so perfectly, horrifyingly motionless.

but what really freaked you out—more than the obvious violence, more than the blood, more than the corpse—was how completely unbothered he looked. there was no panic in his posture, no horror or regret on his face. he was just... standing there. like he'd finished washing dishes instead of ending someone's life.

he flexed his fingers slightly, watching the blood move across his skin with what could only be described as mild curiosity.

those wet sounds you'd heard. god. you'd been listening to someone's final moments.

your free hand flew to your mouth, trying to stop the gasp that threatened to escape, but it was too late. way too late.

his head turned toward you with deliberate slowness, like he had all the time in the world. his eyes found yours across the darkness with scary accuracy, and you realised with growing horror that he'd probably known you were there the whole time.

for one frozen moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—he'd let you walk away. maybe he'd see that you were just some unlucky idiot who'd stumbled onto something she definitely shouldn't have seen.

but then he smiled in a way that looked like it belonged on something wearing a person's face, cold and calculating and full of dark amusement. like your terror was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all night.

that smile told you everything you needed to know about your chances of making it home to your cold ramen.

you didn't wait around to see what came next. you ran like your life depended on it—because it absolutely did.

your shoes slapped against the pavement with each desperate stride, the sound echoing off the empty buildings around you like some kind of twisted metronome counting down to your demise. your lungs were already burning, that sharp ache spreading through your chest as you pushed yourself harder than you'd ever pushed before.

but no matter how fast you ran, no matter which corner you took or which desperate turn you made down these maze-like streets, he was always there. not running frantically like you were, not stumbling or gasping for breath—just moving with this steady, relentless precision that made your blood run cold. he was closing the distance between you with the confidence of someone who'd done this dance before, who knew exactly how it would end.

"shit, shit, shit," you gasped, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart and the slap of your feet against concrete. you could hear his footsteps behind you, measured and unhurried, like he was taking a casual evening stroll instead of hunting you down.

panic made your vision blur at the edges as you spotted the entrance to an underground parking garage yawning open ahead of you like some kind of concrete mouth. without thinking, you dove into the darkness, hoping to lose him in what you assumed would be a maze of cars and concrete pillars where you could hide until morning.

the fluorescent red lights flickered overhead as you stumbled deeper into the garage, casting everything in a ominous red glow that made your skin look like it was already stained with blood. you could hear the echo of your own breathing reverberating off the low ceiling, and somewhere in the distance, the steady drip of water hitting concrete.

you spotted an elevator across the garage, its doors standing open like they were waiting specifically for you, and you practically threw yourself inside, slamming your palm against the button for the exit level. the doors slid shut with a mechanical whir, and for one blessed moment you allowed yourself to believe you might actually escape this nightmare.

but when the doors opened again, your heart sank straight through the floor.

it wasn't freedom waiting for you. it wasn't the street level with its promise of escape routes and other people who might help. instead, you were staring at another identical floor of the parking garage, as if the elevator had just taken you in a perfect circle back to where you'd started.

rows upon rows of cars stretched endlessly in front of you, their dark shapes hulking like sleeping beasts under the humming fluorescent lights. the lights themselves were too loud, buzzing with an electrical intensity that made your head throb. everything felt wrong here, like the laws of physics had taken a coffee break and left this place to operate on its own twisted logic.

you stumbled out of the elevator on shaking legs, your breath coming in short gasps as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing. maybe you'd gotten confused in your panic. maybe you'd pressed the wrong button. there had to be a reasonable explanation for this.

you spotted the stairwell entrance and made a beeline for it, taking the concrete steps two at a time as you climbed toward what should have been the exit. your legs burned with the effort, but you kept climbing, counting floors in your head—one, two, three. surely you'd reach the surface soon.

but when you burst through the door at the top of the stairwell, you found yourself staring at the exact same endless rows of cars, the exact same buzzing lights, the exact same freakish nightmare you'd just tried to escape.

your eyes found the sign mounted on the wall, its bold letters seeming to mock you: level-4.

"what the actual fuck," you whispered, your voice cracking with exhaustion and growing terror. this wasn't possible. parking garages didn't work like this. elevators didn't loop back on themselves, and stairs didn't lead you in circles like some kind of demented funhouse.

but as you stood there, trying to process the impossibility of your situation, you heard it—the soft ding of the elevator arriving on your floor.

he'd found you.

the elevator doors hissed open behind you like some kind of mechanical death sentence, and there he was.

his silhouette cut across the buzzing red light, tall and lean and absolutely terrifying in how calm he looked. his shadow stretched impossibly long across the concrete floor, reaching toward you like dark fingers trying to drag you back into his grasp. you could see that same unsettling smile playing at the corners of his mouth, the one that had sent you running in the first place.

"no," you breathed, scrambling backward until your shoulders hit cold concrete. your eyes darted around desperately, looking for anything that could help you, any weapon or escape route or miracle that might save you from whatever he had planned.

that's when you spotted it—a broken pipe lying near one of the concrete pillars, probably left behind by some construction crew. without thinking, you dove for it, your fingers wrapping around the cold metal as you swung it wildly in his direction.

"stay back!" you screamed, your voice cracking with terror and adrenaline. "i'll fucking hit you, i swear to god!"

but he just laughed, this low, amused sound that echoed off the walls like he thought your desperation was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all night. when you swung the pipe at his head, he moved faster than should have been humanly possible, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist and twist until you cried out in pain.

the pipe clattered to the ground, the metallic sound ringing through the garage as he backed you against one of the concrete pillars. his body pressed against yours, trapping you completely, and you could smell something metallic on his clothes—blood, probably from that poor girl in the alley.

but instead of wrapping his hands around your throat or pulling out some kind of weapon, he just... studied you. his head tilted to one side like a cat examining a particularly interesting mouse, his dark eyes roaming over your face with an intensity that made your skin crawl.

"running makes you pretty," he murmured, his voice soft and almost conversational, like he was commenting on the weather instead of terrorising you. that smile tugged at his mouth again, wider this time, showing teeth that looked too sharp in the red light. "you should keep doing it."

the casual way he said it, like your terror was some kind of aesthetic choice he appreciated, made your stomach lurch with revulsion. you planted your hands against his chest and shoved as hard as you could, catching him off guard enough to slip away from the pillar.

"you're fucking insane," you gasped, already turning to sprint deeper into the garage. maybe if you could find another stairwell, another elevator, another way out of this nightmare, you could still escape.

but as you ran through the endless rows of cars, your footsteps echoing off the low ceiling, something impossible started to happen. the ramp you were following, the one that should have led you to a different level or at least a different section of the garage, began to curve back on itself. the same cars appeared again, the same concrete pillars, the same flickering red lights that made everything look like the inside of some hellish snow globe.

you were literally running in circles.

"what the fuck is happening?" you whispered, stopping in the middle of what should have been a straight path but was somehow leading you back to where you started. your chest was heaving, sweat dripping down your back despite the cool air, and your legs felt like they might give out at any moment.

that's when you heard his footsteps behind you again, slow and measured and completely unhurried. you turned around to find him standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking like he'd just taken a leisurely stroll instead of chasing you through an impossible maze.

"yeah," he said, glancing around at the endless repetition of concrete and cars with something that might have been mild interest. "i figured this might happen. this place is seriously messed up." he looked back at you, that infuriating smile still playing on his lips. "guess we're stuck here together."

the way he said it, so casual and matter-of-fact, like being trapped in some kind of interdimensional parking garage was just a minor inconvenience rather than a complete break from reality, made you want to scream. or cry. or both.

"this isn't real," you whispered to yourself, slowly getting louder with each word. "parking garages don't work like this. spaces don't just... loop back on themselves."

he shrugged, like the laws of physics were really more of a suggestion anyway. "yeah, well, a lot of things aren't supposed to work the way they do. doesn't mean they don't happen.".

the realisation hit you like a punch to the gut—this wasn't just some weird parking garage with confusing layout. this was something else entirely.

you'd spent the last hour testing every possible escape route while maintaining a careful distance from the boy, who’d seemingly given up on hurting you and seemed content to follow along at a leisurely pace like he was on some kind of twisted sightseeing tour. 

every elevator led back to the same level. every stairwell spiralled into nowhere, depositing you right back where you started. the ramps twisted and curved in ways that defied basic geometry, looping you through the same endless rows of cars no matter which direction you chose.

"this is impossible," you muttered, staring at the familiar level-4 sign that had appeared for what felt like the hundredth time. your legs were shaking with exhaustion, and you could feel tears of frustration burning at the corners of your eyes.

the guy leaned against a concrete pillar, looking annoyingly unbothered by the whole situation. "yeah, it's pretty fucked up," he agreed, like you were discussing a mildly inconvenient traffic jam instead of being trapped in some kind of interdimensional nightmare.

you wanted to scream at him, to demand answers he obviously didn't have, to rage against the unfairness of being stuck in this hellscape with someone who'd been planning to murder you just a few hours ago. but the exhaustion was winning out over the anger, and you found yourself sliding down to sit on the cold concrete floor.

"i don't want you near me," you said, your words dripping with venom. the words felt important to say, even if they were completely pointless given your situation. "i'd rather die than have to trust you."

he nodded, like that was a perfectly reasonable response to being trapped with a killer. "makes sense," he said. "but here's the thing—i want out of here just as much as you do. maybe we don't have to trust each other, but we're both human beings who don't want to spend eternity wandering around this concrete maze."

the horrible truth of it settled over you like a weight. you were stuck here, possibly forever, with someone who represented everything you should be running from. but he was also the only other person in this nightmare, the only one who understood what you were going through, the only potential ally you had in figuring out what the hell this place was and how to escape it.

"god, this is so messed up," you muttered, pressing your palms against your eyes until you saw stars. when you looked up again, he was still standing there, waiting with an almost patient expression on his face.

the silence stretched between you, filled with the constant buzz of those awful red lights and the distant echo of your own breathing. finally, because the situation had already crossed every possible line of normalcy, you found yourself breaking the quiet with the most absurd question imaginable.

"what's your name?" you asked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

he blinked, clearly not expecting the question. for a moment, his carefully maintained composure slipped, and he looked genuinely surprised, like he'd been so focused on being terrifying that he'd forgotten people actually had names and identities beyond their worst moments.

"uh," he said, running a hand through his dark hair in what might have been the first genuinely awkward gesture you'd seen from him. "ni-ki. my name's ni-ki."

the awkwardness of the moment was almost overwhelming. here you were, sitting on the floor of an impossible parking garage, exchanging pleasantries with someone who'd been drenched in blood when you first encountered him. if you weren't so terrified and exhausted, the absurdity might have been funny.

"i'm y/n," you said after a long hesitation, because apparently your survival instincts had decided that basic human courtesy was more important than self-preservation.

"y/n," he repeated, like he was testing how your name felt in his mouth. "that's... nice."

"unlike literally everything else about this situation."

"yeah, definitely unlike everything else about this situation."

another stretch of uncomfortable silence followed. you studied the cracked concrete beneath you while ni-ki examined the endless rows of cars like they might suddenly reveal their secrets. the whole interaction felt surreal, like you were two normal people making small talk instead of a potential victim and her would-be killer trapped in some kind of supernatural prison.

"so," you said eventually, because someone had to acknowledge the elephant in the room, "i guess we're going to have to work together if we want to figure out how to get out of here. even though this is literally the worst partnership imaginable."

ni-ki's expression shifted into something that might have been genuine amusement, different from the cold predatory smiles he'd been wearing earlier. "yeah," he agreed. "i guess we are."

and just like that, you found yourself in the most unlikely and terrifying alliance of your life—searching for an escape from an impossible place with someone who should have been your nightmare, bound together by nothing more than mutual desperation and the basic human need to not be alone in the dark.

and so began the most fucked up partnership in human history.

the first few hours were a nightmare of awkward coordination and constant tension. you'd pick a direction to explore, and ni-ki would saunter along behind you with his hands in his pockets like he was on some kind of leisurely field trip. when you'd stop to examine a door or investigate what looked like it might be a different exit, he'd drift closer than you were comfortable with, close enough that you could smell that metallic scent still clinging to his clothes.

"personal space," you'd snap, stepping away from him whenever he got too near.

"this whole place is personal space," he'd reply with that infuriating smirk. "besides, you're the one who wanted to team up."

"i wanted to not die alone in a concrete hellscape. that doesn't mean i want you breathing down my neck."

but he never really backed off. if anything, your obvious discomfort seemed to entertain him, like your fear was this fascinating thing he couldn't resist poking at. when you'd climb stairs, he'd stay just one step behind, close enough that you could feel his presence like a shadow. when you'd check behind pillars or peer into dark corners, he'd appear right beside you, sometimes close enough that his shoulder brushed against yours.

"you're doing this on purpose," you accused him during one particularly frustrating exploration of what had to be the fifteenth identical stairwell you'd encountered.

"doing what?" he asked, all fake innocence, but you could see the amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

"staying too close. trying to freak me out. getting off on the fact that i'm scared of you."

he tilted his head, considering this. "maybe," he admitted with a shrug. "but you are scared of me, aren't you? that's not really my fault."

"you literally murdered someone."

"allegedly."

"i saw you covered in blood!"

"circumstantial evidence."

you wanted to strangle him. or run away. or both. but since running away just led you in circles through the same endless maze of concrete and cars, strangling him was looking increasingly appealing.

it was during one of these tense exploration sessions that you first heard the sounds.

you'd been arguing about whether to try the elevator on the far side of level-4 (you were convinced it might lead somewhere different, ni-ki thought you were being optimistic to the point of delusion) when the noise echoed through the garage—the unmistakable screech of tires against pavement.

you both froze, the argument dying on your lips as you strained to listen. the sound came again, long and desperate, like someone was slamming on their brakes to avoid a collision. but as you looked around at the rows of parked cars surrounding you, every single vehicle sat perfectly still and silent.

"what the fuck was that?" you whispered.

ni-ki's entire demeanour had changed in an instant. the casual, almost playful attitude he'd been maintaining vanished, replaced by something sharp and alert. his eyes darted around the garage, and for the first time since you'd met him, he looked genuinely concerned.

"i don't know," he said quietly. "but we should probably—"

that's when you heard the whispers.

they started soft, barely audible over the constant buzz of the fluorescent lights, but they were definitely there—voices curling down from somewhere deeper in the garage, too distorted to make out actual words. the sound made your skin crawl, because there shouldn't have been anyone else here. you and ni-ki had been wandering this place for hours without seeing another soul.

"okay, that's not normal," you breathed, taking an instinctive step backward.

before you could react, ni-ki's hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist, pulling you toward him with a grip that was firm but not painful. suddenly you were standing much closer to him than you'd been all day, close enough to see the tension in his jaw and the way his eyes kept scanning the shadows between the cars.

"don't wander," he muttered, his voice low and serious in a way you hadn't heard from him before. "you don't know what else is down here."

the casual, almost flirtatious tone he'd been using was completely gone, replaced by something that sounded almost... protective? it was such a jarring shift that you forgot to pull away from his grip, too busy trying to process the fact that the boy who'd been taunting you for hours suddenly seemed genuinely worried about your safety.

"what do you mean 'what else'?" you asked, but even as the words left your mouth, you realised you didn't really want to know the answer.

another screech of tires echoed through the garage, this one closer, followed by what sounded like a car door slamming shut somewhere in the darkness. the whispers grew louder, more insistent, like whatever was making them was getting closer.

you stared at ni-ki, trying to read his expression in the red-tinted light. there was something different about the way he was looking at the shadows, something almost instinctive in how he'd positioned himself slightly in front of you.

before he could respond to your question, the whispers suddenly stopped. the garage fell into complete silence, the kind of oppressive quiet that made your ears ring and your heart pound. even the constant buzz of the lights seemed muted.

and then, from somewhere in the maze of cars, you heard footsteps that definitely weren't yours or ni-ki's, moving with deliberate purpose through the concrete labyrinth.

the footsteps were getting closer, echoing off the concrete walls with deliberate precision, and you could feel ni-ki's grip on your wrist tightening as he pulled you further behind one of the parked cars. but as you crouched there in the red-tinted darkness, listening to whatever was hunting you through this nightmare maze, you noticed something else that made your blood run cold.

ni-ki was breathing differently. it was faster and heavier, like he was getting excited instead of scared.

you turned to look at him, and what you saw in his expression made your stomach drop. his pupils were dilated, his lips slightly parted, and there was this look of anticipation on his face that you recognised from the alley—the same look he'd worn when he was standing over that girl's body.

"oh god," you whispered, the realisation hitting you like a physical blow. "you're enjoying this."

his head snapped toward you, and for a moment his carefully controlled mask slipped completely. the hunger was right there in his eyes, raw and undisguised, and you realised that whatever was stalking through the garage wasn't the only predator you needed to worry about.

"the adrenaline," he said softly, almost like he was talking to himself. "the fear. it's so—"

you didn't wait to hear the rest. you yanked your wrist free from his grip and scrambled away from him, your heart hammering as you put as much distance between you as possible. but ni-ki was already moving, that predatory grace returning to his movements as he started to follow you.

"where are you going?" he called out, and there was amusement in his voice again, that same dark entertainment he'd shown in the alley. "we were having such a nice moment."

you ran blindly between the rows of cars, panic driving you forward even though you knew there was nowhere to go in this endless concrete prison. behind you, you could hear ni-ki's footsteps, steady and unhurried, like he knew you couldn't actually escape.

that's when you saw it—a sleek sports car with its driver's side door slightly ajar, and when you yanked it open, your heart nearly stopped with relief. the keys were still dangling from the ignition, like some miracle left behind by whoever had abandoned this place.

you threw yourself behind the wheel, your hands shaking as you turned the key. the engine roared to life with a deep, powerful rumble, headlights cutting through the red-tinted darkness, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you felt like you might actually have a chance.

you slammed the car into gear and floored the accelerator, tires squealing against concrete as you raced toward what looked like an exit ramp. the speedometer climbed rapidly as you took the curves at dangerous speeds, your knuckles white on the steering wheel as hope built in your chest.

headlights flared in your rearview mirror.

"no, no, no," you breathed, but there they were—bright and blinding and definitely gaining on you. somehow, ni-ki had found his own car, and now the distant roar of another high-performance engine was growing louder behind you.

you pressed harder on the accelerator, the car's engine screaming as you took the ramps at speeds that should have sent you spinning into the concrete barriers. but no matter how fast you drove, those headlights kept getting closer, until you could see the dark silhouette of ni-ki's car in your mirror.

and he was gaining on you.

the chase became pure chaos after that. both of you were flooring it through the endless maze of ramps, engines roaring like caged beasts, tires screaming against concrete as you took corners that should have been impossible at these speeds. your headlights slashed through the darkness ahead while his stayed locked on your tail, following every desperate turn and swerve.

you caught a glimpse of him in your side mirror at one point and almost lost control of the car. he was grinning. actually grinning, like this terrifying high-speed chase through an impossible parking garage was the most fun he'd had all night.

that's when he rammed you.

the impact sent your sports car skidding sideways, and you screamed as you fought to regain control, the steering wheel spinning in your hands. behind you, ni-ki's laughter echoed off the concrete walls, wild and unhinged and absolutely terrifying.

"you fucking psycho!" you shouted, even though he probably couldn't hear you over the roar of engines.

but no matter how far you drove, no matter how many ramps you took or how desperately you searched for an exit, you kept ending up back where you started. the same level-4 signs mocked you from the walls, the same endless rows of parked cars stretched out in every direction, and those same red lights buzzed overhead like angry insects.

finally, your frustration and terror reached a breaking point. you slammed on the brakes so hard your car went into a skid, coming to a stop in the middle of what had to be the same section of garage you'd been circling for the past twenty minutes. you threw open the door and stumbled out, rage boiling over as ni-ki's car pulled up beside yours.

he stepped out casually, like he'd just finished a pleasant drive through the countryside instead of a psychotic chase scene, and something inside you snapped completely.

"what do you want from me?" you screamed, launching yourself at him with fists flying. "what the fuck do you want?"

you hit him in the chest, the shoulders, anywhere you could reach, all the fear and frustration and helpless anger pouring out of you in a torrent of violence. but ni-ki caught your wrists easily, his grip firm but not painful as he backed you up against the hood of your car.

for once, that infuriating smile faltered. his expression grew serious, almost thoughtful, as he looked down at you pinned between his body and the warm metal of the car. when he spoke, his voice dropped to a low murmur that made your skin crawl.

"what i want?" he repeated, his eyes dragging over your face like he was memorising every detail. "to get out of here. and maybe..." his gaze travelled lower, hungry and possessive in a way that made you want to disappear, "to keep you when we do."

the words hit you like ice water, and you felt your entire body go rigid against the car hood. "keep me?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant hum of the fluorescent lights. "what the hell does that mean?"

but you already knew. the way he was looking at you, the way his grip on your wrists had shifted from restraining to almost... gentle. possessive. like you were something precious he'd found and had no intention of letting go.

"you're insane," you breathed, trying to pull away from him, but his hold remained firm. "you're completely fucking insane."

ni-ki leaned closer then, close enough that you could feel his breath against your ear, his body completely caging you against the car. the warmth of him pressed against you, solid and inescapable, and you hated the way your traitorous body seemed to notice everything—the way he smelled intoxicating, like musk mixed with something that was just him.

"maybe," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that you felt more than heard. "but you're stuck with me either way."

and then, without warning, you felt the sharp pressure of his teeth against the sensitive skin of your neck. not hard enough to break skin, but firm enough to make you gasp, your body betraying you with a reaction you absolutely did not want to have.

"what the hell," you whispered, but your voice came out breathier than you intended, and you could feel heat creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with fear.

ni-ki pulled back just enough to look at you, that infuriating smirk returning to his face as he took in your flustered expression. "see?" he said softly, his thumb brushing over your racing pulse. "you're not as scared of me as you think you are."

before you could form any kind of response to that absolutely ridiculous statement, a new sound echoed through the garage—footsteps again, but different this time. heavier. closer.

ni-ki's grip on your wrists tightened, his playful expression instantly shifting back to that sharp alertness you'd seen earlier. "we need to move," he said, already pulling you toward the cars. "now."

you'd lost count of how long you'd been trapped here—days, maybe weeks, the constant red glow making it impossible to tell when one nightmare ended and the next began. your stomach cramped with hunger most of the time, surviving on stale vending machine snacks you'd managed to find scattered throughout the garage. water came from bathroom sinks that barely functioned, the liquid tasting metallic and wrong but keeping you alive.

exhaustion had become your constant companion, weighing down your limbs and making your thoughts sluggish. you'd tried sleeping in the cars, but ni-ki's presence made rest nearly impossible. he was always watching, always too close, his dark eyes tracking your every movement with an intensity that made your skin crawl.

the fights had gotten worse as the days wore on.

"we need to try the south ramp again," you insisted, your voice hoarse from dehydration and constant arguing. "there has to be something different about it."

"we've tried the south ramp seventeen times," ni-ki replied with that maddeningly calm tone he used when he thought you were being irrational. "it leads to the same fucking place as every other ramp."

"then what's your brilliant plan?" you snapped, whirling around to face him. "just wander around here forever until we die?"

"maybe," he said with a shrug that made you want to strangle him. "at least then i'd get to keep you."

there it was again—that possessive undercurrent that had been getting stronger every day you spent trapped together. the way he looked at you like you belonged to him, like this nightmare scenario was some kind of twisted gift that had delivered you straight into his hands.

"i'm not yours," you said through gritted teeth. "i'm not some prize you won by being a psychotic murderer."

his expression darkened, that casual mask slipping to show something dangerous underneath. "no? then why haven't you tried to kill me in my sleep? why do you stick so close when those sounds start echoing through the garage?"

because you were terrified of being alone in this place, but you weren't about to admit that to him.

"because i'm not a killer," you said instead.

"neither was i, until i was," he replied, taking a step closer. "funny how circumstances can change a person."

the argument escalated from there, voices rising, accusations flying, until you were practically screaming at each other in the middle of the endless parking garage. all the frustration and fear and helpless rage you'd been swallowing for days came pouring out in a torrent of fury.

"you're fucking insane if you think i'm ever going to—"

his hands slammed against the car beside your head, trapping you between his body and the cold metal, his face inches from yours. his chest was heaving with anger, pupils dilated, and for a moment you thought he might actually hurt you.

instead, your fists came up automatically, pounding against his chest with all the strength you had left. "get away from me!" you shouted, but he didn't budge, just absorbed the blows like they were nothing.

"make me," he snarled, and something in his voice, some raw challenge, made your blood surge with adrenaline.

you hit him harder, aiming for his face this time, and your knuckles connected with his mouth in a sharp crack that split his bottom lip. blood welled up immediately, dark and gleaming in the red light, and you expected him to recoil, to get angry, to finally show some kind of normal human reaction to pain.

instead, he groaned.

the sound was low and rough and unmistakably aroused, and before you could process what was happening, his mouth crashed against yours. the kiss was messy and desperate, all clashing teeth and heat, his hand gripping your jaw just a little too tight.

you could taste the metallic tang of blood on his lips where your punch had split the skin. instead of pulling away, he kissed you deeper, his tongue swiping over the cut and then over your lips, like the sharp sting was making him lose his mind. his grip on your face tightened as he tilted your head, kissing you harder until you could taste his blood mixing with your own saliva.

your brain was screaming at you to push him away, to remember exactly who he was and what he'd done, but your body wasn't listening. your hands grabbed his shirt instead of shoving him back, pulling him closer even as you bit down on his split lip again, making him make this rough sound against your mouth.

apparently he liked that, because his other hand tangled in your hair and tugged your head back so he could drag his bloody mouth down your neck. his teeth grazed your pulse point, and you couldn't stop the gasp that escaped you, your fingers digging into his shoulders. every smart thought you'd ever had was melting away under his touch, replaced by something desperate and wrong that you really didn't want to think about.

"fuck," he breathed against your throat, his voice wrecked, and you could feel him smile against your skin when you shivered. his hands were everywhere—one still fisted in your hair, the other sliding down to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left between your bodies.

you could feel his heart hammering against his ribs where your chest pressed against his, could taste the copper and heat of him when he came back up to kiss you again, slower this time but no less intense. his tongue swept into your mouth like he was claiming it, like he wanted to memorise every inch of you.

when you finally managed to wrench yourself away, both of you were breathing hard, your lips swollen and stained red. you could still taste copper in your mouth, and you felt like you might actually be losing your mind because you were horrified and completely turned on at the same time.

but ni-ki wasn't done. the second you pulled back, he was already chasing after your lips, one hand catching the back of your neck as he kissed you again, rougher this time. his tongue swept across your bottom lip, licking away his own blood like he couldn't get enough of the taste, and the sound he made was almost feral.

"taste so good," he mumbled against your mouth, and you could feel him grinning when you made this pathetic whimpering noise. "even better with my blood on your lips."

his words should have disgusted you, should have snapped you back to reality, but instead they sent heat pooling low in your stomach. your hands were shaking where they gripped his shirt, and when he bit down gently on your bottom lip, you couldn't stop yourself from pressing closer.

"this is so fucked up," you whispered, but even as you said it, your fingers were curling tighter in his shirt, keeping him close.

"yeah," he agreed, his voice rough with want. "and i love it."

when you finally pushed him away for real, he leaned back against the car, watching you with dark eyes and that satisfied smirk that made your stomach do flips. his hair was messy from your hands, his lips red and swollen, that split still bleeding slightly. slowly, he brought his thumb to his mouth and licked away the last traces of blood, never taking his eyes off you.

"you make me bleed," he whispered, his voice rough and reverent like he was confessing something sacred, "and i've never wanted anyone more."

the words sent a shiver through you that you absolutely did not want to analyse. because somewhere in the blur of survival and desperation, you were starting to realise that the line between fear and desire was a lot thinner than you'd ever imagined.

everything changed after the kiss.

you tried to pretend it hadn't happened, that it was just some kind of stress response to being trapped in this impossible place for so long. survival instincts gone haywire. adrenaline and desperation making you do things you'd never normally do. that's all it was. it had to be.

but ni-ki wouldn't let you forget.

where before he'd maintained at least some pretence of personal space, now he seemed to take every opportunity to be close to you. when you walked through the endless rows of cars, he'd brush against your shoulder, letting his fingers trail just a little too long when he'd guide you around a corner. when you'd stop to rest, he'd sit just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

worst of all, he watched you constantly. not the predatory stalking from before, but something more intimate and infinitely more unsettling. you'd catch him staring at your mouth when you talked, his gaze lingering on your lips like he was remembering exactly how they'd felt against his. when you'd lick your lips nervously or bite down on them while thinking, his eyes would darken with something that made your stomach flutter traitorously.

"stop doing that," you snapped at him during one particularly frustrating exploration attempt, when you'd caught him staring for the fifth time in an hour.

"doing what?" he asked innocently, but that infuriating smirk was playing at the corners of his mouth.

"you know what. the staring. the... hovering. just stop."

instead of backing off like you'd hoped, he took a step closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "funny," he said, his voice dropping to that low murmur that made your skin prickle. "you didn't stop me before."

the words hit you like a physical blow, because he was right and you both knew it. when he'd kissed you, when his hands had been in your hair and his mouth had been on yours, you hadn't pushed him away. you'd pulled him closer.

"that was different," you said, hating how weak your voice sounded.

"was it?" he tilted his head, studying your face with that same intensity he'd shown when examining the blood on his hands that first night. "because from where i was standing, it felt like you wanted it just as much as i did."

"i was scared and confused and—"

"and turned on," he finished, his grin widening when you flushed red. "don't forget that part."

you wanted to hit him again, wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face, but you were terrified of what might happen if you did. because last time you'd hit him, it had ended with his blood on your lips and his hands in your hair, and some twisted part of you that you really didn't want to acknowledge was curious about what might happen this time.

"you're delusional," you said instead, taking a step back to put some distance between you.

"am i?" he followed your retreat, matching you step for step until your back hit the concrete wall. "then why haven't you tried to run from me again? "

because you were terrified of being alone in this place, because despite everything he'd done, he was still the only other human being you had, because somewhere in the blur of survival and desperation you'd started to depend on him in ways that scared you more than his capacity for violence.

but you weren't about to admit any of that.

"because we're stuck together," you said. "because like it or not, we need each other to figure out how to get out of here."

"right," he said, but his tone suggested he didn't believe you for a second. "just survival. nothing else."

to prove his point, he leaned closer, close enough that you could smell that intoxicating scent that was just him, could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. your breath caught despite yourself, and you saw the exact moment he noticed, saw the way his expression shifted from mockery to something hungrier.

"nothing else," you repeated, but it came out as barely a whisper.

"then you won't mind if i do this," he murmured, and before you could ask what 'this' was, his hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing across your bottom lip with devastating gentleness.

your body betrayed you completely, leaning into the touch before your brain could stop it, and ni-ki's smile turned predatory.

"that's what i thought," he said softly, but he pulled his hand away, leaving you cold and wanting and absolutely furious with yourself for reacting.

"i hate you," you breathed.

"i know," he replied, and the way he said it—fond and amused and completely unbothered—made you realise that your hatred might not be the deterrent you'd thought it was.

if anything, it seemed to be exactly what he wanted.

the sleep you got had been broken at best, restless fragments caught in the backseats of abandoned cars while the red lights hummed overhead like angry wasps. you'd doze off for what felt like hours only to wake up feeling like you'd barely closed your eyes. the constant buzz of flickering lights and the occasional echo of those unexplained sounds made real rest nearly impossible.

but it was during these fractured sleeping hours that you found yourself thinking about the things you didn't want to think about during the day. like why ni-ki had killed that girl in the alley. like what kind of person you'd have to be to do something like that so casually.

you'd tried asking him about it once, during one of your sessions to gather the vending machine food lying around.

"what made you do it?" you asked, the words coming out more blunt than you'd intended.

he'd looked at you with mild surprise, like he'd forgotten that most people didn't just casually murder strangers in dark alleys. "do what?"

"kill her. that girl. why did you—" you'd gestured vaguely, not wanting to be more specific about what you'd witnessed.

ni-ki had been quiet for a long moment, his expression thoughtful rather than defensive. "it was a job," he'd said finally. "someone wanted her gone, they paid me to make it happen."

the casual way he'd said it had made your stomach turn, but there was something almost... professional about it that was somehow worse than random violence. "you're a contract killer?"

"among other things." he'd shrugged, like discussing his career in murder was just small talk. "it pays well, and it satisfies certain... cravings."

"why didn't you kill me then?" the question had tumbled out before you could stop it. "it's not like we're getting out of here anyway."

but when you'd pressed for his answer, he'd just given you this unreadable look and changed the subject, leaving you with more questions than answers.

it was during one of those restless nights, when you'd managed to fall into something resembling actual sleep curled up in the backseat of an old honda, that you woke to the feeling of being watched.

your eyes snapped open, immediately alert in that way that came from too many nights of broken sleep and constant anxiety. the garage was dimmer than usual, some of the fluorescent lights having finally given up their flickering battle against the darkness.

ni-ki was sitting a few feet away, leaning back against the side of a car with his long legs stretched out in front of him. but he wasn't sleeping, wasn't even trying to rest. he was just... watching you.

there was something different about his expression in the red-tinted darkness. not the cruel amusement you'd grown accustomed to, not the playful predatory look he got when he was trying to get under your skin. this was something heavier, more intense. almost protective, if that word could even apply to someone like him.

"what are you doing?" you asked, your voice hoarse from sleep and dehydration.

he didn't seem startled by your sudden consciousness, like he'd been expecting you to wake up. "making sure nothing gets you while you sleep," he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact.

the words should have been comforting, but coming from him they felt loaded with implications you weren't ready to unpack. "nothing's going to get me," you said, but even as the words left your mouth, you both knew they weren't necessarily true.

"you don't know that," he replied, tilting his head slightly as he continued to study you in the dim light. "this place... there's something wrong with it. more wrong than just the geometry."

you sat up slowly, suddenly very aware that you were vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the supernatural elements of this nightmare. "so you appointed yourself my bodyguard?"

"something like that." his mouth quirked up in what might have been a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "call it self-interest. if something happens to you, i'm alone here."

the logical part of your brain wanted to point out that he'd been perfectly fine hunting you through these same corridors just days ago, that his concern for your safety was probably just another manipulation tactic. but there was something in his posture, something in the way he'd positioned himself between you and the darker sections of the garage, that suggested this might be more genuine than his usual games.

you wanted to scream at him, wanted to demand to know what gave him the right to watch over you like some kind of twisted guardian angel when he was the reason you needed protection in the first place. but the truth was lodged in your chest like a stone, uncomfortable and undeniable.

without him, sitting alone in this impossible place with only the whispers and tire screeches for company, maybe something would have gotten you already.

"how long have you been sitting there?" you asked instead.

"couple hours," he said with a shrug, like losing sleep to keep watch over someone he'd been planning to kill was the most natural thing in the world.

"you should sleep too."

"i will. later."

you stared at him in the red-tinted darkness, trying to make sense of this person who could murder someone without hesitation one day and sit guard over your sleep the next. the contradictions were giving you whiplash, making it impossible to categorise him as simply good or evil, safe or dangerous.

"i don't understand you," you said finally.

"good," he replied, and this time his smile was more familiar, touched with that dark amusement you'd come to recognise. "understanding me would probably just make things more complicated."

you wanted to argue with that, wanted to demand explanations and clear definitions of where you stood with each other. but exhaustion was pulling at you again, and despite everything logical and rational screaming at you that sleeping near him was the worst possible idea, you found your eyes drifting closed.

the last thing you saw before sleep claimed you again was ni-ki settling back against the car, his gaze still fixed on the shadows beyond, keeping his strange, unsettling vigil.

it was during one of your deeper exploration attempts that you finally understood what ni-ki had been talking about.

you'd been wandering through a section of the garage you hadn't seen before, one where the cars seemed older and dust-covered, like they'd been sitting there for decades. the fluorescent lights were more erratic here, flickering in patterns that made your eyes water and your head ache.

"this place feels different," you'd muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself as a chill that had nothing to do with temperature crept up your spine.

ni-ki had nodded, his usual casual demeanour replaced by something more alert, more cautious. "we should head back," he'd said, but even as he spoke, you both heard it.

a sound like metal scraping against concrete, slow and deliberate, echoing from somewhere deeper in the maze of vehicles. it was rhythmic, purposeful, like something was dragging itself across the floor with mechanical precision.

the air around you grew thick and heavy, charged with static electricity that made your hair stand on end and your skin tingle uncomfortably. the lights overhead began flickering more violently, casting the garage in rapid bursts of red light and shadow that made everything look like some kind of hellish strobe show.

for the first time since you'd known him, ni-ki looked genuinely unsettled. his eyes were darting around the shadows between the cars, and you could see tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there moments before.

"what is that?" you whispered, but he was already moving, his hand wrapping around your wrist in a grip that was firm enough to bruise.

"we need to hide," he said, pulling you toward the nearest car, an old sedan with tinted windows. "now."

he yanked open the back door and practically shoved you inside, climbing in after you and slamming the door shut just as something passed by the windows outside.

you held your breath, pressing yourself back against the worn fabric seats as a shadow moved across the glass. but it was wrong, all wrong—too long and too thin to be human, stretching and distorting like it wasn't quite solid. the scraping sound grew louder as whatever it was dragged itself past your hiding spot, and you could swear you felt the car rock slightly, as if something massive was brushing against it.

ni-ki's hand found yours in the darkness of the car's interior, his fingers intertwining with yours as he leaned close enough to whisper directly in your ear. 

"don't move," he breathed, his voice so quiet you almost couldn't hear it over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. "don't even breathe too loud."

you nodded against his shoulder, suddenly very aware of how close you were to him in the cramped space, how his body was pressed against yours as you both tried to make yourselves as small as possible. you could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his muscles were coiled like he was ready to fight or run at a moment's notice.

the scraping sound continued for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, accompanied by something that might have been breathing if breathing could sound like static and broken glass. occasionally, you'd catch glimpses of that impossible shadow through the windows, moving with a jerky, unnatural gait that made your brain hurt to watch.

finally, mercifully, the sounds began to fade, growing more distant until they disappeared entirely. but even then, ni-ki didn't move, didn't relax, just kept his hand over yours and waited in the suffocating silence.

when he finally decided it was safe, when the air had stopped crackling with that awful static and the lights had returned to their normal flickering buzz, you realised you were clinging to him. your fingers were twisted in his shirt, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you anchored to reality, and your face was pressed against his shoulder hard enough that you could smell that intoxicating scent which had now become familiar to you.

you started to pull away, embarrassed by how completely you'd lost your composure, but ni-ki's arm tightened around you, keeping you close.

"see?" he said softly, and when you looked up at him, his smirk had returned, though it was gentler than usual, touched with something that might have been actual affection. "told you. you need me."

you wanted to argue with him, wanted to insist that you could have handled that situation just fine on your own, but the truth was that you had absolutely no idea what you would have done if you'd been alone when that thing had appeared. the thought of facing whatever that had been without him there made your stomach clench with terror.

"what was that thing?" you asked instead, your voice still shaky from adrenaline and fear.

"i don't know," he admitted, his fingers absently stroking over your knuckles. "but this place is full of them. they come out when the lights start acting up, when the static gets too thick. that's why i keep watch at night."

the admission hit you like a physical blow. he'd been protecting you from things like that, sitting guard while you slept so those shadows wouldn't drag you away in the darkness. suddenly his strange vigil made perfect sense, and you felt something uncomfortably warm unfurling in your chest.

"how long have you known?" you asked.

"since the second day," he said. "maybe the third. i have no clue about the time here."

"and you didn't tell me?"

his smile widened slightly. "would it have helped? or would it have just made you more scared than you already were?"

you didn't have an answer for that, because he was probably right. knowing about the things in the shadows wouldn't have made you any safer, would have just added another layer of terror to an already impossible situation.

"thank you," you said quietly, the words feeling strange in your mouth. thanking a killer for protecting you from monsters felt like some kind of cosmic joke, but it was also the truth.

"don't mention it," he replied, but there was something in his voice, something almost vulnerable, that suggested your gratitude meant more to him than he was letting on.

you stayed there in the car for a long time after that, pressed together in the darkness, both of you listening for sounds that shouldn't exist and trying to process the fact that the nightmare you were trapped in was even worse than you'd imagined.

the fight started over something stupid, like most of your fights did these days.

you'd been trying to map out the garage on the back of an old receipt you'd found, marking down which ramps led where and trying to find some kind of pattern to the impossible geometry. the encounter with that shadow thing had shaken you more than you wanted to admit, but it had also given you hope in a twisted way—if the garage could produce things like that, if it was changing and shifting around you, then maybe there was some kind of logic to it that you could exploit.

"look," you said, spreading the crumpled paper out on the hood of a car, your finger tracing the crude lines you'd drawn. "this section here, where we saw that thing? it wasn't there before. the layout changed. which means if we can figure out the pattern—"

"you're wasting your time," ni-ki interrupted, not even bothering to look at your makeshift map. he was leaning against a concrete pillar, arms crossed, wearing that infuriating expression that suggested he thought you were being naive.

"how do you know if you won't even look at it?"

"because i've been watching this place longer than you have," he said with that maddeningly calm tone that made you want to scream. "it doesn't follow patterns. it just... is. the sooner you accept that, the better."

"so what, we just give up? sit here forever until those things decide to drag us away?"

"maybe," he shrugged. "or maybe we find other ways to pass the time."

the way he said it, with that lazy smile and those dark eyes fixed on you, made heat crawl up your neck. but you were too frustrated and scared and tired to deal with his constant innuendo right now.

"this is serious, ni-ki," you snapped. "we need to find a way out of here."

"do we?" he tilted his head, studying you with that same intensity he'd shown while watching you sleep. "seems to me like things are working out just fine."

"fine?" you stared at him in disbelief. "we're trapped in some kind of interdimensional nightmare with shadow monsters, living off vending machine snacks and bathroom sink water, and you think things are fine?"

"i think," he said, pushing off from the pillar and taking a step closer, "that this is the first time in my life i've had something i actually want to keep."

the words hit you like a brick, because his strange possessiveness was starting to show again, getting stronger every day. he was treating you like you were some kind of prize he'd won instead of a person he'd been planning to kill.

"i'm not yours to keep," you said through gritted teeth.

"aren't you?" he asked, moving closer still. "who else do you have here? who else is going to protect you from the things in the dark?"

"maybe i don't need protection. maybe i'd rather take my chances alone than be your pet."

his expression darkened at that, the casual mask slipping to show something dangerous underneath. "you think you'd last five minutes out there without me? you think those shadows care about your little maps and theories?"

"at least i'm trying to find a solution instead of just accepting that we're stuck here forever!"

"there is no solution!" he snapped, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "this place doesn't want us to leave. the sooner you stop fighting that, the sooner you can focus on more important things."

"like what?" you demanded.

"like this," he said, gesturing between you with something that might have been hunger. "like us."

"there is no us," you said, but even as the words left your mouth, you knew they sounded hollow. because there was something between you, something twisted and wrong and completely fucked up, but undeniably real.

"liar," he said softly.

that's when you shoved him, hard, both hands against his chest with all the frustration and fear and helpless rage you'd been swallowing for days. "stop talking like that! stop acting like this is some kind of romantic getaway instead of a nightmare!"

he stumbled back a step, but instead of getting angry, he laughed—dark and pleased and absolutely infuriating. "there she is," he said, straightening up with that predatory grace. "i was wondering when you'd stop pretending to be scared of me."

"i am scared of you!"

"no," he said, moving toward you again, "you're scared of how much you want this."

you shoved him again, harder this time, and when he caught your wrists to stop you, you struggled against his grip like a trapped animal. "let go of me!"

"make me," he challenged, and there was that same raw heat in his voice that you'd heard during your first kiss, that same dangerous invitation.

you were both breathing hard, standing too close, his hands wrapped around your wrists tight enough to leave marks. your voice was breaking as you yelled at him, all the emotion you'd been holding back pouring out in a torrent of words you barely recognised as your own.

"i hate you," you gasped. "i hate that you killed someone, i hate that you're keeping me here and not trying to get out, i hate that i—"

his mouth crashed against yours before you could finish the sentence, rougher and more desperate than before, like he was trying to silence you with obsession rather than words, like he needed to consume every sound you made.

and god help you, you kissed him back.

your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer even as your brain screamed at you to push him away. his grip on your wrists loosened, one hand sliding up to cup your jaw while the other tangled in your hair, angling your head so he could kiss you deeper.

you could taste desperation on his lips, something raw and hungry that matched the fire burning in your own chest. when he bit down gently on your bottom lip, you made this pathetic whimpering sound that seemed to drive him completely wild.

"fuck," he breathed against your mouth, and you could feel him smile when you chased his lips, wanting more. "knew you wanted this."

"shut up," you gasped, but there was no real heat behind it anymore, just breathless need as his mouth moved to your neck, finding that spot that made you shiver.

his teeth grazed your pulse point, and your fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. every rational thought was dissolving under the heat of his touch, replaced by something primal and desperate that you'd been trying to deny for days.

when his hands slipped down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, you could feel how much he wanted this, could feel the way his breathing had gone ragged. and despite everything—the murder, the chase, the impossible situation—you wanted it too.

the admission sent something dark and fiery through your veins, because some twisted part of you liked it too—liked the way he looked at you when you were angry, liked the way his control slipped when you pushed back against him, liked the way he'd kissed you like he was starving for it.

you had been pushing yourself too hard, running on nothing but adrenaline and stubbornness for what felt like weeks now. the constant stress of being trapped, the broken sleep, the barely adequate nutrition from vending machine snacks—it was all catching up to you in ways you'd been trying to ignore.

you were walking through another identical section of the garage, following ni-ki as he led you toward what he claimed might be a different exit route, when your legs simply gave out.

one moment you were upright, the next you were falling, your vision swimming with black spots as your knees buckled completely. but before you could hit the cold concrete floor, strong arms caught you, pulling you against a warm chest.

"i'm fine," you insisted immediately, even though you clearly weren't, pushing weakly at ni-ki's chest as he held you upright. "i can walk. just let me—"

"no," he said simply, his voice carrying that infuriating authority that brooked no argument. instead of letting you go, he lifted you easily, carrying you the few steps to the nearest car and setting you down on its hood like you weighed nothing.

"i said i'm fine," you repeated, but your voice came out shaky and unconvincing, and when you tried to slide off the car, your legs felt like jelly.

ni-ki crouched down in front of you, bringing himself to your eye level, and pulled out the single mineral water bottle you'd both been carefully rationing. his movements were gentle but firm as he uncapped it and held it out to you.

"drink," he said, and when you didn't immediately comply, he moved closer, his free hand coming up to cup your chin. "all of it."

"we need to save—"

"we need you conscious," he interrupted, his tone maddeningly soft, almost tender in a way that made your chest tighten uncomfortably. "drink the water."

there was something in his eyes as he looked at you, something intense and focused that made your stomach twist with emotions you didn't want to name. it wasn't the predatory hunger you'd grown accustomed to, or the dark amusement he usually wore like armour. this was something else entirely, something that looked almost like genuine concern.

"why do you care?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

his thumb brushed across your cheek, so gentle it was almost reverent, and for a moment his carefully maintained mask slipped completely. "because i want you alive when we get out of here," he said quietly. then his expression hardened slightly, that familiar edge creeping back into his voice. "don't make me carry you."

the threat should have annoyed you, should have made you argue back out of pure spite, but instead it sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the cold air of the garage. there was something possessive in the way he said it, like the idea of you being weak or hurt was personally offensive to him.

you took the water bottle with shaking hands, bringing it to your lips and drinking deeply. the liquid was warm but tasted much better than that metallic sink water you had been living off. it felt like the most wonderful thing you'd ever tasted. you hadn't realised how dehydrated you'd become until the water hit your system, making you feel almost instantly more human.

ni-ki watched you drink with that same intense focus, his dark eyes tracking every movement. when you'd finished about half the bottle, he reached out and gently pushed it back toward your mouth.

"more," he said softly.

"that's enough for now—"

"more," he repeated, and there was something in his voice that brooked no argument. "you're not negotiating with me on this."

so you drank more, finishing nearly the entire bottle while he watched, his hand still resting on your chin like he was anchoring you to the moment. when you finally pulled the bottle away, he nodded approvingly and capped it, tucking it back into his jacket.

"better?" he asked.

you nodded, not trusting your voice, because the simple act of being cared for—even in this twisted, possessive way—was doing things to your emotional state that you really didn't want to examine too closely.

"good," he said, rising from his crouch but not moving away from you. instead, he braced his hands on either side of you on the car hood, effectively caging you in. "now listen to me. you don't get to collapse. you’re not giving up this easily."

"i wasn't giving up—"

"weren't you?" his eyes searched yours, looking for something you weren't sure you wanted him to find. "because from where i'm standing, it looked like you were ready to just... stop."

the accusation hit too close to home, because he wasn't entirely wrong. the hopelessness had been creeping in for days, the growing certainty that you'd never escape this place, that you'd spend whatever remained of your life wandering these endless concrete corridors with a killer who'd somehow become the only thing standing between you and complete despair.

"maybe i was," you admitted quietly.

his expression softened slightly, and one of his hands moved to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "then don't," he said simply. "because i'm not letting you go that easily. you want to get out of here, so we will."

the words should have been threatening, should have reminded you of exactly who you were dealing with and what he was capable of. instead, they felt almost like a promise, like he was offering you something you hadn't even realised you needed.

"why?" you tilted your head. “didn’t you want to stay here?”

he was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing along your jawline as he seemed to consider his answer. when he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it.

"because you're mine to keep safe now," he said. "and i take care of what's mine."

the possessive words that would have made you recoil earlier now settled over you like a blanket, warm and suffocating and strangely comforting all at once.

"i'm not yours," you said, but the protest came out weak and halfhearted, more habit than conviction.

his smile was small and knowing, like he could see right through the lie. "keep telling yourself that," he murmured, his hand still cradling your face with that devastating gentleness. "we both know how this ends."

the certainty in his voice sent heat pooling in your stomach, and you found yourself leaning into his touch instead of pulling away. "and how does it end?" you whispered, surprised by how breathless you sounded.

his eyes darkened, thumb tracing over your bottom lip with deliberate slowness. "with you admitting what you've known since that first kiss," he said softly. "that you want this just as much as i do."

before you could respond—or do something stupid like kiss him again—another one of those sounds echoed through the garage, distant tire screeches followed by that awful scraping noise that made your skin crawl. ni-ki's entire demeanour shifted instantly, his protective mode kicking in as he straightened and scanned the shadows.

"can you walk?" he asked, all business now, but his hand was still gentle on your face.

you nodded, sliding carefully off the car hood. your legs still felt shaky, but the water had helped more than you'd expected. "i think so."

"good," he said, taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world. the simple contact sent goosebumps up your arm, and you didn't pull away. "because we need to move before those weird shadowy things show up."

as he led you deeper into the maze of concrete and cars, his grip on your hand firm and reassuring, you realised with a mix of terror and anticipation that you were no longer fighting the inevitable.

you squeezed his hand tighter, letting him guide you through the darkness, and when he glanced back at you with that adoring satisfaction in his eyes, you didn't look away.

the acceptance came slowly to you, like poison spreading through your veins.

it started with small things. the way you'd stopped flinching when ni-ki got too close. how you'd begun sleeping curled against him in the backseats of cars, telling yourself it was just for warmth even though the garage wasn't really cold. the way your heart would race when those shadow sounds echoed through the corridors—not just from fear, but from the anticipation of how he'd pull you close, how his hands would tighten protectively around you.

"we're never getting out of here," you said one day, the words falling flat in the red-tinted air. you were sitting on the hood of a rusted sedan, legs swinging like a child's, watching ni-ki examine yet another identical stairwell entrance.

"probably not," he agreed, and the casual way he said it should have made you angry. instead, you felt something like relief wash over you.

because if you were stuck here forever, if this concrete nightmare was your new reality, then maybe the normal rules didn't apply anymore. maybe you were allowed to want things you shouldn't want, to crave the touch of someone who should have been your executioner instead of your salvation.

ni-ki must have seen the shift in your expression because he moved toward you with that predatory grace, settling between your legs where you sat on the car hood. his hands came up to rest on your thighs, warm and possessive, and you didn't push him away.

"there it is," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "finally stopped lying to yourself?"

"shut up," you breathed, but there was no heat behind it. your hands came up to fist in his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, and his smile turned absolutely devastating.

when he kissed you this time, it felt like surrender. not just physical, but something deeper, like the final dissolution of the wall you'd been trying to maintain between victim and predator, between fear and desire. his mouth moved against yours with devastating certainty, like he knew exactly what you needed, exactly how to take you apart piece by piece.

his hands slid up your sides, thumb brushing just under the edge of your shirt, and you shivered at the contact. every touch felt electric, amplified by weeks of tension and denial and the strange intimacy that came from surviving impossible things together.

"you’re mine," he whispered against your lips, and instead of arguing, you found yourself nodding.

because maybe you were his, in whatever twisted way that could exist in this place. maybe that's what you'd been fighting against all along—not him, but the growing certainty that you belonged to each other now, bound together by more than just mutual survival.

the days blurred together after that, an endless cycle of exploration and hiding and stolen moments pressed together in the darkness. you stopped pretending you didn't want his hands on you, stopped fighting the way you fit perfectly against him when those things stalked through the shadows.

you learned that he made this soft sound when you kissed his neck, that his control completely shattered when you bit down on his lip the way he'd done to you. you discovered that the careful, calculated mask he wore was just that—a mask—and underneath it was someone who touched you like you were made of something precious, who watched you sleep like he was memorising every detail of your face.

it was during one of these quiet moments, when you were curled against his side in the back of an old suv, that you heard something different.

the sound was softer than the usual chaos, more musical—like wind chimes, but wrong, discordant in a way that made your head ache.

ni-ki heard it too, his entire body going tense beneath you. "that's new," he muttered, his arm tightening around you protectively.

the sound grew closer, accompanied by a strange shimmer in the air, like heat waves rising off summer pavement. but as you watched, one section of the concrete wall began to... shift. the solid grey surface rippled like water, the fluorescent light bending and refracting through it in impossible ways.

"what the hell," you whispered, sitting up to stare at the phenomenon.

the wall continued to ripple and shift, and slowly—so slowly you almost didn't believe it was happening—a door began to appear. not carved into the concrete, not opened from somewhere else, but materialising like it had always been there and you'd just been too blind to see it.

the door was wrong in every possible way. too tall, too narrow, made of some dark material that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. but beyond it, through the gap where it stood slightly ajar, you could see something that made your heart nearly stop.

sky. actual sky, dark and star-studded and infinitely beautiful after weeks of red fluorescent hell.

"is that—" you started, but the words caught in your throat.

ni-ki was already moving, pulling you off the car and toward the impossible door with urgent hands. "don't question it," he said, his voice tight with something that might have been hope. "just go."

you stumbled toward the door together, your legs still unsteady from exhaustion but adrenaline carrying you forward. as you got closer, the wind chime sound grew louder, more discordant, like reality was protesting against this breach in its fabric.

ni-ki reached the door first, his hand wrapping around the strange dark handle. for a moment, you thought it might not open, might be some cruel trick played by this nightmare place. but then it swung inward on hinges that made no sound, revealing a narrow staircase that led upward into blessed darkness.

the climb was eternal and instant all at once. your legs burned with the effort, ni-ki's hand steady on your back as he guided you up steps that felt real and solid under your feet. the air grew cooler as you climbed, losing that heavy, electric quality that had defined the garage, and you could smell something incredible—fresh air, car exhaust, the ordinary scents of a living city.

when you finally pushed through the door at the top, the sensation of real air hitting your face nearly brought you to your knees.

you were standing on a sidewalk, actual concrete pavement under real streetlights, with real buildings rising around you like cathedral spires against the night sky. the sounds were wrong at first—too sharp, too immediate after so long in that muffled underground world—but they were wonderfully, perfectly normal. traffic in the distance, the low hum of air conditioning units, the distant murmur of late-night voices from apartment windows.

you almost cried with relief, your legs giving out as you sank to your knees on the sidewalk and just breathed. real air, cool and sweet and tasting of nothing but ordinary urban life. the stars overhead were dim through the city's light pollution, but they were there, actual points of light in an actual sky.

"we made it," you gasped, your voice cracking with exhaustion and disbelief. "we actually made it out."

when you looked up at ni-ki, he was staring down at you with that same intense focus, but something had changed in his expression. his chest was heaving like he'd run a marathon, and there was something wild and hungry in his eyes that made your stomach clench with familiar heat.

"we made it out," he agreed, his voice low and rough, but there was something in his tone that made the words sound less like celebration and more like a threat.

you tried to stand, tried to put some distance between you and remember that this was real now, that the normal world with its normal rules had reclaimed you. but your legs were still shaky, and when you stumbled, ni-ki's hand shot out to steady you.

except he didn't let go.

his fingers wrapped around your wrist with that familiar possessive grip, and when you tried to step back, to create the space that should exist between a murder witness and the murdrer now that you were free, he pulled you closer instead.

"where are you going?" he asked, tilting his head with false innocence.

"home," you said, but your voice came out uncertain. "back to my life. back to normal."

his laugh was dark and amused, the same sound that had haunted you through those endless concrete corridors. 

"normal?" he repeated, his thumb stroking over your racing pulse. "after what we've been through together? after what you let me do to you in there?"

the reminder hit you like a physical blow, because he was right. you'd kissed him back, had pressed yourself against him, had let him touch you and protect you and claim you in ways that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with the twisted thing that had grown between you in the dark.

"that was different," you whispered. "that place, it wasn't real. it made us both crazy."

"was it?" he asked, stepping closer, forcing you back until your shoulders hit a street lamp. the normal world continued around you—a few late-night pedestrians on the far side of the street, cars passing with their ordinary headlights, the mundane bustle of a city that had no idea what you'd just escaped from.

"don't think the world out here changes anything," ni-ki said, his voice low, steady, terrifyingly certain. his free hand came up to brace against the lamp post beside your head, caging you in just like he had in the garage. "the parking might've let you go."

he leaned closer, his eyes catching the glow of the streetlight like a predator's, and you could see that same dark hunger that had driven him to hunt you through impossible corridors, that same obsessive need that had made him watch over your sleep and pull you close when the shadows came calling.

"but i won't."

the words settled over you like a death sentence and a promise all at once. because looking at him now, in the real world with its real consequences, you could see the truth written in every line of his face—he meant it. completely, utterly, without question.

that freakish hell was gone, but what had grown between you in its impossible corridors remained. he'd claimed you in that nightmare place and now that you were both free, he had no intention of letting that connection dissolve back into the ordinary world.

"ni-ki," you started, but he cut you off with a kiss, his mouth moving against yours with the same desperate hunger he'd shown in the dark.

when he pulled back, his smile was soft and terrible and absolutely certain.

"welcome back to the real world," he murmured against your lips. "let's see how long you can pretend you don't want to come home with me."

and as you stood there under the ordinary streetlight, his hand still wrapped around your wrist like a shackle, you realised with growing horror and anticipation that your real nightmare was just beginning.

because the garage had been a prison, but at least its rules had been clear. out here, in the world where he could follow you anywhere, where he knew your name and your face and exactly how you sounded when you whispered his name in the dark—out here, there was nowhere left to run.

and the worst part was that you were no longer sure you wanted to.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

You have been waiting for this moment for months, even years. You are finally moving out. It is because of college, but still, it is a new beginning far from home — a brand-new chapter in your own space. A mix of excitement and nervousness settles in your chest, because living alone requires a lot of responsibility, and you are not sure if you are ready to handle it all.

For the past five minutes, you have been staring at the mountain of boxes crammed into the trunk and backseat of your car like a game of Tetris. You are wondering how you are going to carry so many boxes up to the third floor where your apartment is. With a deep breath, you finally grab one of the boxes, and immediately stagger under its weight.

"Maintenance. Sorry for the inconvenience" reads the sign taped to the elevator doors.

Drops of sweat form on your temples, down the back of your neck, and pool on your spine, making your shirt stick to your skin. Of course it would be hot as hell on the day of your move, and of course the elevator wouldn't be working — talk about lucky.

You take another deep breath, hug the box against your chest, and begin climbing the stairs slowly, careful not to lose your balance.

Your arms are trembling and your breathing is almost as heavy as the box by the time you finally reach the first floor, forcing you to set it down for a moment to rest. But just as you pick it up again, mentally preparing for the next flight of stairs, the sound of footsteps coming down from above catches you off guard.

A man is coming down the stairs. He’s tall, wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the prominent veins on his forearms. His jaw is sharp — probably sharper than any knife you’ve ever seen. He looks so put-together that you suddenly feel embarrassed by your sweaty face and disheveled state.

Seeing you, he stops immediately, his eyebrows furrowing with mild concern. "Whoa. Let me help you with that." His voice is low and smooth, the kind of voice that sends a shiver down your spine before you can stop it.

You blush, heat rising from your neck to your cheeks. "Oh, you don’t have to. I can manage—"

"I insist," he replies gently, waiting with his hands hovering, giving you the choice. You let him take the box, and the relief is immediate — your arms practically sing in gratitude. He lifts it as if it weighs nothing, cradling it against his chest with just one arm — the same box you were struggling to carry with both. "I’m Jay, by the way."

You quickly wipe the sweat from your forehead and try to fix your hair because you want to look at least a little presentable for the incredibly good-looking man helping you. "Thank you so much. I’m y/n. I’m moving in today, to apartment 3B."

Jay’s expression softens, and a warm smile spreads across his face. "3B? That’s interesting. I live right next door, in 3A." He nods toward the stairs. "Looks like we’re neighbors." He gestures ahead. "After you."

You both climb the remaining stairs together and your heart still pounding. You can’t tell if it’s from the physical effort earlier or from his company. Because of the nerves, the words start tumbling out before you can stop them.

"I’m starting college this week. I got accepted and everything, and I was so excited when I found this apartment. It’s the first time I’ve ever lived away from home, so I’m really thrilled… but also kind of terrified? Like, what if I get lost on campus? What if my classes are way harder than I expected? I brought way too much stuff, I’m kind of attached to my things, you know?" You let out a breathless laugh. "Sorry, I’m probably talking too much. I get really chatty when I’m nervous."

Jay glances at you as you walk, the box still balanced effortlessly in his arms. He doesn’t look annoyed — in fact, he seems amused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’re not talking too much. It’s a big change, but you’re doing great."

You bite your lower lip, watching him as you climb. There is something intriguing about him that sparks your curiosity. "And you? Are you a student too, or…?"

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "No, I’ve already graduated. I work at a company downtown." He says it casually, offering no further details — which only makes you even more curious.

You reach the landing of the second floor and have to stop to catch your breath, while Jay doesn’t even seem slightly winded — it’s honestly impressive. "My parents helped me pack my bags, but they’re hours away now. It’s exciting, though. New city, new people. I just hope I don’t ruin everything."

"You won’t," Jay says gently. "Everyone feels like that at the beginning. The nervousness is normal. Besides, you seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. You’ll find your rhythm." He sets the box down carefully in front of your door. "Ready for another round?"

The words hit you like a spark. "Ready for another round." And before you can help it, your mind immediately drifts, imagining Jay on top of you, his strong body pressing you into the mattress, that same low voice murmuring the question against your neck while his hands pinned your wrists above your head. Heat flooded your face and settled lower in your belly.

You quickly shake your head, trying to push the thought away, desperately hoping your blush isn't too obvious. "Yes, let's do it."

He carries the rest of the boxes for you, going up and down the stairs multiple times. Meanwhile, you keep rambling nonstop about what you are studying, where you are from, and how you are feeling about this new phase of your life. He listens as if he genuinely cares, and even though you can’t quite place the age difference between you two, you feel surprisingly comfortable with him.

When the last box finally makes it through the door, you stand in the hallway with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Jay. Honestly. I don’t know what I would have done without you."

"Glad I could help. Moving is a big step. If you need anything else, I’m right next door." With that, he returns to his own apartment, leaving you surrounded by a sea of boxes that will clearly take hours to unpack.

A few days pass. You unpack — not everything, just the most important things. Your first classes are overwhelming. You get lost twice, accidentally walk into the wrong lecture hall, and sit through an entire lecture on quantum physics before realizing your mistake. But as embarrassing as it was, that mistake ended up leading you to a guy named Jake, who turned out to be incredibly nice and cute.

Now you are standing outside Jay’s door with a plate of cupcakes in your hands, ready to properly thank him for helping you with the move. The thing is, you can’t really bake; you tried making the cupcakes yourself but ended up burning the batch, so you had to go to the bakery on the corner to buy a box of them instead. They look a bit too professional, but since he doesn't know about your complete lack of kitchen skills, you're confident he won't suspect a thing — especially since you took them out of the box and arranged them nicely on a plate just to be extra safe.

You knock on his door, your heart pounding hard in your chest. He opens it a moment later, and his face lights up when he sees you. "Hey, neighbor," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "How are classes going?"

"Good," you reply, pushing the plate forward with a little too much force. "Great, actually. I only got lost twice today, which is an improvement." Your smile widens. "I brought these for you. For helping me with the move. I made them myself."

He looks at the cupcakes, then back at you, this time raising an eyebrow. "You made these?"

"Yes," you say, nodding firmly with your chin held high, trying to look confident. "From scratch. All by myself. I’m pretty good at baking."

He picks up one of the cupcakes and examines it, narrowing his eyes as he brings it closer to his face. You feel your determination starting to crumble.

"Really?" he asks with a smile, clearly testing how long you will keep up the lie. "From scratch?"

You hold his gaze for three whole seconds before you look away in embarrassment. Your shoulders drop and your face turns as red as a tomato. "Okay, fine. I bought them at the bakery on the corner. I took them out of the box so you would think I’m a functional adult who knows how to bake." You laugh at yourself. "I tried making them the other day, Jay. I set off the smoke alarm. I’m a danger to this entire building."

He throws his head back and laughs — not mocking you, but with a genuine, warm laugh that makes you feel less embarrassed about pretending you had baked the cupcakes. "Oh my God, you actually burned them?"

"I once burned noodles. I’m a total disaster in the kitchen."

He steps aside, still smiling, and gestures for you to come in. "Alright, come in. I’ll split one of these ‘homemade’ cupcakes with you. It’s the least I can do for someone who put so much effort into the task."

Your mom’s voice whispers in the back of your mind: "Don’t talk to strangers and definitely don’t go into their apartments, sweetheart." But is he really a stranger? He is your neighbor who carried all your boxes without complaining, and the way he stands there holding the plate of cupcakes with that smile makes you not hesitate at all.

You follow him inside. He leads you to the kitchen, grabs two small plates, and carefully unwraps a vanilla cupcake, splitting it in half before sliding one piece toward you.

"Have a seat," he says, pointing to the stool by the kitchen island.

"So, you mentioned you work downtown? What exactly do you do?" you ask as you sit down.

"I’m a lawyer," he replies, taking a bite of his half and nodding in approval. "Good choice of bakery, by the way."

You laugh, biting into yours. "A lawyer. That makes a lot of sense. You have this… I don’t know how to say it without sounding weird, but you have this organized vibe. Like you’re really good at arguing without even raising your voice."

His smile widens. "People have definitely told me that before that I have a ‘courtroom voice.’ It’s just my normal voice, only lower and slower. People tend to listen when you don’t yell."

"You’ll have to show me someday. If I ever get in legal trouble, I’ll know exactly who to call."

"Please don’t get in legal trouble. But if you do, I’m your guy."

The conversation flows just as easily as it did on moving day, and before you know it, you’re venting about your annoying professor, how massive the campus is, and all the times you’ve already managed to get lost. Between all the talking, the cupcakes completely disappear, leaving the coffee he made to sit cold and barely touched in your mug. There’s just something about him that instantly puts you at ease.

Despite the age gap, he never talks down to you or makes you feel small, which makes talking to him completely effortless. It’s just so comforting to have someone around who listens to you with that much care and attention — especially when he happens to be incredibly good-looking, leaving you totally hooked since the very first day.

As he walks you to the door when you finally get up to leave, he snatches a pen and a post-it note to scribble something down. Before you know it, he’s pressing the paper into your palm, his fingers brushing lightly against yours and sending a sudden warmth to your cheeks as he says, "Here’s my number, in case you ever need anything."

"Thank you," you say, smiling a little too wide.

He nods. "Anytime. Seriously. Don’t be a stranger."

────────

The grocery bags dig painfully into your fingers as you stand in the lobby, staring at the elevator doors that are still under maintenance. You look at them as if a miracle might happen — maybe if you stare for one more second, God will take pity and finally fix it. Nothing happens, of course, which makes you let out a long sigh of frustration. It has been days since you moved in and the elevator is still not working.

Your arms already hurt from carrying way too many bags. You definitely should have made two trips, but stubbornness won.

Reaching the second floor is pure torture; your arms are burning, those plastic handles are digging right into your palms, and the bags keep swinging awkwardly against your legs. Trying to stop and adjust your grip only makes things worse, to the point where you're seriously considering just sitting right there on the stairs and crying.

You finally collapse against the wall at the third-floor landing, letting the bags slide to the floor just to catch your breath. Right then, the door to 3A clicks open and Jay steps out — perfectly dressed for work with that annoyingly handsome lawyer look that instantly makes your stomach do a little flip.

He sees you immediately. For a second, his eyes take in the whole scene — your flushed face, the many overloaded bags, and the way you are leaning against the wall breathing heavily. A light, amused laugh escapes him. It is not mocking, just genuinely entertained, as if he expected nothing less from you.

"Carrying heavy stuff again?" he asks, walking toward you. "You really don’t learn, do you?"

Before you can even open your mouth to protest, he is already reaching for the bags, picking them all up at once as if they weigh absolutely nothing. His strong arms support the weight so effortlessly that his biceps press against the fabric of his dress shirt, making it completely impossible for you not to stare.

He turns and walks toward your door, carrying everything like it is nothing.

At your doorstep, Jay sets all the bags down carefully against the wall and turns to face you. His expression is calm, almost unreadable, but there is something more in it. You understand it the moment he starts speaking in a gently scolding tone. "You really shouldn’t carry so much at once," he says, crossing his arms. "It’s not safe and it’s clearly too heavy for you. Make two or three trips next time. Look at your hands, they’re all red. You were hurting yourself. Why? Because you’re way too stubborn, huh?"

You glance down at your palms, and they are red where the plastic handles dug in. "I was fine," you say, though even you do not believe it. "I almost made it."

"Don’t be stubborn."

"You sound exactly like my dad," you reply, crossing your arms to mimic him. "He’s always telling me I’m too stubborn for my own good."

Jay’s lips curve into a small smile. "Because you really are," he says with so much certainty that you cannot even argue back. "I’m serious. Next time, make multiple trips or just text me. I’d rather help than watch you struggle like that."

There is a protective tone in his voice that makes your cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and something else stirring low in your stomach. He is lecturing you like a child, but somehow it sounds kind of hot coming from him.

Then he glances at the grocery bags again. Now that the scolding is over, he seems to actually pay attention to what is inside them. He picks one up and looks inside — it is full of frozen meals, instant noodles, ultra-processed food, and canned goods. "Look, I know you’re in college now, but that doesn’t mean you have to live on processed food. It’s quick, sure, but you need real fresh stuff, not just things that come out of a can. Eating like this long-term isn’t good for you. You could get sick."

You blink, caught off guard by the extra lecture. He is fully in dad-mode now, and there is something strangely attractive about how seriously he takes it, like he is genuinely worried about you. "Okay, okay. I get it… I already told you I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I just grabbed whatever is easiest so I don’t starve."

Jay’s expression softens a little. "I’m not trying to scold you. I just know how easy it is to fall into bad habits when you’re living on your own for the first time." He pauses and adds in a gentler voice, "If you ever need help in the kitchen, you know where to find me. I’m not exactly a chef, but I know how to make real meals."

Your mind wanders again because you can’t help it — you picture him in your kitchen, standing right behind you while teaching you how to cook, his hands guiding yours, the warmth of his body against your back…

"I’ll try to do better, I swear. Thanks for helping again. I think I owe you something now. How about brownies as a thank you this time?"

Jay shakes his head, chuckling softly. "You don’t owe me anything. Just be more careful next time." He glances at the heavy bags one more time. "Need help carrying these inside?"

You shake your head quickly. "I can handle it from here. I bet you’re busy, you look like you’re heading to work."

He checks the watch on his wrist. "Yeah, I have a meeting soon, but the offer stands anytime." Before turning to leave, he gives you one last firm look. "Take care of yourself."

After he leaves, you drag the bags inside, one half first and then the other, just like Jay suggested.

That night, you are sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you open your contacts. You saved Jay’s number, of course, but you have been telling yourself you don’t need to text him. It is an emergency-only number, but then you think about him carrying your groceries, the effortless way he took them from you, and the gentle scolding in his voice. Before you can overthink it, you are already typing a message to him.

────────

It is already past midnight and you have been staring at the same page of your textbook long enough for your vision to blur. Your brain has officially given up — it is impossible to absorb a single word more after hours of studying.

You are about to slam the book shut to take out your stress on it and drag yourself to bed when a soft knock sounds at the door. Your heart jumps slightly because you were not expecting anyone, especially not at this hour.

Another knock.

You get up slowly, stretching your sore muscles, and walk to the door. When you open it, Jay is standing there, looking different tonight without his formal work clothes and lawyer posture. He is wearing a simple white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and is barefoot. He looks relaxed, holding a bottle of red wine — as if he made the sudden decision to knock on your door and came straight over without even putting shoes on.

"Hey," he says, his low voice making your stomach flip. His eyes scan over you, taking in your tired face, messy hair, and pajamas. Something in his expression softens.

"Hey," you reply softly, matching his tone.

"Hey," he repeats, then laughs when he realizes what he just did.

"Hey," you answer again, this time with a small smile. "You already said that."

"I know." He laughs again, shaking his head. "I just… it’s late."

"Very late."

"I know." He lifts the bottle slightly. "I bought this earlier today but… it’s no fun drinking alone."

You look at the wine, then back at him. The way he is standing there — messy hair, ridiculously handsome, and a little too soft — makes going back to bed suddenly seem like a very stupid choice. "Are you inviting me to drink with you?"

"I’m asking if you want to take a break. From everything."

The way he looks at you with those inviting eyes makes the decision easy, but you decide to tease him first. "I don’t usually drink with strangers."

"We’re not strangers," he says, his voice soft. Your teasing does not seem to faze him.

"We’re not exactly friends either," you reply, tilting your head and studying his reaction.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost lazy smile. "Then let’s change that."

You pretend to consider it for a moment, even though you were already fully committed the second you saw him at your door. "Mmm, okay. But let’s do it at your apartment. Mine is a mess."

His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Alright, whatever you want."

You grab your keys and follow him, also barefoot, to the door next to yours. His apartment is clean and organized as always, which makes the space feel strangely comforting. In the kitchen, he pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, his fingers brushing against yours for half a second and sending a spark through your body.

"Cheers," he says, raising his glass.

"Cheers," you repeat, gently clinking your glass against his.

You take a sip and let out a small, involuntary hum of appreciation — it is much better than you expected, probably the most expensive wine you have ever tasted. He gestures toward the living room. "Come on, let’s sit," he says, leading the way to the couch. You follow and settle onto his couch, trying to look more relaxed than you actually feel.

"This is nice," you say, taking another sip.

He sits on the other end of the couch — close enough to talk comfortably, but far enough to be polite. "It’s just wine." He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass.

"I mean relaxing… not thinking about classes for the first time."

He nods, understanding. "You think about classes a lot."

"It’s pretty much my entire life right now," you admit with an awkward little laugh, taking another sip.

"I remember going through that too. Everything revolving around exams, assignments, and exhausting responsibilities."

You tilt your head, studying him. "You make it sound like ancient history."

"Sometimes it feels like it." He takes a sip, not breaking eye contact. "I still remember when I was in college. I used to think a bad grade would ruin everything." A dry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. "There’s so much pressure."

Suddenly you find yourself wanting to know more about him, drawn by the experienced tone in his voice and posture. The wine is already loosening your tongue, so you ask. "How old are you, anyway?"

A small, playful smile appears on his lips. "I’m old enough."

You narrow your eyes, trying to hold back a smile. "That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one you’re getting." He takes another sip.

"That’s annoying," you say, leaning forward slightly and resting your elbows on your knees.

"Maybe I am annoying." He shrugs, but there is a sparkle in his eyes that tells you he is enjoying this.

"You’re avoiding the question," you accuse, pointing a finger at him.

"I’m protecting my privacy."

"From what? Your neighbor?" You laugh, raising an eyebrow.

"Especially from my neighbor."

You pout, pretending to be hurt. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

"Everyone has secrets," he says, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone.

"I don’t." You are not even sure why you say it. Maybe it is the wine, or the way he is looking at you right now.

"Everyone does." He holds his ground. "You have secrets too."

Your pulse quickens. "I don’t."

"Yes, you do."

You swallow hard. The air between you feels thicker now, charged with something you can’t quite name. You shift slightly on the sofa and notice how easy it would be to reach out and touch him. "So you have a lot of secrets, huh?" you ask, curious.

"Yes. Quite a few."

"Like what?" you press, wanting to see what he will give you.

"If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore." His lips curve into a slow, almost predatory smile.

"Touché." You raise your glass in an ironic toast, making him laugh.

A comfortable but heavy silence settles between you for a moment, thick with tension as you exchange glances and take slow sips. The wine is definitely doing its job — making your words come out slower, your laughter easier, and your body warmer.

"How old are you?" he asks, breaking the silence.

You blink, caught off guard. "Me?"

"Yes, you." He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You asked me, so I’m asking you back."

You smile, deciding to play his game. "I’m old enough."

A low, surprised laugh escapes him — rich and genuine. "That’s my line."

"I know." You take another sip to hide your smile.

"You stole my line."

You just shrug. "I borrowed it."

"That’s not how borrowing works."

"Yes, it is."

He laughs again. "You’re impossible."

"Am I? What else?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.

"You’re something," he says, his voice dropping again.

"What?" You are not sure what he means by that.

"I don’t know yet." He keeps his eyes fixed on you. "But I’m figuring it out."

You feel your cheeks heat up and take another sip of wine to try to hide your reaction. Jay, however, keeps watching you, and you can tell he noticed.

"You know what I’ve noticed?" By now your voice is a little slurred, so you have to be careful with the words that come out of your mouth.

"What?" His wine glass is almost empty. He sets it on the coffee table and turns all of his attention to you.

You lean back on the couch, turning to face him more directly. Your knee brushes against his thigh, but neither of you pulls away. "You don’t talk much about yourself."

He tilts his head, frowning slightly. "Don’t I?"

"No. You listen, but you don’t share. Like, you’re dodging right now. You give answers, but you don’t really answer."

"Well, I’m trying to protect myself," he says simply.

"Protect yourself from what?" You lean forward, genuinely curious now.

"From getting too attached." The words are honest, and you definitely were not expecting them.

You stare at him, your hand frozen halfway to taking another sip. "From what?"

"To you." His voice is almost a whisper, making your pulse race and your skin flush.

"Why would you get too attached to me?"

He stays silent for a moment, his eyes tracing over you as if he wants to memorize every detail. "Because it’s easy to get attached to you."

"No, it's not," you say, shaking your head as a small, incredulous laugh escapes you.

"It is." His voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "You just don’t see it."

You look away, feeling your entire body grow warmer. "You’re dodging again."

"I’m being honest." He leans forward slightly, and you can smell him now — a masculine scent mixed with the light sweetness of the wine.

You set your glass on the coffee table and turn to face him completely, the wine making you bolder. "You’re giving me half-answers. You’re telling me just enough to make me curious, but not enough."

He stays quiet for a moment, thinking. "What do you want to know?"

You hold his gaze. "Something real. Truly honest."

Silence stretches between you, thick with something heavy and suffocating that you can't quite name. Then he whispers, "I think you’re beautiful."

Your breath catches, and for a second you are not sure you heard him correctly. "That’s not—" you begin, but he interrupts you.

"It’s honest."

"You can’t just say that," your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

"I just did." His gaze doesn’t leave yours for even half a second.

"It’s too… direct."

"You asked for it." He says it simply, like it is the most natural thing in the world.

"You’re a tease," you say, not sure if you are complaining or not.

"Wait until you find out what else I am. You want to know me? Then make sure you’re ready."

You do not know what to say or what to do, so you look away, your face burning.

When he finally walks you to your door, you are a little unsteady on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle hand on your waist, and the touch is enough to send shivers through your body. "I’m fine," you murmur, even though you are swaying slightly.

"You’re drunk," he says, smiling at your messy state.

"I’m a little tipsy," you reply, giving him a blurry-eyed look.

"You’re drunk."

"It’s the same thing," you mutter dismissively.

"No, it’s not." He is looking at you with that warm, steady gaze that makes your knees feel weak.

You smile, light and tipsy. "Yes, it is."

At your door, you miss the lock twice. He laughs softly before helping you. "Thank you," you whisper. "For this, for the wine, the company, and everything."

His lips curve into a small, warm smile. "Good night, old enough.:

You smile again — you seem to always be smiling when he is around. "Good night, old man."

You step inside, close the door, and lean against it with your heart racing and your whole body warm from the wine and his words — still smiling like an idiot.

A few minutes later, you are curled up in bed when your phone buzz on the nightstand.

────────

You have been tossing and turning on the mattress for what feels like hours — shifting positions, turning to the other side, but nothing helps. You can’t fall asleep — you mind refuses to stop, racing with thoughts about exams, deadlines, and the weight of all your responsibilities pressing down on your shoulders. You need air, you need to feel like you are not suffocating in that apartment, surrounded by boxes you haven't even had the time to unpack yet. There are several unfinished notes on your desk that constantly remind you that you are not doing enough, no matter how hard you try.

So you go up to the rooftop. The cool night air hits your face and lets you breathe again.

The city is an endless sea of lights — countless tiny glowing points in the darkness that remind you how small you really are. You sit on the old bench near the edge of the roof, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them like a shield.

Your thoughts slowly begin to calm as the minutes pass, and the knot in your chest loosens just a little.

Then the door creaks open behind you.

You turn quickly, your body instantly on alert and your heart racing. And there he is — Jay. He is wearing sweatpants and a black shirt, something about this casual, almost domestic look makes your heart skip a beat. He sees you immediately and stops. Surprise flashes across his face for a second before it turns into that familiar half-smile.

"Can’t sleep either?" His voice is low, almost intimate in a way that makes you shiver.

You shake your head. "I have too much on my mind right now…"

He nods as if he completely understands — and he really does. Walking toward you, he stops at a respectful distance before sitting on the bench beside you — close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body, but not so close that he invades your personal space. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." You shift over a little even though there is already enough space.

He leans back, looking up at the sky, which is beautiful tonight with a full moon and stars shining brightly. The silence stretches between you. He doesn’t force conversation; he simply sits there observing the sky and the city with you. The silence is not awkward — it is actually comforting, especially when you are with him.

"I can’t sleep," you admit, breaking the silence with words that slip out before you can stop them. "I try, but my brain just won’t stop. Every time I close my eyes, I start thinking about all the things I have to do, all the things I haven’t done, and all the ways I’m probably going to mess everything up."

"What’s on your mind?" His voice is gentle and patient as always, showing that he is ready to listen.

"Everything." You let out a shaky sigh. "College, exams, being away from my family for the first time… It’s a lot. I thought I was ready, that I could handle it. But sometimes it feels like I’m drowning and I don’t know how to swim. Literally."

"I know how that feels," he says after a long moment of silence. His eyes stay fixed on yours, and there is something raw in them — something honest. "I remember feeling exactly like that. Like everything was too much and I was too small to handle it."

"You’re talking about yourself. That’s new," you say softly. "You always ask about me, but you never—"

"You already have enough on your plate," he cuts in gently.

You blink, caught off guard. "What?"

"You’re stressed about college, adjusting to a new city, and far from your family," he keeps his gaze steady on you, his expression sincere. "You don’t need to hear about my problems too."

"That’s not how it works." You shake your head as something warm and confusing blooms in your chest. "We’re supposed to share things. That’s what—" You pause, searching for the right word. "That’s what friends do."

"I don’t want to burden you when you’re already dealing with so much, and I certainly don’t want to make it worse."

You stay quiet for a moment, his words stirring something you cannot quite name — but it feels good. "That’s really… kind," you finally say.

"I try." He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips.

The silence settles again, and you sit together quietly for a while longer. Then, out of nowhere, he tilts his head and asks, "How’s your succulent doing?"

You laugh at the unexpected question. "You’re asking about my plant?"

"I remember you mentioned it." He turns toward you — fully turning his body — with a small playful smile on his lips. "I bet you gave it a name."

You shake your head, still smiling. "I haven’t named it yet… but it’s still alive, which is honestly impressive."

"You’re supposed to water it," he says in a gently scolding tone.

"I know." You look away, feeling a little guilty about slowly killing a plant.

"But you forget." There is no judgment in his voice, only warm amusement.

"I forget." You laugh — something you always do when you are with him. "I have a lot on my mind, okay?"

"You’re a plant killer." He smiles, making you grin even wider.

"I’m not a plant killer! I’m just… forgetful. It is surviving, which is more than I can say about myself sometimes."

Something in your words changes his expression. It is still gentle, but now there is a hint of concern. "You’re doing better than you think."

You don’t know what to say, so you just look at him, with the words stuck in your throat.

"Does the succulent at least have company?" he asks after a moment, his voice light as always.

You blink, confused by the sudden question. "What?"

"Other plants, maybe some flowers, something to keep it company. Plants get lonely too."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t think it gets lonely. It’s just a plant, after all."

"All living things have feelings. It definitely feels lonely," he says with so much conviction that you almost believe him.

"That’s not scientifically accurate," you reply, not entirely sure if what you are saying is accurate either.

"I never said it was." He shrugs. "I’m a lawyer. I deal with arguments, not facts."

"They’re the same thing."

"Not at all." He shifts closer to you on the bench, making sure you are listening. "Facts are objective. Arguments are subjective. I make a living turning subjective arguments into something that sounds like objective facts."

"That’s… something. And you’re so weird."

"I’m just concerned about your plant’s loneliness." His voice is incredibly serious, showing that he is taking this very seriously.

"You’re worried about my plant," you say, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, just like I worry about you."

You don’t know what to say again — Jay has a way of leaving you speechless. Your cheeks flush and you look away. "I’ve never received flowers before, anyway…" you say softly, the secret slipping from your lips.

Jay is not sure he heard you correctly. "What did you say?"

Even though you hesitate, you repeat it, louder this time. "I’ve never received flowers." You look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. "I had a boyfriend before, but he was an idiot. He never did anything romantic like giving me flowers or taking me for dates."

He stays silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on you while your heart pounds loudly in your ears. He is thinking about something — you can tell by the way his jaw tightens. "Would you want to go on one? With me."

You stop breathing the moment you hear his words and everything around you seems to freeze. "What?"

"A date. A real date where I pick you up, open doors for you, and take you somewhere nice. It doesn’t have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be. It can just be two people spending time together. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."

Your heart is beating so hard you are sure he can hear it, your mouth is dry, your palms are sweaty, and the words feel stuck in your throat again. Jay is asking you out on a date — a real date. The age gap has been on your mind since the day you met — he is a lawyer and you are still trying to figure out how to live on your own, but every interaction with him feels safe, like he truly sees you.

"Jay, I—" You stop, taking a shaky breath.

"You don’t have to answer right now," he says gently, giving you time to think.

"No, I—" You take another deep breath, and this time the words come out steady. "Yes. Yes, I want that."

His face transforms — a slow, warm smile spreads across his lips and reaches his eyes, making your stomach flip and your heart race just like always.

"Great," he says softly. "I’ll plan something."

A shy laugh escapes you as the reality of it sinks in. "What do you like to do on dates? I’m sure you’ve been on plenty."

He leans forward a little, resting his elbow on his knee. "I want to know what you like. That’s what matters right now, tell me your preferences so I can plan something good for you."

As you think for a moment, you suddenly feel embarrassed by how limited your preferences are. "I’m kind of picky, honestly. I like pasta, I hate anything too spicy, and I don’t like overly sweet desserts. Oh, and I’m not a big fan of seafood unless it’s fried. Is that too much?"

Jay listens attentively, nodding as if he is absorbing every detail. "Not at all. Being picky isn’t a problem, it actually makes it easier to get it right." He pauses, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "You know, for someone who’s a disaster in the kitchen, you have very specific opinions, princess."

The nickname lands softly between you — affectionate and teasing, with a hint of warmth. Your breath catches, your face flushes instantly, and you lower your head to hide the redness in your cheeks and the smile forming on your lips.

"I… You can’t just say that," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes.

"Why not?" He is smiling even more now, clearly enjoying your reaction. "It suits you. You have high standards and you know exactly what you want, even if you pretend you don’t."

You cover your face with both hands for a second, peeking through your fingers. "You’re going to make me regret saying yes."

"Too late," he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate. "You already said yes."

You lower your hands and meet his gaze, your heart racing in the best possible way. Jay stands up suddenly and offers you his hand. "Come on, it’s getting late and you have class tomorrow. Let’s get you back inside before you freeze."

You take his hand — which is so much bigger than yours — and let him help you up. He doesn’t let go afterward, his fingers stay intertwined with yours as you walk together toward your floor. The elevator is no longer broken, but you both take the stairs anyway, wanting to prolong the moment a little longer.

Stopping at your door, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand. “I'll text you about the date,” he says softly. "We’ll pick a night that works."

You nod, still feeling a little shy about everything. "Okay… Good night, Jay."

"Good night, princess."

────────

The next day, you are more nervous than you have ever been. Every notification on your phone makes your heart skip a beat, terrified that it is Jay confirming the date. Your stomach is in knots with a mix of panic and hope, even though you want to go on this date, you are still incredibly nervous about it.

Your phone buzzes while you are in the library trying to study. "Friday at seven? I’ll take care of everything. Just be ready for a proper night out."

The words "proper night out" send a shiver through you. He is taking this seriously, treating it as something special, even though he said it didn’t have to be romantic. Still, it means something. Smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt, you text back agreeing.

When Friday finally arrives, the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. In fact, they become even more restless as the time of the date gets closer. Hours before, you start getting ready — taking your time as you choose an outfit that makes you feel confident and beautiful. You spend extra time on your makeup, keeping it natural but enhancing your eyes and lips, making sure everything is perfect.

Exactly at seven, you take the elevator down. Jay had insisted on waiting outside the building instead of knocking on your door. "I want you to have the full experience," he had texted earlier, and the gesture made you smile despite your nerves. The moment you step out onto the sidewalk, you see him leaning against his sleek black car parked at the curb. He looks unfairly handsome in a tailored dark shirt and pants.

For a moment, he simply looks at you — slowly scanning from your face to your dress and back up again as his smile widens. "You look beautiful," he says, taking a step closer. "Really, truly beautiful."

Your cheeks flush quickly and a smile forms on your lips. "Thank you. You look really handsome too."

Before you can say anything else, he reaches inside the car and pulls out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. "I remembered what you said on the rooftop…"

The bouquet is perfect, wrapped so beautifully that it makes your chest tighten. "Jay…" you whisper as you reach out to take the flowers. "They’re beautiful. I don’t even know what to say."

Without thinking, you give him a grateful hug. His arms wrap around you immediately, one hand resting on your lower back while the other gently caresses the nape of your neck. "You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy tonight. That’s all I want."

When you pull away, still smiling widely, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and asks, "Ready to go, princess?"

You nod, holding the flowers like a lifeline. He opens the car door for you, waiting until you are settled before closing it gently. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he looks at you with a playful smile. "Seatbelt, please. Safety first."

You laugh and buckle up. "Such a gentleman."

"Only for you."

The drive starts peacefully, soft music playing in the background as you talk. He asks about your day and teases you lightly when you admit that you spent half of your class daydreaming about tonight and that it took you forever to choose what to wear.

You can’t stop stealing glances at him — the way his hands rest easily on the steering wheel, those large hands with long fingers, and the way he looks at you at red lights as if making sure you are still real.

After a few minutes, you notice the city lights fading and buildings giving way to trees. "Where are we going?" you ask curiously, realizing he has been driving for a while — much farther than you expected. "This is pretty far from our building. Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?"

Jay laughs, keeping his eyes on the road. "I’m not going to kill you. I’m just taking you to a place I love, and I think you’ll love it too."

The drive takes about thirty minutes, but when you finally arrive, the restaurant leaves you breathless. You immediately understand why he chose it — it is cozy and elegant, with a stunning view of the city. He reserved a intimate corner table with the perfect view.

He pulls out the chair for you, and as soon as you sit down, he leans in slightly to whisper in your ear, "Relax, okay?"

The dinner unfolds perfectly. You order pasta — creamy, exactly the way you like it — and he chooses a steak dish, offering you a bite from his fork with a raised eyebrow that feels far more intimate than it should. You talk a lot, and he listens as always, head tilted and eyes focused only on you.

You tell him about the friendships you are making in college, about the strange noise your AC is making, and absentmindedly mention the doorman. "He’s nice, I think… but sometimes he looks at me like he knows something I don’t."

Jay’s expression shifts with something unreadable for half a second, but he quickly covers it with a soft chuckle. "He’s probably just in a bad mood. Or maybe he sees how much you’re distracting your poor neighbor."

You laugh. "Poor neighbor? You seem to be handling it pretty well."

His foot brushes against yours under the table. "Barely."

In the middle of the conversation, Jay’s phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it, frowns, and silences it, slipping it into his pocket.

But a few minutes later, it buzzed again. Jay sighs. "I need to take this. It’s probably an emergency with a client. I won’t be long. I’m really sorry."

"Go ahead. I’ll be here judging the dessert menu."

He leans in and gives you a quick kiss on your temple before standing up. "I’ll be right back, princess."

The casual display of affection makes your heart race as you watch him walk away. While he is gone, you take a sip of your wine, observe the people around you, and study the dessert menu.

He returns after about five minutes, sliding back into his seat with an apologetic smile. "All sorted. Where were we?"

When the check arrives, Jay pays without hesitation, even though you offered to split it. Outside, the night air is cold, so he drapes his jacket over your shoulders when he notices you shivering. Then he pulls you closer for a moment, wrapping his arms around you. "Thank you for saying yes," he murmurs against your hair.

You look up at him, smiling. "That was the best decision I’ve made in a long time."

The drive back feels shorter than the trip there, unfortunately — you wish this moment could last forever. Jay keeps one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles that send shivers down your spine. You arrive at the building sooner than you would like, but instead of stopping at the curb, Jay drives into the underground garage.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. "Thank you, Jay. For everything, the flowers, the dinner, the evening… I had a really great time."

He turns to you, that slow smile playing on his lips. "I’m glad, princess."

You reach for the door handle, but his hand moves quickly, wrapping around your wrist and stopping you. Your breath catches at the unexpected contact. "Wait, aren’t you going to thank me properly?"

You blink, confused. "I just did? The hug outside the restaurant and just now."

Jay chuckles, and his gaze shifts into something hungrier. "That was sweet, but I was thinking of something a little more fitting for the end of a perfect night."

Without overthinking it, you lean across the console and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," you whisper again, pulling back to see his reaction.

His smile widens. "Still not enough, princess. Come here."

He cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. The kiss starts soft, his lips meeting yours hesitantly, and you quickly melt into it, which makes him deepen the kiss while still keeping a slow, deliberate pace. His tongue traces your lower lip, and you part for him with a small sigh.

What begins as one kiss turns into many, you lose count as they grow more intense, hungry, and urgent.

Somehow, you end up climbing over the console. His hands guide your hips until you are straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. The space is tight and the steering wheel presses against your back, but you couldn't care less right now. His hands roam along your sides, sliding up your dress until they rest on your thighs, his thumbs drawing circles that make you whimper against his mouth.

You kiss him again and again, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging gently, which draws a low groan from him. That only encourages you — hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you. The friction makes you gasp, and Jay clearly loves the sight — he squeezes your thighs, encouraging your movements.

"God, you’re incredible," he whispers against your mouth between kisses. "So responsive… so perfect."

Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, breathing hard. "You deserve better than this, princess. Our first time shouldn’t be in a car like a couple of impatient teenagers."

You kiss him again, more intensely, nipping at his lower lip. "I don’t care, I want you right here."

He groans, sliding his hand into your hair to pull you into another hungry kiss. "You’re so eager, princess… and so perfect grinding against me like this."

His mouth moves down to your neck, sucking lightly and drawing more whimpers from you. Your movements become restless, rubbing harder, chasing friction. "Jay…" you whisper between kisses. "I need you, please."

His hands find the hem of your dress, slowly pulling it up inch by inch with clear appreciation until he discards it onto the passenger seat. "Beautiful," he murmurs reverently as he stares at your tits. "So beautiful." He leans down, pressing hot, wet kisses along the soft skin, then his tongue circles one nipple before sucking it deeply into his mouth.

You arch your back, a moan escaping your lips. He gives the same attention to the other tit, licking, sucking, and grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth while his hand massages and caresses the first. “You taste so good,” he praises, his voice muffled. "These perfect tits in my mouth… you’re already trembling. So sensitive for me."

He kisses lower, along your sternum and ribs, then back up — worshipping every inch of you while you keep grinding against him. Your panties are soaked, and the friction against his hardness only turns you on more.

He waits until you’re trembling in his lap before he finally moves. Reaching between you, he lowers his pants and boxers just enough to free himself, and when he does, your eyes widen. He is big — thick and hard. The sight makes your mouth water and heat pool low in your belly.

Jay reaches into the glove compartment, fumbling for a condom. He tears it open and rolls it down his length with surprising skill while you watch, hypnotized and a little intimidated by his size and thickness. "You’re… really big," you say softly.

Jay notices your nervousness and caresses your cheek, trying to soothe you. "We’ll go slow, princess. I’ve got you. My good girl can take it."

He helps you shift your panties to the side, guiding you as you sink down onto him. The stretch is intense but delicious — you take him inch by inch, breathing deeply as he fills you completely, murmuring praises nonstop. "That’s it, princess… so tight, so good for me… so fucking perfect around me."

You bury your face in his neck as you sink all the way down, taking him completely until your ass is pressed firmly against his lap. "Oh God… you’re so, so big," you moan, still adjusting to the intense stretch.

The age difference flashes through your mind — he is older, more experienced, probably used to women who knew exactly what they were doing. You want to be good for him, so once you feel ready, you start moving — bouncing with almost frantic energy, desperate to please him. Your hips move and grind fast, determined.

"Easy, princess," Jay groans, gripping your hips to slow you down. "Slow… just like that. You feel incredible, but there’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere."

You moan, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "I just… you’ve probably been with so many others who were better at this. I want to make it good for you. I want to be the best—"

He cuts you off with a deep kiss, then pulls back to look into your eyes while still guiding your movements into a slower, deeper rhythm. "Hey, none of that. It’s just you right now, and you’re already the best, baby. Look at how perfectly you take me." He thrusts up gently to emphasize his words, drawing a moan from you. "You’re my princess."

You relax into his words and the rhythm he sets, moving your hips in deep, grinding motions instead of frantic bouncing. It feels even better this way — his thickness brushing against every sensitive spot inside you. "Like this?" you ask breathlessly, your voice shy but needy.

"Just like that," he praises, his voice rough. "So good for me. So wet… so tight. You’re perfect, listen to those pretty sounds you make."

You keep whispering to him the whole time — shy confessions and soft, breathless questions. "You feel so good, Jay… I feel so full. Does it feel good for you? Tell me if you’re enjoying it."

He groans, his hands roaming over your back, squeezing your ass, then returning to your tits so he can lick and suck them while you ride him. "I love it. I love everything you do. The way you squeeze me… the way you say my name. You’re ruining me, princess."

The pleasure builds uncontrollably, intense and overwhelming, leaving both of you sweaty and breathless. He slides a hand between you to your clit, circling it with his thumb in time with your movements. You tremble hard, moaning and gasping, telling him how close you are, how good he feels, and how much you have wanted this since the day you moved in.

When you come, your walls pulse tightly around his thickness and your body shakes as you cry out his name. Jay follows right after, holding you firmly against him as he finishes into the condom with a deep groan, murmuring endless praises. "That’s it, come for me… so beautiful giving yourself to me completely… my perfect girl."

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard. He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing your temple while his hands gently caress your back. "You okay?" he whispers after a while. "Was it too much?"

"It was perfect," you murmur, nuzzling into his neck. "Better than I imagined. Thank you for slowing me down when I got too excited. I probably embarrassed myself, right?"

He shakes his head lightly and laughs, then he gives you one last kiss on your temple and helps you climb back into the passenger seat, watching as you slip your dress back on. "Don’t forget these," he says, reaching for the bouquet.

You take it with a happy smile. "I wouldn’t dare."

He walks around the car to open your door and intertwines his fingers with yours as you walk toward the elevator. Once inside, he pulls you close and kisses you the entire way up to your floor.

"Your place tonight?" you ask against his lips.

Jay’s hand slides to your lower back, pulling you even closer. "Yes, because I’m not done with you yet. I need you in my bed. The thought of you in my sheets, smelling like me when you wake up… it drives me crazy."

The elevator doors open and he pulls you down the hallway toward his door, unlocking it effortlessly. The moment you are both inside, he takes the flowers from your hand, sets them on the counter, and turns to you with hungry eyes. "Come here," he growls, pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss. His hands cup your face first, then slide down your body. "Let me take care of you properly this time."

He leads you to the bedroom and there, he undresses you slowly, admiring and kissing every inch of exposed skin. When you are completely naked, he steps back and looks at you with pure admiration and desire. "Fuck, look at you… so perfect. Every curve, every inch… all mine tonight."

He removes his own clothes and guides you onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. His warm palms caress them, spreading you open even more. His mouth is on you immediately, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before circling the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, savoring you. "Mmm, already so wet," the vibration of his voice makes you gasp. "You taste so sweet, princess. Like you were made for my mouth."

You let out a shaky moan, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. "Jay… that feels incredible. Oh God—"

He slides a finger inside you, curling it against that sweet spot while his mouth continues sucking and licking. The suction around your clit, the rhythm of his finger stroking that perfect spot deep inside — it all turns the pleasure into something deliciously overwhelming. He adds a second finger, then a third, carefully stretching you as he pumps them in and out.

Your hips move against his face as the pleasure intensifies. "Don’t stop… please, Jay, just like that," you moan, your voice breathless and desperate. He eats you out like a starving man — licking, sucking, and thrusting his fingers into you until your thighs shake around his head and you fall apart with a long, loud cry. You clench and pulse around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through you.

Jay doesn’t stop right away, he keeps licking and fingering you through it, prolonging every sensation until you are limp and panting. Only then he drags his mouth up your body, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and up your neck. "You taste like heaven," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I could do this all night, make you come on my tongue until you go stupid."

He grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on quickly over his hard, leaking cock. You reach down, wrapping your hand around his thick, hard length — stroking him slowly, feeling the weight, the pulsing heat, tracing the veins with curiosity. "I want it raw, Jay… I need to feel you, please."

He groans deeply, his hips pushing forward into your fist. "Baby… protection first, remember? I’ll still make you feel good even with the latex between us, I promise." After kissing your forehead, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes in inch by inch, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. You feel a burning stretch as your walls slowly give way to him, every thick pulsing vein dragging against your sensitive insides. When he’s halfway in, you look down between your bodies and see the clear bulge pressing out against your lower belly.

He notices it right after and quickly slides a hand down to press against the bulge, feeling it move under his palm as he sinks deeper. "Fuck, look at that. You see how deep I am? My cock is rearranging your insides, princess. Stretching this tight pussy so you can see it from the outside."

Your hand joins his, pressing against the visible outline, feeling him move inside you from both the inside and the outside. He teases you mercilessly, thrusting slow and deep so the bulge shifts under your combined touch. "You’re taking me so well, like this pussy was made for my cock. So greedy, swallowing every inch."

He sinks the rest of the way in with a guttural groan, bottoming out completely. "Shit… so tight, so hot. You’re already milking me."

His thick cock fills you so completely that every movement presses against sensitive spots that steal the breath from your lungs. His thrusts start controlled and incredibly gentle instead of brutal force. One hand stays intertwined with yours above your head, while the other caresses your cheek, squeezes your breast, and lightly pinches your nipple before soothing it with his thumb. "You look like pure sin wrapped around me… My beautiful princess, creaming all over my cock, taking every inch like a good girl. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Jay… it feels so good. You’re so deep, I can feel you everywhere." He leans down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as his hips move faster in a devastating rhythm that pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

You come hard around him, your walls fluttering and clenching tightly as you cry out. He does not stop, thrusting deep and steady, prolonging your orgasm until you are shaking. "Fuck, that’s it, come on my cock, baby."

Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a long, broken groan of your name as he cums, pulsing inside you. He stays buried deep for long moments afterwards, holding you close and covering your face, neck, and shoulders with soft kisses until both of your breathing steadies.

Eventually, he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and returns from the bathroom with a warm, damp cloth. He cleans you both gently, murmuring more praises the entire time. "You were perfect, princess. So responsive, so beautiful when you come for me." He pulls the sheets over both of you and wraps you in his arms.

Your head rests on Jay’s chest while his fingers trace a lazy path along your spine, down to the curve of your waist. Without a word, you shift, turning onto your side. Jay follows naturally, molding his body against yours from behind in a perfect spoon. His chest presses against your back as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. You can already feel him half-hard again against the curve of your ass, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.

He nuzzles into the back of your neck, placing soft kisses there. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough in the quiet room.

"More than okay," you whisper back, pressing lightly against him. "I like feeling you close like this."

Jay reaches for another condom from the nightstand. You hear the faint rustle as he puts it on, then his hand returns to your body, tenderly caressing your side and hip. He lifts your top leg slightly, hooking it over his, opening you up for him. The thick head of his cock brushes against your entrance before he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he is buried completely inside you.

"So good," he whispers against your neck, sliding a hand up to caress your breast. His fingers massage gently, his thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under his touch.

He starts moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips, thrusting unhurriedly so you can feel every inch of his thick cock dragging against your walls. While he fucks you, his hand on your breast never stops worshipping it — squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, occasionally pinching lightly before soothing it with gentle caresses. And his mouth keeps placing open-mouthed kisses along the back of your neck, back, and shoulder.

You reach behind you, running your fingers through his hair as you move with him. "Jay… deeper like that feels so good."

His thrusts become a little deeper, but still controlled. "You take me so well every single time. Look at how perfectly you fit around me. I could stay inside you forever." His mouth finds the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark while he continues playing with your breasts — pinching, rolling, and caressing until your nipples are deliciously sore. Only then he slid his hand down to your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The combination of sensations is overwhelming and pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "You’re so close… I can feel you squeezing me. Come for me again, princess."

And you do. Your walls contract rhythmically around his thickness as you moan his name, your body trembling in his arms. Jay follows right after you, burying his face in your neck with a deep groan as he comes, filling the condom.

You turn your head slightly to capture his lips in a lazy kiss. "I feel so safe with you," you whisper. "And so wanted."

He stays inside you until the aftershocks fade, then carefully pulls out, discards the condom, and cleans you both once again with gentle care. He pulls the sheets up around you both and draws you back into his arms, spooning you again.

Jay’s hand rests tenderly on your stomach, tracing small circles there. You feel deeply in love and completely at peace as you start to drift off to sleep, safe in his arms.

Sunlight is already filtering through the curtains by the time you slowly wake up the next morning —.only to realize the space beside you is empty, even though the warmth of Jay’s body and the faint scent of his cologne still linger around. You stretch and sit up to look around the room, noticing one of his shirts draped over the back of a chair. Slipping it on, you pad barefoot out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, drawn by the rich aroma of coffee and food already filling the air.

Jay is at the stove, flipping eggs while a plate of toast and cut fruit waits for you on the counter. You walk up to him and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. "Good morning."

He turns off the stove and turns around, settling his hands on your hips. His gaze softens instantly when he sees you wearing his shirt. "Good morning, princess. You look way too good in my clothes."

You laugh softly and tilt your face up, expecting a kiss. He leans in but pauses with a playful look. "Ah, but you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. No good-morning kisses until after breakfast."

You pout and dramatically pull away. "Not even a kiss on the cheek? You’re so cruel."

With a sigh, he gives in — pressing a long kiss to your cheek, then another to your forehead. Before you can say anything, he effortlessly lifts you and sits you on the edge of the kitchen counter, standing between your knees. "There. Now I can look at you properly while I finish this."

As he moves around the kitchen, your eyes wander until they stop on the refrigerator. Something catches your attention — photos are held up by magnets, but one in particular stands out: a Polaroid of Jay smiling with his arm around a woman’s shoulders. You hadn't noticed it on your previous visits to the kitchen — you had been too focused on him. "Who is that?" you ask curiously, nodding toward the fridge. "The woman in the photo with you?"

Jay glances over while sliding a plate toward you. "That’s my sister. We don’t look much alike, I know. We’re actually half-siblings."

You tilt your head, studying the photo for another second. They really do not look very similar, but that is not unusual for half-siblings. "She looks nice," you say lightly, accepting the plate he offers. "Breakfast looks delicious, by the way. You really didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," he replies, stepping between your knees and stealing a quick peck. "After last night, it feels right to take care of you this morning… and maybe every other morning too."

You smile shyly. "Speaking of last night… it was incredible. You made everything feel so good, so right. I keep replaying every part of it in my head."

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "You were perfect, baby. I loved every second of it." He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth. "You’re so beautiful when you let go for me."

"You’re going to make it really hard for me to focus in class today." You take a bite of the toast, savoring it. "Oh, by the way, I’m going out with some new friends from college tonight. They invited me to a party, it’s a chance to get to know each other better outside of class."

Jay nods, resting a hand on your thigh and stroking it lightly. "Sounds fun. Just be careful, okay? Text me when you get there and when you’re heading back."

"I will," you say, stealing another quick kiss from him. "I won’t stay out too late anyway. I have an early class tomorrow."

He picks up a piece of fruit from the plate and brings it to your mouth, brushing his fingers teasingly against your lips. "You deserve to have fun… I’ll be here if you need anything when you get back."

You stumble out of your friend’s car a little after 1 a.m., waving goodbye as you sway on your feet. You make your way toward the building entrance and suddenly remember that you promised to text Jay — which you didn’t. So you call him to let him know you arrived and are heading up. In response, he says he is waiting for you.

When you reach the third floor, Jay’s door is already open and he is waiting for you. "Heyyy," you say cheerfully, immediately wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. "I’m back. Just like I promised."

Laughing Jay’s arms wrap around you automatically as he looks at you more closely. "You’re pretty drunk, princess. How was the party?"

"So much fun," you ramble, clinging to him tighter as he guides you inside and closes the door. "We danced, there was a shot game, and my new friends are so funny. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt." You tilt your head up, puckering your lips. "Kiss?"

Instead of a proper kiss, he gives you a quick one on your forehead. "You smell like a distillery and your shirt is soaked, what happened?"

You look down at the sticky stain on your shirt and pout. "Someone spilled on me. It’s gross. But I still want kisses, real kisses." You try to pull his face down, standing on your tiptoes. "I missed you all night. I kept thinking about you during the party… about how nice you were last night. We should do that again right now."

Jay gently holds your wrists to stop you. "Not tonight, princess. You’re drunk."

"But I want you," you beg, pressing closer, but he doesn’t give in at all. "You’re so hot, so gentle, and… big. Please?"

He shakes his head and guides you toward the bathroom. "No. Only when you’re sober and can remember everything clearly. Right now, I’m just taking care of you, okay?"

"Let’s get you cleaned up," he says gently once you reach the bathroom. Reaching for the hem of your wet shirt he carefully pulls it off, followed by the rest of your clothes.

"You’re always so gentle with me," you murmur, watching him adjust the shower temperature. "No one has ever been this gentle. I really, really like you, Jay."

He smiles softly and helps you into the shower, joining you still fully dressed so he can take care of you. Jay keeps one hand on your waist to steady you while the other runs soapy over your shoulders and arms.

The alcohol in your system makes your emotions spill out easily before you can stop them. "I think… I think I’m falling for you," you confess, your tongue loose, making your cheeks flush. "Is that crazy? It feels too fast. I know I’m younger and still figuring everything out, but being with you just feels right. You make me feel safe, wanted, and special."

Jay pauses for half a second, processing what he just heard, but then continues washing you carefully — lathering the floral-scented body wash over your skin. "This smells like… girl stuff," you say, a little curious. "Is it yours?"

He looks away for a moment before answering. "It’s my mom’s. She left some things here the last time she came to visit."

"Ah," You rest your forehead against his chest as the water runs over both of you. "I meant it, though. About falling for you. Even if it’s too soon… I can’t help it."

Jay wraps his arms fully around you under the spray of water, holding you close — voice is full of affection when he finally replies. "Hey… look at me, princess." He gently lifts your chin. "What you’re feeling… I feel it too." Softly, he kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "We don’t need to rush or label anything right now. Just know that I’m here and I care about you a lot."

Even in your alcohol-fueled haze, his words calm the part of you that was worried you were moving too fast. "Really? You feel it too?"

"I do." He continues washing you carefully — your arms, your back, your sides — just taking care of you. "Being with you is easy. Natural. So let’s just enjoy it, okay? One day at a time."

Jay finishes rinsing you off and helps you out of the shower. Wrapping you in a towel he dries you gently before dressing you in one of his shirts. By the time he guides you to bed, you are already sleepy. He helps you lie down and you snuggle into the sheets, murmuring one last "I really like you" before falling asleep.

────────

The following days feel almost too good to be real.

You wake up in Jay’s bed, wrapped in his arms and wearing one of his shirts. He always wakes up before you to make breakfast and greet you with a good morning kiss and that smile that still makes your heart flutter. But on some mornings, you pull him back into bed to cuddle before classes and work, and without any argument, he makes time to make you feel loved.

When you get home from class, tired, Jay is already there to greet you cheerfully despite his own exhaustion. He texts you during the day, asking how your classes are going and reminding you to eat. When you are together, he pulls you in for slow, affectionate kisses — the kind that make your legs weak. Some nights you cook together as he tries to teach you how to make proper meals. Other nights he orders takeout and you eat on the couch while you tell him every detail of your day. He still doesn’t share much about himself, always dodging the subject, but you do not push — you don’t want to be invasive.

The sex is frequent — sometimes slow and worshipful, his mouth and hands adoring every inch of you until you are trembling and coming apart. Other times it is faster and more urgent — against the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the couch, in his home office. One night you try baking cookies together, ending up covered in flour and laughing as he kisses the mess off your cheek. Another night you start watching a movie cuddled together, but the movie is forgotten halfway through when clothes come off and he fucks you right there on the couch.

Suddenly everything feels so domestic — he now keeps an extra toothbrush for you, your notebooks are on his coffee table, and some of your clothes are scattered around his apartment. It is undeniable that you are falling deeper and deeper in love.

On a Sunday afternoon, you are studying on his couch while Jay is in his home office, working on a complicated case that demands his full attention. After hours buried in books and notes, concentrating is almost impossible. At this point, your mind keeps wandering to him without permission. When your brain finally gives up, you close the book with a dramatic sigh.

You walk down the hallway and peek into his office. Jay is sitting at his desk with his sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly attractive as he concentrates on reviewing some papers. "Jay?" you call, walking in without waiting for an answer.

He looks up, and the moment his eyes meet yours, the tension in his shoulders softens. "Hey, princess. How are the studies going?"

Boring." You take a few steps closer and don’t ask for permission — you simply climb into his lap, settling on his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a trail of kisses along his jaw, then his cheek and lips. "I missed you. Pay attention to me? Just for a little while?"

One of his hands rests on your waist while the other continues organizing the documents. "I’d love to, baby, but this case is a nightmare. There are documents everywhere. I’m going crazy with these."

You nuzzle into the curve of his neck and kiss him there. "You’ve been in here for hours… you deserve a break." Your hips move subtly against him, restless, the friction sending a spark through both of you. You feel him twitch beneath you, already starting to respond to your movements.

Jay’s grip on your waist tightens. "Princess…" There is a warning tone in his voice, bordering on frustration. But as you grind against him, you can feel him beginning to harden, and that gives you hope — you think he might give in.

"You’re really testing me today." He pulls you into a kiss, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. When he pulls away, it is with a frustrated sigh.

"That's the point," you whisper, smiling proudly against his lips as you continue grinding, slower this time, feeling him get even harder.

Jay curses under his breath, gripping your hips more firmly. No matter how hard he tries to hold back, he can’t, the desire is uncontrollable. He reaches between you and unzips his pants. "Fine, but you’re going to behave." He frees his hard, throbbing cock and pulls your panties and shorts to the side. This time there is nothing between you — no latex barrier, just him.

You sink down onto him slowly, and the new sensation hits you immediately — it’s different, hotter, more intimate. Every ridge and vein is raw against your walls, the skin-to-skin contact sends a shiver through your entire body and makes you moan as you settle fully onto him. The stretch feels deeper and more overwhelming than ever.

For a moment, it feels perfect — connected, raw.

But then his hands close firmly on your hips, holding you completely still. "Don’t move," he commands, his voice noticeably deeper and rougher. "Stay just like this. No grinding, no whimpering. I’m serious."

His cock pulses hot and heavy inside you, and you can barely focus on what he said. "Jay… oh my God, you feel—"

"I said don’t move," he interrupts, repeating it more harshly this time. His free hand returns to the stack of papers while the other arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place.

At first, you try to obey — resting your head on his shoulder and breathing deeply every time his cock twitches inside you, but the longer you sit there, the harder it becomes. You let out a soft moan as your hips twitch involuntarily. "Jay… please, just let me move a little bit."

"I told you not to move. Jesus, you’re really pushing it today." The irritation is clear in every word now, and his grip on your waist tightens even more. "I have a deadline. I can’t afford to get distracted like this."

Again, you try to stay still — you really do, until frustrated tears prick at your eyes — but your body betrays you with small, involuntary movements of your hips. "I’m sorry… I can’t help it. This is driving me crazy. I need you to move, please."

Jay’s jaw is tense and his breathing comes in heavy bursts — clearly fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You think I don’t want to? You’re so tight and wet around me right now, but I can’t. I have work to do and you’re not letting me focus." His tone grows even harsher. "Stop squirming. Be a good girl for me and just sit there.”

But you do not listen — you roll your hips again, letting out a moan as he rubs against that sensitive spot inside you. "Jesus Christ. I told you I have work and this is fucking important."

"But I missed you and this is torture. Please, please just fu-"

He cuts you off sharply. "You always miss me, always need something. Kisses, hugs, my cock, my fucking attention. You practically live here now, your things are all over my apartment, you sleep in my bed like it’s yours. Isn’t that enough attention? You know what? I need you to get off so I can actually finish this case."

The words hurt, making your chest tighten — tears of frustration turn into something heavier and spill down your cheeks. "I didn’t mean to be annoying… I just wanted to be close to you."

"Yeah, well, wanting to be close to me doesn’t magically make my deadline disappear. I’m already behind because of distractions like this." His hand on your hip tightens even more, holding you completely still, the pressure bordering on uncomfortable. "You have your own apartment right next door. Just give me a few hours alone, for once."

You stare at him in disbelief at what you just heard. Suddenly the intimate position feels humiliating — the way you are still stretched around him while he looks at you like you are nothing but am annoyance. "You want me to leave? Like this… right now"

"I’m telling you to give me some space." With no patience left, he lifts you off him, leaving you empty and trembling. "Go to your place, take a nap, study, whatever. Just let me work."

You stand there with shaky legs, wiping away your tears, feeling small, vulnerable, and unwanted. With a quiet, trembling breath, you whisper, "…Okay."

It's past 9 PM when Jay finally steps out of his office, having finished dealing with that pile of papers. The silence hangs heavy now, normally you would be humming, curled up on the couch waiting for him, or laughing at something silly on your phone. Without you, the space feels too empty. He had been rude — way too rude — and he sees that now. He owes you an apology, so he walks over to your door, but just as he is about to knock, he notices the door is not fully closed — it’s slightly ajar, allowing him to hear low murmurs of voices.

Frowning, he pushes the door open a little more and steps inside, finding a guy standing right at the entrance to your living room, putting on a jacket. The guy turns at the sound of the door, his expression quickly shifting to surprise. "Ah, hi. You must be Jay. She talks about you a lot."

He looks over the other guy’s shoulder toward the couch where you are sitting with your knees pulled up. The guy cleans his throat, sensing the tension between the two of you. "I was just leaving… It was really nice talking to you." He gives you a small wave. "Text me if you need anything else, okay?"

You smile and wave back. "Yeah. Thanks, Jake. Drive safe."

As Jake heads for the door, Jay blocks his path. "Wait. What exactly were you doing here?"

Jake blinks, surprised by the sudden question. "She seemed pretty down when we texted, so I decided to stop by and check if she was okay. Anyway, I’m heading out. Nice to meet you, man."

He steps aside, letting Jake pass. The door closes behind him, leaving just the two of you in the suddenly too-quiet apartment.

You stand up, hugging yourself. "Jay… what are you doing here?"

The regret he felt for being so harsh with you is quickly replaced by jealousy and irritation. "I came because my place was too quiet without you. I started thinking maybe I was too hard on you earlier, but clearly you didn’t waste any time finding company."

You frown, confused by what he means. "He’s just a friend. I told you about him before, we met during my first week on campus when I accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall. I was upset after you basically kicked me out, so I texted him. We weren’t doing anything, just talking."

Jay lets out a short, bitter laugh and steps closer. "Talking late at night like it’s a casual visit. You mentioned him before, of course, but I didn’t know you two were close enough for house calls."

The hurt from earlier mixes with frustration now. "You were so rude, Jay. You made me feel like I was an annoying pest who can’t function without your attention. I understand you’re stressed with work, but you didn’t have to push me away and kick me out like that. I felt embarrassed."

He closes even more of the distance between you, standing close enough that you can feel the jealousy radiating off him. "You’re the one who can’t sit still for five minutes without demanding something, climbing into my lap while I’m trying to meet a deadline, whimpering and squirming like a spoiled brat because you ‘missed me’."

You take a step back, but the couch hits the back of your legs. "I just wanted to be close to you."

"But the world doesn’t revolve around your need for attention. I love having you around, but today? You made it impossible for me to concentrate, and the second I ask for a few hours to actually get things done, you run straight to this Jake guy?" Jay doesn’t care that nothing happened — the image of another guy in your space, late at night, while you were upset, makes his blood boil.

"I didn’t run to him! I was crying when he got here and he just listened. Unlike you, who basically told me to leave because I’m too much."

Jay’s laugh is harsh this time, completely humorless. "Too much. Yeah, that’s one way of saying you’re a spoiled brat who demands attention every second, and the moment things get difficult, you replace me with whoever is most convenient."

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. You look away, Jay’s jaw clenches, and soon his gaze drifts from your face to the way you are hugging yourself, then lower, lingering on your bare legs. The jealousy is still burning in his chest, mixed with the memory of you sitting on his cock earlier, demanding attention, all needy.

"Come here," he says, nodding toward the couch.

You hesitate, biting your lip, which makes Jay exhale sharply and close the distance. His hand wraps around your wrist, guiding you toward the couch. "We’re not done talking about this."

He sits on the couch and pulls you closer until you are lying across his lap, your stomach pressed against his thighs. Your shirt has ridden up naturally, but he is not satisfied. "This is in the way." His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down and tossing them aside — leaving your ass completely bare for him.

Jay’s palm rests on one of your cheeks, squeezing the flesh possessively. "You’ve been pushing all day… needing attention, teasing me, and then Jake shows up at your place, and I’m supposed to just swallow that?" His fingers dig harder into the flesh. "You’re mine, and it’s time you learn what happens when you piss me off this much."

His hand makes slow circles over your skin, almost soothing. "How many spanks do you think you deserve for acting like this?"

Your heart races as you try to process his words — head turning slightly to look at him. "What? Are you serious?"

He meets your eyes with a firm, dark expression — one you have never seen from him before. "Very serious. You’ve been spoiled all day, teasing me on purpose. So tell me, how many do you think you deserve?"

You swallow hard, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I don’t know… Five? Maybe?"

Jay lets out a mocking laugh. "Five? That’s way too low, baby. You’re going to take twenty, and you’re going to count each one out loud. If you lose count or mess up, we start over. Understood?"

You hesitate but eventually whisper, "Yes… okay."

"Good girl." His hand lifts and the first spank comes without warning — firm and sharp, the sound echoing through the silence. You jolt, a surprised moan escaping you — heat spreads instantly across your bare skin, the sting stronger than you expected.

"One," you gasp.

He immediately rubs the spot in slow, soothing circles, calming the hot skin where he struck.

"Two," you say after the next spank lands on the other cheek.

Jay keeps a steady rhythm — delivering hard spanks followed by almost tender caresses. Then his fingers slide lower, tracing your wet folds, spreading them teasingly, brushing against your entrance, lightly circling your clit before pulling away.

"What a spoiled little brat," he murmurs during one of the pauses, rubbing your reddened cheeks while two fingers tease your slit again. "You’re already getting so wet… You like this, don’t you?"

You moan instead of answering, which earns you another sharp spank. "Five."

He continues, the spanks leaving marks and building heat across your ass. Now his fingers are dip inside you, moving with slow, shallow thrusts, curling just enough to brush that sensitive spot and make you clench around him desperately. But he always pulls back before you can get close to the edge.

"Six… seven… ah!"

By ten, tears prick your eyes, your thighs trembling as the sting turns into a pulsing heat.

Jay pauses longer this time, massaging your sore ass and spreading your cheeks so he can tease your entrance again. "You’re mine. When you need attention that badly, you come to me, even if I’m stressed, even if I tell you to leave." A finger pushes deep inside you, staying there while his thumb brushes your clit.

You lose track amid the overwhelming sensations and he makes you start over, just as he warned. "Back to one." During the restart, two more fingers slide inside you, moving in a torturous rhythm. "You feel how wet you are? This is what happens when you forget who you belong to."

"You’re mine. Your time, your attention, this body. I don’t share it." Spank. Soothe. Tease. "Say it."

"I’m yours," you moan.

"Louder." Another spank.

"I’m yours, Jay!"

When he finally reaches twenty, you are a trembling mess with tears streaming down your face. Jay finally pulls you up and turns you so you are sitting in his lap. His hands stay on your ass, carefully massaging the sore flesh and you press yourself against the hard bulge in his pants, burying your face in his shoulder. "You did so well, my good girl."

Jay lifts your chin, meeting your eyes. For a moment, he just looks at you — really looks at you — taking in your flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. Then he leans in and kisses you. One hand remains on your sore ass, squeezing gently, while the other slides into your hair. He kisses you like he needs to claim every part of you — hungry, insistent, his tongue tracing your lower lip before sliding inside. You melt into him, moaning against his mouth as you start slowly grinding your hips.

He pulls back just enough to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot below your ear. "Still so needy… even after all that." Then he kisses you again, deeper and hungrier, tongues sliding together with fervor. The hand on your ass slips between your bodies to tease your wet folds with light circles and shallow dips — keeping you right on the edge.

When he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connects you for a second before breaking. "On your knees, princess."

Obediently, you slide off his lap and kneel between his spread thighs. Jay looks down at you, one hand lazily stroking your hair as he frees himself from his pants — his cock springs out, thick, heavy, and already leaking at the tip.

"Open. Tongue out," he says, tapping your lower lip with two fingers. You open your mouth and obediently stick your tongue out. He leans forward and spits directly into your mouth. The warm, viscous saliva lands on your tongue, degrading in a way that makes you shiver. "Swallow that first," he instructs. You swallow while keeping your eyes locked on his. He nods with a satisfied hum. "Now show me how sorry you are for pushing me today."

You start with kisses along his length before dragging your tongue from base to tip. Jay groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, but he doesn't force you — not yet. His thickness stretches your lips as you finally take him into your mouth. He is big enough that you can only take about half before he hits the back of your throat. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what does not fit in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck… that’s it," he murmurs, tilting his head back for a moment before his gaze returns to you. He doesn't want to miss a single second of this. "Look at me while you suck it."

You do, looking up at him with teary eyes, and the sight makes his cock twitch in your mouth. When you pull back to catch your breath, he slaps his cock against your tongue a few times, leaving strings of saliva connecting you, before guiding you back down. "Yeah, just like that… good girl."

Between bobs, when you pull back to breathe, you say breathlessly, "I’m sorry for distracting you and for Jake being here." Then he guides you down again.

Jay’s hips start moving, pushing a little deeper and testing your limits. Tears continue to prick your eyes from the stretch, but you keep going, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him.

When he finally gets close, Jay’s grip tightens, his thighs tense, and his breathing becomes ragged. "I’m going to come. Don’t waste it, swallow everything." You nod around him, doubling your efforts and with a deep groan, he comes down your throat — thick, hot pulses that you swallow eagerly, not letting a single drop escape.

He pulls out slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to the tip before it breaks. "Open your mouth. Show me."

You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to prove you swallowed everything. “That’s my good girl.”

He helps you up, pulls you back into his lap, and kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue. Your hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you that makes Jay groan into your mouth, one hand sliding down to grab your bare ass and guide your movements.

"Still not satisfied? Such a greedy little thing." Even though he just came, his cock is already stirring again, hardening beneath you as your wet pussy slides along his length.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Jay… I need you so bad."

He answers by kissing you again, but soon pulls back to meet your eyes. "Then take what you want."

You don’t hesitate, not even for a second. Rising on shaky knees, you reach down and align the thick head of his cock against your entrance, and slowly you sink down, gasping at the stretch and every inch that fills you. The lack of a barrier makes him feel impossibly thicker than the last time in his office — hotter, more intimate. The spanked skin of your ass burns as you settle fully against his thighs.

"Fuck," Jay hisses, his head falling back against the couch for a moment as his hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you fully impaled on him. "So wet… so fucking tight like this."

You start moving, rolling your hips in a slow, deep rhythm, the angle letting you feel every ridge and vein raw inside you, pulling broken moans from your throat. One of his hands slips under your shirt to caress one tit while the other stays on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh in time with your movements. The mix of pleasure and stinging burn makes everything more intense.

"That’s right," he growls, thrusting up to meet you. "This is what you wanted all day, isn’t it? My attention. My cock." You lean forward, kissing him messily while you bounce, moving your hips faster.

With a low curse, he wraps his arms around you and suddenly flips you, laying you down on the couch cushions, driving him even deeper which pulls a sharp cry from you.

Now he is on top, pinning you beneath him — one of your legs hooked over his shoulder as he starts thrusting into you with deep, powerful strokes — hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt each time and the lack of a condom lets you feel every raw inch.

Clinging to his back, your nails dig in as the pleasure borders on overwhelming. Jay’s face hovers above yours, his hair damp with sweat falling into his eyes. Rhythm falters for a second as he looks at you, something darker flashing across his face, the jealousy from earlier — the image of Jake leaving your apartment — has not disappeared. "Are you on the pill?"

You shake your head, breathless, barely able to form words between moans. "No, I’m not."

He thrusts harder, hitting deep against your cervix as if to emphasize the point. "Good," he growls, eyes locked on yours. "Actually, fucking perfect. Maybe I’ll knock you up tonight, put a baby in you so you won’t even think about another guy like Jake. You’ll stay right here with me, we’ll have a beautiful family, me, you, and our kids. No more distractions."

The words should have shocked you, but in the heat of the moment — with him fucking you raw, his body claiming yours completely — they only send a fresh wave of arousal through you. Moaning loudly, your legs tightening around his waist. "Jay… fuck—"

He groans at your reaction, his hips moving harder. "You like that idea, don’t you? My cum deep inside you, getting you pregnant so everyone knows you’re claimed." One of his hands slides down to press lightly against your stomach, as if he can already imagine it.

The couch creaks beneath you both, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet noises of him fucking you filling the room. Jay’s earlier irritation fuels every deep thrust, but so does possessiveness — the need to claim you completely after the stressful day. He presses you deeper into the cushions, his hips moving in a way that grinds against your clit with every stroke.

When you finally come, it is intense — your walls contracting tightly around his cock as you scream his name. Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible, and you feel the hot pulses of his cum filling you, thick and warm.

For long minutes, Jay simply holds you — kissing your neck, your jaw, your swollen lips — his cock softening slowly inside you, but as the minutes stretch on, you feel him coming back to life, pulsing against your sensitive walls. "Already?" There is a playful tone in your voice.

"I can’t help it." He moves, pressing one last kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out. You moan at the loss, feeling his cum start to leak out of you, but his hand quickly reaches down to push it back inside you with two fingers. "Don’t waste it."

He leans back on the couch, stroking himself until he is fully hard again. "Turn around. Hands on the backrest."

You obey, your body trembling as you shift position, kneeling on the cushions, gripping the top of the backrest and arching your back slightly while Jay moves behind you, his gaze fixed on the evidence of the earlier spanking — your cheeks still red with visible handprints — as one of his palms smooths reverently over the heated skin before squeezing firmly.

"Fuck, look at this… Still so red from your lesson." His cock brushes against your entrance before he thrusts deep inside you in one powerful stroke, the new position letting him sink even deeper as the head of his cock presses against spots that make your toes curl drawing a loud moan from you while you grip the backrest tighter as he bottoms out.

Jay starts fucking you with firm, powerful thrusts — deep and deliberate, the couch creaking beneath you both — as every thrust makes your sore ass bounce and the red marks darken even more with the impact, his eyes unable to leave them while his thumbs press into the soft flesh, pulling you back onto his cock repeatedly.

"These marks… they look so good on you." Without warning, he lands a hard, stinging spank on your right cheek, the already sensitive skin making you cry out and clench hard around his cock as Jay groans at the sensation, his hips stuttering for a moment before he resumes his deep rhythm.

He gives your left cheek another spank, making you writhe and moan again as you push back against him desperately despite the burn — or maybe because of it — the mix of pain and pleasure making you even wetter, the previous creampie turning everything obscenely wet and messy.

"That’s it," he praises, smoothing his hands over the fresh marks he just added. "Squirm for me. I love how sensitive you are right here." He gives you one more spank, lighter this time but still enough to make you shudder, and immediately soothes the area with his hands, massaging the sore flesh while he continues thrusting deep and hard from behind.

Jay leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside yours while the other reaches down to rub tight circles on your clit. His chest presses against your back, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks between thrusts. "You’re going to take every drop again, princess. I’m going to give you my babies, keep you so full you won’t even think about anyone else."

When you come again — hard, your vision blurring from the overwhelming sensations — Jay follows right behind, burying himself deep with a groan and flooding you with another load of hot cum. He stays inside you for a long time afterward, thrusting slowly through the aftershocks.

Finally, he pulls out carefully and pulls you into his arms, stroking your back in slow, gentle movements. "You’re a mess, princess. Come on, let me take care of you."

He stands up with you in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. Once inside, he turns on the shower, adjusts the temperature, and removes the rest of both your clothes before guiding you under the hot spray with him where the water cascades over you both. Jay takes his body wash, lathers it between his hands, and runs them over your skin — being extra careful around your sensitive ass, massaging the foam in light circles that ease some of the sting.

"Maybe I was a little too rough tonight," he says, his hands moving along your thighs, cleaning away the evidence of the many rounds. "Work stress got to me, and then seeing Jake… I took it out on you more than I should have. You handled it really well, but I’m sorry if it was too much."

You lean back against his chest, letting the water rinse off the soap as you tilt your head to look at him. "It hurt… but it also felt good. In a weird way. I just hated feeling like I was bothering you earlier. I didn’t want to annoy you while you were working. I just… missed you a lot."

After rinsing you, he turns off the shower, wraps you in a towel first, then himself and dries you carefully, paying extra attention to your ass and rubbing some soothing lotion he finds in the cabinet. "There. Better?"

"Much better," you admit, reaching up to touch his face. "Thank you for taking care of me like this."

He leans down and kisses your forehead. "You make it easy to want to take care of you." Pulling you closer, his voice shifting to something even calmer and more sincere. "I don’t know what I’d do without you around. I can’t imagine coming home and not having you here like this. You just… fit. Right here with me."

You hug him tightly, burying your face in his chest. "I feel the same. I always want to be close to you because you make everything feel better."

Smiling against your hair, Jay guides you to the bed and pulls the covers back, lying down beside you to pull you close against his chest. One arm wraps around you securely, his hand rests gently on your ass — not squeezing, just warm and protective over the sensitive skin.

You snuggle even closer, your leg draped over his as exhaustion finally takes over completely. "Stay the night?" you ask sleepily.

"Wouldn’t dream of leaving," His fingers trace lazy circles on your back until your breathing evens out and you fall asleep.

Next morning you stir slowly, feeling the pleasant ache in your muscles and Jay’s heavy arm draped over your waist, his body curled protectively against your back. He feels you waking up and trails lazy kisses along your shoulder before moving up the side of your neck. "Good morning, baby," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep as his hand slides to your stomach. "Sleep well?"

You turn in his arms, smiling despite the slight soreness when you move, and reach up to brush the messy hair from his forehead. "Yes… thanks to you."

He leans in and kisses you properly — slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes you melt. At this point, he couldn't care less that neither of you had brushed your teeth yet. "You were incredible last night. Let me make it up to you a little more with breakfast."

Jay borrows a pair of your sweatpants that look comically tight on his incredibly nice ass, making you laugh as he models them. In the kitchen, you work side by side like so many mornings before — he cracks eggs for scrambled eggs while you toast bread and slice fruit. Small touches are stolen throughout: a hand on your lower back as he reaches past you, a quick kiss on your temple when you hand him the salt shaker, a playful bump of his hip against yours.

"You’re in a good mood today," you tease, leaning against the counter while he plates the food.

"I can’t help it when I wake up next to you." He sets the plates on the table and pulls you in for another kiss before you both sit down.

After eating, you start getting ready for college and he for the office. Jay kisses you one more time before heading back to his apartment next door to get ready for work. You take a long shower and, once dressed in jeans and a comfortable blouse, you step out into the hallway at the same time he does, looking impeccable in his work clothes.

He quickly pulls you in for a proper goodbye, hands gently cradling your face as he kiss your forehead, lingering there for a long moment. "Have a good day at class. Text me when you’re done." With one last soft kiss on your lips, he pulls away with a smile. "See you later, princess."

College passes in a whirlwind of classes and notes, but your mind keeps drifting back to Jay — the way he holds you, the sweet words, the kisses. He has not sent many messages during the day, which is a little unusual, but you figure he must be busy at work.

When you finally get home in the early evening, you step into the elevator and press the button for the third floor. Just before the doors close, a woman you have never seen in the building before enters, but something about her face seems vaguely familiar.

The woman smiles politely as the elevator starts moving. Curiosity gets the better of you and before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Hi… do you live here? I’ve been in the building for about two months and I don’t think I’ve seen you around."

She nods, laughing lightly. "Yes, I do, but I’ve been away on a work trip. I’m a lawyer and a complicated case kept me out of town longer than expected. I actually got back this morning."

"Wow. That sounds intense… By the way, my name is y/n. Nice to meet you."

The woman’s smile widens. "Nice to meet you too. Jay has already told me about you. He’s mentioned his sweet neighbor a few times."

Your heart flutters with joy — Jay talked about you to the neighbors. It feels special, like proof that you are really becoming a bigger part of his life. "He did? That’s nice to hear."

The elevator dings on the third floor and you both step out together. A small flicker of confusion crosses your mind — she is going the same way — but you don’t think much of it. Maybe she lives farther down the hall.

Then you see Jay standing there and your face lights up immediately. He hadn't texted you all day, and seeing him now makes excitement bubble up inside you. You walk toward him with a radiant smile.

At the same moment, the woman also walks straight up to him. When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him — a deep, familiar, affectionate kiss. Jay’s hands settle on her waist automatically as he eagerly kisses her back.

The world stops.

Your feet freeze mid-step and everything inside you turns cold and numb. It takes a moment for your brain to process what you are seeing, but then the pieces fall into place with painful clarity. That was Jay’s wife. The woman in the Polaroid photo he casually said was his "sister." The late-night calls he claimed were from the office. The feminine body wash he said belonged to his mom. The distant restaurant he took you to on your first date, probably so no one nearby would recognize him. The way the doorman sometimes looked at you with that judgmental expression, like he knew something — he did. All the small inconsistencies you had ignored because you were so blinded by how gentle and attentive he seemed.

Every sweet word, every touch, every promise of "you’re mine" had been built on lies. He was married. His heart already belonged to someone else, and you had been nothing but a convenient distraction from the apartment next door — blind, eager, and so in love with the version of him he showed you that you never saw the truth.

Jay’s eyes meet yours over his wife’s shoulder, and for a fraction of a second, something like panic or guilt flashes across his face. The shock turns into pure pain, making you practically run to your door as you fumble for your keys while hot tears blur your vision.

You lean against the door, sliding down to the floor as sobs begin to escape you. Your chest hurts as if someone had ripped a hole in it. All the cute moments — the kisses, the touches, the date, the bouquet — turn ugly and humiliating in your memory.

You cry hard, knees pulled up to your chest, as disappointment turns into shame for having fallen so completely for the man who made you feel special, desired, and loved… and it was all a lie.

The thin walls allow you to hear muffled voices — his wife asking about his day, the normalcy of their conversation only making everything worse. You press your hands over your ears, trying to block out the sound, but the damage is already done. Your heart is shattered.

The man you had grown so attached to — the one who held you so tenderly after sex, who made you breakfast and promised more comfortable days like that — was someone else’s husband, and you had been the other woman without even knowing it.

You have been waiting for this moment for months, even years. You are finally moving out. It is because of college, but still, it is a new beginning far from home — a brand-new chapter in your own space. A mix of excitement and nervousness settles in your chest, because living alone requires a lot of responsibility, and you are not sure if you are ready to handle it all.

For the past five minutes, you have been staring at the mountain of boxes crammed into the trunk and backseat of your car like a game of Tetris. You are wondering how you are going to carry so many boxes up to the third floor where your apartment is. With a deep breath, you finally grab one of the boxes, and immediately stagger under its weight.

"Maintenance. Sorry for the inconvenience" reads the sign taped to the elevator doors.

Drops of sweat form on your temples, down the back of your neck, and pool on your spine, making your shirt stick to your skin. Of course it would be hot as hell on the day of your move, and of course the elevator wouldn't be working — talk about lucky.

You take another deep breath, hug the box against your chest, and begin climbing the stairs slowly, careful not to lose your balance.

Your arms are trembling and your breathing is almost as heavy as the box by the time you finally reach the first floor, forcing you to set it down for a moment to rest. But just as you pick it up again, mentally preparing for the next flight of stairs, the sound of footsteps coming down from above catches you off guard.

A man is coming down the stairs. He’s tall, wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the prominent veins on his forearms. His jaw is sharp — probably sharper than any knife you’ve ever seen. He looks so put-together that you suddenly feel embarrassed by your sweaty face and disheveled state.

Seeing you, he stops immediately, his eyebrows furrowing with mild concern. "Whoa. Let me help you with that." His voice is low and smooth, the kind of voice that sends a shiver down your spine before you can stop it.

You blush, heat rising from your neck to your cheeks. "Oh, you don’t have to. I can manage—"

"I insist," he replies gently, waiting with his hands hovering, giving you the choice. You let him take the box, and the relief is immediate — your arms practically sing in gratitude. He lifts it as if it weighs nothing, cradling it against his chest with just one arm — the same box you were struggling to carry with both. "I’m Jay, by the way."

You quickly wipe the sweat from your forehead and try to fix your hair because you want to look at least a little presentable for the incredibly good-looking man helping you. "Thank you so much. I’m y/n. I’m moving in today, to apartment 3B."

Jay’s expression softens, and a warm smile spreads across his face. "3B? That’s interesting. I live right next door, in 3A." He nods toward the stairs. "Looks like we’re neighbors." He gestures ahead. "After you."

You both climb the remaining stairs together and your heart still pounding. You can’t tell if it’s from the physical effort earlier or from his company. Because of the nerves, the words start tumbling out before you can stop them.

"I’m starting college this week. I got accepted and everything, and I was so excited when I found this apartment. It’s the first time I’ve ever lived away from home, so I’m really thrilled… but also kind of terrified? Like, what if I get lost on campus? What if my classes are way harder than I expected? I brought way too much stuff, I’m kind of attached to my things, you know?" You let out a breathless laugh. "Sorry, I’m probably talking too much. I get really chatty when I’m nervous."

Jay glances at you as you walk, the box still balanced effortlessly in his arms. He doesn’t look annoyed — in fact, he seems amused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’re not talking too much. It’s a big change, but you’re doing great."

You bite your lower lip, watching him as you climb. There is something intriguing about him that sparks your curiosity. "And you? Are you a student too, or…?"

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "No, I’ve already graduated. I work at a company downtown." He says it casually, offering no further details — which only makes you even more curious.

You reach the landing of the second floor and have to stop to catch your breath, while Jay doesn’t even seem slightly winded — it’s honestly impressive. "My parents helped me pack my bags, but they’re hours away now. It’s exciting, though. New city, new people. I just hope I don’t ruin everything."

"You won’t," Jay says gently. "Everyone feels like that at the beginning. The nervousness is normal. Besides, you seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. You’ll find your rhythm." He sets the box down carefully in front of your door. "Ready for another round?"

The words hit you like a spark. "Ready for another round." And before you can help it, your mind immediately drifts, imagining Jay on top of you, his strong body pressing you into the mattress, that same low voice murmuring the question against your neck while his hands pinned your wrists above your head. Heat flooded your face and settled lower in your belly.

You quickly shake your head, trying to push the thought away, desperately hoping your blush isn't too obvious. "Yes, let's do it."

He carries the rest of the boxes for you, going up and down the stairs multiple times. Meanwhile, you keep rambling nonstop about what you are studying, where you are from, and how you are feeling about this new phase of your life. He listens as if he genuinely cares, and even though you can’t quite place the age difference between you two, you feel surprisingly comfortable with him.

When the last box finally makes it through the door, you stand in the hallway with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Jay. Honestly. I don’t know what I would have done without you."

"Glad I could help. Moving is a big step. If you need anything else, I’m right next door." With that, he returns to his own apartment, leaving you surrounded by a sea of boxes that will clearly take hours to unpack.

A few days pass. You unpack — not everything, just the most important things. Your first classes are overwhelming. You get lost twice, accidentally walk into the wrong lecture hall, and sit through an entire lecture on quantum physics before realizing your mistake. But as embarrassing as it was, that mistake ended up leading you to a guy named Jake, who turned out to be incredibly nice and cute.

Now you are standing outside Jay’s door with a plate of cupcakes in your hands, ready to properly thank him for helping you with the move. The thing is, you can’t really bake; you tried making the cupcakes yourself but ended up burning the batch, so you had to go to the bakery on the corner to buy a box of them instead. They look a bit too professional, but since he doesn't know about your complete lack of kitchen skills, you're confident he won't suspect a thing — especially since you took them out of the box and arranged them nicely on a plate just to be extra safe.

You knock on his door, your heart pounding hard in your chest. He opens it a moment later, and his face lights up when he sees you. "Hey, neighbor," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "How are classes going?"

"Good," you reply, pushing the plate forward with a little too much force. "Great, actually. I only got lost twice today, which is an improvement." Your smile widens. "I brought these for you. For helping me with the move. I made them myself."

He looks at the cupcakes, then back at you, this time raising an eyebrow. "You made these?"

"Yes," you say, nodding firmly with your chin held high, trying to look confident. "From scratch. All by myself. I’m pretty good at baking."

He picks up one of the cupcakes and examines it, narrowing his eyes as he brings it closer to his face. You feel your determination starting to crumble.

"Really?" he asks with a smile, clearly testing how long you will keep up the lie. "From scratch?"

You hold his gaze for three whole seconds before you look away in embarrassment. Your shoulders drop and your face turns as red as a tomato. "Okay, fine. I bought them at the bakery on the corner. I took them out of the box so you would think I’m a functional adult who knows how to bake." You laugh at yourself. "I tried making them the other day, Jay. I set off the smoke alarm. I’m a danger to this entire building."

He throws his head back and laughs — not mocking you, but with a genuine, warm laugh that makes you feel less embarrassed about pretending you had baked the cupcakes. "Oh my God, you actually burned them?"

"I once burned noodles. I’m a total disaster in the kitchen."

He steps aside, still smiling, and gestures for you to come in. "Alright, come in. I’ll split one of these ‘homemade’ cupcakes with you. It’s the least I can do for someone who put so much effort into the task."

Your mom’s voice whispers in the back of your mind: "Don’t talk to strangers and definitely don’t go into their apartments, sweetheart." But is he really a stranger? He is your neighbor who carried all your boxes without complaining, and the way he stands there holding the plate of cupcakes with that smile makes you not hesitate at all.

You follow him inside. He leads you to the kitchen, grabs two small plates, and carefully unwraps a vanilla cupcake, splitting it in half before sliding one piece toward you.

"Have a seat," he says, pointing to the stool by the kitchen island.

"So, you mentioned you work downtown? What exactly do you do?" you ask as you sit down.

"I’m a lawyer," he replies, taking a bite of his half and nodding in approval. "Good choice of bakery, by the way."

You laugh, biting into yours. "A lawyer. That makes a lot of sense. You have this… I don’t know how to say it without sounding weird, but you have this organized vibe. Like you’re really good at arguing without even raising your voice."

His smile widens. "People have definitely told me that before that I have a ‘courtroom voice.’ It’s just my normal voice, only lower and slower. People tend to listen when you don’t yell."

"You’ll have to show me someday. If I ever get in legal trouble, I’ll know exactly who to call."

"Please don’t get in legal trouble. But if you do, I’m your guy."

The conversation flows just as easily as it did on moving day, and before you know it, you’re venting about your annoying professor, how massive the campus is, and all the times you’ve already managed to get lost. Between all the talking, the cupcakes completely disappear, leaving the coffee he made to sit cold and barely touched in your mug. There’s just something about him that instantly puts you at ease.

Despite the age gap, he never talks down to you or makes you feel small, which makes talking to him completely effortless. It’s just so comforting to have someone around who listens to you with that much care and attention — especially when he happens to be incredibly good-looking, leaving you totally hooked since the very first day.

As he walks you to the door when you finally get up to leave, he snatches a pen and a post-it note to scribble something down. Before you know it, he’s pressing the paper into your palm, his fingers brushing lightly against yours and sending a sudden warmth to your cheeks as he says, "Here’s my number, in case you ever need anything."

"Thank you," you say, smiling a little too wide.

He nods. "Anytime. Seriously. Don’t be a stranger."

────────

The grocery bags dig painfully into your fingers as you stand in the lobby, staring at the elevator doors that are still under maintenance. You look at them as if a miracle might happen — maybe if you stare for one more second, God will take pity and finally fix it. Nothing happens, of course, which makes you let out a long sigh of frustration. It has been days since you moved in and the elevator is still not working.

Your arms already hurt from carrying way too many bags. You definitely should have made two trips, but stubbornness won.

Reaching the second floor is pure torture; your arms are burning, those plastic handles are digging right into your palms, and the bags keep swinging awkwardly against your legs. Trying to stop and adjust your grip only makes things worse, to the point where you're seriously considering just sitting right there on the stairs and crying.

You finally collapse against the wall at the third-floor landing, letting the bags slide to the floor just to catch your breath. Right then, the door to 3A clicks open and Jay steps out — perfectly dressed for work with that annoyingly handsome lawyer look that instantly makes your stomach do a little flip.

He sees you immediately. For a second, his eyes take in the whole scene — your flushed face, the many overloaded bags, and the way you are leaning against the wall breathing heavily. A light, amused laugh escapes him. It is not mocking, just genuinely entertained, as if he expected nothing less from you.

"Carrying heavy stuff again?" he asks, walking toward you. "You really don’t learn, do you?"

Before you can even open your mouth to protest, he is already reaching for the bags, picking them all up at once as if they weigh absolutely nothing. His strong arms support the weight so effortlessly that his biceps press against the fabric of his dress shirt, making it completely impossible for you not to stare.

He turns and walks toward your door, carrying everything like it is nothing.

At your doorstep, Jay sets all the bags down carefully against the wall and turns to face you. His expression is calm, almost unreadable, but there is something more in it. You understand it the moment he starts speaking in a gently scolding tone. "You really shouldn’t carry so much at once," he says, crossing his arms. "It’s not safe and it’s clearly too heavy for you. Make two or three trips next time. Look at your hands, they’re all red. You were hurting yourself. Why? Because you’re way too stubborn, huh?"

You glance down at your palms, and they are red where the plastic handles dug in. "I was fine," you say, though even you do not believe it. "I almost made it."

"Don’t be stubborn."

"You sound exactly like my dad," you reply, crossing your arms to mimic him. "He’s always telling me I’m too stubborn for my own good."

Jay’s lips curve into a small smile. "Because you really are," he says with so much certainty that you cannot even argue back. "I’m serious. Next time, make multiple trips or just text me. I’d rather help than watch you struggle like that."

There is a protective tone in his voice that makes your cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and something else stirring low in your stomach. He is lecturing you like a child, but somehow it sounds kind of hot coming from him.

Then he glances at the grocery bags again. Now that the scolding is over, he seems to actually pay attention to what is inside them. He picks one up and looks inside — it is full of frozen meals, instant noodles, ultra-processed food, and canned goods. "Look, I know you’re in college now, but that doesn’t mean you have to live on processed food. It’s quick, sure, but you need real fresh stuff, not just things that come out of a can. Eating like this long-term isn’t good for you. You could get sick."

You blink, caught off guard by the extra lecture. He is fully in dad-mode now, and there is something strangely attractive about how seriously he takes it, like he is genuinely worried about you. "Okay, okay. I get it… I already told you I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I just grabbed whatever is easiest so I don’t starve."

Jay’s expression softens a little. "I’m not trying to scold you. I just know how easy it is to fall into bad habits when you’re living on your own for the first time." He pauses and adds in a gentler voice, "If you ever need help in the kitchen, you know where to find me. I’m not exactly a chef, but I know how to make real meals."

Your mind wanders again because you can’t help it — you picture him in your kitchen, standing right behind you while teaching you how to cook, his hands guiding yours, the warmth of his body against your back…

"I’ll try to do better, I swear. Thanks for helping again. I think I owe you something now. How about brownies as a thank you this time?"

Jay shakes his head, chuckling softly. "You don’t owe me anything. Just be more careful next time." He glances at the heavy bags one more time. "Need help carrying these inside?"

You shake your head quickly. "I can handle it from here. I bet you’re busy, you look like you’re heading to work."

He checks the watch on his wrist. "Yeah, I have a meeting soon, but the offer stands anytime." Before turning to leave, he gives you one last firm look. "Take care of yourself."

After he leaves, you drag the bags inside, one half first and then the other, just like Jay suggested.

That night, you are sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you open your contacts. You saved Jay’s number, of course, but you have been telling yourself you don’t need to text him. It is an emergency-only number, but then you think about him carrying your groceries, the effortless way he took them from you, and the gentle scolding in his voice. Before you can overthink it, you are already typing a message to him.

────────

It is already past midnight and you have been staring at the same page of your textbook long enough for your vision to blur. Your brain has officially given up — it is impossible to absorb a single word more after hours of studying.

You are about to slam the book shut to take out your stress on it and drag yourself to bed when a soft knock sounds at the door. Your heart jumps slightly because you were not expecting anyone, especially not at this hour.

Another knock.

You get up slowly, stretching your sore muscles, and walk to the door. When you open it, Jay is standing there, looking different tonight without his formal work clothes and lawyer posture. He is wearing a simple white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and is barefoot. He looks relaxed, holding a bottle of red wine — as if he made the sudden decision to knock on your door and came straight over without even putting shoes on.

"Hey," he says, his low voice making your stomach flip. His eyes scan over you, taking in your tired face, messy hair, and pajamas. Something in his expression softens.

"Hey," you reply softly, matching his tone.

"Hey," he repeats, then laughs when he realizes what he just did.

"Hey," you answer again, this time with a small smile. "You already said that."

"I know." He laughs again, shaking his head. "I just… it’s late."

"Very late."

"I know." He lifts the bottle slightly. "I bought this earlier today but… it’s no fun drinking alone."

You look at the wine, then back at him. The way he is standing there — messy hair, ridiculously handsome, and a little too soft — makes going back to bed suddenly seem like a very stupid choice. "Are you inviting me to drink with you?"

"I’m asking if you want to take a break. From everything."

The way he looks at you with those inviting eyes makes the decision easy, but you decide to tease him first. "I don’t usually drink with strangers."

"We’re not strangers," he says, his voice soft. Your teasing does not seem to faze him.

"We’re not exactly friends either," you reply, tilting your head and studying his reaction.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost lazy smile. "Then let’s change that."

You pretend to consider it for a moment, even though you were already fully committed the second you saw him at your door. "Mmm, okay. But let’s do it at your apartment. Mine is a mess."

His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Alright, whatever you want."

You grab your keys and follow him, also barefoot, to the door next to yours. His apartment is clean and organized as always, which makes the space feel strangely comforting. In the kitchen, he pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, his fingers brushing against yours for half a second and sending a spark through your body.

"Cheers," he says, raising his glass.

"Cheers," you repeat, gently clinking your glass against his.

You take a sip and let out a small, involuntary hum of appreciation — it is much better than you expected, probably the most expensive wine you have ever tasted. He gestures toward the living room. "Come on, let’s sit," he says, leading the way to the couch. You follow and settle onto his couch, trying to look more relaxed than you actually feel.

"This is nice," you say, taking another sip.

He sits on the other end of the couch — close enough to talk comfortably, but far enough to be polite. "It’s just wine." He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass.

"I mean relaxing… not thinking about classes for the first time."

He nods, understanding. "You think about classes a lot."

"It’s pretty much my entire life right now," you admit with an awkward little laugh, taking another sip.

"I remember going through that too. Everything revolving around exams, assignments, and exhausting responsibilities."

You tilt your head, studying him. "You make it sound like ancient history."

"Sometimes it feels like it." He takes a sip, not breaking eye contact. "I still remember when I was in college. I used to think a bad grade would ruin everything." A dry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. "There’s so much pressure."

Suddenly you find yourself wanting to know more about him, drawn by the experienced tone in his voice and posture. The wine is already loosening your tongue, so you ask. "How old are you, anyway?"

A small, playful smile appears on his lips. "I’m old enough."

You narrow your eyes, trying to hold back a smile. "That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one you’re getting." He takes another sip.

"That’s annoying," you say, leaning forward slightly and resting your elbows on your knees.

"Maybe I am annoying." He shrugs, but there is a sparkle in his eyes that tells you he is enjoying this.

"You’re avoiding the question," you accuse, pointing a finger at him.

"I’m protecting my privacy."

"From what? Your neighbor?" You laugh, raising an eyebrow.

"Especially from my neighbor."

You pout, pretending to be hurt. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

"Everyone has secrets," he says, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone.

"I don’t." You are not even sure why you say it. Maybe it is the wine, or the way he is looking at you right now.

"Everyone does." He holds his ground. "You have secrets too."

Your pulse quickens. "I don’t."

"Yes, you do."

You swallow hard. The air between you feels thicker now, charged with something you can’t quite name. You shift slightly on the sofa and notice how easy it would be to reach out and touch him. "So you have a lot of secrets, huh?" you ask, curious.

"Yes. Quite a few."

"Like what?" you press, wanting to see what he will give you.

"If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore." His lips curve into a slow, almost predatory smile.

"Touché." You raise your glass in an ironic toast, making him laugh.

A comfortable but heavy silence settles between you for a moment, thick with tension as you exchange glances and take slow sips. The wine is definitely doing its job — making your words come out slower, your laughter easier, and your body warmer.

"How old are you?" he asks, breaking the silence.

You blink, caught off guard. "Me?"

"Yes, you." He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You asked me, so I’m asking you back."

You smile, deciding to play his game. "I’m old enough."

A low, surprised laugh escapes him — rich and genuine. "That’s my line."

"I know." You take another sip to hide your smile.

"You stole my line."

You just shrug. "I borrowed it."

"That’s not how borrowing works."

"Yes, it is."

He laughs again. "You’re impossible."

"Am I? What else?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.

"You’re something," he says, his voice dropping again.

"What?" You are not sure what he means by that.

"I don’t know yet." He keeps his eyes fixed on you. "But I’m figuring it out."

You feel your cheeks heat up and take another sip of wine to try to hide your reaction. Jay, however, keeps watching you, and you can tell he noticed.

"You know what I’ve noticed?" By now your voice is a little slurred, so you have to be careful with the words that come out of your mouth.

"What?" His wine glass is almost empty. He sets it on the coffee table and turns all of his attention to you.

You lean back on the couch, turning to face him more directly. Your knee brushes against his thigh, but neither of you pulls away. "You don’t talk much about yourself."

He tilts his head, frowning slightly. "Don’t I?"

"No. You listen, but you don’t share. Like, you’re dodging right now. You give answers, but you don’t really answer."

"Well, I’m trying to protect myself," he says simply.

"Protect yourself from what?" You lean forward, genuinely curious now.

"From getting too attached." The words are honest, and you definitely were not expecting them.

You stare at him, your hand frozen halfway to taking another sip. "From what?"

"To you." His voice is almost a whisper, making your pulse race and your skin flush.

"Why would you get too attached to me?"

He stays silent for a moment, his eyes tracing over you as if he wants to memorize every detail. "Because it’s easy to get attached to you."

"No, it's not," you say, shaking your head as a small, incredulous laugh escapes you.

"It is." His voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "You just don’t see it."

You look away, feeling your entire body grow warmer. "You’re dodging again."

"I’m being honest." He leans forward slightly, and you can smell him now — a masculine scent mixed with the light sweetness of the wine.

You set your glass on the coffee table and turn to face him completely, the wine making you bolder. "You’re giving me half-answers. You’re telling me just enough to make me curious, but not enough."

He stays quiet for a moment, thinking. "What do you want to know?"

You hold his gaze. "Something real. Truly honest."

Silence stretches between you, thick with something heavy and suffocating that you can't quite name. Then he whispers, "I think you’re beautiful."

Your breath catches, and for a second you are not sure you heard him correctly. "That’s not—" you begin, but he interrupts you.

"It’s honest."

"You can’t just say that," your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

"I just did." His gaze doesn’t leave yours for even half a second.

"It’s too… direct."

"You asked for it." He says it simply, like it is the most natural thing in the world.

"You’re a tease," you say, not sure if you are complaining or not.

"Wait until you find out what else I am. You want to know me? Then make sure you’re ready."

You do not know what to say or what to do, so you look away, your face burning.

When he finally walks you to your door, you are a little unsteady on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle hand on your waist, and the touch is enough to send shivers through your body. "I’m fine," you murmur, even though you are swaying slightly.

"You’re drunk," he says, smiling at your messy state.

"I’m a little tipsy," you reply, giving him a blurry-eyed look.

"You’re drunk."

"It’s the same thing," you mutter dismissively.

"No, it’s not." He is looking at you with that warm, steady gaze that makes your knees feel weak.

You smile, light and tipsy. "Yes, it is."

At your door, you miss the lock twice. He laughs softly before helping you. "Thank you," you whisper. "For this, for the wine, the company, and everything."

His lips curve into a small, warm smile. "Good night, old enough.:

You smile again — you seem to always be smiling when he is around. "Good night, old man."

You step inside, close the door, and lean against it with your heart racing and your whole body warm from the wine and his words — still smiling like an idiot.

A few minutes later, you are curled up in bed when your phone buzz on the nightstand.

────────

You have been tossing and turning on the mattress for what feels like hours — shifting positions, turning to the other side, but nothing helps. You can’t fall asleep — you mind refuses to stop, racing with thoughts about exams, deadlines, and the weight of all your responsibilities pressing down on your shoulders. You need air, you need to feel like you are not suffocating in that apartment, surrounded by boxes you haven't even had the time to unpack yet. There are several unfinished notes on your desk that constantly remind you that you are not doing enough, no matter how hard you try.

So you go up to the rooftop. The cool night air hits your face and lets you breathe again.

The city is an endless sea of lights — countless tiny glowing points in the darkness that remind you how small you really are. You sit on the old bench near the edge of the roof, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them like a shield.

Your thoughts slowly begin to calm as the minutes pass, and the knot in your chest loosens just a little.

Then the door creaks open behind you.

You turn quickly, your body instantly on alert and your heart racing. And there he is — Jay. He is wearing sweatpants and a black shirt, something about this casual, almost domestic look makes your heart skip a beat. He sees you immediately and stops. Surprise flashes across his face for a second before it turns into that familiar half-smile.

"Can’t sleep either?" His voice is low, almost intimate in a way that makes you shiver.

You shake your head. "I have too much on my mind right now…"

He nods as if he completely understands — and he really does. Walking toward you, he stops at a respectful distance before sitting on the bench beside you — close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body, but not so close that he invades your personal space. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." You shift over a little even though there is already enough space.

He leans back, looking up at the sky, which is beautiful tonight with a full moon and stars shining brightly. The silence stretches between you. He doesn’t force conversation; he simply sits there observing the sky and the city with you. The silence is not awkward — it is actually comforting, especially when you are with him.

"I can’t sleep," you admit, breaking the silence with words that slip out before you can stop them. "I try, but my brain just won’t stop. Every time I close my eyes, I start thinking about all the things I have to do, all the things I haven’t done, and all the ways I’m probably going to mess everything up."

"What’s on your mind?" His voice is gentle and patient as always, showing that he is ready to listen.

"Everything." You let out a shaky sigh. "College, exams, being away from my family for the first time… It’s a lot. I thought I was ready, that I could handle it. But sometimes it feels like I’m drowning and I don’t know how to swim. Literally."

"I know how that feels," he says after a long moment of silence. His eyes stay fixed on yours, and there is something raw in them — something honest. "I remember feeling exactly like that. Like everything was too much and I was too small to handle it."

"You’re talking about yourself. That’s new," you say softly. "You always ask about me, but you never—"

"You already have enough on your plate," he cuts in gently.

You blink, caught off guard. "What?"

"You’re stressed about college, adjusting to a new city, and far from your family," he keeps his gaze steady on you, his expression sincere. "You don’t need to hear about my problems too."

"That’s not how it works." You shake your head as something warm and confusing blooms in your chest. "We’re supposed to share things. That’s what—" You pause, searching for the right word. "That’s what friends do."

"I don’t want to burden you when you’re already dealing with so much, and I certainly don’t want to make it worse."

You stay quiet for a moment, his words stirring something you cannot quite name — but it feels good. "That’s really… kind," you finally say.

"I try." He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips.

The silence settles again, and you sit together quietly for a while longer. Then, out of nowhere, he tilts his head and asks, "How’s your succulent doing?"

You laugh at the unexpected question. "You’re asking about my plant?"

"I remember you mentioned it." He turns toward you — fully turning his body — with a small playful smile on his lips. "I bet you gave it a name."

You shake your head, still smiling. "I haven’t named it yet… but it’s still alive, which is honestly impressive."

"You’re supposed to water it," he says in a gently scolding tone.

"I know." You look away, feeling a little guilty about slowly killing a plant.

"But you forget." There is no judgment in his voice, only warm amusement.

"I forget." You laugh — something you always do when you are with him. "I have a lot on my mind, okay?"

"You’re a plant killer." He smiles, making you grin even wider.

"I’m not a plant killer! I’m just… forgetful. It is surviving, which is more than I can say about myself sometimes."

Something in your words changes his expression. It is still gentle, but now there is a hint of concern. "You’re doing better than you think."

You don’t know what to say, so you just look at him, with the words stuck in your throat.

"Does the succulent at least have company?" he asks after a moment, his voice light as always.

You blink, confused by the sudden question. "What?"

"Other plants, maybe some flowers, something to keep it company. Plants get lonely too."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t think it gets lonely. It’s just a plant, after all."

"All living things have feelings. It definitely feels lonely," he says with so much conviction that you almost believe him.

"That’s not scientifically accurate," you reply, not entirely sure if what you are saying is accurate either.

"I never said it was." He shrugs. "I’m a lawyer. I deal with arguments, not facts."

"They’re the same thing."

"Not at all." He shifts closer to you on the bench, making sure you are listening. "Facts are objective. Arguments are subjective. I make a living turning subjective arguments into something that sounds like objective facts."

"That’s… something. And you’re so weird."

"I’m just concerned about your plant’s loneliness." His voice is incredibly serious, showing that he is taking this very seriously.

"You’re worried about my plant," you say, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, just like I worry about you."

You don’t know what to say again — Jay has a way of leaving you speechless. Your cheeks flush and you look away. "I’ve never received flowers before, anyway…" you say softly, the secret slipping from your lips.

Jay is not sure he heard you correctly. "What did you say?"

Even though you hesitate, you repeat it, louder this time. "I’ve never received flowers." You look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. "I had a boyfriend before, but he was an idiot. He never did anything romantic like giving me flowers or taking me for dates."

He stays silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on you while your heart pounds loudly in your ears. He is thinking about something — you can tell by the way his jaw tightens. "Would you want to go on one? With me."

You stop breathing the moment you hear his words and everything around you seems to freeze. "What?"

"A date. A real date where I pick you up, open doors for you, and take you somewhere nice. It doesn’t have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be. It can just be two people spending time together. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."

Your heart is beating so hard you are sure he can hear it, your mouth is dry, your palms are sweaty, and the words feel stuck in your throat again. Jay is asking you out on a date — a real date. The age gap has been on your mind since the day you met — he is a lawyer and you are still trying to figure out how to live on your own, but every interaction with him feels safe, like he truly sees you.

"Jay, I—" You stop, taking a shaky breath.

"You don’t have to answer right now," he says gently, giving you time to think.

"No, I—" You take another deep breath, and this time the words come out steady. "Yes. Yes, I want that."

His face transforms — a slow, warm smile spreads across his lips and reaches his eyes, making your stomach flip and your heart race just like always.

"Great," he says softly. "I’ll plan something."

A shy laugh escapes you as the reality of it sinks in. "What do you like to do on dates? I’m sure you’ve been on plenty."

He leans forward a little, resting his elbow on his knee. "I want to know what you like. That’s what matters right now, tell me your preferences so I can plan something good for you."

As you think for a moment, you suddenly feel embarrassed by how limited your preferences are. "I’m kind of picky, honestly. I like pasta, I hate anything too spicy, and I don’t like overly sweet desserts. Oh, and I’m not a big fan of seafood unless it’s fried. Is that too much?"

Jay listens attentively, nodding as if he is absorbing every detail. "Not at all. Being picky isn’t a problem, it actually makes it easier to get it right." He pauses, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "You know, for someone who’s a disaster in the kitchen, you have very specific opinions, princess."

The nickname lands softly between you — affectionate and teasing, with a hint of warmth. Your breath catches, your face flushes instantly, and you lower your head to hide the redness in your cheeks and the smile forming on your lips.

"I… You can’t just say that," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes.

"Why not?" He is smiling even more now, clearly enjoying your reaction. "It suits you. You have high standards and you know exactly what you want, even if you pretend you don’t."

You cover your face with both hands for a second, peeking through your fingers. "You’re going to make me regret saying yes."

"Too late," he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate. "You already said yes."

You lower your hands and meet his gaze, your heart racing in the best possible way. Jay stands up suddenly and offers you his hand. "Come on, it’s getting late and you have class tomorrow. Let’s get you back inside before you freeze."

You take his hand — which is so much bigger than yours — and let him help you up. He doesn’t let go afterward, his fingers stay intertwined with yours as you walk together toward your floor. The elevator is no longer broken, but you both take the stairs anyway, wanting to prolong the moment a little longer.

Stopping at your door, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand. “I'll text you about the date,” he says softly. "We’ll pick a night that works."

You nod, still feeling a little shy about everything. "Okay… Good night, Jay."

"Good night, princess."

────────

The next day, you are more nervous than you have ever been. Every notification on your phone makes your heart skip a beat, terrified that it is Jay confirming the date. Your stomach is in knots with a mix of panic and hope, even though you want to go on this date, you are still incredibly nervous about it.

Your phone buzzes while you are in the library trying to study. "Friday at seven? I’ll take care of everything. Just be ready for a proper night out."

The words "proper night out" send a shiver through you. He is taking this seriously, treating it as something special, even though he said it didn’t have to be romantic. Still, it means something. Smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt, you text back agreeing.

When Friday finally arrives, the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. In fact, they become even more restless as the time of the date gets closer. Hours before, you start getting ready — taking your time as you choose an outfit that makes you feel confident and beautiful. You spend extra time on your makeup, keeping it natural but enhancing your eyes and lips, making sure everything is perfect.

Exactly at seven, you take the elevator down. Jay had insisted on waiting outside the building instead of knocking on your door. "I want you to have the full experience," he had texted earlier, and the gesture made you smile despite your nerves. The moment you step out onto the sidewalk, you see him leaning against his sleek black car parked at the curb. He looks unfairly handsome in a tailored dark shirt and pants.

For a moment, he simply looks at you — slowly scanning from your face to your dress and back up again as his smile widens. "You look beautiful," he says, taking a step closer. "Really, truly beautiful."

Your cheeks flush quickly and a smile forms on your lips. "Thank you. You look really handsome too."

Before you can say anything else, he reaches inside the car and pulls out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. "I remembered what you said on the rooftop…"

The bouquet is perfect, wrapped so beautifully that it makes your chest tighten. "Jay…" you whisper as you reach out to take the flowers. "They’re beautiful. I don’t even know what to say."

Without thinking, you give him a grateful hug. His arms wrap around you immediately, one hand resting on your lower back while the other gently caresses the nape of your neck. "You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy tonight. That’s all I want."

When you pull away, still smiling widely, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and asks, "Ready to go, princess?"

You nod, holding the flowers like a lifeline. He opens the car door for you, waiting until you are settled before closing it gently. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he looks at you with a playful smile. "Seatbelt, please. Safety first."

You laugh and buckle up. "Such a gentleman."

"Only for you."

The drive starts peacefully, soft music playing in the background as you talk. He asks about your day and teases you lightly when you admit that you spent half of your class daydreaming about tonight and that it took you forever to choose what to wear.

You can’t stop stealing glances at him — the way his hands rest easily on the steering wheel, those large hands with long fingers, and the way he looks at you at red lights as if making sure you are still real.

After a few minutes, you notice the city lights fading and buildings giving way to trees. "Where are we going?" you ask curiously, realizing he has been driving for a while — much farther than you expected. "This is pretty far from our building. Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?"

Jay laughs, keeping his eyes on the road. "I’m not going to kill you. I’m just taking you to a place I love, and I think you’ll love it too."

The drive takes about thirty minutes, but when you finally arrive, the restaurant leaves you breathless. You immediately understand why he chose it — it is cozy and elegant, with a stunning view of the city. He reserved a intimate corner table with the perfect view.

He pulls out the chair for you, and as soon as you sit down, he leans in slightly to whisper in your ear, "Relax, okay?"

The dinner unfolds perfectly. You order pasta — creamy, exactly the way you like it — and he chooses a steak dish, offering you a bite from his fork with a raised eyebrow that feels far more intimate than it should. You talk a lot, and he listens as always, head tilted and eyes focused only on you.

You tell him about the friendships you are making in college, about the strange noise your AC is making, and absentmindedly mention the doorman. "He’s nice, I think… but sometimes he looks at me like he knows something I don’t."

Jay’s expression shifts with something unreadable for half a second, but he quickly covers it with a soft chuckle. "He’s probably just in a bad mood. Or maybe he sees how much you’re distracting your poor neighbor."

You laugh. "Poor neighbor? You seem to be handling it pretty well."

His foot brushes against yours under the table. "Barely."

In the middle of the conversation, Jay’s phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it, frowns, and silences it, slipping it into his pocket.

But a few minutes later, it buzzed again. Jay sighs. "I need to take this. It’s probably an emergency with a client. I won’t be long. I’m really sorry."

"Go ahead. I’ll be here judging the dessert menu."

He leans in and gives you a quick kiss on your temple before standing up. "I’ll be right back, princess."

The casual display of affection makes your heart race as you watch him walk away. While he is gone, you take a sip of your wine, observe the people around you, and study the dessert menu.

He returns after about five minutes, sliding back into his seat with an apologetic smile. "All sorted. Where were we?"

When the check arrives, Jay pays without hesitation, even though you offered to split it. Outside, the night air is cold, so he drapes his jacket over your shoulders when he notices you shivering. Then he pulls you closer for a moment, wrapping his arms around you. "Thank you for saying yes," he murmurs against your hair.

You look up at him, smiling. "That was the best decision I’ve made in a long time."

The drive back feels shorter than the trip there, unfortunately — you wish this moment could last forever. Jay keeps one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles that send shivers down your spine. You arrive at the building sooner than you would like, but instead of stopping at the curb, Jay drives into the underground garage.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. "Thank you, Jay. For everything, the flowers, the dinner, the evening… I had a really great time."

He turns to you, that slow smile playing on his lips. "I’m glad, princess."

You reach for the door handle, but his hand moves quickly, wrapping around your wrist and stopping you. Your breath catches at the unexpected contact. "Wait, aren’t you going to thank me properly?"

You blink, confused. "I just did? The hug outside the restaurant and just now."

Jay chuckles, and his gaze shifts into something hungrier. "That was sweet, but I was thinking of something a little more fitting for the end of a perfect night."

Without overthinking it, you lean across the console and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," you whisper again, pulling back to see his reaction.

His smile widens. "Still not enough, princess. Come here."

He cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. The kiss starts soft, his lips meeting yours hesitantly, and you quickly melt into it, which makes him deepen the kiss while still keeping a slow, deliberate pace. His tongue traces your lower lip, and you part for him with a small sigh.

What begins as one kiss turns into many, you lose count as they grow more intense, hungry, and urgent.

Somehow, you end up climbing over the console. His hands guide your hips until you are straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. The space is tight and the steering wheel presses against your back, but you couldn't care less right now. His hands roam along your sides, sliding up your dress until they rest on your thighs, his thumbs drawing circles that make you whimper against his mouth.

You kiss him again and again, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging gently, which draws a low groan from him. That only encourages you — hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you. The friction makes you gasp, and Jay clearly loves the sight — he squeezes your thighs, encouraging your movements.

"God, you’re incredible," he whispers against your mouth between kisses. "So responsive… so perfect."

Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, breathing hard. "You deserve better than this, princess. Our first time shouldn’t be in a car like a couple of impatient teenagers."

You kiss him again, more intensely, nipping at his lower lip. "I don’t care, I want you right here."

He groans, sliding his hand into your hair to pull you into another hungry kiss. "You’re so eager, princess… and so perfect grinding against me like this."

His mouth moves down to your neck, sucking lightly and drawing more whimpers from you. Your movements become restless, rubbing harder, chasing friction. "Jay…" you whisper between kisses. "I need you, please."

His hands find the hem of your dress, slowly pulling it up inch by inch with clear appreciation until he discards it onto the passenger seat. "Beautiful," he murmurs reverently as he stares at your tits. "So beautiful." He leans down, pressing hot, wet kisses along the soft skin, then his tongue circles one nipple before sucking it deeply into his mouth.

You arch your back, a moan escaping your lips. He gives the same attention to the other tit, licking, sucking, and grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth while his hand massages and caresses the first. “You taste so good,” he praises, his voice muffled. "These perfect tits in my mouth… you’re already trembling. So sensitive for me."

He kisses lower, along your sternum and ribs, then back up — worshipping every inch of you while you keep grinding against him. Your panties are soaked, and the friction against his hardness only turns you on more.

He waits until you’re trembling in his lap before he finally moves. Reaching between you, he lowers his pants and boxers just enough to free himself, and when he does, your eyes widen. He is big — thick and hard. The sight makes your mouth water and heat pool low in your belly.

Jay reaches into the glove compartment, fumbling for a condom. He tears it open and rolls it down his length with surprising skill while you watch, hypnotized and a little intimidated by his size and thickness. "You’re… really big," you say softly.

Jay notices your nervousness and caresses your cheek, trying to soothe you. "We’ll go slow, princess. I’ve got you. My good girl can take it."

He helps you shift your panties to the side, guiding you as you sink down onto him. The stretch is intense but delicious — you take him inch by inch, breathing deeply as he fills you completely, murmuring praises nonstop. "That’s it, princess… so tight, so good for me… so fucking perfect around me."

You bury your face in his neck as you sink all the way down, taking him completely until your ass is pressed firmly against his lap. "Oh God… you’re so, so big," you moan, still adjusting to the intense stretch.

The age difference flashes through your mind — he is older, more experienced, probably used to women who knew exactly what they were doing. You want to be good for him, so once you feel ready, you start moving — bouncing with almost frantic energy, desperate to please him. Your hips move and grind fast, determined.

"Easy, princess," Jay groans, gripping your hips to slow you down. "Slow… just like that. You feel incredible, but there’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere."

You moan, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "I just… you’ve probably been with so many others who were better at this. I want to make it good for you. I want to be the best—"

He cuts you off with a deep kiss, then pulls back to look into your eyes while still guiding your movements into a slower, deeper rhythm. "Hey, none of that. It’s just you right now, and you’re already the best, baby. Look at how perfectly you take me." He thrusts up gently to emphasize his words, drawing a moan from you. "You’re my princess."

You relax into his words and the rhythm he sets, moving your hips in deep, grinding motions instead of frantic bouncing. It feels even better this way — his thickness brushing against every sensitive spot inside you. "Like this?" you ask breathlessly, your voice shy but needy.

"Just like that," he praises, his voice rough. "So good for me. So wet… so tight. You’re perfect, listen to those pretty sounds you make."

You keep whispering to him the whole time — shy confessions and soft, breathless questions. "You feel so good, Jay… I feel so full. Does it feel good for you? Tell me if you’re enjoying it."

He groans, his hands roaming over your back, squeezing your ass, then returning to your tits so he can lick and suck them while you ride him. "I love it. I love everything you do. The way you squeeze me… the way you say my name. You’re ruining me, princess."

The pleasure builds uncontrollably, intense and overwhelming, leaving both of you sweaty and breathless. He slides a hand between you to your clit, circling it with his thumb in time with your movements. You tremble hard, moaning and gasping, telling him how close you are, how good he feels, and how much you have wanted this since the day you moved in.

When you come, your walls pulse tightly around his thickness and your body shakes as you cry out his name. Jay follows right after, holding you firmly against him as he finishes into the condom with a deep groan, murmuring endless praises. "That’s it, come for me… so beautiful giving yourself to me completely… my perfect girl."

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard. He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing your temple while his hands gently caress your back. "You okay?" he whispers after a while. "Was it too much?"

"It was perfect," you murmur, nuzzling into his neck. "Better than I imagined. Thank you for slowing me down when I got too excited. I probably embarrassed myself, right?"

He shakes his head lightly and laughs, then he gives you one last kiss on your temple and helps you climb back into the passenger seat, watching as you slip your dress back on. "Don’t forget these," he says, reaching for the bouquet.

You take it with a happy smile. "I wouldn’t dare."

He walks around the car to open your door and intertwines his fingers with yours as you walk toward the elevator. Once inside, he pulls you close and kisses you the entire way up to your floor.

"Your place tonight?" you ask against his lips.

Jay’s hand slides to your lower back, pulling you even closer. "Yes, because I’m not done with you yet. I need you in my bed. The thought of you in my sheets, smelling like me when you wake up… it drives me crazy."

The elevator doors open and he pulls you down the hallway toward his door, unlocking it effortlessly. The moment you are both inside, he takes the flowers from your hand, sets them on the counter, and turns to you with hungry eyes. "Come here," he growls, pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss. His hands cup your face first, then slide down your body. "Let me take care of you properly this time."

He leads you to the bedroom and there, he undresses you slowly, admiring and kissing every inch of exposed skin. When you are completely naked, he steps back and looks at you with pure admiration and desire. "Fuck, look at you… so perfect. Every curve, every inch… all mine tonight."

He removes his own clothes and guides you onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. His warm palms caress them, spreading you open even more. His mouth is on you immediately, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before circling the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, savoring you. "Mmm, already so wet," the vibration of his voice makes you gasp. "You taste so sweet, princess. Like you were made for my mouth."

You let out a shaky moan, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. "Jay… that feels incredible. Oh God—"

He slides a finger inside you, curling it against that sweet spot while his mouth continues sucking and licking. The suction around your clit, the rhythm of his finger stroking that perfect spot deep inside — it all turns the pleasure into something deliciously overwhelming. He adds a second finger, then a third, carefully stretching you as he pumps them in and out.

Your hips move against his face as the pleasure intensifies. "Don’t stop… please, Jay, just like that," you moan, your voice breathless and desperate. He eats you out like a starving man — licking, sucking, and thrusting his fingers into you until your thighs shake around his head and you fall apart with a long, loud cry. You clench and pulse around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through you.

Jay doesn’t stop right away, he keeps licking and fingering you through it, prolonging every sensation until you are limp and panting. Only then he drags his mouth up your body, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and up your neck. "You taste like heaven," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I could do this all night, make you come on my tongue until you go stupid."

He grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on quickly over his hard, leaking cock. You reach down, wrapping your hand around his thick, hard length — stroking him slowly, feeling the weight, the pulsing heat, tracing the veins with curiosity. "I want it raw, Jay… I need to feel you, please."

He groans deeply, his hips pushing forward into your fist. "Baby… protection first, remember? I’ll still make you feel good even with the latex between us, I promise." After kissing your forehead, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes in inch by inch, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. You feel a burning stretch as your walls slowly give way to him, every thick pulsing vein dragging against your sensitive insides. When he’s halfway in, you look down between your bodies and see the clear bulge pressing out against your lower belly.

He notices it right after and quickly slides a hand down to press against the bulge, feeling it move under his palm as he sinks deeper. "Fuck, look at that. You see how deep I am? My cock is rearranging your insides, princess. Stretching this tight pussy so you can see it from the outside."

Your hand joins his, pressing against the visible outline, feeling him move inside you from both the inside and the outside. He teases you mercilessly, thrusting slow and deep so the bulge shifts under your combined touch. "You’re taking me so well, like this pussy was made for my cock. So greedy, swallowing every inch."

He sinks the rest of the way in with a guttural groan, bottoming out completely. "Shit… so tight, so hot. You’re already milking me."

His thick cock fills you so completely that every movement presses against sensitive spots that steal the breath from your lungs. His thrusts start controlled and incredibly gentle instead of brutal force. One hand stays intertwined with yours above your head, while the other caresses your cheek, squeezes your breast, and lightly pinches your nipple before soothing it with his thumb. "You look like pure sin wrapped around me… My beautiful princess, creaming all over my cock, taking every inch like a good girl. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Jay… it feels so good. You’re so deep, I can feel you everywhere." He leans down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as his hips move faster in a devastating rhythm that pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

You come hard around him, your walls fluttering and clenching tightly as you cry out. He does not stop, thrusting deep and steady, prolonging your orgasm until you are shaking. "Fuck, that’s it, come on my cock, baby."

Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a long, broken groan of your name as he cums, pulsing inside you. He stays buried deep for long moments afterwards, holding you close and covering your face, neck, and shoulders with soft kisses until both of your breathing steadies.

Eventually, he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and returns from the bathroom with a warm, damp cloth. He cleans you both gently, murmuring more praises the entire time. "You were perfect, princess. So responsive, so beautiful when you come for me." He pulls the sheets over both of you and wraps you in his arms.

Your head rests on Jay’s chest while his fingers trace a lazy path along your spine, down to the curve of your waist. Without a word, you shift, turning onto your side. Jay follows naturally, molding his body against yours from behind in a perfect spoon. His chest presses against your back as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. You can already feel him half-hard again against the curve of your ass, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.

He nuzzles into the back of your neck, placing soft kisses there. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough in the quiet room.

"More than okay," you whisper back, pressing lightly against him. "I like feeling you close like this."

Jay reaches for another condom from the nightstand. You hear the faint rustle as he puts it on, then his hand returns to your body, tenderly caressing your side and hip. He lifts your top leg slightly, hooking it over his, opening you up for him. The thick head of his cock brushes against your entrance before he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he is buried completely inside you.

"So good," he whispers against your neck, sliding a hand up to caress your breast. His fingers massage gently, his thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under his touch.

He starts moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips, thrusting unhurriedly so you can feel every inch of his thick cock dragging against your walls. While he fucks you, his hand on your breast never stops worshipping it — squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, occasionally pinching lightly before soothing it with gentle caresses. And his mouth keeps placing open-mouthed kisses along the back of your neck, back, and shoulder.

You reach behind you, running your fingers through his hair as you move with him. "Jay… deeper like that feels so good."

His thrusts become a little deeper, but still controlled. "You take me so well every single time. Look at how perfectly you fit around me. I could stay inside you forever." His mouth finds the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark while he continues playing with your breasts — pinching, rolling, and caressing until your nipples are deliciously sore. Only then he slid his hand down to your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The combination of sensations is overwhelming and pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "You’re so close… I can feel you squeezing me. Come for me again, princess."

And you do. Your walls contract rhythmically around his thickness as you moan his name, your body trembling in his arms. Jay follows right after you, burying his face in your neck with a deep groan as he comes, filling the condom.

You turn your head slightly to capture his lips in a lazy kiss. "I feel so safe with you," you whisper. "And so wanted."

He stays inside you until the aftershocks fade, then carefully pulls out, discards the condom, and cleans you both once again with gentle care. He pulls the sheets up around you both and draws you back into his arms, spooning you again.

Jay’s hand rests tenderly on your stomach, tracing small circles there. You feel deeply in love and completely at peace as you start to drift off to sleep, safe in his arms.

Sunlight is already filtering through the curtains by the time you slowly wake up the next morning —.only to realize the space beside you is empty, even though the warmth of Jay’s body and the faint scent of his cologne still linger around. You stretch and sit up to look around the room, noticing one of his shirts draped over the back of a chair. Slipping it on, you pad barefoot out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, drawn by the rich aroma of coffee and food already filling the air.

Jay is at the stove, flipping eggs while a plate of toast and cut fruit waits for you on the counter. You walk up to him and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. "Good morning."

He turns off the stove and turns around, settling his hands on your hips. His gaze softens instantly when he sees you wearing his shirt. "Good morning, princess. You look way too good in my clothes."

You laugh softly and tilt your face up, expecting a kiss. He leans in but pauses with a playful look. "Ah, but you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. No good-morning kisses until after breakfast."

You pout and dramatically pull away. "Not even a kiss on the cheek? You’re so cruel."

With a sigh, he gives in — pressing a long kiss to your cheek, then another to your forehead. Before you can say anything, he effortlessly lifts you and sits you on the edge of the kitchen counter, standing between your knees. "There. Now I can look at you properly while I finish this."

As he moves around the kitchen, your eyes wander until they stop on the refrigerator. Something catches your attention — photos are held up by magnets, but one in particular stands out: a Polaroid of Jay smiling with his arm around a woman’s shoulders. You hadn't noticed it on your previous visits to the kitchen — you had been too focused on him. "Who is that?" you ask curiously, nodding toward the fridge. "The woman in the photo with you?"

Jay glances over while sliding a plate toward you. "That’s my sister. We don’t look much alike, I know. We’re actually half-siblings."

You tilt your head, studying the photo for another second. They really do not look very similar, but that is not unusual for half-siblings. "She looks nice," you say lightly, accepting the plate he offers. "Breakfast looks delicious, by the way. You really didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," he replies, stepping between your knees and stealing a quick peck. "After last night, it feels right to take care of you this morning… and maybe every other morning too."

You smile shyly. "Speaking of last night… it was incredible. You made everything feel so good, so right. I keep replaying every part of it in my head."

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "You were perfect, baby. I loved every second of it." He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth. "You’re so beautiful when you let go for me."

"You’re going to make it really hard for me to focus in class today." You take a bite of the toast, savoring it. "Oh, by the way, I’m going out with some new friends from college tonight. They invited me to a party, it’s a chance to get to know each other better outside of class."

Jay nods, resting a hand on your thigh and stroking it lightly. "Sounds fun. Just be careful, okay? Text me when you get there and when you’re heading back."

"I will," you say, stealing another quick kiss from him. "I won’t stay out too late anyway. I have an early class tomorrow."

He picks up a piece of fruit from the plate and brings it to your mouth, brushing his fingers teasingly against your lips. "You deserve to have fun… I’ll be here if you need anything when you get back."

You stumble out of your friend’s car a little after 1 a.m., waving goodbye as you sway on your feet. You make your way toward the building entrance and suddenly remember that you promised to text Jay — which you didn’t. So you call him to let him know you arrived and are heading up. In response, he says he is waiting for you.

When you reach the third floor, Jay’s door is already open and he is waiting for you. "Heyyy," you say cheerfully, immediately wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. "I’m back. Just like I promised."

Laughing Jay’s arms wrap around you automatically as he looks at you more closely. "You’re pretty drunk, princess. How was the party?"

"So much fun," you ramble, clinging to him tighter as he guides you inside and closes the door. "We danced, there was a shot game, and my new friends are so funny. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt." You tilt your head up, puckering your lips. "Kiss?"

Instead of a proper kiss, he gives you a quick one on your forehead. "You smell like a distillery and your shirt is soaked, what happened?"

You look down at the sticky stain on your shirt and pout. "Someone spilled on me. It’s gross. But I still want kisses, real kisses." You try to pull his face down, standing on your tiptoes. "I missed you all night. I kept thinking about you during the party… about how nice you were last night. We should do that again right now."

Jay gently holds your wrists to stop you. "Not tonight, princess. You’re drunk."

"But I want you," you beg, pressing closer, but he doesn’t give in at all. "You’re so hot, so gentle, and… big. Please?"

He shakes his head and guides you toward the bathroom. "No. Only when you’re sober and can remember everything clearly. Right now, I’m just taking care of you, okay?"

"Let’s get you cleaned up," he says gently once you reach the bathroom. Reaching for the hem of your wet shirt he carefully pulls it off, followed by the rest of your clothes.

"You’re always so gentle with me," you murmur, watching him adjust the shower temperature. "No one has ever been this gentle. I really, really like you, Jay."

He smiles softly and helps you into the shower, joining you still fully dressed so he can take care of you. Jay keeps one hand on your waist to steady you while the other runs soapy over your shoulders and arms.

The alcohol in your system makes your emotions spill out easily before you can stop them. "I think… I think I’m falling for you," you confess, your tongue loose, making your cheeks flush. "Is that crazy? It feels too fast. I know I’m younger and still figuring everything out, but being with you just feels right. You make me feel safe, wanted, and special."

Jay pauses for half a second, processing what he just heard, but then continues washing you carefully — lathering the floral-scented body wash over your skin. "This smells like… girl stuff," you say, a little curious. "Is it yours?"

He looks away for a moment before answering. "It’s my mom’s. She left some things here the last time she came to visit."

"Ah," You rest your forehead against his chest as the water runs over both of you. "I meant it, though. About falling for you. Even if it’s too soon… I can’t help it."

Jay wraps his arms fully around you under the spray of water, holding you close — voice is full of affection when he finally replies. "Hey… look at me, princess." He gently lifts your chin. "What you’re feeling… I feel it too." Softly, he kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "We don’t need to rush or label anything right now. Just know that I’m here and I care about you a lot."

Even in your alcohol-fueled haze, his words calm the part of you that was worried you were moving too fast. "Really? You feel it too?"

"I do." He continues washing you carefully — your arms, your back, your sides — just taking care of you. "Being with you is easy. Natural. So let’s just enjoy it, okay? One day at a time."

Jay finishes rinsing you off and helps you out of the shower. Wrapping you in a towel he dries you gently before dressing you in one of his shirts. By the time he guides you to bed, you are already sleepy. He helps you lie down and you snuggle into the sheets, murmuring one last "I really like you" before falling asleep.

────────

The following days feel almost too good to be real.

You wake up in Jay’s bed, wrapped in his arms and wearing one of his shirts. He always wakes up before you to make breakfast and greet you with a good morning kiss and that smile that still makes your heart flutter. But on some mornings, you pull him back into bed to cuddle before classes and work, and without any argument, he makes time to make you feel loved.

When you get home from class, tired, Jay is already there to greet you cheerfully despite his own exhaustion. He texts you during the day, asking how your classes are going and reminding you to eat. When you are together, he pulls you in for slow, affectionate kisses — the kind that make your legs weak. Some nights you cook together as he tries to teach you how to make proper meals. Other nights he orders takeout and you eat on the couch while you tell him every detail of your day. He still doesn’t share much about himself, always dodging the subject, but you do not push — you don’t want to be invasive.

The sex is frequent — sometimes slow and worshipful, his mouth and hands adoring every inch of you until you are trembling and coming apart. Other times it is faster and more urgent — against the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the couch, in his home office. One night you try baking cookies together, ending up covered in flour and laughing as he kisses the mess off your cheek. Another night you start watching a movie cuddled together, but the movie is forgotten halfway through when clothes come off and he fucks you right there on the couch.

Suddenly everything feels so domestic — he now keeps an extra toothbrush for you, your notebooks are on his coffee table, and some of your clothes are scattered around his apartment. It is undeniable that you are falling deeper and deeper in love.

On a Sunday afternoon, you are studying on his couch while Jay is in his home office, working on a complicated case that demands his full attention. After hours buried in books and notes, concentrating is almost impossible. At this point, your mind keeps wandering to him without permission. When your brain finally gives up, you close the book with a dramatic sigh.

You walk down the hallway and peek into his office. Jay is sitting at his desk with his sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly attractive as he concentrates on reviewing some papers. "Jay?" you call, walking in without waiting for an answer.

He looks up, and the moment his eyes meet yours, the tension in his shoulders softens. "Hey, princess. How are the studies going?"

Boring." You take a few steps closer and don’t ask for permission — you simply climb into his lap, settling on his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a trail of kisses along his jaw, then his cheek and lips. "I missed you. Pay attention to me? Just for a little while?"

One of his hands rests on your waist while the other continues organizing the documents. "I’d love to, baby, but this case is a nightmare. There are documents everywhere. I’m going crazy with these."

You nuzzle into the curve of his neck and kiss him there. "You’ve been in here for hours… you deserve a break." Your hips move subtly against him, restless, the friction sending a spark through both of you. You feel him twitch beneath you, already starting to respond to your movements.

Jay’s grip on your waist tightens. "Princess…" There is a warning tone in his voice, bordering on frustration. But as you grind against him, you can feel him beginning to harden, and that gives you hope — you think he might give in.

"You’re really testing me today." He pulls you into a kiss, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. When he pulls away, it is with a frustrated sigh.

"That's the point," you whisper, smiling proudly against his lips as you continue grinding, slower this time, feeling him get even harder.

Jay curses under his breath, gripping your hips more firmly. No matter how hard he tries to hold back, he can’t, the desire is uncontrollable. He reaches between you and unzips his pants. "Fine, but you’re going to behave." He frees his hard, throbbing cock and pulls your panties and shorts to the side. This time there is nothing between you — no latex barrier, just him.

You sink down onto him slowly, and the new sensation hits you immediately — it’s different, hotter, more intimate. Every ridge and vein is raw against your walls, the skin-to-skin contact sends a shiver through your entire body and makes you moan as you settle fully onto him. The stretch feels deeper and more overwhelming than ever.

For a moment, it feels perfect — connected, raw.

But then his hands close firmly on your hips, holding you completely still. "Don’t move," he commands, his voice noticeably deeper and rougher. "Stay just like this. No grinding, no whimpering. I’m serious."

His cock pulses hot and heavy inside you, and you can barely focus on what he said. "Jay… oh my God, you feel—"

"I said don’t move," he interrupts, repeating it more harshly this time. His free hand returns to the stack of papers while the other arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place.

At first, you try to obey — resting your head on his shoulder and breathing deeply every time his cock twitches inside you, but the longer you sit there, the harder it becomes. You let out a soft moan as your hips twitch involuntarily. "Jay… please, just let me move a little bit."

"I told you not to move. Jesus, you’re really pushing it today." The irritation is clear in every word now, and his grip on your waist tightens even more. "I have a deadline. I can’t afford to get distracted like this."

Again, you try to stay still — you really do, until frustrated tears prick at your eyes — but your body betrays you with small, involuntary movements of your hips. "I’m sorry… I can’t help it. This is driving me crazy. I need you to move, please."

Jay’s jaw is tense and his breathing comes in heavy bursts — clearly fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You think I don’t want to? You’re so tight and wet around me right now, but I can’t. I have work to do and you’re not letting me focus." His tone grows even harsher. "Stop squirming. Be a good girl for me and just sit there.”

But you do not listen — you roll your hips again, letting out a moan as he rubs against that sensitive spot inside you. "Jesus Christ. I told you I have work and this is fucking important."

"But I missed you and this is torture. Please, please just fu-"

He cuts you off sharply. "You always miss me, always need something. Kisses, hugs, my cock, my fucking attention. You practically live here now, your things are all over my apartment, you sleep in my bed like it’s yours. Isn’t that enough attention? You know what? I need you to get off so I can actually finish this case."

The words hurt, making your chest tighten — tears of frustration turn into something heavier and spill down your cheeks. "I didn’t mean to be annoying… I just wanted to be close to you."

"Yeah, well, wanting to be close to me doesn’t magically make my deadline disappear. I’m already behind because of distractions like this." His hand on your hip tightens even more, holding you completely still, the pressure bordering on uncomfortable. "You have your own apartment right next door. Just give me a few hours alone, for once."

You stare at him in disbelief at what you just heard. Suddenly the intimate position feels humiliating — the way you are still stretched around him while he looks at you like you are nothing but am annoyance. "You want me to leave? Like this… right now"

"I’m telling you to give me some space." With no patience left, he lifts you off him, leaving you empty and trembling. "Go to your place, take a nap, study, whatever. Just let me work."

You stand there with shaky legs, wiping away your tears, feeling small, vulnerable, and unwanted. With a quiet, trembling breath, you whisper, "…Okay."

It's past 9 PM when Jay finally steps out of his office, having finished dealing with that pile of papers. The silence hangs heavy now, normally you would be humming, curled up on the couch waiting for him, or laughing at something silly on your phone. Without you, the space feels too empty. He had been rude — way too rude — and he sees that now. He owes you an apology, so he walks over to your door, but just as he is about to knock, he notices the door is not fully closed — it’s slightly ajar, allowing him to hear low murmurs of voices.

Frowning, he pushes the door open a little more and steps inside, finding a guy standing right at the entrance to your living room, putting on a jacket. The guy turns at the sound of the door, his expression quickly shifting to surprise. "Ah, hi. You must be Jay. She talks about you a lot."

He looks over the other guy’s shoulder toward the couch where you are sitting with your knees pulled up. The guy cleans his throat, sensing the tension between the two of you. "I was just leaving… It was really nice talking to you." He gives you a small wave. "Text me if you need anything else, okay?"

You smile and wave back. "Yeah. Thanks, Jake. Drive safe."

As Jake heads for the door, Jay blocks his path. "Wait. What exactly were you doing here?"

Jake blinks, surprised by the sudden question. "She seemed pretty down when we texted, so I decided to stop by and check if she was okay. Anyway, I’m heading out. Nice to meet you, man."

He steps aside, letting Jake pass. The door closes behind him, leaving just the two of you in the suddenly too-quiet apartment.

You stand up, hugging yourself. "Jay… what are you doing here?"

The regret he felt for being so harsh with you is quickly replaced by jealousy and irritation. "I came because my place was too quiet without you. I started thinking maybe I was too hard on you earlier, but clearly you didn’t waste any time finding company."

You frown, confused by what he means. "He’s just a friend. I told you about him before, we met during my first week on campus when I accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall. I was upset after you basically kicked me out, so I texted him. We weren’t doing anything, just talking."

Jay lets out a short, bitter laugh and steps closer. "Talking late at night like it’s a casual visit. You mentioned him before, of course, but I didn’t know you two were close enough for house calls."

The hurt from earlier mixes with frustration now. "You were so rude, Jay. You made me feel like I was an annoying pest who can’t function without your attention. I understand you’re stressed with work, but you didn’t have to push me away and kick me out like that. I felt embarrassed."

He closes even more of the distance between you, standing close enough that you can feel the jealousy radiating off him. "You’re the one who can’t sit still for five minutes without demanding something, climbing into my lap while I’m trying to meet a deadline, whimpering and squirming like a spoiled brat because you ‘missed me’."

You take a step back, but the couch hits the back of your legs. "I just wanted to be close to you."

"But the world doesn’t revolve around your need for attention. I love having you around, but today? You made it impossible for me to concentrate, and the second I ask for a few hours to actually get things done, you run straight to this Jake guy?" Jay doesn’t care that nothing happened — the image of another guy in your space, late at night, while you were upset, makes his blood boil.

"I didn’t run to him! I was crying when he got here and he just listened. Unlike you, who basically told me to leave because I’m too much."

Jay’s laugh is harsh this time, completely humorless. "Too much. Yeah, that’s one way of saying you’re a spoiled brat who demands attention every second, and the moment things get difficult, you replace me with whoever is most convenient."

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. You look away, Jay’s jaw clenches, and soon his gaze drifts from your face to the way you are hugging yourself, then lower, lingering on your bare legs. The jealousy is still burning in his chest, mixed with the memory of you sitting on his cock earlier, demanding attention, all needy.

"Come here," he says, nodding toward the couch.

You hesitate, biting your lip, which makes Jay exhale sharply and close the distance. His hand wraps around your wrist, guiding you toward the couch. "We’re not done talking about this."

He sits on the couch and pulls you closer until you are lying across his lap, your stomach pressed against his thighs. Your shirt has ridden up naturally, but he is not satisfied. "This is in the way." His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down and tossing them aside — leaving your ass completely bare for him.

Jay’s palm rests on one of your cheeks, squeezing the flesh possessively. "You’ve been pushing all day… needing attention, teasing me, and then Jake shows up at your place, and I’m supposed to just swallow that?" His fingers dig harder into the flesh. "You’re mine, and it’s time you learn what happens when you piss me off this much."

His hand makes slow circles over your skin, almost soothing. "How many spanks do you think you deserve for acting like this?"

Your heart races as you try to process his words — head turning slightly to look at him. "What? Are you serious?"

He meets your eyes with a firm, dark expression — one you have never seen from him before. "Very serious. You’ve been spoiled all day, teasing me on purpose. So tell me, how many do you think you deserve?"

You swallow hard, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I don’t know… Five? Maybe?"

Jay lets out a mocking laugh. "Five? That’s way too low, baby. You’re going to take twenty, and you’re going to count each one out loud. If you lose count or mess up, we start over. Understood?"

You hesitate but eventually whisper, "Yes… okay."

"Good girl." His hand lifts and the first spank comes without warning — firm and sharp, the sound echoing through the silence. You jolt, a surprised moan escaping you — heat spreads instantly across your bare skin, the sting stronger than you expected.

"One," you gasp.

He immediately rubs the spot in slow, soothing circles, calming the hot skin where he struck.

"Two," you say after the next spank lands on the other cheek.

Jay keeps a steady rhythm — delivering hard spanks followed by almost tender caresses. Then his fingers slide lower, tracing your wet folds, spreading them teasingly, brushing against your entrance, lightly circling your clit before pulling away.

"What a spoiled little brat," he murmurs during one of the pauses, rubbing your reddened cheeks while two fingers tease your slit again. "You’re already getting so wet… You like this, don’t you?"

You moan instead of answering, which earns you another sharp spank. "Five."

He continues, the spanks leaving marks and building heat across your ass. Now his fingers are dip inside you, moving with slow, shallow thrusts, curling just enough to brush that sensitive spot and make you clench around him desperately. But he always pulls back before you can get close to the edge.

"Six… seven… ah!"

By ten, tears prick your eyes, your thighs trembling as the sting turns into a pulsing heat.

Jay pauses longer this time, massaging your sore ass and spreading your cheeks so he can tease your entrance again. "You’re mine. When you need attention that badly, you come to me, even if I’m stressed, even if I tell you to leave." A finger pushes deep inside you, staying there while his thumb brushes your clit.

You lose track amid the overwhelming sensations and he makes you start over, just as he warned. "Back to one." During the restart, two more fingers slide inside you, moving in a torturous rhythm. "You feel how wet you are? This is what happens when you forget who you belong to."

"You’re mine. Your time, your attention, this body. I don’t share it." Spank. Soothe. Tease. "Say it."

"I’m yours," you moan.

"Louder." Another spank.

"I’m yours, Jay!"

When he finally reaches twenty, you are a trembling mess with tears streaming down your face. Jay finally pulls you up and turns you so you are sitting in his lap. His hands stay on your ass, carefully massaging the sore flesh and you press yourself against the hard bulge in his pants, burying your face in his shoulder. "You did so well, my good girl."

Jay lifts your chin, meeting your eyes. For a moment, he just looks at you — really looks at you — taking in your flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. Then he leans in and kisses you. One hand remains on your sore ass, squeezing gently, while the other slides into your hair. He kisses you like he needs to claim every part of you — hungry, insistent, his tongue tracing your lower lip before sliding inside. You melt into him, moaning against his mouth as you start slowly grinding your hips.

He pulls back just enough to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot below your ear. "Still so needy… even after all that." Then he kisses you again, deeper and hungrier, tongues sliding together with fervor. The hand on your ass slips between your bodies to tease your wet folds with light circles and shallow dips — keeping you right on the edge.

When he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connects you for a second before breaking. "On your knees, princess."

Obediently, you slide off his lap and kneel between his spread thighs. Jay looks down at you, one hand lazily stroking your hair as he frees himself from his pants — his cock springs out, thick, heavy, and already leaking at the tip.

"Open. Tongue out," he says, tapping your lower lip with two fingers. You open your mouth and obediently stick your tongue out. He leans forward and spits directly into your mouth. The warm, viscous saliva lands on your tongue, degrading in a way that makes you shiver. "Swallow that first," he instructs. You swallow while keeping your eyes locked on his. He nods with a satisfied hum. "Now show me how sorry you are for pushing me today."

You start with kisses along his length before dragging your tongue from base to tip. Jay groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, but he doesn't force you — not yet. His thickness stretches your lips as you finally take him into your mouth. He is big enough that you can only take about half before he hits the back of your throat. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what does not fit in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck… that’s it," he murmurs, tilting his head back for a moment before his gaze returns to you. He doesn't want to miss a single second of this. "Look at me while you suck it."

You do, looking up at him with teary eyes, and the sight makes his cock twitch in your mouth. When you pull back to catch your breath, he slaps his cock against your tongue a few times, leaving strings of saliva connecting you, before guiding you back down. "Yeah, just like that… good girl."

Between bobs, when you pull back to breathe, you say breathlessly, "I’m sorry for distracting you and for Jake being here." Then he guides you down again.

Jay’s hips start moving, pushing a little deeper and testing your limits. Tears continue to prick your eyes from the stretch, but you keep going, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him.

When he finally gets close, Jay’s grip tightens, his thighs tense, and his breathing becomes ragged. "I’m going to come. Don’t waste it, swallow everything." You nod around him, doubling your efforts and with a deep groan, he comes down your throat — thick, hot pulses that you swallow eagerly, not letting a single drop escape.

He pulls out slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to the tip before it breaks. "Open your mouth. Show me."

You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to prove you swallowed everything. “That’s my good girl.”

He helps you up, pulls you back into his lap, and kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue. Your hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you that makes Jay groan into your mouth, one hand sliding down to grab your bare ass and guide your movements.

"Still not satisfied? Such a greedy little thing." Even though he just came, his cock is already stirring again, hardening beneath you as your wet pussy slides along his length.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Jay… I need you so bad."

He answers by kissing you again, but soon pulls back to meet your eyes. "Then take what you want."

You don’t hesitate, not even for a second. Rising on shaky knees, you reach down and align the thick head of his cock against your entrance, and slowly you sink down, gasping at the stretch and every inch that fills you. The lack of a barrier makes him feel impossibly thicker than the last time in his office — hotter, more intimate. The spanked skin of your ass burns as you settle fully against his thighs.

"Fuck," Jay hisses, his head falling back against the couch for a moment as his hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you fully impaled on him. "So wet… so fucking tight like this."

You start moving, rolling your hips in a slow, deep rhythm, the angle letting you feel every ridge and vein raw inside you, pulling broken moans from your throat. One of his hands slips under your shirt to caress one tit while the other stays on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh in time with your movements. The mix of pleasure and stinging burn makes everything more intense.

"That’s right," he growls, thrusting up to meet you. "This is what you wanted all day, isn’t it? My attention. My cock." You lean forward, kissing him messily while you bounce, moving your hips faster.

With a low curse, he wraps his arms around you and suddenly flips you, laying you down on the couch cushions, driving him even deeper which pulls a sharp cry from you.

Now he is on top, pinning you beneath him — one of your legs hooked over his shoulder as he starts thrusting into you with deep, powerful strokes — hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt each time and the lack of a condom lets you feel every raw inch.

Clinging to his back, your nails dig in as the pleasure borders on overwhelming. Jay’s face hovers above yours, his hair damp with sweat falling into his eyes. Rhythm falters for a second as he looks at you, something darker flashing across his face, the jealousy from earlier — the image of Jake leaving your apartment — has not disappeared. "Are you on the pill?"

You shake your head, breathless, barely able to form words between moans. "No, I’m not."

He thrusts harder, hitting deep against your cervix as if to emphasize the point. "Good," he growls, eyes locked on yours. "Actually, fucking perfect. Maybe I’ll knock you up tonight, put a baby in you so you won’t even think about another guy like Jake. You’ll stay right here with me, we’ll have a beautiful family, me, you, and our kids. No more distractions."

The words should have shocked you, but in the heat of the moment — with him fucking you raw, his body claiming yours completely — they only send a fresh wave of arousal through you. Moaning loudly, your legs tightening around his waist. "Jay… fuck—"

He groans at your reaction, his hips moving harder. "You like that idea, don’t you? My cum deep inside you, getting you pregnant so everyone knows you’re claimed." One of his hands slides down to press lightly against your stomach, as if he can already imagine it.

The couch creaks beneath you both, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet noises of him fucking you filling the room. Jay’s earlier irritation fuels every deep thrust, but so does possessiveness — the need to claim you completely after the stressful day. He presses you deeper into the cushions, his hips moving in a way that grinds against your clit with every stroke.

When you finally come, it is intense — your walls contracting tightly around his cock as you scream his name. Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible, and you feel the hot pulses of his cum filling you, thick and warm.

For long minutes, Jay simply holds you — kissing your neck, your jaw, your swollen lips — his cock softening slowly inside you, but as the minutes stretch on, you feel him coming back to life, pulsing against your sensitive walls. "Already?" There is a playful tone in your voice.

"I can’t help it." He moves, pressing one last kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out. You moan at the loss, feeling his cum start to leak out of you, but his hand quickly reaches down to push it back inside you with two fingers. "Don’t waste it."

He leans back on the couch, stroking himself until he is fully hard again. "Turn around. Hands on the backrest."

You obey, your body trembling as you shift position, kneeling on the cushions, gripping the top of the backrest and arching your back slightly while Jay moves behind you, his gaze fixed on the evidence of the earlier spanking — your cheeks still red with visible handprints — as one of his palms smooths reverently over the heated skin before squeezing firmly.

"Fuck, look at this… Still so red from your lesson." His cock brushes against your entrance before he thrusts deep inside you in one powerful stroke, the new position letting him sink even deeper as the head of his cock presses against spots that make your toes curl drawing a loud moan from you while you grip the backrest tighter as he bottoms out.

Jay starts fucking you with firm, powerful thrusts — deep and deliberate, the couch creaking beneath you both — as every thrust makes your sore ass bounce and the red marks darken even more with the impact, his eyes unable to leave them while his thumbs press into the soft flesh, pulling you back onto his cock repeatedly.

"These marks… they look so good on you." Without warning, he lands a hard, stinging spank on your right cheek, the already sensitive skin making you cry out and clench hard around his cock as Jay groans at the sensation, his hips stuttering for a moment before he resumes his deep rhythm.

He gives your left cheek another spank, making you writhe and moan again as you push back against him desperately despite the burn — or maybe because of it — the mix of pain and pleasure making you even wetter, the previous creampie turning everything obscenely wet and messy.

"That’s it," he praises, smoothing his hands over the fresh marks he just added. "Squirm for me. I love how sensitive you are right here." He gives you one more spank, lighter this time but still enough to make you shudder, and immediately soothes the area with his hands, massaging the sore flesh while he continues thrusting deep and hard from behind.

Jay leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside yours while the other reaches down to rub tight circles on your clit. His chest presses against your back, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks between thrusts. "You’re going to take every drop again, princess. I’m going to give you my babies, keep you so full you won’t even think about anyone else."

When you come again — hard, your vision blurring from the overwhelming sensations — Jay follows right behind, burying himself deep with a groan and flooding you with another load of hot cum. He stays inside you for a long time afterward, thrusting slowly through the aftershocks.

Finally, he pulls out carefully and pulls you into his arms, stroking your back in slow, gentle movements. "You’re a mess, princess. Come on, let me take care of you."

He stands up with you in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. Once inside, he turns on the shower, adjusts the temperature, and removes the rest of both your clothes before guiding you under the hot spray with him where the water cascades over you both. Jay takes his body wash, lathers it between his hands, and runs them over your skin — being extra careful around your sensitive ass, massaging the foam in light circles that ease some of the sting.

"Maybe I was a little too rough tonight," he says, his hands moving along your thighs, cleaning away the evidence of the many rounds. "Work stress got to me, and then seeing Jake… I took it out on you more than I should have. You handled it really well, but I’m sorry if it was too much."

You lean back against his chest, letting the water rinse off the soap as you tilt your head to look at him. "It hurt… but it also felt good. In a weird way. I just hated feeling like I was bothering you earlier. I didn’t want to annoy you while you were working. I just… missed you a lot."

After rinsing you, he turns off the shower, wraps you in a towel first, then himself and dries you carefully, paying extra attention to your ass and rubbing some soothing lotion he finds in the cabinet. "There. Better?"

"Much better," you admit, reaching up to touch his face. "Thank you for taking care of me like this."

He leans down and kisses your forehead. "You make it easy to want to take care of you." Pulling you closer, his voice shifting to something even calmer and more sincere. "I don’t know what I’d do without you around. I can’t imagine coming home and not having you here like this. You just… fit. Right here with me."

You hug him tightly, burying your face in his chest. "I feel the same. I always want to be close to you because you make everything feel better."

Smiling against your hair, Jay guides you to the bed and pulls the covers back, lying down beside you to pull you close against his chest. One arm wraps around you securely, his hand rests gently on your ass — not squeezing, just warm and protective over the sensitive skin.

You snuggle even closer, your leg draped over his as exhaustion finally takes over completely. "Stay the night?" you ask sleepily.

"Wouldn’t dream of leaving," His fingers trace lazy circles on your back until your breathing evens out and you fall asleep.

Next morning you stir slowly, feeling the pleasant ache in your muscles and Jay’s heavy arm draped over your waist, his body curled protectively against your back. He feels you waking up and trails lazy kisses along your shoulder before moving up the side of your neck. "Good morning, baby," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep as his hand slides to your stomach. "Sleep well?"

You turn in his arms, smiling despite the slight soreness when you move, and reach up to brush the messy hair from his forehead. "Yes… thanks to you."

He leans in and kisses you properly — slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes you melt. At this point, he couldn't care less that neither of you had brushed your teeth yet. "You were incredible last night. Let me make it up to you a little more with breakfast."

Jay borrows a pair of your sweatpants that look comically tight on his incredibly nice ass, making you laugh as he models them. In the kitchen, you work side by side like so many mornings before — he cracks eggs for scrambled eggs while you toast bread and slice fruit. Small touches are stolen throughout: a hand on your lower back as he reaches past you, a quick kiss on your temple when you hand him the salt shaker, a playful bump of his hip against yours.

"You’re in a good mood today," you tease, leaning against the counter while he plates the food.

"I can’t help it when I wake up next to you." He sets the plates on the table and pulls you in for another kiss before you both sit down.

After eating, you start getting ready for college and he for the office. Jay kisses you one more time before heading back to his apartment next door to get ready for work. You take a long shower and, once dressed in jeans and a comfortable blouse, you step out into the hallway at the same time he does, looking impeccable in his work clothes.

He quickly pulls you in for a proper goodbye, hands gently cradling your face as he kiss your forehead, lingering there for a long moment. "Have a good day at class. Text me when you’re done." With one last soft kiss on your lips, he pulls away with a smile. "See you later, princess."

College passes in a whirlwind of classes and notes, but your mind keeps drifting back to Jay — the way he holds you, the sweet words, the kisses. He has not sent many messages during the day, which is a little unusual, but you figure he must be busy at work.

When you finally get home in the early evening, you step into the elevator and press the button for the third floor. Just before the doors close, a woman you have never seen in the building before enters, but something about her face seems vaguely familiar.

The woman smiles politely as the elevator starts moving. Curiosity gets the better of you and before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Hi… do you live here? I’ve been in the building for about two months and I don’t think I’ve seen you around."

She nods, laughing lightly. "Yes, I do, but I’ve been away on a work trip. I’m a lawyer and a complicated case kept me out of town longer than expected. I actually got back this morning."

"Wow. That sounds intense… By the way, my name is y/n. Nice to meet you."

The woman’s smile widens. "Nice to meet you too. Jay has already told me about you. He’s mentioned his sweet neighbor a few times."

Your heart flutters with joy — Jay talked about you to the neighbors. It feels special, like proof that you are really becoming a bigger part of his life. "He did? That’s nice to hear."

The elevator dings on the third floor and you both step out together. A small flicker of confusion crosses your mind — she is going the same way — but you don’t think much of it. Maybe she lives farther down the hall.

Then you see Jay standing there and your face lights up immediately. He hadn't texted you all day, and seeing him now makes excitement bubble up inside you. You walk toward him with a radiant smile.

At the same moment, the woman also walks straight up to him. When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him — a deep, familiar, affectionate kiss. Jay’s hands settle on her waist automatically as he eagerly kisses her back.

The world stops.

Your feet freeze mid-step and everything inside you turns cold and numb. It takes a moment for your brain to process what you are seeing, but then the pieces fall into place with painful clarity. That was Jay’s wife. The woman in the Polaroid photo he casually said was his "sister." The late-night calls he claimed were from the office. The feminine body wash he said belonged to his mom. The distant restaurant he took you to on your first date, probably so no one nearby would recognize him. The way the doorman sometimes looked at you with that judgmental expression, like he knew something — he did. All the small inconsistencies you had ignored because you were so blinded by how gentle and attentive he seemed.

Every sweet word, every touch, every promise of "you’re mine" had been built on lies. He was married. His heart already belonged to someone else, and you had been nothing but a convenient distraction from the apartment next door — blind, eager, and so in love with the version of him he showed you that you never saw the truth.

Jay’s eyes meet yours over his wife’s shoulder, and for a fraction of a second, something like panic or guilt flashes across his face. The shock turns into pure pain, making you practically run to your door as you fumble for your keys while hot tears blur your vision.

You lean against the door, sliding down to the floor as sobs begin to escape you. Your chest hurts as if someone had ripped a hole in it. All the cute moments — the kisses, the touches, the date, the bouquet — turn ugly and humiliating in your memory.

You cry hard, knees pulled up to your chest, as disappointment turns into shame for having fallen so completely for the man who made you feel special, desired, and loved… and it was all a lie.

The thin walls allow you to hear muffled voices — his wife asking about his day, the normalcy of their conversation only making everything worse. You press your hands over your ears, trying to block out the sound, but the damage is already done. Your heart is shattered.

The man you had grown so attached to — the one who held you so tenderly after sex, who made you breakfast and promised more comfortable days like that — was someone else’s husband, and you had been the other woman without even knowing it.

Hongjoong

Condescending, teasing, dumbifying, talks to you like you’re stupid.

"Your job is to lie there and pretend that pretty little brain of yours isn't there."

"You think you have half a mind to give me orders? What's gotten into my sweet little girl?"

"I can feel your heartbeat through your cunt, baby, you're so alive it makes me wanna fuck you to death."

"Don't give up now, pretty, show me what else you can do with that mouth other than run it.

"You're cumming? So soon? Such a sensitive pussy, you'll be a slick wreck before I even get my dick in you."

"Pretty baby loves when Daddy fucks her to sleep, hm? I kinda miss when you use that voice to scream for me."

"Stupid cunt can't stop drooling all over the place. She can't help it, baby, huh? Can she? Fix your face and answer me, slut."

"You have such a soft body; we're gonna see how much it can withstand."

"I don't think you understand how much you've fucked up letting a man like me get his hands on you."

"You're such a good listener when you're all fucked out, pretty girl. Don't worry, drift off. I'll use you until I think you've had enough."

Seonghwa

Gentle, coaxing, intense, talks to you like if he’s too harsh, you might break.

"Six. You're going to cum for me six times. I'm gonna get you there, baby, let me take care of you."

"You're so close, honey, focus. god you're so beautiful, it drives me insane."

"I love how my fingers get you excited, how they reach places you could only dream of touching."

“Is my gorgeous girl gonna cum for me? Yes, you are; don’t be shy.”

“I don’t mean to be so deep, baby, but you’ll be okay. You can take me, you always do like the angel you are.”

“Deep breaths, yes, that’s it. Feel me everywhere. Focus on feeling good; that’s all that’s ever mattered.”

“Open that pretty mouth, honey; I wanna hear those noises you make when you’re overstimulated.”

"Don't float away from me, come on. Snap out of it. Only 2 more to go."

"Please, bunny its the only thing I want, it's the only thing I need. Let me see those eyes when you cum. Don't look away."

"I just can't help it, baby, can't you go for 7? Please? Good girls always go above and beyond."

San

Encouraging, drunk, prideful, much like he’s overtly proud of how well you handle him

"That's it, talk to me, let me know what spots I'm touching."

"Mmm, fuck babydoll, your tummy's so soft, you smell so fucking good... you're perfect."

"I know it's a lot, but you got it, look at you... deep strokes. Don't let your body run from me, stay right there."

"I'm gonna get as many orgasms out of you as I can, hold back, and I'll force them out of you."

"You're so pretty- mwah!- so cute when I hit you deep baby, you look so blissed out."

"You take my dick like a champ, sweet girl. mhm, and you make me feel so good."

"Shh, suck on my fingers, like that. You have to be quieter, or the neighbors will complain about you again. I don't know what their deal is because you sound gorgeous."

"Take what you deserve, it's all for you. It's all for you... I'm so proud of you, baby."

"I love when you moan with your pussy in my mouth. Tell me more, sweetheart, let me hear what I'm doing to you."

"Right there? Hm? Yeah, I know. I know but 'm gonna fuck my shape into this pussy. I'm sorry, I know, keep cumming that's it. I'm not done yet."

Yeosang

Quiet, demanding, straightforward, much like he knows what he wants and always gets it

"Let me fuck you on your stomach, I know you'll cum the whole time if I do."

"C'mon get a grip, you're drooling all over my pillow, we just started, sweetheart."

"Keep your eyes on me. What did I say? Don't you wanna cum? I won't make you cum if you don't look at me."

"If you keep pushing back on my stomach, I'll bend you over and make you be still. Don't test me, love."

"You're not in charge here, sweetheart, lose the attitude before I fuck it out of you."

"I could do whatever I want to you, and you'd still thank me for it, wouldn't you, angel? My grateful girl, feel me give you what you need."

"You know how to do it, don't act like you don't. Smart girls like you shouldn't need reminders. Play with yourself, I'll wait."

"Why am I not moaning? Because I'm busy talking to you, angel. Don't be rude. Take this dick and talk to your boyfriend. You can multitask."

"I know I'm fucking you slow, but it's the only way you'll feel each and every part of me in that cunt. Dragging out your orgasms makes this so fun, pretty."

"If you pass out, I'll just fuck you back awake, I promise, baby. You won't miss me too much."

Yunho

degrading, objectively, mockingly, much like he knows better than you.

"You don't get to decide anything. I do what I want, and you'll like it anyway."

"Aw, fuck baby... those marks are gonna turn such pretty colors against your skin. Yeah, you'll wear them proudly for me?"

"Stupid slut, willing to humiliate yourself for me? Fuck you're addicting."

"Every time I slap you, you clench around my dick. That's kinda fucked up, baby. If I choke you, will you cum so hard you piss yourself?"

"Oh, but you like it this deep, baby. I know you, you like having your cunt stuffed full and your head emptied."

"Oh, you're so sad, beautiful. I love when you're sad, cause I can fuck it out of you, fuck you till you're so empty and all you can think of is me."

"Needy things like you need to be roughed up every once in a while, helps readjust that bratty attitude you like to get your way with."

"c'mon princess, tell me you love me. Tell me you love me, and I might kiss you. Would the bruises feel better if I kissed you?"

"Mm, I fucking love splitting this cunt open. So wet and so pretty, so beat up. What would you do without me?"

"You're learning so fast, baby, I bet you love that you can't cum without my permission. You are bound to me through your body."

Wooyoung

teasing, playful, bully-like, much like he finds your pleasure amusing

"C'mon say it into my mouth. 'Wooyoung...' like that. Let me taste my name on your tongue while I play with you."

"Good girl, good girl, yeah, you feel full? That's so cute, you have no idea all the things I can make you feel. i wanna drive you fucking crazy."

"You like when I whine for you. Pretty boy, pretty voice, yeah? You love being fucked by someone just as pretty as you."

"You're trembling, isn't that precious. Don't be so greedy, baby, I have all day to string you out."

"I know you're trying so hard for me to not cum, but I hate playing fair. I want you to fail. If I pinch your clit, will you fall apart?"

"Don't worry, I'll cover your mouth so you don't embarrass yourself. Yeah, there you go, now just focus on me hitting that spot."

"Let me see those pretty teeth you like to bite me with. Smile when I'm dicking you down, dollface, let me know that pussy feels good."

"You sure you don't like it when I make fun of you? My dick is so wet I keep slipping out. Mhm, I think someone likes being bullied."

"I love taking you against the wall. I can invade all your personal space, make you feel so trapped."

"I love it when you cum, and it makes me even fucking harder when I know you can't run from it."

Jongho

indifferent, lofty, careless, like he’s oblivious to the way he makes you feel

"I'm barely fucking you, and you seem so out of it. Don't tell me I've broken you."

"You don't know what's good for you, doll, c'mon let me do what I want. It might even feel good."

"You might be sore in the morning, but you're willing to make that sacrifice for me, aren't you, honey?"

"Hush, don't tell me you can't. No one wants to hear that, you can and you will."

"Why're you moaning so loud, hm? What if I grind into you? Will you quiet down?"

"C'mon, let's count, maybe it'll help you focus. Ground yourself, we've got a long way to go."

"You get so loud when I slap your clit, who knew you'd be so impolite. You hardly even fight, so pliant."

"You're mine. Your body does what I tell it to. Isn't that pathetic? So easily conditioned to me."

"Don't fight it, honey, cum. Let go so I can get back to teasing you until you cry. I love when you cry, it makes me so fucking hard."

Mingi

vulgar, unashamed, attentive, much like there’s no place he would rather be

"Oh, baby... feel every inch of me, arch that back, get me deeper. just like that."

"You're so small, I wanna crush you. You're so fucking cute, you make me lightheaded."

"I'm in your stomach? Oh, I'm sorry, baby. What if I pout? Will you forgive me? I'm so sorry. What if I pound that pussy harder, hm? How bout now, still mad at me, gorgeous?

"You're so warm around my dick... you're everything. Oh my fuck."

"Slow down? hm? Make me. Stop me, baby, you know what to do. I'm too heavy? not my problem."

"I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm gonna take my time with you. imma give it to you the way you like."

"Don't tap, no running. You feel too good, baby. You hear how wet you sound?"

"Feel my hands, I got you. I'm holding you, baby; you aren't going anywhere. Ride it out for me."

"Moan my name properly, c'mon. You choke every time I fuck back into you; you're making me sad here, beautiful."

"I am being nice to you, mami. There's nobody nicer than me who can make this pussy cream all over your sheets."

INSPIRED BY : What You Need - The Weeknd

(+ Slow It Down - Ty Dolla $ign)

What could be worse than going to the restaurant with your boyfriend a week after you found out that he’s been cheating on you? Oh right, you don’t know. Ethan orders for himself without asking what you're having first, catches himself halfway through, and asks you anyway. You already know what you want because you always know what you want here.

His phone sits face up next to his water glass. It lights up twice in the first ten minutes. Both times he glances down, thumb hovering, before setting it back exactly where it was. "Sorry," he says, not looking up from the screen the third time. "Work thing."

You nod like that made sense. You've heard about Heeseung's terrible taste in restaurants, about his coworker’s dog, about traffic on the way here ; three separate stories he's started and abandoned mid-sentence because his attention keeps sliding sideways toward that phone.

"You could put it away," you say, tired enough that it comes out flat.

"I know. I will." He actually doesn't.

The waiter brings your food and Ethan eats fast, he’s already somewhere else in his mind. You ask about his sister's move to Daegu and get half an answer before his phone buzzes again and he actually picks it up this time, thumb moving across the screen, brow furrowed like the message requires real concentration.

You watch him read it. You watch his jaw do a small tightening, and you already know before he opens his mouth. "I have to go in," he says. "They need someone to cover a shift. I'm really sorry, I know we just got here."

Work doesn't call people in at 9:47 at night for office emergencies. You've known things like this for months now, small inconsistencies that don't line up if you actually stack them next to each other, which is why you stopped stacking them.

"Now?" you ask anyway, knowing how it will end up.

"I wouldn't if I didn't have to." He's already reaching for his wallet, already half out of his seat. "I'll make it up to you. Promise."

You tell him it's fine and to go, that you'll finish eating and head home. He kisses the top of your head, distracted, already checking his phone again as he walks toward the door, and you sit there with a plate you've lost interest in and a boyfriend-shaped absence across the table.

Your phone buzzes. Heeseung.

Heeseung [9:54 PM]

you good?

saw ethan's location just switched to "downtown" lol at 9pm

You stare at the message for a second too long before you type back.

Y/N [9:54 PM]

he had a work thing apparently

Heeseung [9:55 PM]

mhm. sure he did

You almost put the phone down.

Y/N [9:55 PM]

please don’t start

Heeseung [9:57 PM]

wasn't gonna say anything. i'm very good at not saying things

Y/N [9:57 PM]

you're the worst at not saying things btw

Heeseung [9:58 PM]

rude.

i've been holding back SO much tonight and this is the thanks i get

You find yourself smiling at your phone, alone at a table for two, food going cold in front of you. Even though you couldn’t care less.

The waiter comes by to clear Ethan's plate and asks if you need anything else, and you're halfway through saying no when your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [10:05 PM]

where are you?

sending someone to get you before you sit there being sad and pathetic

Y/N [10:05 PM]

wdym I’m not sad and pathetic

Heeseung [10:06 PM]

you're eating alone at a restaurant your boyfriend just ditched. what else could it be?

address please.

You give him the name of the place mostly because arguing about whether you're pathetic or not would take more energy than you have left right now. Fifteen minutes later Heeseung walks in wearing a jacket you’ve seen plenty of times, scanning the room until he finds you, and drops into the seat across from you like he's been there the whole time.

"You didn't have to come, you know." you state.

"I know that very well. I wanted to see you sad and pathetic in person." He picks up the menu even though you're clearly done eating, flips through it without really looking. "Also I was bored."

"Comforting."

"I try." He waves the waiter over before you can stop him, orders a drink for himself, and when the bill comes a few minutes later he reaches over and takes it before you can even move your hand toward it.

"Heeseung."

"Yeah?"

"Give me that."

"No." He's already pulling out his card, not even glancing at the total.

"I can pay for my own food."

"Never said you couldn't." He hands the card to the waiter without looking at you, and something about how easy it is for him : he acts like it costs him nothing and like it’s something he has to do but does it naturally. The inside of your stomach is tingling and obviously not because of the food you had earlier.

"I'm being serious, I don't need you to—"

"I know you don't need me to." He lifts his gaze and looks at you with less joking in it than a second ago. "I want to. Learn how it’s not the same."

"That's not the point."

"What's the point, then?"

You freezes, not an answer or a talk back could reach your mind, and he grins like he's won something.

"Aw, look at that," he says. "I missed that face."

"I fucking hate you."

"You don't. You're just annoyed you can't win an argument about who gets to pay for your dinner, which, by the way, is a very weird thing to be stubborn about."

"It's called having self-respect."

"It's called being difficult for no reason, but sure, we can call it self-respect if that makes you feel better." The card comes back and he signs without checking the receipt, tucks it away, and stands up casually. "Come on. I'm parked badly and I will get towed."

"You fucking asshole."

"You keep saying that like it's news." He holds his hand out, not really an offer so much as an assumption you'll take it, and you do.

He gets in to start the car, and has a cigarette lit before you've even got your seatbelt on. The window cracks an inch, cold air cutting through the smoke smell that's already filling the small space.

"You know those are terrible for you," you say.

"Groundbreaking information. Thank you." He takes a drag, one hand on the wheel, not pulling out of the spot yet.

"I'm dead serious. You should stop."

"I should do a lot of things." He glances at you sideways, smoke curling out the window. "You should stop pretending you don't know your boyfriend's cheating on you. We're both just walking around not doing things we should, I guess."

The car goes quiet except for the engine idling. You look straight ahead at the brick wall of the restaurant, at nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about," you say in a breathy tone.

"Sure you don't." He's not looking at you now either, tapping ash out the window, voice even, done pretending along with you. "His location switches off every other night. He checks his phone at dinner like it's gonna bite him if he doesn't. Tonight he left you at a restaurant for a 'work thing' that doesn't exist, and you didn't even ask him to explain it properly. You just let him go."

"That's not—" You stop and start again. "It's complicated."

"It's really not." He finally pulls out of the spot, one hand on the wheel, cigarette still between two fingers. "You don't want to deal with it. Which, fine, your business. But don't sit there and tell me you don't know, because I’m aware for the phone thing tonight too, and you didn't look surprised. You looked like someone who's done the math already."

There isn't a version of an answer that isn't just agreeing with him. So silence is the best option you could have at this moment.

"I'm not trying to make it worse, okay?" he says, softer, some of the edge gone out of his voice. "I just don't really feel like watching you sit through dinners like that and pretend it's normal."

"Why do you even care?"

He takes another drag and lets it out slow.

"Good question," he says finally without elaborating further, yet you don’t want to know more of it, because you're not sure you want to hear the answer any more than he seems to want to give it.

He drives you around the city for a while then turns left instead of right at the light that would've led back toward your apartment. The road opens up eventually, streetlights getting sparser, and then there's the smell of salt before you see the water. He parks in a mostly empty lot facing the beach, cuts the engine, and the quiet that follows feels different from the quiet in the restaurant parking lot. It’s less loaded.

"Why are we here?" you ask.

"I needed air that doesn't smell like your ex's cologne." He's already pulling his jacket off, tossing it into the back seat. Underneath he's just in a black tank top, and it's warm enough out that it makes sense, summer nights here never really cooling off the way you'd expect. "Also I like it here. Don't make it a big deal."

"He's not my ex."

"Give it time." He says it lightly, already opening his door, not wanting to hear you argue back. "Come."

You get out as sitting in the car alone would feel worse than following him. The sand is cool yet the air isn't, and he walks ahead of you toward the water without checking if you're behind him, hands in his pockets and shoulders loose.

"You could've warned me we were going to the beach," you say, catching up. "I'm in the wrong shoes for this."

"You're in shoes. That's more preparation than I did."

"You're wearing actual sneakers."

"Correct. Preparation." He glances back at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up. "Take them off if you're gonna complain the whole time."

"I'm not complaining, it was just a statement."

"Same thing, coming from you."

You shove his shoulder, and he barely moves as he laughs, low and light, as your annoyance is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all week. The water's dark ahead of you, waves you can hear more than see, you can feel the knot in your belly loosening up.

"So this is the fresh air you talked about," you say, kicking your heels off like he told you to, sand cold between your toes. "Very noble of you, considering your lungs are probably black at this point."

"They're totally fine."

"You just smoked an entire cigarette in a closed car ten minutes ago."

"The window was cracked."

"Barely an inch."

He stops walking. He turns to look at you, and there's a specific kind of offense on his face, you can see that’s it’s fake. "Okay, you don't get to smoke-shame me and then act like you weren't the one who wanted to eat a hundred tons of sugar last week."

"That has nothing to do with your lungs."

"It's about hypocrisy, Y/N." He's already crossing his arms, which should've been your first warning. "You wanna talk about people ruining their bodies, we can talk about those candies."

"That's not remotely the same thing, and you know it."

"I don't know anything. I'm just a guy with fucked up lungs, apparently, standing here, getting attacked—"

"I didn't attack you, I made a freaking statement—"

"—run," he says, it's not really a warning and it's already happening, he's moving toward you before the word's even fully out. You don't think and you just run, already laughing three steps away, sand slowing you down and you probably look embarrassing and isn't because he's not much faster, both of you stumbling across the beach. He's close behind you, close enough that you can hear him laughing too, breathless, yet you don't look back and just keep going toward nothing in particular, the water loud beside you and your own heartbeat louder, making you forget why you were sad in the first place.

"Slow down!" you yell back at him, though you're the one speeding up. "Your lungs can't take this!"

"They're taking it fine, actually—" He's gaining on you, voice rougher now from the running, the laughing, both. "Better than yours, probably, all that complaining you do about stairs—"

"I don't even complain about stairs—"

"You complained about stairs yesterday. To my face."

"That building has no elevator, that's a legitimate—" You don't get to finish, because his hand catches your arm, hard enough to throw your balance off, and you're laughing too much to fight it anyway.

"Got you—"

"You didn't—"

He did. Your feet tangle in the sand and his do too trying to compensate, and there's a second where it could've gone fine, where you both could've just stopped, but now you're both going down, and he twists at the last second so he hits the sand first and you land half on top of him, knocking whatever air he had left in those apparently terrible lungs straight out of him.

"Okay," he wheezes, staring up at the sky, chest moving fast under you. "Okay, that one's on me."

You're still laughing, you can't stop, face pressed near his shoulder, sand in your hair, in your clothes, everywhere. "You caught me on purpose."

"I caught you very badly on purpose."

"Your lungs are so fucked."

"Please stop talking about my lungs." He's laughing too, you can feel it more than hear it, his chest shaking under where you're braced against him, and neither of you moves to get up right away, and it takes a second before either of you remembers there's a reason you're supposed to pull away from this.

"Great," you say, still not moving off him. "Now I'm covered in sand. This was a bad idea."

"It was my favorite plan I've had all week."

"You've had bad judgment all week, then." You finally push yourself up, brushing sand off your arms, off your legs, a losing battle. He sits up slower, still catching his breath, watching you try to fix your hair with zero success.

"I'm also thirsty," you add.

"There's water in the car."

"Warm water in a car that smells like cigarettes doesn't count."

He stands, holds a hand out to pull you up, and doesn't let go right away once you're on your feet. He looks at you for a second, he seems like he's deciding something. "Come to mine. Shower, water, whatever you need. It’s better than dropping you off covered in sand at eleven at night."

"Heeseung, I don't need—"

"You keep saying that word like it changes anything about what I'm gonna do anyway." He's already walking back toward the car, keys spinning once around his finger. "Come on."

His apartment turns out to be nothing like you expected, which annoys you a little, because you'd built some idea of his place in your head ; messy, small ; and instead the elevator opens straight into something enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the city, furniture that looks like it costs a hundred racks, which does.

"This is insane," you say, standing in the doorway, still not fully inside. "You live here? Alone?"

"Don't sound so betrayed about it."

"I pictured you in, like, a studio apartment with a mattress on the floor."

"Wow. Thank you for that image of me." He drops his keys on the counter, shrugging like the apartment doesn't warrant comment. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door. There's towels in there. I'll find you something to change into that isn't full of sand."

You still haven't moved from the doorway, taking in the size of it, the quietness of a place too clean to belong to someone who bickers the way he does. "How do you even afford this?"

"Very boring answer. Ask me another time." He's already disappearing down the hall, calling back over his shoulder. "Towels. Bathroom. Go before you track sand into my very expensive rug."

You linger by the counter instead of heading for the bathroom yet, arms crossed, sand still clinging to your ankles. "Okay, but—when am I getting home tonight? I have work in the morning."

He reappears from the hallway with a folded shirt and shorts in hand, tossing them onto the couch for you. "Never. You live here now. I've decided."

"Heeseung."

"It's already, what, eleven thirty? You're covered in sand, your options are a shower here or a shower at home in forty-five minutes of traffic smelling like a beach." He shrugs, entirely too pleased with his own logic. "I'll drive you back whenever. Or you sleep on the world's most comfortable couch and I take you home before work. Very generous offer, considering my lungs are apparently on their way out."

"That's not what I asked."

"Yeah, and I answered better questions in my life." He nods toward the hallway, unbothered. "Go shower. I'm not driving anywhere until you stop smelling like low tide."

You get out of the shower first, dressed in the shirt and shorts he left you, both too big, sleeves falling past your hands. When you find him in the kitchen he's just in sweatpants, no shirt, hair still wet, and you stop in the doorway far too long before catching yourself.

"What?" he says, not even looking up from the glass of water he's pouring.

"Nothing. Put a shirt on, it's weird."

"It's my apartment, and it's hot. I'm not putting a shirt on for you." He slides the glass across the counter toward you, finally glancing over, and whatever's on your face makes something shift in his. "Are you flustered right now?"

"No."

"You're a little flustered."

"I'm annoyed." You grab the glass just to have something to do with your hands, and drink half of it too fast. "Some warning would've been nice."

"A warning for what, my own kitchen?"

"For the— " you point directly at him, at the general fact of him, "—situation."

"There's no situation. This is just what I look like." A shit eating grin appears on his face, fully enjoying this, leaning against the counter. "You can look away if it's that distressing."

"I'm not even looking."

"You're looking right now."

"I'm looking at you to argue with you, and you look so dumb right now."

"Sure it is." He pushes off the counter, grabs a pack of cigarettes off the counter, and heads for the balcony door without the will to talk back. You follow, mostly out of spite, and the air outside is warm, the city spread out below, making the apartment's size make a little more sense. He lights up, leaning on the railing, and you stand a few feet away, arms crossed against a chill that isn't really there.

The smoke drifts toward you on the next breath of wind and you cough slightly, covering the lower half of you face with your hand.

His eyes stay on the city while a silent chuckle almost escapes him. He shifts slowly, moving to stand on your left instead, angling himself so the smoke pulls away from you and out over the railing. A quietness installs itself between you.

He flicks ash over the railing, and glances at you. "You want a drink or something? I've got wine, I think there's soju somewhere too."

"Wine would be good."

He disappears inside for a minute, comes back with two glasses and the bottle tucked under his arm, he sets everything down on the small table between the balcony chairs. You sit, and he drops into the chair across from you, pouring without measuring, more in yours than his.

"How did we even meet?" you say, mostly to fill the silence, turning the glass by its stem. "Like, before Ethan and I were even together. I feel like I always just knew you as his friend."

"You did. That's exactly what happened." He takes a sip to give himself time to recoil on the memory. "We met at that party his roommate threw, where it had the terrible speaker system. You spilled something on my shoes and apologized for like ten minutes straight."

"I did not apologize for ten minutes."

"You did. I still remember the shoes, they were new."

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm really not, I still have them." He leans back, glass balanced on his knee. "Then Ethan started talking about you nonstop for like a month before he actually got the balls to ask you out. It was unbearable. I heard about your laugh before I heard you laugh."

You laugh a little despite yourself. "That's embarrassing," you say.

"For him, mostly. I didn't say anything." He swirls the wine, not quite looking at you now. "You were different back then. I mean—Not different-different. I just think that you were, like, less careful about everything."

"Careful how?"

"You used to argue with me for fun. Now half the time you're arguing with me because you're arguing with something else and I'm just the nearest target." He says in a chuckle. "I liked the fun version better. Not that this version's bad, though."

You take your time before replying. Your fingers slowly roll the glass between your palms as you watch the wine reflect the light, letting the silence fill the space while you think.

"I didn't notice it happening," you say finally.

"Fair enough. That's usually how it goes."

He gives you time. He sits beside you in comfortable silence, his glass resting against his knee while the distant sounds of the city soften the moment.

"You know he doesn't deserve the amount of patience you're giving him, right?" he says eventually, not looking at you when he says it, trying to make it easier for both of you. "Whatever he's doing, wherever he's going at nine at night—you're sitting there making excuses for him. I watched you do it tonight."

"It's not that simple."

"It’s obviously not simple, we both know that. I'm saying you deserve someone who doesn't make you rehearse excuses for him in your head before he's even said anything." He looks over at you, his gaze serious. "You're smart. You're funny, when you're not exhausted, which lately is rare. You shouldn't be spending this much of yourself on someone who’s always checking his phone at a dinner with you."

"You don't know everything that's going on, so stop—"

"I don't need to know everything. I already know enough." He sets his glass down, leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "I'm not trying to convince you to do anything, okay? I just don't think you hear it enough, so I'm saying it. You deserve better than what he's giving you. That's it."

You look down at your glass instead of at him, throat tight from what you’ve been holding since you found out.

"Like it matters to you, anyway." you mumble quietly.

He lets the silence settle between you once more. Taking a deep breath, he seems to consider his next words carefully, revealing nothing before he's ready.

"It does," he declares finally. "I'm not gonna make it more complicated than that tonight."

You let the subject rest, and he doesn't volunteer anything more. Together, you sit quietly, listening to the muted sounds of the city while the wine slowly warms in your hands. Somehow, the silence says more than words you could find.

After some time, you both decided to watch a movie to ease everything out. Now, you’re curled up on the couch, the bottle of wine you two polished off leaving a soft warmth in your veins. The TV flickers with some late-night drama that you couldn't force yourself to be invested in even if you wanted to. Your head feels pleasantly light, and whatever usually fuels your arguments has faded, leaving behind nothing more than lazy teasing.

A new scene unfolds on screen : dark lighting, tangled sheets, the actors lost in a heated and sensual moment. The woman arches under her partner’s touch as his hands glide slowly over her body ; caressing, teasing, worshipping. The sounds are low and breathy, filling the room.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and the wine makes you bold. You glance at Heeseung beside you. "I…I’ve never done that with Ethan," you murmur, voice coming out as a whisper. "Not like that, at least."

Heeseung’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide with real shock. "Wait—what? Never? Not even close?"

You shake your head, biting your lip as embarrassment and frustration mix with the alcohol. "No. It’s always been…rushed. He never wanted to explore things or try new things. Like he doesn’t have the patience for it." Your gaze lingers on the screen for another second before returning to him. "Do you…know how to do that? Like, really touch someone like that?"

Heeseung keeps his eyes on you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. Something unspoken passes between you. "Y/N…" he starts, voice low and careful, a flicker of heat in his eyes.

You shift slightly, scooting an inch closer on the couch. "Show me? I want to know everything. Touch me the way he’s touching her. Please?"

He swallows, and finally slowly nods, setting his empty glass aside. "Alright. But tell me when it's too much, okay?" His voice has dropped, rougher now. He reaches out, starting gentle. His fingers brush along your arm, tracing slow lines from your wrist up to your shoulder. "Like this," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Pay attention to how your skin feels under my hand." His palm flattens against your collarbone, sliding down your side in one smooth caress, mapping the curve of your waist through your shirt.

You shiver, the wine amplifying every touch. Emboldened, you lean into him, and he scoots closer too, until your thighs press together. His other hand joins in, fingertips grazing your neck, then trailing down your chest with feather-light pressure.

"Tell me what feels good," he instructs softly, his hand venturing lower, stroking along your hip and the top of your thigh. "Here?" He squeezes gently, then lets his palm glide back up, bolder now.

The space between you disappears as you both shift nearer, bodies turning toward each other. Your hand finds his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, and slide up to his neck. His breath grows heavier. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, caressing bare skin ; warm, exploratory, following the line of your ribs.

You look up at him, lips parted. He meets your gaze for half a second before closing the distance. Tongues meet, slow and deep at first, turning more insistent as your fingers thread into his hair. He pulls you closer, one hand firm on your lower back while the other continues its caress, sliding higher under your shirt.

His kisses grow fiercer, nipping at your lower lip before soothing it, bodies pressing together on the couch as the moment spirals deeper.

You automatically swing your leg over, straddling Heeseung’s lap as the kiss deepens. Your knees sink into the couch on either side of him, bodies aligning perfectly. He groans softly into your mouth, his hands finding your waist instantly, gripping you to steady the sudden movement. "Y/N…" he breathes against your lips, pulling you closer.

His fingers dig in a little too hard at first ; eager, hungry from the built-up tension ; and you yelp sharply against his mouth, a quick flash of pain cutting through the haze of wine and heat. He pulls back immediately, eyes wide with concern, his grip loosening right away. "Shit—sorry," he murmurs. One hand gently rubs the spot on your waist where he’d gripped too tightly. "Didn’t mean to. You okay?"

You nod quickly, still breathing hard, the sting already fading into the warmth. "Yeah…I’m fine. Don’t stop."

Relief flashes across his face, quickly renewed by that same heated look. He leans in again, capturing your lips in another urgent kiss. his time, there's a new caution in the way he touches you. His hands glide slowly along your sides, lingering as though giving you every chance to pull away before one drifts lower. He cups your ass firmly, squeezing with just the right pressure ; possessive, appreciative ; as he pulls you tighter against him.

You moan softly into the kiss, rolling your hips instinctively. His tongue slides against yours, deeper and more demanding now, while his fingers knead your ass, encouraging the movement. The kiss turns messy, breathless, both of you lost in the heat as his other hand stays anchored at your waist, guiding you closer. The undeniable spark between you push everything else away.

You’re both breathing heavily when Heeseung pulls back just enough to speak, his voice low and gentle against your ear. "Come off my lap for a second, baby," he murmurs, hands sliding soothingly along your thighs. "Turn around for me."

You nod, a little dazed from the wine and the intensity, and shift off him. He helps guide you, turning you so your back is to his chest. He settles back against the couch, spreading his legs and pulling you between them until you’re nestled against him, your back flush to his front. His arms wrap around you from behind, one hand resting on your stomach while the other strokes your thigh.

"Spread your legs for me," he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "As far as you can. Let me see you."

You obey, parting your thighs wider, heat flooding your face as the position leaves you open and exposed. Heeseung hums approvingly, his fingers teasing lightly along the inside of your thigh, drawing slow circles that inch higher but never quite touch where you’re starting to ache.

"My pretty girl," he whispers, the praise making you shiver. His hand keeps stroking closer and closer until you’re squirming. "Has he ever fingered you?" he asks almost hesitantly, he already suspects the answer.

You shake your head, voice small. "No…He never did. He only ever made me suck his dick and...he was so rushed to put it in."

Heeseung exhales sharply, a mix of disbelief and irritation flashing through him. "Fuck…alright. I’ve got you."

He’s careful ; painfully so. His fingers slide under your clothes, gently parting you before one fingertip circles your entrance, gathering wetness. "Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

Slowly, he eases one finger inside you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. He moves gently, curling carefully, his other arm holding you against his chest. "Breathe, Y/N. I’ll make it good for you."

He adds a second finger only when you start rocking back against his hand, still cautious, focusing entirely on your reactions as he begins to pump them in a sluggish rhythm. His thumb finds your clit, teasing light circles while he fingers you with patient strokes.

You gasp sharply as Heeseung’s fingers suddenly hit harder, the angle shifting and sending a jolt of pain through you. Your body tenses, a small cry escaping your lips.

He freezes instantly, eyes widening in panic. "Shit—sorry, sorry," he blurts, quickly easing his fingers out of you. "I didn’t mean to—fuck, are you okay? I’m so sorry, Y/N." He repeats the apology under his breath, one hand gently rubbing your thigh while the other hovers uncertainly, clearly rattled.

You catch your breath, the sting fading fast in the haze of alcohol. A smirk slowly tugs at your lips as you look back at him over your shoulder. "Are you really sorry?"

"Yes," he says immediately, voice earnest. "Of course I am."

You turn around fully to face him, still sitting between his legs. "Then get on your knees in front of me."

He blinks, then lets out a short disbelieving scoff, assuming you’re joking. "What? Right now?"

Your expression stays serious, eyes locked on his. "I said get on your knees."

The smirk on his face fades when he realizes you mean it. After a beat of hesitation, he slides off the couch and drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, looking up at you with surprise and growing desire.

"Come closer," you order softly.

He shifts forward on his knees until he’s right between your spread legs, hands resting tentatively on your thighs as he waits for your next instruction, breath a little uneven.

You lean back slightly, looking down at him. "Lick it."

Heeseung’s eyes darken instantly. Without another word, he leans in, pressing his mouth to you. His tongue drags slowly through your folds at first ; warm and soaked ; before he settles into long hungry strokes, focusing on your clit with just the right pressure. His hands grip your thighs to hold you open as he licks you with focused intent, the earlier apology shifted by eager obedience.

You let the pleasure build for a few moments, your hand threading into his hair as his tongue works you over with growing confidence. But then you tug gently, pulling him back.

"Stop." you say, voice breathy yet firm.

Heeseung pulls away immediately, lips glistening, looking up at you with hooded eyes and a hint of confusion. His chest rises and falls quickly.

You smirk down at him, still holding his hair. "You’re not going to continue until you say sorry…while you’re eating me out."

He blinks once, processing the command, then an almost amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You’re serious?"

You raise an eyebrow, waiting.

He leans back in without further protest. His tongue returns to you before he murmurs the words right against your core, the vibrations sending sparks through you. "I’m sorry," he breathes, licking a long stripe up your folds. "Sorry for being too rough…" Another slow swirl around your clit. "I won’t hurt you again."

He keeps going, alternating between soft apologies and dedicated licks, his voice low and muffled as he eats you out. "Sorry, baby…fuck, you taste so good." His hands grip your thighs a little tighter as he buries his tongue deeper, still repeating quiet "sorry"s between every lick and suck, the blend of submission and hunger making the moment even more intense.

You lean back further, letting him worship you like that ; his apologies vibrating against you with every stroke of his tongue.

You slide your fingers deeper into his hair, gripping it firmly as you pull him closer against you. Heeseung’s eyes flutter half-closed ; sleepy and hazy with lust ; his ears flushed a pretty shade of pink from the heat and the wine. The sight makes something wicked twist in your lower belly.

"Well, would you look at yourself," you tease, voice breathy but filled with amusement. "On your knees, ears all pink, eyes looking half-asleep like a fucking loser."

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, a lazy smirk spreading across his face despite the grip you have on his hair. His sleepy eyes narrow playfully. "Loser?" he scoffs, breath hot against your skin. "Says the one who’s been missing out for months and is now dripping all over my face. If I’m such a loser, why are you pulling my hair like you never want me to stop?"

You tug his hair a little harder in response, and he lets out a low, amused chuckle, vibrating right where you need it.

"Keep talking shit and I might actually stop," you warn, though your hips roll forward, chasing his mouth.

Heeseung’s smirk only widens, pink ears burning brighter. "Yeah? Then I guess this loser better shut up and keep saying sorry…" He dives back in with renewed energy, tongue pressing flat and slow, murmuring one last muffled "Sorry, baby" against you before focusing entirely on making your teasing backfire.

You feel it building fast ; the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core while his tongue works you relentlessly. His sleepy eyes stay locked on yours whenever he pulls back for air, pink ears still burning, that smug little smirk never fully leaving his face even while he’s buried between your thighs.

Your grip in his hair tightens, hips rolling against his mouth as your breathing turns ragged. "Heeseung—fuck, I’m—"

Right as the orgasm crests, right as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls back completely. His mouth leaves you with one last slow, teasing lick before he sits back on his heels, lips glistening, looking far too pleased with himself.

You let out a frustrated whine, thighs trembling. "What the hell—"

He chuckles lowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are sleepy-lidded, but sparkling with mischief. "Not yet," he murmurs, voice rough. One finger lazily traces up your inner thigh, barely brushing where you need him. "You were talking so much shit earlier about me being a loser…thought you could handle a little teasing."

You glare down at him, still panting, the denied orgasm leaving you aching and frustrated. He leans in again, pressing the softest, almost innocent kiss right above your clit, then another on your thigh ; carefully avoiding where you’re throbbing.

"What is it?" he teases, voice low and amused. "All worked up and squirming. Were you really about to cum that fast on my tongue? Cute."

He blows a gentle stream of cool air against your wet folds, making you jolt, then gives you one torturously light lick before pulling away again.

"Beg a little nicer and maybe I’ll let you finish," he says with a smirk, pink ears still flushed as he watches your reaction, clearly enjoying edging you way too much.

Your hand tightens in his hair again, torn between wanting to pull him back in and wanting to throttle him for stopping.

You’re still catching your breath on the couch, legs shaky from the cruel edge, when Heeseung rises from his knees. He climbs over you, hovering above your body with his hands braced on either side of your head. His face is flushed, those sleepy eyes dark with want as he looks down at you.

You bite your lip, heart racing. Slowly, you lift one leg and slide your foot up between his thighs, pressing the sole against the obviously hard bulge straining through his sweatpants. You rub it teasingly with your toes, pressing on it with gentle pressure, feeling him twitch under your foot.

His breath hitches sharply, hips jerking forward into your touch. "Y/N," he warns, voice low and strained.

You look up at him with soft, fakely innocent eyes, a sweet little smile playing on your lips even as your foot continues its lazy; pressing, rubbing, tracing the outline of his cock through the soft fabric.

"What?" you murmur softly, batting your lashes. “You edged me…seems only fair I play with you a little."

He lets out a shaky laugh, forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. His arms tremble slightly as he holds himself up, clearly fighting the urge to grind harder against your foot.

"Fuck, you’re evil," he breathes, with only affection and raw desire. His eyes flutter half-closed again as you keep rubbing him so gently, the contrast between your soft gaze and the teasing pressure of your foot making him groan quietly above you.

The air between you crackles, thick with tension as he hovers there, letting you toy with him.

You’re still looking up at him with those soft eyes when he suddenly pulls back. He stands just long enough to shove his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion, kicking them aside. His cock springs free, hard and flushed. Before you can fully process, he’s back on the couch, gently turning you around again so your back is pressed to his chest ; just like earlier.

You blink in confusion, still wobbly. "Heeseung, what are you—?"

While staying silent, he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. With his free hand, he guides his cock, rubbing the thick head slowly up and down your soaked core. The pressure is heavy and hot as he glides it between your folds, coating himself in your wetness, letting you feel every inch of his length sliding against your sensitive skin.

"Just feel it," he murmurs against your ear. "Gotta get you used to me first."

The grind makes you whimper, your body tensing as the blunt head nudges at your entrance. Then he pushes in ; slow and gentle. The stretch is intense. You yell out at the burn, your hands flying back to grip his thighs.

Heeseung stops instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I know, baby, I know," he whispers soothingly, voice dull and tender. "You’re doing so good." One of his hands slides down to caress your lower stomach in comforting circles, trying to ease the discomfort. "I’ve got you, Y/N. I’m right here."

He stays still inside you, whispering sweet nothings against your skin while his fingers keep gently rubbing your stomach. Gradually, the pain starts to melt into a deep ache. When your breathing evens out a little, he begins to move. His thrusts are slothful at first but quickly turn sloppy, messy and uncoordinated from the alcohol and the overwhelming heat of the moment. Wet sounds fill the room as he rocks into you from behind, one arm banded around your waist while the other continues caressing your lower belly.

"Fuck…sorry, it’s—shit, you feel too good," he groans, the pace erratic and desperate, hips snapping up into you with needy and imperfect strokes.

His thrusts are getting sloppier, hips stuttering as the dizziness makes his pace messy and desperate. Next, on one particularly eager push, his cock slips out completely with a wet pop, loud enough to be heard in the entire living room.

You squirm hard in his lap, a needy whimper escaping you at the sudden empty feeling. Your body instinctively rocks back, searching for him again.

Heeseung lets out a breathy chuckle against your neck. "Easy, baby…"

He grips the base of his cock and gives it a couple of lazy slaps against your soaked cunt; wet smacks making you jolt and moan. The head nudges your clit with each tap, fooling you until you’re trembling.

And without warning, he lines himself up and pushes back in with one thrust, burying himself deep into you cunt. You gasp at the sudden fullness, your back arching against his chest as he groans deeply.

"Shit…that sound," he mutters, voice rough. His arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place while his other hand returns to caress your lower stomach. He starts moving again, still sloppy and uncoordinated, but deeper now ; each thrust punctuated by the wet sounds of skin meeting skin.

He kisses along your shoulder, whispering hotly, "You’re so fucking wet…hear how you take me?"

His hips snap up messily, cock sliding in and out as he keeps you pressed tight against him, lost in the pleasure of it all. You’re lost in the flow of his cock sliding in and out of you, the filthy sounds of your pussy filling the room with every sloppy thrust, when your phone starts ringing on the coffee table. The screen lights up with Ethan’s name.

You notice that it doesn't stop Heeseung from doing his work. If anything, his hips snap up harder, driving deeper as he reaches over and grabs your phone. You try to protest through a moan, but he answers the call and puts it on speaker, setting it down nearby.

"Hey, man," he says casually, voice only slightly strained as he keeps fucking you tirelessly from behind. The squelching sounds are loud and clear.

Ethan’s voice comes through, sounding worried. "Heeseung? Where’s Y/N? She’s not home yet and she’s not answering her phone. Is she with you?"

"Yeah, she’s right here," Heeseung replies, one hand gripping your hip tighter as he thrusts up into you again, making you bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. "She’s a little busy though."

You squirm in his lap, embarrassed heat flooding your face even as pleasure keeps building. Heeseung leans closer to your ear and whispers, "Let him hear how wet you are," before picking up the pace.

The obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into your soaked pussy echo clearly through the speaker.

Ethan pauses. "What the fuck is that sound? Is she okay?"

Heeseung lets out a low chuckle, still thrusting deeper. "She’s more than okay. I’m fucking her right now, bro. That’s the sound of her pussy taking my cock."

You moan despite yourself as he hits a particularly good spot, unable to stay quiet.

"Can you hear that?" Heeseung asks tauntingly, angling his hips so the wet noises get even louder. "Hear how soaked she is? Those are her moans too. She’s been missing this for a long time."

Ethan’s voice cracks with shock and anger. "What the hell, Heeseung?! Y/N—!"

Before Ethan can finish, Heeseung cuts him off, still buried deep inside you, voice low and possessive as he speaks directly into the phone :

"You might be what she wants…but I’m clearly what she needs."

He hangs up quickly, tossing the phone aside. His arms wrap around you tighter as he resumes fucking you with intensity, mouth pressed to your neck.

"Focus on me, baby," he murmurs hotly. "Just feel how full you are."

The sounds continue as he drives into you, the interruption only making him more eager. You barely have time to process the call ending before your phone starts buzzing repeatedly on the table. Message after message from Ethan lights up the screen ; vibrating angrily one after another.

Heeseung glances at it but doesn’t stop. His hips keep rolling up into you in that same relentless pounding, cock stretching you open with every wet thrust.

"Damn…he’s blowing up your phone," he mutters with a dark chuckle. One arm stays banded around your waist, holding you firmly in place on his lap while his other hand reaches down to rub slow circles over your clit.

He keeps fucking you through the mess. Your phone vibrates again and again ; texts popping up rapidly.

You moan helplessly, eyes fluttering as pleasure overrides everything else. "Heeseung…he’s—"

"I don't fucking care," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. "Let him text. You’re mine right now."

He angles his hips and thrusts up hard, making you cry out as the head of his cock hits that perfect spot over and over. The phone keeps buzzing but Heeseung only fucks you harder, the sounds of your bodies utterly drowning out the vibrations.

His hand on your lower stomach presses down gently, making you feel every inch of him sliding in and out. "Hear how loud your pussy is for me?" he groans, voice rough. "Keep taking it, baby. Just like that."

You’re a mess ; moaning, squirming, gripping his thighs as he continues pounding into you from behind, unbothered by the nonstop stream of notifications. The phone eventually goes silent for a few seconds only to start vibrating again. Both of you wouldn't care less. Heeseung’s only focus is the way your walls clench around him as he fucks you through it all.

So that's what you've been missing out all this time.

puppy!jake who somehow always ends up touching you whenever you’re together. maybe it’s his knee resting against yours, his arm draped lazily behind your shoulders, or his head slowly finding its way into your lap while you’re watching something. he doesn’t even think about it anymore; being close to you feels as natural as breathing. if you shift away to grab something, he’ll purposely scoot impossibly closer again a minute later

puppy!jake who absolutely lights up whenever you praise him. even something like just telling him he did a good job, has him trying (and failing) to hide the boyish grin spreading across his face. he’ll duck his head, scratch the back of his neck, mumble an embarrassed “thanks,” as his cheeks flush profusely :p

puppy!jake who greets you like you’ve been gone for months every single time you come home, even if you’ve literally just left an hour ago to buy groceries. the second he hears your keys in the door, he’s already standing up with the biggest smile plastered onto his face, bounding up to shamelessly grope at you while using the excuse that he just wants to see what you’ve bought home :3

puppy!jake who has theee cutest habit of nudging your hand whenever he wants attention while you’re busy. if you’re reading, scrolling on your phone or working on your laptop, you’ll suddenly feel his shoulder bump yours or his forehead gently press against your arm. if you absentmindedly scratch his hair without looking, he’ll just smile to himself, (almost) completely satisfied. if you don’t notice… you can expect an exaggerated sigh, closely followed by another, firmer nudge, nudges that won’t let up until he’s satisfied with the attention you give him

puppy!jake who gets genuinely excited over your interests as if they’re his own. mention a movie, a hobby or a random fact you like once, and he’s bringing it up days later because he spent time learning about it. not because he suddenly became obsessed with it himself, but because seeing you talk so passionately about something makes him happy. literally nothing makes him smile more than asking you a question and watching your face light up while you explain to him the nuances in whatever it is that’s got you so excited

puppy!jake who loves more than anything to be intertwined with you as much as he possibly can be. he frequently pulls you into his lap, arms tight around your middle, head bent down to nuzzle into your neck as he gently kisses down your pulse point. if not, somehow half his body will end up draped over your legs or your lap, despite your protests about how heavy he is. he’ll mumble “you’re just extra comfortable,” into your bare stomach as he toys with the hem of your (his) shirt, head in your lap as his lips graze your torso :p

puppy!jake who gets sad whenever you’re sad. he’s not always sure what the perfect thing to say is, and sometimes he’ll stumble over his words trying to make you feel better. so instead, he opts to simply stay. he’ll sit beside you in silence, rubbing slow circles over your back, holding your hand if you’ll let him, and quietly reminding you that he isn’t going anywhere until you’re okay, even if it takes hours :(

puppy!jake who sends voice notes instead of texts whenever he can because he likes the idea of you hearing his voice. they usually start with whatever he actually wanted to tell you before turning into him laughing halfway through, getting distracted by something he saw, or remembering another story. some of them end with an absent-minded, “okay… i miss you. bye,” before he hangs up, realising he’s forgotten to tell you that you’re out of milk, the whole reason he’d opted to send a voice note in the first place :3

puppy!jake who gets distracted halfway through telling stories because he’s more interested in making you smile than finishing the point. he’ll start explaining something that happened during work, somehow end up doing impressions of everyone involved, and then completely lose his train of thought because you let out a soft giggle. “forgot what i was talking about…” he’ll mumble under his breath, face flushed as you coo at him :p

puppy!jake who completely melts whenever you scratch the back of his neck or run fingers through his thick brown hair. you can literally feel his shoulders relaxing beneath your hand as he leans further into you without thinking. after a few minutes his eyes start drooping, his replies become quieter, and eventually he’s asleep before the movie is even halfway over, still holding tightly onto your hand :(

puppy!jake who naturally drifts closer whenever you’re walking together until your shoulders brush. eventually your hands bump together, and he’ll glance at you for a second before shyly hooking his fingers around yours, still feeling bashful after being with you for years. after that, he absentmindedly swings your joined hands as you walk, smiling to himself without even noticing he’s doing it. of course, you notice though, and reach up to plant a chaste kiss to his flushed cheek :p

puppy!jake who smiles into every kiss, even non-sexual ones. every single time you pull away, he’s already looking at you with this ridiculously fond expression, cheeks just a little pink. sometimes he’ll let out the tiniest laugh, almost like he still can’t believe this is real

puppy!jake who becomes even clingier whenever he’s exhausted. if you try getting out of bed before him, he’ll instinctively wrap both arms around your waist and pull you back down without even opening his eyes. “five more minutes…” he’ll mumble into your shoulder, voice all sleepy and rough, tightening his hold just enough to make escaping impossible, even though he knows you’d never want to escape :3

let’s go to hell😳 aka nsfw under div

puppy!jake who desperately ruts against the bed while he’s eating you out, sometimes just thrusting into the air if there’s nothing for him to hump. he gets impossibly harder when you point it out, interrupting his frantic making out with your pussy by tugging on his hair, cooing at your needy mutt, warning him that if he carries on, you might not give him the chance to fuck you (which he knows is a lie), but he still does his very best to force his hips still :(

puppy!jake who has the leakiest cock :( he drips precum so much that there’s almost always a cute little wet patch on the front of his boxers when you peel off his sweatpants. you can’t help but coo at your leaky boy, prompting his face to flush an even deeper shade of red, a sharp whine slipping out of him before he can stop it

puppy!jake who has theeeee most sensitive tip. like of all time. all you have to do is brush your thumb across it and he’s reeling, a drop of precum now running over your fist wrapped tight around his length. he lets out little hisses when you gently kitten-lick his slit, tears brewing already at the stimulation

puppy!jake who lives in a perpetual state of horniness, doing his best to pretend he’s not hard when you’ve only just ran your fingers through his hair. so pathetic, he thinks to himself, brows furrowed, as he wraps his arms tighter around your middle and tries to focus on the movie you’ve put on, hoping you don’t notice anything poking you :(

puppy!jake who occasionally tries to taunt you back, but finds out that he really cannot tease you for too long at all because at the end of the day the only thing he wants is for his pretty baby to feel good… he feels the need to make up for his feeble attempts at teasing, and he does so by going down on you for hours, although he doesn’t really consider this to be an apology because he enjoys it just as much as you do :3

puppy!jake who has (almost) never ending stamina. he’ll only stop when he knows you can’t take anymore, and even then, as you drift off, you can still feel him semi-hard against your back. you’d told him early on in your relationship that he could use you to take care of his issue, but he’d never really gotten used to that. instead, he typically opted to gently rut against you for a while, stifling his whimpers as he groped your tits from behind, tears pooling in his eyes as he came in his pants, his face buried in your neck. he sniffled and adjusted himself, deciding he’d just clean himself up in the morning, n maybe tell you about it just so he could hear you call him your needy pup

puppy!jake who didn’t initially realise his size, rutting into you desperately without prep. to be fair, you didn’t expect him to be so fucking huge, but he was already inside now, grinding into you as he finally bottomed out. you grasped desperately at his face from beneath him, grinning at his watery eyes before telling him to slow down, to let you get used to him. you saw the guilt immediately forming in his eyes but kissed it away, guiding his lips to yours as you joined in a sloppy kiss, a mixture of his and your’s spit now running down your chin as you smirked through it, nipping at his bottom lip to let him know he could continue :3

puppy!jake who fucks you faster and harder when he’s close, mewling at the sight of your fucked out expression mirroring his. he plants his big hands on either side of your waist as he lets out a sharp whine at the sight of your belly bulge, imprint of his dick visible as he bottomed out inside you, instinctively pressing down on it, making you both moan in unison. “m so fucking deep, baby,” he groans at the sight, trailing one hand down to your clit to trace circles on it as he picks up his pace, because he can’t cum unless you do first

puppy!jake who just cums so much. fucking it all back into you in the name of filling you up how you like it, whimpering as you drag him down to your mouth to whisper how good of a dad he’d be. “would you like that jakey? ‘can give you your own little pups,” he lets out a strangled little sob at the thought :(

puppy!jake who’s tongue lolls out when he’s fucking you good, first creeping out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates, to involuntarily fully sticking out, eyes screwed shut as his hands tighten on your hips

puppy!jake, who at the start of your relationship, completely short circuits when you jokingly call him a good boy. he’ll freeze mid-sentence, blink a few times, then splutter out the rest of whatever he was chatting about, his voice noticeably breaking as he tries his absolute hardest to appear unbothered (you’ve used it against him every day since)

kitty!jay who absolutely loves slow mornings. he’ll always wake up before you do, but instead of getting out of bed, he’ll lie there quietly watching you sleep for a few minutes before gently brushing your hair away from your face. when you finally wake up, he’ll softly mumble, “morning, baby,” eyes sparkling with affection :3

kitty!jay who pretends he doesn’t want attention, but the second you stop petting his hair, he’s subtly leaning back into your hand. he’ll never ask you to keep going, instead he’ll just shift just enough that your fingers naturally end up running through his hair again. the tiny smirk he tries to hide gives him away every time :p

kitty!jay who loves just sitting in silence with you. you could both be doing completely different things for hours, barely speaking, and he’d still consider it quality time. every now and then he’ll glance over just to make sure you’re still there before quietly going back to whatever he was doing. he’s almost proud that you guys are able to spend time together like that, that you’re comfortable enough with him to understand without words what he wants and needs, and that you two can enjoy each other’s presence without having to fill it with meaningless small talk

kitty!jay who has a habit of silently appearing beside you. one second you’re alone making tea, the next he’s leaning against the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed, watching you with the softest most unguarded expression. when you ask how long he’s been standing there, he’ll just shrug and mutter, “not long,” every single time, even when you both know he’s quite clearly been there for several minutes, content to just stare at you :p

kitty!jay who gets quietly possessive in the smallest ways. if you’re sitting with someone else, he’ll casually take the empty seat beside you without saying a word, resting his knee against yours under the table. it’s never obvious enough for anyone to comment on, but you find it impossible not to notice the way his jaw ticks and his brows furrow as he presses his thicker thigh firmer against yours

kitty!jay who acts like your (often relentless) teasing doesn’t affect him, rolling his eyes and giving you the most unimpressed look imaginable. then, five minutes later, you’ll catch him smiling to himself because he keeps replaying whatever you said. he hates (loves) how easily you make him laugh and get him flustered

kitty!jay who looooves when you play with his hands. he’ll pretend not to notice while you absentmindedly trace little shapes over his knuckles, but inside he’s completely melting. eventually, he’ll just turn his hand over so your fingers naturally lace together, still acting like it’s not intentional

kitty!jay who always seems to know when your social battery is running low. before you even say anything, he’s quietly asking if you want to step outside for a few minutes or offering to leave early with you. he never makes you explain yourself, he just notices, and quickly pulls some bullshit excuse out of his ass to spew to the rest of his friends 

kitty!jay who isn’t overly affectionate in public, but he’ll always find tiny excuses to touch you. brushing imaginary lint off your sleeve, fixing your necklace, resting a hand against your back as you walk through a crowd. all small gestures, but they make you feel safer every single time, even more so when you start to notice how intentional he is with them, despite acting otherwise

kitty!jay who gets so comfortable around you ridiculously quickly. he’ll steal your blanket without realizing, insist on you wearing his hoodies (“they just look so much better on you, sweetheart”), shift you completely so you’re resting your legs on his lap while watching a movie, then look genuinely confused when you point out how clingy he’s being. “no, i’m not,” he’ll insist, completely serious

kitty!jay who instinctively looks for you whenever something funny happens. even if you’re across the room, his eyes immediately find yours because your reaction is always the one he wants to see most. if you’re already giggling, he’ll end up laughing even harder, his eyes bright with affection as he takes in the sound of your laughter like it’s the last time he’ll hear it, noting the way your body racks with each stifled giggle as you bury your face in your hands :p

kitty!jay who never notices how much his voice changes when it’s just the two of you. around everyone else, it’s steady and teasing, always paired with a sarcastic comment or a smug little grin. but the second you’re alone together, all of that quickly slips away. his shoulders loosen, his guard drops without him realizing, and his voice falls into this quiet, almost sleepy murmur that barely carries across the room. you’ll find yourself leaning in closer just to catch what he’s saying because somewhere along the way he stopped feeling like he had to fill the silence. he never realised he did it until jake pointed it out, face smug and eyes narrowed as he wiggled his finger at jay. jay just shrugs, denies it, and mutters something about him “hearing things,” despite the way he knows he’ll immediately slips back into that softer voice the next time you’re alone together :3

kitty!jay who gets impossibly more gentle whenever you’re upset. he doesn’t crowd you with questions or rush you into talking, instead, he’ll jus quietly make his way over until he’s sitting beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. he’ll ask what happened once, softly, and if you aren’t ready to answer, he won’t push. he’ll simply nod, reach for your hand if you’ll let him (you always do), and stay. if you start crying, his whole expression softens. his brows knit together as he instinctively pulls you against his chest, one hand rubbing slow circles over your back while the other gently cradles the back of your head. “baby, i’ve got you,” he’ll murmur, his voice low and calm. he doesn’t care if you cry all over him or sit there in silence for half an hour. as long as you’re in his arms, he’ll stay exactly where he is until you’re ready to let go :(

kitty!jay who remembers every tiny thing you mention. you cannot get anything past him if it’s even remotely to do with you. your favourite drink, the snack you couldn’t find once, that random flower you pointed out months ago… it all sticks with him. then one day he’ll casually hand you the random chocolate bar you tried once (and loved) months ago, without saying anything, like he doesn’t go well out of his way to try and remember every detail about you on purpose :3 

let’s go to HELLLUGHHH aka nsfw under div😳

kitty!jay who is totally a butt guy… in every way. he’s grabbing handfuls if he’s got you in doggy, the crack of his hand against your soft skin reverberating around the room as his thrusts pick up. even just walking around the apartment, he’s groping you at any given moment, pawing at your sweatpants as the tent in his gets bigger. you try (and fail) to mask at least some of the fondness in your eyes at his ministrations, but you just can’t help it, especially not when he gets so desperate just from a few touches in passing :(

kitty!jay who literally can’t help himself from purring when he gets inside your wet heat, the vibrations only spurring you on as he nuzzles against your neck, harshly contrasting the way he pinches your nipples and shamelessly gropes at your chest as you ride him, temporarily stopping his ministrations to bite and suck at your neck, his throat still humming loudly :p

kitty!jay who’s so big on foreplay that it becomes like torture for you. he’s content to just have you sat on his lap for hours as he nips at your bottom lip, tongue darting out to brush over it before you can even flinch. he sucks little bruises onto the bottom of your neck, ignoring your whines that it’s “childish” and instead opting to just start biting down on another spot, kneading at your ass or gently rubbing your clit through your panties as he does so. and you’re literally never safe… even on long drives he’s got a hand on your thigh, slowly inching up as you squirm in discomfort, actutely aware of the heat now pooling between your legs. you clench them on instinct, only to be met again with his beaming smirk, finding it harder to hold himself back now that he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. i bet he’s an ear nibbler tooughghghg

kitty!jay who likes to mark his territory by cumming all over your tits, pulling himself out of your tight throat to grab at your chest instead, sticking two fingers in your mouth to keep you satiated as he manhandles you where he wants you. he’ll look you dead in the eyes when cumming, jerking himself off with one hand as fast as he can whilst still maintaining eye contact and pushing his long fingers further down your throat. he cums with a groan all over your chest, gaze fond as he looks down at you, his beautiful girl :(

kitty!jay who doesn’t realise his size until you’re silent beneath him, face buried in your pillows, back arched. he leans down to tap you gently on your waist, still bottomed out inside of you, just to hear a muffled and whiny “can’t take it, jay, s’ too big,” as you drool over the bed, eyes teary and gaze far away. he’s almost scared at how fast a grin spreads across his face “you can be good for me, baby, can’t you?” he coos in return, forcing mock sympathy, relishing your whimpers and moans when he reaches a hand around to rub at your puffy clit :(

kitty!jay who just can’t help himself, who loves you so much he just has to have every part of you, brushing his thumb over your puckered hole as a small pout forms on his face at your twitching and whining. even after so many years he can’t believe he gets to have you like this, spread and willing to take whatever he’ll give you, he’s sooo lucky n you’ll never let him forget it :3

kitty!jay who gets off on you getting off. when he’s inside your wet heat, he can only cum after knowing you have, and it’s not even just a pride thing, it’s just that you’ve ruined him as he’s ruined you. he’s so used to the way you clamp around him as you squeal, he’s so used to the creamy ring of combined fluids that forms around the base of his cock, how can anybody expect him to be able to get off without seeing that first? even if he’s not inside, when he’s buried between your legs instead, he feels immense satisfaction when you finish on his tongue, grinding down on him while simultaneously trying to arch away from him as he harshly tweaks your nipples, comparable even to his own orgasm (so much so that he has to look down and check he hasn’t cum in his pants like a teenager) he’s so down bad for you :(

kitty!jay who (shamefully) feels jealous of the toys you have to use when he’s away. realistically, he knows it’s his fault for leaving you frustrated for a week or two while he’s on a business trip, but he still can’t stop the annoyance bubbling up inside of him when you shyly recall how you got off over the phone. he ignores the tent in his pants to mumble back, “but, ‘s not better than mine, right?” rolling his eyes at how pathetic he sounded as he said it. but it’s not his fault he just misses you so much, and deep down he knows he can never be replaced, that he’s ruined you for any other other guy to come (god forbid), but he still needs to hear you say it :(

Currently, you were in the living room of your shared apartment with Doohwa. According to him, his father had returned home after spending the past four weeks flying from one country to another and Doohwa wanted to take this chance to introduce you to his father, to build a closer connection and relationship.

You had never met him before back when you were dating. According to your fiance, his father was a busy man—with his career being a freelance architecture.

You don't know much about that specific industry but what you do know was how the man was highly regarded and respected, due to his talents.

You had finished getting dressed and was now waiting for him to come and pick you up after he was done with work.

As time passed, your eyelids gradually felt heavier. Before you knew it, you had fallen asleep on the couch…

EIGHT MONTHS AGO...

You had finished your final examination and as per the standard culture you and your small group of friends shared—it was time to party. After all, you didn't spent the past two to three weeks cramming, inhaling energy drinks and further ruining your already ruined sleep cycle for nothing.

As much as you loved partying like your life depended on it, you wanted to get good grades so you can graduate without regrets.

You were the first to arrive at your usual place—a bar called Hidden Eve that's located on a few streets away from your campus. It's a cozy place with the drinks both being good and are at an affordable prices, especially in today's society.

You stood outside, hugging your thick coat around you, shivering involuntarily when a strong gust of cold, chilling wind blew past you. Winter wasn't even here yet but you were already bundled up like a walking rice-ball.

Thankfully, you didn't have to wait long as your friends had arrived. One of them laughed when they saw how red your nose had became.

"Looks like Rudolph the Reindeer has some competition," she teased, causing the whole group except for you to burst out laughing.

You light-heatedly rolled your eyes, knowing they were merely joking. "Haha. Very funny. Now let's go in and drink before i can't feel my hands and legs anymore."

With that, all of you entered the bar. The small bell hanging on top of the door made a 'ding ding!' sound as it was pushed open.

Warm amber lights glowed from vintage sconces along the brick walls, casting the space in a soft, honeyed haze. Low wooden beams crossed the ceiling, darkened with age while trailing ivy and dried floral curled lazily around iron fixtures.

The bar counter stretched along the left side, polished oak worn smooth by years of elbow and spilled confessions, its shelves covered with glass bottles that shimmered like jewels under the dim lights.

For once, the place was crowded.

Voices overlapped in a constant hum—laughter, murmured conversations and the occasional clink of glasses with customers toasting to something. Every seat seemed to be occupied, bodies packed close together and strangers brushed shoulders without apology.

The air smelled faintly of citrus, alcohol and something smoky beneath it all, grounding and intoxicating.

Jazz music played low and steady from hidden speakers, a slow, sultry rhythm that seeped into your bones rather than demanding for attention. It made the bar feel alive, pulsing, as though it was breathing along with the people inside it.

To you and your friends, this was home.

You followed them as they moved to the counter on the right with ease while chatting and laughing with one another. Thankfully, there were some space enough for the four of you to squeeze in together.

You weren't listening to what your friends were talking, absentmindedly nodding your head here and there as your eyes aimlessly drifted, scanning the sea of faces around you.

And that's when you saw him.

You knew he's a staff, with how he came out from the back door and was dressed in black from head to toe, the kind of uniform meant to blend in and go unnoticed.

It failed for him.

The fitted black shirt clung lightly to his frame, sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms as he adjusted the cuff with practiced ease. A slim apron was tied around his waist, hanging low against dark jeans that perfectly further accentuated his long legs. You swore at first glance, his legs would make up half of his height.

He wore accessories—a simple double pair of rings hanging on his earlobes and his hands were decorated in silver, glowing rings. It glimmered like jewels underneath the dim lights, drawing attention to his long and slender fingers. His midnight-black hair was slightly damp, as if he had just washed it, stray strands falling carelessly over his forehead. He pushed them back once, distracted, before reaching for the towel draped on his shoulder.

You pretended you didn't choked on air when you saw him running his hand through his hair, unable to tear your eyes away from him as you watched. You weren't sure why but there was something mesmerizing about the way he moved—efficient yet unhurried, every motion was deliberate.

He slipped behind the counter, exchanging a few words with his co-worker and immediately got to work, hands busy as he prepared glasses and checked bottles, like this was all second nature to him.

He hasn't noticed you yet.

And you decide to change that.

Ignoring your friends, you walked around them and approached him with a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it was the aftereffects of finishing your examinations. Maybe it was the way he carried himself but whatever it was, you wanted him to notice you.

Every step you took reduced the distance between the two of you and you stood before him, with the high counter being the only thing hindering your way.

Thankfully, he had his back facing you as he was busy preparing drinks for an order. Which gave you a front-row seat of staring (or drooling because you're only human) at his broad back, the way you can see his back muscles moved whenever he shook the mixture in a Boston Shaker, only for it to paint a… different image in your mind.

You rapidly shook your head, getting rid of the indecent thought, clearing your throat to muster the remains of your courage left.

"Excuse me, I would like to order," you called out, ensuring to raise you voice a little to make yourself heard.

Your words were a mix of half-lie and half-truth. After all, it would be foolish of you not to order anything when you're a regular at Hidden Eve. He raised his head and turned, looking at you over your shoulder.

And then, he fully turned to face you and oh god, he looked devastatingly handsome.

He had the kind of face that made people paused without realizing why. Sharp yet youthful. Every featured was carved with an almost predatory elegance. His eyes were the first thing you noticed—dark, intense and puma-like, heavy-lidded with a quiet intensity that felt instinctual rather than learned.

There was something watchful in them, something that made you felt seen even when his expression remained unreadable.

His nose was straight and defined, giving his profile a clean, striking line. His lips—full, thick and plump, rested in a neutral curve that made you wondered how it'll feel when pressed against yours.

It also made you wondered if he was a good kisser or not. His jawline was sharp and unforgiving, the kind that catches the light whenever he tilted his head slightly, shadows tracing along the hollow of his cheekbones.

"What do you want to order?" He asked, setting down the shaker as he gave you his fullest attention, cocking his head to the side. The movement caused his earrings to sway side to side.

Your mind blanked out. Even though you had been here many times, it's like the menu you had long remembered by heart had been erased from your memory. You opened and closed your mouth, resembling a gaping fish out of water.

At this point, you were making a complete fool of yourself by standing there, head empty with not a single thought in it.

"…Can I order you or are you only available for dine-in?"

Fuck.

The words slipped out of your mouth before your mind could processed it. Thankfully, the people around you were either busy getting drunk or chit-chatting with their friends to pay you any mind—something you were immensely grateful for.

You gulped and fidgeted with the hem of your coat, twisting and pinching the fabric between your fingers.

After what felt like eternity, the guy chuckled, lips curved upward. His shoulders shook as he laughed. Even though it was crowded and noisy, your ears could only registered the sound of his amused chuckle—the sound low, deep and husky.

You never felt like this before—the effect a complete handsome stranger had on you, but you weren't complaining one bit.

"You're funny, I'll give you that but no, I'm not. Sorry to disappoint," he answered, looking at you with his head tilted to the side, amused.

"But if you want, I can make a drink for you. Call it a personal recommendation from the best bartender," he continued. "So? What do you say?"

You couldn't trust your voice at that moment, wordlessly nodding your head in a daze. He noticed it. Of course he does but he didn't point out loud. Instead, he hummed and began moving about with experience and confidence, like he knew what he was doing.

You watched as he reached for a glass without hesitation, fingers long and steady as he inspected it under the lights before setting it down. Ice followed—measured and deliberate, the sound sharp and clean against the hum of the bar. He moved like he had done this a thousand times, muscle memory guiding him for every step.

Bottles came next.

He selected them with utmost care, only briefly reading labels before uncapping them, the soft clink lost beneath the music. A pour of something dark and smooth, followed by a lighter spirit that caught the light as it flowed.

He didn't rushed. Didn't overthink. Each motion was precise, practiced and almost intimate—like the drink wasn't just being made, but considered.

Every now and then, his eyes flicked up.

Just for a second but enough to check if you were watching.

And you were.

Right from the very start.

He added a twist of citrus, fingers pressing the peel just enough for the liquids to mist over the rim before dropping it in. The scent reached you first—warm, sharp and addictive. He stirred once and twice, then slid the drink across the counter toward you.

"There. Not on the menu," he said, meeting your gaze again.

The glass was cold beneath your fingers when you took it, condensation already forming. One sip was enough to tell you everything—you didn't know what it was called, but it was smooth, layered and deceptively gentle before the heat bloomed low in your chest.

He watched your reaction closely, eyes narrowing slightly, waiting expectantly. When your expression shifted from surprise to reluctant approval, the right corner of his mouth lifted.

"Told you," he murmured, pleased with your reaction.

"I won't be too confident if I were you. I'll have you know that I'm quite picky with my drinks," you retorted, internally wincing at how weak your words and voice sounded.

"Right," the attractive stranger—bartender, drawled. "I'm sure I can impress you with skills so I am pretty confident."

Huh. Never thought you have a thing for confident men but here you are, attempting to shoot your shot on someone who you just met for the first time.

It also made you wondered why you haven't seen him before in your previous few trips to Hidden Eve, but you simply shrugged it off that he was a newly-joined staff.

You rested your elbows on the bar with your half-drank glass resting before you, flashing him a coy smile. "Well, color me impressed then. Wanna get out of here?"

The stranger blinked.

Once. Twice.

He let out a laugh, the sound light-hearted and kind. It was the kind of tone where you knew this was going—not according to your plan.

"Bold, but no thanks, I'm good. Nice try though," he politely shot down your offer.

You parted your lips, wanting to say something but a large group of people entered the bar. He glanced at you, almost like he was hesitant on whether he should still tend to you or move to help his co-worker in making the large order.

Seeing this, you flashed him with what you hoped was an reassuring smile and waved him off. No words were exchanged.

He nodded, glancing your way one final time before speeding off, easily reaching his co-worker in less than ten large strides and began to help him make the drinks. Now that you were left alone, you decided it was time to regroup with your friends.

It was easy to spot them. They managed to find themselves a table, either half-drunk or completely drunk with no in-between.

"Look who's here to bless us with her presence!" One of your friends shouted at a loud voice, unaware of the startled looks she got from the people around her.

Your face burned as you sat down, placing your drink down on the table. "Shut up, I wasn't gone for that long."

Another one who was sober the entire time, giggled as she playfully nudged her elbow against yours. "Don't think we didn't saw how you were flirting with the bartender back there. He's cute too."

You smiled unknowingly, only to realize it a few seconds later. Your friends wasted no time in teasing you. Some even made the loud and immature kissing sounds, much to your embarrassment.

You flipped them off but despite your reaction, you were already laughing, feeling the waves of their happiness and the current moment you had with them.

"You guys are so annoying," you complained, giggling at how your friend threw an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in to ruffle your hair.

"We love you too. Now drink! We're not leaving until you're shit-faced!"

The second time you met him was at Hidden Eve again, which wasn't a surprise since he is working there. Except you went alone, without your friends. They had decided to go on a shopping trip for the whole day and that was something you couldn't handled.

You didn't have the stamina nor energy to spend your day walking around, browsing at countless shops and feeling your wallet getting lighter and lighter.

Besides, you were on a mission. A mission to get to know the bartender.

After that first encounter with him, you were very determined to have him. No matter what. And if there was anything about you, it was the fact that you can be a persistent person when the situation called for it. Said situation meant now—with you wanting the bartender's number, name and if possible, to sleep with him.

It was close to six-thirty when you entered Hidden Eve and with how they had opened thirty minutes ago, there was only a few people in there, drinking to their heart's content.

You stood near the door, letting your eyes scanned the surroundings while trying to locate a certain someone, unaware that your presence was noticed by one of the bartenders.

"Looking for someone?" An amused voice asked, scaring you.

Your head snapped to your right, startled.

A man stood just a few steps away behind the bar, one elbow leaning against the counter as he wiped down a glass with an unhurried ease, like he has all the time in the world.

He looked relaxed, like someone who had seen all kinds of customers walking through Hidden Eve's doors and could read them within seconds.

His lips curved into an amused smile, eyes flicking from your face to the door and back again, clearly entertained by the way you had been caught red-handed.

"Woah, easy. Didn't mean to scare you," he said lightly.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as you tugged it closer, to protect yourself. From what? You weren't sure. "I—"

The word died before it could became anything else.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing and then glanced around the bar once more—empty stools, quiet corners and only a handful of patrons nursing their drinks.

"Let me guess, you're looking for someone," he said, stating it like it was a fact. Like this had happened before.

Heat crept up your neck. You hesitated, debating whether to lie. But your eyes betrayed you, instinctively darting toward the counter, the hallway behind it, anywhere but him.

That was enough for him to know your intention.

He let out a soft laugh. "You've got a terrible poker face."

Your embarrassment must've been obvious because his smile softened, losing its teasing edge. "Don't worry, you're not the first who came back looking for him. Won't be the last either."

Before you could asked what he meant or who exactly he was, he set the glass aside and nodded towards the narrow corridor beside the bar. "If it's him you're looking for, he stepped out a few minutes ago."

Your breath caught. You knew who he was referring to without his name mentioned.

"He does that sometimes before he starts. Smoke break. Clears his head, or so he says," the bartender went on casually, eyeing you with an unreadable look on his face, his doe-like eyes focused on your figure.

You opened your mouth, question after question piling up this time but again, no words came out. The man noticed. Of course he did.

"He won't be long," he added, tone almost reassuring. "Back door's past the storage room. Just follow the hallway and you'll be able to find it."

He gave you one final knowing look before turning back to his work, like the interaction had already ended. Like he had told you something that was probably, against a stranger's violation of privacy.

Left with no choice and no excuse to linger, you took a breath and moved past the bar. Your shoes echoed softly against the floor as you slipped into the narrow corridor.

The warmth and low music of Hidden Eve dulled with every step, replaced by cooler air and the faint, unmistakable scent of cigarettes drifting from somewhere ahead.

Your pulse picked up.

You didn't know why you were nervous. You barely knew him. And yet, here you are, pushing the back door open as your eyes looked around and then, you saw him.

He stood a few steps away, leaning against the wall with one foot propped up behind him, posture loose in a way that suggested this was familiar to him.

A cigarette rested between his fingers, glowing faintly as he took a slow drag, the ember brightening before dimming again. Smoke slipped past his thick lips in a steady exhale, rising and dissolving into the night air.

His other hand held his phone, thumb scrolling absently as if whatever was on the screen couldn't captured his attention. The soft light from it cast subtle shadows across his face, sharpening his features—the sharp and deadly line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his eyebrows and the way his eyelashes lowered as he focused.

Even when he's dressed in black, sleeves deliciously and sinfully rolled up, he looked effortlessly out of place but perfectly at ease, all at once. There was something private about the moment, something you felt like you had stumbled into by accident.

You froze at the doorway, unsure whether to announce your presence or retreat.

As if sensing you, he paused mid-scroll. He lowered his phone slightly, eyes lifting from the screen and landing on you. The surprise was brief, barely there, but you caught it. His gaze lingered—assessing and curious, before the corners of his mouth tugged upward in the faintest hint of a smile.

"You lost?" He asked, voice roughened a little by the cigarette.

The question itself was casual but the way his eyes stayed on you wasn't.

"N-No," you answered, wincing at how you stuttered over that one, singular word.

You fiddled with the hem of your right sleeve as you stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

He didn't looked away, eyes locked onto you like a sniper locked onto their target. "You're the girl from before. The one who tried to hit on me," he pointed out.

A part of you wanted to giggle out loud. At the fact that he actually remembered you—a random, nameless strange. Another part of you wanted to crawl into a hole and bury yourself. At how he remembered you as the girl who tried to hit on him. Sure he wasn't wrong but he could have said something else, other than that.

"It'd be great if you could remember me as anything else but that," you replied and your words made him chuckled.

You watched as he took another puff of his cigarette, exhaling it through his parted lips with his head tilted back slightly. And fuck, the sight instantly made your mind drifted—to how good he'd look with you straddling his lap as you ride him. If possible, you want him to blow you the smoke from his mouth, somewhat like a kiss.

He took one, final puff before dropping it onto the dirtied ground, extinguishing it by crushing it with his right shoe. You watched as he dropped his left foot onto the ground, pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on and moved to your direction.

You stood there, staring at him with wide eyes until he stopped before you, leaving some distance between the two of you.

"So, you here for a drink or trying to hit on me again?" He casually asked, the calmness and how easily he asked you made you choked on air.

"Don't get too cocky now. Not everything's about you," you weakly retorted but deep down, the both of you knew you were lying.

He didn't believed you. He arched an eyebrow and since when such a simple, meaningless action looked this attractive? He slowly nodded his head, lips pursed in a thin line. Something pink poked out from his lips and your eyes instinctively flicked down before snapping it back up.

However, he had noticed it. Of course he did.

"Sure about that? No one other than Heeseung knows I'm back here. Which meant he was the one who told you where I am," he said.

Heeseung? That must be the other guy's name.

You nervously swallowed. "..What would you do if I say yes?"

"Nothing, it's not like I can kick you out of the bar when you didn't do anything wrong. Besides, you're not the first person who tried to hit on me," he shrugged his shoulders, shifting to the right so he can head for the door, opening it and moved to the side.

"After you. If you want, I can make another drink for you. Except you need to pay this time, can't keep giving drinks away for free," he smirked.

And like the whip fool you are, you obliged and stepped in with him hot on your heels. The bar was still quite empty, considering how it was close to seven, which meant today will be a slow day.

You moved to the bar as he slipped behind the counter, throwing on the apron to tie it around his waist. You sat on the nearest vacant high-stool, placing your bag on your lap as you stared at the menu, pondering over which drink to order.

"What are you planning on getting?" He asked.

You continued to scan the menu, eyes landing on a drink name that piqued your attention. "The Elden's Fall."

He hummed, leaning in slightly to see what you had picked. "Bold choice. Sure you can handle the heat?"

Before you could ask what that meant, he had already looked away and got straight to work.

He moved fast—too fast that it startled you for a moment. A clean glass appeared in his hand out of thin air, like it was summoned by magic. Ice shortly followed, the sharp clink echoing softly beneath the music from the speakers.

He reached for bottles without hesitation, fingers wrapping around them with practiced familiarity, pouring with a precision that spoke of long hours and muscle memory.

You watched, mesmerized by the show he put on.

There was no wasted movement. No second-guessing. He worked like he trusted himself completely, measuring by instinct rather than sight, switching bottles, shaking and straining. Each step flowed seamlessly into the next. The shaker rattled briefly in his hands before he set it down, already reaching for a garnish.

In less than a minute, he slid the glass towards you, the liquid catching the warm bar light. The color was rich in color and deceptively inviting and alluring.

"Here. Elden's Fall," he announced.

You blinked. "That was… fast."

He smirked. "When you've worked here for a while, you can pretty much make anything even with your eyes closed."

You wrapped your fingers around the glass, feeling the chill seeping into your skin. The first sip surprised you—smooth at first, then warming, with a subtle bite that lingered pleasantly on your tongue. Riki watched your reaction closely and like before, waiting with an expectant look on his face.

When you raised your eyebrows slightly, he nodded, satisfied. "Told you."

"Do you do this with every customer you talked to?" You asked as you placed the glass down on the counter with a soft, inaudible 'clink'.

"Do what?" He asked. Whether he was acting innocent or oblivious, you weren't sure.

"Whatever," you gestured to the both of you, "this is."

He chuckled, drying his hands on a nearby towel. "What? Talking to a customer and preparing their drink? It's part of the job."

You rolled your eyes but the way your lips twitched upwards say otherwise. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Do I?" He cocked his head to the side, a faint smile still playing on his lips as he leaned against the counter.

You hummed, unconvinced. "Funny. You didn't look this attentive the first time I saw you."

The bartender was unfazed, arching an eyebrow. "That's because I was busy and it's peak hours."

"And now?"

"Now it's quieter and from the looks of it, the pace won't change until it's closing time," he answered calmly. His gaze dipped to your glass, then rose again, lingering this time. The way he looked at you sent shivers down your spine. You felt seen—a rare feeling.

The air between you shifted. It was subtle, almost imperceptible but you knew something had changed.

You took another sip, buying yourself a few more seconds. "So what, you just choose to spend time talking to me instead of working? Wonder what your boss will say."

"Heeseung doesn't really care as long as I get my job done. Lucky him, I'm fast on my legs and hands," he shrugged off your words with a dismissive flick of his hand.

This time, it was your turn to arch an eyebrow. "Heeseung's your boss? The one who snitched on you?"

He chuckled, nodding. "Yup, that's him. He's like a older brother to me and was nice enough to offer me a job when I needed money. Flexible working hours. Having your friend as your boss, being able to make different drinks and," he paused—deliberate, with a sly smile that made heat pooled in your stomach, "talking to pretty customers like you is a bonus."

You set the glass down again, fingers absently tracing the condensation. "Careful. That almost sounded like flirting."

"Almost? You're the one who came in looking for me. If anyone's flirting, that'd be you," he pointed out.

You opened your mouth to argue, then stopped.

He let out a soft laugh, quieter this time. "Relax," he said, despite how his expression said anything but that. "If I flirted with every customer, I'd never get any work done."

"And yet, here you are. Not working," you countered.

"Break's over," he said, eyes flicking briefly to the bar clock then back to you. "But I don't mind taking my time."

Your pulse betrayed you, quickening at the unspoken implication. He straightened, reaching for another glass as someone down the bar waved him over. Before turning away, he looked over his shoulder and added, "Finish your drink. If you want another… well, you know where to find me."

He walked away, leaving you sitting there on the stool, with your heart racing like you had ran a marathon, flustered and breathless. It was only when you left an hour later did it hit you that you didn't get his name.

Again.

The third time you bumped into him was once again, at Hidden Eve. This time however, you weren't alone. Your friends wanted to come along, stating that they wanted to see you fumble for the third time and how they will do anything but to support you.

Which brought you to your current situation—you and your friends managed to find a table for yourselves while looking at the menu, wanting to try something different instead of ordering the usual drinks.

And then, someone approached your table, gaining your attention.

"Looks like you ladies are struggling and thought I could help," a familiar silky smooth male voice spoke up, making himself heard through the music playing from the speakers.

All of you looked up and everyone except you were confused, not knowing who he was.

"Are you Heeseung?" You asked warily and your friends snapped their heads to you at lightning speed that it was a miracle they didn't dislocated their necks.

The man—Heeseung, blinked twice and then recognition appeared on his face. "Oh, it's you. You're the one who came over last week. I remember you."

"You what?"

"So the reason why you abandoned the all girl's day was because you came here? To flirt with your boyfriend?"

"Damn, so how did it go?"

Your friends wasted no time in bombarding you with questions until you weren't given the chance to defend yourself. But then, why do that when they were merely speaking the truth.

Your cheeks and ears turned red as you averted your eyes, unable to look at them. Heeseung, on the other hand, was having the time of his life laughing at your current situation.

"Oh, I'm glad someone find this funny. Are you here to make fun of me or helping us?" You scowled, throwing him a light-hearted glare.

Heeseung raised his hands in mock surrender. "Woah, calm down. Looks like somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Let me know if you want something light or heavy then we can start from there."

You and two of your friends went with light, not wanting to get drunk while the rest went with heavy. Heeseung didn't asked for more questions.

Instead, he turned and walked away, heading to the bar like a man on a mission. You and your friends shared a confused look as you watched Heeseung moved like he owns the place.

And he does.

After all, he is the owner.

It took him less than ten minutes to finish making the drinks. He placed them on a round, circular-shaped tray, balanced it with his left palm like an experienced waiter as he approached your table. A charming smile was stretched on his face as he stopped before you and your friends.

"Hello ladies, here are your drinks," he announced, setting all of the glasses down.

Two of them were in a beautiful shade of white and blue. The other three had the same shade of bold and dark red mixed with yellow and orange. The two different colors left trails behind, making the drink looked like it had three different layers. All of you took your very first sips, making the same amazed expressions in unison.

Heeseung smiled, obviously proud and satisfied with your reactions. "What do you think? It's good, right?" He asked, trying to fish for compliments.

Your friends giggled, hooked by both his charms and his notably good features. "Yes, it's better than what we had so far."

"Hey, those drinks were personally selected by me. Please be more mindful of your words or you're hurting my oh so fragile heart," Heeseung protested, resting a hand on his chest with a faux hurt look on his face.

You rolled your eyes, choosing to observe from the sidelines as the bartender talked to your friends while you took a few slow sips here and there. You weren't sure how much time had passed. It could be minutes or hours.

"Hyung, there you are. Stop flirting with the customers and get your ass back to work. We got a huge order to make."

That voice.

Your body stilled. Your fingers tightened its grip around your glass. You didn't had to look up to know who had approached your table. To know who was standing beside Heeseung, talking to him in such a familiar manner—like they had known each other for a while.

However, your body betrayed you, choosing to go against your mind and heart, despite how they were yelling at you to not look his way.

Your eyes drifted up and there he stood. Dressed in the same, standard all black uniform from head to toe with an apron tied around his waist. Nothing about him had changed since you last saw him, which was two weeks later. But god, he always looked good to the point where you found it extremely unfair.

His eyes jumped from one face to another, lingering longer than usual on yours—long enough for you to catch it. But he looked away when you blinked, making you wondered if your eyes were playing tricks on you or you were hallucinating.

"Right, I'll be there," Heeseung answered his co-worker and turned to you and your friends with an apologetic but charming smile, "sorry but seems like work calls. Enjoy the drinks and no, it's not on the house."

Your friends dramatically booed and giving him the thumbs-down gesture as he walked away with his co-worker—the very same bartender who you tried to hit on. Not once but twice.

Your eyes unconsciously followed him, trailing after his tall figure as he moved through the sea of people until he slipped out of your sights, leaving you to sigh under your breath.

There goes my final chance.

Shrugging the thought aside, you decided to focus on enjoying the current moment you have. The moment with your friends while living in temporary happiness.

"That's the spirit! Bottoms up, everyone!" Your friend on your right hollered.

This went on for the next two to three hours. As time passed, more and more people entered Hidden Eve until it was packed with people. It was in full swing, with the sound of customers laughing as they chatted among themselves, along with the clinking of glasses as they made a toast to something.

Three of your friends who had chosen the heavy option had long passed out after making a complete fool of themselves—shouting nonsense at the top of their lungs while fighting against your poor, futile attempts of getting them to calm down.

You were the only sober one left as your two other friends—the very same two friends who chose the light options, were lightweights. But thankfully, they were easier to handle and were now passed out by the table.

You had long finished your drink and one glance at your phone told you the time was close to one in the morning. You decided it was time to go home but here comes the most difficult part—waking your drunk friends up while calling a cab for them.

You managed to wake the two of them up and after sobering them up with water, the three of you half-carried and half-dragged your other friends out of the bar.

You barely managed to take more than three steps before you tripped over someone's foot. The floor was about to welcome you with open arms with how close you were about to face-plant into it when a familiar, firm and warm hand grabbed your right shoulder, both stopping and rescuing you in the nick of time.

You glanced over, choking on air when it was none other than the attractive and handsome bartender.

"You good? Looks like you need a little help," he asked, steadying you with both hands. You ignored how you could still felt his warmth emitted from his palms when he withdrew his hands.

"Uh, I think I can manage," you answered, readjusting your friend who had buried her face in the crook of your neck while mumbling something inaudible under her breath.

He hummed, looking over your head, lips quirked upward in an amused smile when he saw the similar states they were in. "Right, I think I should help you before one of your friends dropped someone. Won't want that to happen, do we?"

"I—"

He didn't wait for your response, already moving before you could finished your sentence. You watched as he tended to you. Not your friends but you. He easily threw your friend's right arm around his shoulders with one hand supporting her by the waist—always above the waistline of her jeans, high enough to tell he was a respectful man. Unlike those kinds of men.

When he noticed that you were simply staring at him with a dumbfounded look, he arched an eyebrow. "What? Is there something on my face?" He inquired.

You coughed, averting your eyes to anywhere else but him. "N-Nothing. I'll open the door and call a cab."

You were quick to flee, ears faintly registering his amused chuckle as you opened the door wide enough so him and your other friends were able to half-walk and half-stumble out of the bar.

The moment the door closed, silence engulfed all of you with the music now reduced to a muffled hum in the background. You pulled out your phone and much to your relief, you were able to hail a cab.

"Alright, the driver's coming in seven minutes," you announced to your sober friends, who nodded in acknowledgment as they went to sit on the nearest bench, giving the two of you privacy.

Silence took over the space.

Until he spoke up, breaking it with his low voice.

"Did you gave up?" He asked.

You blinked. "On what?"

He shot you a knowing look, looking downright amused. "You know, I've been waiting for you to shoot your final shot but you didn't. What a shame. Can't believe you left me hanging for the whole day and you're already leaving when it's only one."

You made a noise that strangely sounded like a strangled animal. "I—I didn't want to disturb you, not when you were busy with your job. And besides, it's not like I'm the only one who tried to hit on you."

You couldn't helped yourself with the last sentence and with how petty you sounded. The words slipped out before you could stopped yourself.

It was only when you finished speaking was when the realization and mortification hits you at once without warning. The bartender, however, burst out laughing at the sight of your flustered face.

The sound was warm and unrestrained, spilling out of him in a way that caught you completely off-guard. It wasn't fake—it was real, full-bodied and dangerously charming.

The kind that made your ears flushed red and your heart stuttered at once.

"Is that jealousy I hear?" He teased when he finally calmed down, eyes still crinkled at the corners as he readjusted his grip on your friend who was now using him as a standing lamppost to support herself. "Didn't know you're the jealous type."

"I'm not—" You protested, only for you to stop when you realized what he was doing, with how his grin stretched wider across his face. "I didn't mean it like that."

He hummed, unconvinced but didn't prod further. "Relax. I like it."

What the fuck does that even mean?

The conversation flowed easily after that, like something had finally clicked into place. You talked about nothing and everything—the origin of Hidden Eve, your academic life and your lazy, useless group-mates in your previous group projects and so on.

Talking to him was easy. Like you had nothing to worry about. Like he had somehow eased your burdens without you knowing.

However, you were brought back to reality when a car stopped before you and you recognized the plate number as the cab you had booked.

"Oh, my car's here," you reluctantly said, hesitant.

"Guess it is. C'mon, I'll help you and your friends in getting them in," he said, being the first to open the backdoor as he easily and gently placed your friend in the backseat.

He even helped your other two friends and shortly after, three sleeping girls had fully occupied the backseat. Your two friends took the middle row and you were about to walk around the cab, so you could sit in the passenger seat when the bartender grabbed your wrist in a gentle grip.

Like he was giving you an option to push him away.

"Hey, you don't have to, you know," he murmured, stepping closer while tugging you towards him.

Your breath hitched. "What?"

He leaned in slightly, close enough for you to smell his lingering cologne and the faint smell of cigarettes lingering on his body. "I'm off soon. My place isn't far. We could keep talking… somewhere quieter."

It wasn't a demand or an suggestion.

It was an invitation.

And you would be a fool to turn him down.

You didn't get the chance to remove your shoes or take in his apartment, for you were immediately pressed up against the nearest solid surface—the wall on your left. Your startled gasp was swallowed by a intense, dizzying kiss.

You didn't pushed him away, hands reaching out to grip onto the front of his shirt to pull him closer until you're squished chest-to-chest, not wanting to be separated from him.

Your knees buckled when he sensually ran his tongue along the seam of your lips. You obliged, parting your mouth, whining when he gave a light, teasing nip on your bottom lip.

It was hard enough for it to sting but not hard enough for it to bleed. His hands moved like it had a mind of its own, touching and mapping you greedily.

Goosebumps formed on your skin at how cold his hands were—the effects of the current chilling weather.

"Your hands are cold," you murmured against his lips, eyes half-lidded with him looking right at you.

"Really? Didn't noticed. Guess you need to help me warm them up," he drawled and you couldn't hold back the light giggle at his words.

"That was corny," you pointed out.

"Hey, god forbid a guy from trying to be corny," he retorted, faux hurt evident in his voice but you saw the teasing glint in his eyes.

He was about to kiss you again when you slapped your hand over his lips, causing him to furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

"Before we continue, you still haven't told me your name. And I'd like to know the name of the man who I managed to charm, thank you very much," you said.

He stared at you.

Blinked once.

Twice.

"..You can't be serious."

You solemnly nodded. "No, this is a serious matter to me. I treat this very seriously."

The bartender snorted, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "cute" under his breath.

His hand slipped under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. You gulped at how his eyes darkened in unrestrained, pent-up desire and lust. The desire to take you right there and then.

"Listen up, doll. Name's Nishimura Riki. You better remember it because I'll have you screaming it when I'm done with you."

Beep beep!

The sound of a car horn going off made you got up from the couch. You looked around, mind still half asleep and that's when it hit you—Doohwa was already waiting outside.

You quickly rushed to freshen up—rinsing your mouth, ensuring your make-up wasn't smudged and your appearance was decent enough to be acceptable.

Satisfied, you grabbed your small bag and left after locking the door behind you.

Doohwa's face lit up at the sight of you as he pushed himself off the car, pulling you into a warm and loving embrace when you got close enough. You laughed, returning the gesture while letting him pressed multiple kisses on your cheek.

"Hi, sweetheart. You ready?" He asked, pulling back so he could see your face.

You nodded, flashing him a smile of your own. "Yup. Ready as I'll ever be. I hope your dad would like me."

Doohwa chuckled as he opened the passenger door for you. "I've told you before, he's a nice and understanding man. Besides, you got nothing to worry about. If he ever says anything weird, just tell me and I'll beat him up for you."

You let out a surprised laugh, watching as he walked round the car and slide into the driver's seat. "What? That's your father, Doohwa. You can't just beat him up."

Your fiance merely shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just doing what anyone would do."

You chose not to say anything else, not wanting to prolong the conversation any further. Doohwa drove off, leaving a trail of smoke and dust behind in his wake.

The drive to your destination took you an hour and a half off as his father stayed in a well-off area and you weren't surprised to find yourself in the city.

After parking the car, the two of you got out. Doohwa lead the way to a house with you lingering behind. You fiddled with the strap of your bag as you stood on the porch while he went to knock on the door twice, firm and resolute.

Knock knock.

Doohwa moved back until he was standing beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder. Your ears registered the sound of a pair of approaching footsteps that gradually grew louder and louder until the door was opened from inside.

Your eyes widened. Breath hitched in your throat. Heart stopped—more like it slammed so hard against your ribcage you thought it might have shattered them.

The man standing in the doorway was not a stranger.

He was taller than you remembered, broader shoulders with the sharp edges of youth smoothed into something colder, more dangerous and more tempting.

Time had carved authority into his features, lines at the corner of his puma-like eyes speaking of years lived without softness. His hair was dyed black, except for a specific part that was in the shade of silver or gray, looking like a streak of moonlight.

He may have changed but you can still recognized him.

Nishimura Riki.

Older. Grown. Devastatingly familiar and still fine as always, aging like fine wine.

For a brief moment, his composure cracked. His eyes—those same eyes that once traced every inch of you, flickered with unmistakable recognition. Shock passed through them so quickly but was immediately buried beneath a mask of control so practiced that it terrified you.

"Doohwa." he greeted his son calmly, voice deeper than before, steadier. "You're early."

His gaze shifted to you.

The air turned suffocating.

You felt Doohwa's shoulder brushed against yours again, unaware of the way your body had gone rigid, unaware that the man in front of him had once known the exact sounds you made when you fell apart, letting him broke you down—part by part. A private and exclusive performance put up for him.

You didn't know how to react, not when Riki's eyes lingered on your parted and lipstick-coated lips a second too long—just long enough for the past to surge violently back to life.

Nothing was said. Nothing had to be.

He moved to the side, allowing the two of you to enter his home.

Riki's apartment opened up into a spacious living area, immediately striking in its quiet luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one side of the room, sheer curtains pulled back to reveal reveal the city stretching out below with glass and steel reflecting everything beneath you. The view alone spoke of money, of success earned and sustained.

Everything inside was deliberate.

Muted tones dominated the space—charcoal, warm beige, deep wood and was balanced by clean, white lines. A low leather sofa was in the middle, placed on top of a textured rug, facing a sleek entertainment unit that was seamlessly built into the wall.

There were no unnecessary decorations and no clutter. Everything placed in their respective positions was done with both purpose and intentions.

Your gaze aimlessly drifted further as you stood there, the hushed conversation between father and son turning into white noise as it blended into the background.

This place didn't belonged to the Riki you met at Hidden Eve. The bartender dressed in all-black and making drinks faster than you could blinked.

No, this apartment belonged to a man who had built a life out of stability and control, a man whose success was etched onto every possible surface.

The current Riki standing a few feet away from you—his broad back and taller figure was different. Seeing both father and son together was when you realized you had been a fool.

How could you not noticed the way they looked similar? Your fiance shares some of his father's features—his unfairly tall height, slightly build figure and the way he carried himself. With nothing but confidence and silent attention.

The kind of attention that drew people in without them knowing. Which was how Riki got you wrapped around his thumb.

But what happened in the past was done. There was nothing you could do to return to it.

"(Name)? You alright?"

You blinked, snapping back to reality when Doohwa called out your name and noticed both men were now looking at you but the way they looked at you was different. One was worried while the other was amused.

Amused like he knew the exact thoughts running through your mind. Like he knew that you were trying to remain calm and not lose your mind.

Like he knew that you felt ashamed of yourself for hooking up with his father back then.

"(Name)? Do you wanna head home instead?" Doohwa asked in a softer tone as he approached you, checking your temperature with one hand pressed against your forehead.

"You don't have a fever, do you?"

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look at him while ignoring Riki's heavy and intense gaze that was boring holes into your head. You flashed your fiance a smile.

To make yourself feel better and definitely not to send a message to Riki, you rested your hand on Doohwa's wrist. From the corner of your eyes, you saw the way Riki's jaw tightened.

Good. Let him see.

"I'm fine, don't worry. I'm just a little tired from the drive," you answered, playing the role of the polite and well-mannered daughter-in-law.

Doohwa nodded, thankfully buying your lie. He then turned to his father with a oblivious smile on his face. "So, do you need help in making dinner?" He asked.

Riki scoffed and rolled his eyes. He pulled the long sleeves of his gray sweatshirt up, revealing his lower arms. You hated how your eyes immediately zoned in on the newly revealed skin, even though you had seen it before. Riki subtly smirked when he caught you staring.

Of course he did.

"No need, just make yourselves at home and it'll be ready soon," he waved off his son's offer and words, pointing to the couch and walked into the kitchen without waiting for his response.

This is going to be a long night…

Riki ended up making seafood pasta for the three of you. At first, you didn't want to eat as you weren't hungry but your stomach chose that moment to betray you by grumbling out loud, much to your embarrassment and horror.

The two men glanced at one another before they burst out laughing, leaving you standing there while trying to resist the urge to jump out of the nearest window. Eventually, the three of you settled down by the dining table and begin eating.

It was quiet for the first fifteen minutes, with none of you uttering a single word and the occasional clink-clanking of your utensils against your plates. You pointedly avoided Riki's gaze, able to feel him staring at you from across the table.

To make matters worse, you were seated directly opposite of him while Doohwa was completely oblivious to the thick and tense silence between the two of you.

That was until, Riki broke the silence by asking a harmless, almost seemingly innocent question.

"So, mind introducing your girlfriend to me?" He asked, eyes flicking to your direction for a quick, fleeting second. It was so fast that you wouldn't have caught it if you weren't already looking at him.

Doohwa paused mid-bite, fork frozen in mid-air. He glanced at you and you nodded, resting your hand above his underneath the table—the very same hands that wore the matching rings. He swallowed his mouthful of food, nearly choking on it and placed the fork down on his plate.

"Uh, actually, she's not my girlfriend," he started off.

You resist the urge to facepalm. Riki, on the other hand, arched an eyebrow and waited for his son to finish speaking. He leaned back in his seat, his long legs stretching out before him.

You flinched when he purposely knocked his feet against yours, causing you to grip onto your dress with your free hand. Riki didn't looked at you, like he knew the effect he had on you, even though some time had passed.

Doohwa raised your intertwined hands, proudly showing off the rings wrapped around your ring fingers. "We're engaged."

Silence.

Riki didn't moved at all, like he had been frozen. He furrowed his eyebrows, not in confusion but in something sharper—calculation. The proud ease he had carried moments ago was gone, now replaced by a carefully curated blank expression that doesn't reached his eyes.

His eyes flicked down to your intertwined hands, zeroing in on the rings that caught the lights.

His jaw tightened. Such a subtle reaction, the kind of reaction that only someone who knew him well or had once known him intimately, would notice. The muscle in his cheek flexed once. Twice, as if he was biting back the words threatening to slip from his tongue.

"Engaged."

He said quietly, testing the word and how it felt on his tongue—like it was foreign to him. He looked up, finally meeting your eyes and there it was.

Recognition.

Not of the situation but the sheer irony of it all. Of the past violently colliding with the present. You saw the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath slowed just a fraction too late. He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.

Except now, it was layered with years, choices and consequences.

The rest of dinner passed in a blink of an eye, with both father and son catching up on what they had missed out. You weren't listening as you stared at a random spot of the table, your empty plate staring back, almost like it was mocking you.

Laughing at how cruel fate was—for you to now be engaged to the son of a man who you used to sleep with. It's a miracle that Doohwa didn't knew about your past, as he didn't asked back when he was dating you.

But now, here you are, sitting there, it made you wondered: should you have told him? If you did, how would he react? Would he call off the engagement immediately? If yes, how were you going to explain to your parents and friends?

You could imagine their reactions—horrified and disgusted if they were to find out. Worst case scenario was how they will refuse to acknowledge your presence and kicked you out, leaving you to fend for yourself.

"…me), hello? Are you still there?"

You snapped out of your trance, raising your head to see that they were looking at you. Your eyes instinctively landed on Riki's face first before you looked away, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact with Doohwa.

"Yea?" You asked, grateful that your voice didn't cracked or stuttered.

"I was thinking if you're fine with staying over the night," your fiance. He was quick to slip in another sentence when he saw the mild confusion on your face. "That is, if you don't mind, of course. But if you don't want to, then we can just drive home since it's already getting late."

One look thrown in the clock's direction told you it was close to ten and at this time, the streets were completely empty and dark. Not that great for driving. You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip.

The last thing you wanted was to stay in the same roof as Riki but you didn't want to be that one fiance who tried to stop their partner from spending quality time with their family.

Or single parent, in this case.

Which was why you ended up nodding your head, although reluctantly. "Fine, we can stay over."

You pretended not to notice how Riki's lips curved upward in a faint, knowing smile. Not wanting to be in the same room as him for another second, you quickly stood up from your seat, startling the two of them.

"I—I'll go and wash the dishes," you muttered under your breath, quickly grabbing the plates and fled to the kitchen, like your life depended on it, leaving a confused Doohwa and a quiet Riki behind as you disappeared from their sights.

You silently washed the dishes, scrubbing every inch of the plates with the sponge to buy yourself more time. You were so engrossed in your current task that you didn't registered another presence, who had entered the kitchen without you knowing. Which was why you nearly dropped the plate into the sink when he spoke up.

"You always know how to pick the right ones."

You spun around on your feet, staring at Riki who leaned against the fridge with his arms loosely crossed. He chuckled at your wide eyes and startled reaction, his eyes shamelessly scanned you from head to toe. His gaze was intense enough to make you squirmed on the spot.

"What are you talking about?" You asked.

Pushing himself off the fridge, the older man shortened the distance in no more than six large strides. You leaned back, wanting to stay as far away as possible but it was futile when the cool surface of the counter dug into your skin.

You could feel your dress getting soaked in the water near the sink area, causing you to shiver as the now cold fabric clung onto your skin.

Riki chuckled, bracing his right hand on the edge of the counter while the other confidently rested on your hip—like he knew exactly where to touch you to make you all putty in his grip. He leaned in, not close enough for him to kiss you but close enough to make you ached for it.

"You know what I'm talking about. Could've just said you missed me," he murmured, angling his head to the side so he could whispered into your right ear, his hot breath grazing against your skin with every word he spoke.

"Tell me, does he fuck you better than me, hm? Does he know you like your hair being pulled? Does he know you like being edged until you're a begging mess?"

His sudden crude and filthy words drew an involuntarily whimper from you. Shame hit you like a tidal wave when you realized what just happened.

"Stop," you protested but the way your voice came off weak only made Riki continued, wanting to push you over the edge.

The hand that was braced at your side moved to cup your chin with his thumb resting against your bottom lip. You knew you should pushed him away, that he shouldn't be touching you like this—like he owns you.

But you couldn't. Couldn't moved or do anything. Instead, you let him do as he pleased.

Just like the good old times.

Riki smirked, tilting your chin up. Your breath hitched when he leaned closer. Now, he was close enough for his lips to graze against yours in the lightest kiss. Only either one of you had to lean in and you would be kissing already.

"You say stop but look at you, already letting me do what I want," he purred, voice low and velvety smooth.

His eyes darted down to your parted lips, looking like he was about to cross the final, invisible line.

"(Name)?" Doohwa called out your name.

The sudden appearance of his voice felt like someone had delivered a slap to your face. You jerked your head back, freeing yourself from his grasp and managed to shove Riki away, ignoring how a part of you wanted him to come back, already missing his warmth.

You couldn't find it in yourself to look at him, blindly walking past him as you left the kitchen and headed to the living room—the direction of where Doohwa's voice came from.

"Hey, there you are—woah, are you alright? You looked a little red," he said, only to stop when he saw how your cheeks were slightly red.

"I'm fine, just tired. Why did you called me?" You shook off his concern, relieved that he had saved you without him knowing.

"Ah, right. There's a guest room available for you, so you can take it," he said.

You blinked. "Wait, what about you?"

Doohwa sighed. "I need to head to work. Got a sudden call from my boss and he said he needs me to come in."

"What? But it's already late! And it's a Saturday too," you pointed out.

You didn't want to be left alone with Riki, not after what nearly happened back then.

"I know, but this is the kind of risk I have to take when it comes to being a lawyer. I'm really sorry. I'm not sure how long I'll be away so if I'm not back tomorrow morning, you can ask my dad to drop you off," he apologized, stepping closer to pull you into a soft and loving embrace as he kissed your forehead.

Sighing, you leaned into his chest and returned the gesture. "..Fine, text me when you reach and when you're done. Don't make me worry about you."

"Can't promise that—ow! Did you just flicked my forehead!?"

Rolling your eyes, you shooed him out of the apartment after kissing him on his lips and closed the door. This time, you could sensed his presence without turning around.

"Don't even think about it," you said as you turned around, crossing your arms as you glared and scowled with your entire might at Riki.

"I didn't even say anything," he pointed out, looking offended like you had thought the worst of him.

And you did.

"I don't trust you," you muttered under your breath but he caught it.

"Oh, that's rich coming from someone who ran away the moment it gets too much," he retorted.

His words which contained the harsh, brutal truth made you flinched. It was also the way he said it—with venom seeping into his voice, how his shoulders tensed up and how he narrowed his eyes.

From where you stood, you were gravely reminded of that fateful night. The night when Riki wanted to be something more. Something that involved you having to tie your life with his. Something that required you to commit.

You remembered how you refused, how the two of you ended up arguing and how you stormed out of his house, ignoring how he shouted your name—with both anger and hurt laced in his voice. How Riki had no choice but to watch your retreating figure until you were out of his sight.

After that night, you had cut ties with him—blocking him everywhere and avoided him like the plague. At first, it was hard since you were so used to having him in your life that you felt lonely. But you didn't went on one-night stands. You couldn't focused on anything and it was a sheer miracle that you even graduated in the first place.

And now, here you were—trying to hold your ground as your past had came back to haunt you.

"I told you that I don't do relationships," you croaked out.

Riki barked out a cold, bitter laugh as he approached you, closing the distance with every step he took. "You say that but don't think I didn't seen the way you looked at me," he fired back.

"What are you talking about?" You frowned, confused but you didn't moved, standing where you are as the man gets closer and closer.

"Don't play dumb with me, (Name). I've seen it, every time when you think I'm not looking," he said, voice low and edged with something dangerously close to resentment. "The way your eyes lingered. The way your breath changed when I get too close. You don't get to pretend none of that means anything."

You weakly scoffed, shuffling your feet about on the spot as if that could buy you time. "You're imagining things."

"Am I?"

Riki stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his warmth, his presence pressing into your space the same, effortless way he used to.

"Because this feels a lot like before. Late nights and stolen looks. You acting like it's nothing while I'm the one left wondering where I stand."

"That's not fair," you replied, your voice trembling despite yourself. "I was honest with you from the start. I told you I didn't want more."

"And then you stayed!" Riki snapped, having lost the last few shreds of his patience and self-restraint. You flinched at the sudden loud volume of his voice.

"You kept coming back. You let me touch you like it didn't mean anything. Like I didn't mean anything. Like I was just someone for you to use," he continued, not giving you any room to speak.

The words hung heavy in the air. You couldn't looked him in the eyes any longer, letting your gaze dropped to the floor. "I left because it was getting complicated."

Riki went silent, staring at you with an incredulous look before he chuckled. But the sound contained no emotions. It was simply exhaustion and frustration.

"No. You left because it was getting real," he corrected you, not feeling any form of remorse when you cowered underneath his gaze.

"You disappeared without looking back. No goodbye. No explanation. Just gone. And now you're here, engaged to my son, telling me you don't do relationships like that's able to erase what we had!?"

"I didn't ran away. I chose a different route," you whispered but deep down, the both of you knew that was nothing more than a pathetic excuse.

Riki sharply exhaled, like he had reached the end of his restraint.

"I've had enough," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

Before you could react, he was in front of you, one hand on your waist while the other tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. His face was inches away now, breath warm against your skin, eyes searching yours with something raw and unguarded.

He leaned in and then stopped.

It was like time froze. He stayed there, forehead resting against yours. You knew what he was doing. He was giving you time. Space and a choice. The choice of pushing him away and telling him to stop.

But you didn't.

Your silence was enough to act as a response.

Something dark and resolved flickered across Riki's face before he took the leap of faith, closing the distance.

His lips crashed against yours with force. Not reckless but desperate. Like he had been holding back for years. Like he had been dreaming about this.

Wanting to feel the intoxicating feeling of your soft lips against his. The kiss was deep and consuming, all of his pent-up frustration and unfinished words was poured into the kiss.

You let him tilt your head to the side while deepening the kiss. You had done this before—kissing but this? This was different. Unlike the old times when you kissed just for the sake of it, this felt more real and raw.

You obediently parted your lips, granting him entrance and just like before, Riki ran his tongue along the seam before exploring your warm, wet mouth with one slow and thorough lick.

The sensation was enough to make your head spin and ears burned at how the loud lewd sounds echoed in the living room. Your knees buckled, threatening to give way but Riki was faster.

In one smooth and fluid movement, Riki had blindly maneuvered you to the nearest wall surface that was located behind you. You gasped into his mouth when your back landed against the firm, cool surface of the wall.

With Riki's taller frame completely hovering over you, you had nowhere else to run.

Not that you wanted to run in the first place.

"W-Wait—" You protested but your voice died in your throat when Riki lifted you up, leaving your feet uselessly hanging in the air.