moon

you “accidentally” wear the short skirt he hates when you go out with his friends, then sit on jake’s lap for two seconds just to watch jay’s eyes narrow. you text him “forgot what time you said you’d be home, oops” when you know he’s been stressed about schedules. you tease him about how sunghoon is “so tall and quiet, kind of mysterious” right before bed. small things. constant little jabs.

he always warns you.

“keep going, baby. see what happens.”

but you never stop. until tonight.

you’re both in the living room after a long day. jay is tired, scrolling through his phone on the couch, still in his practice clothes. you’re feeling particularly bold, crawling into his lap and straddling him with a sweet smile.

“you looked a little slow during practice today,” you say innocently, tracing a finger down his chest. “maybe you’re getting old. should i start calling you grandpa jay?”

it’s a joke. mostly. but you say it with that bratty little tilt of your head, the one you know drives him insane.

jay freezes. his hand comes up to grip your jaw, firm but not painful, forcing you to look at him. his eyes are dark.

“say that again.”

you smirk. “what? grandpa jay? it’s cute—”

that’s the last straw.

in one smooth motion he flips you over, pinning you face-down on the couch with his body weight. his chest presses against your back, mouth right next to your ear.

“you’ve been begging for this for weeks,” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “pushing me every single day. flirting with my members. wearing shit you know i hate. testing me like i won’t do anything about it. i’ve been patient, baby. but i’m done.”

you shiver, equal parts nervous and excited. “jay—”

“no. you don’t get to talk right now.” he yanks your shorts and panties down in one tug, leaving your ass bare. his large hand smooths over your skin almost tenderly for a second — then comes down hard.

the first spank makes you gasp.

“count.”

“one—”

he spanks you again, harder. “louder.”

by the tenth spank your eyes are watery and your ass is burning, but you’re soaked between your thighs. jay notices immediately. he slides two fingers through your folds, humming in mock disappointment.

“so wet already? my little brat gets turned on when i finally put her in her place.”

he flips you onto your back, spreading your legs wide. he doesn’t touch your clit. instead he pushes two fingers inside you, pumping slowly, curling them against that spot that makes you see stars — but never fast enough.

every time you get close, he stops.

“jay please— i’m sorry—”

“not yet.” he leans down, sucking a mark into your inner thigh. “you wanted to act like a brat. now you’re going to take what i give you.”

he edges you for what feels like forever — fingers, tongue, the head of his cock rubbing against your entrance but never pushing in. you’re crying, hips bucking desperately, begging so prettily it almost breaks his resolve.

“please, jay— i’ll be good, i swear. i’m your good girl. please let me cum.”

he finally gives in.

he pushes into you in one deep thrust, stretching you open. the moan you let out is broken. he fucks you hard — deep, punishing strokes that make the couch creak. one hand wraps around your throat lightly, the other pins your hip down.

“this is what you needed, isn’t it?” he rasps, sweat dripping down his neck. “getting fucked stupid until that bratty mouth shuts up. you’re mine. only mine. stop testing me or i’ll edge you for hours next time.”

you nod frantically, tears slipping down your cheeks. “yours— only yours—”

he reaches between you and rubs your clit in tight, perfect circles. you cum so hard your vision whites out, clenching around him and sobbing his name. jay follows right after, burying himself deep with a low groan as he fills you up.

the second it’s over, the mean dom disappears.

jay pulls out gently, gathers you into his arms, and carries you to the bedroom. he cleans you up with a warm cloth, kisses every inch of your face, and rubs soothing lotion into your sore ass.

“you okay, baby?” he whispers, voice back to that soft, loving tone you adore. he pulls you against his chest, stroking your hair. “i wasn’t too rough?”

you shake your head, hiding your face in his neck. “i liked it… i pushed you too far.”

“you did,” he admits, pressing soft kisses to your temple. “but i love you like this. even when you’re being a little terror.” he chuckles quietly. “just know that when you really cross the line, i’ll always put you back in your place. and then i’ll take care of you after. always.”

you melt into him, sleepy and satisfied. “i love you.”

“i love you more,” he murmurs, holding you tighter. “my sweet, bratty, perfect wife. now sleep. tomorrow you’re going to be on your best behavior… or we’ll repeat this.”

you smile against his skin, already drifting off in his arms — safe, loved, and secretly excited for the next time you get to push him.

© jongst4r, 2026

he kisses like he has all the time in the world and yet can’t get enough, tongue sliding against yours in lazy strokes that make your head spin. you sigh into his mouth, fingers threading through his dark hair, tugging lightly the way he likes. he groans softly, the sound vibrating between you.

curious and a little greedy, your hands wander lower, sliding from his shoulders down his chest. his shirt is unbuttoned halfway — a casualty of earlier teasing — and your palms press flat against the firm warmth of his pecs. you squeeze experimentally, thumbs brushing over the flat discs of his nipples, and jay jolts like he’s been shocked.

a sharp, broken inhale escapes him. his hips twitch up against yours involuntarily, and the kiss falters for half a second.

you pull back just enough to look at him, lips still brushing. “jay?”

his cheeks are flushed, eyes darker than usual, pupils blown wide. he tries to play it cool, clearing his throat. “nothing. keep going.”

but you’re not stupid. you repeat the motion — slower this time, thumbs circling his nipples deliberately. they harden instantly under your touch, and jay’s head falls back against the couch with a low, wrecked sound.

“fuck,” he breathes, voice rough. “they’re… sensitive.”

your heart skips. a rush of heat floods through you as the realization sinks in. park jongseong — calm, teasing, always-in-control jay — has sensitive nipples. the discovery feels like unlocking a secret weapon. you test it again, pinching one lightly between thumb and forefinger, and his reaction is immediate: a full-body shiver, fingers digging harder into your hips, a quiet whimper slipping out before he can swallow it.

“oh my god,” you whisper, fascinated. “you really like that.”

he doesn’t deny it. instead he pulls you back down into a kiss that’s suddenly much messier, more desperate. from that moment on, nothing is ever the same.

after that night, you become obsessed.

there are no more dull moments when you’re together. you find excuses to touch him there constantly. during a movie night when you’re curled up against his side, your hand slips under his hoodie without warning, fingers seeking out the soft, squishy flesh of his pecs. you knead them gently, thumbs flicking over his nipples until they pebble, and jay’s breath hitches mid-sentence, the popcorn bowl nearly forgotten in his lap.

“baby,” he mutters, voice strained, but he doesn’t stop you. if anything, he arches slightly into your touch, chest pushing forward like he’s offering himself up.

in public it’s subtler but still dangerous. a quick hug hello turns into your palms pressing against his chest “by accident,” pinching lightly through his shirt when no one’s looking. his ears go red every single time, jaw clenching as he fights to keep a straight face while talking to sunghoon or whoever else is around. you love the power of it — how this composed man turns into putty the second your hands find his chest.

makeout sessions become something else entirely.

you push him against the wall one afternoon after work, hands already working his shirt open before the door even clicks shut. your mouth trails from his lips to his neck, then lower, while your fingers never leave his pecs — squeezing, rolling his nipples, pinching just hard enough to make his knees weaken. jay moans openly now, head back against the wall, hips grinding helplessly against yours.

“you’re going to kill me,” he pants, but his hands cradle the back of your head like he never wants you to stop. “fuck, i love when you play with them.”

you hum in satisfaction and latch your mouth onto one nipple, sucking hard. jay’s hand flies to your hair, gripping tight as a broken whimper escapes him. you lick and bite gently, alternating sides, leaving faint red marks that bloom into soft hickeys by the next morning. he never complains. if anything, he wears the collar of his shirts a little lower those days, like he secretly hopes you’ll do it again.

the obsession peaks during sex.

one night you’re riding him slow and deep, the room filled with the wet sounds of skin and heavy breathing. jay’s hands are everywhere — on your ass, your waist, your breasts — but you can tell he’s holding back, eyes glassy with pleasure. you lean down, changing the angle, and drag your nails lightly over his chest before pinching both nipples at once.

jay’s reaction is visceral. his back arches clean off the bed, a loud, needy moan ripping from his throat. “shit— baby, please—”

“please what?” you ask sweetly, rolling your hips while continuing to toy with him. you pinch and tug, then soothe with your palms, squeezing the soft muscle of his pecs.

his eyes squeeze shut, lips parted. “touch me there… harder. fuck, i love your hands on my chest. don’t stop— please don’t stop.”

he begs so prettily it makes you dizzy. and you give him exactly what he wants — licking broad stripes over his nipples, sucking them into your mouth until they’re swollen and glistening, biting down just enough to make him hiss and thrust up into you harder. you cover his chest in hickeys, little purple marks that claim him as yours. every time you press on one later, he’ll shiver and pull you in for a kiss.

and jay, never one to be outdone, returns the favor with devastating enthusiasm.

the first time he does it, you’re on your back, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you deep and steady. he moves his head closer, mouth latching onto your nipple without warning, sucking hard while his fingers play with the other. the dual sensation makes you cry out, back arching.

“jay—!”

he lifts his head just enough to smirk, eyes dark. “not so fun when it’s you, huh?” but his voice is wrecked, and he immediately goes back to it — licking, sucking, gently biting, mirroring everything you do to him. his hands knead your breasts possessively, thumbs flicking over your nipples until you’re shaking and clenching around him.

from then on it becomes mutual worship. lazy mornings turn into both of you tangled together, hands and mouths on each other’s chests, trading moans and whispers. he loves sucking on yours until you’re dripping and desperate, then sliding into you while still latched on. you love reducing him to whimpers and pleas by playing with his sensitive pecs until he’s rutting into you like he can’t control himself.

“you’re obsessed,” he teases one night, voice rough as you straddle him again, palms already cupping his chest, thumbs circling.

you pinch lightly and watch his eyes flutter. “says the guy who begs me to touch his tits every time we fuck.”

jay laughs breathlessly, the sound cutting off into a groan when you lean down and suck one nipple into your mouth. his hands fly to your ass, pulling you down onto him.

“guilty,” he admits, hips snapping up. “they’re yours now. do whatever you want.”

and you do. every chance you get.

there will never be a dull moment again.

© jongst4r, 2026

FROM YAN 🐰 ➤ idk how this idea hit me but it has and you all have to bear witness bc i think it's funny and i have to materialize it. :3 part two will be coming out soon. will open one tag list for it so just lmk !!

PERMANENT TAGLIST  ➤  @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss @zerocoded @alex-is-sleeping @ntxs1 @angelhyuka @tsukheeshima @clxssy1997 @cripplinghooman @xoxo-seraphine @jakeycakeys @neozon3nha @jakeycakeys @vmpiricou @ja4hyvn @luv4dani @nightcat101 @wonkiipiilled

COD TAGLIST  ➤  @xolaufeyberry @sleepymochiiii @rikingrinse @katalior

When you stepped out of your building, with your glasses and with your hair all over your face, you realized that maybe you should’ve cleaned yourself a little bit before walking out. Jay was wearing a jacket with a dark blue hoodie under, clearly freezing his ass off but acting like he wasn’t. His lips trembling said otherwise.

“The weather’s so nice.” You started the conversation as you hit his arm with the rest of your long sleeve, making him chuckle.

“You’re insane.”

You gave him a playful smile, standing beside him. “So…what are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining. When I said you genuinely saved me, you genuinely saved me.” You laughed.

Jay smiled, looking around as he took out his hand from his pocket to scratch his eyebrow. “I’m glad. Your roommate is a bit…no offense, but really unkind. I’m surprised they paired you with her.” He commented, “you’re like, the opposite.”

“It is what it is, isn’t it?” You asked.

He nodded, stepping off on the stairs to start walking. You followed slightly behind, seeing as you had shorter legs than him, and stepped into the actual campus.

“Is it weird living on campus?” Jay asked.

You frowned for a second in thought, then shook your head. “Not really, I only come here to sleep. Most of my time I spent it at work or the library. Or with you, at least recently.” You let out a giggle, making him shyly smile.

“So you hate living on campus?"

“Not necessarily. Just who I’m rooming with, I guess. Which is why I’m definitely taking on that offer about looking at apartments with you as soon as possible.”

Jay hummed in understatement, looking down at how your feet walked in synchronization. “Hey, what if—what if you move into my apartment?” You side-eyed him, making him chuckle shyly. “Not permanently. Just—you know, I have a spare room that my mom uses whenever she comes to visit or when someone needs it, you know? You wouldn’t have to worry about rent or anything.” He suggested, his hands waving in the air nervously.

You smiled at him. “Actually?”

“Yeah, why not? Unless you’re not comfortable. I understand that completely.” He nodded with a flat smile. “Just a suggestion.” He said, giving you a playful shoulder nudge.

“I can’t. You’re already helping me apartment hunting…”

“Well, that’s what good friends are for.” He shrugged casually. “You’re just more special than the others, I guess.” He added with a laugh.

“Special, huh?” You raised an eyebrow teasingly, making him roll his eyes.

“Of course you are.” He said in a much serious tone, making you bite your bottom lip and nod, looking away as the air blew on your face softly. “Anyway, it’s just so you don’t have to deal with your roommate. You can say ‘no’. I can accept rejection.” You snorted a laugh, making him smile. “Damn, didn’t think you’d laugh in my face, though.”

You covered your mouth with your left hand, playfully pushing him away with the right one, making him laugh along as the two of you walked around the corner right outside campus.

Before Jay could speak, his phone buzzed, making him quickly take out his phone from his pocket to glance at it.

“Important?” You asked, sneaking a glance as well but barely seeing anything.

He shook his head, putting the phone back in his back pocket. “Nah.” 

You nodded, looking ahead as Jay pointed at the convenience store on the corner street, “Let’s go eat something. My treat.” 

“You’re giving me lots of treats lately.” He snorted a laugh, “by next week, I might owe you a total of one million dollars.” You joked.

Jay shook his head as he started walking, looking ahead. “Nonsense. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I beg to differ.”

“All I’m doing is helping you out a little. Don’t think about repaying me or anything, please.”  You stared at him, a sigh escaping your lips but no words coming out, making Jay glance at you. “Is something wrong?”

You shook your head, waving your hand in the air as if to say “I’m cool”. “I’m just wondering how come you don’t have a girlfriend. Not that it’s a bad thing, I just–you’re a gentleman, you know?” You said, tilting your head to the side in confusion.

He nodded, looking away with a shy smile on his lips. “I–trust me, I don’t know either. I guess I just haven’t been looking for anyone.” He shrugged. Jay was lying through his teeth. 

You pouted, then smiled as a question popped in your head. “Not even a crush?”

You.

He chuckled, shaking his head after you appeared in his mind.

Of course he wouldn’t say that to you. He didn’t even consider you a crush, per se. You were more than that, you were something to him, but not just a crush. A crush was someone you admired from afar because of the idea you planted of said person. But Jay knew you, the type of person you are, what you like, what you dislike, your favorite movies, the way you reacted to stuff and what you would say after it. That’s not something just a “crush” does to you.

So, he didn’t have a crush. He wasn’t technically lying to you. Was he?

A beautiful gasp echoed in his ears, causing him to startle himself. He smiled when he saw you pointing your index finger in his face.

“What?”

“You thought of someone, didn’t you?” You asked with excitement, thinking she cracked the code.

“No, I didn’t.”

You giggled, “Yeah, you did!”

Jay stared at you with squinted eyes then looked away, making you smile proudly. “You don’t have to tell me who it is. Whoever it is though…they are really lucky.”

“You think so?” You nodded. He looked down at you and gave you a flat smile, giving you a pat in the head to which you pushed him off, making him laugh. “She’s a much better person than me. If anything, I’m the lucky one.” He added.

You dramatically covered your mouth. “If that is true, then that’s amazing. Do you plan on talking to her? Make a move?” You asked with a smile. That precious smile that first made Jay lie eyes on you back in high school.

“Uh, we talk–normal, like friends.” He stumbled across his words, making you look at him attentively, as if to say “relax, take your time”, an expression he always admired. “It’s complicated. She’s going through a lot of things and I don’t want to be a burden.” He shook his head.

You stopped in front of the convenience store, turning to Jay, you placed your hand on his shoulder. “You’re everything but a burden, Jay. I hate that you say you are. If this person is as kind as you say they are…they’d think the same. And I’m sure they’d be more than happy to have you as company.”

Jay stared down at you for a second, his eyes leaving yours to look at where your hand was. “Thanks, Y/n. T–that means a lot coming from you.”

Letting your hand fall back on your body, you smiled. “Anyone would be lucky to be close to you, Jongseong.”

“Aaaand you ruined the moment.”

You snorted a laugh, quickly patting his head before stepping into the store.

For a second there, Jay stood in the same place, wondering what the hell he saved in his past life to have someone like you, to have you say something that made him believe there was no one else that could ever make him feel the way he did with you.

And fuck, he hated the fact that he knew he would never make a move on you, even if you said he should give it a try.

He couldn’t do that to Jake, or to you, for that matter.

Jakey boy:  yo

Jakey boy:  can i talk to you?

Jay sighed as the messages came through, quickly glancing at you. You were at the register, talking to the lady behind it with a smile. He scratched his eyebrow and opened his friend’s messages.

Jay:  I'm out right now, is it important?

Jakey boy:  u getting laid? 😛

Jay:  just eating with a friend, i’ll call u when im back home

Jakey boy:  it’s ok

Jakey boy:  i just wanted an opinion

Jay:  on?

Jakey boy:  y/n

Jakey boy:  I’m going to apologize to her

Jay swallowed nervously, sending a forced reaction emoji to his last message before he turned his phone off. He turned to look at you once again, your smile infecting the register lady as you paid for a sweet treat. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking away before it could infect you.

He waited patiently, although his foot tapping on the end of the chair said otherwise.

“I can’t believe I never forced you to try these.” You said, handing one of the popsicles to Jay as you sat back down. “They’re the best popsicles ever.”

Jay smiled subconsciously as he tore the package off with you, "you've always been obsessed with banana flavored treats.” He chuckled.

You smiled widely, taking a delicious bite, making a sound that made Jay’s stomach flutter. He shook his head before taking a bite, the same size as you. He wasn’t the biggest fan of banana flavored treats, but for you? The man would try anything.

At his unfamiliar expression, you furrowed your eyebrows. “You hate it, don't you?” Before he could respond, you sighed. “It’s okay, I can eat another one by myself.” You added as you reached for his popsicle.

Jay threw his head back, shaking it as he ate the popsicle peacefully before opening his mouth to speak. “It’s surprisingly very good.”

You sat back and cheered, making the guy chuckle. “Actually?”

He nodded.

As you opened your mouth to speak with excitement, a buzz came through your phone, making you mumble a small sorry before taking it.

A single text from Jake.

Jaeyun:  can we talk?

You stared at it blankly, making Jay frown slightly at your reaction.

“Did something happen?” He asked after a second.

You put your phone down, shaking your head with a small laugh. “It’s nothing,” You took your popsicle back in your mouth to stop talking.

“Are you sure?”

You glanced at him and nodded, gathering the garbage in a pile to put it inside the plastic back. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just Jake.”

“Oh.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, oh.”

Jay let out a sigh, “Wanna talk about it?”

He did not want to talk about it. 

“Thanks, but no. I feel like such a burden bringing the same topic over and over ever since I came back.” You chuckled awkwardly.

Jay reached for your hand, the hand that was moving from plastic to plastic just to do something. “You could never be a burden, Y/n.” He looked into your eyes with an expression you hadn't noticed before, making you blow air into your cheeks, making him smile a little bit. “Sure. I’m tired of hearing about Jake being an asshole, but coming from you? Nothing is a burden.”

You nodded slowly, giving him a saddened smile. “Jake is an asshole.”

He snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes playfully. “Such an asshole.”

You both smiled at each other, a real smile–innocent, even. And Jay wished you two could stay here forever, but he also knew that wasn’t possible. So again, like the coward he thought he was, he let go of your hand and instead patted your head. “Now let’s finish this thing so I can walk you back to your dorm and rest that pretty head of yours.” He teased.

You scoffed, hitting his shoulder playfully. “Just give me the damn popsicle back. What do you mean by this thing, you hater?”

All Jay could do was smile at you, going unnoticed by the way both of your expressions turned light again by the smallest teasing joke.

mars yap actually kill me bc I hate writing how I want my future husband to be GET ME A JAY NOW.

btw sorry for the week abandonment...promise I'll try my best updating ok :((((

permies:

the group is over for dinner at your place. you’ve been fluttering around all evening in your pretty pastel dress, refilling drinks, laughing at every joke, and somehow ending up next to jake on the couch for the last thirty minutes. jake’s showing you a video on his phone and you’re leaning in close, gasping and giggling every time the puppy on the screen does something cute.

“oh my gosh, jakey, look at his little ears!” you squeal, grabbing jake’s arm without thinking, giving it a gentle squeeze. “he’s so adorable, just like you when you do that pouty thing!”

jake laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “you’re too sweet, love.”

jay watches from the kitchen doorway, jaw tight. he knows you don’t mean anything by it. you’re just being your usual affectionate, bubbly self. but something hot and possessive burns on his chest every time your fingers linger on jake’s sleeve.

by the time everyone leaves, jay is quiet.

you’re humming as you tidy up, completely unaware, until you feel his presence behind you. his hands settle on your waist, firm but gentle, turning you around to face him.

“hi, honey,” you say brightly, rising on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “did you have fun tonight?”

jay doesn’t smile. his dark eyes are serious as he looks down at you, one hand coming up to cup your chin so you can’t look away.

“you were very friendly with jake,” he says calmly. his voice is low, controlled. stern.

you blink, tilting your head. “was i? i was just watching the puppy video…”

“you were holding onto his arm. laughing at everything he said. calling him ‘jakey’.” jay’s thumb brushes your bottom lip. “you’re my wife, sweetheart. not his.”

your cheeks flush pink. “i didn’t mean to… i was just being nice. you know i only love you.”

“i know,” he says softly, but his grip on your chin stays firm. “but you still need to be reminded who you belong to.”

he takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom without another word. you follow obediently, heart fluttering. jay is never mean — even when he’s stern, he’s still your sweet husband. but you know that tone. it means you’re about to be disciplined.

he sits on the edge of the bed and gently pulls you over his lap, arranging you carefully so you’re comfortable, face resting against the sheets.

“ten spanks,” he murmurs, rubbing slow circles over your bottom through your dress. “you’re going to count them for me, okay? and you’re going to remember who you come home to every night.”

you nod, already a little breathless. “yes, jay.”

he lifts your dress up gently, bunching it around your waist, then tugs your panties down to your thighs. his hand strokes over your bare skin, warm and soothing.

“such a good girl for letting me do this,” he praises quietly. “my sweet wife.”

the first smack lands — firm but not too hard, just enough to sting. you gasp softly.

“one…”

he rubs the spot tenderly right after. “good girl.”

by the fifth spank your eyes are glassy and you’re squirming, but jay keeps his rhythm steady, praising you between each one.

“so pretty like this… taking your punishment so well for me… you’re mine, baby. only mine.”

when you whisper “ten…” in a shaky voice, he immediately pulls you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. tears cling to your lashes but you’re not really crying — just overwhelmed in the best way.

jay kisses your forehead, your wet cheeks, your trembling lips.

“there we go,” he soothes, voice back to that gentle honey tone you love. “all done. you did so well, my love. i’m so proud of you.”

he lays you down on the bed and curls around you, big hand rubbing slow, comforting strokes up and down your back. his lips never stop moving — soft kisses to your temple, your nose, the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“i know you didn’t mean anything by it,” he murmurs. “you’re just my silly, affectionate little wife. but i need you to be more careful, okay? save all that sweetness for me.”

you nod against his neck, clinging to him. “i’m sorry, jay… i only want you.”

“i know, baby.” he tilts your chin up, kissing you slow and deep, tongue brushing yours tenderly. “and i’m crazy about you. so crazy i get a little possessive sometimes.”

you smile shyly, cheeks still pink. “i like when you get possessive… as long as you’re still sweet to me after.”

he chuckles softly, the sound warm in his chest. “always. i’ll always be sweet to you.”

his hand slides down to gently massage the warm, stinging skin of your bottom, soothing every inch. you melt further into him, sighing happily.

“my good girl,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to your hair. “my only girl.”

later, when you’re both under the covers, jay keeps you tucked tightly against him, one leg thrown over yours like he needs to remind you even in sleep that you’re his.

“i love you,” you mumble sleepily, already drifting off.

jay smiles against your forehead, voice low and full of adoration.

“i love you more, my ditzy little wife. forever.”

© jongst4r, 2026

he pulls his fingers out completely, ignoring your whine.

“bratty little girls don’t get to cum so easily,” he says coldly, voice low and mean. his eyes are dark, hungry, but still full of that terrifying amount of love underneath. “you think you can flirt with waiters and ignore me all day and still get whatever you want?”

he slaps your pussy lightly — not enough to truly hurt, but sharp enough to make you jolt and moan.

“answer me.”

“i’m sorry—”

another slap. your back arches.

“you’re not sorry yet.”

he flips you onto your stomach like you weigh nothing, pulling your hips up so your ass is in the air. his hand comes down hard on your ass — once, twice, three times — the sound echoing in the luxurious bedroom. you cry out, fingers twisting in the silk sheets.

“count them, baby.”

“f-four… five…”

he rubs the stinging skin tenderly after each set, almost sweetly, before spanking you again. your ass is pink and warm by the time he’s satisfied, and you’re dripping down your thighs.

jay leans over you, hard cock sliding between your folds, rubbing up and down teasingly. the thick head bumps your clit over and over but he never pushes inside.

“you want this?” he asks, voice mocking as he grinds against you. “you want your husband’s cock? the same one that buys you everything your spoiled little heart desires?”

you nod desperately, pushing back against him. “please, jay… i need it.”

he pulls away completely.

“not yet.”

he edges you for what feels like hours.

fingers. tongue. the blunt head of his cock rubbing against your entrance until you’re sobbing and shaking. every time you get close he stops, kissing your spine, your shoulders, murmuring against your skin.

“my pretty, spoiled wife. so fucking greedy. you think you deserve to cum after acting like a brat?”

you’re crying real tears now, overwhelmed and aching. “i’ll be good— i swear, i’ll be so good for you…”

jay finally flips you onto your back again. he spreads your legs wide, knees pushed to your chest, and sinks into you in one brutal thrust.

you scream his name.

he fucks you hard — deep, punishing strokes that make the headboard slam against the wall. one hand wraps around your throat lightly, the other pinning your hip down so you can’t move.

“this is what you needed, isn’t it?” he growls, sweat dripping down his toned chest. “getting fucked stupid until that bratty attitude disappears. my wife only acts like a princess when i let her.”

you’re babbling, completely lost in him — “yours, yours, only yours, please—”

he leans down, biting your bottom lip before kissing you messily.

“that’s right. mine. my beautiful, spoiled, perfect wife.”

he finally lets you cum — thumb on your clit, cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over until you shatter around him, sobbing and clenching so hard he groans.

jay follows right after, burying himself deep and filling you up with a low, wrecked moan of your name.

aftercare is immediate.

the mean jay disappears the second you both come down. he pulls out gently, gathers you into his arms, and kisses every inch of your face — your wet cheeks, your trembling lips, your forehead.

“my pretty girl,” he whispers, voice back to that soft, adoring tone. “you did so well for me. i love you so much. too much.”

he carries you to the bathroom, runs a warm bath with your favorite oils, and washes you carefully. his hands are gentle as he massages lotion into your sore ass, kissing the marks he left.

later, wrapped in his arms in fresh silk sheets, he keeps you tucked against his chest, one hand stroking your hair.

“i spoil you because i can’t help it,” he murmurs against your temple. “you’re my whole world. but when you act up…” he squeezes your hip possessively, “i have to remind you who you belong to, right?”

you nuzzle into his neck, sleepy and satisfied. “i like both sides of you.”

jay chuckles softly, pressing a long kiss to your hair.

“good. because i’m never letting you go, baby. spoiled and all.”

he holds you tighter, the richest, most obsessed man in the world completely wrapped around his pretty little wife.

© jongst4r, 2026

The first time you almost said “I love you” was when he took you on a date to the beach.

Your feet were up on the dashboard as he drove, head against the seat and hand lazily weaving through the breeze out the open window.  It was beautiful out—the sun blazing high in the sky with no clouds in sight and the temperature just right. When the starting beats to Cruel Summer roared through the car’s speakers, the brightest smile grew on your face. When the chorus hit, you turned to face Callum and sing, eyes widening when he starting singing along with you.

“You know this song?”

He chuckled. Gosh, his smile. “Of course, I know this song.”

As the bridge of the song played, you both shouted along. 

And I screamed for whatever it's worth "I love you," ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

Almost as if the universe timed it perfectly, the song came to an end as Callum parked. As you giggled in the aftermath, you couldn’t help but admire him for a moment. The way his eyes matched the sky. The way his curls fell on his head from the wind. The way his cheeks grew as red the larger he smiled. “S’rude to stare, sweetheart.”

“I-“ Before you could finish your sentence, you cut yourself off.

“What?” he asked.

“I can’t help it,” you played off. “You’re just so pretty.”

The second time you almost said it was while he was dying his hair in preparation for The Boys in the Boat.

“How’s it lookin’, love?” Callum asked as you rinsed the bleach out of his hair.

You leaned back to get a better look at him. “It looks very… yellow,” you giggle.

He quickly stands and goes to look in the mirror, a hand stretching his hair to see for himself. “Is it supposed to look like this?”

You grinned in amusement as he cringed at the color of his hair. “S’a good thing we got purple shampoo.” As he sat down on the edge of the tub, you rummaged in the plastic bag you had bought the hair supplies in. Replacing the gloves you had on, you stood in front of him and poured a little bit in your hands, carefully spreading it through his hair. Even as you focused on getting his hair done, you didn’t fail to notice the way he stared at you as you worked.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s rude to stare, Cal?” His face flushed.

“S’not my fault you’re so pretty,” he whispered, his hands going to rest on your waist. Your chest clenched at his words, your own cheeks reddening. Looking down into his icy blue eyes, it almost slipped out of your mouth, but you caught yourself.

“Such a charmer, Mr. Turner.”

“Only for you, love.”

The third time you almost said it was when he took you to the Masters of the Air premiere in LA.

Thankfully enough, despite now having been together almost two years now, you’ve both successfully been able to have kept your relationship away from the public eye. Having seen the work he put into this project, you wanted to celebrate with him and suggested you walk with him on the carpet. 

He stepped out of the car first, buttoning his jacket before turning back and offering his hand to help you out of the car, a bright smile on his face. At the sight of just your hand, the flashes from the paparazzi cameras mere feet away flashed even quicker, and their roars got louder. “I got you, love,” he whispered, his hand never leaving you as you walked the carpet. 

Eventually, the both of you caught up to Austin and Barry, whose faces lit up at the sight of you. “Well, well, well,” Austin greeted, the southern drawl from his time playing Elvis peeking through. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he teased with a smile as if he hadn’t seen the pair of you a few days ago.

Barry ran over to Callum to give him a quick hug before turning to you with an even bigger smile. “S’lovely to see ya. Let’s take some pictures, aye? ”

You, Callum, Barry, and Austin stopped to pose together for a bit before they left the two of you to do some interviews further down the carpet. 

To your left!

This way, Callum!

To your right!

Give us a kiss!

He was quick to notice the fatigue growing on your face the longer you stayed in front of the sea of paparazzi. As you sat in your seats in the theater, he gave your hand a quick squeeze. When you glanced over to him, the look on his face made your heart swell. His blue eyes were soft and so filled with admiration. Just as you opened your mouth to say those three words, Barry barreled past you two into his seat next to Callum.

The fourth time you almost said it was on a random Tuesday in the weird period between spring and summer.

“It’s raining again,” you commented, both a little sad and happy with the weather. You and Callum had planned to go to the farmer’s market today but with the weather on top of the mood you had woken up in, it didn’t look like those plans were going through anymore.

Callum hummed as he turned on his side to look out the window. “Fucking June bloom,” you groaned, dropping your head back on your pillow. He turned back to face you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you in closer. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes as you relaxed in his hold. 

“That kinda morning?” he gently asked to which you nodded. “I don’t mind a night in, love,” he whispered, placing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. “As long as I’m with you.”

Your heart warmed at his words. “Thank you,” you mumbled against his chest. 

The fifth time you almost said it was on your birthday.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” he encouraged, his eyes soft as he watched you. You narrowed your eyes before doing as he said. As you carefully unraveled the cute purple bow he wrapped around the tiny box, Callum watched with bated breath.

Lifting the lid revealed a small locket in the shape of a heart and when you opened it, one side with both of your initials carved into the metal and the other a picture of the two of you. You remembered when this was taken. It was from when you took him to Disneyland for the first time. It was a bit blurry but that didn’t matter.

“Callum…” you whispered, tears slowly filling your eyes at the sentiment. You quickly surged forward to pull him into a hug. 

“Do ya like it?”

“I- I love it. I love it,” you smile, placing a kiss to his lips which he gladly reciprocated. You could feel him smile as he pulled away and leaned his forehead against yours.

“Happy birthday, love.”

When you do finally say it, he had just finished doing an interview for Deadline magazine.

Callum did the interview on the phone and sat across the room, so you were within earshot of it all. “Your new film, Eternity, is said to explore who you’d want to spend an eternity with and where, so I have to ask: who and where might that be for you?” the interviewer asked. You tried your best not to eavesdrop, but the question intrigued you. What would his answer be?

The deepness of his voice brought you out of his thoughts as he answered. “If I had to spend an eternity with anyone, it would definitely be my partner. Where specifically is a little tough to say if I’m being completely honest. Anywhere they go, I’ll follow.”

Your heart melted. Did he really mean that? Soon enough the interview ended and you padded over to where he sat. “You’re such a sap, Cal.”

He smiled as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in for a kiss. “Eavesdropping now, are we?”

“Just a tiny bit,” you grinned. The way he looked at you sent your heart racing—a look filled with so much love. “I think I love you,” you blurted out. His eyes widened for a second before softening again.

“I think love you too,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours. 

You're on your side, one hand curled under your chin, the other flung over the duvet like you'd reached for him in your sleep and found empty air. Your hair is a mess. There's a crease on your cheek from the pillowcase. Your lips are parted the tiniest bit, and your breath is so quiet he has to lean in to hear it.

He leans in. Presses his mouth to your temple, just barely, just enough for you to feel warmth if you were awake to feel it, and then he rolls out of bed.

The floorboards in the hallway are the enemy. He knows which ones creak: the third one from your bedroom door, the one at the top of the stairs near the linen closet, two consecutive ones outside Haneul's room. He's mapped them out over years of late nights and early mornings, and he navigates them now in his socks, stepping over the worst ones like he's walking through a minefield of sound.

Haneul's door is cracked open. He eases it wider and peeks in — his daughter is starfished across her toddler bed, one foot hanging off the edge, her stuffed rabbit crushed against her chest. She's three and sleeps like she's fighting a war. Jay crouches next to the bed and brushes her bangs off her forehead.

"Haneul-ah," he whispers. "Baby. Wake up."

She doesn't.

He tries again, this time with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Haneul. Come on, my little bear."

She makes a sound like a grumpy cat and swats at his hand without opening her eyes. He almost laughs, he can see where you get your morning disposition from, but he swallows it and tries once more, softer this time, his thumb rubbing her tiny shoulder through her pajamas.

"Mama's special day," he murmurs. "We gotta make breakfast, remember? You said you wanted to crack the eggs."

That gets her. One eye cracks open. Then the other. Her face does something magnificent, confusion, then remembrance, then pure, incandescent excitement, and she's sitting up so fast her rabbit falls off the bed.

"Eggs," she whispers, but it comes out like a scream that's been stepped on.

"Shh, shh, shh—" Jay claps a hand over her mouth, grinning. "Quiet. Mama's sleeping."

She nods against his palm, eyes huge, and he lifts her out of bed. She weighs almost nothing. She always wraps her arms around his neck when he picks her up, always tucks her face into his shoulder, and he's never once in his life gotten tired of it.

Down the hall, the nursery. Dohyun is standing up in his crib, hanging onto the railing, already awake — he always is at this hour, like his internal clock knows dawn is his territory. When he sees Jay and Haneul, he opens his mouth and Jay says, very calmly, "No," which makes Dohyun's face crumple in offense before it can even become a wail.

"I know," Jay says, lifting him one-armed while Haneul clings to the other side. "I know, buddy. But Mama's sleeping. Quiet voice, okay?"

Dohyun is twenty months old and does not have a quiet voice. But he seems to understand the gravity of the situation, or at least he's distracted by Haneul's pajama sleeve, because he reaches over and grabs a fistful of it and doesn't scream.

The kitchen is dark when they get there. 

Jay settles Dohyun into his high chair, the one with the faded dinosaur sticker on the tray that Haneul put there six months ago and nobody could bring themselves to peel off, and crouches down to look Haneul in the eye.

"Alright. You remember the plan?"

She nods, bouncing on her heels.

"What do we do first?"

"Flowers!" she says, too loud, and claps her hand over her own mouth this time. He can see you in her, the way she catches herself, the way her eyes go wide like oops — it's so exactly you that it knocks the breath out of him for a second.

"Right. The flowers are already on the table. I got them yesterday, remember? After work." He tilts his head toward the dining table, where a bouquet of white peonies and soft blush ranunculus sits in your grandmother's old ceramic vase, wrapped in brown paper he hasn't untied yet because Haneul wanted to be the one to do it. "What's next?"

"Eggs."

"Eggs. And what else?"

"Pancakes with the—the—thingy, um—" She frowns, searching. "The faces."

"The faces, that's right." He grins. "Alright, let's do it."

He cracks two eggs into a bowl and lets Haneul whisk them with a fork. 

She's meticulous about it, her little tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth the same way yours does when you're reviewing case files, and she only splashes a tiny bit onto the counter. Jay wipes it up without comment.

The pancake batter is from the container in the fridge, he made it last night after you fell asleep, standing in the dark kitchen at midnight in his boxers, stirring and then washing every single dish and putting it back so you'd never know. 

He pours small circles onto the pan, and Haneul stands on her step stool next to him, watching with her chin on the counter, whispering "flip it, flip it, flip it, flip it, daddy," every time the bubbles appear.

Dohyun gets banana slices. He mashes them into the high chair tray with both fists, and Jay lets him. 

That's what the dog is for, Miso, their old golden retriever, who materializes under the high chair like she has a sixth sense for falling food and sits there thumping her tail against the floor.

When the pancakes are done, Jay lets Haneul arrange them on the plate. She puts two in the center, banana slices for eyes, a strawberry slice for the mouth, blueberries in a zigzag that she apparently says is hair. It looks like a happy monster. It looks like something you'd frame.

"Perfect," he says, and he means it.

He pours your coffee into the mug that says Attorney in gold lettering — the one your law partner got you as a joke when you made partner yourself, the one you use every single morning even though it's chipped on the rim and the gold is flaking off the R. 

He adds exactly one sugar and enough cream to turn it the color you like, the color you described once as "cloudy" and he described as "the exact shade of your skin in winter" and you threw a pillow at him for.

He plates everything. Pancakes. Eggs, scrambled the way you like, soft and wet. Fruit. Coffee. 

A single white peony, stem trimmed, laid across the napkin. And the envelope — the one Haneul drew on for forty minutes yesterday while you were on a call, the one she insisted on gluing glitter onto even though Jay said it would get everywhere, which it did; he's still finding glitter on his dress shirts.

Under the envelope, wrapped in tissue paper printed with tiny hearts: the earrings.

He found them three weeks ago. You'd been scrolling on your phone in bed, half-asleep, and you stopped on a photo and turned the screen to him. "Aren't these pretty?" you said, already half-distracted by something else. "The droopy kind. Teardrop shape. I've always wanted a pair in gold."

You forgot you showed him. He didn't.

They're fourteen-karat gold, delicate, teardrop-shaped drops on fine chains, the kind that caught light when you turned your head, the kind that moved when you laughed. 

He'd had them gift-wrapped at the store and then unwrapped them at home because the store's wrapping job wasn't good enough, and then wrapped them again himself with the heart tissue paper and a ribbon he had to watch a YouTube tutorial to tie properly.

He puts the wrapped box behind the plate, props the envelope against the coffee mug, and looks at the table. Haneul is vibrating with excitement. Dohyun has a few banana slices on his eyebrows.

"Ready?" Jay whispers.

Haneul nods so hard her whole body wiggles.

"Okay. Go get Mama."

You wake up to a small hand patting your cheek and a voice saying "Mama. Mama. Mama. Mama."

"M'awake," you mumble, and Haneul's face blooms into a smile so bright it could replace the sun. 

She grabs your hand and pulls, and you let yourself be dragged out of bed, through the hallway, past the family photos on the wall you keep meaning to reorder, down the stairs with Miso bounding ahead of you like this is the best day of her life too.

And there's Jay, standing in the kitchen in his socks and the grey henley you stole from him last week and he stole back, leaning against the counter with Dohyun on his hip and a smile on his face that is so soft, so unbearably fond, that you stop walking.

"Happy Mother's Day," he says.

The table. The flowers. The food. The envelope with glitter everywhere. The small wrapped box. The coffee in your chipped mug. The pancake monster with its blueberry hair. The morning light through the kitchen window catching the edges of everything like it knows this is supposed to be golden.

"Oh," you say, and your voice cracks on it.

Haneul tugs your hand. "I cracked the eggs, Mama. Both of them."

"You did?"

"Both. And I didn't splash. Only a tiny splash. Daddy wiped it."

"That's—wow—you did so good, baby." You crouch down, and she throws herself into your arms, and you hold her and look up at Jay, and his smile hasn't changed, not even a little — he's looking at you like you invented the concept of morning, like the sun came up because you walked into the room.

"Open it," Haneul says, squirming out of your arms and pointing at the envelope. "Open it open it open it."

The envelope with glitter everywhere. 

Inside, a card — construction paper, folded crookedly, with a drawing of three stick figures: one very tall, one medium, one very small, and a yellow blob that might be Miso. Above them, in Haneul's wobbly handwriting, the words MOMY I LUV YOO SO MATCH and below that, in Jay's handwriting, smaller: And I love you more than my vocabulary could ever be able to encapsulate. Every day. — J

You stare at it. Your eyes are burning.

"Open the box!" Haneul says.

You open the box. The tissue paper crinkles. The ribbon falls away. And there they are — gold teardrops on fine chains, delicate and warm and exactly what you pointed at on your phone screen three weeks ago and forgot about.

"Jay—"

"You showed me," he says, shrugging, like it's nothing, like remembering things you forget about yourself isn't the entire point. "I figured you'd forget you showed me. You always forget."

You're going to cry. You can feel it building, the heat behind your eyes, the shake in your chin. You haven't even had your coffee yet. This isn't fair.

He must see it, because he crosses the kitchen in two strides, shifts Dohyun to one arm, and cups your face with his free hand. His thumb brushes your cheek.

"No crying," he says, quiet, just for you. "It's too early for crying. We have a whole day."

"I'm not crying."

"You're about to cry."

"I'm not." You are. "These are—they're so, so perfect."

"I know." He kisses your forehead. "Come on. Eat your monster pancake before Dohyun decides to share his banana with it."

After breakfast, he doesn't let you touch the dishes.

"Jay, I can at least—"

"You can at least sit on the couch and drink your coffee."

"It's cold now."

"I'll make another one."

"No? I can still drink it, besides I can make my own—"

"Sit." He says it gently, with a kiss to the top of your head, and you sit, because sometimes the only thing to do with Jay in this mode is surrender.

He does the dishes. He does the dishes while Haneul sits on the counter "helping," which is basically just rinsing the same spoon over and over, and Dohyun plays with a plastic cup on the floor. He makes you another mug of coffee. He cuts up an apple for the kids. He wipes down the table. He puts the flowers in the vase properly, unties the brown paper, fluffs the peonies with his fingers like he watched a florist do once.

You sit on the couch with Miso's head on your lap and watch him move around your kitchen like he was built for it, like being a CEO is his job but this, this is what he actually is.

When the dishes are done and the kids are set up with crayons at the coffee table, he sits next to you. Close. His arm around your shoulders, your feet in his lap. He rubs your ankle with his thumb, absent and warm.

"What do you want to do today, sweetheart? Anything? Any plans?" he asks.

"I don't know actually. Anything, really. This is already—"

"No," he says. "Not 'anything.' What do you want? Specifically."

"I don't—Jay, you already got me the earrings, and breakfast, and the flowers—"

"That's the kids' side. That's for this morning. I'm asking about the rest of the day. Afternoon, evening, you name it."

You look at him. He looks back at you. His eyes are steady and certain, the way they are in boardrooms, contract negotiations, and every single time he's decided something is going to happen.

"Whatever I want?" 

"Whatever you want, sweetheart."

"Like—shopping?"

"Like anything. Shopping. Appliances store. The park. A different store. Four different stores. I don't care. Today you point at things and I get them, got it?"

"You're absolutely absurd, Jay."

"Hey! No, I'm consistent. There's a difference, you know?"

You laugh. You can't help it. He grins, and it's the same grin he gave you six years ago across a bar, when you were a second-year associate too tired to function and he was a stranger who bought your drink and then argued with you about tort law for an hour and a half.

"Okay," you say. "Shopping. But I'm not going crazy."

He doesn't say anything. He just smiles and kisses your temple.

He drops the kids at Yumi's at two. Haneul clings to his leg and he crouches down and promises three times that he'll pick her up before bedtime, that she can stay up late if she wants, that he and Mama are just going out for a little while. Dohyun doesn't care; Dohyun is already trying to eat Yumi's cat's tail. Miso stays home with the back door open to the yard.

In the car, you put your feet on the dashboard. He doesn't say anything about it. He never does. He reaches over and puts his hand on your knee instead, and drives.

The boutique you've been eyeing for months, the one with the silk blouses in the window you always slow down for, he pulls into the lot before you can say anything.

"I saw you looking," he says, turning off the engine. "Every time we drive past. You press your foot on the brake just a little, every single time."

"That's—what in the world, how do you even catch that? I don’t, end of the story."

"Yes, you totally do. You brake-check me for silk."

You get out of the car so he can't see you blush, but he catches up and laces his fingers through yours, and you go in together.

He sits in the armchair by the fitting room. Every time you come out in something new, he gives you a real answer, not it's fine or whatever you want but actual opinions, specific ones, the kind that mean he's paying attention. 

He tells you the sage green dress makes your shoulders look incredible. 

He tells you the black one is too stiff, you'll hate it by noon. 

He tells you the cream blouse with the tiny buttons is very you, and when you ask what that means, he says "it means you'd wear it to court and think about me when you button it."

You buy the cream blouse. You buy the sage dress. You buy a linen maxi-skirt you don't need and a pair of sunglasses he picks out, silver frames, slightly cat-eyed, because he says they match the new earrings, and you're already wearing them, the teardrops catching the store's warm light every time you turn.

He pays. You tell him you can pay. He pays anyway, card already out, already sliding it across the counter, already taking the bags before the cashier can offer.

"Jay—"

"It's Mother's Day."

"It's not—you don't have to—"

"What’s the harm in spoiling my queen? I know I don't have to. I want to." He says it lightly, but he's already steering you toward the door, bags in hand, one arm reaching for yours.

The second store is makeup. You don’t actually need anything, but the sight of glossy tubes lined up like candy makes you drift toward the lip section anyway.

He follows close behind, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie while you unscrew tester after tester, swiping colors onto the back of your hand until your skin looks like a paint palette.

“You’re running out of space,” he says.

“I’m conducting important research.”

“You’re smearing six shades of pink on yourself.”

“There are differences.”

He hums like he doesn’t believe you for a second, then suddenly reaches over and flips your wrist gently to inspect the chaos of colors. His brows pinch together in exaggerated concentration.

“This one’s too orange.”

“You don’t know what orange undertones are.”

“I know when it makes you look like you ate spicy noodles.”

You snort. “Oh my gosh.”

Before you can grab another tester, he holds his hand out between you both, palm up.

“Use mine.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re out of skin.” He wiggles his fingers impatiently. “C’mon, makeup artist.”

“That’s literally not sanitary, Jay, I got this.”

“You just used three testers directly from the display.”

“…fair point.”

Trying not to smile too hard, you drag a mauve shade across the back of his hand. The color looks absurdly delicate against his knuckles, and he watches with the seriousness of someone signing legal documents.

“Hm,” he murmurs. “Not the one.”

“You can’t reject it after one swatch.”

“I absolutely can. Next!”

You laugh under your breath and swipe another color beside it, then another, until his hand is covered in glossy streaks of pinks, berries, roses. He studies every single one like he’s on a judging panel.

Finally, he taps one shade with his free hand — a soft warm rose.

“That one.”

“You picked the most normal color here.”

“Because it’ll look good on you.”

“You say that with a lot of confidence for a man who used to head out in baggy hoodies and skinny jeans twenty-four seven.”

“Hey! Sweetheart, they were the thing back then. Now? I’ve left them behind. Besides, I have no distractions. My judgment is pure.”

“You’re insane.”

He closes his fingers carefully so the swatches won’t smear and looks at you completely deadpan.

“Consistently insane. There’s a difference.”

You buy the lip color. And a new setting spray. And a tiny pot of highlighter he picks up and says "this one, you always run out of this one," and he's right, you do always run out of that one, and the fact that he knows that makes your chest hurt in the best way.

The third store is jewelry. Not because you need more, but because you both see a bracelet, a simple gold chain with a single tiny disc, and he picks it up and turns to you and says, "Haneul's birthday's in three months."

"She's three. She doesn't need jewelry yet."

"Not for her. For you, of course. So you have something of hers that you wear." He pauses. "I'll get her name engraved on the disc. Or—a star, or a heart, or something. Whatever you want, sweetheart."

You stare at him.

"What?" he says.

"You’re literally going to make me flood this whole jewelry store with my tears."

"You've cried in worse places, it’ll be fine."

"That was your fault too."

He buys the bracelet. 

He tells the sales associate he'll come back for the engraving. 

Outside, on the sidewalk, he hands you all the bags and cups your face with both hands and kisses you, slow, deliberate, right there in front of the store window and a woman walking her dog and two teenagers on skateboards, and when he pulls back, you're both flushed.

"Where next?" he asks.

You're smiling so hard your face hurts. "What about… oh my gosh, the park! The one with the big willow tree."

He doesn't ask why. He just takes your hand and walks you to the car.

The park with the willows is the one you found on your first year of dating, back when he was just a sharp-suited guy with a nice car and way too many opinions about your brief writing, and you were just a lawyer who couldn't believe he'd argued a motion and won and then texted you about it like a kid with five golden stars. You'd wandered here after dinner, both of you, still buzzy from wine, and sat under the biggest willow and talked until the streetlights came on.

Nothing's changed. The willow is bigger, maybe. The pond still has the same ducks. The bench by the water has been repainted but it's in the same spot, and Jay sits down and pulls you next to him, and the shopping bags go on the ground at your feet, and his arm goes around you, and it's so exactly like that first night that you feel time fold.

“You know,” you say, “you’re annoyingly good at this.”

“At what?”

“Making me feel loved without making it a big thing.”

He smiles a little. “That’s because it isn’t a big thing.” 

He's quiet for a second, looking at the water. Then he turns to you, and his face is different — not the easy grin, not the playful certainty. Something deeper. Something he doesn't bring out often, not because he's hiding it but because it's too real for small moments.

"I think about it sometimes," he says. "The way you move through the world."

You blink. "Huh?"

"The way you—" He stops, starts again. "You argue in court like you're building a house for someone. Brick by brick. You take cases that eat you alive and you carry them anyway because somebody has to, and you come home and you're so tired you can barely keep your eyes open, but you still read Haneul two stories instead of one, and you still rock Dohyun even though he's getting too heavy for it, and you still—you still find my shirts in the laundry and fold them the way I like, even though I've never once asked you to."

Your throat is closing. You can feel it.

"I think about what it would be like if you weren't here," he says, "and I can't. I can't think about it. It doesn't compute. You're the whole structure. You're the thing everything else hangs on. And I know—I know I'm not always good at saying it, absolutely terrible even, and I know I work too much, and I know sometimes I come home and my head is still in the office—but I notice. I notice everything you do. I notice every single thing, and I don't say it enough, and today—today is just me trying to make a dent in what I owe you."

He looks at you. His eyes are steady. His voice is steady. His hand on your shoulder is gentle enough to break something.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," he says. "You and Haneul and Dohyun. The three of you. And I'm going to spend my whole life trying to be worth it."

You're crying. Full tears, silent, rolling down your cheeks, and you can't stop them, and you don't even want to. He sees it and his expression shifts — the deep thing tucks itself away, and the other Jay comes back, the one who makes you laugh, the one who knows exactly how to catch you before you fall too far.

"Okay, that's enough of that," he says softly, and thumbs the tears off your cheeks. "I wasn't trying to make you a mess. I was trying to be romantic."

"You were romantic. You are romantic, Jay. I'm just—"

"You're crying on Mother's Day. That's a violation."

"A violation of what exa—"

"Of the official Mother's Day rules. Section four, paragraph two: no tears allowed on the designated day of spoiling." He wipes another tear with the pad of his thumb. "I'm going to have to issue a citation."

You laugh. It comes out wet and messy, and he smiles, and the smile is so warm you can feel it in your bones.

"There she is," he says. "Come on. The ducks are judging you."

You look over. A duck is, in fact, looking at you from the pond with a sort of flat judgment.

"That duck has nothing to say about my emotional state."

"That duck is a living being. Therefore, that duck is capable of forming its own opinions, and he has some about you."

You lean into him, and he pulls you closer, and you sit there under the willow until the light goes amber, until the shopping bags have tipped over on the grass, until the duck loses interest and swims away.

Dinner is at the Italian place situated at the heart of the city. The one with the bad lighting and the incredible pasta and the owner who knows both of you by name because you've been coming here since before Haneul, since before the house, since before anything except the two of you and the feeling that this might be real, might be.

Jay orders your wine without asking. The carbonara. A chocolate mousse for dessert, two spoons. He eats half his rigatoni and then swaps plates with you like he always does because the carbonara is better and he knows you'll want it but won't order it for yourself.

You tell him about a case you're working on. He listens the way he always does, fully, completely, like what you're saying is the most important thing in the room, and asks questions that are smart and specific, because he's been listening to you talk about law for six years and he's learned enough to be dangerous.

He tells you about a deal that fell through. You tell him it's fine, it happens. He says it's not fine, he wanted it, and you tell him the next one will be better, and he looks at you like you've just handed him the answer to something.

The chocolate mousse comes. You eat it with two spoons. He gets cream on his lip and you wipe it off with your thumb and he catches your hand and kisses your knuckles, and the couple at the next table smiles at you both like you're something worth looking at.

The drive home is quiet.

The windows are down, just a crack, and the night air is cool on your face. 

His jacket is over your shoulders, he put it there when you got in the car, didn't ask, just draped it and adjusted the collar and turned back to the road. 

In the cup holder between you: two ice cream cups from the place you remembered your childhood friend dreamily talk about, the one that stays open late, the one you discovered when you were pregnant with Haneul and craved mint chocolate chip at eleven p.m. and he drove forty minutes to get it.

He'd driven forty minutes tonight, too. Without you asking. Because he remembers.

You lean your head against the window. The gold earrings shift against your neck. On your wrist, the new bracelet catches the streetlights as they pass, gold chain, tiny disc, blank for now but not for long. On your finger, your wedding ring. On the seat beside you, bags from four different stores. In the cup holder, ice cream. In the driver's seat, your whole entire life, one hand on the wheel and the other reaching over to rest on your knee like it belongs there.

Because it does.

"Hey," he says, not looking away from the road.

"Hey."

"Good day?"

You look at him, the line of his jaw, the henley sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the way his hair is falling after a full day of you running your hands through it, and you think about all of it. 

The eggs Haneul cracked. The pancake monster with its blueberry hair. The flowers. The earrings. The cream blouse and the sage dress and the lip color he chose for you. The bracelet with the empty disc. The bench under the willow. His voice, low and sure, saying you're the best thing that ever happened to me. The tears and the duck and the way he made you laugh exactly when you needed to. The chocolate mousse with two spoons. The jacket on your shoulders. The ice cream in the cup holder.

"Good day," you say.

He squeezes your knee. You close your eyes.

The road unspools ahead of him. The city blurs past. The car hums. And you are so full — of him, of the day, of the kind of love that doesn't just hold you up but builds the ground under your feet — that you don't think you could fit another single thing inside you.

Then he says, quiet, almost to himself, like he's checking: "More than Father's Day?"

You open your eyes. He's smiling. That smile — the one that's only for you, the one that makes you feel like you invented the sun.

"So much more than Father's Day," you say.

"Good." He looks at you, quick, then back at the road. "Because I've already got next year planned."

"You're impossible to deal with."

"A better way to word it is that I’m consistent, sweetheart, there's a—"

"Difference. I know."

He laughs. You laugh. 

Miso's going to lose her mind when you walk through the door, and Haneul is going to want to show you the crayon drawing she made at Yumi's, and Dohyun is going to reach for you the second he sees you, and tomorrow is Monday and there are briefs to file and deals to close and the whole ordinary machinery of your life waiting to start up again.

But right now, you are the most spoiled woman on the planet, and you're not even a little bit sorry about it.

⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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💿 ࿐ . . every summertime by niki

✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !