kiyu

you were resting in your self-appointed assigned seat — a large chaise in the corner of the office, adjacent to a window, bathing you in the soft warm of the winter sun -- with your feet tucked under your thighs. it was one of your favorite spots in the house, perfect for mid-day naps or for spectating as your husband play video games across the room or catching up with a good book.

your eyes flit across paragraphs of the contemporary romance on your e-reader. a funny, lighthearted, easy read for a saturday afternoon.

only a few feet away, you could hear the clicks of seungcheol's keyboard and mumbled communication with teammates. over the years of sharing a home and a life, the sounds of his gaming had become an odd comfort for you. even when he got like this, so focused that you weren’t sure if he was aware you were still in the room, you enjoyed your husband’s company.

if you looked up, you would see his back to you, angled to give you a perfect view of his monitor’s screen. he was playing another shooting game that you didn’t remember the name of. his player sprinted across the field, collecting weapons and armor while shots rang in the distance. seungcheol's fingers moved deftly across his keyboard and mouse. his target aimed and zoomed as he tried to eliminate members of the opposing team.

when a sudden grumble left your stomach, you glanced at the time. you’d been splitting your attention between reading and watching seungcheol for nearly two hours. your fur baby, a tonkinese kitten, purred in your lap while pawing at the hem of your yoga pants. her favorite pastime was falling asleep in your or seungcheol’s lap while being pet and doted on.

you hadn’t eaten since breakfast earlier in the day. seungcheol had surprised with food and a warm mug of tea when you came down to the kitchen. you ate together while sharing jokes and catching up on each other’s past week, having been too busy lately to spend time together. some days, you left for work before he’d woken up. others, you’d fallen asleep waiting for him to shower and join you for a movie.

now, in the early afternoon, your body groaned for its next meal. despite how comfortable you’d become in your chair, you knew you’d have to leave to eat again soon. you could feel a slight wave of nausea creeping up the longer you went without eating. images of lunch options flashed in your mind — hamburgers, tofu soup, fried chicken, bbibimbap.

“babe?” you called. though seungcheol’s headset was on, only one ear was covered. a few seconds later, after the sound of your voice had registered to him, he responded with a distracted grunt.

"eh?"

slowly, you pushed yourself up from your seat, sliding your feet into plush blue slippers and leaving your e-reader behind. you tiptoed across the room until your hips met the back of his gaming chair. you exhaled softly as you bent over, just enough to be able to wrap your arms around his neck and rest your chin on top of his head.

“cheollie, are you almost done with this round?” you asked softly, almost a whisper.

“it just started, but it’ll be a short round. what’s up?” his fingers never stopped clicking as his brown eyes bounced from corner to corner of his monitor.

you sighed loudly, as dramatically as you could muster. seungcheol, expecting a conversation, muted his microphone. “i’m about to perish, babe. i’m nearing complete depletion of sustenance,” you drone. seungcheol, who is very used to his wife’s hyperbolic statements, says nothing. after a few seconds with no response, you try again. “we should go out for lunch.”

“okay, love. just give me a few more minutes and i’m all yours.” promises of food and uninterrupted quality time with your husband settled warmly in your stomach, giving you a buzzing feeling. or maybe that was the hunger.

“by the time you’re finished, i’ll be ready. i’m going to go get dressed.” but you made no effort to step away from him. instead, you leaned down further and began to pepper the side of his face with wet and loud kisses.

“ngh,” he groaned before a chuckle slipped out. “baby, you’re distracting me!” he scrunched his nose and tried to shrink away from your affections. but you noticed the blush creeping across his cheeks and ears.

“and you’re distracting me,” you counter, dropping your hands to his chest then his biceps, fingertips meeting skin past the hem of his cut-off sleeves. “have you been lifting more at the gym?”

you feel him flex his muscles beneath your fingertips, entertaining your ogling, before he’s encouraging you to leave and get ready for your lunch outing. seungcheol unmuted his headset as you walked away, yelling commands that floated down the hall.

—

no less than twenty minutes later, you settle your sunglasses on your head and double-check that you’ve grabbed your phone before leaving your bedroom.

seungcheol is already waiting by the door, perched on the back of the couch. “ready?” he extends his right hand toward you, clasping his palm against yours. he pulls you to stand between his thighs and on instinct, you wrap your arms around his neck. your husband’s large hands find your waist and settle there with a familiar grip.

seungcheol leans in and places a soft kiss against your lips. you savor the warmth of his rosy lips on yours only for a moment. when you pull away, his lips chase yours, never satisfied with just one kiss. “i love you,” he mumbled, his breath mingling with your own.

“i love you, to-“ your stomach grumbled again, louder than earlier, interrupting your affections. seungcheol’s eyes shone with amusement as he barked out a laugh. quickly, he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, quieting to giggles.

“can we go now?” you roll your eyes. “since my aching hunger is so funny to you,” you tease, “a large bowl of bbibimbap is calling my name.”

“lead the way.”

✎ᝰ.

a/n 2: finally something to upload!! HAPPY COUPSIE MONTH! i got this idea back in april, watching the 260414 couplay (10/10 bday present for me) and finally took time to realize it.

if even one person enjoys this, then it was worth posting. thank you for reading ♡

you took a step out of your swimming thoughts and into the harsh reality that you had no choice but to face. coming back to your senses you looked around haechan’s room. framed posters of michael jackson on the left wall, framed certificates of haechan’s many achievements on the right. you then looked to the front of the room, blue-grey moonlight shining into the room as the only source of light. finally, you looked down at your now ex boyfriend sat next to you on this huge bed, head in your lap and practically begging you not to leave him.

“donghyuck… you don’t mean any of what you’re saying, i know you. i know you’re dramatic.” you stroked his hair, knowing that would make things worse but you couldn’t help but comfort him. it was what you knew. what you were used to.

“don’t leave me like this i won’t recover, i can’t— i won’t live without you.” haechan pleaded with everything in him. the way he felt about you was just something you; or anyone, could never understand. he barely understood it himself. you were just so perfect to him. you were everything he liked; you challenged him, you made him a better person, you supported him and you loved him in a way that no one else ever did. or ever could.

but you were tired now. having unwavering love for someone is easy to an extent. to be loved is to be seen, and yet, you felt like haechan never saw you. physically because of his work, and sometimes even mentally. he acknowledged you and knew you were there for him but it never seemed to feel like he really saw you. he just knew he had you.

“call one of your friends, drink some water, have a nap. haechan, i need to get my stuff and go home.” as gently as possible, you lifted his head off your lap, “you cant keep me here because you ‘cant live without me’ — that’s a terrible excuse, because that’s all you do.”

the sight of his glossy brown eyes staring at you was devastating, but you forced yourself to be strong. for the sake of both of you. because if you stayed in this relationship that you both knew wasn’t working or healthy, you felt that it would hurt more than separation.

“i cant be sitting around in this big apartment waiting for you to get home in the middle of the night, just so you can hold me to stay warm and get to sleep. i have needs just as much as you, and while you’re getting attention from your homoerotic friendships, i get nothing at all until you come home at 1am to spoon me. that is not a full life, i need more.”

“this is just the tour period, you know this is how it goes every time. it’s long but it never lasts forever, you know that. you have to believe that we can tough it out because we can. come on. you love me. i know you love me.”

your body heaved with a weighted sigh, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “i love you, haechi, but i also love myself and that is why i cant keep doing this. think about how you’re affected by the idea of me leaving you, that’s how i feel already. you leave to go to wherever the first show is and i’m sent into a deep loneliness for months and it’s so heavy on my soul, i cant do it anymore. if you love me, you want me to never have to feel like that again.”

“i love you… i— i love you.. but i need you, too. you ground me, you’re my everything, you’re my escape. me being gone that long hurts me too.”

you got up off his bed. “but that’s the life you chose. this isn’t the life i choose.”

haechan got up after you, tears finally falling from his eyes as he frantically begged you. “baby, baby, baby, wait. wait, baby, please. mama, talk to me. talk to me.” he grabbed onto one of your hands with both of his, holding it tight, but you pushed him off.

“no— i’m not doing this anymore i’m sorry.”

⋆

the resonance of the bass in the music rattled your body as you followed a security guard down this tiny hall. your body was shaking and you couldn’t tell of it was the loud outro music from the concert, or your heart about to beat of your chest. both you and the security guard stopped at a room that read ‘엔씨티 Dream’. this is where you would see haechan again, in person, for the first time in 3 years.

you knocked on the door and after hearing a ‘yes?’, thankfully in haechan’s voice, you pushed it open. when his eyes landed on yours, his face lit up in astonishment.

“hello…” you dragged out the ‘o’ in some weak attempt to mask your awkwardness.

the standard manners of greeting were completely lost on haechan at this current moment. he was too focused on the fact that after everything that had happened, you still came to see him perform.

“i cant believe you actually came. when i sent you the tickets i didn’t expect you to come — i was feeling emotional. renjun told me not to send them but i figured that if i sent them and you didn’t come, then it means something. but if i sent them and you did come, then that means something too.”

“you still have such a poetic way of speaking.” your eyes were wide at his analogy. “i cant believe i’m even asking you this but, how does it feel to be touring? are you like, enjoying it?”

“it’s bittersweet.. yeah. i probably shouldn’t say this but, i sometimes think of you when i’m touring,” oh. “at the times when i wonder if it’s all worth it.”

“you shouldn’t do that to yourself…”

it was out of his hands. whenever things started getting hard for him, haechan’s mind drifted towards you. whenever he felt overtired from staying up all night practicing, he thought about how he’d rather be sleeping beside you. whenever he felt overworked from his extremely saturated schedule, he thought about how happy he would be if he left that all behind for you.

“i don’t think i can help it. i meant it when i said you’re a part of me. but now i wonder if i should have been that emotional. because you being a part of me; you never really left me. … no pressure.” he laughed out that last part nervously. it was clear that he was no way near over you.

“no yeah, totally. you were really good, i meant to say. you’re so good live, i always thought that.”

haechan’s cheeks threatened to redden. “thank you…”

“it feels so weird to be backstage right now. i feel like a fan — like i know fans don’t come back here specifically, but. i don’t know. it feels different from before.”

“it does doesn’t it.”

“like, before i could come in here all comfortable and say hi to everyone but now the vibe has shifted. when i came in, staff just told me to follow them to the room and where i might have to wait for you and before that, i saw the members but no one even looked at me. what did you tell them about me hah…” you tried to laugh it off but your chest felt tight. 

“it’s funny, i didn’t tell them anything, really. after you left i uh.. i got in the shower with my clothes on. dramatic, i know,” very much so… “but then renjun came to the apartment and saw the state i was in. he knows i’m dramatic, but he knows it’s never without some reason and he knew the reason without having to ask. he made me get it together.”

you furrowed your brows. “so, you’ve never spoken to the guys about that night after all this time? how come?

“part of me feels that they don’t need to know and that it’s just something i can be more private about; i think another part of me is scared of what they’ll say. most of the guys are pretty indifferent about it, i’m assuming due to lack of knowledge. i think renjun; being as blunt and opinionated as he is, really feels for me and resents you as a result of that. i don’t need him talking about something he knows nothing about— someone he knows nothing about.”

“huh. that’s fair.” admitting this to yourself was the last thing you wanted to do, but the fact that he was still just as defensive of you as he had always been made you feel some type of way.

 “uh, how many shows do you have left?”

“this is my last one, babe. i mean— yeah.” haechan’s face scrunched up. he was embarrassed. “sorry.”

“that’s okay.” you laughed off his little slip up. “i’m happy for you, you get freedom now.”

haechan smiled coyly. “yup. i can do whatever i want.”

to haechan, this was the worst part of the touring period. one of the main times you would pop into his head. because it used to be a time he looked forward to, coming home to his big ass apartment after unpacking his stuff at the dorms, and there you would be waiting for him with a celebratory cake or a skimpy set of lingerie. depending on the vibes of the last ‘i cant wait for you to come home’ conversation.

“what do you want? to do, i mean.”

the tone of haechan’s voice lowered by maybe half an octave. he would later argue that this was unintentional but you would beg to differ. “i don’t know.. i’ll have to think of something.”

“mm.” your eyes darted away from his.

“so, where are you staying? somewhere nice?” he tilted his head at you and you squinted at him, accusingly. 

“should i even tell you that?”

“you should, i wanna know. not for any particular reason.”

figuring that telling him couldn’t hurt, you decided to give up the information. “i’m at the ramada that’s not too far from here. i’d say that’s pretty nice.”

“hmm. how many stars is that one?”

this made you laugh at him. “uh, i don’t know, is that important? it’s a super nice hotel.”

“i just think since i dragged you across the globe to come to the final concert, i should at least cover some expenses and give you the best experience. the best hotel, and you should fly home in first class.”

your head dropped forwards in laughter, almost hitting his chest. “you really are the most dramatic man I’ve ever met.”

“but isn’t it nice that i’m dramatic about you, rather than just in general?

you blinked at him with surprised smile. surprised for what reason you honestly didn’t know. 

cautiously, haechan bit his bottom lip “too far?”

“no, i think that was just about appropriate. just unexpected. i had a good time watching the show so i’ll let it slide.”

haechan wanted to roll his eyes, but he saw an in, so he took it. “yeah? you liked watching me?”

your brows came together in suspicion. why word it like that? “uh, yeah.”

“i was watching you too. did you notice?”

“at times.”

“alright well,” he started pulling pastel blue and yellow confetti out of his hair. “i’m about to be kicked out of here. i need to change and pack up. will you wait for me?”

you nodded. “sure.”

as the one staff member was in the room finishes clearing up a few things and leaves just the two of you in the room, an excuse enters haechan’s brain. “i’m just a little weird about being in here by myself. it’s just that i worry about someone coming in. but at least if you’re here when the staff aren’t, i can get changed freely.”

“sure.”

haechan’s eyes scanned your features for answers. “are you uncomfortable if i change in front of you?”

“no. are you comfortable enough to change in front of me?”

“of course. i was naked around you for years.”

you laughed softly. “hm. that’s true.”

after he got changed into a big baggy shirt and sweats while you awkwardly sat on one of the couches in the room, haechan turned to you.

“okay. lets go.”

you truly had no idea what he was talking about. but even now, you trusted him enough that you would follow him anywhere. and so you did. he wrapped you in a huge black puffer coat to hide you from the paparazzi and guided you out of the back entrance of the KSPO arena.

“you have all your belongings right? ‘cause we can’t come back here.”

“yeah.”

“okay.” he stopped with you at his car. a sleek black mercedes truck. “so, you’re coming with me?”

“i probably shouldn’t.”

“that might be true. but do you want to?”

wordlessly, you got into the car beside him and he smiled. haechan was fighting so hard to hide his excitement. but he was aware that you might feel anxious about your decision to go with him so he made an attempt to ease your mind.

“i’m not staying too far from the venue. i’m a little worried about certain people hovering around the hotel so you’re gonna have to keep wearing this big jacket and tuck your hair into this hat.” he passed you a dark navy coloured bucket hat. “make sure you tuck all of it in. or were both in trouble…”

you sighed. “i really should have just gone back to my 5 star hotel.”

“nooo. i’m excited to show you my suite. i’m not used to having my own hotel room so i’m all giddy about it. i feel you might be too.”

your brows furrowed at the connotations of his statement. who was he to be all high and mighty, thinking a hotel room would be the height of your fascination. “you don’t know that. i could be overspending and living lavish without you.”

“i don’t doubt that. but i also think that regardless of that, you could find it cool. seeing as you’re so appreciative of the little things, anyway.”

you couldn’t help but be mildly surprised with how well he knew you still. “you got me there!”

the walks from the car to check in, from check in to the elevator and from the elevator to his room were all filled with comfortable silence. you were well aware that what you were doing was unconventional but for some reason you felt weirdly at peace with following your ex boyfriend up to his hotel room. when haechan scanned his key card and let you both in, your eyes blew wide with shock. despite the fact that it didn’t obscure your view at all, you had to take off the hat he gave you to get a better look.

“holy shit, why is there so much open space? this is like a little apartment.” you ignored of haechan’s laughter. “no, i really wasn’t expecting this.”

the room was reminiscent of a small apartment with an open floorpan. the pale wooden flooring, floor to ceiling windows and 90s-style circular bed were the key accents of the room, catching your immediate attention as well as the small accent lights that lined the curtain rods. you felt as though you were the celebrity.

“i thought you’d at least pretend to be unfazed.”

“no, but this is really nice. it looks expensive, like. this is really how the other side lives… ”

haechan had given up trying to look cool at this point. he was just as excited over this big room as you were. he dropped his hands onto your shoulders and shook them a little.

“i know, i was so happy. come look at the bathroom.” taking your hand, he led you to a big room with a huge shower indented into the back wall; twin sinks to the left, and a ridiculously huge tub on the right.

“oh my god. haechan.”

“right?”

“you have a pool in your bathroom.” you turned back to him. you had to make sure he saw how shocking this was to you. just really unbelievable. he could only laugh at you. he knew he’d be right about your reaction to everything.

“god, this is beautiful.”

“mhm.” absentmindedly, he agreed with a nod as he dragged his eyes over you back profile. and if he wasn’t so careful, you would have caught him as you swiftly turned around.

“it kinda makes me wanna take a bath.” you looked at him with innocent eyes. but the two of you both knew what you were implying. it was all part of a little game the two off you used to play. you would pass off a suggestion as a casual comment. like some sort of trigger for haechan to latch onto and if he was lucky, he would get to find out what you were really asking of him. in this current moment, he just couldn’t believe it was happening.

“y-yeah? i mean, really?”

“mhm.”

“like, right now?”

you feigned an expression of consideration, bringing your forefinger to tap at your chin before responding. “yup. do you… mind?”

you started taking off the jacket he leant you and dropped it to the floor; the sound of it hitting the floor emphasising the silence that had been created between the two of you. your hands then moved to slide off your pants.

“you just gonna stand there and watch me change?” reaching to turn on the hot water, you stared haechan down as he took a few steps back to lean against the sink opposite the tub.

“if you don’t mind.” his eyes drank you in as if he was stranded in the desert. pupils blown so wide, the shade of his eyes seemed to have changed from that soft brown to a dark almost black color.

you scoffed at his bluntness, switching to letting the cold water run before pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra in a swift motion. crouching beside the tub, the water was warm against your fingertips as you tested the temperature. scanning your eyes over the selection of mini soaps the hotel provided, you turned to look behind you at haechan. “do you have any sweeter smelling soaps?”

“not since you left me, no.”

you looked off to the side. time and place… “ok. i’ll just use this,” you picked up a bottle of bath soak, very blatantly advertised towards men, “lemongrass stuff. i’m about to be smelling real good.” you poured in the liquid, swirling it around before getting inside. the sigh that left you when you let the water submerge you up to your shoulders put haechan on high alert. he felt like a sleeper agent.

he shrugged, though. he was playing it cool for you. “you always smell good, anyways.”

“i do?”

“yeah, baby.”

“thank you.”

haechan pushed himself up off of that sink and knelt down beside the tub. he reached up to run the side of his finger along the side of your face. “are you too warm?”

spring in korea was pretty hot. you were starting to wonder if you should have picked a different method of seduction. but you were stubborn. “no. i’m kinda cold actually.”

he laughed at you. “put your hair up if you’re hot.” he started playing with some of the lose strands.

you swatted his hand away and twisted your now wet and heavy hair into a bun, causing water droplets to land on your face and lashes.

“yeah, i like that.”

“it’s not for you to like.”

haechan rolled his eyes at you playfully, smile never leaving his face. “you look really beautiful right now.”

“i do?”

“yes, you’re glowing.”

shyly, you dropped your head in soft laughter. “i’m just sweaty as hell.”

“okay, but you really do look beautiful.”

you gave him an almost sad smile, “thank you.” holding his jaw with one hand. instinctively, he leaned in to peck your lips. and instinctively, you returned it.

“ah— sorry. i didn’t even think.” haechan’s face grew hot. he worried he had totally ruined the momentum of whatever the hell you two were doing at this current moment, but he couldn’t have been further off. you reached out of the tub with both hands to bring his face back to yours, splashing the first of many droplets of water onto the stone floor around him.

your chest settled in a quiet sigh as your lips moved against each other’s. haechan kissed you softly enough that you felt that if you opened your eyes, everything around you would disappear. this moment felt like a dream to you. whether it was a good dream or a bad dream, it was too soon for you to tell.

haechan was first to pull away from the kiss. you thought he was cutting it off for both of your sanity but really, he just wanted to look at you again since there was no telling if he would ever see you like this again after tonight.

you looked up at him, eyes big and glossy. “are you getting in?”

haechan stood up from where he was knelt beside you to pull his shirt over his head, “mhm.” and shortly after, taking off his sweatpants. “move over.”

your brows came together in an incredulous look pointed at haechan and his tone, but nevertheless, you moved backwards to the end of the tub, letting haechan sit down in front of you. 

“hey,” he tapped at the side of your knee that was propped up in the water. “this kinda reminds me of at my old apartment, when you’d be like ‘hm i feel like i should have a bath’” 

the fact that haechan grabbed your attention only to perform the worst impression of you he could possibly muster up. the voice was all wrong, the mannerisms were lacking…

“boy, shut up.” you flicked water up in his face and he just let out that raspy breathy laugh of his.

“or if i had a super demanding day of work,” you simpered at the fond memory.

“and we would just sit in here forever… getting all wrinkly.”

“yeah, and getting water everywhere for no reason. that used to piss me off.” you laughed with him, resting your head in your hands.

“hah, yeah…”

“cause how the fuck did it all get here? all on the bath mat and shit.”

haechan shot you an accusatory glare, silently telling you that he knows you know damn good and well how that water got there. he raised a brow at you, “want me to show you how the water got there?”

“shut up.” you laughed out. 

“no seriously, cmere i’ll show you.” he held his hand out for you and you rose to your knees in the tub, letting the water drip down your body. and despite being naked, wet and exposed in front of him; haechan’s eyes never left yours as you dipped your head down to kiss him again. his hands roamed your body slowly, with no real intention, just to confirm with himself that this was really happening to him.

you moved forward, moving your legs over his to straddle him and pressed one more peck to his lips before pulling away. the sight of him gazing up at you was intoxicating. his face was dewy as well and his hair was slightly mussed and damp. you pushed some hair out of his face as you beamed down at him.

“you’re thinking. i can literally hear it. i can hear cogs turning in there.” you tapped his forehead. 

“i’m thinking about you.”

your thumb rubbed against his cheek, “tell me.”

“i want you to turn around for me.”

this was the last thing you were expecting to hear. for multiple reasons. although you were the one to straddle him, you did not expect this little bath to led to sex — you thought heavy petting at most. and another reason; haechan never liked fucking you from behind. if you ever did that, he would have you turn you around and look at him. he was a ‘make love’ kind of guy to his core.

“really..?” you frowned slightly at him but he didn’t falter, rubbing your butt under the water for emphasis.

“yeah, baby, i wanna see you.”

‘see you.’ he said. okay. you stood back up in the water to comfortably turn your back to him. his hand slid up your wet thighs to guide your hips back down towards his. you sat down with your back to him and his dick flush against your clit. with a slow, calculated shift of his hips, he rubbed it against you, coating himself in your slick before letting you push it inside of you. 

haechan sighed quietly as you slid down on him, making it a point not to make any noise. he refused to be any more vulnerable with you than he already was at this point. talking about the tour with you was enough, showing you the room was enough, taking a bath with you was enough; he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle looking into your eyes during intimacy, just for you to have to leave again. he knew he couldn’t show his submissive vulnerability to you at this moment. he knew that would break him.

you were intentional with your movements at first. your hands braced on his thighs, you shifted your hips back and forth over him while he was inside you, partially for your own pleasure and partially to only allow minimal water to escape the tub. you, too, worked at remaining silent. the only sounds that could be heard in the room were panting and the harsh sound of the water making waves with the the way you were grinding against haechan.

“your ass is perfect…” haechan squeezed at your hip in aims to ground himself as he watched you shake your ass on him, “don’t stop doing that.”

he felt hypnotised. ideally, haechan would have you bouncing in his lap rather than grinding on him like this. he would drain all this water right now, yanking himself out of warm comfort to make that easier for you to do. but haechan found any sign of your pleasure to be pleasurable for him. his eyes seemed to follow each jiggle and twitch of your ass from the way you were making yourself feel good on him, like it was a swinging pocketwatch in front of him. your pleasure alone was enough to get him there.

“can feel you sqeezing me.” haechan leaned forward to whisper by your ear, gently pressing his hand on your pelvis. “can you feel me there?”

a whine threatened to leave your throat and he was so glad for this. he knew it wouldn’t be long for him to lose his composure too.

“haechan,” you sighed hoarsely, “i’m getting close…”

“yeah?” 

“mm.” leaning your head back over his shoulder, you locked your lips with his, starting to move up and down slowly while you let his tongue into your mouth. pleasure got the better of your stubbornness, you couldn’t bring yourself to hold back your moans anymore, fucking yourself on his dick and moaning quietly. “i think i’m gonna cum.”

haechan rubbed one of hands up down the expanse of your back as if to coax the orgasm out of you. “yeah? come on, beautiful, cum for me. feel good for me.” he moaned out, leant back and watching you get off on him. 

you tilted your head towards the ceiling to stop your welling tears from rolling down your cheeks. “h-haechannie—!”

for a few shallow thrusts, haechan’s hips met yours in languid motions slightly hindered by the force of the soapy water. after he came inside you, he rest his chin on one of your shoulders with a content hum.

“was that good for you?” his voice was quiet beside your ear. “you finished right?”

“yeah, didn’t you feel it?” you breathed out and a laugh and he laughed with you.

“yeah, i felt amazing. but you didn’t tell me how you were feeling, so how would i know?”

“i didn’t wanna talk.” you pursed your lips as your thoughts circled around in your head. you probably shouldn’t have said that. should have said ‘i didn’t wanna tell you’ or ‘you don’t need to know everything’. you had given yourself away completely now.

“because you were crying?” 

you sighed. “i wasn’t crying.”

“hey,” he grabbed your chin to comfortably turn you towards him and leaned to the side so he could see you better. “look at my face.”

haechan’s tan face was tinted a saturated pink around his cheeks and nose. this is ridiculous, you thought.

“you cried?”

this was definitely a conversation for a different time. “i guess you’re just that good.”

you laughed loudly this time. “you’re so…” finding words to describe him felt impossible sometimes. “don’t project onto me.”

he squinted at you. “you know i’m not.”

bracing your hands on the sides of the tub, you rose up off him and stood up in the tub to get out. “mhm.”

one of haechan’s hands wrapped around your calf, making you freeze in your tracks. “jesus, haechan! what if i fell?!”

“wait.” you turned back to look down at him and there he was frowning up at you in his fancy little tub. “where are you going?”

you shook his leg off and stepped out of the tub, being careful not to slip on the water both you and haechan had practically flooded the room with. treading carefully to grab one of the two robes hanging on the back of the bathroom door, you dramatically turned to look at haechan. “to bed.”

he rolled his eyes at your matter-of-fact tone before getting out himself. when he came out of the bathroom, clad in a robe matching yours, haechan found you laid limbs all spread out at centre of the big round bed. 

your generally glowy state in your little robe combined with the beds navy satin bedding made you look like a star in the night sky. haechan smiled at the thought.

“move over, please.” you turned to lay on your side and haechan came up behind you. 

“i don’t leave seoul for another two days.”

you felt movement against your hair that feels like haechan nodding. “good to know.”

“and y’know how you said you wanted me to have the best experience here?” he nodded once again, “what if i just cancelled all my plans and you show me the best parts of seoul as an idol? this is your brand.”

“i think you would have fun.”

you smiled. “think so?” he nodded. “i’ll do that then.”

that night, you sleep better than you have for years. completely content, didn’t need to get up to pee, didn’t feel fidgety, didn’t get night sweats. you were content; perfectly happy. so happy that you couldn’t possibly think of the worst thing that could happen if you woke haechan up. gently, you prodded at the side of his arm a couple of times until he cracked one eye only. it seemed as though a few seconds after he opened the one eye, he registered your appearance and a smile crept its way onto his face.

“need something?” haechan’s voice was raspy and heavy with sleep. 

“actually, yeah. your thoughts on last night?”

haechan’s smile intensified. “no notes. what about you?”

you scoffed at his ability to turn such a monumental moment into some sort of graded project. but you brought it back. “i think i wanna give you a second chance.”

haechan screwed his eyes shut out of pure joy before turning to face you fully. he had to have been dreaming. “was it something i said?”

“boy, be serious. i just feel like we’re both a little more mature now and instead of waiting around for you, i can busy myself with other things. you don’t have to be my whole life.”

haechan felt a twang in his heart at the idea of not being able to be absolutely everything to you but he understood. selfishly, as much as he wanted to be everything to you, never again did he want you to hurt as much as you did back then. “i should have made more time for you. i know that now; i can work on that now.”

“i know that’s right.” you leaned in to peck his lips and he kissed you back, smiling into it. “i’m gonna go get showered and you can take me somewhere.”

he scrunched his face up at you playfully. “you got it.”

“And then,” Jisung says, voice dipping into the dramatic register he saves exclusively for bedtime stories, “as the Princess emerged from her tower, hair long and dress beautiful, the Prince knew he loved her. And they lived happily ever after.”

Your daughter smiles, looking up at her daddy with those luminous, impossible eyes of hers. They’re wide and earnest and full of belief. Often, you can’t believe you created them—but when you glance at the man sitting beside you, the man you created her with, you suppose perfection had to come from somewhere. Jisung has always had that effect.

A sound fractures the moment: “Pfttt.”

It comes from the other bed in the room. From your son, who has the same perfect eyes, only his are narrowed now—sceptical, unimpressed, absolutely not beaming like his sisters. When you found out you were pregnant with twins, you hadn’t imagined this. Complete opposites. Girl and boy. Hot and cold. Optimistic and pessimistic. Jiah and Jaehyeon.

“That story is for wussies,” Jaehyeon declares, his lips rasping together with disdain. 

You reach over, brushing a few dark curls off his forehead. His brow is furrowed, tiny lines of seriousness etched deep, like he’s carrying the weight of the world. But he’s not, because he’s in first grade. “Oh, sweetheart,” you say gently. “What makes you say that?”

“Because it’s a princess story,” he replies, chin lifting. “It’s all about love. The prince isn’t a real superhero.”

That’s when Jiah sits straight up, undoing all of Jisung’s careful tucking. You shoot him a look—because he never tucks her in tight enough, and this is why she ends up padding into your room at night with fake nightmares at 2:00 am—but he only smiles, helplessly soft where she’s concerned.

“He is too a real superhero,” Jiah says, voice wobbling with outrage. “He’s even better than a superhero. He’s a prince.”

“He’s a wuss—”

“Jaehyeon,” Jisung cuts in. He always does this. A peacekeeper by nature. Your husband leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “Why do you think he’s a wuss?”

Jaehyeon sinks deeper into his mattress, chin still pointed stubbornly toward the ceiling. “Because he’s in love. My friend Hyunmin said only wusses fall in love.”

You feel something sink, slow and heavy, right to the pit of your stomach. The twins are in first grade now. They have opinions now. Influences you can’t intercept, words you can’t pre-approve. A reminder that the tiny, squalling bundles of joy you brought home six years ago from the hospital can’t stay clueless and sheltered forever.

You open your mouth, lining up a speech about feelings and strength and why you might be drafting a very polite email to Hyunmin’s parents—but Jisung beats you to it. 

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully. Then he glances at you, and there’s a spark there. A fond spark. A teasing and deeply married spark. It makes your lips twitch despite yourself. “Do you think I’m a wuss?” he asks. 

Jaehyeon blinks. Clearly, your very opinionated son had not considered this variable.

“No,” he says slowly. “You’re strong, Daddy.”

“Strong how?”

“You can open the pickle jars,” Jiah supplies helpfully.

“And carry Mommy when she pretends she’s too tired,” Jaehyeon adds.

You scoff. “Pretends?”

Jaehyeon’s mouth opens. Closes. He frowns. “You’re… in love?”

Jisung nods easily. “Very.”

“With Mommy?”

“Especially with Mommy.”

Your daughter gasps, delighted. “Daddy loves Mommy!”

Jaehyeon looks between the two of you, suspicion fighting with something softer. “But… if you’re strong,” he says slowly, “and you’re in love… then—”

“Then maybe Hyunmin’s wrong,” Jisung finishes gently. “Loving someone doesn’t make you weak, buddy.”

Jaehyeon’s face pinches, working through the math of it. “But,” he says slowly, carefully, like he’s stepping across stones in a river, “Mommy doesn’t wear dresses like the princesses.”

The words land softly. But they still hit. You almost growl—not at him, never at him—but at the unfairness of it. Because of course you don’t wear dresses anymore. Because someone has to clean the house and cook dinner and pack lunches and answer emails and help with homework and keep the world spinning. Because princesses in towers don’t have grocery lists taped to the fridge or coffee rings on the counter.

You’re already lining up a gentle response to your unfiltered, curious kids, who simply do not understand that things don’t happen by magic, when Jisung speaks.

“No,” he agrees easily. “She doesn’t.” 

Both kids turn to him, eyes wide. This is not what they expected. The story he just told them was simple. The Prince saw the Princess. Dress beautiful. Love immediate. End of discussion.

“But what she wears,” Jisung continues, glancing at you briefly, “isn’t why I love her.”

Their faces fall in unison. Confusion blooms. Jiah blinks. Thinks. Then brightens. “Oh! Wait. It’s because she’s pretty, isn’t it?”

Jisung smirks, just a little. “That helps, yes, baby. But still no.”

Jaehyeon interrupts, quieter now, voice losing its earlier bravado. “Then…” He hesitates. “How did you know you loved Mommy?”

Jisung doesn’t joke. Doesn’t hedge. He answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and it has heat creeping up your neck. “Because she’s my best friend.”

The silence that follows is heavy and stunned and equally just as confused as before. 

“I don’t love Hyunmin,” Jaehyeon blurts out. “I definitely don’t love Mirae,” Jiah adds, clutching her blanket.

A soft laugh leaves Jisung. He leans in, pressing a kiss to Jaehyeon’s hair, then Jiah’s forehead. “That’s okay. You’re not supposed to. You’re too little for love like that.” He straightens, smoothing their blankets. “That kind of love is for princesses and princes.” His eyes flick to you again. “And mommies and daddies.”

“One day,” he continues, tucking their blankets tighter, “you’ll get it.”

Jaehyeon’s voice is barely above a whisper now. “How will we know?”

You answer this time, smoothing your son’s hair, then your daughter’s. “It’s a feeling.”

“What feeling?” Jiah asks sleepily.

(Children and their relentless why questions. They could go on forever.)

Jisung reaches for your hand, his fingers threading through yours. He gives a gentle squeeze, his eyes settling on you like nothing else exists. “Like snow at the beach,” he says quietly.

“But it doesn’t snow on the beach,” Jiah yawns.

“Exactly,” he says. “You don’t expect it. But when it happens, you savour it.”

You say goodnight, turn off the light, and close their door—almost. You always leave it cracked enough for a soft butter-yellow glow to spill across their carpet. Lingering like you always do for a moment, you hear the gentle puff of the twins’ breathing as it slows, deepens, then settles. Proof of sleep. 

Jisung bumps his shoulder into yours, then tilts his head toward your own bedroom door. The walk is hushed, but inside your room, the ritual resumes. You kick off your socks. He peels out of his hoodie. You brush your teeth side by side, exchanging foam-mouthed looks in the mirror. It’s sweet. It’s domesticated. It’s everything you dreamed about having on that very day. 

By the time you climb into bed, the world has narrowed to cotton sheets and fluffy pillows. You and Jisung do not spoon. Never have. You face each other automatically. It’s not something you discussed—it just happened, early on, and never stopped. Foreheads close. Knees touching. Your noses brushing, nuzzling. It’s kind of your thing. 

You study his face in the dark, tracing it with your eyes the way you’ve done a thousand nights before. The gentle slope of his nose. The faint crease between his brows. You could draw this man blindfolded. Pick him out of a crowd just by the shape of his ears, the warmth of his skin. He’s unfairly beautiful in that way. 

Quietly, you ask, “Do you really remember the day you fell in love with me?”

Jisung groans immediately, rolling his eyes even though you can barely see it. “Shut up,” he says playfully, because he knows exactly what you’re doing.

You giggle, unable to help yourself, and reach up to brush a dark strand of hair off his forehead. He melts into your touch immediately, eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he murmurs. “You’re not getting a bedtime story out of me. I’ve done enough for tonight.”

You snort softly. You still can’t believe that the twins somehow escalated their nightly argument into requiring two bedtime stories. One princess. One superhero. And now that you think about it, that’s probably what triggered Jaehyeon’s dramatic rant. His story went first, so the princess story was fresh in his mind. Note for next time. 

“Fine,” you say, huffing. “Then why don’t I tell it?”

He cracks one eye open. “Tell what?”

“Why don’t I tell you how I knew you were in love with me?”

He hums thoughtfully. “I already know that one,” he decides. “How about—” a slow grin curves his mouth, “—you tell me about the time you realised you were in love with me?”

You shake your head, smiling. “They’re both the same thing, Ji.”

“Mhm. We fell simultaneously, huh?” He asks, but it’s not really a question because he already knows the answer.  

Still, you agree with a small: “We did.” 

“Go ahead then.” He shifts onto his back, arm sliding up above his head, leaving that familiar, deliberate space open for you. An invitation for you to tuck yourself beneath his arm and against his side, your cheek finding the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Tell me,” he murmurs.

You sigh, smiling into his skin, already half-dreaming.

“Well,” you begin, “one night, a few moons ago…”

BEFORE

“Are you ever too old to be emancipated from your parents?” You ask.

It’s a reasonable question. At least, to you it is. You’re certain that if everyone’s parents behaved the way yours do, this would be the kind of question that is debated in parliament. ‘Should we be able to legally disown our parents forever? No shame? Stop the stigma!’ Instead, you pose it to your best friend, Jisung, whilst perched on a damp rock on a beach in the dead of late fucking December.

Yep. That’s right. You are sitting on a beach. In December. Not just December—Christmas fucking Eve—because your parents decided that this would be the year they rented a beach house for the holidays.

And no, it’s not because it was discounted for winter. That would make sense, and your parents definitely don’t do sense. They do illogical decisions that feel vaguely targeted at you, personally. You’re one hundred per cent convinced this is punishment for something. You just don’t know what yet. Existing, probably. Or—

“Well,” Jisung says, dragging you back from your spiral, “considering you’re in your twenties, Y/N, I’d say that ship has very much sailed.”

He’s bundled up beside you in a black puffer jacket that makes him look like a burnt marshmallow. You hate that jacket. But he hates being cold. His hands are buried deep in the pockets, shoulders hunched, long legs stretched out in front of him, whilst his feet sway back and forth like restless pendulums.

You know exactly why. He specifically hates cold fingers and toes. Says it’s bad for circulation. Typical medical-student brain. Everything is a health risk.

You squint at him. “So you’re saying I’m doomed.”

“I’m saying,” he replies dryly, “that legally, emotionally, and spiritually, you belong to them forever.”

You groan and tip your head back toward the sky. It’s clouded over. The wind cuts straight through your coat, and you seriously consider marching back to the house and stealing your mother’s cashmere throw. Only that would reaffirm to her just how much you’re not her dream child. 

Jisung, unfortunately, is your parents’ dream child.

Smart. Polite. In med school. Says things like thank you for having me and actually means it. If they could have designed a human in a lab to subtly shame you, it would be him.

Which is funny, in a bleak, ironic way, because his own parents—your parents’ best friends, co-conspirators in this annual Christmas trip from hell—are so painfully… indifferent to him. Like they had kids because it was next on the checklist after career, marriage, and mortgage. Achievement unlocked: offspring.

He’s a trophy to them. Not a person.

And yet here you all are, year after year, packed into some aggressively expensive rental, pretending to be one big happy family. Matching pyjamas. Forced board games. Overcooked roasts. Smiling through gritted teeth, and dental care is not free where you live!

You glance at Jisung, who’s staring out at the ocean, expression unreadable, cheeks pink from the cold. At least you’re not alone in this mess. Even if emancipation is apparently off the table now.

“I guess I’ll have to settle for life being emotionally abusive, then. Huh?”

Jisung snorts and shakes his head. “Not life. Parents? Maybe.”

“Har-har.” You roll your eyes, then shove your hands deeper into your own jacket pockets. Beige. Warm. Cozy. Long enough to swallow your fists whole. Very not marshmallow-y, unlike a certain someone beside you. “What about your folks? Are things better since—”

“How was your flight?” He interrupts. 

You narrow your eyes at him. For several reasons. One: it hits you, suddenly, that after three days of being here, he’s the only person who’s asked. The only one who’s cared enough to check. Two: because he thinks you won’t notice the dodge. That you’ll let him off easy.

Absolutely not.

“It was awful, thanks for asking,” you say sweetly. “Now answer my question, Jisung Andrew Park.”

He laughs, a soft burst of fog in the cold air. “That is not my middle name.”

“You don’t have one. I have to work with what I’ve got,” you insist, widening your eyes at him for emphasis. Normally, you’d poke his chest to really sell the point—but there is not a universe in which you’re pulling your hands out of these pockets in this weather.

“My folks are…” He pauses, searching for the right words. He doesn’t find them, settling for: “Same as always.”

You tilt your head. “Angry that you’re not married like they were at your age and expecting a baby to unlock their next milestone—grandchildren?”

His lips press together. “How’d you guess?”

“Best friend intuition.”

He huffs a laugh, then sighs. “It’s just—” He takes a deep breath, chest rising under the puffer. “They want all these things from me, and I’ve never even had a healthy example of what that looks like. My parents… they’re complicated. They love each other, I think. But it’s not, like, soulmate love. You know?”

You snort. “Tell me about it. If there’s one person my mom hates more than me, it’s either my dad or my sister. Depends on the day.”

He glances at you. “Where is she this year?”

“Oh, she’s a much stronger soldier than me,” you say with an awkward laugh. “Broke the news at Thanksgiving that my parents could, and I quote, get fucked this Christmas. Right after they told her her choice of fiancé was ‘subpar’ whilst we were cutting the turkey.”

“Sounds like your folks.”

“Yes, well, they’re very distinct like that.”

The air lulls.

You both turn back to the sea. The waves look unreal in the cold, like something projected onto a massive movie screen. And for a second, your life feels like that too—some overblown Hollywood storyline.

‘Emotionally damaged daughter still hopelessly attached to parents who disapprove of her every major life choice. Travels thousands of miles to freeze on a beach in winter because her equally tortured best friend has a shitty relationship with his parents too, and she loves him too much to let him face it alone.’ 

Woah. 

Love. 

You blink.

You mean platonically. Obviously. That thought just… took on a romantic undertone because you were thinking about movies. And movies are contractually obligated to make everything about romance. Sex sells. That’s all it is.

Definitely.

Almost like he can read your thoughts, Jisung clears his throat and continues, picking up where he left off.

“I just…” He stares out at the dark water, jaw tight. “I don’t get why they want grandchildren from me when they don’t even like me.”

“Emotionally abusive,” you echo your earlier verdict.

He lets out a quiet breath of a laugh, and turns to you. He’s smiling.

It’s a weird thing to smile about, sure. But somehow, you’ve never felt more seen than you do right now—by this person. By this boy you’re certain you can, and have, faced everything with. Every disaster. Every family dinner from hell. Every unjolly Christmas trip. And from the way he looks back at you, you think he feels that way too.

In fact, you know he does, because he says:

“Promise me that when we have kids, we won’t be like that. Like them.”

You blink. You swallow. You do every single bodily function you can manage all at once, because you definitely heard the word we. The pronoun that refers to himself and one other person. You.

Your eyes go wide. Not metaphorically. Literally. Like saucers from another planet. You’re pretty sure if anyone walked by right now, they’d assume you were a deer in the headlights. And then—almost like the realisation hits him at the same moment it hits you—Jisung’s eyes widen too.

Time freezes. Except it doesn’t really, because the ocean keeps crashing and the wind keeps biting and the world, rude as always, refuses to pause for your emotional crisis. The space between you feels suspended. It’s telling you, if either of you breathes wrong, it’ll shatter.

Jisung looks terrified to clarify what he means. In his mind, if he says another word, if he repeats it, it’ll spook you. Jinx this. Ruin it. And so far, you’re not freaking out.

Why aren’t you freaking out? 

You should be freaking out. Any sane person would be freaking out if their best friend just casually implied a future involving shared children and a very happy, not hateful, deeply loving, domesticated marriage.

You should want to laugh it off. Or deflect. Or bury your face in your jacket. You should want to hide your smile. But you don’t. It’s pulling at your lips. And hiding it would be strangely…so dishonest. 

“I promise,” you say, quietly. “We’ll never be like them.”

Catching you by surprise (for the second time), Jisung’s mouth frays. He stares at you as if your words aren’t exactly what he just said to you, only repeated back to him. Like this is the first time he’s actually sat and conceptualised the weight of it. 

You can practically see it happen. The very same emotional spiral you’ve just been sent on. The montage. Kids. Bedtime routines. Brushing teeth with foam-covered smiles and very normal Christmas trips that break all the usual expectations. Things that should be freaking him out when in the context of his best friend, but he’s not, because he likes the sound of it. 

Well…so he should. He’s the one that fucking said it. Or maybe—maybe this thing between you is so natural, so ingrained, that it slipped out without thought. Just truth, his truth, your truth, falling out of his mouth like it had been waiting there forever.

This is it, you think. This is love.

You’ve probably always been this way. The two of you glued the label best friends on your relationship back when you were six—back when love meant sharing snacks and sitting next to each other in assemblies. You were too little to understand it then, but that doesn’t change what it was. What it’s always been.

You’re unglued now—thanks to him. Or maybe thanks to you, because your softness is what made him feel safe enough to break the ice. Like loving you was the most natural thing in the world to him it slips out unfiltered in the weirdest ways. (The mention of children.)

This isn’t one of those movies where one of you has been secretly, tragically in love while the other stayed blissfully unaware. No. You’ve both been yearning. Quietly. For years. You just didn’t have the language for it yet. 

You suppose, that’s why neither of you ever had a truly bad breakup. Why every relationship fizzled before it could burn. You can’t give your heart to someone else when it’s already belonged to the same person for so long—even if it’s been unbeknownst to both of you 

Your eyes meet, and something settles. Clicks into place.

Best friends, sure. But also—finally—this.

It’s like the universe has gone very still, holding its breath, waiting to see if you’ll notice what’s happening. Jisung’s eyes flick from one of yours to the other, then down to your mouth—slow, like he’s afraid he might scare the moment away if he does it too fast. He doesn’t. He couldn’t. Because you feel this too. That pull to look at his lips. 

You’ve never done that before, and you curse yourself because his mouth is so pretty and flushed from the cold. Pink and wet and begging to be kissed. You lean in. So does he. At the exact same time, no less.

And it’s nothing like the movies.

There’s no crash. No sharp inhale. No heat-lightning bolt down your spine. No frantic fight for dominance or clashing of tongues. It’s gentle. Almost shy. Your mouths fit together like you’ve practiced this in another life—or like your bodies have been waiting years for your brains to finally catch up to this very weird thing it just knows how to do. 

You feel him smile into the kiss, just a little, and you can’t help smiling back—because it’s absurd, really, that this is happening now. His hand finds your waist. Yours curls into the front of his puffer. (You think you might love that stupid puffer right now.)

Everything settles. Pieces click into place.

You pull back just enough to breathe, foreheads still touching, noses brushing. Jisung lets out a quiet laugh that sounds a little wrecked.

“Wow,” he whispers, like he’s talking to the universe instead of you.

You laugh too, completely breathless. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t pull away. Keeps his nose brushing against yours, like he’s afraid even an inch of distance might undo this. “You know,” he starts, “you’re the only reason I flew out here.”

Here he goes again. Saying the exact words you’ve both been circling for years.

“I thought it was because you’re my best friend and I couldn’t just abandon you,” he continues. “And that’s true. But it’s different. It’s—”

“Love?” You offer, nudging closer, your forehead resting against his. “Because that’s exactly how I feel. I could’ve stayed with my sister for Christmas, but then I thought you’d be here and I couldn’t—” You swallow. “It’s not platonic, Ji. We’re not just—”

“Friends?” He offers.

You nod against him, laughing softly, your hair brushing his forehead. “Exactly..”

His hands tighten at your waist. “I think,” he says quietly, “we’ve been in love for a long time.”

Your chest tightens in the best way.

“I think,” you whisper back, “you’re right, and we only just noticed.”

He lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like relief. “Slowest slow burn ever, huh?”

You laugh against him, against his lips. “Something like that.”

And it’s true. Because you’ve been falling in love with Park Jisung since you’ve known him—since your parents had friends over and their son showed up, freakishly tall for elementary school, tall enough to reach the cookie jar they kept away from you.

But falling in love and realising it are two very different things.

You could fall in love with him every day. You will—over and over, in all the small ways. You’re sure that even if neither of you had ever said anything, even if you’d kept pretending this was impossible, you still would’ve kept falling. Naturally. Flawlessly. Obliviously. 

But you only get to confess the first time once.

And here it is.

Your foreheads are still pressed together when something cold lands on his nose.

You blink, then snort. “Hold on,” you say, pulling back just enough to squint at him. “Is that—” A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it. “Oh my god. Look at that,” you giggle. “Snow. At the beach.”

He cross-eyes the tiny white fleck perched on the bridge of his nose, then laughs too. Another flake drifts down, slower this time, landing in your eyelashes. He lifts a hand automatically, brushing it away with his thumb. 

“How weird,” he murmurs. His thumb doesn’t retreat. It keeps moving, skimming along your cheek. His eyes soften when they meet yours. “But so fucking beautiful.”

“Weird and beautiful?” you ask. “Are you talking about me?”

The office had turned into a war zone of spreadsheets and caffeine. Quarterly season always burn people to no ashes. Calendars stacked, tempers short, everyone on edge.

Johnny, too, he looked worse than the deadlines. He had powered through an eighteen-hours day, voice already hoarse on calls, pretending the chills were just the office AC. By the time he got home he was swaying in the doorway, skin burning, eyes glassy. She took one look at him and marched him straight to bed, stripping off his suit jacket while he grumbled, “It’s just a cold, baby.”

He’d been running a fever since Saturday, though of course he refused to admit it. By Sunday evening, his fever hits 39.8 °C.

She forced medicine down his throat, spooned warm soup into him, changed the cold compress on his forehead every twenty minutes. Eventually the fever pulled him under, but even half-delirious he wouldn’t let go of her with his arms locked around her waist and face buried in her stomach. She stayed there, letting her body be the only thing keeping the shivers at bay. She fell asleep sometime past three, cheek against his burning shoulder, one leg thrown over his.

Monday morning came grey and slow. The fever had dropped to 38.2°C, which is better, but still a fever. She woke first, slipped out of bed, and padded barefoot to the kitchen to cook them breakfast. Then she showered quickly, hair still damp when she came back in one of his white dress shirts, sleeves rolled, hem brushing mid-thigh.

Johnny was half-awake when she sat on the edge of the bed. He made a low, pitiful sound and immediately latched onto her, arms around her waist, face pressing into her thigh.

“You smell so good,” he mumbled, voice wrecked while he nosed along her skin, kissing lazily, open-mouthed and needy, hands sliding under the shirt to palm her bare back. He tugged her down gently until she was half-lying beside him, letting him burrow into her neck like a needy cat, his lips doesn’t stop dragging over her collarbone, her throat, the tops of her breasts.

She let him cling for a minute, fingers combing through his messy hair. “You’re still warm. Stay home today. I’ll cancel everything.”

“No, I can manage...” The word came out stubborn even through the congestion. She let him cuddle for a good ten minutes, rubbing slow circles on his back, humming softly until his breathing evened out again. Only then did she ease away. “Shower time, handsome. I’ll be ready when you are.”

Johnny groaned but obeyed, shuffling to the bathroom while she moved to the walk-in closet. She blow-dried her hair into soft waves, did light makeup, and slipped into a fitted cotton blouse and high-waisted cut-bray jeans. By the time she fastened her watch, Johnny is already in dressed more laid back style than usual. They finished almost at the same time.

She walked out first and he followed a step behind to the kitchen and then she reheated the soup for a bit and scooped fluffy rice into his bowl. Suddenly, Johnny came up behind her, arms sliding around her waist, chin on her shoulder.

“I should be paying you higher, shouldn’t I?” he murmured against her ear.

She giggled, leaning back into him. “Why is that?”

“You’re giving me wife-level service,” he said, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Should promote you straight to wife.” One-quarter joke, three-quarters dead serious. He really, really wanted to wife her up.

She turned in his arms, spoon still in hand. “Hmm, I don’t know… is the pay raise worth the additional job description?…”

He didn’t let her finish. Midway through the kitchen he stopped her, spun her gently, and kissed her slow and deep while his hands cradles her face where his thumbs stroking her cheeks. When he pulled back his eyes were soft, fever-bright but earnest.

They sat at the dining table to eat and he managed most of the bowl while she watched. His head was still heavy, the room tilting slightly if he moved too fast, but he powered through the very last bite and willingly swallow the pills she put on his palm after he’s done eating.

After breakfast they walked hand-in-hand to the private parking garage. She reached for the driver’s keys; he tugged her back.

“Nope. Princess doesn’t drive when I’m in the car. Fever or not.”

She rolled her eyes but let him open the passenger door for her. The drive was quiet, and when they pulled into the underground lot he stole one last slow peck, murmuring “love you” against her lips before they slipped into CEO and executive-assistant masks.

They stepped out of the car together. In the elevator lobby they ran into a handful of early employees whose whispers of why they’re coming to work together before the doors even closed, accompanied by knowing glances and tiny smirks. Typical. Neither of them cared.

On their floor he pat her back once, let go, and walked toward his office while she went to her desk near his door. When she barely finished to check the shared calendar on her computer, the desk phone buzzed.

“Get in here,” Johnny’s voice came through, hoarse but unmistakably needy. “I need you for the meeting.”

And he barely lasted through the first meeting.

Now, sitting slouched a little lower than usual in his leather chair, Johnny rubbed at his temple and sighed. “Just work from here,” he said, voice rough but not truly weak. “Don’t go back to your desk. I’ll need you in every meeting today.”

She tilted her head to study him. He wasn’t that sick— just a little pale, remainings of the fever from the weekend was visible, but the way he said it sounded less like a request and more like an excuse to keep her close. Still, she only nodded. “Alright.”

She took a seat near him at the long meeting table inside his office close enough that her perfume lingered over every time she leaned in to slide him a file, then in between calls, she handed him water, slid a snack across the table, reminded him about his meds in such a caring voice that made his chest flutters. Occasionally she met his eyes to check if he needed anything. And she never lingered, never made it obvious. Perfectly professional, yet lethal.

Because every time she spoke with that razor-sharp intonation, she’s questioning half-baked analysis before the idiot even finished his sentence, Johnny felt his cock stir against the seam of his slacks.

He was already annoyed from his heavy head, sinuses throbbing, skin too warm. And now his girlfriend was sitting two feet away being unfairly clever and unfairly pretty, existing solely to make him look untouchable while simultaneously ruining him. She’d catch the flaw first, always, because today the headache and arousal seems to win over him, then silently slide him the exact annotated page that let him win the argument in three sentences.

The way she structured chaos into weapons for him alone, feeding him kills with that soft, professional smile; she looked extraordinarily sexy being his, and only his. Every flawless assist made him want to pin her to the conference table and pound into her right there, just to feel her brilliant mind shatter around him.

She was so fucking smart it literally whipped him, and it felt like sin to get hard for her when she was just innocently doing her job.

Johnny watched her in quiet awe, his supposed fever reduced to background noise because every time she spoke, her brain lit up like a firework, and it went straight to his dick.

She wasn’t just competent; she was brilliant, existing solely to make him look untouchable, and fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen. She was his perfect right hand, perched at his side in that low-cut blouse that shifted just enough to remind him how perfectly it cupped her tits, the cutbray jeans clinging to her hips every time she stood up and walking with the casual sway that’s her own.

Sapiosexuality didn’t even cover it— her intelligence was foreplay, and she was edging him in front of the entire executive team without anyone suspecting a thing.

But the second the meeting ended, the door clicking shut behind the last VP, the room finally empty, she dropped straight into his lap, thighs bracketing his hips as if the leather chair had been built for exactly this. Johnny’s hands found her waist immediately, a low chuckle rumbling out of him as he pulled her closer.

“Baby,” he rasped, voice rough with the strain of the last two hours, palms sliding down to grip her ass through those sinful jeans.

“My brilliant little weapon.” He squeezed harder, grinding her down against the ridge in his slacks.

“You have no idea how hard you get me when you’re being this smart for me.” She didn’t even blush. Just hummed, completely sidestepping the heat in his words, and pressed the cool back of her hand to his forehead.

He tried to chase her mouth, but she just kissed his cheek, then the corner of his lips, soft and maddening. Her fingers threaded through his hair, nails scraping his scalp exactly the way he liked.

“You’re warm, Johnny. Stop talking filthy and let me take care of you” She whispers, then sliding her hand down to cup his cheek, thumb stroking the stubble along his jaw with tenderness only she possessed.

Johnny whined, burying his face in her neck while his hands still kneading her ass shamelessly. “I’m warm because I’ve got a fever, my head’s pounding, and my dick’s been hard since nine-thirty because you’re so pretty and so fucking sexy and so goddamn smart at the same time.”

“Shh.” She cut him off with another kiss to his cheekbone, then his eyelid, her palms sliding under his jacket to work the knots at the base of his neck with exactly the right pressure. “Let me baby you for five more minutes.”

He melted, burying his face in her hair and letting her fuss, even as his hands refused to behave entirely. But when the soft chime of her phone reminder went off to remind them next meeting in three, she slides off his lap, blouse straightened, executive assistant mask slipping back into place.

By noon, the morning’s marathon of meetings had finally ground to a halt, Johnny leaned back in his chair, tie loosened just enough to breathe. “I’m starving,” He comments.

She was already reaching for the intercom. “Hi, could you have two Japanese bentos sent up, please? Grilled salmon, miso and rice. Thank you.”

“On its way,” She replies.

Johnny didn’t wait for the food. The second she set the receiver down he tugged her wrist to the lounge sofa anf pulls her to sit on his lap.

“Hi,” he mumbled into the silk of her blouse, nuzzling like a needy cat. “Missed you.”

“You saw me one seconds ago.”

“Still missed you.” He tilted his face up, eyes glassy with leftover fever and pure mischief. “Kiss me better.”

“You’re sick,” she laughed, trying to step back. “You’re gonna move your cold to me!”

“If you kiss me, I’ll be better and I can kiss you better,” he protested instantly, tightening his hold, which makes her snorted.

“Come on,” He puckered his heart-shaped lips in the most ridiculous pout known to man.

She lasted exactly three seconds before caving— because she never could resist those lips, low key.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she breathed, and then he was kissing her. His hands slid up under her blazer, while she braced her palms on his shoulders as he licked into her mouth like he’d been starving for her taste all morning.

He tried the dirty talk, voice low between kisses. “You looked so fucking hot being so pretty-”

She cut him off with a quick peck. “Food’s coming.”

“-I know a way to fuck you dumb tho-”

Another peck, firmer. “Behave.”

She kissed him harder, swallowing the rest of the sentence, and he groaned into her mouth, hands dropping to grip her hips. The kiss turned messy with filthy slides of tongue and little nips at her bottom lip while her fingers threads through his hair to tug just enough to make him slip a moan or two.

They were still tangled up when a soft knock sounded at the door. She jolted upright to sit beside him, leaving a polite space between them while Johnny just smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself, lips swollen and hair a little bit messy.

“Come in,” he called, voice only a little hoarse.

The secretary entered and set down the bento boxes and a thermos of hot tea in front of them, then give them sincere smile before excusing herself, “Enjoy your lunch,”

The food was perfect, their silly conversation ridiculous and warm, and by the time the boxes were empty he was laughing so hard his eyes crinkled at the corners. They talked and talked for a while until he looked a lot fresher and energized, like he could run the next four meetings blindfolded.

When they’re done eating, she teases him, just because. “Alright,” she said, “I’ll work from my desk now. You seem..” she gave him a look, “—miraculously cured.”

Johnny didn’t even pretend to hide the small grin that curved his mouth. In one smooth motion, he reached out and pulled her into a hug, chin coming to rest on the top of her head. “Stay here,” he murmured, his voice dipping into a low, boyish whine that had no place in a CEO’s tone. “I still feel terrible.”

She laughed, her voice muffled against his shirt. “Why are you such a baby?”

“Because I’m sick,” he said simply although she could practically hear the mischief behind his words.

She leaned back, looking up at him with an amused, exasperated smile. “You’re ridiculous. Come on, let’s freshen up. We have 15 minutes to was our face, brush our teeth. Four more meetings, Daddy”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t let go right away, squeezing her tighter for one last second before finally releasing her. “But you’re staying in here with me.”

She rolled her eyes but was smiling as she grabbed his hand and gestured toward the private washroom. They stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink; she’s brushing her teeth while he washed his face, and when he switched, brushing his teeth lazily, she was already holding out a towel for him, smiling. “You’re cute,” she teased.

Johnny chuckled, taking the towel from her hand, his voice low and warm. “Oh, I know.”

She laughed, but the blush that crept up her cheeks gave her away, and before she could hide it, he leaned in and kissed her cheek.

When Johnny is done drying his face with the towel, his eyes lingers on her. His fever long forgotten, replaced by a different kind of heat he has been suppressing since the morning.

He caged her against the marble sink counter, arms locking her in place, hips rolling forward so the thick bulge in his slacks pressed insistently against her. “I’ve been rock-hard all day,” he whimpers.

She bit her lip, eyes sparkling with amusement. “All day? Because your assistant is so smart?”

“Dead serious,” he rasped, shameless, crashing into her mouth. The kiss was initially soft and teasing, but quickly deepened into something hungry, his tongue slipping past her parted lips to tangle with hers in a slow, filthy french kiss that had her gasping into his mouth.

She melted against him, hands fisting his shirt as he pressed flush, grinding that aching cock against her belly so she felt every inch. His palms surged up her sides, thumbs dragging over her breasts before cupping and kneading them hard.

Johnny groaned into her mouth, thumbs already circling her nipples through the fabric. He pulled back just enough to reach for the buttons.

“Don’t!” she gasped, hands flying to cover his, cheeks flushed. “Sir-”

“Door’s locked,” he murmured against her lips, nipping the bottom one. “It’s not like we never do anything filthy here, right, Baby?”

She hesitated another heartbeat, breath hitching.

“Please, doll,” he whispered, forehead resting against hers, voice raw. “Let Daddy see them”

She gave in with a tiny, defeated nod, fingers falling away. He made quick work of the buttons, silk parting to reveal delicate white lace. He tugs the cups down to allow her breasts to spill free.

He squeezed them together, thumbs sweeping over her nipples in broad, teasing strokes until they tightened into stiff peaks, then trapped each one between thumb and forefinger— pinching hard enough to make her gasp, rolling them slow and deliberate, tugging just to watch them bounce back, flushed dark and begging.

“God, these tits,” he rasped against her mouth, voice wrecked as he kept rolling her nipples between his fingers. “Will you let Daddy fuck them again? Like how you like it? Hmm, Baby??”

She nodded submissively, eyes half-lidded and glassy with pleasure, a soft whimper escaping as she arched further into his hands, savoring the pleasure from his fingers pinching and twisting both nipples at once until she feels like her body is melting under his control.

Their kisses grew messier, wetter, tongues sliding and sucking as he devoured her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip before plunging back in, his hips grinding subtly against hers to ease the ache in his pants.

His free hand slid down to her blouse, fingers hooking into the button, ready to take this further right there on the sink.

She froze, breath catching. “Now?” The word came out small, timid, half-shocked, half-tempted.

Johnny let out a dark chuckle, forehead pressed to hers. “Hmm… would be nice if you could just kneel down for me right now,” He wasn’t exactly asking for now, but shit yeah, he was absolutely down for a tit job now if she let him, he could imagine the pounding in his head would stop the moment he painted her tits.

She bit her lip, eyes flicking to the locked door, then back to him. They’d christened this bathroom before, yes, but never in the middle of quarterly-reporting chaos. Her mind was split between the sexy offer and the next three meetings’ agendas which are flashing like neon behind her eyes.

Johnny sensed the hesitation and pushed gently, lips brushing her ear. “Come on, doll. Ten minutes.”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head, hands coming up to rest on his chest. “Not now, Daddy…”

He froze immediately, hands stilling on her but not pushing, his eyes searching hers with genuine concern. “Why?”

She bit her lip, adjusting her blouse as the haze cleared. “It’s just… my mind is completely filled with agendas and notes.”

Johnny let out a low chuckle, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before stepping back, hands dropping to his sides without a hint of pressure. If she wasn’t feeling it, that was that.

“Alright, fair enough,” he said softly, zipping his own desires away with a playful wink.

“Work first.” He grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers as they headed back to the office, his grin wicked but patient. “My smart girl.”

As they stepped out of the washroom, Johnny dropped into his chair, already freshened, although there’s still a strain in his pants, eyes following her as she moved around his office to prepare for the next meeting.

The room began to fill slowly, the quiet hum of voices mixing with the soft clicks of laptops and the shuffle of papers. Johnny greeted a few of the directors with a nod, his expression composed again, but his posture still relaxed against the chair.

Once everyone settled and the discussion began, she took her seat beside him, quietly typing away on her laptop, noting his comments and questions, and summarizing the directors’ responses until came the finance segment, the part that usually demanded his full attention.

He turned slightly toward her, voice low but clear. “You lead this one,” he said, leaning back, fingers steepled. “I don’t have the energy to talk through numbers today.”

He meant it, partly. Finance reviews always demanded double the effort, double the brainpower, and he wasn’t at his prime. He could already feel the dull ache settling behind his eyes, and the thought of missing a detail or dragging the meeting longer because he wasn’t sharp enough irritated him. So, halfway between practicality and curiosity, an idea formed: let her handle it. He knew she could cover him.

She blinked. “Me?”

He hummed in reply, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve been shadowing me long enough. Go ahead.”

In truth, he was testing her. A little cheeky experiment under the fatigue. He wanted to see how much of his world she’d absorbed without him spelling it out. He’d back her up if things turned messy, of course, but he wanted to see how far could her band stretched.

At first, she was just reading notes. But then she began asking the exact questions he would have asked— sometimes even better ones.

Johnny watched her with a faint smile, his elbow propped on the armrest, knuckles against his mouth. Every so often he added a quiet “Mmm” of agreement, but mostly, he just listened, watching her run his meeting like she’d been born to sit beside him.

He was aware of the dull ache in his head, the fever behind his eyes, but the only thing he could focus on was her.

The clarity in her voice.

The soft crease between her brows when she was thinking.

The little pause before she delivered a number, like she was weighing the consequence of each word.

God, she was good. Not loud, not showy, not trying to play his role. Just.. efficient.

He admired the way her mind worked. How she’d learned to pick things up so fast over the years, absorbing every bit of him. From the way he analyzed numbers, asked questions, dissected trends, and then shaping it into something that was entirely her own. She mirrored his perspective, yes, but she’d also grown sharp enough to challenge it, to see angles even he hadn’t considered. She was exceptionally smart.

His chest ached in a different way. Pride. Admiration. Something warmer, deeper.

When the Board Meeting was done, she moves to set up a Zoom call on the big screen, sleeves rolled just a little, hair pulled back loosely. The light from the projector bathed her in a soft glow, outlining her shape against the screen.

Johnny watched her navigate the tech with the kind of focus he loved about her— lips pressed together, brows furrowed, all business.

He didn’t even realize he’d stood up until he was already behind her, until his arms had slipped around her waist like they belonged there, palms spreading wide over the soft curve of her stomach, pulling her gently back against his chest.

“Sir?” she whispered, half-laugh, half-scold, with the big screen remote still in her right hand.

Johnny didn’t answer with words. He just buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in like oxygen he’d been missing all day, lips brushing the warm skin just below her ear. God, she is perfect.

“You’re so fucking smart,” he mumbled against her temple, pressing a slow, reverent kiss there, then another, and another, like he couldn’t stop. “So stupidly, ridiculously brilliant. Do you know that? Do you know how insane you make me?”

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating through her back into his chest, and her hand came up to cover his, thumb tracing lazy circles over his knuckles. “I’m pretty sure I did a well-done job in keeping you staying sane, Sir.”

“I’m serious,” he whined, like actually whined, tightening his arms until she was fully flush against him, her smaller frame tucked perfectly under his chin. He swayed them both side to side, just a little, like he was trying to rock the pride out of his system and into her. “You were flawless. I just sat there and couldn’t stop thinking this brilliant, gorgeous baby woman is mine.”

She tilted her head back to look up at him, eyes sparkling with that soft, fond amusement she saved only for when he got like this, big, clingy, and stupidly in love man. “Johnny…”

He dropped his forehead to hers, voice dropping to that raw, quiet register that always made her breath catch. “I’m proud of you I could burst. And also I kinda wanna bite you because how dare you be this competent and this pretty at the same time? It’s unfair. It’s rude.”

Her laugh was brighter this time, cheeks pink as she reached up to cup his jaw. “Aggression noted, Mr. Suh.”

He turned his face into her palm, kissing the center of it like a puppy, then nuzzling back into her hair. “You smell good. You feel good. You’re good. At everything. I’m keeping you forever. Non-negotiable.”

She hummed, leaning fully into him now, letting him take her weight. “Pretty sure that was already in my contract.”

“Good.” He pressed one more lingering kiss to the crown of her head, arms squeezing tight enough that she squeaked. “I couldn’t have survived today without you”

For a few long seconds they just stood there, swaying gently in the quiet office. The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, painting gold stripes across the room, and he watched the light catch in her hair like she was something holy.

She broke the silence first, soft and teasing. “You’re being really dramatic just because you have a fever”

He made a dramatically wounded noise, but his arms loosened just enough for her to spin in the circle of them, facing him now. She smoothed his lapels slowly, fingers lingering at his collar before sliding down to toy with his tie, tugging it loose one notch.

“Let’s survive the last two, yeah?” she murmured, tipping up on her toes until her lips brushed his ear. “Then… I’ll give you that titjob you begged for earlier.”

Johnny’s breath hitched; his hands dropped instantly to her ass, squeezing hard enough to lift her an inch off the ground. “Yeah?”

She nodded, nipping his jaw. He groaned, grinding his hips forward so she felt every inch straining against his slacks. “Give me more.”

Her fingers slipped lower, palming the bulge in his pants with a teasing squeeze that made his hips buck hard into her hand. “I’ll let you put the tip in again,” she whispered, stroking him through the fabric slow and torturous, thumb pressing right against the head until he leaked through his slacks. “Just the tip… bare. I promise I’ll look pretty under you, take it like a good girl.”

Johnny’s eyes went wide and glassy, like she’d just handed him the keys to paradise on a silver platter. His breath stuttered out in a ragged groan, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise because fuck, just the tip of him nestled in her pussy. He’d do anything. Literally anything.

“Promise?” he asked, voice cracking into something small and desperate and so far from CEO it was laughable, his forehead dropping to hers like he was pleading for mercy.

“Promise,” she breathed, and sealed it with a slow kiss, yet still filthy, tongue sliding deep just once before she pulled back with a wicked little bite to his lower lip.

Only then did he step back, hands trailing down her arms until their fingers tangled for one last desperate squeeze. He looked at her like she’d hung the moon, pride and adoration and a whole lot of cute, helpless aggression blazing in his eyes— because she was brilliant, she was his, and she’d just promised to let him inside her heaven in the cruelest, sweetest way possible.

Mine, he thought again, goofy smile splitting his face so wide it hurt.

And as she turned to start the call, voice shifting back to crisp, professional assistant-mode in the blink of an eye; he leaned against the desk, still half-hard and dizzy, watching her like a lovesick fool.

The last meeting dragged like molasses, but she was a goddamn masterpiece. Johnny barely spoke because every time he glanced her way, she was already three steps ahead. Her blouse had shifted just enough during one lean-over that he caught a glimpse of lace cupping her breast, and the memory of her promise— just the tip, bare, inside her makes him shiver. His cock swelled instantly, thick and insistent against his thigh, trapped under the conference table while he nodded along like a functioning human.

“Finally!” she exclaimed the second she clicked on the “Leave” option in the Zoom meeting room, she kicks off her heels with a relieved sigh that made her breasts bounce just enough to torture him further before she went to the mini fridge to have some beer she stashed away with his permission, and gulped it down like a champion. The day was over. Freedom.

“Let’s go home,” she said, grabbing her bag with a grin, already halfway to the elevator in her mind.

Johnny’s voice dropped an octave, rough with eight hours of pent-up want. “Baby, go sit on the couch. Wait for me.”

She arched a brow but obeyed, because she always did when he used that tone, sinking into the plush leather of his office couch, legs crossed demurely even as her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

He disappeared into the private washroom, door half-open. Water ran. Soap. A quick rinse of his hands, a splash of cold water on his face to keep from bending her over the desk right then and there. When he came back, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie gone, top buttons undone, he looked like a man on the edge of sanity.

He didn’t speak. Just dropped to his knees in front of her, big hands sliding up her thighs, pushing them apart until she was spread wide on the couch, feet planted on either side of his shoulders.

“Sir!” she gasped, half-shocked, half-breathless, and her cheeks flushing as the cool office air hit her skin.

“Let me have this first, babe,” he growled, voice raw.

His fingers made quick work of her button and zipper, tugging the denim down along with her lacy panties, exposing her completely. God, her delicate folds were petite and neat, clit peeking shyly from its hood, entrance so small and tight it looked untouched, beautiful.

He spat directly onto her petals, watching the saliva drip down her slit, then he dove in like a starving man. His mouth sealed over her whole pussy at once, tongue flattening to lick a long, filthy stripe from her tiny hole to her clit. She jolted, hands flying to his hair, but he pinned her thighs wider.

She caught her breath for a second, fingers tightening in his hair. “Why… why’d you suddenly want to eat me out?” she asked, shy but curious, cheeks burning.

Johnny pulled back just enough to grin against her thigh, lips glossy. “Because I spent all morning watching my pretty, brilliant doll rip apart those shitty arguments,” he rasped, giving her entrance a slow, possessive lick. “Wanted to taste the smartest girl in the building- and remind both of us who you belong to when you’re not being a genius.”

She laughed, breathless and flustered. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously good at this,” he corrected, sucking her clit lightly just to watch her eyes roll. “Admit it, baby. You like how well I eat you out.”

His lips sucking on her petals, pulling them into his mouth one by one, tugging until they slipped free with a wet pop, flushed dark and shiny. His tongue fucked into her entrance, shallow, then deep, curling to taste every inch of that virgin-tight channel.

“You like it?” he groaned between licks, voice muffled against her pussy, eyes flicking up to check her face.

“Y-Yes!” she whimpered, voice small and breathy, hips twitching under his iron grip. “So much…”

She whimpered, submissively while his hips trying to rock but held still by his tight grip. He slid two fingers in alongside his tongue slowly, stretching her open while his mouth latched onto her clit. He sucked hard, then soft, flicking the swollen bud with the tip of his tongue until her thighs shook. His free hand spread her lips wider, exposing every secret inch, and he spat again right onto her clit before chasing it with his mouth, slurping noisily, messily, like he was trying to drink her dry.

He ate her relentlessly, tongue thrusting deep, fingers scissoring to open her up, thumb rolling her clit in tight circles while his lips pulled and sucked on her petals until they were puffy and red. Every time she got close he slowed, teasing the entrance with shallow licks, blowing cool air over her clit until she whined, then diving back in twice as hard.

She was a mess above him. Head thrown back, hands fisted in his hair, taking every filthy thing he gave her like the good girl she was. No fighting, no demands, just soft, broken moans and the occasional “Daddy... please,” that only made him hungrier.

When he finally sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked hard, with his tongue flicking nonstop, two fingers now buried deep and stroking fast, her pussy clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, juices flooding his tongue as she came with a cry, thighs trembling, back arching off the couch. He lapped her through every wave, slowing down only when he knows she has become oversensitive.

“Good job, baby,” he murmured, voice hoarse and awed, pressing a soft kisses to the puffy outer lips of her pussy, still swollen and glistening from his tongue. She squirmed, oversensitive, a whimper escaping as his lips brushed her clit again, this time deliberately light and teasing. He chuckled darkly, holding her down with one massive palm splayed across her lower belly, fingers almost spanning her entire waist.

He lapped her clean with gentle strokes, gathering every trace of her release, swallowing it down with low, satisfied hum. He sucked lightly on each petal until they were pristine again and watch her shiver, then kissing it apology-soft.

He looked up then, and fuck. There she is— his terrifyingly clever girl, now utterly brainless, eyes unfocused, cheeks flushed cherry-red, and her plump lips parted in a dazed little “o.” Dumb and perfect and his.

His chest swelled with smug, possessive pride. He did that. He turned the smartest woman in the building into a puddle with just his tongue.

Johnny wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes hooded and satisfied, but his cock strained painfully against his slacks, a thick outline she couldn’t miss.

She bit her lip, voice soft and submissive, reaching for his belt. “Do you want me to suck you off?…”

“No,” he rumbled, catching her wrist gently but firmly, pulling her hand away before she could undo him. “You owe me that titjob later, baby. We’re saving this load for that.”

He crouched in front of her, voice low and teasing. “Look at you… staring at Daddy’s cock like you’re starving. Behave, doll. We’re going home.”

He helped her up gently, sliding her lace panties back up her legs, then her jeans, zipping her up with a lingering touch. He fixed her blouse, buttoning it with careful fingers, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, smoothing her blazer. By the time he was done, she looked pristine again, except for the faint flush on her cheeks.

One last kiss and he pulled away.

“Let’s go home, baby.”

They stepped out of his office together. No skinship in the hallway. A few employees still hunched over their desks looked up, bowing politely as the CEO passed. None of them suspected a thing.

The moment the elevator doors slid shut, Johnny’s arm snaked around her waist from the side, tugging her flush against him. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in as the floors ticked down.

That’s how their days ended sometimes:

filthy in locked offices,

professional under office white lights,

and lovers the second they’re in their private bubble.

Thumbs type back your response, flicking off your phone in search of the unfinished drink. Vodka burns down your throat, the unequal mixture of lemonade hard to stomach but necessary evil. A confidence boost, some would say, because the idea of what will happen in the four walls of your dorm is something venturing far from your comfort zone. The burn loosens up your normally quiet personality, bringing forth the decisive and assured version of yourself you wish showed up more regularly. You cast the thought away to polish off your drink, keycard swiped off your desk before you storm out your door, heavy footsteps resonating through the carpeted corridor in your flat. 

A few gallops down a flight of stairs take you to the main entrance of your accommodation's block door, jitters like static beneath your skin disappearing in place of stark shock sinking in your stomach at the sight before you. 

You expected to find Jaemin lingering around the courtyard, unsure where the letters of different blocks would take him. Instead he’s on the opposite side of the door, eyes flared wide at the door you almost swung in his face. Mortification should wash over you, rushed apologies falling from your lips but you can’t bring yourself to do that. Or anything really, left dumbfounded by the man before you.

When you’d first match on a dating app, you are so sure he is either 1) a catfish or 2) accidentally swiped right on yours. He's too gorgeous, pretty brown eyes with a smile that glues you to your screen, drool possibly at the scene of the crime. His profile provides a glimpse into a man that feels too good to be true, his photography skills and undying love for his cats enough for you to question if it's all for appearance. Still, you find yourself swiping yes, because really, what did you have to loss except your dignity? Only, you didn’t lose your dignity, instead gaining the light flutter in your chest every time his name lights your screen. He says he's open to a long-term relationship, but most unserious men have that on their profiles too, so soon after some pleasantries, you skew the conversation towards more flirtatious undertones. You aren't looking for anything serious, the last year of university not ideal for something so permanent and despite drowning in work, you make space for your fun too. Which explains how four days later, you’re sat at a bar with your friend, nursing a pint after submitting a shared module’s assignment, your idea of celebration being scrolling through each other’s dating profile.

“This Jaemin guy you’re talking to,” Yunjin starts, swiping through the carousel of his pictures. “What are you doing sexting him? Get him over now.”

Alarmed, your wide eyes scan the outdoor area for scandalized looks, relieved to find out its only the two of you occupying the yellow-painted picnic benches. “A little louder, yeah?”

“You should fuck him,” she says, louder - with a cocky smirk. You can only shake your head, sliding over her phone. “Seriously though, what’s the hold up?”

“I’m scared,” is what comes out your mouth first, shoulders sagging as your head sinks into your hands. “It’s been a while since I’ve…entertained. And he’s…”

“A man,” she counters. “A beautiful one, but a man nonetheless. You having him over is a privilege for him - not the other way around.”

“Well, yeah but,” you sigh, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

Your phone pings with Yunjin, your friend swiping familiarly through your phone, reading the received text. Her head shoots up, jaw on the floor.

“What?”

“He wants to meet tonight!” she huffs out amusement, manicured hand covering her open mouth. “Read it for yourself.”

She slides over your phone to you, muscles stiff in anticipation as you find the last of your texts, a simple question about plans for the day resulting in this:

Jaemin: Congrats on your submission, hope all goes well. If you’re up for it, we should celebrate together 🙂‍↕️ 

Your eyes nearly bulge out your head, lifting slowly to share your shock with Yunjin. “What the fuck?”

Her fist bangs on the table, a smile for miles. “The tricks you’re about to do on it…”

“I’m not getting on top for no one,” you yelp, scanning over the message in case it disappears. “What the actual fuck?”

“Don’t care. I’m calling you Simone Biles because you will be doing tricks on it,” she laughs, your eyes rolling automatically. “Answer him!”

“And say what? I’m out with you!”

Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Pleaseeee. Do not use me as an excuse for being scared to meet the guy.”

It’s an exaggeration really, being scared to meet Jaemin or any hook-up, but it still generates the background hum of anxiety every time the idea looms. 

“I’m not that scared,” you stress, weighing out your options. “And I don’t have any lectures tomorrow…”

“Exactly! I say, treat yourself. We’ve been hauled up in the library for a good week, the least you could do is treat yourself to a good view,” she winks over the table, giving her your side profile to hide your coy smile. “We finish these, I get us some shots and then you go meet him. Yeah?”

“My room isn’t very clean. I need to shower too,”

“I’ll come clean it while you shower.”

“What if it’s awkward?”

“Stick on a show before he comes in, so you’re not forced to talk. I don’t think what you say will deter him anyways,”

“What if it’s not good?”

“You uber to mine, we drink wine and laugh about it like we always do,” Yunjin reaches over the table, hands holding yours, reassurance in her steady grip. “Honestly, don’t sweat it. If you’re not up for it, then you don’t have to say yes. We can sit here longer and go watch Magic Mike at mine. Either way, you’ll be fine.” 

And you’ve always been fine. Whether your hookup buried you in the sheets or left you in pure shock with his five minute thrusts, it was all fun, a learning experience that works to serve you. A service you’d maybe gone too long without.

“What should I say?” You bite back your grin, the same one on Yunjin’s face as you lean into each other, fretting over an answer that changes the course of your night’s actions.

It’s a bit of a blur - how you go from awkwardly greeting Jaemin at your block door to this - him laid out on your bed, hand behind his head with the other on your inner thigh. Sitting on your knees, you’re looking at him with pleading eyes, wishing he’d inch his hand up just a bit more with no more indication.

Music plays from your computer nearby, slow steady beats only adding to the sluggish tick of time, Jaemin’s gaze never having left yours as he asks. “What was your assignment on?”

“I don’t know,” is your honest answer. The topic is up in your brain somewhere, long forgotten as your eyes flutter down to his hand, watching his thumb caresses the exposed skin, hand under your dress. The mere visual makes your head spin. “It’s hard to think with…”

“My hand on your thigh?” Jaemin asks, no falter in his expression. You turn your head, growing heat settling beneath the apples of your cheeks. “Does it bother you?’

You cast him a look out the corner of your eye, daring to give him more of your face with eyes avoiding his. “I wouldn’t say bother...”

“Oh come on, pretty,” the nickname rolls off his tongue so easy, so sweet in your ears as his grip firms against your thigh, a squeeze enough to make your eyes meet. “Use your big girl words. Do you want me to take my hand off?”

“No.”

“Good. We’re getting somewhere,” his simper is pure satisfaction, but twists something dark in you, your throat bobbing before he speaks again. “Where do you want me to move it?”

That answer takes longer, mouth open to answer but nothing comes out. Not until your hand places ontop of his, shaking over his as your voice dwindles to a whisper. “Here?”

Your dress hikes upwards slightly, guiding his hand as he cups your cunt, the weight of his hand enough to pull a quiet whimper from you.

“Shit,” his eyes darken, his earlier nonchalance disappearing into the night. “You’re soaked through, baby. Is that all for me?”

Teeth make a home in your bottom lip, hips having a mind of their own as they grind up into his hand, a relieved exhale pushing out your chest. Not what you need, but enough to pick apart the growing tension building from within.

“Answer me, pretty.”

“Yes, Jaemin.” his name comes out in waves, your clit catching enough friction between his hand and your lace underwear to make you leak more. “It’s all for you. Been thinking of you so much.”

He adjusts himself on your bed, the outline of his cock making itself known through his straining trousers. You let your eyes linger longer than what's considered polite. 

“Yeah? What about?”

You mewl, his thumb finding your clit. The rub through your underwear feels so good, but it's not enough. What you want is on the other side of your pride, swallowed whole as you utter your next words.

“You inside me. Stretching me…out.”

Hot humiliation runs to wash over you, only to be replaced with a cold shudder down your back at Jaemin’s reply. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you doll? Me following through with my promises?”

The raunchy texts he’s sent over the course of three days, scenarios of you bent over, taking him as he bullies his cock in you again and again. It fills you with sickening lust, hips moving in tandem with his hand, seeking more and more.

“I’ll do just that. Stretch you out because you’re my good girl,” he groans, shifting up higher against your wall of pillows. “Give me a kiss and I’ll make it all happen.”

In the lull of one song and another, your lips find his, moving together at a slow and tortured pace. It renders you helpless, moaning into his mouth as his hand remains between your trembling thighs, the brush of his teeth against your bottom lip drawing out sounds that make you blush.

You don’t recognise yourself, time passing by in fragments, oxygen depleting with every kiss. Before you know it, your thighs straddle Jaemin, him doused in hues of purple as he stares up at you with waning restraint, your dress hiked up all the way to your hips, nothing left to the imagination. 

“Fuck,” he lets out, shifting with you in his lap. “Are you sure…about this?”

More sure than you’ve felt in a long while. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

It’s all the confirmation he needs, intimate kisses traded in the course of discarded clothes, items clattering to the floor as your bodies seek each other, the duvet cover cold against your naked back. Jaemin hovers over you, toned chest under the caress of your wandering hands, rolling on a condom before his tip traces your entrance, body folding into itself.

The teasing doesn’t last long before he’s pushing inside you, a sting of resistance burning your lower half in mild discomfort. In spite of the nerves that have you on high alert, you manage to navigate deep breaths into the reach of him, slick dripping down between the fold of your thighs, down to tainted sheets. 

His hand quickly finds your clit, working you open with circular motions, the blend of stinging joy opening up something new and addictive, the feeling of him going further and further in you emptying all anxious thoughts that may have lingered.

“Oh?” Jaemin can’t hide his delight as his hand falls over the slight bulge in your stomach, quivering under his weight. “Can you feel it, princess? How deep I am?”

“S-so deep. Want-”

“Wanna take more?” he asks, temptation in the curve of his lips.

A coy nod is all you give, watching through a hazy lens as Jaemin moves your legs to his shoulders, the angle pushing a wheezed gasp out your chest. 

You’re so full, fuller than you’ve ever experienced, the low hang on your jaw egging the cocky smirk on Jaemin’s face above you. Your walls mould to the shape of him, stressed by his size but welcoming him moments later, a steady motion building as he starts to rut his hips into you.

Submerged in bliss, your brain struggles to form words, reduced to watching as Jaemin’s gold cross necklace swings back and forth between the dip of his collarbones, his breaths laboured and moans plentiful.

“Can’t speak, doll face? Feel too good?” His tone is all mockery, but you’re buying into it, nodding with whines that can’t contain themselves. “Me too, pretty. Squeezing me so good, fuck.”

The aged bedframe creaks under the weight of his thrusts, cunt sounding off all your walls at the relentless pounding he gives you, a familiar heat brewing in your belly. 

“I don’t know what’s better: your moans or the fact that this bed’s about to break,” he has the audacity to laugh in your face, lips chasing yours in a searing kiss you give back half-heartedly, too far gone to commit. “Can’t imagine what your neighbours are thinking now.”

You mewl into his mouth, sharing short breaths as you tighten at the thought. He feels how much you like the idea, smiling against your lips in an action that twists something so deep in you, nails flying to seek refuge in his back.

“That’s it. I’ve got you, baby. Gonna take good care of you - promise.” is something he mumbles between the two of you, ears ringing as the pleasure blooms in all cells of your body. 

“Never felt-” your voice scratches out, brain a puddle between your ears. “So good.”

“Me neither, baby,” Jaemin heaves, the dare of his eyes staring into yours pressing your lips together in a muffled whine, your cunt clamping down on him once again. “Wanna fuck you all day, every day.”

The thought floats between the two of you, mixed in with guttural groans and skin-to-skin contact, a possibility cast aside momentarily at the draw of your eyebrows, a request from your lips having Jaemin pull out, his grip bruising against your hips as you give him your back, his cock easing back into you from behind with less burn, but more pleasure. Your eyes roll to the back of your head before your brain can prepare for anything, arms buckling from holding yourself upright as he fills you again, stretching you out with a tamed simmer, sensation travelling from your curled toes to your gaping mouth whisperinghis praises. 

The feel of each other pours ecstasy out your mouths, room filling with starved sex sounds as Jaemin lets himself go, thrusting into you with purpose. He knocks every spot that makes you unsteady, the collapse of your body inevitable as he moves away from messy grinds to powerful thrusts. Desperate hands search for security in the form of pillows your face buries in, nails pulling at their covers as your body shakes under Jaemin’s touch, a lone fingertip traveling down from your nape down to your hips, hands securing themselves there to better bully his cock in you. 

 “Like when I pound you from behind, huh? When I tell you what you do to me,” Jaemin prompts, a string of yeses pulled out from you. “I know you do, angel.”

You turn your head to the side, squirming in his hold. “I-I can’t.”

“You can. You will, baby,” he replies, so assured that you have no choice but to believe him. “Look at you taking all of me. Come on, pretty thing - touch your clit for me.” 

Bewitched, your arm stretches out beneath you, fingers collecting the mess between your thighs before you rub yourself with the little strength you have left, hips stuttering at the sheer gravity of your experience. Your lungs are hard pressed for oxygen, the nudge of Jaemin’s cock hitting corners that make your body tick like a timebomb, cunt working itself open to accept more and more, the drag of him filling you beyond compare.

You’re close, frustration co-existing with pleasure at the thought of this being over so soon, body overwhelmed, stomach in tatters as he re-arranges it for you, spilling drool and drawn out moans from you. Jaemin presses against your back, hot like a brand with lips hovering over the shell of your ear, hand on the bulge in your stomach.

“What, princess?” He coos from above you, tender yet knowing. “Is that where I am?”

You choke back a sob, unraveling with the slow tears trailing down your cheeks. Pressure engulfs you, body no longer yours as you take everything Jaemin gives you, the rhythm of his thrusts and the drag of his cock too much to bear.

You practically hear the smile in his voice when he says, “so pretty when you cry, doll face.”

Close like this, his tongue runs where your tears roll off, from your chin up to your lashes, the satisfied hum against your back the thing that undoes it all. You shatter to pieces, the bunched-feathers of your pillows absorbing your cries as your body detonates. 

A few shallow thrusts are all Jaemin gives before he stills in you, filing the condom with a deep groan that awards him a weak clench. Swimming in your blurred thoughts, your scorching skin receives a single kiss between your shoulders, Jaemin’s voice muffled in the distortion of your hearing.

“Did so good, princess. So perfect for me."

It’s praise that sticks with you, along with other events of the night. It cements itself as the start of something new, your relationship changing from late night calls to something more permanent, his smile like sunshine as he watches you cross the gymnasium stage, cap and gown on as you leave behind good memories in search for more. 

the members played rock, paper, and scissors to decide whose place they were going to celebrate, and jeno lost. he tried to protest, insisting the game was rigged and that they needed to play again, but the members fired back, insisting it was fair and square. in the end, he still had no choice but to host.

actually, they invited you, too, but you politely declined. you weren’t feeling like going out tonight, so you decided to stay behind at the apartment and watch some movies on the couch while you wait for your boyfriend to come home.

by 2AM, you didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep on the couch, the movie still playing quietly in the background. you only woke up when your phone started ringing on the coffee table.

“hi, sorry—we’re bringing your boyfriend home. he’s… very drunk,” jaemin said, glancing at your drunk boyfriend.

you heard jeno from the background, “he won’t stop singing!”

and you could hear it clearly, “LOOK AT THE STARSSS—”

jaemin sighed, “yes, that’s him.”

you laughed and thanked them before hanging up. then you stood up, tidying the living room. you start gathering the empty snack bowl and wrappers from your movie and tossed them into the trash.

when the guys arrived, they practically carried him inside. the moment jisung saw you, he perked up like a wilted plant that just got watered.

“baby,” he breathed, stumbling toward you as if you were gravity itself. “i missed you so much… you’re so pretty… why are you so pretty?”

jeno snorted, “he’s your problem now.”

“good luck!” jaemin called as the door shut behind them.

jisung immediately latched onto you, arms tight around your waist, face buried in your shoulder. his body was warm, heavy, and completely pliant like he had no bones left.

“i missed you,” he murmured. “like… every second. did you miss me? say yes. please say yes.”

you laughed softly, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. “of course, i missed you, silly.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, glassy-eyed, cheeks flushed, and then, without warning, he started singing again.

“look at the stars… look how they shine for you…”

you cupped his face gently, “why that song?”

he blinked slowly, eyes soft. “because… you make everything brighter. i think we’re like a binary star orbiting each other.”

you snorted, amused. “okay, philosopher. sit down.”

you guided him to the couch before heading to the kitchen to make a light hangover soup.

you heard him shuffle behind you.

“baby?”

you turned. he was leaning on the counter, swaying.

“do you still love me even if i get drunk like this?”

you stepped closer, brushing his hair back. “of course, i do.”

he brightened instantly. “good. ’cause i love you a lot. like A LOT—”

then he reached for the pot to “help,” almost knocking it over. the pot wobbled at the edge of the stove, and a small splash of soup threatened to spill. you reacted instantly, adjusting the pot so it sat securely on the stove.

“i’m sorry—” he whispered.

“hey, it’s okay. nothing happened.”

he blinked up at you, “you’re not mad?”

“not even a little,” you said, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss on the corner of his lips.

he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, murmuring softly, “can you kiss me again?”

you smiled, “come here.”

and you kissed him—slow, warm, the kind that steadies dizzy steps, quiets his rambling thoughts, and tucks every stray worry behind his sleepy eyes. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as if he could melt into your chest forever.

after finishing the bowl of hangover soup that you made and helping him wash up, he finally curled against you on the bed, humming the chorus of yellow softly. you brushed your fingers through his hair, humming along quietly.

“you’re my yellow,” he whispered, barely audible.

you pressed your lips to his hair, inhaling the faint scent of shampoo and him, letting the quiet night seep into the room like a soft blanket.

She met Johnny during her internship at his company. She was assigned to the executive communications team, which meant working directly with him, the CEO. From the start, she stood out.

Johnny wasn’t the type to pay much attention to interns because why should he? they came and went too fast to matter. But her? Fucking hell, it was hard not to notice her. Make up clean, clothes fitted, perfume subtle but lingers. She was gorgeous, yes, but that wasn’t what hooked him. It was the way she carried herself: polite but assertive, and never the kind to fumble when things got complicated.

He started to pay closer attention. At first, he told himself it was just curiosity because he had a tendency to be drawn to intelligent woman— yes, he’s a sapiosexual. So if she turned out to be just another pretty face, he’d make sure she got reassigned to another department. But if she was smart, capable, someone who actually matched his pace, then it’d be trouble for her to not do unethical things to her.

And it was.

She kept exceeding his expectations. Every project he threw her way was handled with precision. She worked seamlessly with his team, always eager to learn and contribute, earned everyone’s respect, and made his office run smoother without even trying. Watching her in action, he realized she wasn’t just efficient in her work but she was instinctively good at reading people and adapting to them.

He’d been surrounded by professionals his whole career, people in all kinds of “fonts”, but she was a rare balance of competence and composure. The kind of person who got things done without making a show of it.

He found himself giving her more work, just to see where her limits were. But every single time, she impressed him more.

He wasn’t blind to how that made him feel. Johnny was a man with both high intelligence and balanced emotional control he prided himself on it. So watching her felt like watching a reflection of everything he valued in himself, just in someone younger, fresher, and prettier.

And when she’d walk into his office, perfectly put together, that soft fucking perfume of her signature trailing in, smiling as she handed him a finished report— he thanked God he still had enough rationality not to pound into her right there.

One afternoon, he said casually, “Come with me to the conference in Birmingham. You’ll learn a lot.”

She smiled, a little apologetic. “I’m sorry, Sir, but my internship ends this week. I’m really grateful for the opportunity, but I’ll have to decline.”

“That’s bad,” he muttered, leaning back.

She hesitated, then added quickly, “I’d still be happy to help prepare the materials for your presentation, though.”

He nodded, masking his disappointment, but inside, gears were turning. He liked having her around and Johnny didn’t want her to walk away. He wanted to keep her as an employee, as something closer, something he could justify.

While having his lunch, he thinks a way to tie her, and when he got the idea, he called her into his office one afternoon.

“I have an offer for you,” he said.

She blinked. “A job offer?”

“Something like that.” He leaned back in his chair.

He told her the offer. A sponsorship agreement, he called it. He’d pay her tuition, buy her clothes, shoes, bags, jewelry, cover her travel and entertainment— everything she could possibly want. In return, all she had to do was be grateful, look pretty, keep her grades up, graduate, and later come work for him.

She blinked at the papers in front of her and asked, “So… it’s like a sugar daddy, sugar baby thing?”

He smirked. “To put it simply, yes.”

What in the world is this? She never imagined her respectable CEO, would offer her something like that. She didn’t even think she had the “material” to be someone’s sugar baby. She wasn’t seductive or flirty, not the type to flaunt herself. Sure, she thought she was pretty, but not the kind that turned heads in that way. The whole thing made her wonder what exactly he saw in her that made him confident enough to propose something like this.

Well, to be fair, Johnny was a successful, well-known figure in the industry, maybe nine years older than her, but looked like he was still in his late twenties. He’s handsome and charismatic. It wasn’t hard to imagine how easily other women might have said yes.

For a split second, she imagines what it would even look like, being with him like that. But she pushed the thought away. She didn’t want to be part of that kind of transactional relationship. She frowned and went quiet for a moment. “I’m not sleeping with you, if that’s what this is.”

He leaned back, curious. “Why?”

“I’m a virgin,” She said plainly. No embarrassment, no attempt to soften it. Just the truth.

That caught him off guard, but he recovered quickly.  Most men would laugh or move on, but Johnny wasn’t most men. He was already too taken with her rare mix of purity and confidence. 

So he said, “Then we’ll put a no-sex clause in the contract.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said easily. “You just can’t take another job offer. You’ll be working for me after graduation.”

She stared at him, trying to make sense of it. This man is generous, she thought. He was practically offering her a safety net for the rest of her academic life, and now, a strictly no-sex clause? It sounded less like an arrangement and more like charity.

Her suspicion got the better of her, and so she narrowed her eyes. “Do I have to call you daddy?”

She meant it half-jokingly, half-accusingly. Something about the whole setup screamed daddy complex, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d already had a few young women calling him that. If that was part of the deal, she was ready to walk. away. No way she’ll submit to that.

His grin was slow and amused by her cheekiness. “It would be nice. But no, you don’t.”

Thank God, she thought.

She thought about the money, the stability, the opportunity, and only God knows if it was because of her innocence or boldness, she said yes.

He kept every promise. Her tuition was paid in full. Her apartment was upgraded to something safer, quieter, with rent covered a year in advance. He sent her designer bags for her birthdays, paid for her study trips abroad, and never questioned the price tags of her textbooks or the cost of her hobbies.

Johnny didn’t just fund her life; he made sure she felt taken care of. When her classes ran late, he sent a car to wait outside campus, and even drive her himself if he had the time. When she had fun dinner and drink with her friends, he was the one to pick her up and get her home safely. It wasn’t just about money; Johnny actually pays attention to her.

He’d check in, sometimes he’d take her out for dinner after her long day, just simple meals where he’d listen to her stories and ask about her professors. He didn’t talk much about himself, but when he did, it was in a way that made her feel trusted, like she was part of his inner circle.

It tiptoed on the edge between a ceo mentoring a bright student and a man doting on his sugar baby. There were moments she felt like his favorite project, other times like his doll.

One day, she realized that he liked seeing traces of his choices on her— the bag he’d picked out, the necklace he’d insisted she wear, the set of clothes he bought her. Everything she wears, she uses, was his choice for her, and every time, he would say, "My pretty doll."

The first time he called her that, she froze, but not because it was inappropriate, but because of how gently he said it. Like she was something fragile and cherished, not owned. From then on, he used it only when they were alone, in that same careful tone. My pretty doll. And every time he said it, her heart fluttered before she could stop it.

When he was near her school or apartment for work, he’d text her to meet him for coffee. She always said yes. Their meetups had become easy and comfortable enough that she could tease him without worrying it would cross a line.

Like when they met at a small café near her campus, she was halfway through her iced latte when he noticed.

“You’re not wearing it,” he said, eyes flicking to her neck.

She blinked. “Wearing what?”

“The necklace I sent you last night,” he said, leaning back in his seat. His tone was light, but there was something pointed underneath.

She winced, realizing instantly what he meant. “Oh, that. I’m sorry, I wasn’t home last night. I stayed over at my friend’s place to finish a group project.”

“That’s not an excuse,” he said, stirring his coffee slowly. “You should’ve texted me that you weren’t going home. What if something happened?”

“Johnny, I was literally in my friend’s. Nothing happened,” she said, laughing a little.

He didn’t. “You still should’ve let me know.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “You sound like my dad right now.”

He gave her a sharp look. “Don’t start.”

She smirked, leaning forward on her elbows. “Sorry, daddy.” She felt the air had changed, and when she looked back at him, he was already facing forward again, jaw tight, expression unreadable.

“Don’t call me that,” He held her gaze for a beat too long, then exhaled and looked away, a wry smirk tugging at his mouth. “Never mind. Just… don’t test me like that.”

The tension eased after that, drifting back into casual conversation, but part of her couldn’t stop thinking about how just a single word had knocked his composure off balance. And how much she liked knowing she could.

Or the other time when he helped her with something small, like carrying her bag, adjusting her scarf, or holding the car door open.

“Thanks, daddy,” she’d say with a grin, her voice light, teasing.

He’d always roll his eyes or sigh, muttering, “You’re going to get yourself in trouble one day.”

But his tone wasn’t sharp anymore. It was low, almost quiet. Her grin widened. “What? You don’t like it?”

He looked away, exhaling slowly, his hand coming up to rub the bridge of his nose like he was trying to hide a smile. "You’re lucky I’m still being rational.”

She kept thinking about it later— the way his voice had dropped, that look in his eyes when he said it. She’d managed to throw him off balance again, and she liked that more than she wanted to admit.

As her final semester began, Johnny’s involvement in her life deepened. He became her quiet support system. When she started writing her final paper, he made sure she had everything she needed.

Her fridge was always stocked. Someone came by twice a week to cook for her. He hired a driver so she wouldn’t have to worry about commuting or coming home late. Every time she tried to thank him, he brushed it off with a simple, “Focus on graduating. That’s your job.”

When she walked across the stage to receive her diploma with a summa cum laude honor, she caught sight of him sitting quietly in the audience. Johnny had a way of blending in, but to her, he stood out more than anyone else. A rush of warmth hit her. He actually came.

She’d known he was always busy, but seeing him there, looking proud, made something tighten in her chest. This man, practically a stranger when they met, had supported her through everything, quietly shaping the years that led her here. And now he was clapping for her.

After the ceremony, he took her out to dinner. It wasn’t a crowded, showy restaurant, just a quiet, elegant place with soft lighting and a private corner booth. He ordered for both of them, knowing exactly what she liked by now.

When dessert came, he slid a small velvet box across the table. Inside was a white gold tennis bracelet, understated, elegant. “A graduation gift,” he said simply. Then came a leather-bound planner, a custom pen, and a key card to her new office.

“Johnny…” she started, but he just smiled and waved it off. “No speeches. Just promise me you’ll keep making me look smart for hiring you.”

Her first day at his office felt like coming home to a place she’d never been before. Everyone already seemed to know who she was from her intern days and, more scandalously, the new executive assistant the CEO personally picked. She could feel their curiosity, their whispers, but she ignored them.

By midday, Johnny called her into his office.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. He was at his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, that usual look of control written all over him.

“Sit,” he said, nodding toward the chair across from him.

He walked her through her new role, but as the conversation went on, his tone shifted, quietening into something only she ever heard from him. “You’ll be my right hand,” he said. “Everything that comes to me goes through you first. You handle it, filter it, and fix it if needed before you hand them to me. I trust you not to make stupid mistakes.”

He paused, his lips curling into a faint smirk, his eyes glinting with something more personal. “And, off the record— look pretty for me. Just for my eyes, baby. It helps me get through the day.”

His voice dropped lower, a teasing edge to it as he leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Dress up nice, wear that perfume I like, keep being my pretty little doll, okay?”

She blushed, her cheeks warming under his gaze, her fingers twisting in her lap as she nodded, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll try, Sir,” she murmured, her voice soft, a mix of nerves and flattered warmth.

“Good girl,” he said, his smirk widening, his tone dipping into that possessive warmth that made her stomach flutter. “And make time for me off-hours, yeah? I need my pretty doll to make everything better.” He leaned forward again, his elbows on the desk, his eyes roaming her face like he was already imagining it. “You do that for me, and I’ll make sure you’re always taken care of, in and out of this office.”

She quickly became his right hand. Everything that went to him first passed through her. She handled his correspondence, his meetings, his schedule, all with the same calm precision she’d shown a year ago. His team learned fast: if you wanted something done for the CEO, you went through her, no exceptions. Her desk became the gate to Johnny, her sharp mind filtering and organizing his world with a quiet competence that earned her respect across the office.

A year has passed, and they spent nearly every day together, their dynamic evolving beyond the professional. Somewhere between board meetings, late-night travel planning, and every usual business. Johnny began giving her subtle authority, trusting her with decisions others couldn’t touch. When a senior manager once tried to bypass her to schedule a meeting directly with him, Johnny shut it down with a curt, “Talk to her first. She handles my calendar.” Yet, when she rearranged his entire week to accommodate an urgent client pitch, he just grinned, signing off on her changes without a second glance. “Whatever you think’s best, sweetheart,” he’d say, his voice low, a private smile in his eyes that no one else got.

It showed in small ways. When she got accused in a meeting of mishandling a report that wasn’t even her responsibility, he didn’t let it slide. “She works for me, not to clean up your mess,” he said firmly, shutting down the conversation in seconds. Everyone understood the unspoken rule, that she was untouchable.

He’d let her interrupt his calls to bring him files, her soft knock earning an immediate “Come in,” while others would have to drop their files and inform their arrivals in the secretary’s desk. It wasn’t favoritism in a way that bred resentment— the office wasn’t toxic, and Johnny ran a tight but fair ship, but it was clear to everyone she was different to him, his trust in her is absolute.

She remained a sweetheart, though, her warmth making her a favorite among the team. She’d chat with colleagues over coffee breaks, share her snacks during late-night work sessions, and offer a kind smile to anyone stressed out, her gentle nature disarming even the most cynical staffers. They adored her, not just for her competence but for her genuine care, always quick to help or listen. Yet, Johnny’s special treatment didn’t go unnoticed— how his eyes lingered when she spoke, or how he’d let her sit in on high-level meetings, valuing her input where others were rarely invited.

She also had access no one else did. When they traveled, she got upgraded suites next to his complete with room service he’d order for her without asking. When other staff has to take company’s car, he insisted on driving her himself. At the office, she’d find her favorite snacks stocked in the break room, a quiet nod to his attention to her tastes. 

He justified it easily. She was recruited to make his life easier, and she did that perfectly. But deep down, he knew it was more than convenience. He just couldn’t stop spoiling her.

At some point, stopped seeing her as the girl he sponsored— and started seeing her as the woman he wanted. And to her surprise, she seemed like she wanted him too.

One evening, after a long day of meetings, Johnny was leaning back in his chair, tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up, watching her as she organized a stack of files on his desk. He’d been dropping hints of his feelings all day— subtle, romantic ones, like brushing her hand when passing her a pen, or murmuring, “Thanks, doll,” with a warmth that wasn’t just professional. She always responded with a shy smile, keeping her cards close, not rejecting him but not fully opening up, though her eyes sparkled with something that told him she enjoyed the shift.

As she straightened the last file, Johnny said, something out of raw admiration. “I don’t know how you do it— keeping me in line, get shits done and be so pretty for me all the time.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Sir,” she said, her voice quiet but steady, a playful lilt creeping in that was new, bolder than she’d ever been with him.

“I mean, you make it pretty easy to want to stick around, always looking at me like I’m… I don’t know, special or something.” Her eyes flicked to his, holding his gaze for a moment longer than usual, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips, her heart racing but her words carrying a warmth that matched his. It was the most honest she could be, letting him see she felt the shift too, that she was a woman who saw him, wanted him, even if she wasn’t ready to say it outright.

Johnny’s grin was slow and warm, his heart kicking at her words, at the way her shy boldness lit up her face. “You are special, sweetheart,”

His composure cracked when he notices the sparkles in her eyes as she stared at him, “Keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you’re falling for me.”

She laughed softly, her blush deepening, but she didn’t back away, her smile growing as she tilted her head. “Maybe I’m getting there,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, playful but honest, her eyes shining with a mix of nerves and affection. 

It was the closest she’d come to admitting her feelings, and the air between them hummed with a quiet, pure romance, no naughty edge, just a man and a woman seeing each other for who they were.

Johnny chuckled, his hand dropping to his side, respecting her pace. “Good. I can wait, but don’t make it too long, yeah? I’m not that patient.” His tone was light, teasing, but his eyes were full of promise, of a future where their arrangement would be nothing compared to what they could build. She nodded, her smile soft and warm. It was a step closer to something real.

After that evening, their connection evolved beyond stolen glances and subtle flirtations at work. They began spending time together outside the office, not just as a CEO and his assistant or a sponsor and his beneficiary, but as a man and a woman exploring something real. Johnny, sensing her growing openness, started taking her on proper dates after office hours, each one a step toward truly knowing each other, peeling back the layers of their initial roles.

Johnny treated her like his equal, not his sponsored assistant, asking her opinions on life, not just work, and sharing pieces of himself—like how he felt the weight of being CEO, or how her smile was the best part of his day. She, in turn, let her guard down, her shy responses turning into playful banter, her touches lingering longer, her eyes meeting his with a warmth that matched his own.

Then come another day, another late night meeting with a client from the other side of the globe, they were having a break in the balcony of his office, just watching the city night scenery, standing side by side but neither of them talking much.

She turned her head slightly. “You’ve been quiet.”

He glanced at her. “Just tired.”

“Same.”

A pause. Then, softer, “You haven’t slept in days.”

He smiled faintly. “You’ve been paying attention.”

She looked away, but she was smiling too. “Hard not to.”

The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just different now. Familiar in a way that didn’t feel professional anymore. When he reached over and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, she didn’t pull away.

He said quietly, “You don’t make it easy to stay professional.” His voice was low and his dark eyes searching hers. She smiled faintly, a little nervous, her cheeks flushing with a shy warmth, but she didn’t back down. 

“You don’t either,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady, a spark of boldness in her timid gaze.

He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath and body hear against her skin. “Is this okay?” he asked, his tone gentle, checking in with her as he always did, giving her space to set the pace.

She met his eyes, her heart racing but it’s so exciting. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, then a nervous but certain nod following.

He lifted a hand, tracing his thumb along her jaw, which makes her tilted her chin up slightly, her lips parting in anticipation, and he leaned in, faintly pressing his lips to hers. The kiss is soft and tentative but when she leaned into him, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against hers with a gentle intensity. His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading gently into her hair, holding her close but not forceful, letting her melt into the warmth of his mouth.

The kiss grew deeper, his tongue brushing hers softly, coaxing a quiet whimper from her as she pressed closer, her hands resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. It was tender but hungry, his lips tasting faintly of the coffee they’d shared earlier, and her softness drawing him in further.

A sharp ping from his phone shattered the moment, the reminder for their Zoom call with the overseas client blaring insistently. Johnny pulled back reluctantly, his forehead resting against hers for a moment, both of them breathing unevenly.

“Fucking meetings” he muttered, a small, apologetic smile tugging at his lips. She giggled softly, still flushed, her eyes shy but warm. He stole a few quick pecks, soft and playful, brushing his lips against hers one last time before stepping back. “Alright, sweetheart, back to business,” he said, his voice shifting to a professional tone, though his eyes still lingered on her with a flicker of heat.

She smoothed her blouse, her fingers trembling slightly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, slipping back into her role as his executive assistant. Johnny straightened his tie, clearing his throat as he grabbed his laptop from the desk. They moved to the office table, setting up the Zoom call with practiced efficiency, their professional masks back in place. 

Johnny as the confident CEO, her the poised assistant, though the air between them hummed with the unspoken promise of what they’d pick up later.

It wasn’t sudden. It just happened. Two people who’d spent too long pretending it was just transaction finally gave in to what had been there all along.

Then, their romance had blossomed over months, transforming a once-transactional arrangement into a deep, tender love that felt like home for both of them. She was still a little awkward at first, especially in the early days of their shift from professional to personal. Johnny, ever the gentleman, provided not only just material support anymore, but a steady stability that made her feel safe and cherished.

He was attentive, always checking in with a gentle word or a reassuring touch, his presence a quiet promise that she was loved. It didn’t take long for her to warm up to him, her initial hesitance melting into the role of his cute, adoring girlfriend at home— giggling at his teasing, curling into his side on the couch, her eyes bright with affection as she looked up at him.

At the office, though, she was a force: the best executive assistant he could ask for, sharp and efficient, handling schedules, emails, and client prep with a precision that made his work seamless. They kept their hands to themselves at work, their interactions minimal and professional, exchanging only brief glances that held a secret warmth. But outside the office, they were inseparable, always together; whether grabbing coffee, strolling through the city, or tangled up at home, hugging and cuddling at every chance, her head tucked under his chin, his arms wrapped around her like she was his world.

Their sex life, however, was a slower journey, the fact that she’s a virgin and she knows that he’s undoubtedly experienced makes her nervous. Her inexperience making her hesitant, her cheeks flushing at the thought of intimacy, her body tensing with both curiosity and fear. Johnny, a man of virtue and patience, never rushed her, sensing her hesitation without needing to ask. He was content to wait, guiding her gently into their intimacy with a care that made her feel safe. He’d never push her beyond what she was ready for.

It started with soft, lingering kisses that melted into fevered make-out sessions, lips swollen and breaths ragged, leaving trails of purple love bites across her collarbone. After sometimes, Johnny’s hands had grown bolder, roaming her body then cupping the weight of her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples into tight peaks, or sometimes he has his hands squeezing the plush curve of her ass. He’d guided her patiently, teaching her how to please him.

“Like this, baby,” Johnny rasped one evening in his office, his voice gravelly with desire as he sat on his leather chair while she sit on his lap, facing him. He guided her, showing her the slow, firm rhythm that made his breath catch. The heat of his shaft pulsed against her palm, and his low groans vibrated through her as she found her confidence. His fingers slipped between her thighs, parting her slick folds, coaxing soft whimpers from her lips as he teased her clit. “So good for me, sugar,” he murmured, their shared gasps filling the quiet room, her skin flushing under his heated gaze.

Time deepened their exploration. He’d introduced her to the dizzying pleasure of his mouth, his tongue painting slow, deliberate circles between her thighs until she was trembling, her fingers tangled in his hair. Then came her turn to learn and taste him, her curiosity outweighing her nerves.

She knelt on the plush cream carpet of his living room, the city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting soft shadows across her bare shoulders. Johnny lounged on the sofa, his thighs spread, the musky scent of his arousal heady as she leaned in. “Relax your jaw, baby,” he instructed with a low voice, his fingers threading through her soft strands. Her lips parted, tentative, as she took him in, the warm weight of him foreign on her tongue.

Getting her confidence by his encouraging hum, she tilted her head, experimenting with the angle to take him deeper, her lips stretching as she eased forward, breathing through her nose to ease the tightness in her throat. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside of his shaft, swirling lightly as she pushed past her comfort zone, and she took him too far, her throat constricting as she choked, a soft gag escaping as her eyes watered. 

Johnny’s hand tightened briefly in her hair, his touch gentle but firm as he guided her back, helping her ease his cock out of her mouth, his voice soft with concern. “Easy, love, take it slow,” he murmured, but pride curled his lips.

“It’s hard because Daddy’s big, isn’t it?” he teased, his voice thick with satisfaction. She pulled back, gasping, her lips glossy, but her eyes burned with determination. With a shaky nod, she leaned in again, stretching her lips around him, her tongue experimenting, earning a guttural groan that sent a thrill through her core.

Their rhythm grew bolder— dry humping that left her thighs slick with arousal and his cock throbbing, her timid grinding on his thigh and cock coaxing breathless moans as she chased her climax, her shy movements turning bolder with each shuddering release. Sometimes, he’d ask for a tit job, her soft breasts enveloping him, the sight of her flushed skin and nervous glances driving him wild, her innocence and eagerness a potent mix that tested his control.

But today, Johnny was a fucking wreck, his stress from work boiling over into a relentless inferno. The unending pile of contracts and deadlines had him on the edge with no goddamn break, grinding his nerves raw. Worse, a male client had been all over her during a morning meeting, his smug smiles lingering too fucking long, his compliments, calling her “stunning” and “sharp as a tack”; dripping with intent that wasn’t professional. 

Johnny saw the way the bastard’s eyes raked over her, lingering on her curves, his handshake with her lasting a beat too long, and it set his blood on fire. It ignited a possessive rage in him. The idea of someone else even looking at her like that made him want to pin her down and claim her until there was no question. The jealousy, mixed with the suffocating weight of his work, was a perfect fucking storm, shredding his usual cool-headed composure.

He needed her to drown out the frustration and that very midday, he called her into his office, his voice sharp and jagged over the intercom, barely masking the territorial tone.

She arrived instantly, stepping through the door in her fitted pencil skirt and blouse, her eyes wide with concern. “Lock the door,” he instructed, his tone low and commanding.

“Oh- okay,” she said, her voice soft and questioning, but she obeyed, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet office. She turned to him, standing in front of his desk, “Are you okay?”

He stood, getting himself closer to her, his presence towering as he reached her, cupping her jaw with a firm but gentle hand, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “Get on your knees for me, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with need, eyes dark with possession.

“Sir,” she said, her tone hesitant, a reminder of their office setting, though the word took on a kinky edge in the charged moment. She usually called him Johnny, saving “Daddy” for their intimate nights, but now it felt like she was testing the line, her professionalism clashing with his command.

“It’s Daddy for you now,” he growled, ignoring her subtle protest, while his hand delivering a quick, playful slap to her ass, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “C’mon, baby, Daddy’s not in the mood for patience.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she nodded, her timidity clear as she sank to her knees. She reached for his belt, her fingers trembling slightly as she undid it, pulling his trousers and boxers down just enough to free his cock. Her breath hitched at the sight, but she leaned in, her lips parting as she took him into her mouth slowly.

Johnny groaned, his hand resting lightly in her hair, guiding her gently as she worked him, her tongue swirling along his length, her lips stretching to accommodate his size. She tried to take him deeper, her throat tightening as she gagged softly, her eyes watering, but she pushed past the discomfort, her hands resting on his thighs for balance, her gaze flicking up to meet his, seeking approval, making his cock twitch harder. “Just like that,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, his hips rocking slightly as she sucked him, her warmth and inexperience driving him wild.

As she found a rhythm, her lips sliding along his shaft, her tongue pressing against the sensitive underside, Johnny’s breathing grew ragged, his control slipping. The sight of her on her knees, her pretty lips stretched around him, her cheeks flushed and eyes glistening, pushed him closer to the edge. 

“You’d look so fucking pretty with my cum painted all over your face, you know that?” He teased, his tone dark and playful, testing her reaction as his climax built, his cock throbbing in her mouth.

She whined, a muffled sound around his length, her eyes widening with a mix of shock and shyness. Pulling back just enough, his cock slipping from her lips with a wet pop, she looked up at him, her voice soft and trembling. “No… Daddy,” She stammered, her cheeks burning, her glossy lips slick with spit as she shook her head, her timidity clear in her nervous gaze.

“Keep going” Then he guided her back to his cock, her lips parting again as she resumed, her tongue swirling with renewed effort. His groans grew deeper, his hips twitching as he felt the pressure build.

This wasn’t her first few time giving him head anymore. After a few tentative tries over the past weeks, she’d started to get the hang of it. She knew now how he liked it: the slow licks along the underside of his shaft, the way she’d swirl her tongue around the tip before taking him deeper, she knows what ticks him. Her once-shy movements had grown bolder, her technique still laced with that innocent eagerness but now guided by a growing intuition for his pleasure.

She worked him with a steady pace, her tongue flicking just right, her small hand stroking the base of his cock in sync with her mouth. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, a shy pride glimmering in them as her lips sliding along his length, her tongue teasing the sensitive spots she’d learned he loved, each move pulling him closer to the edge.

“Baby, I’m cumming,” he growled, his voice rough as he gripped her hair a little tighter, holding her in place. He came hard, his cock pulsing as thick, hot ropes of cum spilled into her mouth, the taste flooding her senses. She whimpered softly, her throat working as she swallowed, her eyes squeezing shut as she took every drop, her hands clutching his thighs for support.

Instinctively, her small fingers wrapped around the base of his length she couldn’t fit in her mouth, stroking him with hesitant but eager movements. He bet she didn’t even realize how her tight grip and steady pumps intensified his pleasure.

He kept cumming, his groans loud and raw, each spurt filling her mouth as she struggled to keep up, a little but of cum dribbling from the corner of her lips, her innocence making the act even hotter.

Finally, as the last pulses faded, he loosened his grip on her hair, his breathing heavy and ragged. He looked down at her, and fuck, the sight nearly made him hard again. When she pulled back, his cock sprang free, still thick and heavy, hovering near her small, heart-shaped face, and the contrast fucking wrecked him. His size kink kicked into overdrive. Her petite features, those delicate cheekbones, tiny nose, and her soft, pouty mouth looked almost too small to handle him, yet she’d taken him so well. He was fascinated, his mind reeling at how someone so small, who’s face barely big enough to frame his cock, her hands so delicate wrapping around him could make him cum so hard, so good.

The way her flushed cheeks glowed, her swollen lips parted slightly as she caught her breath, made him want to pull her back and see how much more she could take. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough with awe, “how’s a little thing like you handle me like that? So fucking perfect.” His eyes stayed locked on her, captivated by the sight of his cum lingering on her lips, her small face a perfect mix of innocence and raw, unintentional seduction. A faint smile tugged at her mouth as she wiped it with the back of her small hand, the gesture so innocent it drove him wild.

He took a moment to catch his breath, then reached for a box of tissues on his desk, gently tilting her chin up with one hand. He wiped the cum from the corner of her lips, his touch careful as he cleaned her flushed cheeks, making sure she was comfortable before he takes care of himself. He tossed the tissues aside, then scooped her up by the waist, lifting her effortlessly to sit on the edge of his desk, her skirt riding up slightly as she settled. “Pretty baby,” he murmured, stepping between her legs, his hands resting on her hips as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss.

Their mouths melded, his lips firm but gentle against her swollen ones, savoring the warmth and softness, the faint taste of his cum lingering on her tongue. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a teasing manner, coaxing soft whimpers from her. His hands slid up to cup her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, the warmth of her flushed skin grounding him.

Her lips parted wider, letting him lead, her tongue meeting his with hesitant flicks that grew bolder as she melted into him. The kiss was hungry but controlled, a mix of tenderness and beat from their earlier act. Her hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, her breaths coming in soft, needy gasps between each press of their lips, the sound driving him wild.

He pulled back slightly, their lips brushing in a few soft, lingering pecks, his forehead resting against hers as he caught his breath. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered, voice low and sincere, 

“You did so fucking good for me.” She smiled, shy but pleased, her cheeks still pink as she looked up at him, her eyes warm with affection.

Her voice came out soft, a little hesitant. “What’s with you today?” She asked, tilting her head, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Johnny chuckled, his hands still resting on her hips, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I didn’t like how that guy thought he stood a chance with you,” he said honestly, his voice low, a possessive edge creeping in as he thought of the client’s flirty smirk.

She giggled, her shyness easing into a playful glint in her eyes. “You’re jealous?” She teased, her voice light, poking at his chest with a finger. “He’s got nothing on you, you know that.”

Johnny grinned, leaning in to steal another quick kiss, his lips brushing hers with a playful nip. “But I’m still gonna remind you who you belong to.”

She laughed softly, swatting his chest. He then stepped back, helping her off the desk. He smoothed her skirt, his touch lingering just a moment before he shifted back to professional mode. “Alright, sweetheart, back to your desk. We’ve got work to finish.” His voice dropped, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But I expect you ready to continue this at home later.”

She blushed, nodding shyly as she adjusted her blouse, her smile small but knowing. “Sure,” she murmured, slipping out of his office with a quick glance back, the promise of later hanging between them as they returned to their roles as CEO and assistant.

In the comfort of his home, that midday blowjob under his desk hadn’t been enough, and now, as he slid his cock against her dripping folds, naked humping her with desperate need, he was still unfulfilled. Her slick pussy teased him, so close yet so far, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking good it would feel to be inside her virgin pussy.

He bet every ounce of frustration from work, that jealousy he felt with that flirty bastard client, would melt away in seconds if he could just bury himself deep, completely wrapped in her tight, warm heat, her walls squeezing him as he claimed her fully. His desperation clawed at him, raw and consuming, his cock throbbing with every slide against her.

He tested her limits a few times, he let his tip “accidentally” bump against her slick slit, nudging just enough to feel her tight entrance, groaning at the tease of her warmth. Once, he pressed a little harder, the head of his cock catching briefly at her opening, making her gasp and squirm away, her thighs clamping shut. “D-Daddy, no,” she whispered, her voice timid, her eyes wide with nervous fear. He would just ease back, kissing her softly to soothe her, but his patience was shot. He needed to feel her, to be inside her, to make her his in a way that left no doubt.

His lips bruised the sensitive skin of her neck with hungry, open-mouthed kisses, each one leaving a faint mark as he pressed himself closer, his cock sliding against her soaked folds. “Would you let Daddy slip it in tonight, baby, hm?” His voice rough with need, the heat of his breath tickling her ear as his hips pressed harder.

“No… Daddy, don’t,” She whispered, her voice laced with hesitation, but her body arched into him, still craving the delicious pressure of his cock against her pussy.

“Just the tip, please,” He urged, his tone bordering on desperate, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

“Daddy-” she whimpered, her voice trembling. She was still scared of the possible pain she’ll feel, and though she didn’t admit it, his size— is kinda intimidating. Yet his words, filthy and coaxing, wove a spell.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he murmured, his voice dripping with promise, “I bet it’ll slide in so easy.” His cock nudged her clit, sending a jolt through her, and she gasped, her resolve fraying. For what feels like fifteen minutes, he teased, his whispers painting vivid images of pleasure. Finally, her voice barely audible, she relented. “Just the tip.”

Johnny froze, then lifted his head, kissing her deeply, a silent thank you. He shifted, kneeling between her thighs, spreading her legs and draping them over his thighs. His fingers grazed her slit, slick with her arousal, before he lined himself up, rubbing his tip along her folds. Slowly, he pushed just the head inside, groaning at the tight, warm grip of her virgin pussy.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his eyes glued to the obscene sight of her labia stretching around his thick tip, glistening with her arousal. It had been, like, three years since he’d been inside anyone and her tight pussy did him no good. It was almost too much for him.

He thrust shallowly, careful not to go deeper, savoring the way her walls clung to him. “Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” He rasped, his voice thick with lust, his gaze raking over her body— her breasts laid bare for his eyes, her nipples hard, her lips parted as she whimpered, the sound high and needy.

And he was right. It did. The heat of him and the weight of him was overwhelming in a way she never felt before. Every small movement sent a ripple of warmth through her. Her skin was flushed, a sheen of sweat glistening under the low light, and the sight of her spread bare beneath him, trembling from just his tip, made his cock throb painfully. 

“Imagine taking all of Daddy’s cock, baby,” he teased, his tone wicked, “How fucking good that’d feel.” Once, he pushed a fraction deeper, her sharp gasp and squirm pulling a dark chuckle from him. He chuckled, easing back to the agreed depth. “Too much for my pretty girl?”

She nodded as she gripped the sheets, still not entirely familiarized herself to the feeling of having something in her. Johnny’s hand slid to her waist, his fingers caressing the soft curve of her skin, warm and reassuring, grounding her as he murmured, “You’re doing so good, baby.”

His gaze dropped, fixating on the view below. The thick, flared head of his cock, glistened with her arousal, nestled just inside her tight, virgin pussy. Her folds were swollen, slick with her wetness and his precum, stretching beautifully around his tip. He moved his hips in slow, shallow thrusts, careful not to push too far.

“Your pussy looks even prettier with my cock in it,” he growled, his voice thick with lust, eyes locked on the way her lips parted for him, hugging his tip. He savors the way her pussy pulsed around him, each movement making her slicker, her arousal dripping down to the sheets. She glanced down, noticing how fixated he was, his eyes dark and hungry, and her cheeks flushed deeper, a mix of shyness and curiosity sparkling in her.

“Can I see?” she asked, her voice shy but thick with curiosity, her cheeks burning as she bit her lip, nervous but wanting to share in his fascination.

Johnny grinned, charmed by her boldness and his hand was still caressing her waist as he nodded. “Of course” He grabbed a pillow, propping it behind her so she could lean on her elbows, giving her a clear view of his thick cockhead nestled in her slick, stretched pussy. She lost her words when she sees her folds parted wide clinging to the broad head of his cock, the contrast of his size against her small, tight entrance making her heart race. “O-Oh,” she whispered, there’s a mix of awe and nervous excitement, her cheeks burning hotter as she stared, mesmerized by how her body stretched for him.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” he said, his voice low and dirty. “Look at your little pussy stretching for me, baby.” She watched his tip slid in and out, her folds glistening, parting to accommodate him. The sight was raw and pornographic.

Now, as she stared at the sight of their connection, her voice trembled again. “It looks so… big,” she whispered, her eyes still fixed on the filthy scene below and she couldn’t look away.

Johnny chuckled softly, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing her flushed skin. “It is, baby, but you’re taking me so well,” he said, his voice warm with pride and lust. 

“Look at how pretty your pussy looks, stretched just for me.” He thrust shallowly, letting her see the slick movement, her arousal coating him, and she whimpered, her body responding despite her nerves. It was just the tip, but it was enough for their first step, a moment of trust and intimacy that left them both craving more, her shyness easing with every gentle word and touch he offered.

Johnny reveled in it, treating the shallow thrusts like an edging game, each stroke a test of his control. He memorized the way her breasts jiggled, the way her fingers clutched the sheets, the soft, desperate sounds she made. His cock ached to plunge deeper, but he held back, savoring the torture.

When his climax built, he reached down, his thumb circling her clit in tight circles, determined to pull her over the edge first. Her pussy clenched tighter around his tip, and he cursed under his breath, the sensation nearly undoing him.

“I’m cumming,” she gasped, her voice breaking as she feels the wave coming. 

“Cum, baby,” Her orgasm slammed into her, raw and intense, nothing like the softer climaxes his fingers or tongue had coaxed out before, this was deeper, harder. She was so fucking tight clamping on his tip, so wet, her body responding to him like it was made for this, and it took everything in him to keep his thrusts shallow, to not bury himself deep and claim her right then. The sight of her spread out, flushed, and fucked out just from his tip made his balls tighten, his mind flooded with the primal urge to fill her.

Her pulsing heat was maddening, pushing him closer to the edge. “Daddy, pull out!” she cried, her voice urgent as she sensed his climax. His mind flashed; he’d get her pills, or maybe not. Maybe he’d skip it entirely, imagining when they finally fucked properly, he’ll knock her up.

He groaned, low and pissed off, but pulled out just enough, his swollen tip pressed against her parted slit as he came hard, thick, hot ropes of cum shooting across her pussy, splattering her folds, dripping down to her tight little ass and soaking the sheets messily.

The sight of her filthy aftermath got him the second time. He couldn’t resist sliding his tip back in, feeling her pussy twitch, imagining he was balls-deep, pumping her full of his cum. The vivid fantasy has his cock twitching as it spurted a final, thick burst of cum, then dripping down her folds, mingling with the mess he’d already made.

“That’s the first and last time Daddy’s pulling out,” he vowed, his voice rough with resolve, his eyes dark with promise. She smiled, soft and knowing, her body still humming from her release. After a year and a half of patience, of guiding her step by step, he’d earned this—and she knew the next time, there’d be no holding back.

“Look at this, baby,” Johnny’s voice breaking the silence, voice thick with lust, his eyes locked on her cum-soaked pussy. He dragged his forefinger through the mess, smearing his cum over her swollen folds, plunging it into her slightly parted slit, her warmth sucking him in. “Fuck, it was just my tip, and your pretty little pussy’s already spread open for me,” he growled, his dirty talk rough and unfiltered as he watched her squirm, her breath hitching at his touch.

He pushed his finger into her slightly parted slit and he groaned at how impossibly tight she was, he kept scooping his cum from her folds, pushing it back into her tight hole, obsessed with the sight of her tiny entrance stretches around his fingers, clamping so hard it was like she was begging for more.

“Not satisfied, are you, baby? Your pussy’s gripping my finger so fucking hard” He pumped his finger slowly, then added a second, stretching her just enough to pull a whimper, his cum slick on his skin as he teased her. 

She whimpered, her eyes fluttering open, wide and glistening with nervous hesitation, her cheeks burning a deep pink as she looked up at him, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with shyness. “D-Daddy, I-I’m so sensitive,” she stammered, her words faltering as she bit her lip hard, her hands clutching the sheets tightly, and her thighs trembling uncontrollably. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so needy,” Johnny growled, his thumb finds her swollen clit and pressing down with steady circles. Her pussy clenched harder, the wet squelch of his cum and her arousal filling the air as he worked her.

Her breath hitched, a soft moan escaping. “D-Daddy, it’s… it’s too much,” she whispered, voice shaky, eyes pleading. He smirked, curling his fingers deeper, thumb rubbing her clit harder.

She whimpered, hips twitching. “I-I’m gonna cum again,” she stammered, her voice tiny, desperate.

“That’s it, baby, let it go,” Her pussy pulsed wildly, her moans turning to high-pitched cries, and thighs shaking harder.

Her body tensed, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as her pussy clamped down, spasming around his fingers in a wet, filthy rush. “Daddy!” she sobbed, cumming hard, her juices mixing with his cum, her body trembling as he kept pumping, drawing out every shudder.

“Good girl,” he growled, slowing his fingers but not stopping, milking her orgasm as her pussy twitched and pulsed, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. He watched her collapse back to steady her breath.

After some time, she shifted, her body still trembling as she crawled shyly toward him on the bed. Johnny was still kneeling between her legs, his cock half-hard, glistening with the remnants of his release. Her eyes flicked up to his, timid and hesitant, as she bit her lip, her voice barely above a whisper. “Daddy, can I… can I suck you off?” she asked, her tone soft and submissive, just as he’d taught her to do whenever she wanted his cock, her cheeks flushing with nervous anticipation.

Johnny’s eyes softened, but he shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he reached out to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing her swollen lower lip. “Enough, baby,” he said, his voice low but firm, laced with care. “It’s already two in the morning, and we’ve got that early meeting tomorrow. You need rest, and so do I.” He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand sliding to her shoulder to ease her back onto the bed. “Come here, sweetheart, let Daddy take care of you.”

He shifted, lying down beside her, pulling her trembling body into his arms, her skin warm and a little bit sticky against his. He grabbed a soft blanket from the edge of the bed, draping it over her, tucking it around her shoulders to keep her warm. “You did so good for me,” he murmured, his fingers stroking her hair as she nestled against his chest, her breaths still uneven. He reached for a bottle of water on the nightstand, uncapping it and holding it to her lips. “Drink, sweetheart,” he urged, tilting it gently as she took small sips, her eyes fluttering closed as she relaxed into his hold.

Remembering the sticky remnants of his cum still clinging to her thighs and folds, Johnny reached over to the nightstand again, grabbing a box of wet tissues he kept for times like this. “Let’s clean you up, baby,” he said softly, his tone tender but practical. He pulled a few sheets to carefully wiping the mess from her inner thighs, his touch slow and deliberate to avoid startling her sensitive skin. He parted her legs slightly, dabbing at her swollen, glistening folds, cleaning away the slick mix of his cum and her arousal, his eyes flicking up to her face to make sure she was comfortable. “Can’t leave my girl all messy,” he murmured, a faint smile in his voice as he worked, tossing the used tissues aside before grabbing fresh ones to finish the job, ensuring she was clean and comfortable.

He kept her close, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back, soothing her as her body calmed. “Get some sleep, baby,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head, his tone warm and protective. “We’ll have plenty of time for more later, I promise.” She nodded faintly, her cheek pressed against his chest, already drifting as he held her, ensuring she felt safe and cared for.

If he had been strong before, she couldn’t begin to imagine how powerful he must be now.

And then he spotted her. The second his eyes landed on her, his whole expression softened into the most radiant smile she’d ever seen. In that instant, the months apart fell away, leaving only love, relief, and longing.

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, all her careful composure breaking. She dropped her bag to the ground and ran straight for him, tears stinging her eyes as her heart leapt into her throat. He opened his arms without hesitation, and when she collided with him, he lifted her clean off the ground as though she weighed nothing.

Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, arms clutching around his neck. The balloon bobbed uselessly against his shoulder as she pressed her lips to his, kissing him desperately, giggling and sobbing all at once. His mouth was hot, familiar and overwhelming, and she couldn’t stop kissing him, couldn’t stop breathing him in.

“Missed you, soldier,” she whispered against his lips, voice trembling with emotion, forehead pressed to his.

Jaehyun’s smirk was tender, proud, and full of affection all at once. He brushed a hand up her back, cradling her close as though he never wanted to let her go. His voice dropped low, rough with feeling as he murmured, “I missed my beautiful girl.” Then he kissed her again, deeper this time, as if three months of longing were pouring out through that single touch.

Hand in hand, they walked toward the subway, fingers laced so tightly it was as if letting go would mean losing each other again. Jaehyun kept brushing up behind her, his broad chest pressed lightly to her back every time they slowed in the crowd, his nose almost nuzzling into her hair like he couldn’t get close enough. Each touch was instinctive, greedy, born from months of separation. Y/N felt her cheeks warm at the weight of his presence—he was bigger now, stronger, every subtle lean into her body reminding her just how much she had missed him.

Once they reached the platform, she leaned against the cool tiled wall, catching her breath, her balloon still bobbing at her side. Jaehyun didn’t move far. Instead, he stepped into her space without hesitation, bracing one hand against the wall by her head, the other resting casually at her hip. He caged her in, his towering frame blocking out everything else. The air between them felt charged, the noise of the station fading as his dark eyes settled on her.

Y/N’s pulse fluttered. Slowly, she lifted her hands, tracing along the ridges of his forearms, her fingers gliding over the hard muscle that hadn’t been there before. The sleeves of his uniform strained under her touch, every line of him thicker, stronger. She looked up at him through her lashes, curiosity and awe mingling with something deeper, hungrier.

Jaehyun’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk, but his eyes softened at the way she studied him. He leaned closer, so close his breath fanned across her cheek, and murmured, “You keep looking at me like that and I’m not going to last until we get home.”

He leaned further, brushing a soft kiss against her lips. It was gentle at first, almost shy compared to the way he had devoured her outside the station, as though he wanted to savor this smaller, quieter moment with her.

“You look… different. You feel different. Good different,” Y/N murmured when he pulled back just enough for her to catch her breath.

His brows lifted slightly, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. “Oh yeah? How?” he asked, his voice low, curious, like he truly wanted to hear her answer.

Y/N bit her lip, trying to put her feelings into words. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like you’ve grown into yourself. You know I don’t like how many restrictions you have with your career, but in the military you can—ironically—be a bit more… free. You just seem more healthy and confident. It makes me happy.” She rested her chin on his chest, tilting her face up so she could look at him properly, her eyes warm and adoring, like he was everything she’d ever wanted.

Something in Jaehyun softened instantly. He slid one strong arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, his thumb brushing tender circles along her side. “Yeah? Well, I’m glad you said that,” he murmured, dropping a kiss to her forehead, lingering there. “Because everything I do is with you in mind. This new me? All for you.” His free hand came up to stroke through her hair, slow and reverent, like he couldn’t believe she was really in front of him again.

Y/N’s heart swelled until she thought it might burst. She hugged him tightly, pressing her face into his chest and breathing in the familiar scent of him, only sharper now, tinged with sweat and sun and something distinctly him. His arms enveloped her completely, wrapping her in the kind of embrace that promised safety and home.

Neither of them wanted to move, but beneath the sweetness of the moment was a restless, aching urgency. They’d been apart too long, waiting too long. Every beat of their hearts seemed to echo the same thought: they needed to get home.

The walk home was thick with tension, neither of them speaking much, both too aware of the invisible pull stringing them closer with every step. Their hands stayed clasped the whole way, fingers laced tight, but the silence wasn’t awkward—it was electric, humming with all the things they wanted to say and all the things they wanted to do.

When they finally stepped inside, Jaehyun dropped his duffel by the kitchen doorway with a heavy thud, his shoulders rolling as if shaking off the last of the barracks. Y/N hopped up onto the counter, the balloon she’d carried all day still bobbing behind her as she twisted open a bottle of water and held it out to him.

“What do you want to do with your time off?” she asked brightly, trying to steady her voice even though her pulse was racing. “We can do whatever you want. We can go to your favourite restaurant, the movies, check out Johnny’s new place, oh, did you wanna go shopping for—”

Her rambling cut off in a sharp gasp as Jaehyun moved in fast, setting the bottle on the counter and swooping down to capture her lips in a heated kiss. His hands gripped her thighs firmly, tugging her legs around his waist in one fluid motion. The strength in him startled her all over again—he made it seem effortless, like she weighed nothing at all.

Still kissing her, he lifted her from the counter, his mouth insistent, breath hot, the weeks of longing spilling out with every press of his lips. Y/N clutched at him instinctively, hands roaming over the hard swell of his arms, her fingers sliding up to cup his face as if to ground herself in the reality that this was happening, that he was here.

He carried her into the living room without breaking the kiss, lowering her onto the couch with a care that contrasted the raw urgency in his mouth. Y/N moaned softly as her back hit the cushions, her legs still hooked around his waist, pulling him closer. Her palms skimmed along the sharp planes of his arms, over his broad shoulders, back to his jaw—greedy for every inch of him, still unable to fully wrap her head around this new and improved version of her boyfriend.

His chest pressed hard to hers, his body overwhelming her in the best way, and for the first time in months, it felt like everything was right again.

“I just want this,” Jaehyun whispered against her mouth, his voice ragged, breath hot between their desperate kisses. “I just want you. I need you.”

His hands moved fast, almost frantic, tugging at her clothes, fumbling with the fabric like he couldn’t get close enough. Y/N matched his urgency, tugging his military jacket off his broad shoulders, letting it fall forgotten to the floor as her palms roamed his body. The heat of his bare skin beneath her fingertips made her dizzy—every muscle more defined, more solid than she remembered, every line of him different yet achingly familiar. She drank him in greedily, as though touching him could make up for every night she’d fallen asleep clutching nothing but his sweatshirt.

Their kisses turned hungry, teeth clashing, lips bruising. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down with a rough tug that sent a sharp whimper spilling out of her throat. In the same breath, he manhandled her with ease, flipping her onto her stomach on the couch, his weight pressing down on her just enough to remind her how much stronger he’d become.

Within moments, her clothes were gone, discarded in a messy trail across the living room. His hands tangled in her hair, yanking her head back until her neck arched, her back bowing beautifully for him. The sting burned, but she gasped through it, her body buzzing with the kind of pleasure only he knew how to wring from her. No one knew her body better than he did—every weakness, every secret she’d never admit to anyone but him.

His mouth was everywhere, hot and merciless. Teeth grazed along her ear, her neck, her shoulder—hard, unrelenting bites that made her squeal and squirm beneath him, the sounds spilling raw and helpless.

“Baby,” he rasped, his voice harsh in her ear, full of months of pent-up need. “I’ve been dreaming about this for months. Half the day I’m thinking about when I get to be inside you again… you wrapped around me, saying my name like a prayer. Your body shaking because of me.”

He yanked her head back further, capturing her lips in a searing kiss from over her shoulder, his tongue sliding past her lips with practiced hunger. Y/N moaned into his mouth, her whole body trembling under the force of him, tears already streaming down her cheeks—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming rush of it all. Three months of waiting, aching, longing, all crashing into her at once with every kiss, every touch, every word from his lips.

Jaehyun kissed her hard, then pulled back just enough to drag his tongue along the curve of her cheek, licking a tear before it could fall. Y/N gasped at the sudden wet heat, her body shuddering from the intimate, filthy gesture. His mouth lingered close to her face, his breath rough and unsteady, while his hands traveled slowly down her sides. Every inch of her burned beneath his palms until they settled firm and possessive on her hips.

He stilled there, pressing his thumbs into her flesh, and she heard the sharp inhale he couldn’t quite contain. “Fuck,” he whispered, voice guttural with want.

The sound barely left his throat before his palm cracked against her ass, the sharp sting making her jolt. Y/N gasped, but instead of pulling away, her spine arched instinctively, her body offering itself up to him, silently begging for more.

Jaehyun chuckled low, his voice curling like smoke against her ear. “You like that, baby?”

Before she could answer, his hand came down again, harder this time, his mark blooming hot across her skin. The shock of it had her moaning, trembling, a wild mix of pain and pleasure she didn’t know how to separate. He wanted her to feel him long after tonight, wanted the shape of his hand branded into her body.

Finally, he slid a hand between them, gripping himself, the blunt head of his cock nudging against her entrance. He teased her mercilessly, running the thick length along her folds until she whimpered in frustration, her body clenching on nothing, desperate for him.

“Beg for it,” he growled, his tone dark, commanding. “You need to beg me, baby.”

Her pride shattered under the weight of his words. “Please,” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “Please, Jae—I need you, I can’t—please, just—”

That was all it took. He pushed in slowly, stretching her open inch by inch, both of them groaning from the sheer relief of finally being joined again. Y/N’s body squeezed around him immediately, fluttering tight, so overwhelming that Jaehyun had to grit his teeth. His hand cracked down on her ass again, sharp and punishing.

“Relax,” he gritted out, fighting the urge to pound into her. “Baby, relax for me.”

“I can’t,” she cried, her voice wrecked, her body too tight, too wound up after months without him. Her sobs shook through her as she clung to the cushions, desperate, overwhelmed, utterly consumed by him.

Jaehyun placed a firm hand on the small of her back, pressing down until her spine curved into a perfect arch for him. The position left her utterly exposed, vulnerable and ready, and he groaned at the sight.

“Fucking relax,” he growled against her ear, his tone dark but steady. “Or I’m not moving.”

To keep her grounded, his hands slid up beneath her chest, cupping her breasts from underneath. He squeezed them gently, fondling and massaging until the tension in her shoulders wavered. The contrast between his commanding words and his tender touch made her body tremble.

Y/N sobbed softly, shaking, but forced herself to drag in deep, shaky breaths. Inhale, exhale. She set her trembling hands over his, holding them in place as if to anchor herself. Slowly, her pulse began to even out. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss against one of his large hands still clutching her breast.

That small gesture cracked his composure. Jaehyun’s mouth curved into a smile, his eyes burning with something softer beneath the hunger. He slid one arm around her front, his hand wrapping securely around her neck. With a steady tug, he pulled her upright, guiding her back until she was flush against him, seated on his lap, his chest pressed tight to her spine.

One hand stayed at her throat, firm but protective, while the other clamped around her waist, holding her steady. Y/N instinctively tilted her head back, searching for his lips. The second she offered herself, he leaned down, kissing her slowly, deeply, their mouths moving together in a heated tangle of need.

She relaxed onto him at last, her body finally yielding around the thick stretch of him inside her. Jaehyun groaned into her mouth, his hand flexing on her hip as he began to guide her movement. Then he started bouncing her, lifting and pressing her down onto him in a steady rhythm, their bodies moving as one.

The living room filled with nothing but the wet sound of skin meeting skin, the low moans spilling from their throats, and the muffled whimpers they shared into each other’s mouths. Y/N clutched his arm, her fingers lacing with his until their hands locked together, squeezing tightly in sync with each thrust.

It was desperate, messy, but there was intimacy in every motion, every kiss, every ragged moan. After months of distance, they were finally whole again—completely lost in each other.

Her hands, shaky and desperate, cupped his jaw as he bounced her on his lap, every thrust pulling ragged little cries from her throat. She managed to choke out between sobs, “Jae—please—I wanna see you.”

The second the words left her lips, something inside him snapped. His grip tightened on her waist and he turned her in his lap without hesitation, setting her to straddle him face to face. He never stopped moving her, his hips still driving up into hers, but now she had him—his face, his eyes, his mouth—right in front of her.

Her palms pressed against his slick shoulders, pushing herself up, then dropping down hard onto him again and again. Every time she sank down, his head fell forward against her shoulder, teeth scraping, then biting into her skin, leaving bruises like he wanted to brand her as his. Her moans turned higher, sharper, with every rough bite, her hands slipping down his back from the sweat until her nails dug in, clinging just to stay upright.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Jaehyun groaned, voice breaking with how good she felt. “Ride me—show me how bad you missed this cock.”

Her head tipped back, lips parted, eyes glazed, and she could barely make a sound beyond broken whimpers. She was drooling now, so lost in the rhythm of their bodies that she couldn’t even control herself. Jaehyun caught the trail of spit with his own mouth, kissing her through it, devouring her like he couldn’t get enough. Their moans tangled together, messy and hot, teeth clashing, tongues sliding, both of them panting into each other’s mouths.

Their pace grew frantic, slamming into each other harder, faster, chasing that breaking point. Y/N’s nails raked down his back, and his groans grew guttural, his voice all low curses and praise—every filthy word spilling out against her lips.

“Gonna cum with me? My perfect girl—fuck—you’re so good for me, look at you—taking it so deep—god, I can’t hold it—”

The world went white-hot when they came together, her body convulsing around him, his arms locking tight around her like he’d never let go. They moaned into each other’s mouths until they were both trembling, gasping, hearts racing out of control.

Y/N collapsed against his chest, sweat-damp and shaking, her face buried in his neck. He held her through it, one hand stroking her back, the other curling around the back of her head as if she were something precious.

He pressed kisses into her hair, whispering against her temple, voice raw and hoarse, “That’s it, baby. My good girl. You did so fucking well for me.” He kissed her again, softer this time, emotion spilling through the filth. “I’ve been dreaming of this since the second I left. I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

Y/N was limp against him, body trembling, her breath hot against his throat. Her head lolled when she tried to move, and Jaehyun let out a low chuckle, pressing his lips to the crown of her hair.

“Mm,” he smirked, voice still rough with sex. “You’ve always been my little pillow princess. I swear, I have to do everything…” He dragged the words out like he was teasing, but the warmth in his tone gave him away. They both knew he wouldn’t have it any other way—he loved taking care of his girl.

Shifting, he reached for the glass of water on the table beside the couch. He held it to her lips with one hand, the other brushing damp strands of hair out of her flushed face. “Drink some water, baby.” His voice had softened completely now, gentle in a way only she ever got to hear.

She parted her lips obediently, taking a few small sips before sighing and letting her head fall back onto his chest, eyes fluttering closed as if she could melt into him. He finished the rest of the water himself, setting the glass aside before stretching his arms lazily across the back of the couch, trying to cool his overheated body.

But Y/N didn’t let go—her arms stayed looped around him, clinging to his shoulders like he was the only thing anchoring her. Slowly, her hands wandered, stroking over the solid muscle of his shoulders and biceps, feeling him up like she was memorizing him all over again.

When she finally lifted her gaze, he was sitting there with his head tilted back against the couch, sweat dripping down his temples, his hair a mess, chest still rising and falling in uneven breaths. His eyes were closed, like he was trying to ride the aftershocks of release just as much as she was.

Her chest ached with love. She lifted one hand, cupping his face, her thumb stroking along his jaw until his eyes cracked open and found hers. “I missed you so much,” she whispered, voice trembling with exhaustion and emotion. “It’s been so hard without you, but—I’m so proud of you, Jae. And I love you so much. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

For a long moment he just looked at her, like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing. Then he bent down, pressing his lips to her forehead with lingering tenderness, holding them there.

“Time will pass so quick, baby,” he murmured, his voice breaking just slightly, arms tightening around her. “I’ll come back to you in no time. Always.”

------------

Her father extended a hand, but Mark's grip was firm, almost challenging. Y/N crossed her arms, refusing to step closer. The scent of him hit her then—musk and earth, sharp and invasive. It made her stomach twist in a way she couldn't place.

"We're not staying long," she said coolly, her tone dripping with superiority. "Just until Father turns this into something civilized. And you—keep your animals away from the house. I won't have that smell anywhere near me."

Mark's lips quirked into a smirk, his green eyes locking onto hers. "Civilized, huh? These 'animals' pay for your daddy's fancy suits. And the smell? That's honest work. Maybe you should try it sometime, princess. Might toughen up those soft hands."

Y/N's cheeks flushed, not from embarrassment, but from the audacity. No one talked to her like that. "Excuse me? I don't take orders from stable hands. Just do your job and stay out of my way."

He chuckled, low and mocking, as he turned back to the horse. "Whatever you say, miss high-and-mighty. But the farm don't care about your heels."

As the family retreated to the newly renovated manor, Y/N couldn't shake the encounter. She stormed into her room—a stark contrast to the stables, with crisp white linens and crystal vases—and slammed the door. Pacing the plush carpet, she tried to dismiss him. He was crude, filthy, everything she despised. Her type was refined men who kissed her knuckles and spoke in compliments. Yet, as she changed into a fresh dress, her mind wandered. It had been months since her last fling, a boring accountant who folded at her every whim. Maybe that's why her body reacted to Mark's insolence—her pussy clenched at the memory of his rough voice, the way his muscles flexed under that sweat-damp shirt. No, she told herself, stripping off her panties and tossing them aside. It's just horniness. Nothing more.

But that night, as she lay in her four-poster bed, the daydream crept in unbidden. She imagined Mark finishing his chores late, the sun long set, his body slick with grime from his hard work. He'd sneak through the manor's shadows, his boots leaving muddy prints on the marble floors she babied so much. Her door creaked open, and there he was, towering in the doorway, eyes dark with intent.

"Told you to stay away," she'd hiss, but her voice would falter as he crossed the room in two strides, his calloused hands grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head against the headboard.

"Shut up," he'd growl, his breath hot against her ear, reeking of the barn. One hand would yank up her nightgown, rough fingers tearing at her lace panties until they ripped free. She'd gasp, legs parting instinctively as he pressed his hard cock against her thigh through his jeans—thick, insistent, nothing like the polite thrusts she knew.

"Look at you, all clean and proper," he'd mock, shoving two fingers into her wet pussy without warning, stretching her walls until she whimpered. "Bet you've never had a real man fuck this tight little hole."

Y/N's hips would buck, pain mixing with pleasure as he curled his digits, hitting spots that made her vision blur. He'd free his cock then, heavy and veined, slapping it against her clit before thrusting in deep—one brutal push that split her open, her cry muffled by his mouth crashing over hers. He'd pound into her relentlessly, the bed creaking under his weight, his sweaty chest sliding against her silk-covered breasts. "Take it, princess," he'd grunt with each slam, his free hand gripping her throat just enough to make her pulse race. "Gonna fill this fancy pussy with my cum, make you dirty from the inside out."

She came in the fantasy hard, her body arching as he rutted deeper, insults spilling from his lips—calling her a needy slut who craved the filth she pretended to hate. When he finally spilled inside her, hot spurts coating her depths, she'd collapse, marked and ruined, just the way her throbbing core secretly yearned.

Y/N jolted awake in her bed, sheets tangled, her fingers slick between her thighs. She bit her lip, shame flooding her, but the ache lingered. It was just a dream, she rationalized, wiping her hand on the duvet. Stupid, horny brain.

Meanwhile, in the bunkhouse behind the stables, Mark kicked off his boots and stripped down, the cool night air doing little to ease the heat in his veins. He couldn't stand her—the way she looked down her nose, all prim and untouchable, like the farm was beneath her. Spoiled rich girl, thinking she owned everything, including him. But damn if her sharp tongue didn't stir something primal. Those full lips, painted red, begging to be used. He stroked his cock under the thin blanket, mind flooding with images of dragging her into the hayloft.

He'd corner her against the bales, her protests turning to moans as he fisted her hair, forcing her to her knees. "Open up, princess," he'd command, unzipping to shove his thick length past her lips. She'd gag at first, eyes watering, but he'd hold her head steady, fucking her mouth with slow, deep thrusts until drool slicked her chin and his pre-cum coated her tongue. Her knees would grind into the dirt floor, staining her perfect skirts, his sweaty palms tangling in her hair, smearing grime across her scalp.

"That's it, suck it like the dirty girl you are," he'd groan, hips snapping faster, watching her throat bulge around him. When he came, he'd pull out at the last second, ropes of cum splattering her face and tits, marking her clean skin with his filth. She'd kneel there, ruined and panting, and he'd smirk down at her. "Told you, you ain't too good for this."

Mark grunted, spilling over his fist, the release doing nothing to quench the obsession. She was trouble, but fuck, he wanted to break that proper facade.

The next morning brought more friction. Y/N ventured to the stables—ostensibly to oversee the 'help,' but really to prove she wasn't rattled. Mark was there, shirtless now, muscles rippling as he brushed down a mare, sweat trickling down his back in rivulets that pooled at his waistband.

"You're late," she snapped, though she had no idea about schedules. "And put on a shirt. This isn't a beach."

He turned, wiping his chest with a rag, not bothering to cover up. His eyes raked over her, bold and unashamed. "Late? Sun's been up for hours, princess. Some of us work for a living. And if the view bothers you, look away."

Her gaze dipped involuntarily to the V of his hips, the bulge in his jeans, and heat flooded her core. She turned on her heel, storming off, but not before another daydream flickered: him bending her over a hay bale, rough hands spreading her ass cheeks, his tongue lapping at her pussy from behind while she clawed at the straw, begging for his cock to stretch her until she screamed.

The tension simmered, unspoken and electric, as the city folk and the farm boy circled each other in this unfamiliar world. Bickers turned to barbs, but beneath it all, desire festered—raw, dirty, and inevitable.

-----------------

The days blurred into a tense routine on the farm, with Y/N avoiding the stables as much as possible while stealing glances at Mark from afar. He moved like he owned the land—hauling feed sacks, grooming the horses with those rough hands that made her thighs clench. She told herself it was nothing, just the isolation getting to her. But the fantasies persisted, sneaking into her quiet moments, leaving her wet and frustrated.

One evening, as the sun dipped low, Mark finished repairing a fence near the manor. He straightened, wiping sweat from his brow, when the crunch of gravel drew his eye. A sleek black sedan pulled up, and out stepped Y/N, arm linked with a tall, impeccably dressed man. He wore a tailored suit, crisp white shirt, and polished shoes that screamed boardroom. His hair was neatly combed, and he carried a bottle of wine like a trophy.

Mark leaned on his post, watching as the guy—Preston—extended a hand to Y/n's father at the door. 'Pleasure to meet you, sir,' Preston said, voice smooth as silk. 'I've heard so much about your ventures.' Y/N stood beside him, smiling that practiced princess smile, her dress hugging her curves just right. But Mark could see the flicker in her eyes, the way her posture stiffened.

Through the dining room windows, the scene unfolded like a bad play. Candlelight flickered over fine china as they ate—Preston gesturing animatedly, no doubt droning on about stocks or some city bullshit. Y/N picked at her food, her nods mechanical, eyes glazing over. She looked trapped, bored out of her skull, like she'd rather be anywhere else. Mark smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. Poor little rich girl. Bet she's never had a cock that made her forget her own name, he thought. Never been fucked raw by a man who takes what he wants. Just soft kisses and polite thrusts from pricks like that.

Dinner dragged on, but eventually, the front door opened again. Preston emerged, Y/N on his arm. He leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips—gentle, lingering just long enough to be proper. 'Goodnight, darling,' he murmured. Y/N smiled sweetly, waving as he drove off, but her face screamed exhaustion, like she'd endured a three-hour lecture on cryptocurrency.

Mark couldn't hold back a low chuckle, shaking his head as he gathered his tools. The sound carried on the evening breeze, and Y/N whipped around, spotting him in the shadows.

'What the hell is so funny?' she demanded, storming over in her heels, cheeks flushed.

Mark straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans, his smirk widening. 'Nothin', princess. Just clockin' out.' He turned to head toward the bunkhouse, but she grabbed his arm, nails digging in through his shirt.

'Tell me,' she insisted, voice sharp. 'What's your problem?'

He paused, then leaned down, his breath warm against her ear, carrying the scent of sweat and hay. 'Ever had a dick stretch that pretty pussy so good you forgot how to breathe?'

Y/N gasped, yanking her hand back like she'd been burned, shoving at his chest. 'You're lewd! Disgusting! I've never met anyone who talks like that.'

Mark shrugged, unfazed, his eyes dropping to her heaving breasts. 'Maybe that's your problem. All pent up inside 'cause no one's ever fucked you right. You need a real man to sort that out.'

She scoffed, crossing her arms, but her pulse raced. 'Oh, like you?'

He stepped closer, towering over her. 'Never left a woman unsatisfied. That's a fact.'

Y/N bit her lip, heat pooling between her legs despite herself. 'It'll never happen.'

Mark's smile turned predatory, and he leaned in again, voice a gravelly whisper. 'If you change your mind, princess, you know where to find me.' He brushed past her, leaving her standing there, body buzzing.

That night, in her silk sheets, Y/N couldn't sleep. Her mind replayed his words, his nearness. She slipped a hand between her thighs, fingers circling her clit as she imagined him—those rough hands pinning her down, his thick cock slamming into her, stretching her walls until she sobbed for more. He'd grunt in her ear, calling her his dirty little secret, pounding until she came undone, his cum flooding her pussy. She arched, moaning into her pillow, but it wasn't enough. Nothing compared to the real thing she craved.

----------------------

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She dragged her tongue across his lips, tasting the salt there, before sealing their mouths in a heated clash.

Mark's thrusts grew erratic, each one punctuated by the occasional smack of his palm against her ass. She gasped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to taunt him breathlessly. 'This all you've got?'

A slow, wicked grin spread across Mark's face, his eyes darkening with challenge. He adjusted his grip, hands firm under her thighs, and pushed off the wall, stepping back into open space.

Y/N's eyes widened, a gasp tearing from her throat as she realized he was holding her entirely with his raw strength—just the unyielding power of his arms and the thick cock buried inside her. She clutched at his biceps, nails digging into the taut muscle, her legs locked tighter around his waist.

He started bouncing her then, lifting her up and slamming her down onto his length...

It starts like it always does.

same café, same window seat, same smile that still makes your heart skip a beat.

“table for two,” Haechan says, like he doesn’t already know the owner will beam at him and lead you both to your table — the one you’ve claimed since that first date six years ago.

back then, it was awkward giggles and shy glances over lattes you didn’t even finish. now, it’s laughter that feels like home and conversations that flow without trying.

“you still remember what I ordered the first time?” you tease as he scans the menu he doesn’t need.

he grins. “iced caramel macchiato, extra drizzle, because you said hot coffee makes you ‘too dramatic.’”

“i am dramatic.”

“exactly,” he says, proud of himself for remembering.

he orders for you both, just like always. the barista doesn’t even ask your names anymore.. just smiles knowingly.

as you wait, he starts playing with your fingers on the table — tracing circles against your palm, tapping a soft rhythm that matches the song playing faintly in the background.

“same playlist,” you murmur.

“of course.” he looks at you like it’s obvious. “i requested it.”

you laugh. “you did not.”

“i did,” he insists, leaning back smugly. “tradition.”

that word makes you smile. tradition. something you built together, year after year.

when your drinks arrive, he holds up his cup. “to six years.”

“to six years,” you echo, clinking cups.

you sip, watching him through the soft café light, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the faint stubble on his jaw, the worn bracelet you made him years ago still tied around his wrist.

you think about all the versions of him you’ve loved, the shy boy from the first date, the teasing one who brought you flowers wrapped in old newspaper, the tired but happy one who’d call you after long nights in the studio just to hear your voice.

this one, sitting across from you, eyes filled with quiet warmth feels like all of them at once.

“what?” he asks, catching you staring.

“nothing.” you grin. “you just look... like home.”

he freezes for a second. blinks. and then

“you can’t just say things like that casually, babe,” he laughs, pressing a hand to his chest. “i’m fragile.”

you laugh too, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you love it.”

“i do.”

the hours slip by.. same park walk after, same streetlight that flickers when you pass by, same small record shop you always visit just to listen to that one song.

but this year, Haechan’s quieter. distracted, maybe. his fingers twitch against yours every few minutes, like he’s nervous.

you glance at him as the sun sets, painting the city in orange and gold. “you okay?”

he smiles, but it’s the kind that hides something. “yeah. just... thinking.”

“about what?”

he stops walking. turns to face you.

“about how I get to do this with you every year.”

your heart does that stupid flutter thing again. “you’re getting sentimental on me, Lee Donghyuck.”

he laughs softly. “maybe. but you started it with that whole ‘you look like home’ line, so...”

you roll your eyes affectionately. “you’re unbelievable.”

then he takes both your hands, gently. his expression shifts from playful to something tender. serious.

“you know, six years is a long time,” he begins quietly. “we’ve had fights, late nights, days where we didn’t even know what we were doing. but somehow, we always find our way back.”

you feel your throat tighten. “yeah... we do.”

he squeezes your hands. “and i don’t want to just keep finding my way back to you.”

pause.

“i want to stay.”

you blink. “stay?”

and then.. he lets go of one hand, reaching into his pocket.

the small velvet box catches the last streak of sunset as he opens it.

inside, the ring gleams... simple, delicate, but perfect.

your breath catches.

“our tradition started with a first date,” Haechan says, his voice steady but his eyes glossy. “but i want it to end with this.. me asking you to marry me, every anniversary from now on. because i’ll never get tired of choosing you.”

you’re already crying, a laugh bubbling up between tears. “you—”

“don’t say no,” he jokes weakly, voice trembling.

“like i could ever—” you choke out, hands covering your mouth.

“so?” he asks softly. “will you marry me?”

you nod — fast, messy, still half-laughing. “yes. obviously yes.”

he grins through his own tears, sliding the ring on your finger before pulling you into his arms.

the café music drifts faintly from the street behind you, and you realize it’s the same song from your first date. the same one that played when he first said you made him nervous.

you pull back slightly, smiling through the tears. “you planned all of this, didn’t you?”

he smirks. “tradition, remember?”

“this isn’t a tradition—”

“it is now.” he kisses your forehead. “every year, same day, same café... same proposal.”

“every year?” you giggle. “that’s a lot of rings, Hyuck.”

he shrugs. “guess we’ll need a bigger drawer.”

and you laugh, because that’s so him.. teasing, romantic, dramatic in the best way.

as the streetlights flicker on and the world hums softly around you, Haechan pulls you close again, whispering against your hair:

“six years down, forever to go.”

your relationship with jeno and jaemin to the outside public was simple; you were simply just their stylist, it made sense why you were seen with them a lot on camera — however to the unseen eyes the three of you were much deeper , meaning you’ve spent countless of hours in their apartments half naked watching jeno play games or jaemin playing with his cats.

sometimes it was just you and jaemin , or just you and jeno; but there were times it was all three you. when it was all three of you jeno and jaemin spent the time taking care of you ; they didn’t touch each other , they teased definitely and you could feel the spark between the two — you felt the tension even when they were working on camera , the chemistry was there.

watching them on stage once again , the thick tension between them two made you think. ‘have they done it?’ but then in bed they hardly made eye contact. which confused you , eventually chalking it up to toxic masculinity ; maybe they weren’t ready to explore that yet. “you’re staring so hard.” jaemin whispered in your ear , the two of you laying the the bed watching a shirtless jeno play the game after a long intense session which left you feeling exhausted. “so are you.” biting back , he smirked. “he’s hot how can i not?”

there it was again , the darkness in jaemins eyes as he eyed his friend confusing you again. “have you two ever?” you looked at him , trying to find the words. “like you know , done anything like together?” he didn’t seem fazed by the question , shaking his head. “i think he’s fine with just this arrangement.” he said. “but like the two of you always look like you’re seconds away from pouncing on each other , but when it comes down to it you barely look each other in the eyes.” you said , jeno finally turned around from the game , smiling unaware at the conversation the two of you were having. “come.”

“what are you up to?” jaemin turned to you , you shrugged jeno crawling into the bed , falling into your arms , his cheek pressed against your boobs. “so soft.” he hummed , you raked your hands through his hair. “no-no.” you purred , jaemin shook his head. “don’t be jealous.” you said. “he listens well , he’s such a good boy unlike you.” jeno chuckled hearing the two of you bickering. “baby boy let me ask you a question.” jenos ears perked up. “okay.”

“you ever thought about jaemin in the way you think about me?” jeno looked up from your chest , looking at the both of you. “not as much as i think of you but i wont lie and say i havent.” jenos face turning red , jaemin eyebrows raised and you smiled. “well of course look at me of course you would think of me more.” you said. “look what you’ve done jeno.” jaemin said. “now that you’ve gotten your answer, what do you plan on doing with it?” you tapped your chin in thought. “get up jeno.” you ordered , he listened. “what’s wrong?”

“kiss him.” you said , nudging your head to the other boy. “like on the lips?” you laughed. “where else? you said you think about it , jaemin doesn’t have a problem with it; do you nana?” you purred , the boy shrugged. “not a single one.” you turned to jeno. “what are you waiting for baby? kiss him.” jaemin had a smirk on his face watching his friend crawl out of your lap , looking him in the eyes. “is it okay?” he said softly; jaemin sat up in the bed , you watched him gently grab the boy's cheek , pulling his friend into a passionate kiss.

“doesn’t look like you two have a problem doing that.” they pulled away from each other; hair ruffled , lips swollen. “are you two gonna forget about me now?” you pouted. “oh no baby of course not.” jaemin said. “i’m just gonna have to kiss you both of you equally.” his hand resting on your neck , not choking as he pulled you in a kiss , jeno watching both of you , the tension in the room heating up once again as jaemin playfully bit down on your lip making you gasp , he slipped his tongue into your mouth , jeno watching the two of you go at it , his cock stirring in his shorts; he always like watching you two , call it a guilty pleasure of his.

“look at us being selfish.” you said , turning your attention to the other boy. “we’ve completely neglected our precious boy here.” jeno being the giver he was was so ready to climb in between your legs and taste your sweet cunt like always , but you had other plans. “nu-uh , maybe later puppy.” he looked confused. “lay down.” he listened despite being confused. “what’s wrong.” he said , you kissed his cheek. “jaemin and me gonna take care of you tonight.” stroking his cheek. “right nana?” he nodded , looking hungrily at the both of you. “just trust us puppy.”

jeno sat back , body buzzing with anticipation as you and jaemin moved slowly , teasing each other as you tended to the man. “don’t test me love i’ll make him cum and leave you hanging.” jaemin said , a whine slipping out of jenos mouth. “you like that puppy? want him to make you cum?” the boys face turned red , he nodded. “please.” jeno never thought he’d see the day he’d be begging for his best friend to touch him. “don’t make him beg.”

jaemins hand ran up the boys leg , stopping right above his knee. “you want me to touch you?” his hand inching up to his clothed cock. “fuck.” jeno sighed , his friend palming him as you kissed his neck. “th-that feels good.” jaemin touched him through his shorts , the boys labored breathing in your ear. “i’m gonna cum.” jaemin stopped. “already?” he teased , you smiled. “don’t stop , let him cum.” reaching for jenos waistband , sticking your hand into his shorts , pushing them down a bit. “look at him , he’s so hard.” you stroked his length. “he always tastes so good.”

“yeah?” jaemin said , you nodded. “maybe i should see for myself.” he bent down kissing the man’s thighs. “definitely bigger than i imagined.” jaemin had no issue with expressing his feelings towards his member , everyone knew he was attracted to him , he didn’t openly flirt with him for no reason. “those pants you put us in does him justice.” he kissed up jenos length , you watched as he took him into his mouth. “sh-shit.” jeno cursed , the feeling of his best friend's mouth sucking him in , his mouth was warm. “you feeling good baby?” you raked your hands through his hair. “ye-yes.”

jaemins head bobbed up and down , his mouth focused on the boy , but it wasn’t stopping him. his hands creeping up your leg , touching your clothed pussy. “fuck jae.” you moaned out , he pushed your panties to the side , running his slender fingers along your cunt , pushing a finger inside you , pleasuring the both of you. reaching for your shirt , pulling it down, releasing your boobs , jeno squeezed them. “so-so soft.” he groaned , his hips bucking up. “want both of you two cum for me.” jaemin pulled off jeno to order , before resuming.

jaemin speed up his movements as the two of you made out , jenos hand squeezing your chest. “of fuck i’m gonna cum.” your thighs shook. “oh fuck!” you screamed , throwing your head back as you came , jeno following right after , cum spurting out , jaemin pulled off of him , licking the cum off his hands. “he does taste good.”

“if the cameras didn’t already pick up jaemins hungry eyes for you , they’ll for sure pick it up even more now , people might believe the they definitely fucked allegations now.” you said , jaemin rolled his eyes playfully. “you jealous?” you scoffed , rolling your eyes , jeno laughing. “do you two actually like each other?”

“you seen the way she touches me during the fittings , shes always eager to touch me , she’s a pervert.” jaemin said. “says the one who wanted to fuck me in the storage closet minutes before you got on stage.” you bit back. “and you let it happen to , you were practically begging for me to cum inside you , while everyone was looking for me.”

“i remember that day , you said he was having a wardrobe malfunction.” jeno spoke up. “i was you could see how fucking hard i was , because someone needed to wear the shortest pair of shorts they could find.” smiling cheekily. “you two are gonna get us in trouble one day.” jeno shook his head. “please you two are the ones getting fucking allegations.”

“you better pray jaemin can keep his hands off of you a little less , im pretty sure they’ll be a time where everyone is running around like headless chickens while you two are fucking in a storage closet.”

the clock on the nightstand blinks 1:27 am in soft red light.

johnny stirs awake, hand instinctively reaching for the warmth beside him except there’s none. the sheets are cool, untouched.

he blinks, disoriented. “babe?” his voice comes out rough, heavy with sleep.

no answer.

he sits up slowly, messy hair falling over his forehead, blanket sliding down his bare shoulders. the apartment is quiet except for the hum of the city outside, a faint echo of car tires against rain.

your slippers are missing from the side of the bed.

he sighs softly, half worried, half fond.

it’s not the first time you’ve wandered off in the middle of the night sometimes for water, sometimes because your thoughts wouldn’t rest. he knows you try not to wake him, but johnny’s always been light when it comes to you.

he slips out of bed, the floor cold under his feet, and pads down the hallway in his gray sweatpants and hoodie.

the light from the kitchen spills faintly into the dark.

and there you are, sitting by the counter, wrapped in a blanket, nursing a mug of warm milk. your gaze is lost somewhere outside the window, where the streetlights shimmer through the drizzle.

johnny leans against the doorframe for a moment, just watching.

your hair’s a little messy, your eyes soft and distant. the sight makes his heart ache in that gentle, familiar way... the kind that feels like love settling deeper in his chest.

“hey,” he murmurs.

you start a little, then relax when you see him. “did i wake you?”

“you didn’t,” he says, walking over and pressing a kiss to your temple. his voice is still low, thick with sleep. “but you’re not in bed. that’s suspicious.”

you smile faintly. “just couldn’t sleep.”

johnny hums, brushing his thumb along your jaw before sitting down beside you. “bad dream?”

“not really.” you stir the milk absently. “just thinking.”

“about?”

you hesitate, then shrug. “nothing big. life, maybe. everything’s been moving so fast lately.. work, schedules, people asking about the future…” you trail off. “i guess i just needed quiet for a bit.”

johnny watches you, his expression softening. “so you came to talk to the milk instead of me?”

you laugh quietly. “you were sleeping so peacefully. i didn’t want to bother you.”

“you could never bother me,” he says, pulling you gently into his side. the blanket slips, and he fixes it around both of you. his warmth seeps through immediately, steady and grounding.

for a while, you just sit there. his chin rests lightly on top of your head, and your heartbeat slows against his chest. the city hums outside, the clock ticking somewhere in the background — 1:30 now.

johnny breaks the silence first.

“you know what i think?”

“hm?”

“i think,” he murmurs, “you’re forgetting to rest even when you’re supposed to.”

you glance up at him. “i’m resting now.”

“no, you’re thinking while pretending to rest,” he corrects gently. “big difference.”

you smile despite yourself. “you sound like a dad.”

he smirks sleepily. “and yet you married me anyway.”

“unfortunately,” you tease.

he gasps dramatically, hand over his heart. “wow. slander at 1:27 am?”

“1:31 now,” you correct with a grin.

he laughs, the sound deep and quiet. “okay, okay. but seriously—” his tone softens again, “—you don’t have to carry everything alone, you know? even the small worries. i’d rather wake up at 1:27 every night than let you sit here feeling heavy.”

you exhale slowly, your body relaxing against him. “you always know what to say.”

“it’s a husband’s job,” he says matter-of-factly, kissing the top of your head. “rule number one: if wife is missing, follow the trail of cozy blankets and warm drinks.”

you giggle, covering your face. “i’ll try to be more mysterious next time.”

“please don’t,” he chuckles. “you’d give me a heart attack.”

you tilt your head up. “so what now, mister ‘husband rule number one’?”

johnny pretends to think, then stands and gently lifts you from your seat. you squeak, clutching his hoodie.

“johnny— what are you doing—”

“rule number two,” he says, voice warm against your ear. “if she can’t sleep, carry her back to bed.”

you laugh into his chest, the sound muffled. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you love me,” he teases, carrying you easily through the hallway, his steps quiet.

“unfortunately,” you whisper again, and he pinches your side playfully.

“careful,” he warns, setting you down gently on the bed. “rule number three: if she keeps teasing, she doesn’t get cuddles.”

“you wouldn’t dare.”

he raises a brow. “try me.”

you grin, reaching out to pull him down beside you. “come here, you big softie.”

he chuckles and lets himself fall into your embrace, wrapping his arms around you until you’re tangled up again — warmth, skin, heartbeat.

the silence settles between you like a blanket. your breaths sync slowly, and johnny presses a sleepy kiss to your forehead.

“better?” he mumbles.

“much,” you whisper. “thanks for finding me.”

“always,” he murmurs back, his voice fading with the pull of sleep. “wherever you go, i’ll follow.”

you smile into his chest, the weight in your heart finally easing. outside, the rain softens. the clock hums quietly.

You weren’t used to having neighbors.

For as long as you’d lived in your apartment, the unit directly across from yours had stayed empty. Which honestly, was fine — the view wasn’t much to brag about anyway. A narrow sliver of courtyard, another apartment window, and the same beige brick wall you’d been staring at for months. If you leaned out far enough, you were pretty sure you could touch the other building. Still, the rent was fair and the space wasn’t small, so you didn’t complain.

But then he moved in.

Lee Jeno.

He gave off easy boy next door vibes. The kind of guy who smiled in the hallway and nodded if your paths crossed at the mailboxes. He didn’t talk much beyond a quick hello, but sometimes he’d drop off the letters that got slipped into his slot by mistake, always with a polite grin that was over before you could thank him.

You’d noticed his habits in the weeks since. He loved to lean against his windowsill at night, cigarette in hand, smoke curling into the dark. And every time you thought about shoving your head out the window to finally say something, he’d already be gone, leaving only a faint trace of smoke in the air.

Until one night.

You were brushing your hair before bed, soft music humming low from your speaker, when you felt it; the distinct prickle of being watched.

Your gaze flicked up.

And there he was.

Jeno.

Leaning casually against his window frame, hoodie hanging loose on his shoulders, the glow of his lamp throwing his face into sharp lines. His eyes weren’t vague or unfocused. They were pinned directly on you.

You froze, brush caught mid-stroke. Most people would’ve ducked away, maybe pretended they hadn’t been staring. He didn’t. His mouth curved into the faintest smirk, and then he tilted his chin, like he wanted you to know he’d been caught.

Your pulse skittered. Heat rushed to your cheeks before you could think. “You’re unbelievable,” you called across the courtyard, the words spilling out faster than you meant them to.

Jeno’s smirk widened. “What? Don’t act like I’m doing something wrong.”

“You are doing something wrong. You’re spying on me.”

“Spying’s when you don’t know,” he countered easily, his voice carrying just enough over the night air. “You know.”

Your mouth opened, ready to argue, but no words came. He was too quick. “Most people close their window at night. You don’t. Makes me wonder if you like being seen.”

You rolled your eyes, trying for dismissive, but your pulse betrayed you, beating fast in your throat. The truth was, you had noticed him too. How he never seemed to bother with blinds, how you’d caught glimpses of him at odd hours — shirtless after a shower, hair damp and curling at his forehead, steam still clinging to his skin.

You would never admit that out loud. Not when his grin already said he thought he had you cornered.

So instead, you lifted your chin, feigning nonchalance. “You should put a shirt on more often, Lee Jeno. Someone could be watching.”

The reaction was immediate. His grin widened, teeth flashing, eyes narrowing just slightly like he’d caught you slipping. “Oh,” he drawled, savoring it, “so you’ve been spying on me too.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks before you could stop it. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, shaking your head, brush still clutched uselessly in your hand.

“Ridiculously lucky,” he shot back. “Nobody warned me my neighbor would end up being the best part about this place.”

Your laugh caught in your throat, half-nervous, half-warmed by the heat in his tone. You should’ve pulled the curtains then, closed off the conversation, but instead you found yourself rooted in place at your vanity.

Jeno’s eyes dragged deliberately down your body, then back up to meet yours. He tilted his head, smirk sharpening.

“Leave the curtains open,” he said softly, just loud enough to carry. “I like the view.”

The words punched straight through you, hot and shameless, and before you could respond, he winked and disappeared from the window.

And then, almost without thinking, you made a mental note to pick up cuter pajamas — not because you cared what Jeno thought, of course, but because… well, maybe you did.

────୨ৎ────

The week blurred by in errands, work, and long days that left you stumbling through your apartment on autopilot. By Friday night, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. Shoes kicked off at the door, bag dropped in the hallway, you didn’t even bother with dinner.

Your bedroom lamp glowed warm against the dim, curtains still half-open from the morning. Normally, you would’ve tugged them closed, but tonight you didn’t think twice. The thought didn’t even cross your mind.

You stripped down piece by piece, leaving a trail of clothes across the floor until you collapsed into bed in nothing but a soft tank top and panties. The sheets were cool against your skin, a welcome relief after the sticky summer heat.

It should’ve been enough to let you drift. But your body was restless, humming, the kind of tension you couldn’t shake.

You sighed and let your hand slide down, fingers brushing over your stomach, lower, until they slipped beneath the thin cotton of your underwear. The breath you let out was shaky, louder than you meant. And it filled the quiet of the room.

You shut your eyes and let yourself sink into the slow rhythm, the coil of pressure winding tighter with each touch. For a moment, you forgot about everything — the long week, the mess of your apartment, the fact that your window was still wide open.

Until the prickle returned.

That sharp awareness, like the air was heavier, like someone’s gaze had settled over your skin.

You ignored it at first, pressing harder, your hips tilting up into your own hand. But then — faint, quick, unmistakable — a sharp gasp of breath cut across the night.

Your eyes snapped open, your body jolting upright in bed. The sudden movement killed the momentum, your orgasm slipping out of reach as your pulse thundered in your ears.

Your gaze flew to the window.

Nothing. Just the faint glow from across the courtyard, the outline of bricks, and a sliver of sky above.

You sat there a moment, chest heaving, skin prickling. Then a shaky laugh slipped from your lips. “Losing it,” you whispered to yourself, dragging the sheet higher over your lap.

And still, the sound echoed in your head long after, impossible to forget.

────୨ৎ────

The following night, you thought about closing the curtains. You even reached for them once, fingers brushing the fabric. But you didn’t.

You told yourself it was laziness, or maybe the heat, but deep down you knew it was something else. That sharp gasp from the night before still lingered in your head, replaying over and over. The sound had been too real, too close. And maybe… maybe part of you wanted to hear it again.

So you left the curtains open.

You shed your clothes slowly this time, deliberately, until you were down to a thin camisole and panties. When you climbed into bed, the lamp bathed you in its warm glow, throwing your silhouette against the sheer curtains.

Your hand drifted down almost immediately, your body already anticipating the rush. The first stroke sent heat curling low in your stomach, and the second drew a soft whimper from your lips.

But this time, you didn’t shut your eyes. You glanced sideways, heartbeat thudding in your throat—

And there he was.

Jeno.

Leaning against his windowsill like he belonged there, arms folded, gaze locked on you with shameless intensity.

Your whole body froze, fingers still tucked against your underwear. Heat flooded your cheeks so fast it made you dizzy.

He didn’t flinch at being caught. He didn’t pretend to look away. His mouth curved into that slow, wicked smirk you already knew too well.

“Don’t stop,” his voice carried low and rough across the courtyard. “I was enjoying the show.”

Your pulse stuttered violently, but instead of shame, something hotter flared in your chest. Want. Curiosity. A reckless thrill.

“You—” your voice cracked, breathless. “You’re watching me.”

Jeno’s grin widened. “And you’re letting me.”

The words hit harder than they should have. You should have pulled the blanket over you, snapped the curtains shut, anything to end this. But your body betrayed you, trembling as your hand pressed down harder, chasing the friction.

A sound broke from your throat, sharp and unrestrained. Jeno shifted, bracing his hands on the sill, his jaw tight, chest rising fast. Even from across the gap you could see the hunger written plain across his face.

“Pretty,” he rasped. “Even better up close.”

The compliment tore through you, scattering your thoughts, and you gasped as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter.

Your orgasm hit you fast, a messy rush that left you clenching around nothing, trembling under the heat of his stare. You couldn’t look away, not when he leaned closer, eyes dark, lips parted like he wanted to devour you through the glass.

When it was over, you collapsed back against the sheets, chest heaving. For a moment, silence hummed between you.

You lay back trembling, trying to catch your breath, but your eyes stayed locked on his.

Jeno licked his lips, gaze raking down your body, “Next time,” he said, low and certain, “use your fingers until I get there. I’d rather finish the job myself.”

Your whole body lit up, a spark of panic and want tangling in your chest.

────୨ৎ────

You’d stopped pretending it was an accident.

Tonight, you set the stage. The lamp cast your body in golden light, the curtains left wide, your bed angled perfectly in front of the window. You’d slipped into your softest camisole, the one that clung when you moved, and panties you wouldn’t be embarrassed to be caught in. Every detail had been chosen.

Because you wanted him to watch.

And when his shadow appeared in the window across the gap, when you saw him lean forward onto his elbows, eyes locked straight at you, your pulse leapt in triumph.

You slid onto the mattress slowly, deliberately, spreading your thighs and slipping a hand beneath your waistband. Your gaze flicked up—he was already transfixed, chest rising sharp, his mouth parted like he couldn’t quite breathe.

This time, you didn’t shy away. You wanted him to see.

He didn’t speak at first. Just watched, hungry and silent. But when your fingers dipped lower and a gasp slipped out of you, he finally broke.

“Slower,” his voice cut rough across the night. “Don’t rush it. Make me wait.”

A thrill shot through you. You obeyed, dragging your fingers in teasing circles, letting your hips twitch up into your own touch.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his grip tightening on the sill. “Now pull those panties aside. Let me see you.”

Your breath hitched, but your hand slid under the lace, baring yourself to him in the lamplight. His answering curse echoed across the gap. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “Keep going. Just like that.”

You whimpered, circling your clit with slick fingers, every sound spilling out sharper, louder, because you wanted him to hear. Because this wasn’t shame—it was a performance.

You tipped your head back, arching, moaning his name into the quiet.

His response was guttural, broken, “Christ. You’re gonna kill me.”

Your eyes fluttered open just in time to catch the moment he snapped. He shoved off the sill, running a hand through his hair like he’d lost the last of his restraint.

“Fuck this,” he bit out, voice low and jagged. “Is your door unlocked?”

Your stomach flipped, heat rushing through your body. “Yes,” you whispered, not missing a beat.

He groaned something low and filthy under his breath. “Don’t stop. I’ll be there in two minutes.”

And then he was gone.

Your pulse thundered as you kept moving, fingers slipping faster, wetter, trembling as you rode the edge of release. The idea of him sprinting down the hall while you touched yourself sent another surge of heat tearing through you.

The knock came sharp, hurried, and before you could even catch your breath the door swung open.

He shut the door with a soft click, leaning against it like he had all the time in the world—but his stare was hungry, unrelenting. “You’ve been making me watch for days,” he said, voice thick. “Now you’re going to let me touch.”

You didn’t cover yourself. You didn’t move. You stayed right where he’d left you—on the edge of the mattress in the warm spill of the lamp, legs open, panties tugged to the side, fingers slick and trembling.

One knee brushed yours, then the other, and he was close enough that the clean heat of his soap cut through the faint night air. His jaw flexed once as if he was fighting himself—then lost. He cupped your face and kissed you, hard.

It was the kind of kiss people pretend they don’t like. Messy. Eager. Your lips gave on a gasp and he took it, tongue sliding against yours, a stuttered noise catching in his throat when your fingers fisted in his T-shirt and yanked him closer. He tasted like mint and something darker—want, impatience, the hours he’d spent not touching you.

“Been thinking about this since the first night,” he said against your mouth, breath rough. “Every time you walked past that window. Every time you pretended you didn’t feel me looking.”

You almost said you hadn’t been pretending. That you’d bought the camisole with him in mind, that you’d left the curtains wide because you wanted to see what it did to him. Instead you kissed him back harder, because that told the truth just fine.

His hands slid down your throat, over your collarbones, cupping your breasts through the thin fabric. His thumbs pressed over your nipples; the sheer cotton did nothing to hide how tight they were. You arched into his palms before you could think. He moaned, low and grateful, and ducked his head to mouth you through the shirt, heat searing through the damp spot he left behind.

“Take it off,” he said, voice gone hoarse.

You raised your arms and he peeled the camisole up and over, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking. His eyes lingered like he had to memorize you—every line, every freckle, the way your breath hitched when his gaze moved lower. He bent and sucked your nipple into his mouth, wet and hot, his tongue flicking until your back bowed and your hands locked in his hair.

“Jeno—” Your voice cracked.

“I know.” He pulled back just long enough to talk, lips swollen. “I know what you need.”

He dropped to his knees in front of you and shoved your knees wider with his shoulders. The position exposed you shamelessly to the window, to whatever sliver of dark city might decide to look back, and the jolt of that knowledge sent heat racing up your spine.

He inhaled you like oxygen. Then he latched onto you with a hunger that bordered on obscene.

His tongue was everywhere—slow to taste, then ruthless. Broad strokes that had your head thudding back against the wall, delicate circles that made your thighs tremble around his ears, filthy little flicks over your clit that turned your breath into broken sound. He worked you like he’d studied you from across the gap for weeks, like he’d mapped your tells and saved them for this exact moment.

“Hold,” he said against you, voice vibrating through your skin. His hands slid under your thighs and lifted, adjusting you to the perfect angle. You could almost see the shape you made in the glass.

“Jeno—please—” It came out helpless. He groaned like your begging was the thing he’d come here for and sealed his mouth around your clit, sucking hard.

The orgasm hit early and ugly and perfect. Your hips lurched; he held you down and rode it with you, mouth merciless, tongue relentless while you shook and cursed and tried to remember how to breathe. He didn’t back off when you got too sensitive—just eased the pressure, paced you down, licked you gentle until your hands loosened in his hair and your thighs uncoiled.

He looked up at you from between your legs, lip wet, eyes dark enough to drown in. “Again,” he said softly, as if you hadn’t just shattered for him.

You laughed once, wrecked, then choked when two of his fingers pushed inside you—slow, thick, filling you until your mouth fell open on a silent oh. He crooked them and found that spot with infuriating ease. Your hand slapped at his forearm, but he didn’t stop, rewarding you instead with another long, hungry kiss that trapped your noises against his tongue.

“Tell me if you need me to slow down,” he said, which would’ve been considerate if he hadn’t punctuated it by grinding the heel of his palm against your clit.

You didn’t ask him to slow down.

Wet sounds slicked the air. Your hips chased him like they knew better than you did, chasing the pressure he built and broke and built again until you were swearing into his mouth and blinking through the blur. He held you open with one big hand splayed over your belly, possessive and steadying at once—an anchor that said I’ve got you and a promise that said I’m not stopping.

The second orgasm came meaner, briefer, shuddering through you in a sharp cascade that left your thighs shaking so hard you had to grab the headboard to keep from slumping sideways. He didn’t gloat. He looked… wrecked. Proud and starving and a little undone by the way you went soft and raw for him.

“Get up here,” you managed, voice shredded.

He stood in one fluid motion. The shirt went first; you helped with the waistband, clumsy and impatient, nearly tripping him while shoving his sweats and briefs down in one rough push. His cock was flushed and leaking, heavy against his lower belly. Instinct had your hand there before you thought—fingers curling around him, thumb dragging over the slick tip. His head dropped forward, breath breaking on a curse. You stroked him slow, then harder, watching his thighs strain and his stomach tighten, feeling drunk on the power of it.

“Turn around,” he said, voice too steady for how wrecked his face looked.

You blinked. “Jeno—”

“I want you facing the window.”

The thought should have embarrassed you. It didn’t. It set your ribs buzzing with a reckless, delicious terror. You shuffled up the bed and crawled forward on your knees, bracing your palms on the sill so the night air kissed your fingers.

He came up behind you, one hand smoothing down your spine until your back dipped and your ass pressed against his hips. The other slid around your front, palm flattening low over your belly again like he owned the curve of you. He lined himself up and paused there, the weight of him nudging where you were slick and desperate.

“Okay?” he asked, low. Even now, even like this, he asked.

“God, yes.”

He pushed in.

You made a sound you didn’t recognize. He was big in a way that hurt just a little at first; then he was everywhere, and the ache melted into a deep, greedy fullness that turned your brain to static. He groaned like he’d been punched once he was seated all the way, your body tight around him, your name wrecked on his tongue.

“Look out there,” he said against your ear.

You did. The window threw your reflection back in ghosty fragments: your hands braced, mouth parted; his chest against your back, eyes half-lidded, hair falling into his face. If someone glanced up from the alley below, they’d see shapes and shadows. If your lamp caught you just right, someone in the opposite building might see more. The thought made your muscles grab at him involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Do that again.”

He pulled almost all the way out and sank back in, hard, and you did it again because you couldn’t help it. He set a rhythm that felt like confession—each thrust a statement you’d been avoiding: yes, you’d wanted this; yes, you’d planned it; yes, you loved the way being seen set your skin on fire.

He found the angle that made the glass fog in little bursts when you exhaled. He kept one arm banded under your chest, hand wrapped around your throat without pressure, just a hold, the kind that said stay with me while his other hand slotted between your thighs and started to work your clit in filthy, ruthless circles.

“Jeno,” you gasped, forehead tipping forward to bump the pane. “I’m—”

“I know,” he panted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then another lower. “Give it to me. Open your mouth and let me hear it.”

You did. The third orgasm rolled over you like a storm. Your knees almost gave; he held you up, never missing a stroke, fucking you through the aftershocks until your helpless little sounds turned him feral. He pulled you back off your palms until your spine arched and your head rested against his shoulder. One hand under your knee hiked your leg onto the mattress, opening you wider for him; the other palmed your breast, thumb rubbing lazily over your nipple while his hips went from precise to brutal.

“Take me,” he groaned into your hair. “You feel so—God, you feel—” His words collapsed but his rhythm didn’t.

You reached back and grabbed his hip to pull him in harder. He swore like it hurt but did it anyway. Your body was one long, electric ache. Every drag burned and soothed at once. You reached down and covered his hand between your legs, guiding his touch where you needed it most.

“Look,” he said, and you did, meeting your own eyes in the reflection—a stranger, flushed and blown and shameless. He watched you see yourself, and whatever he read there snapped the last thread of his control.

He hauled your feet off the floor and onto him in one clumsy, perfect pull, sitting back on his heels so you ended up in his lap facing the window. The slide knocked a breathy cry out of you as he bottomed out deeper, sharper, the new angle lighting you up like a fuse.

“Ride me,” he said, forehead pressed to the side of your head. “Let them see how you take it.”

You rose and dropped and rose again, the wet clap of your bodies obscene in the quiet room. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, guiding, then letting you set the pace when you found the one that made your vision salt-white at the edges. Every time you sank down, the stretch stole a sound from both of you. Every time you ground forward, the base of him dragged perfectly against that tender spot inside and your breath hitched into a near-sob.

He slid one hand up between your breasts and wrapped it around your throat again, still gentle, thumb under your jaw tipping your face so you couldn’t look anywhere but the night and your reflection and the way you bounced on him like you’d been made for it.

“Say my name,” he said in your ear, and you did, over and over, until he was shaking beneath you.

“Gonna—” His voice broke. “I’m close.”

“Me too,” you got out, and it was true—you could feel it building, low and inexorable, pressure gathering like the sky before rain.

He planted his feet and fucked up into you while you rolled down onto him. His fingers rubbed you hard and fast; your head fell back on his shoulder, mouth open on a sound that could’ve been mercy. The city hummed on the other side of the glass. Here, it was just the two of you, sweat-slick and wild, the room smelling like heat and mint and something you didn’t have a name for yet.

It hit at the same time. You first—your orgasm snapped tight and then burst, tearing through you in messy waves that left you clamping down around him so hard he swore and drove into you three more times, desperate, and then went still with a guttural noise against your neck. You felt him spill, the warmth pulsing deep, and the knowledge of it sent aftershocks rolling through your legs until they trembled.

Silence stretched, breathing loud, hearts punching ribs. Your cheek rested against the glass-cool windowpane; his mouth moved slowly over your shoulder as if he couldn’t stop kissing you even if he wanted to. His hands—so rough a minute ago—had gone reverent where they held your waist.

Eventually he eased you forward and slipped out, both of you wincing at the loss. He guided you down to the mattress on your side, tucked in behind you, one arm under your head as a pillow, the other draped heavy over your stomach.

You stared at the night for a beat, letting your pulse even out. He stared at you.

A small, smug sound left him. “Told you I hated staring at brick.”

You huffed a laugh, eyes closed, too warm and cleanly ruined to pretend you weren’t smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm.” He kissed the hinge of your jaw. “And you’re dangerous.”

You let the word sit there, pleased by it. After a while, your fingers found his and laced. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked, playfulness finally sneaking back into his voleeice.

You tipped your head like you were considering it. “Guess I should start charging admission if I’m giving shows every night.”

He laughed, low and satisfied, and pulled you closer until your back molded into his chest and your knees tucked into his. Outside, a siren wailed and faded. Inside, the lamp hummed. The curtains stayed open.