belle's creations

The tension between the two of you was impossible to miss. It had existed long before today, lingering through every meeting where the conference room became a battlefield of endless jabs and razor-sharp remarks, all neatly disguised as "formal debate" between you and Jaehyun.

As the Head of the Discipline Committee, you were responsible for the overall safety of the university's students. Your judgment was rooted in logic and existing regulations, ensuring that every proposal complied with university policies and that every rule was enforced without exception. To you, everything came down to authority, consequences, and structure.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, served as the Student Council President. He oversaw event proposals from clubs and organizations while advocating for student welfare, approaching every discussion with practicality and the students' best interests in mind. His leadership relied on soft power, persuasion, and popularity.

The contrast between the two of you couldn't have been clearer. While Jaehyun focused on what the students needed, you focused on what they were allowed to do. He created opportunities for them to make memories, whereas you drew the boundaries that kept those opportunities in check. He was admired by the student body; you were respected—if not outright feared. He negotiated, while you enforced.

Every committee member under the two of you had learned to mentally prepare themselves whenever the weekly meeting email landed in their inbox. What was scheduled to last two hours almost always stretched into four, with at least half of that time inevitably consumed by you and Jaehyun arguing over one another's points.

As much as you hated to admit it, you couldn't deny the familiar knot that tightened in your stomach whenever Jaehyun fired back with that infuriatingly sharp tongue of his. Every rebuttal rolled off his lips with practiced precision, as though he had already anticipated every loophole you would point out in an event proposal long before you ever opened your mouth.

It certainly didn't help that he looked unfairly put together while doing it. His prescribed glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose, and the sleeves of his white linen shirt were rolled neatly to his forearms, offering just enough of a glimpse at the biceps he'd clearly been spending more time building lately. Throughout every presentation, his eyes never left you whenever you interrupted to point out another violation of campus regulations, the corner of his lips curling into a knowing smirk as though he enjoyed every second of provoking you.

You quickly shook the thoughts away, refusing to let your mind wander any further, and redirected your attention to the meeting at hand.

Seated at the center of the long conference table inside the Discipline Committee room, you flipped through the stack of proposals for the university's upcoming events while representatives from each organization presented their plans one after another.

"I think inviting this lineup would put us over budget," you said, your tone calm yet firm.

Standing at the front of the room, Sungho, the Student Council representative attending in Jaehyun's place, continued presenting the proposed K-pop lineup for the university's annual Summer Waterbomb Festival.

Leaning back slightly in your chair, you absentmindedly tapped the end of your pen against the conference table as your eyes scanned the projected budget. Every figure, every spreadsheet, every projected expense was supposed to keep your mind occupied— a fortress built on logic and reason.

You clenched your jaw before continuing. "Even after accounting for sponsorships and revenue from the festival stalls, we're still stretching the allocation too far." Lifting the proposal just enough to indicate the estimated expenses, you kept your voice steady despite the unwelcome distraction threatening your concentration. "If anything unexpected comes up during the preparation period, we'll have almost no financial buffer left."

Normally, this discussion would've been between you and Jaehyun.

Unfortunately— or perhaps fortunately— he was still in class, leaving only two Student Council committee members to attend the meeting in his place.

The room felt noticeably quieter without him. There were no playful remarks to derail the discussion, no stubborn negotiations that dragged a two-hour meeting into four. Instead, there were only proposals, calculations, and routine discussions that somehow felt far duller than they should have.

Sungho nodded, quickly jotting down a few notes before attempting to defend the budget. "We can adjust the catering costs to compensate, Captain. The festival's prestige depends on this specific lineup."

"Prestige shouldn't come at the cost of fiscal stability," you replied without hesitation.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by the soft scratching of pens across paper.

You were doing exactly what a Head of the Discipline Committee was supposed to do— identifying every loophole, questioning every oversight, and ensuring every proposal complied with university regulations. Your arguments were as precise and uncompromising as ever.

Yet the absence of one particularly infuriating, dark-haired nuisance was impossible to ignore.

Without Jaehyun leaning back in his chair with that infuriating smirk, ready to counter every point you made, the debate felt strangely hollow. There was no one to lock eyes with across the conference table, no teasing remark murmured just loud enough to test your composure, no relentless back-and-forth that somehow made every meeting feel alive despite how much it exhausted you.

Everything was efficient. Everything was orderly.

Everything was lifeless.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your gaze drifted temporarily to the empty chair reserved for the Student Council President.

A familiar sound drifted in from the hallway.

The unmistakable rhythm of confident, unhurried footsteps drew closer with each passing second, and your traitorous heart answered with a single, heavy thump against your ribs. Determined not to betray yourself, you kept your eyes fixed on the budget report, refusing to look up even as the heavy oak door swung open.

"I'm sorry," a familiar voice called, smooth with amusement. "Am I late to the party? Please tell me the most important decisions haven't been made without the President."

Jaehyun looked entirely too relaxed for someone who had just walked out of what was undoubtedly a grueling biomedical engineering lecture. A dark navy sweater hugged his frame, making his skin appear almost luminous beneath the conference room lights, while his slightly tousled hair suggested he'd spent the walk over absentmindedly running a hand through it.

His gaze swept across the room in a practiced glance, acknowledging the other representatives only briefly before settling squarely on you.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a knowing—devastatingly handsome—smirk.

"You look particularly fierce today, Ms. Protocol," he said, his voice dropping into that low, melodic drawl you hated for how easily it lingered in your ears. The nickname rolled off his tongue with infuriating ease, every syllable carrying a teasing familiarity that no one else seemed to question. "Is the budget giving you trouble, or are you just missing my expert guidance?"

"The budget," you repeated, deliberately emphasizing the word as the tip of your pen resumed its rhythmic tapping against the proposal. "Why is it always the same issue with your organization?"

A quiet sigh escaped you before you continued. "If it isn't another request to extend the event curfew, it's a budget that exceeds the allocated funds."

Only then did you finally look up.

Jaehyun had already settled into his chair with an ease that felt entirely intentional, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table as though he had all the time in the world. His attention never wavered from yours, the intensity in his gaze at odds with the formal atmosphere surrounding the meeting.

"Well?" you prompted. "Do you actually enjoy having your proposals sent back by the Discipline Committee?" Your voice remained impeccably professional, but everyone around the table recognized the familiar edge beneath it.

"Sent back?" Jaehyun echoed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "That's a harsh way to put it, Y/N."

He reached for the proposal in front of you, his fingertips brushing the edge of the document— close enough for the contact to feel deliberate without actually touching you.

"We prefer to think of it as a collaborative refinement process." His smile widened almost imperceptibly. "You provide the boundaries, and we provide the vision."

The slight tightening of your jaw didn't escape him.

Turning to Sungho, he continued as though the two of you hadn't just exchanged another silent challenge. "Let's revisit the catering budget. If we tighten the logistics, we can recover the buffer the Captain's so concerned about."

Then he looked back at you.

"Unless..." His voice dipped just enough for the word to carry across the table without losing its private edge. A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes as though the rest of the room had momentarily ceased to exist. "Ms. Protocol thinks we're incapable of being responsible."

He punctuated the remark with a casual wink.

You tightened your grip around the pen, forcing yourself to remain composed. "You're asking me to approve additional spending based on projected savings that don't exist yet," you said evenly. "I won't gamble the committee's budget on optimism."

To everyone else, it was another playful jab in the never-ending rivalry between the Student Council President and the Head of the Discipline Committee.

To you, it was a challenge— another move in the dance the two of you never seemed to stop dancing.

A quiet laugh escaped Jaehyun. It wasn't mocking. If anything, it sounded almost impressive.

Rather than rising to the challenge, he simply withdrew his hand from the proposal and leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxing as though he had all the patience in the world.

"Tell me something, Y/N." His voice remained calm, almost conversational.

"If our Finance Committee comes back tomorrow and confirms we can recover every won of that contingency..." He let the question hang for a beat before finishing, "...would you approve the lineup?"

The room fell silent. For the first time that afternoon, you hesitated. It lasted no more than a heartbeat, but your breath caught all the same.

His eyes lingered on you just long enough to tell you he'd caught the crack in your composure. "Because if the answer is still no," he said softly, "then this was never about the budget."

Jaehyun noticed.

Of course he did.

The words lodged themselves in your throat. Every sharp retort and cutting remark you had prepared dissolved before they could leave your lips.

Because he wasn't wrong.

If you pushed back now without a legitimate reason, everyone in the room would see through it. They would realize your objections were no longer rooted entirely in policy but were beginning to blur with something far more personal. Worse still, Jaehyun's compromise was reasonable—practical, even—and rejecting it outright would only weaken your own argument.

In that moment, all you wanted to do was shut him up by crashing your lips against his.

You hated that he'd backed you into a corner.

You hated even more that he had done it so effortlessly.

It was ridiculous, really. Somewhere between months of relentless arguments and endless meetings, the two of you had discovered that the only way to silence the frustration was to kiss each other senseless. You couldn't stand each other emotionally, yet somehow the only person who truly understood the pressure you were under was the one sitting across the table.

So you both fuck.

Not because you liked each other— not that either of you would ever admit to such a thing— but because it was the easiest way to bleed off the stress, to satisfy the adrenaline that came with constantly pushing each other's buttons, and to release the tension neither of you seemed capable of escaping.

A few more minutes of discussion passed before the meeting finally came to an end. Committee members gathered their documents, exchanged polite farewells, and gradually filtered out of the conference room, their conversations fading into the hallway until silence settled over the space once more.

You, however, remained in your seat.

Your gaze stayed fixed on the proposal lying open in front of you, glaring at the neatly printed pages as though sheer determination alone could somehow rewrite the outcome of the meeting.

It couldn't.

After Jaehyun proposed having the Finance Committee produce revised projections, the rest of the board had quickly rallied behind the idea. One by one, members voiced their agreement, citing previous festivals and successful budget adjustments as examples until it no longer felt like they were evaluating the proposal— it felt like they were countering you.

By the time the votes were counted, the proposal had passed with revised funding, granting the Student Council a larger budget for the upcoming Summer Waterbomb Festival.

The decision was final.

With a quiet exhale, you leaned back in your chair and resumed tapping the end of your pen against the tabletop, an unconscious habit you'd developed whenever things slipped beyond your control. The steady rhythm echoed through the now-empty room.

Once. Twice. Again.

The soft, rhythmic clicks echoed through the now-empty meeting room, betraying the frustration you had worked so hard to conceal throughout the discussion. Beneath your composed exterior, irritation simmered restlessly under your skin. Despite every argument you had made, the visionaries had won.

You had fought for stability, yet the budget had expanded anyway. It was a victory for the Student Council— and perhaps for the students, who would undoubtedly celebrate the popular K-pop lineup. It was certainly a triumph for Jaehyun.

For you, however, it felt like a personal defeat against the meticulously ordered world you had built.

"You're going to break that pen if you keep at it like that."

His voice was lower now, stripped of the easy warmth he wore in front of everyone else.

Jaehyun crossed the room with quiet steps, the carpet swallowing the sound of his approach before he pulled out the chair beside yours and sat down, slipping effortlessly into the space you usually kept off-limits.

He leaned in until his shoulder hovered just shy of brushing yours, and the clean, expensive musk of his cologne drifted into your senses, making your breath hitch despite yourself.

"You look like you're planning a murder, Y/N," he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting into an amused smile. Yet there was an unfamiliar softness in his eyes, one reserved for moments like these, when the audience had long since disappeared. "Was the budget really that devastating, or are you just annoyed that you couldn't keep me in line today?"

"Shut up, Jaehyun," you muttered, refusing to look away from the proposal still spread across the table. Your glare remained fixed on the pages, though whether it was directed at the paperwork or at him had become increasingly difficult to tell.

"Before I actually murder you with this pen."

Jaehyun let out a soft, delighted huff of laughter, the sound vibrating in the small space between you. His gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest, most dangerous second before returning to your eyes, the playful mask he wore in public slipping away to reveal the quieter, unreadable version of himself that only you ever saw.

"Such a violent temperament for someone so composed," he murmured, his voice dipping into something more intimate than teasing. His hand moved before you could react, long fingers gently wrapping around yours to still the restless tapping of your pen. His skin was warm against yours, a stark contrast to the cool metal resting between your grip.

"Does this mean you're going to hold a grudge?" he asked, studying you with a mix of amusement and genuine curiosity. "Because if you are, you're going to have to come up with something far more creative than threatening me with a pen."

Your eyes flicked down to where his hand enclosed yours, his thumb drawing a slow, unhurried circle over your knuckles as though he had all the time in the world.

"Right," you said at last, voice steadying into something sharper. "It's all because of you."

Then you finally turned fully to face him. "I guess it's only acceptable for me to use that dick of yours to relieve some of this frustration, right?"

The words landed cleanly in the air between you, precise and unflinching in the same clinical tone you used to dismantle a budget proposal, though the weight of them shifted the atmosphere entirely.

The air in the room seemed to vanish.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the university’s ventilation system— a quiet, indifferent backdrop to the sudden and violent spike of tension between the two of you.

Jaehyun froze.

The easy, lopsided grin he usually wore faltered as his eyes widened slightly, processing the bluntness of your words. He had expected a sharp retort, maybe a witty jab or a pointed lecture about fiscal irresponsibility. What he hadn't expected was for you to strip away every layer of professional restraint and leave nothing but unfiltered intent behind.

A slow heat crept up his neck, spreading across his cheeks before he could stop it. Whatever composed and easygoing image he carried in public was gone, replaced by something quieter yet sharper— something that made his breath turn shallow.

He exhaled slowly, unevenly.

His gaze darkened as it held yours, searching for even the smallest hesitation. When he found none, his grip on your hand tightened slightly, his thumb pressing more deliberately against your skin.

"Careful, Y/N," he rasped, his voice dropping into something rougher than before. "Say things like that in a room this quiet, and people might start thinking the Head of Discipline Committee has lost her composure."

"I am," you said, your voice steady despite the heat behind it, "and I'm so desperate to let go of this frustration that I'm this close to killing someone." The words came out sharp, controlled, almost frightening in their certainty.

Jaehyun’s pupils darkened, the shift immediate and unmistakable. "Then let's not keep you waiting," he murmured.

After making sure you both left at different times so no suspicion lingered among your respective committees, you eventually found yourselves inside Jaehyun’s car, parked far from the prying eyes of campus.

The moment the door shut, whatever restraint you had been holding onto all day snapped cleanly.

You didn’t waste any time to pull Jaehyun into a kiss field with all the built-up frustration, casually straddling him on the driver seat. Your grips on his navy sweater tightened. You were a whirlwind of suppressed tension, your body moving with a desperate and hungry urgency that left Jaehyun breathless. The friction of your thighs against him was a silent command, a demand for him to finally bridge the distance they had maintained all day.

Jaehyun let out a low and guttural groan into your mouth, his hands finding your waist to steady you. He met your kiss with equal ferocity, his tongue tangling with yours in a frantic and uncoordinated dance of need. The scent of yours, something crisp and elegant, now mixed with the heat of your skin drove him to the brink of madness. 

The veneer of the polished Student Council President and the stoic Head of Discipline Committee shattered completely. 

“God, princess.” He rasped against your lips, his fingers digging into the soft curve of your hips. He pulled you closer, eliminating every millimeter of space between you both. The navy fabric of his sweater bunched under your tight grip, a testament to how much you were clinging to him for stability. 

His hands slid from your waist, travelling upward to cup your face. His thumbs traced your jawline with a feverish intensity.  He could feel the tremor in his hands, the same restless energy you had been channeling into your pen just moments ago. Now, the energy was focused entirely on him.

Jaehyun shifted, his hips tilting upward to meet your pressure, his eyes dark with a singular and consuming purpose. 

The silence of the parked car was filled only with the sound of their ragged breathing and the heavy, rhythmic thud of two hearts beating in a frantic and synchronized tempo, probably jolted a bit as it moved along to match the rhythms of you both.

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath. You moved along your hips, humping against him through the clothes while your hands travelled all the way to his sides, exploring his muscles through the shirt as if it reduced every inch of your frustration. 

Your lips moved to his neck, licking and biting against the exposed skin as if you were in charge. Jaehyun threw his head back against the headrest, a sharp yet choked sound escaping his throat the moment your teeth grazed the sensitive skin of his neck. The sensation was electric, a searing brand that made his vision blur. 

Every time you grounded your hips against him, the friction of the denim and cotton felt like a beautiful torture, driving him toward a breaking point he was desperate to reach.

“You’re… relentless,” Jaehyun managed to grit out, his voice a broken and low rumble.

His hands abandoned your face, sliding down your back to pull you even tighter against him, as if trying to fuse your both bodies into one. 

Your eyes found him again, taking in the way he looked beneath you— undone in a way he never allowed himself to be anywhere else. 

He needed more than just the sensation of your movement.

He needed the heat of your skin.

Your hand moved up without hesitation, resting lightly at his throat, thumb brushing over his pulse as it betrayed how much he was trying to stay composed. 

“Fuck..” You breathed, “I hate you so fucking much,” you muttered in the midst of your shaky breath, your hips pressed even further. Your underwear was dampened with your wetness, dragging them along to the obvious tent of his dick through his denim jeans, earning a strangled and desperate sound from Jaehyun. 

Jaehyun’s eyes snapped open, dark and dilated, as your thumb traced the movement of his throat. The sensation was a delicious and agonizing tether, grounding him even as you pushed him toward the edge of insanity. 

Your beautiful yet venomous declaration of hatred confession sent a surge of pure, unadulterated heat through his veins. Jaehyun loved it when you were like this: raw, unpolished, and entirely unconcerned with the dignity your reputation usually demanded.

“Then hate me harder,” he rasped, his voice a jagged wreck of its usual melodic self. 

Jaehyun reached up, his large hands captured your wrist to guide your hand, pressing your palm even more firmly against the pulse point of his neck. He wanted you to feel how fast his heart was racing, how much you were physically unravelling him. 

His hips bucked upward in a reflexive yet hungry attempt to close the tortuous gap between you both. The friction was a slow burn, a maddening tease that made his entire body ache with the need to be inside her. You matched his rhythm, moving your hips in circle motion before lifting your hips, only to drop it against his thighs with much intensity. 

Your head threw to the back, ragged breath followed by his other unoccupied hand guiding your hips. A strangled moan escaped from your lips and before you could come, his grip on your hips tightened with bruising force, forcing you to stay still on his hips. 

The hand that hovered yours slid down, using both of his hands to peek the inside of your thighs underneath your cotton skirt, moving your panty to the other side. Catching up with him, your hands dropped to his denim jeans, unbuckled the belt and unzipped the jeans, exposing the very dick that you had been so desperately trying to ride. 

“Fuckkkk— hngh…” You shut your eyes tight when the head of his cock slid inside you with ease, his hands now dropped on your hips as he guided you down from the position. You dropped your head to his shoulder, burying your face against the crook of his neck. “God, I really hate you.”

“Your words, your endless insults..” 

You added on, “Your cock.” 

“I fucking hate everything.” You managed to spill out the words that had been threatening to escape from the tip of your tongue, grazed your teeth against his skin, your walls clenched tightly around his length. 

The young man let out a sound that was half groan and half sob as your internal muscles clamped around him with punishing, exquisite tightness. The sensation of your clenching was so intense it felt as though you were trying to pull him apart from the inside. 

He gripped your hips so hard his knuckles turned white, his head lulling back against the seat as he surrendered to the overwhelming friction of your body. 

“Hate me more,” Jaehyun gasped, his voice a broken mess. “Hate every single second of this.”

He loved the way you weaponized your frustration, turning your supposed disdain into a fuel that burned hotter than any genuine affection could. You were a storm, and he was more than willing to drown in you.

Jaehyun began to thrust upward, his movements heavy and deliberate, meeting your downward rhythm with a primal force. The car rocked violently on its suspension, a rhythmic creak echoing the frantic pace of the union. 

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against yours as his lips found your ear to whisper a dark and breathless truth. “You can hate me all you want, princess. As long as you never stop wanting me like this.”

A breathless laugh slipped past you, unsteady and fractured, more feeling than sound as the tension between you both spiraled further out of control. The proximity, the heat, the danger of being caught— it all blurred together until there was nothing coherent left to hold onto.

“Oh, I’m surely going to hate you,” you bit back, “I’ll make sure no one could make me hate you as much as how good I make you feel.”

You lifted your head, hands gripped both of his shoulders as you moved along with his thrusts, your hips pressed against his thighs. Arching your body, your head tilted to the back in full bliss. 

“Is that a promise, princess?” Jaehyun smirked, he loved the way your pride remained intact even as your body betrayed her, your voice trembled with the sheer intensity of the pleasure he was forcing you to endure.

Jaehyun surged upward, his thrust became harder and frantic, driven by the sight of your arched back and the way your eyes rolled back. “Fuck, princess. You feel so fucking good.” 

“So fucking perfect, and all for me, right?” The young man whispered against the sensitive skin of your neck when he leaned in, his right hand on your back while his left hand remained on your hips. 

When you clenched again, his hiss morphed into a curse. His thrust deepened, abusing your cunt just as much as you hate him, breaking you into the most melodic, shattered moaning mess. 

“Fuck.. Cl-Close,” you pulled the inner of your lower lips inside, your hips moved in rather chaotic, messy motions just to pull you both closer to the edge. “Yes, God, please—”

“I’m…. hngh, I’m going to..” your words became incoherent, breath ragged. “I’m close, mmmph— Oh God, fuck!” You screamed, your eyes shut tight as white-hot pleasure blazed through you, forming the white circle around his base.

Jaehyun didn’t stop at all— instead, he fucked even harder, his thrusts uneven and messy at this point, the car obviously jerked in a very suspicious way. His grips were all over your body, knuckles white, moving his hips with desperate urgency. 

“Fuck princess,” the young man whispered against your skin, forcing you down to his hips as he moved one last thrust upward, his entire world tilt on its axis when the hot sperm splurted inside you, coating each of your wall with his cum followed by a guttural groan. 

He slumped back against the seat, chest rising and falling unevenly as he tried to catch his breath, while you remained against him for a moment longer, unwilling to move just yet.

“You’re a terrifying woman, Y/N,” he muttered after a beat, voice still rough around the edges.

A quiet laugh slipped out of you, soft and unsteady as you rested your weight against him to steady your breathing. Despite everything, there was something disarmingly comfortable about the closeness— something neither of you ever seemed willing to acknowledge outside of moments like this. “Says the one who gets even bigger while still being inside me.”

Lifting your body just enough to face Jaehyun, your hands on his chest. “What are you? A virgin or a pervert?” Your tone filled with disbelief, finding it amusing how he was still hard. 

A tired, triumphant smirked tugged at the corner of Jaehyun’s mouth. “It’s called being highly responsive to a very particular stimulus, princess.” His head tilted a bit, his eyes softened with a glistening tease. “I thought you like it when you have the upper hand?” 

It had been months since you and Jiahao officially started dating, finally putting an end to the confusing push-and-pull that had lingered between you for so long. Jiahao turned out to be disarmingly sweet and genuinely romantic— far more tender than the polished characters you had spent your teenage years watching in K-dramas.

Not a single day went by without him insisting on driving you to and from work, even when it meant taking the longer route that pulled him in the opposite direction of his own office. Despite being the head of innovation at Guangzheng Group, a family-run company weighed down by generations of tradition, Jiahao never once allowed his packed schedule to become an excuse for neglect. He always carved out time for you, even if it was only a fleeting moment in the middle of his day.

That Tuesday felt ordinary at first, until the evening crept in and the city sky began to melt into shades of muted gold and dusky blue. As the sun dipped lower, Jiahao finally allowed himself a breath of relief, his body and mind both carrying the weight of exhaustion.

He leaned back into the leather chair, letting it spin slightly as one hand slipped through his neatly kept hair, the other massaging the stiffness along his neck. His eyes, heavy with fatigue, flickered towards the clock on his desk— well past his usual dinner time, he noted with a faint sigh.

On most evenings, he would already be on the road, eager to collect you from your office. But tonight was different. You had gently refused, mentioning a celebratory dinner with your colleagues after the project’s successful approval by the client.

Moments like this made Jiahao realise just how hopelessly in love he was with you. A low sound rumbled in his throat, his Adam’s apple shifting as he exhaled and pressed the back of his head against the chair.

The office felt far too empty without you. Every passing second seemed to sharpen his longing.

Oh, how badly he wanted to see you.

To hold you close in his arms, to feel your face tucked against his chest, to brush soft kisses along your temple— those were the moments he craved most. And yes, to touch you in ways that drew breathless little sounds from your lips… that longing burned quietly inside him.

It had to be said: his desire for you was insatiable. Yet Jiahao never once pushed you beyond your comfort. His touch was always gentle, his patience endless, though the way his fingertips lingered on your skin often left you aching for more.

Your very first night together remained etched in your memory. He had been careful, almost reverent, with every kiss and every caress. When you insisted on switching off the lights, too shy to meet his eyes in such vulnerability, he had only smiled and pulled the curtains wider, letting the glow of the city spill into the room. Even then, you knew he longed to see you fully, yet his restraint and tenderness made the moment unforgettable.

The brief flashes of those memories only worsened the ache of his longing. Still, Jiahao reminded himself he was not an impatient man. No matter how much he sulked earlier when you told him about dinner with your colleagues, he respected your choice. He would never ask you to give up your own moments of joy just for him— though, quietly, he wished you were here with him instead.

The sudden knocks on his office door echoed through the quiet space, pulling Jiahao abruptly back into reality. He straightened slightly in his chair, though his body still sagged with exhaustion.

“Come in,” he muttered, his voice edged with fatigue, not bothering to glance up from the scattered notes on his desk.

The door opened, and Huixin stepped inside— the young intern placed under his supervision. Dressed immaculately, she carried herself with a certain composure that belied her inexperience.

“These are the files Mr. Zhang asked you to review,” she said, her tone polite yet efficient. The sharp rhythm of her heels clicked against the marble floor as she crossed the room with practised grace. Reaching his desk, she laid the stack of documents carefully in front of him, aligning the corners with neat precision before stepping back.

With the company preparing to have its proposal for renewable energy innovation presented at the upcoming global competition, it was no surprise the staff worked tirelessly, ensuring no detail slipped through the cracks.

Jiahao finally opened his eyes, the weight of fatigue still pressing at his temples, swivelled his chair just enough to face the growing mountain of papers spread across his desk. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he recalled that morning’s meeting— his father had pressed him with relentless questions, each one sharper than the last. Ostensibly, it was to prepare Jiahao for the judges he would soon face, but he knew well enough it was also his father’s way of testing his only son’s resolve.

He gave a small nod, voice low and roughened with weariness. “Thanks,” he said, taking the documents and sliding them onto the already haphazard pile in the corner of his desk.

The upcoming competition was one of the biggest projects Jiahao had been preparing for over the past few months. The strain of it all was beginning to show, carved into the dark circles beneath his eyes— the very ones you loved to tease and kiss each night before falling asleep.

He was exhausted. God, he was so very tired.

If not for you, Jiahao doubted he would have endured this long. It was your constant presence, your quiet reassurances, and the comfort of your embrace that eased the weight pressing on his shoulders.

And all of it, every sleepless night and every ounce of effort, was for one simple reason: to see that proud smile curve across your lips when the competition was finally over.

Meanwhile, Huixin’s sharp eyes caught the little details others might overlook. The faint creases wrinkling Jiahao’s usually immaculate shirt, the slight disarray in his perfectly styled hair, likely mussed from frustration, and the loosened knot of his tie that betrayed the weight of a long yet draining day.

“Would you like some tea to help you unwind, Mr. Zhang?” Her tone was soft, but any woman would have recognised the serpentine edge beneath it— the kind designed to ensnare, a quiet strategy for survival in a workplace where charm could be as sharp as ambition.

On another day, Jiahao might have noticed. He might have caught the way she lingered just a second too long by his desk, or how she stood closer than necessary. But tonight, weariness dulled his senses. His thoughts were tangled elsewhere, with you, with deadlines, with the endless weight of expectation pressing down on him.

He only nodded faintly at her offer, dragging a weary hand down his face. “Yeah. Thanks,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the computer screen that had flickered back to life after its idle shutdown. “That’d be great.”

“Of course.” Huixin’s lips curved into a wicked smile if one cared enough to look closely.

The sharp click of her heels echoed once more as she exited the office, off to prepare the tea she had so eagerly volunteered to make... When, in reality, it was nothing more than a three-in-one packet. Yet in her mind, it became an offering. 

A small step in her quiet determination to win the favour of her supervisor. If she could catch Jiahao’s attention, perhaps she could climb higher in the hierarchy, even as a mere intern who had only been there for two months.

Jiahao, on the other hand, remained oblivious. His world had narrowed to the stack of documents in front of him, each page demanding examination. His tired eyes traced line after line, scanning for flaws or oversights until the words blurred into an indistinct haze— like a dictionary he had stared at for far too long.

“Here you go, Mr. Zhang—” Huixin reappeared after a while, a tray balanced in her hands. She nudged the door open with her arm, stepping inside as she extended the cup toward him.

But her fingers shifted, subtly yet deliberately, just enough for the liquid to slosh over the rim. A small splash landed on his shirt, warm but nowhere near scalding, exactly as she had intended.

The sudden heat made Jiahao’s head snap up, his eyes widening. “Ah, damn it—” he hissed, rising abruptly from his chair as he snatched for the tissues on his desk.

“Careful!” The word escaped sharper than he meant, but his patience was already threadbare after hours of unrelenting work. He dabbed at the spreading stain with a scowl, irritation flickering across his features.

The last thing he needed right now was a tea-stained shirt, one more reminder of how frayed and exhausted he already felt.

“I’m so sorry!” Huixin gasped, bowing low like a child caught in mischief. She leaned in quickly, snatching a few tissues from the desk with exaggerated urgency.

As she dabbed at the damp fabric, her fingers lingered just a moment too long— brushing against his skin in a way that was fleeting yet deliberate, hidden beneath the guise of clumsy helpfulness.

Jiahao’s patience thinned with every accidental touch. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing in clear irritation. He reminded himself that she had a reputation for being careless, her so-called clumsiness making her oddly popular in the department. 

Perhaps this was just another one of those mistakes.

“It’s fine,” he bit out, brushing her hand away as he took the tissues from her. “I can handle it.”

He focused on blotting the stain, though his frayed temper and sheer exhaustion made even that small task feel heavy. And then there was Huixin, hovering too close, using every slip as an excuse to reach for him.

It was irritating. She was irritating.

“Oh?”

You stood frozen in the doorway of Jiahao’s office, your right hand gripping a small cake box. The surprise you had brought for your boyfriend.

Only now, you were the one caught off guard.

Your eyes locked on the scene before you: another woman leaning in far too close, her slender fingers dabbing at the damp fabric of Jiahao’s shirt. Her touch lingered just above his stomach, tracing the faint outline of his abs in a way that made your chest tighten.

The sound of your voice made Jiahao’s head snap up. His body tensed, heart skipping a beat the moment he saw you. The one person he loved most, standing in the doorway with a cake box trembling slightly in your hand.

He had been excited to see you, after all the longing that gnawed at him even when you were apart for only a few hours. But now… now he knew how impractical the situation was. How utterly doomed he looked.

Huixin leaning too close, her hands brushing over his shirt. This wasn’t how he wanted you to find him. He opened his mouth to explain, to say something— anything, but the words betrayed him. Nothing came out. Only silence, and the guilt written plain across his face.

Huixin followed his gaze toward the doorway. Recognition flickered in her eyes instantly. She knew who you were.

Jiahao’s girlfriend. The only partner he had ever loved. The only woman he intended to love until his last breath.

Almost everyone in the company knew how hopelessly devoted Jiahao was to you. How the usually composed and cold head of innovation turned soft and lovestruck whenever you appeared during his lunch breaks.

Huixin stiffened, then bent into a deep bow before slipping quickly toward the door, her heels clicking a retreat.

“Wait, miss.”

Your tone was light, almost gentle, but the edge beneath it stopped Huixin mid-step. She turned back with a brittle and practised smile. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Would you mind making two cups of black coffee?” you asked, your own smile poised and flawless— polished enough to pass for sweet, but sharp enough to sting. You lifted the cake box slightly, your words airy yet deliberate. “My boyfriend prefers his coffee black when I bring him his favourite cake.”

Huixin faltered, her smile wavering. “S-Sure,” she stammered, caught off guard. For the first time, she realised you weren’t like the others. Those fragile girls she’d easily outshone and stolen boyfriends from.

With no choice but to bow her head, Huixin quietly slipped out of the office, closing the door behind her.

Across the office, Jiahao almost gaped at your casual command, surprise and admiration flickering in his eyes. He knew this side of you well. The polished and calculated armour you wore in public when you needed to stand your ground.

But when silence settled again, he shifted uneasily. His shirt was still damp and wrinkled from the tea spill, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like a boy caught misbehaving.

“Y/N…” he began, his voice hesitant, almost unsure.

Your gaze, which had lingered on the door after it clicked shut, slowly turned to him. There he stood by his desk, stiff and guilty, as if waiting for judgement.

“What?” Your reply was curt, your chin tilting upward as you strode closer. The warm smile you had carried into the office earlier was gone— replaced with a cool yet composed expression that made Jiahao’s stomach twist.

You set the cake box on his desk with a quiet thud, the sound sharper than necessary. “How naive are you…” you said evenly, your words like silk-wrapped steel, “…to fall for such a petty trick?”

There was a bite in your tone, but beneath it lingered something softer: an unspoken affection threading through the reprimand. You weren’t truly angry. He hadn’t entirely been at fault.

Still, Jiahao felt a pang of guilt, sharp and sudden, at the disappointment in your eyes. You were right; he should have seen through Huixin’s schemes.

But he had been exhausted, stressed beyond measure, and focused only on finishing his work. He had been caught off guard. 

And, for once, it had cost him.

He raked a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. “Babe, I—” he began, only to cut himself off with another frustrated exhale. “Damn it, I was just… distracted. It was a mistake.”

“How distracted are you, Mr. Zhang?” Your voice remained calm. You tilted your head slightly, arms crossed over your chest as your sharp gaze pinned on him.

Jiahao opened his mouth, then shut it again, fumbling for words that refused to come. His usual confidence had deserted him, leaving only a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His shoulders slumped slightly as he lifted his eyes to meet yours, after briefly dropping them to the floor.

He felt like a fool.

“Too distracted,” Jiahao admitted quietly. “Too damn distracted.”

Yet your expression remained perfectly neutral, your gaze cool and unreadable as it settled on him. Without softening your tone, you tilted your chin slightly toward his office chair.

“Sit.”

The single word left no room for argument— quiet, measured, yet heavy with expectation. Jiahao blinked, and something flickered deep in his chest.

Not defiance. Not resistance.

Arousal.

He lowered himself slowly into the chair, the leather creaking under his weight. Leaning back, he let his eyes darken as he watched you. “Yes… Mrs. Zhang?”

It was a nickname Jiahao liked to use to tease you— part of him delighted in seeing how quickly you’d fluster at the thought of a surname that could one day be yours. Another part of him cherished the idea of living until the day you officially became his, letting him call you Mrs. Zhang in every sense of the word. Those moments always earned your soft and flustered laughter, your cheeks coloring as you hid the thought of being his wife.

But this time was different.

“Who says I’m Mrs. Zhang?” you scoffed, the edge in your voice teasing and sharp as you watched him settle into the chair, moving with the careful caution of someone trying to behave. His wide and boba-like eyes never left yours, silently pleading for a hint of forgiveness.

You leaned forward, your palm pressing firmly on the arm of the spinning chair, closing the space between you despite his taller frame. Jiahao inhaled sharply, following your every movement with intent. The subtle dominance in your posture made the air between you thrum with tension, leaving him caught somewhere between awe and longing.

“I’m still a Y/L/N,” you reminded him softly, tilting your head as you lifted your right hand. The bare finger caught the light— no ring, no promises sealed… not yet.

He watched you, a trace of surrender in his eyes. Your teasing tone made his lips tug into a small, almost helpless smile. Leaning his head back, he stared at you from below, his gaze fixated upside-down. “Right,” he murmured. “You’re still a Y/L/N.”

His eyes drifted to your finger, lingering on the bare skin where a ring might one day sit.

This.  This was everything he wanted.

You. This future.

Standing in his office, standing over him, taking control with no hint of hesitation in your eyes.

God, he was hopelessly in love with you.

Jiahao reached up, gripping your wrist gently, his thumb brushing over your pulse. He could feel your heartbeat quicken beneath his touch. And then, unable to hold back any longer, he gave your wrist a firm tug, pulling you onto his lap with effortless ease.

The sudden movement drew a startled yelp from you— you hadn’t expected the balance of control to flip so swiftly.

In an instant, your composed and cool facade crumbled, replaced by a pouty and puppy-like expression. Your brows knitted together in mock frustration, lips curving downward as if he’d just stolen a hard-won victory from you.

“I was supposed to be the one with the upper hand… scolding you,” you whined, your voice a mix of irritation and reluctant amusement.

Jiahao chuckled, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. He could practically hear your pout, the fake frustration woven through your tone.

It was… adorable.

“Is that right?” he murmured, eyes sparkling with mischief as he held you snugly. “You were supposed to be scolding me? Well… I guess I got impatient.”

“H-Hah…” Your lashes fluttered shut as his warm breath grazed your skin, betraying your attempt to resist. He nuzzled the curve of your neck, lips brushing against your pulse point in a deliberate yet feather-light kiss that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

“U… Unfair,” you gasped, voice catching as you tried to steady your breath. Your hands pressed weakly against his chest in a half-hearted attempt to push him away, though your fingers lingered, betraying your resolve.

“Unfair?” Jiahao murmured, his voice low and warm against your neck, the vibration making you shiver again. “You came in here all cool and sharp, like you own the place— which, well… you kinda do. And then you gave me that look… like I was the one in trouble.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, hands still firm on your waist. A slow and dangerous smirk tugged at his lips. “Who's really being unfair here?”

Despite the haze clouding your mind that was thick with longing, you gathered the scraps of your composure. Your legs bracketed his, your weight settling just enough to remind him of the closeness… And probably the control you still held.

“You,” you murmured in a bratty tone, leaning in until the tip of your nose nearly brushed his. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you nipped lightly at the end of his nose— a playful bite, more mischief than malice.

While dating you and learning the full scope of your personality, Jiahao realised you were just spinning nonsense, acting bratty to wriggle out of the moment. But it was endearing. There was something irresistible about watching you fumble with your own logic, as long as it was cute enough to make him smile.

The nip drew a startled, amused noise from him. Your defiant mixed with bratty energy only made him want you more, the spark of rebellion and sass igniting a fire within him.

He tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you flush against him. His voice dropped into a low, husky growl.

“You’re in no position to be making accusations, princess,” he murmured. “Especially sitting in my lap like the very picture of temptation.”

“Not my fault your intern was practically drooling over you, like you’re some bachelor up for grabs.” You rolled your eyes, shifting slightly on his clothed crotch, just enough movement against him to make Jiahao flinch.

A low groan escaped him, the friction sending a spark of heat through him.

“She was undressing you with her eyes,” you muttered under your breath, jaw tightening as the memory of Huixin’s bold stare replayed in your mind.

Jiahao fought to keep his composure, struggling to maintain some semblance of calm with you perched on him, looking both infuriated and impossibly enticing.

“So what if she was looking?” he countered, voice slightly strained. “I sure as hell don’t care about her… or what she thinks.” He leaned in, lips hovering just millimeters from yours. “I only have eyes for one woman.”

Your lower lip jutted out in a pout as you glared down at your dangerously handsome boyfriend. Your palms cupped his cheeks, pressing just enough to make his lips pucker into a ridiculous duck-face. You studied every line of his face with exaggerated scrutiny, as if examining a priceless work of art.

“Why are you so handsome?” you grumbled through clenched teeth, brows knitting tightly. “Your face shouldn’t just be out there for anyone to see. You should be charging admission.”

Jiahao’s lips curved into a fond and amused smile as you inspected him, your grumpy expression both comical and undeniably adorable.

He reached up, gently taking hold of one of your wrists, eyes twinkling. “You know,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “You could’ve just said ‘I’m jealous.’”

Your eyes went wide at his bold claim, a flustered laugh escaped your lips. “To hell I’m jealous,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes— though the faint pink on your cheeks threatened to betray your act.

Jiahao’s smile widened as he watched you. He knew he was right. You were totally jealous. The way your cheeks tinted, the subtle pout, the eye-rolls as if trying to dismiss it— It was obvious, almost laughable.

He chuckled, gently squeezing your hips. “Deny it all you want,” he teased. “You’re still sitting in my lap, pouting like a jealous little princess.”

“But, on the other hand, do enlighten me, my jealous little princess,” Jiahao leaned back in his chair, his gaze locked on you. “What made you come here? I thought you had dinner with your officemates.” His free hand reached up, brushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear with a careful, intimate touch.

“I skipped,” you huffed. “It was boring, and I saw a bakery near the restaurant. Then I saw your favourite cake, so I decided to surprise you with it…”

“... Not knowing I was the one who’d be surprised,” you added with a shrug, nonchalant but cheeky, earning a low string of chuckles from Jiahao.

He watched you, his gaze lingering longer than he intended. If he had told the eight-year-old version of himself that one day he’d be dating the girl who had once protected him from bullies— the quiet, shy little boy would’ve laughed in disbelief.

Now, here you were, right in front of him, surprising him with his favourite cake and making his heart race just by being yourself.

Before he could move his lips to say anything, the friction of your hips against him made his brows furrow and his grip on your waist tighten. A low groan escaped him as he was about to ask what you were doing— only for you to shift again, moving deliberately.

Then came the faint click of the office door.

That was when he realised exactly what you were up to.

On impulse, you arched your back just enough, bouncing subtly yet deliberately on Jiahao’s lap, timed perfectly for the intern to walk in. And just like that, the door opened— Huixin’s faint gasp somehow louder than the teasing little sounds you were letting slip.

You wrapped your arms around Jiahao’s neck, tugging him close until his face rested against your shoulder, your warmth grounding him amidst the playful chaos.

“P-Please… just set them on the desk— ah!” You let out a teasing gasp, exaggerating every sound to make the moment seem far more intimate than it really was.

The flustered intern quickly set the tray down on the desk, hands trembling slightly, before retreating from the office without another word.

On the other side, Jiahao’s body responded almost involuntarily to your movements, playing along with your little act. He pressed his face to your shoulder, pretending to nuzzle and kiss you as if you were in the middle of a passionate moment, letting his low but playful grunts carry just enough to reach the unfortunate intern.

You let out another dramatic cry, voice trembling on cue. Fingers tangled in Jiahao’s hair, you tugged lightly, pressing your cheek to his temple, the teasing intimacy between you two unmissable.

The second the door clicked shut behind a flustered Huixin, you collapsed against his shoulder, muffling a snort-laugh into his shirt.

“Did you see her face?” you whispered between giggles.

Jiahao let out a breathy laugh through his nose, still holding you close, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

“You’re terrible,” he murmured into your skin— but there was no real reprimand in his tone. Only heat. Awe. Adoration. 

Then he leaned back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and sparkling with mischief. “…But I don’t think I felt that little bounce,” he said lowly. “You owe me for that later.”

That was when it hit you— you fucked up.

Your body pressed firmly against the mattress, the one that had borne witness to every moment between you and Jiahao. 

Kisses, cuddles, laughter, tears, arguments… and the kind of intimacy that left both of you breathless.

Now, it was just the two of you, tangled together. Your hair spilled across the sheets, and your shirt and bottoms long gone, leaving only the red lace underwear he had bought you last Friday. The sight of it made his lips part slightly, a low and appreciative murmur escaping him.

“You look so fucking beautiful, honey…” Jiahao whispered, leaning in to press another soft kiss against your neck. You instinctively arched toward him, craving more of his warmth and attention, your skin tingling at the gentle brush of his lips.

Every touch, every whisper between you was electric, sending shivers down your spine, making your heartbeat flutter with a mixture of desire, comfort, and trust.

His lips traced deliberate and soft kisses along the curve of your neck, lingering just enough to make your skin tingle, before slowly moving down toward your collarbone. His hands were gentle yet commanding, cupping you in a way that made your breath hitch.

“F-Fuck,” you murmured, eyes closing as you savoured the sensations. He moved down to your cleavage, every brush of his lips and hands sending shivers down your spine. Jiahao paid careful attention to your reactions, learning and remembering the places that made your body respond, his touch both attentive and teasing.

His lips pressed gentle kisses all over the alleyway of your cleavage while his right hand slipped under your bra, the thumb ghostly brushed against your bud. 

“Nngh..,” You whimpered, your body melted under his touch, eyes shutting tight at the pleasure being given to your body. Jiahao never forgot the sweet spots he studied on his own when he explored your body. 

Your pleasure was mirrored in his warmth and devotion, every caress and kiss a silent promise: that he was wholly attentive to you, to your desires, to the way your body and mind responded to him.

With a practised ease, his other unoccupied hand slid behind you, fingers working with instinctive precision until the clasp of your bra came undone. The garment slipped away, leaving you bare before his hungry gaze. His eyes darkened, lingering reverently on the sight of you before lowering himself to press his lips on your left bud. 

“Aaahh..!”

Your bitten lip muffled the sound, but your body betrayed you, back arching as if desperate for more. His mouth closed around your left nipple, lips warm and teasing, while his hand caressed the other with equal care— pinching, rolling, keeping every sensation balanced. The contrast made your toes curl, your arm flung across your eyes to hide the expression you couldn’t contain.

Nestled between your thighs, Jiahao moved with deliberate patience, alternating between gentle kisses and slow circles of his tongue. His fingers mirrored the rhythm, his devotion measured in the way he ensured not a single part of you felt neglected. Every jolt of your body, every trembling gasp, was carefully coaxed out by him— an orchestra he knew how to play by heart.

“Mmm…” The muffled sound vibrated against your lips as your teeth sank into them, trying to contain yourself when his teeth gently grazed your sensitive bud before leaving a soft, claiming bite. The sting melted quickly into pleasure, marking you in the way only he could.

Your hips lifted on instinct, chasing after him, betraying just how badly you wanted more. The subtle motion was all the confirmation Jiahao needed— your body was pleading louder than words ever could.

His gaze drifted downward, catching the dampness darkening the delicate red lace between your thighs. The sight made his throat tighten, desire flaring hot. Slowly, his hand trailed lower, knuckles brushing against your stomach before slipping beneath the lace without a word of warning.

His warm palm cupped your pussy in full, fingers spreading just enough to make you gasp.

“Nngh..!” The sound escaped before you could trap it, your body jolting as if lit by a sudden spark.

Jiahao’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile against your skin. “So ready for me already,” he murmured, voice low and molten, vibrating against your ear as his fingers pressed deeper into the heat he’d uncovered.

Your body jolted in frustration, hips shifting abruptly as you tried to push against his hand. He was deliberately dragging this out— his palm moving in lazy circles, rubbing your folds with slow, maddening precision.

“P-Please!” Both your hands clutched at his wrist, desperate to halt the torture. Your voice cracked with need. “J-Just do it..!”

Jiahao arched a brow, utterly unbothered by your plea, his smirk deepening as he watched you writhe. To him, you looked like someone brand new to this— raw, desperate, undone by the simplest touch.

He dipped his head close, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered, velvety and cruel, “No… not yet, sweetheart.”

Before you could form another protest, his longest finger trailed down with agonising patience, teasing the outer folds, playing with the slick heat there before finally slipping inside. The effortless glide was a testament to how ready you were for him.

“A-Ah…!” The cry ripped out of you, your back arching at the sudden invasion.

Every nerve lit up, torn between begging for more and drowning in the slow torment he was crafting. A war inside you— half of you desperate for release, the other half unwilling to let go of the exquisite ache that came with his control.

Jiahao’s gaze stayed locked on your face, drinking in the way you crumbled, savouring every shiver, every gasp. For him, the wait wasn’t just about teasing— it was about watching you fall apart piece by piece, until you belonged wholly to his touch.

His middle finger plunged deep, dragging along your walls in a deliberate rhythm, every thrust making your body jolt. Each time his fingertip curled to grind against that spot inside, your breath shattered— eyes rolling back, lips parting on a desperate cry.

Your small hands clung to his biceps for balance, nails pressing into his skin as his veins flexed under your grip. You looked wrecked already— mascara threatening to smear, chest heaving, your thighs trembling around his arm.

When he slid a second finger inside, your walls stretched around him greedily, a cracked moan tearing free of your throat. “Hngh—!”

“My love, oh, my love,” Jiahao whispered against your cheek, planting tender kisses over the tears welling in your lashes. His arm flexed with every thrust, muscles tensing as he pumped into you faster, harder, his thumb grinding cruelly against your clit.

Your hips bucked helplessly, chasing every curl of his fingers as wet sounds filled the room, your body betraying how close you were to breaking.

“C-Close… ’m so close—” your shaky voice cracked, his name spilling from your lips over and over like a desperate chant. “Jiahao… I’m cl-close..!”

“Go on, sweetheart,” his voice rumbled low and steady, his hand brushing your damp fringe away so he could watch every twitch of your expression. “Be my good girl… Let go for me, princess.”

His words guided you straight into bliss, each thrust of his fingers hitting deep, curling just right inside your soaked walls. Everything outside the room— your endless workload, the firm’s constant pressure, the frustration from colleagues— vanished, burned away by the intoxicating rhythm of Jiahao’s touch.

“Jia… Jiahao—!” your cry broke as your body arched, trembling, before release ripped through you. Heat burst low in your belly as you coated his fingers with your sticky release.

“Atta girl,” Jiahao murmured, his tone full of pride as he slowed his pace, easing you gently down from your high before finally slipping his fingers free.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

His hands clamped firmly around your thighs, forcing them open wider as he shoved your soaked underwear aside. The cool air barely hit your swollen folds before his hot tongue flattened against your cunt.

“Ahh—!” You cried out, voice breaking as his tongue licked a long, greedy stripe from your dripping entrance up to your clit. He hummed low against you, the vibration sending another wave of sparks through your already overstimulated core.

Every lap was deliberate, messy, his tongue circling and flicking your folds while his nose brushed against your mound. He devoured you like a man starved, groaning into your wetness as if your taste was the only thing that could quench him.

Your hands flew into his hair, gripping the strands tight, but all it did was spur him on. His tongue plunged inside you, curling, twisting, drinking down every drop of your release before darting back up to tease your clit mercilessly.

Your body arched off the mattress, another cry spilling out, louder and rawer this time. “Jiahao—! N-No more, I— nghhh!”

But Jiahao didn’t stop. He wanted to drown in you.

It didn’t take long for Jiahao to clean up the mess he’d drawn from you, making sure not a single drop of your release went to waste. By the time he finally pulled back, you were sprawled naked across his bed, looking like a vision only he was allowed to see.

Sliding up across you, he lifted his hand, fingers glistening with your wetness. He pressed them against your lips, and without hesitation, you opened, your tongue curling around his digits eagerly.

A muffled moan vibrated in your throat as you sucked him in deeper, your tongue swirling around the pads of his fingers, savoring the taste of yourself. Jiahao’s body burned hotter with every messy lick, every obscene sound your mouth made as you took his fingers in and out, treating them like something far filthier.

When he finally withdrew, a sticky strand of saliva stretched from your swollen lips to his fingers. The lewd sight made his lips curl into a smirk as he brought his thumb to brush over your damp lower lip.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with pride and desire.

Your soft laugh, still breathless, filled the space between you, sinful and sweet all at once.

His free hand slid to the drawer, pulling it open without so much as a glance. He didn’t need to look. He already knew what waited for him there: lube, condoms, and a handful of toys the two of you had tested in countless sinful nights.

But tonight, it wasn’t about the toys. Tonight, it was about you.

Because your pleasure was his. Always.

His fingers curled around the familiar bottle, pulling it out in one smooth motion. With a low exhale, he squeezed the slick gel onto his palm, spreading it down the full length of his cock. The sight alone was obscene— his thick length finally freed from restraint, pulsing with need as his hand worked the lube over every ridge and vein, the head glistening under the dim light.

You couldn’t look away. Kneeling between your thighs, Jiahao looked devastating. His slacks tossed aside, abs flexing with every shift, his work shirt hanging open to reveal the heat of his body. His head tilted forward, eyes heavy with desire as his hand glided up and down, coating himself in a slow, deliberate stroke.

Every movement was for you, and he wanted you to see it.

Your hand trailed over the hard planes of his abs, fingertips gliding down past his pelvis until they reached the heat of his cock. You brushed against the flushed and swollen tip that was already slick and aching, rawing a sharp gasp from Jiahao’s lips.

“Hah…,” his breath hitched, chest rising unsteadily as your fingers toyed with him. His hand faltered and fell from his length, surrendering control to you.

Your thumb pressed against the slit, smearing the wetness that pooled there, while your other fingers curled delicately around the sensitive crown. Instead of helping him spread the lube down his shaft, you focused only on teasing, coaxing every drop of arousal out of him with your touch.

“F–fuck…” Jiahao’s voice broke as his hand shot out, gripping your wrist in a desperate attempt to stop you before he lost control. But he was already too late. His cock twitched violently in your grasp, spilling hot and white streaks across your hand as his precum finally overflowed.

Your eyes sparkled with triumph, savouring the sight of Jiahao’s composure unraveling under nothing but your touch. Pride swelled in your chest. Your fingers alone had the man who always dominated you trembling and whimpering. With deliberate teasing, you smeared his precum over the flushed head, then slid your hand down his length and back up, stroking him with a slow yet taunting rhythm.

A guttural groan tore from his throat. It was raw, unrestrained— Despite his best effort to suppress it. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction, but the haze of pleasure clouding his mind betrayed him. His cock pulsed hard against your palm, each stroke driving him closer, the control he prided himself on slipping away.

“O.. Okay— no,” Jiahao finally gritted out, snapping himself out of the haze. His grip clamped around your wrist, firm and commanding, pulling your hand away from his throbbing length before you could push him over the edge.

“Why?” You purred, voice dripping with mock-innocence, your sultry tone daring him as though the roles had suddenly reversed. Just minutes ago you were falling apart beneath him, but now you were the one smiling, testing his restraint.

He didn’t bother with an answer. Instead, his left hand shot up, pinning both of your wrists against the pillow above your head. With his right hand, he gripped the base of his trembling cock, guiding it down until the flushed tip nudged at your slick folds. A sharp inhale rattled through him as he pushed forward, sliding into your soaked heat, every inch stretching you open until a broken cry spilled from your lips.

“Aahh…!”

Your raw moan cracked as the ache of his slow entry gave way to the shuddering pleasure of being filled. Your fingers twitched helplessly, trapped above your head, aching to clutch at him for support but denied the chance.

“Haa…” Jiahao’s grunt was low, strained, his hips driving forward again. Your walls clenched tight around him, the heat and pressure dragging another ragged groan from his chest. The resistance only spurred him, determination flashing in his eyes as he forced himself deeper, chasing that spot inside you. 

The one that would make you unravel, the one that would paint stars across your vision.

His right hand slipped lower, thumb and index finger prying your folds apart so he could watch every obscene detail— how your soaked walls stretched and pulsed, greedily swallowing his thick cock inch by inch as if your body couldn’t get enough of him.

“Nngh…” the sound tore out of you, somewhere between a gasp and a cry, when his length pushed deeper, the stretch overwhelming yet addictive. The sheer fullness left your legs trembling, toes curling against the sheets.

“H.. Hao—” your voice cracked, a broken whimper slipping past your bitten lip as the familiar knot twisted tight in your belly. Your wrists strained against his grip, desperate to reach for him, to anchor yourself, but he only pressed harder into the mattress, keeping you trapped.

Jiahao’s eyes dragged up from the filthy sight of your pussy swallowing him whole to your flushed, tear-streaked face. His chest heaved, his voice rough. “Hngh— Mhm?”

Your head tipped back, the words spilling raw and helpless. “‘m close—”

He loved you most like this, all helpless and undone beneath him. Jiahao’s lips curled into a dark yet satisfied smile, his voice rumbling low against your ear. “That’s it,” he urged, breath hot against your neck. “Let go for me… haa— F-fall apart. I’ve got you.”

Releasing your wrists, both of his strong hands travelled to your waist, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he guided your hips to meet his every thrust. Each collision of your bodies sent a sharp slap echoing through the room, his cock driving deeper, rougher, as though determined to wring every last ounce of control from you.

“Come on, princess…” his words were a husky growl, lips grazing your ear as his pace grew relentless. “I want to feel you break apart around me.”

“C.. close—” you sobbed, muffled moans spilling into his neck as tears clung to your lashes. Your arms wrapped tight around his broad shoulders, nails dragging across his back with every wave of pleasure. Your thighs quivered, spreading wider, surrendering to him fully— giving him space to drive harder, deeper, until there was nothing left but the promise of your release.

His hips snapped forward, driving you into the mattress as your body rocked with every brutal thrust, hair spilling wild across the pillow, your mascara-streaked face a portrait of ruined beauty.

“I-I’m c… close, H-Hao—” you cried, voice breaking.

“Let go,” Jiahao rasped, his words thick and frayed with hunger. His grip on your waist tightened, thumbs digging hard into your skin as he yanked you down onto him, forcing your body to meet the rhythm of his hips. Each thrust sank deeper, harder, every drag of his cock inside you fueled by the raw ache of hours spent longing for this moment.

“Come for me, princess…” he growled low in your ear, breath hot and ragged.

Your breath hitched, every nerve strung tight as your body trembled against him. Heat, friction, and the sacred sound of his name falling from your lips.

Jiahao’s restraint finally snapped.

“Fuck—” he groaned, his hips faltering for a moment under the sheer force of watching you unravel beneath him. “Y/N… I’m right here, baby. Right here… Hngh— right here with you.”

“C-Clo—” the word broke on your tongue, your voice dissolving into a sob of pleasure.

“Feels so good, Hao,” you whimpered, your back arching off the sheets, body twitching helplessly. “I feel so… good— hah…”

“I know, princess. I know how good it feels,” he rasped, each thrust rougher, deeper, snapping into you with desperate precision. His lips crashed into yours, swallowing your cries as your walls clenched hard around him, milking his cock like you were begging him to stay buried inside.

“Let go,” he urged against your mouth, his tone both a plea and a command. His thrusts never slowed, hips grinding deep as he broke apart every last bit of your control. “Come for me. Fall apart on my cock— Give me everything.”

That was when your body finally broke. Your pussy clenched hard, trembling as hot, white streaks coated his cock with every pulse of your release.

“Jiahao..! Hhhnghh—!” your cry spilled out, raw and unrestrained, eyes squeezed shut as your nails raked down his back. Angry red scratches bloomed across his skin, pulling a guttural grunt straight from his chest.

“There you go…” Jiahao rasped, his voice rough and deep, vibrating against your hair. “That’s it, princess— I’ve got you.”

His thrusts slowed, drawing out every last wave crashing through you. But his own body was already at its edge. His hips jerked once, twice— then he pulled out with a desperate groan, fisting himself fast and rough until hot spurts of his cum spilled over your folds.

“F… Fuckkkk—” his voice cracked into a guttural moan, chest heaving as he rode out his high, pumping every last drop across your trembling pussy. His lashes pressed shut, his jaw tight, every muscle in his body shuddering with release.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The room was thick with the sound of your uneven breaths, the hammering of two hearts still chasing the aftershocks of what you’d just shared.

“You okay?” Jiahao murmured at last, his voice low and rough yet softened with the worry he only ever reserved for you.

His gaze swept over you slowly, drinking in every detail— the flushed heat in your cheeks, your lips parted as you tried to catch your breath, the strands of hair clinging messily to your damp skin.

Your heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open, and instead of words, you let out a faint, breathless chuckle. Shaking your head weakly, you whispered, “No… but you made me feel so good.” You leaned up just enough to press a feather-light kiss to the corner of his lips. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Jiahao’s chest eased at your words, the tension melting into a fond smile. He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a lingering kiss that carried both promise and tenderness.

“I love you, Y/N,” he murmured against your mouth.

“Give me the comic back!” yelled the small voice of an eight-year-old boy, jumping desperately to grab his favourite book. But he didn’t stand a chance— the twelve-year-olds towered over him.

“Bleh.” The ringleader of the bullies stuck out their tongue. “Aren’t you loaded enough to buy another one?”

“Maybe he’s adopted! That’d explain why he’s not all mummy-and-daddy’s little prince.” The others sniggered cruelly, clearly enjoying tormenting the smallest kid.

“Do tell me,” the tallest one sneered, boxing the boy into a corner. “Your parents don’t even love you, do they?”

The smallest and youngest of the group could only hang his head, shoulders trembling as quiet sobs escaped him. He was just eight years old— what could he possibly do?

He spent most of his days alone in a vast, echoing house. There were no siblings or close cousins to play with, and his parents were always away, tied up with their business. The hallways felt too big and too quiet, every sound of his footsteps bouncing back at him as a reminder of how empty it really was. How was he supposed to know how to stand his ground when someone pushed him around?

At school, he was just as isolated. His cold, withdrawn manner made other children hesitate, even those who might have been happy to be his friend. The teachers tried now and then, but even they struggled to reach him. He was unlike any other child in the class, a quiet puzzle no one could quite solve.

“What are you guys doing there?!”

The sharp voice of a little girl rang out in the alleyway beside their primary school, making the boys spin around to face the owner of the voice— hands on hips, low pigtails coming loose from too much playing, each shoulder weighed down by a pink Winx Club themed backpack.

“Go, go,” the sidekick whispered to their leader. “I heard she’s crazy.”

And indeed, you were. 

You had a reputation as the little troublemaker of the primary school, despite being only eight years old. After all… how could the smartest, prettiest, even the class president, turned out to be so utterly reckless? 

A complete headache for every teacher.

It was nothing short of a miracle that the headmaster refused to expel you, insisting instead that you were an asset to the school’s reputation for having such a bright pupil.

Your personality and intelligence couldn’t have been more different— never a perfect match. To be fair, your antics were never deliberate. You were simply curious, a little mischievous, and… undeniably careless.

Once, you scaled the tallest tree behind the school to fetch a ball you and your friends had been playing with. Thank goodness the staff reacted quickly, spreading high-jump landing mats around the tree to keep you safe until the firefighters arrived.

Another time, during the Lantern Festival, you stood quietly with your lantern in hand, observing everyone around you. The others closed their eyes to pray and carefully wrote their wishes inside their lanterns. Without a second thought, you released yours into the night sky— sparking a trend that saw the other children following your lead, only to be scolded by their parents for their impatience.

And then there was the day you confronted a group of bullies by… well, kicking them where it hurt most and knocking their heads together. Naturally, the bullies ended up with more bruises than the self-proclaimed superhero. But it wasn’t exactly a proud moment for your family— especially your father, a local policeman, who had to apologise to the bullies’ families.

Before you could even step forward to confront them, the twelve-year-old boys bolted, leaving the comic book to tumble onto the dirt. You carried on towards it, bent down, and brushed the dust from its cover after picking it up. When you held the book out to its owner, his puffy eyes with unshed tears trembling at the corners met yours.

“Are you all right?” you asked gently as the boy accepted the book with a quiet “thank you.”

He nodded, lips pressed tight as though too afraid to speak.

Sensing his nervousness, you extended your hand first. “My name’s Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

The boy hesitated before slowly reaching out and taking your hand. “My… my name is Zhang Jiahao…”

“Zhang Jia— what?” You leaned in slightly, trying to catch his voice more clearly, unaware that the movement made him step back.

“...Zhang… Zhang Jiahao…” he repeated, a little louder this time, though still barely above a whisper.

“Hm.” You nodded, withdrawing your hand as your gaze swept over him, noting the familiar school logo on his uniform. “Oh? You go to Taiyang Primary School too?”

“I’m in Grade 2, Class 1! How about you, Jiahao?”

As expected, the boy’s reply remained soft and quiet. “Grade 2, Class 2…”

You tilted your head slightly, clasping your hands behind your back as you studied him— the shy boy with a split lower lip, likely bitten in anxiety, dishevelled hair from the bullies, and a shirt just a little torn.

And in that moment, you realised one thing: you are going to protect him.

At school, when lunchtime arrived, you would dash from your classroom to the next, stopping by the exit door— just to make sure Jiahao, who sat at the very back, wasn’t attacked by the bullies the moment the break began. You would wave at him, only leaving once he waved back. It had unexpectedly become a routine for you. 

“So, tell me, Jiahao,” you said, sliding into the seat opposite him, folding your arms on the top rail of the chair as you watched the quiet boy eat from his pristine lunchbox. It was a stark contrast to the canteen food most of your classmates had. His meals were always packed with nutritious dishes tailored for growth: one day, fresh salmon with imported Greek yoghurt labelled in a foreign language; another, bird’s nest soup with blueberries on the side to sweeten his tongue.

You, on the other hand, had nothing but a packet of sweet potato chips after filling yourself with chicken and rice— whatever the canteen happened to be serving that day.

You watched as Jiahao picked up a piece of braised beef with broccoli, feeding himself the steamed vegetable with his chopsticks. “What brand of chips do you like?” you asked.

“I… don’t eat chips,” Jiahao replied softly. His voice was always so quiet. By now, you usually had to lean in just to catch a clearer echo of his words.

But this time, you heard him perfectly— your widened eyes said it all. “You don’t?!” you nearly shouted. On any normal day, the few students lingering in the classroom during lunch would have turned their heads to see who was making such a racket. But this was you we were talking about. Why would anyone be surprised if you suddenly screamed out of nowhere?

Jiahao shook his head, the bottom of his wooden chopsticks resting against his lower lip as he nibbled at the last traces of soy sauce. You burst into a disbelieving laugh.

What kind of child didn’t eat chips? Especially after being in this world for eight whole years?

“Dad and mum wouldn't allow me to eat fast food,” Jiahao explained quietly after seeing your reaction. “They say it’ll make me shorter and give me acne on my face.”

“You’re only eight, and you’re already worried about… acne?” You arched an eyebrow, almost scoffing— whether at Jiahao’s words or, more likely, his parents’ strict rules about what he could eat.

That was when you realised just how strict the Zhangs were with their only son. Whenever you invited him to play with your friends after school, Jiahao would politely decline, explaining that his driver was always punctual and couldn’t be kept waiting. If you asked him to join your usual weekend hangouts at your house, he would refuse again, saying his parents wouldn’t allow him out unless it was something to benefit his future. It all made sense now— why even on weekends, Jiahao was shuttled between extra tuition, music lessons, or martial arts practice designed to make him excel above the rest.

You shook your head, pushing those thoughts aside, soon reaching into the half-folded packet of sweet potato chips for an easier grab at the leftovers. Pinching one between your fingers, you held it out to him. “Here, try this,” you said, offering him the chip you were enjoying as a little treat after your steamed white rice with sweet and sour fish.

Jiahao’s gaze settled on your outstretched hand, fingers pinching the delicate slice of forbidden fast food. He shook his head awkwardly, parting his lips to decline politely— only for you to be quicker, popping the chip straight into his mouth before he could finish his sentence.

The sweet potato chip dissolved on his tongue, the unfamiliar savoury flavour slowly awakening something in him— a taste bud that had never been indulged, thanks to his family’s strict dietary rules.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” Your gentle voice snapped him out of what felt like a momentary daydream, as though that single chip had carried him to the gates of heaven. He turned towards you and gave a shy nod, earning a soft giggle from your lips.

Every day after school, since Jiahao wasn’t allowed to join you and your friends for your usual games, you would wait for him outside his classroom. Your bag was already packed at least ten minutes before the bell so you could dash over, even though his class was right next door to yours.

With your hands gripping the straps of your backpack, you would skip along beside him, chattering away about whatever had happened in your class while he listened attentively.

“And you know what? Teacher Lim made us stand up until the end of his class,” you told him, continuing your usual storytelling routine as the two of you walked towards the school gates. You kept yourself between Jiahao on your left and your other friends on your right, carefully balancing your friendships so no one felt left out.

The last period for your class was Teacher Lim’s Maths lesson. As it turned out, most of your classmates, including you, hadn’t submitted the homework due from the previous Tuesday. It was, understandably, the reason for his outburst that left the entire class standing for almost an hour.

“Were you one of them?” Jiahao asked quietly, his big eyes fluttering up at you, the few centimetres’ difference in your height making his gaze tilt slightly.

Before you could open your mouth to defend yourself, your friend, Ningning, cut in. “She’s the one who forgot to remind us about the homework.”

Your lips snapped shut again, and you blinked, momentarily stunned as your memory betrayed you. 

In a flashback, you saw yourself hurrying home to catch the latest episode of Shinchan, completely forgetting to remind your classmates in the WeChat group chat. It was undeniably your fault— especially since the task had only been given verbally when you’d stopped by the staffroom, and Teacher Lim had informed you just as you were leaving after dropping off the compiled homework for your English teacher.

“So… you were all punished because of Y/N?” Jiahao asked, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at Ningning. Back in the early days, he would never have dared to lift his head and meet anyone’s eyes— but that had changed, thanks to your persistence in including him in everything you did.

Ningning and your other friends nodded, prompting a quiet, disappointed hum from Jiahao. So faint that only you heard it. You spun towards him at once, waving your hands frantically in defence. “No, listen, I—”

But before you could finish, you caught the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Was that hum really a disappointment? Or… was he teasing you?

“We’ll wait for you by the school backyard,” your friends called, waving as they headed off. It was routine by now. You always split at the school entrance: they would head to your usual play spot, while you stayed behind with Jiahao until his personal driver arrived.

The warm silence that followed their departure wrapped around you both, broken only by the distant chatter of a few remaining schoolmates— familiar faces to you, but strangers to the quiet boy beside you.

“I thought… you were a responsible class president,” Jiahao said at last, breaking the silence. His words carried no real malice, yet they made you freeze. He had sensed your unease after your friends had exposed your slip-up— the very thing you’d hoped to keep from him.

You turned to him, shaking your head, your hands still clutching the straps of your backpack. “No! It was… it was just a mistake…”

Jiahao raised an eyebrow, observing the way you nervously bit your lower lip and tightened your grip on your straps. He fought the urge to laugh, finding your flustered expression strangely… endearing.

“I… I was rushing to watch Sh—”

“I know.”

Your words cut off as Jiahao interrupted, his calm and quiet voice easing a nervousness you hadn’t even realised you were holding. You tilted your head, catching his wide, boba-like eyes locking onto yours.

“I mean—” He cleared his throat and straightened slightly. “I don’t know what you were doing that made you forget to remind them… but I know it wasn’t intentional.”

“You must have had your reasons.”

In that moment, you felt your heart race. Not from embarrassment or anxiety, but because of the little boy standing before you.

The very boy you had sworn, in your own way, to protect.

However, things were never meant to last forever. The thought of growing up alongside Jiahao shattered the moment the news dropped. It felt as though the weight of the entire world had come crashing down on you, pulling you deep into the ground.

Your shoulders shook, and your hands frantically wiped the tears streaming down your cheeks.

Unfair. It was utterly unfair. How could the boy you had protected for four years decide to leave you behind? It would have been bearable if he’d stayed within the same region— but another country? How could Jiahao drop such a bombshell right after your primary school graduation?

“I… I’m sorry…” Jiahao murmured, trying to comfort you, but your wailing only grew louder, drawing unwanted glances from those around you. Flustered by the sudden attention, Jiahao leaned closer and gently patted your arm. “I’m really sorry, Y/N… My mum wants to expand her wine business over there, so… we’re all going with her.”

At that moment, you didn’t know which hurt more— the realization that your carefree childhood days had ended with primary school, or the knowledge that Jiahao was leaving for Australia with no guarantee he’d ever return.

“People… people leave and never come back, wuarghhh…” you sobbed even harder, and Jiahao’s heart softened at the sight of you crying in front of him.

Because of him.

“I won’t, alright?” Jiahao said quietly, trying to soothe you. “I’ll remember you. Always.”

Your tear-streaked lashes fluttered as you looked up at him, a small smear of snot at the corner of your nose. “Promise…?”

Jiahao nodded, extending his pinky finger towards you. “Promise.”

That was when you realised just how seriously Jiahao took a promise— how deeply he understood commitment. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine waking up to dozens of messages from a boy halfway across the world.

He never missed an hour without texting you (except during class), checking on your well-being, what you’d eaten, whether you were drinking enough water, and what you’d been up to… All through WeChat.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get on your nerves now and then. After all… who wouldn’t feel a little irritated by a friend messaging every single hour?

This routine went on until you were both sixteen. But slowly, the rhythm began to fade. Hours turned into days. Days stretched into weeks. Jiahao would only text when it was necessary, and you couldn’t blame him. You were both teenagers now, entering that critical stage where every adult insisted your future depended on exams and achievements. Neither of you was exempt from that pressure.

Even so, the growing silence stung. Sometimes you caught yourself staring at your phone, waiting for the screen to light up, hoping that the next notification would be from him. You’d find yourself opening his profile more often than you’d like to admit, checking his Moments feed for any sign of activity.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Just the same dog picture as his profile photo, with an otherwise blank, silent feed— like he’d quietly erased himself from your world.

Unexpectedly, the lack of his attention didn’t derail you. You remained focused in class, consistently scoring at the top of your year and maintaining your reputation. But you were no longer the mischievous little girl you had once been.

You’d grow more calculated and mature, keeping your circle small and reserved, only appearing when necessary. You were no longer as lively or talkative; every word you spoke was carefully weighed in your mind to avoid regrets later.

That was how you grew up: graduating at eighteen and sitting the Gaokao after countless sleepless and exhausting nights, determined to leave no room for future regret.

As the saying goes, effort is never wasted. Your Gaokao results were exceptional, earning you a place at Tsinghua University— one of the prestigious C9 League institutions in China. You chose to study Accounting, following in your mother’s footsteps as she now served as the Head Accountant in her department.

Truth be told, pursuing a Bachelor’s degree was a journey no one could fully prepare you for. No matter how many people you asked for advice or how many blogs you scoured for tips, nothing could prepare your body or your mind for the sheer exhaustion of university life.

There were endless assignments, prolonged lectures, blatant favouritism from certain lecturers, and worst of all, the free-riders who lurked in every group project.

In your first year, you gritted your teeth when you realised your groupmates were exploiting your kindness, accepting extra work when one claimed he had to “look after” his grandfather. By second year, you’d grown sharper, stricter about choosing group members, ensuring everyone was truly committed to their tasks. It was that resolve which carried you through your third and fourth years.

Of course, there was the support of your friends, and perhaps a couple of fleeting romances. Over those four years, you dated no more than two people, but both relationships ended painfully, each partner betraying you through infidelity.

Your friends could never fathom why. To them, you were far too beautiful and intelligent for anyone to even consider leaving.

Maybe they felt inferior, or maybe intimidated by your success, your friends claimed as they tried to comfort you. 

“Say cheese!”

The corners of your lips lifted into the brightest smile, as you squeezed in between the friends with whom you had spent countless nights chasing deadlines— energy drinks and caffeine scattered about, five packets of instant noodles long gone from the huge bowl you’d all shared.

The dark circles beneath your eyes were masked by the make-up you’d mastered, ensuring you looked presentable, at least for graduation. Your right arm cradled a bouquet of flowers close to your chest, a gift from your family, who now stood across from you alongside your friends’ parents, each of them snapping photos of their children beaming like a group of overexcited kids on Christmas’ Eve.

“So, when can we meet again?” Ningning asked, your dearest friend since primary school and the only one you’d truly grown up with. Her parents had become like your own, and yours like hers.

“Pft,” you scoffed, nudging her arm. “Don’t talk as if we don’t randomly crash at each other’s houses.”

“Maybe you should consider me,” Xiaoting cut in, clearing her throat with mock indignation. Unlike the rest of you, she would soon be heading outside Beijing for her internship. You, Ningning, and Yuqi burst into quiet laughter at her reminder that life was about to scatter you all.

The thought of no longer staying up all night together, whether to meet deadlines or watch horror films, the thought of being there for one another in moments of need, the absence of that familiar presence… adulthood was already pulling you apart.

Your eyes curved like crescents as your three friends spoke over one another, chattering about their plans for the few days you still had left before internships and new responsibilities forced you to part ways.

But then— a soft tap on your right shoulder. You turned, startled to see a vaguely familiar figure standing nearby.

The young man had straight and dark-brown hair falling lightly over his forehead. He wore a loose white button-up shirt with its sleeves casually rolled to his elbows, giving him a relaxed air. His shirt was slightly untucked, paired with loose-fitting blue jeans. A simple black necklace and bracelet lent him a subtle touch of style. Behind him, other graduates mingled, but he stood out— his right hand clutching a bouquet so large it could nearly swallow half your body.

It was a dreamy and fairytale-like arrangement: pale blush roses nestled among delicate white blossoms and feathery greenery, their soft colours glowing in the light. From the centre rose a pair of pink and shimmering butterfly wings, adding a magical yet whimsical touch. Wrapped in layers of white and sheer paper and tied with a pale pink ribbon, the bouquet radiated quiet elegance and romance.

“Happy graduation, Y/N.”

The voice was deep and resonant, far removed from those of the men you’d encountered in recent years. You blinked, summoning every scrap of memory to place a face that you knew you should remember.

Was he a senior? A long-forgotten crush? The quiet boy at the back of class who had finally summoned his courage?

Just as you were about to surrender and ask who he was, your gaze caught on the familiar mole sitting just a few centimetres below his left eye.

The only marker you needed.

“Zhang Jiahao…?”

A small chuckle escaped him as he tilted his head, slipping his free hand into his jeans pocket. “That’s disappointing. It took you a few minutes to recognise me.”

Your eyes glimmered with unspoken excitement— you weren’t sure whether it was happiness at seeing him again after nearly a decade, or affection resurfacing after years of trying to bury it.

“How did you even know it was my graduation?” you asked, brushing off his teasing remark. You were too stunned to dwell on it. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined Jiahao returning to China, let alone turning up to congratulate you in person.

Jiahao shrugged lightly. “I saw the graduation news on the official page and your face was on the headlines.”

Given your high CGPA and status among the top graduates, it was hardly surprising that your picture had been featured on the university’s website.

Still, questions swirled in your mind: when had he come back? How did he know the exact time and place of your department’s ceremony? And, most of all, how had he remembered that your favourite flowers were roses, and that your favourite colours were white and pink?

“I might just die of embarrassment if you don’t accept my flowers,” Jiahao added with a faint chuckle, his voice breaking through your racing thoughts.

Finally, you accepted the enormous bouquet, and, as expected, it almost hid half your upper body. Your eyes traced every delicate detail, the fragrant scent tickling your nose as you held it close to your chest.

His surprises didn’t end there. Time and again, Jiahao made the most of every moment he had in China with you. From cafe hopping and sampling both high-end and hole-in-the-wall restaurants, to attending every event he could squeeze in, and even dropping by your parents’ house with their favourite herbal drinks. He would drive you to your internship placement and wait outside after work, refusing to let you linger even a second on your own.

You weren’t sure anymore what to call whatever existed between you. Would a mere friend go to such lengths to make up for the years he’d missed? Or was he quietly positioning himself to be something more— someone you could call your boyfriend? 

If so, why hadn’t he said the words aloud? Why leave you hanging and questioning your own worth?

“Jiahao,” you said at last, breaking the heavy silence inside his car. He was driving in his off-white work shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, his black blazer draped across the driver’s seat. The silver of his classic watch glinted faintly on his wrist.

“Mhm?” he hummed, glancing at you briefly before focusing again on the traffic crawling ahead.

You drew in a deep breath, it was now or never. Straightening your back, you turned towards the man driving so carefully beside you, his posture relaxed as though the world outside the jammed road couldn’t touch him. “What are we?” you asked quietly.

Before Jiahao could form an answer, you pressed on, your voice trembling just enough to betray your nerves. “You drive me to work and home… sometimes even bring me flowers, like today.” You gestured to the medium-sized bouquet resting delicately on your thighs, its fresh blooms wrapped in a newspaper-like paper.

“You take me to every new cafe or little local restaurant, saying you need someone to eat with since most of your friends are in Australia. You visit my parents on weekends, bringing dad his favourite herbal drinks and mum her favourite skincare products.” Your voice softened as you continued, “And you even buy me the things I like on Instagram… or whenever I mention something in passing.”

Your fingers toyed nervously with the loose ribbon wrapped around the flowers, twisting it between your hands as if the movement could steady your racing thoughts. You bit gently on your lower lip, your gaze dropping to your restless fingers. “You… you confuse me,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“A friend wouldn’t go this far.”

Silence settled between you, heavy and unmoving, stretching longer than you’d expected. When you finally dared to look up, his face was unreadable— calm, almost detached. You ached to tear through that careful mask, to see the emotions you were certain were hidden beneath. 

Why did he have to make things so impossibly unclear?

Your heartbeat thundered as you gathered your courage. At last, you let the question slip from your lips, fragile but certain. “Do you like me?”

You felt his calm facade fracture when the car lurched forward with a sudden brake, drawing a startled yelp from you. Before you could even process what had happened, Jiahao gripped the steering wheel tightly, guiding the car into a swift lane change. He turned off the congested main road, the vehicle gliding onto a quieter side street that led somewhere far from the jam of traffic.

When the car finally rolled to a stop in a small riverside car park, the world outside seemed to soften. Through the tinted windows, the setting sun painted the water in hues of gold and amber. A few locals and visitors lingered along the riverbank, their laughter mingling with the sound of lapping waves as they savoured the fading light.

But none of that held your attention for long.

It wasn’t the sunset or the peaceful hum of life outside that mattered now. It was Jiahao—the way his sudden detour had shifted something unspoken between you.

He was the point.  His unexpected change in direction was the point.

You turned to face him, yet his gaze remained fixed ahead, as though the traffic still stretched endlessly before him. His right arm was still draped over the steering wheel, the tendons in his hand taut against the leather. The silence stretched, heavy and fragile, until a low chuckle broke through, soft but unexpected, drawing a raised eyebrow from you in the passenger seat.

“You… hah, really,” Jiahao murmured with a faint laugh, shaking his head. He let his back sink against the leather seat, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly, before finally turning to meet your eyes. “You’re making things difficult, you know that?”

Your brows knitted in confusion. Difficult? In what way? 

If anyone had complicated things, it was Jiahao— not you.

The furrow of your brows deepened, teeth catching your lower lip, but before you could voice the protest building in your chest, his low voice slipped into the quiet hum of the still-running engine, steady and deliberate.

“How could you just drop those words so effortlessly, as if I haven’t been trying my best to keep them hidden?” Jiahao’s voice was gentle, his gaze softened as it settled on you.

“Yes, I do like you. Even before I returned to China, I liked you,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve liked you ever since the day you stood up for me against those bullies.”

He drew a slow and steady breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he was holding back the weight of six years. “But I couldn’t just show up and confess, not after leaving you on your own for so long. I had no right to stand beside you the moment I came back. I wanted us to reconnect slowly, to rebuild what we had… So that you wouldn’t feel pressured by my return, or by the feelings I’ve been carrying for you all these years.”

A heavy ache settled in your chest. He hadn’t been toying with your emotions or leaving you in doubt, in fact he had been sure of his feelings all along. 

Not hesitation or nor games— just pure consideration. He had been careful, perhaps too careful, to protect it.

“I… I’m afraid, you know?” His voice dropped to a quieter, almost fragile tone, as though he feared a passing policeman might misunderstand them doing something inappropriate inside the car. “I don’t want you to see me as irresponsible… Someone who disappeared for six years, then showed up without warning and tried to pressure you into accepting my feelings when you weren’t ready for a new relationship.”

Wait… how did he—

“Ningning told me everything,” Jiahao said gently, almost as if he had read your thoughts. His soft eyes held your slightly widened gaze, each word leaving his lips with deliberate care. “She told me all about you. Every achievement you’ve made, the heartbreaks that wounded you, and the nights you stayed up, struggling to meet your deadlines.”

He exhaled slowly, his knuckles tightening slightly on the steering wheel before relaxing again. “I just… I didn’t think I had the right to chase my feelings straight away, not after barely messaging you all those years. What kind of man would expect a woman to accept someone who simply shows up at her graduation, after vanishing and forgetting to keep in touch the way he used to?”

“I do.”

Your quiet words lit a spark inside Jiahao. Something he couldn’t quite name, but it burned warm and certain in his chest. In that single moment, the tension that had been hanging like a thread between you finally began to unravel. It felt like the weight of every late-night doubt he’d carried, every thought whispering that he had no right to hope for you, was finally being lifted. 

Piece by piece.

He didn’t need to analyse it or chase the exact feeling. He only knew that with those two words, all the restless nights and unanswered questions found their ending, replaced by a fragile but undeniable hope: that you were willing to meet him halfway, and that he wasn’t alone in wanting to fight for what was between you.

“I… I like you too,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to the flowers resting on your lap. His eyes were so breathtakingly stunning, so utterly captivating that their depth alone could make you forget your morals and close the space between your lips and his.

“I don’t know when it started, but even hearing your name makes my heart race.” You whispered into the quiet, the way you’d confide in your plush toys at night. “The thought of seeing your name on my screen always made my heart race, and I’d wait for your messages… Even if it was only a simple ‘okay’.”

“I… I…”

Words failed you— not from nerves, but from sheer embarrassment. How could you finally admit that Jiahao had always held a piece of your heart, even while you were with someone else? How could you ever forget your first love? How could you deny that, in every past relationship, you had been unconsciously searching for traces of him?

“Hey, hey,” Jiahao’s soft voice soothed you, his hesitant hand finally rising to cup your cheek. His large and cold palm hovered over your warm skin before gently tilting your face upwards. “Look at me.”

Your stubborn lashes fluttered as you met the gaze of the young man beside you. His eyes were gentle, always tender even when a waiter brought the wrong order. His right thumb traced a slow yet reassuring path across your cheek, his lips curling into a warm smile.

“You don’t need to think about anything, alright? Just knowing the feelings are mutual is enough for me. It means I’m allowed to chase after what I truly want without holding back,” he murmured, watching how you nervously bit your lip. The sight tugged painfully at his heart. His thumb brushed against your lower lip, carefully coaxing it free from between your teeth.

His gaze lingered on your lips just a moment too long before rising to meet your eyes. “Can… Can I?” he asked quietly. His voice was almost fragile, as though the question itself might break. 

You didn’t need an explanation as you understood perfectly what he was asking, nodding as you could feel the sharpness caught in your breath. Your fingers curl a little too tightly around the bouquet’s ribbon. Time seemed to slow, the faint sound of the river outside and the distant chatter of strangers blurring into a quiet hum.

Jiahao leaned in carefully, as if he was afraid that rushing might shatter the fragile space between you. His eyes fluttered shut at the same moment yours did, and then his lips brushed yours. It was a tentative and feather-light touch at first, soft and trembling, testing the waters. He lingered there, giving you a chance to pull away, but you didn’t.

He pressed a little closer, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, his hand still gently cupping your cheek as you were something precious. It wasn’t a desperate kiss— it was tender, unhurried, almost reverent, like he was memorising the moment, the way your lips felt against his after all those years apart.