#nct 127}

“Yeah, because you're obsessed with him,” Yeji scoffs, undoing her ponytail and letting her curled hair fall perfectly down across her shoulders. “Ever since he took you to Spring Formal last year and you sucked him off under the bleachers afterward.”

“He’s got a really pretty dick,” Yuna smirks.

You shake your head, laughing a little at how vulgar your beautiful, innocent-looking friends can be. Most of the girls you’ve met, especially in your sorority, are as dick-motivated as your family's golden retriever had been food-motivated while you grew up. 

Sometimes, the difference between you and your fellow female classmates can be jarring.  

You grew up in a church-loving home, with the values of Christianity instilled in you for as long as you can remember. Becoming a second-year university student, and a virgin no less, has been a major adjustment from the Catholic school atmosphere you thrived in during your girlhood. 

In fact, if your elder brother, Mark, hadn’t already been in this university, your parents never would have allowed you to enroll here. It’s far from your family, far from the small town where you grew up, and the adjustments you’ve had to make are palpable.

You follow Yeji and Yuna out past the gym where the football team trains, and through the glass windows looking into the area, your eyes are drawn to Johnny. 

He’s in a red muscle shirt, the colour and emblem of your university as clear as day. Johnny is an all-American style quarterback, filled to the brim with school spirit, testosterone, and a cheeky, joking personality that draws all eyes to him regardless of the situation.

Goodness, he’s so attractive. 

It makes your knees weak sometimes. It makes you question the way you were raised, the values you hold near and dear to your heart, regardless of how outdated they have clearly become.

“Don’t let him catch you looking,” Yeji snickers, elbowing you gently before looping her arm with your own. “You may be his frat brother’s little sister, but I don’t think Johnny cares about that.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, flustered.

“She means,” Yuna pipes in, “that if you’re interested in Johnny, he’d take you for a spin, and we all know how hard it would be for you to say no to him, even with your whole chastity vow thing.”

Your crush on Johnny is no secret amongst your best friends. They saw through you the very first game of the season, when your eyes were only drawn to the handsome quarterback. 

You can’t help but sigh as you exit the gym area, and the three of you begin to walk back to your sorority house.

“I feel bad for you sometimes, babes,” Yeji muses, pulling you even closer to her side. “I understand you were raised with the whole ‘no sex until marriage’ thing, but that’s like… lowkey, extremely hard to do unless you’re… I don’t know, a Mormon or something.”

You chuckle a little at her words. “It’s definitely difficult.”

“But hey, you’re here now,” Yuna says. “Your family is far away. If you want to let loose a little, you can.”

“Yeah, it’s not like Mark would ever snitch on you, after all, he might have a reputation as being the ‘Good Little Christian Boy’ at his frat, but we all know he’s still not entirely perfect, especially when it comes to women.”

It’s true. While you’re not super close with your sorority sister, Ryujin, you know Mark is absolutely obsessed with her. They have something of a secret relationship going on, although you’re not entirely sure who it’s a secret to, given the fact that practically everyone in the Greek system knows they’re dating.

You suppose holding firm with chastity is no longer something that can be enforced on you, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered relaxing a little on the firm rules you were raised with. 

Johnny being as sexy and charming as he is doesn’t make being a good, Christian, virgin girl easy, that’s for darn sure. 

Two:

Although Yeji has an eye for athletes, she’s recently taken a liking toward your brother’s roommate, a frat boy by the name of Lee Donghyuck. He’s a film major and had caught Yeji’s eye when they shared a class last term.

They can both be fiery and mischievous, and you have to remind yourself to breathe every time you’re in a room with the two of them. The back and forths can get a little out of hand, but as you sit in your brother’s room with his friend Hyuck and Yeji, you remind yourself that you’re supporting a sister by being here, even if you don’t really have any ‘wing-woman’ duties.

Hyuck is a flirt, and he basks in the attention of both you and Yeji, leaning back on his bed with a knowing smirk after setting Yeji off into a rant about the best directors of the past decade.

“What do you think, Little Lee?” Hyuck asks, his gaze shifting to you. “Tarantino, Noland, or Anderson?”

“Huh?”

“Tarantino is the foot fetish guy, Noland is the war dude, and Anderson is the weird one who made that Asteroid alien movie with Scarlett Johansson,” Yeji explains.

You look blankly at the two of them. “Maybe I’m not the best person to have an opinion on this,” you say awkwardly.

As Hyuck opens his mouth to - most likely - grill you some more, the door to the room is pushed inward, and a familiar face looks inside.

“Oh, hey,” Johnny smiles, stepping into the space. “I didn’t realize you guys would be in here.”

“You looking for Mark?” Hyuck asks nonchalantly.

“As always,” the tall quarterback laughs, running a hand through his hair. He’s in a basic red t-shirt, but goodness, the way his biceps flex when he moves…

“Mark is with Ryujin tonight,” Hyuck says. “They’re not big partiers, and Ryujin’s sorority is empty right now since all the girls are here tonight.”

“I can see that,” Johnny grins, his eyes shifting from Yeji to you. “Hyuck’s not grilling you two that hard, is he?”

“They’re talking about war, toe, and alien movies,” you say, still not entirely sure what their conversation had been about just before Johnny arrived.

“War, toe, and alien movies,” Johnny chuckles. 

“There’s more to it than that!” Hyuck insists.

The elder fratboy holds up a hand. “I’m sure there is, but I’m not getting roped into this.”

You can’t stop staring at Johnny, no matter how much you try to tear away your gaze. You can feel heat rising to your cheeks, embarrassment that he has such a hold over you. 

There’s a friendliness between you and Johnny, but sometimes, you worry he will only ever see you as Mark’s little sister, despite what your friends think. 

Three:

You’re in the gym, and if your heart hadn’t been racing enough already, your entire body reacts when Johnny shows up. 

You do your best to focus on the stair master, to keep your breathing even, but your gaze continues to shift to the mirrors where you have a perfect view of the quarterback as he lifts free weights.

Drool keeps accumulating in your mouth with every bicep curl, and the heat that begins to surge through you isn’t due to the exercise. You can feel your panties getting wet from just the few glimpses you’ve had of this godlike man as he does his usual warm-up.

Johnny is just so beefy, but he’s lean too, a perfect physique if you’re being honest with yourself. 

Just when you think the situation can’t get any sexier, another footballer shows up. 

Jung Jaehyun is arguably just as attractive as Johnny, although they have different draws. 

Where Johnny is masculine and rakishly charming, Jaehyun is a bit more on the pretty side, but his smile and dimples have won over more women than you can even count. 

You wonder in what ways their differences would show up in another setting… say… the bedroom. 

From what limited experience you have with sex, you draw on information you’ve gathered from fellow sorority sisters. They’ve talked at length about dominant men, about givers and takers, and you decide that Johnny might be more of a giver, and Jaehyun more of a taker. 

Johnny probably wouldn’t even make you lift a finger, but if Yuna’s story about sucking Jaehyun off under the bleachers is to be believed, then perhaps he may prefer receiving. 

It’s not something you judge Jaehyun on, to be sure, but as a virgin, part of you has always imagined your first time with a man being focused on you and not on him. Although perhaps there’s a selfishness in your own view of sex, so you’re careful not to throw a stone at Jaehyun from your glass house.

You wonder if Johnny is vocal in bed. He’s a quarterback and used to leading with authority and confidence. Would he be good at dirty talk? You’ve heard from your friends that many of these frat boy football players are kind of lame in the imagination department, that sex is often wordless and entirely physical… but as someone who has spent her entire life in her head and not her own body, you’ve started to realize that having a partner who talks to you and puts your mind at ease when you lose your virginity is something that would be important.

You’re not sure when you’ll fold and let your cherry be popped, but when it happens, you want to be able to enjoy it, and sweet talk can definitely diminish the anxiety you’ve become so prone to.

As you think about sex with Johnny, your core begins to throb, and with your annoyance, you decide to refill your water bottle. Some cold water is just what you need to reset, and as you stand by the fountain, the very man you’re trying not to think about appears beside you.

“Hey,” Johnny grins, turning to lean with his back against the wall so he can have a full view of both you and the gym. “How did you like the party the other night?”

“It was alright,” you say, forcing a smile even as your body heats to extreme temperatures at the fact that you’re in close proximity to your crush.

“So… toes, war, or aliens?” Johnny jokes.

You can’t help but laugh, finishing with your water bottle and screwing the cap on tight. “Still undecided. You?”

“Toes, definitely,” the quarterback scoffs as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and your stomach erupts in butterflies at the slightly suggestive undertones of his words. “So… Yeji and Haechan, huh?”

“You noticed that?”

He shrugs. “I notice what most of my younger frat brothers are up to; none of them are that good at hiding things.”

So he’s funny, extremely good-looking, and intelligent. 

“However,” Johnny says nonchalantly, “you’re not as easy for me to read.”

“Oh?” You can’t look at him, so you avert your eyes as a flustered feeling surges through you. 

“I would bet you don’t have much experience with men,” Johnny continues. “Not that you have to confirm it or anything.”

So he knows you're a virgin, or at least, he suspects it. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing… but it shows he’s been thinking about you… So that must be a good sign, right? 

“I wasn’t aware you were paying such close attention to me,” you stammer meekly.

“It’s hard not to. I’ve got a thing for cute girls, but I guess I’m not unique in that way.” Johnny lets out a chuckle, his aura confident and unbothered at the admittance that he’s interested in you.

You wonder what it’s like to be so sure of yourself, to have no fear about speaking your mind. 

Your own lips part to respond, but no words come out, and your skin heats even more.

“Anyways, I just wanted to say hi,” Johnny smiles, pushing off from the wall. “I’ll see you around.”

“Okay,” you fumble out, still hardly able to meet his gaze. 

You can tell from the grin on his face that he knows the effect he’s having on you, and with a wink, he goes back to the free weight section of the gym.

After a moment of awkwardly standing by the water fountain, you go and collect your things, too overwhelmed to continue your workout. 

As you walk back to the sorority, you think about Johnny, about chastity, religion, and how viable it is to be a virgin until marriage in this day and age. 

If there is ever a place to experiment, a university is the perfect location to find yourself, or so people say.

You’re not in church anymore; maybe it’s time to start enjoying your freedom. 

Four:

As you settle in for bed, you notice your roommate isn’t here, and one quick text confirms she’s sleeping at a girlfriend’s place while they study for an exam. So, this is a semi-rare occasion where you have your space to yourself, and after the day you had at the gym and your run-in with Johnny, your skin is still hot in a way that a cold shower can’t fix.

You toss and turn, trying to get comfortable, but images of bulging biceps and Johnny’s sexy grin torment you every time you close your eyes.

With a loud groan, you sit up, heart thumping in your chest.

Yeji had told you once about ‘dirty audios’ on Reddit. She’d mentioned that if porn still feels too foreign and sinful, maybe audios could be a route you’d be interested in.

You’re at war with yourself, but soon, your horniness wins, and you grab your phone, doing a quick search. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for, but after a little bit of scrolling you realize “[M4F]” means male for female, as in, an audio made by a man for a woman listener. The audio posts have all sorts of other tags, things like “[Mdom]”, “[Slutty Mswitch]” and “[Msub]” which you quickly realize are there to help figure out the dynamic between the male in the audio and you as a listener.

You decide you want to find an “[Mdom]” audio, and finally, one post catches your eye.

[M4F] “I’ll talk you through it” with Your Guy Friend [soft Mdom] [Dirty Talk] [Masturbation] [Mutual Masturbation] [Voyeurism] [Whining] [Begging] [Not Touching You] [Obsession] [Push It In For Me] [Fingering] [Passionate].

With a deep breath, you open the post and press play on the audio.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed about,” comes an unfamiliar voice. “You know… lots of girls have uh… you know, not touched themselves… not been touched.”

Wow, it’s already feeling close to home, and it makes your skin tingle as you close your eyes, getting comfortable in bed. You try to imagine Johnny, and while the voice is clearly not his, you feel yourself begin to relax even amongst your embarrassment. Resorting to this kind of thing is not something you ever thought you’d be doing, but you’re just so horny…

“I could talk you through it if you want. Get it out of the way. Make you more comfortable. We can go slow to start, like, maybe touch your chest through your shirt.”  

You swallow thickly, following the instructions. Your hands slowly glide up to your breasts, and you begin to massage yourself. Even through the fabric of your sleeping shirt, it feels good to be doing this, and there’s a spark of interest in your core at the realization that you enjoy following instructions.

“That’s it, Princess. Feels good, huh?” The man on the audio takes a shaky breath, and you can almost imagine Johnny reacting to you this way. “What if you try under the shirt now? Do you want to be a good girl for me and give it a go?”

Your body reacts before your mind can register it, your hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt as if they have a will of their own.

You stifle a whimper, brushing your hard nipples, your core throbbing already.

“Just like that. You look so fucking good for me, Princess. Do you… fuck, you’re so hot, do you mind if I touch myself too?” 

You bite your lip at the thought of Johnny being so horny from the vision of you that he has to play with his own cock, and you wonder how big he is. Perhaps choosing a large man to lose your virginity to isn’t a good idea, after all, Yeji and Yuna have talked about dick size before, and how hard it can be to have sex with a ‘well-endowed’ man.

The man in the audio moans, and the sound makes you wet, sparking tingles through your whole body. You wonder how Johnny might sound when he moans, and a shiver runs through you at the thought.

“Your hands can go lower. Actually. Fuck this, I want to see you touch yourself, properly. I know I said I’d go slow, and if this is too fast… fuck, I just, I want to see you. You can do that for me, right, Princess?” 

You release your breast, pushing your hand between your thighs, rubbing yourself through your sleeping shorts and holding back a whimper.

“Fuck, just like that. Rub your clit for me.”

It’s a foreign sensation, but it makes your toes curl. 

“Imagine it’s me touching you, Princess, my hands are so much bigger than yours.”

God, Johnny’s hands are rather large, you’ve seen how they look on a proper sized football. 

“Keep going, I bet you’re so sensitive, I bet you can cum just from this, huh? I want you to cum from your pretty fingers on your clit.” 

Your muscles begin to strain, an unfamiliar feeling building in the pit of your stomach. But now is not the time to stop, if anything, you unconsciously apply more pressure, chasing the fantasy of an orgasm.

The man on the audio continues to dirty talk, but by now, your mind is completely fixated on Johnny, on the way he looks with sweat dripping off his brow, a grin on his lips after a successful game of football-

Before you can even think, your core clamps down on nothing, waves of euphoria tearing through you and ripping your breath away.

You pull back from your core, the pleasure almost too much to handle as you writhe against the bed, fighting back the sounds that threaten to tumble out of you.

You’re gasping, mind and body numb even as the audio continues. But you don’t need any more, you don’t want the rest of the audio, you just want to calm down a bit and sort out how you’re going to make this fantasy with Johnny into a reality.

Five:

It’s been two weeks since your run-in with Johnny in the gym, two weeks of you lusting and considering options. Tonight, you’re at a party in Johnny’s frat, and you have a determination coursing through you like never before.

“I can’t believe you’re finally doing this,” Yeji grins as she and Yuna help you search the house for the tall quarterback.

“And with Johnny,” Yuna pipes in. 

“He still has to say yes to my proposal,” you point out.

“Your sexual proposition,” Yeji teases, jutting her sharp elbow into your side with a wink.

“Of course he’ll say yes,” Yuna huffs as you finish searching the entire first floor, where the party is raging. “He’s interested in her too; he made that clear.”

The three of you have spent many nights going over your gym conversation with Johnny, dissecting all the meanings behind what he said about liking ‘cute girls.’

The anxious part of you had tried to excuse his words, but Yuna, ever the realist, had drilled into you that Johnny had been shooting his shot. She’d mused that he was probably being careful not to be too overbearing, as he’d acknowledged your lack of experience in the dating sector. 

“Where is he, though?” Yeji groans. “I haven’t seen Hyuck or Johnny.”

“I’ve got my eye out for Yuta,” Yuna muses.

“Since when?” Yeji laughs. “Haven’t you always liked Jaehyun?”

“Meh.” Yuna shrugs casually, flipping her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “I’ve decided after watching the budding sexual liberation of our good Christian girl that maybe I should be a little freakier too.”

“Well, Yuta’s definitely the man to go for if you want freaky,” Yeji grins.

“I think they’re probably in their rooms,” you note, still focused on your task. “We should all split up.”

“You don’t need girl support?” Yuna questions.

“I think I’ll be okay.”

The three of you nod to each other, and with that, you hurry up the stairs to the top floor, where Johnny’s room is.

You find his door open, and when you peek inside, you see Johnny standing there, looking down at his phone. With a deep breath, you step inside.

“Hi,” you say shyly, your confidence dissipating now that you’re in the same room as your crush.

“Oh,” Johnny looks up at you, a grin immediately appearing on his face. “Hi, Princess, I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

“No? Why not?” You slowly close the door behind yourself, leaning back against it.

He shrugs. “Kind of figured I scared you away, haven’t seen you since the gym two weeks ago.”

“I’ve just been busy,” you tell him, skin heating. 

In truth, you have been kind of avoiding him. You’ve been experimenting more with dirty audios, and you haven’t felt ready to face the man behind your fantasies… but now you are. Now you’re more ready than you ever have been in your entire life.

“So… what can I do for you?” Johnny asks, slipping his phone into his back pocket.

“Well,” you release a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said at the gym. About how it’s clear I don’t have much experience with men, and how you like cute girls-”

“How I pay attention to you because you’re a cute girl,” Johnny corrects with a grin.

You can feel yourself getting flustered, and you look away from Johnny, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah, well… I guess, I guess I was thinking maybe… maybe since I’m in university, I should experiment a little.”

“Experiment?” Johnny cocks a brow.

You nod, skin now burning hot. “I was wondering… if maybe… maybe you would kiss me?”

Johnny takes a step forward, and you back against the door, body reacting out of the fear you’ve held your whole life in regard to the negatives of not being abstinent.

He slowly takes your hand, and you force yourself to look up at him.

“Have you ever been kissed, Princess?” he asks softly.

You nod. “Once, at Christian summer camp.”

“You’ve only ever been kissed just once?” Johnny lets out a shocked laugh. “You know, Mark has told us about your family, about the rules and the chastity that was instilled in you since you were young. Are you sure you want me to kiss you? I wouldn’t want to be…” he moves even closer, his voice lowering, “stealing your innocence.”

You can feel your mind going fuzzy at the close proximity to your ultimate crush, the man you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“I want you to steal my innocence,” you whisper dumbly, echoing his words without a second thought.

He looks into your eyes, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek.

Your lips part unconsciously, your entire body frozen as you wait for Johnny to choose what happens next.

“We can go slow,” Johnny assures you. “I’ll take care of you. After all, it’s just a kiss.”

“It’s just a kiss,” you repeat, realizing that your whole sexual proposition plan has somehow boiled down to ‘just a kiss’ and not the entire action of intercourse.

But you’re not complaining, especially not when he slowly closes the gap between your lips.

Your eye lids flutter closed at the contact, your breath catching. Johnny gently grabs your waist with his free hand, tugging you closer to his large body and making you let out a squeak.

He grins into the kiss, gently suckling your lower lip into his mouth.

Your entire body feels like it’s buzzing, and after not knowing what to do with your hands, you force yourself to relax, your palms making contact with his shoulders as you attempt to pull him even tighter against your aching form.

Johnny complies, and the kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours in a way that you somehow instinctively react to. Your mouth parts a little more, and his tongue gently explores your own, making you whimper desperately, clinging to the tall quarterback.

You can already feel how turned on your body is, your panties getting wetter by the second-

Someone knocks on the door right behind you and you tug away from Johnny, fear at being found out in your most vulnerable state surges through you.

Johnny lets out a sigh of annoyance, keeping his arm wrapped around you like a protective shield. “Who is it?” he calls.

“Come drink with us!” someone shouts, and Johnny shakes his head at the interruption.

“In a minute!” he responds. Then his attention shifts down to you. “You know, I couldn’t tell you’d only ever kissed one other guy.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a natural,” Johnny grins, gently pinching your chin and tilting your head up so he can press his lips to yours again. 

Your body melts in response, knees feeling weak, and another small whimper slips out of you.

Johnny lets out a growl, and you can tell it takes effort for him to tear himself away from you. “We should continue this another time,” he tells you. “You know, if you’re interested in more than just kissing. I meant it when I said I’d take care of you.”

“I-” your throat feels like it’s closing, and you have to swallow thickly just to collect yourself. “I would like that.”

“Give me your number, Princess,” he instructs, and as soon as he’s pulled his phone out of his pocket, you blurt out the digits, skin hot, heart racing. “I’ll text you,” Johnny promises, leaning down to press one more kiss against your lips. “But tonight, you should just enjoy the party.”

You understand he probably doesn’t want your first time to be in the middle of a frat rager, and you can admit to yourself that there’s definitely something lack luster about this atmosphere for a cherry pop.

But try as you might, as you and Johnny head down to join the festivities, your soaked panties are a constant reminder of the taste of pleasure you’d received from Johnny. And if you’d thought you’d been horny listening to those NSFW audios on Reddit, well, this is a hundred times more intense than that. 

Six:

Coordinating with Johnny has felt scandalous, but it’s also felt calming in some ways. He’s extremely aware of your situation, aware of helping you explore your sexual fantasies in a safe environment. While he has his own room in the frat due to his standing, Johnny knows it would be awkward for you to show up and run into Hyuck, Jaehyun, or - God forbid - your own brother on your way in or out of his room. 

After discussing schedules, Johnny selects a time where the frat is most empty, and with a racing heart and shaky knees, you make your way over to see the Quarterback.

He meets you on the front porch of the frat, and with a soft kiss on your cheek to say ‘Hello,’ he takes your hand and leads you through the deserted house. You can’t believe your luck in making it up to his room without running into a single other person, and you breathe a sigh of relief as he locks the door behind you.

“So, I’m going to be honest, if drinks or a party aren’t involved, initiating a kiss can be awkward, which is why I can lead all of this until you want otherwise,” Johnny tells you. “If you feel shy or anything, just remind yourself that I’m here to help you, and I’m not the judgmental type.”

“Okay,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Now that that’s out of the way…” Johnny flashes a grin, and then he grabs you by your hips and tugs you to his chest. His lips press against yours, and as you had the first time you’d kissed him, you allow your body to naturally relax against his, to follow his lead and trust that Johnny wouldn’t guide you astray.

You love the way your body lights up when he touches you. His palm is warm against the small of your back, keeping you pressed to his broad chest. His other hand is cupping your cheek, which makes this whole situation quite intimate as opposed to being just a proposition to lose your virginity.

And the way he kisses you takes your breath away. He’s not forceful, but he’s in control. You can tell he’s used to being lead, and you’d be lying if you said your natural inclination isn’t to be submissive. 

This is just so easy, and your mind starts to relax the way your body is.

You remind yourself that Johnny doesn’t judge. And from the way he groans as he tugs you toward the bed, you know he’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

“We don’t have to go fast,” Johnny breathes heavily when he breaks the kiss to sit onto his bed, looking up at you with blown pupils. His hands slide down to the back of your thighs, and he guides you to get on top of him.

You’re a bit clumsy, but his strong embrace helps you get settled on top of him, and he helps move your hands to his shoulders for a stronger anchor.

“Just like that,” Johnny tells you, grabbing the back of your neck to draw your lips to his again.

You slowly get more comfortable, sitting down in his lap, and that’s when you notice something poking you.

You break the kiss to look down and realize he’s already hard, and a shiver runs through you.

“I guess I should probably ask,” Johnny muses as his lips find your throat, one of his hands gripping your thigh, “how much experience do you have with this sort of thing?”

“None,” you admit.

“So one chaste kiss at Christian summer camp…” He lets out a groan. “Have you ever watched porn?”

“I saw… I saw one video once.”

“One video once,” he repeats with a chuckle. “You’re so innocent, Princess.”

Your skin heats at his words. “I’ve also… I’ve listened to sex audios,” you admit, embaressment flooding through you.

“Sex audios?”

“Yeah.”

“Explain those to me.” 

He licks at your throat and you bite your lip to stop a moan, throwing your head back and tightening your grip on his shoulders.

“Well,” you swallow thickly. “It’s just an audio of uh… some guy in different situations.”

“Does he tell you how to cum?”

“Sometimes,” you whimper when Johnny finds a spot on your throat that has your core practically throbbing.

“What audios are your favourites?” He’s massaging higher on your thigh now, and the close proximity to where you need him most makes your mind fuzzy, but you’re determined to answer his questions.

“I like praise audio, and when… when the man is dominant,” you admit.

“Dominant?”

“Yes, Sir,” you whimper before you can help yourself, thinking back to an audio you’d listened to two days ago with the tag [Sir Dom].

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, squeezing your thigh again. “I can work with that.”

He draws your lips to his again, and you wriggle down against him, pleasure shooting through you when your clothed clit brushes the hard bump in his sweatpants.

“Does that feel good, Princess?” Johnny asks, cupping your face and breaking the kiss to look at you. “You look so good grinding down against me.”

You can only whimper, nodding desperately as you wiggle harder against his lap.

“I promised we could take this slow, and I meant it,” Johnny swallows thickly. “How about you let me work you up? You trust me, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And if you ever want me to slow down, or stop, you’ll be a good girl and tell me, yeah?”

“Of course,” you breathe, body tensing as the hand on your leg gets even closer to where you need him most, his thumb stroking small circles against your inner thigh teasingly.

“Perfect.” Johnny’s hands slide to your ass, and he stands up abruptly, keeping you close to his chest while you grab at his shoulders in shock.

In one quick motion, he sets you onto the bed, and you look up at him.

“I’m going to take your pants off, Princess,” Johnny explains, fingers finding your buttons even as he leans closer to tease his lips against your own.

You thread your fingers through his hair, kissing him desperately as he carefully undoes your jeans, and then, your breath catches as he slowly tugs them down your legs. 

The air of the room feels cold against your now bare skin, and Johnny stops, looking down at you.

“Shirt next,” he instructs, and rather than wait for him to do it himself, you simply tug the fabric off, leaving you in your bra and underwear. “So good for me,” Johnny groans. “I’ll try to go slow.”

He joins you on the bed, slotting between your thighs which instinctively wrap around his hips, and then he kisses you. It’s a passionate kiss, the type of kiss that sends waves of erotic pleasure through you, especially when one of his hands grabs your breast, massaging you through your bra.

You’re breathless when his lips move down to your throat, and as he slowly descends, you thread your fingers through his hair, gasping. He kisses the swell of your breasts, moaning, and it makes your core pulse with desire.

“Can I take this off of you, Princess?” he asks, teeth nipping at the only piece of fabric keeping him from your aching nipples.

“Yes, Sir,” you whine, struggling a little beneath him from how desperately you want him to keep going.

Johnny reaches beneath you, and you arch your back, making it all too easy for him to unclasp your bra.

A moment later, your breasts are exposed, nipples pebbled and aching with anticipation.

“You’re so pretty,” Johnny groans, massaging you as his breath teases your skin.

His thumb brushes your sensitive bud and you can’t help but moan, pushing your chest up against his hand.

“So reactive for me,” Johnny tells you, leaning down and kissing your nipple.

The sensation has your core pulsating with desire, and you grab at the bed sheets, overwhelmed with pleasure.

“I feel like I could make you cum just from playing with your chest,” Johnny notes with a chuckle. “A girl who’s never been touched… let’s see if it works.”

He puts his mouth on your nipple again, sucking harder while his hand plays with your other breast.

You let out a strangled moan, your entire body reacting. 

You know what an orgasm is now, after all, the audios you’ve listened to have helped you discover that much. Your muscles are already tensing, and your heart is racing in your chest.

You didn’t know a woman could cum from just chest play, but here you are, almost unraveled for Johnny as he worships your breasts.

His teeth skim your sensitive bud and you gasp loudly. The sensation of your soaked panties pressing against your core has your mind spinning, and a few more licks have you coming undone.

You let out a loud gasp, threading your fingers through Johnny’s hair and pulling his lips back to yours as waves of pleasure throb through you.

It’s the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had, but you guess your own touch pales in comparison to Johnny’s.

He groans, kissing you roughly as your high washes through your body, and when you slowly start to come down, you break the kiss to take gasps of air.

“That was almost too easy, Princess,” Johnny chuckles. “Can’t imagine how you’re going to react when I touch you where you need it most.”

One of his hands slips between your thighs, and he gently rubs your clit through your panties, making your entire body jolt.

“Fuck, I’m going to enjoy this,” he groans, as he begins to kiss down your body.

You can hardly think coherent thoughts when Johnny slips down to the floor. He hooks his fingers in your panties, pausing to look up at you. “You still want this?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir,” you nod, your entire body buzzing with anticipation.

“Good.”

You hold your breath, biting your lip as he slowly drags your panties down your legs.

It’s the first time you’ve ever been naked in front of a man like this, and you watch his reactions, desperate for praise, to know he likes what he sees.

Johnny releases a shaky breath. “Have I ever told you that you’re one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen?” 

“Huh?”

“I swear to God, if you weren’t a Lee, I would have tried to make this happen ages ago.” Johnny runs a hand through his hair. “We generally have a rule in the frat not to go for each other’s sisters, but fuck, you’ve made this so hard.”

“You’ve really liked me for a long time?” you ask in shock.

“Since the very first day you showed up on the field at a game as a cheerleader. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you… and then, Jaehyun mentioned you’re Mark’s sister, so I backed off before I even had a chance to start.”

“Let’s not talk about Mark,” you say shyly, feeling yourself pulled out of your lust at the mention of your brother.

“Yeah, sorry.” Johnny swallows a lump in his throat. “Tell me more about the sex audios you listen to.”

“Well…” You feel your skin flush again at the mention of your secret sin. “They just talk the listener through different scenarios. It’s been… educational.”

Johnny begins kissing up your thigh, adjusting your leg over his shoulder. “Educational?” he laughs. “What do you think about when you listen to them?”

“I think about you,” you admit.

“Oh?” His face is now directly in front of your core, and you can feel his breath. Your whole body tingles, and you nod shyly.

“I imagine it’s you doing those things to me instead of just some audio.”

“Would it be embarrassing for you if I told you I’ve been thinking about you a lot, too?” Johnny smirks, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your clit that makes you jolt. 

“When… when you touch yourself?” you ask, the words feeling so foreign on your tongue.

“Especially when I touch myself.” He languidly licks at your clit, and the sensation makes you clench your eyes shut with pleasure, thighs quaking. “Been thinking about tasting you, about making you cum.”

“And?” you squeak.

“And it’s going exactly the way I imagined it.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a great thing.” The large hands holding your thighs on his shoulders move, and he presses down on your hips. “I’m going to eat you out now, and I’ll anchor you to the bed, but if it becomes too much, just push at my hands, and I’ll back off.”

“Why would you need to-” you begin to ask, but then he puts his mouth fully on your core, and your hips buck up instinctively. “Anchor me…” You trail off, gripping the bed sheets again.

Every time Johnny does something to you, you think it will be the pinnacle of pleasure when it comes to sex, but every single time, this beautiful man brings you to new heights.

You throw your head back, loving the way his tongue feels as it prods your opening, his lips moving to suck around your clit deliciously.

And then… he begins to groan, like a man licking his favourite ice cream, and your entire body comes alive with dangerous pleasure.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, the vibrations from his sounds surging through you.

You have no experience with oral, but you think Johnny must be absolutely amazing at it if this is anything to go by. 

Yeji and Yuna have often complained that men they’ve slept with don’t even bother to eat them out, so you consider yourself extremely lucky that Johnny is taking his time with you, that he’s showing you all that sex has to offer. 

You can feel another orgasm building in the pit of your stomach, and your sounds are sure to reflect it, as Johnny increases the pressure of his tongue on your clit. He’s groaning deeply now, wordlessly encouraging you to let go for him, and you’ll be damned if you disappoint.

In no time at all, your second orgasm washes through you, and it’s even stronger than the last. The pulsating pleasure that surges from your core to your entire body is mind boggling, and you can feel tears of ecstasy brimming in your eyes. You writhe against the bed, unwilling to push his hands away from anchoring you.

You want everything he’s giving you, even if it’s a lot to handle.

Soon, Johnny pulls away on his own accord, and you slump down to the bed, breathless and whimpering.

“Fuck, Princess,” Johnny groans, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I didn’t realize overstimulation was a kink of yours too.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“God, you’re so fucking cute,” Johnny chuckles. “Overstimulation is when you let someone give you so much pleasure that you almost can’t even handle it.” Johnny leans over you, his hand cupping your cheek. A warm thumb brushes by your skin. “Look, Princess, you’re crying.”

“It just felt so good,” you choke out, flooded with emotions.

Had you really held yourself back from this type of pleasure for all of these years? 

You can hardly believe it. 

“Come here,” Johnny says, tilting your jaw so you can press your lips to his. 

He gets on top of you, wrapping you in his warm embrace as you kiss away the last traces of your high.

Soon, you’re moaning again, and Johnny takes this as a cue to massage your breast. Everything he does feels so good, and you love getting lost in him.

You trust him so completely, which you’re aware may be naive of you, but Johnny’s never given you a reason to doubt him for even one second.

Then one of his hands begins to descend, and he rubs your wet core, making you both groan.

“Such a wet Princess,” Johnny says, his lips moving to your throat. 

“Wet for you,” you say quietly, having learned a few lines from your Reddit audios.

The quarterback lets out a chuckle as he rubs your core. “Do you want to feel me inside? I have to stretch you out if you want the real deal.”

You consider his words. “Stretch me out?”

“You know, for my cock.”

“Is it very big?” you ask, skin heating.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he prompts, and you can feel him grinning against your throat.

With a shaky hand, you move to cup the front of his sweatpants, and a whimper escapes you at the massive appendage that pushes up against your palm.

“You’re very big,” you confirm.

“Biggest you’ve ever touched,” he jokes, pushing the tip of his finger into your core and making you mewl. “Although, I’m also the only you’ve ever touched.” 

“I bet…” you groan as he pushes his digit deeper inside of you, “even if I had touched others, you’d still be the biggest.”

“Now you’re just stroking my ego,” Johnny grins. 

“I think… I think I’m stroking something else too.” You rub him harder through his sweats, and Johnny moans deeply.

“How are you still so cute while talking dirty?”

“It’s a superpower,” you tease, but a whimper escapes you when he adjusts his finger, making a come hither motion.

“As much as I love you touching me, I want to focus on you a bit more,” Johnny groans, sitting up and pushing your hand away from his cock. “How does one finger feel?”

He continues the come hither motion, and suddenly he makes contact with a spot inside of you that has your toes curling.

“Oh my goodness, it feels so good,” you groan, gripping the sheets again.

“This is your G-spot,” Johnny explains. “If I apply enough pressure to it…”

He continues to finger fuck you, and a moment later, your core begins to audibly squelch.

Heat blossoms through you at the sound, and you move to close your thighs out of embarrassment, but Johnny gently spreads them with a laugh.

“Don’t be shy, Princess,” he says, licking his lips. “This is one of the best sounds in the world.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, I like to know that I’m making you feel good. People lie, but your pussy doesn’t.”

He can be kind of vulgar, but it makes you relax as you spread your legs fully again, resting back against the bed. 

Johnny takes the opportunity to push another finger inside of you, and you whine at the slight stretch.

You focus on the sensation, on the pleasure boiling in the pit of your stomach. And then Johnny adjusts, moving down once more. You feel his breath against your core, and when his mouth makes contact with your clit, you jolt.

You’ve never felt anything like this.

Two powerful fingers stroke your g-spot while he suctions your clit in his mouth, lapping and sucking-

Your orgasm is so close now, and you moan desperately, writhing against the bed.

His free hand presses to your abdomen, keeping you pinned as you teeter on the edge.

When you cum, it’s unlike any other orgasm you’ve had.

It’s an intense pressure that releases like a storm surge. You feel delirious as the waves rock through your entire body, overtaking all of your senses and clouding your mind.

In the back of your mind, you hear Johnny groaning, and it makes you throb even harder, your muscles twitching from the intensity of your high.

The hand on your abdomen keeps you grounded, even as the pleasure threatens to become too much for you to handle, and a few moments later, Johnny pulls away.

You gasp, trying to steady your breath, but your heart is racing so fast that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to catch it.

“Holy shit, Princess,” Johnny says. “I’ve never seen anyone squirt like that.”

“Huh?” Your eyes open, and you look at Johnny, which is when you realize there’s a liquid substance dripping down his hand and strong forearm. 

“You squirted, it’s like a different kind of orgasm,” Johnny explains, bringing his cum coated fingers to his lips so he can suck them off. 

“I didn’t know that was possible,” you tell him, feeling embarrassed.

“Some girls never experience it,” he tells you. “That was hot as fuck.”

You hide your face in your hands, feeling both elated, and still a touch apprehensive about your body losing control in such a way.

“I’ll clean up the mess later, so don’t worry about that, but how did two fingers feel?” Johnny asks.

“So good,” you whimper, core twitching.

“Do you still want to go all the way tonight? We can stop here if you’re not comfortable.”

“I want to!” you blurt out. “I want to, so bad.”

Johnny chuckles. “You got it, Princess.”

He gets off the bed, standing up, and you marvel at the way he towers over you. Then, Johnny reaches for the scruff of his shirt, tugging it off of his body in one motion.

You eat up the view of his muscles, and you swallow the lump of saliva that accumulates in your mouth. He truly is mouth watering, and your breath catches as his hands find the waistband of his sweatpants.

Johnny flashes you a wink before tugging the rest of his clothing off, and then he stands before you, completely naked, and as perfect as you ever could have imagined.

“Oh my gosh,” you whimper, skin heating with embarrassment when you take a good look at his massive cock.

Johnny chuckles at your reaction. “You can still say no.”

“Can… can that really fit inside of me?”

“Princess, we’ll make it fit if you still want this.”

“Then let’s make it fit,” you tell him, trying to sound confident.

Johnny grins, shaking his head at you while he reaches for his bedside table. You watch with confusion as he pulls out a small package, and you realize as he opens it that it’s a condom.

“I’m guessing you’re not on any kind of birth control?” he asks.

“No.”

“I’m happy to wear a condom,” he explains. “And if you want to keep seeing me after this, I’ll still wear one, but we can also discuss birth control or other things if you want.”

“If I want to keep seeing you?” You blink at him.

For the first time ever, you see a tinge of pink blossom in Johnny’s cheeks, and you realize he’s blushing.

“Yeah, I mean, I want to keep seeing you. I never viewed this as a ‘one time cherry popping’ kind of thing… but if that’s all you want from me, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Johnny?” you ask, sitting up. “Are you… are you asking me to continue seeing you? Like… dating?”

“I’d love to take you on dates,” he confirms. “I want to keep seeing you, for more than the sex. Which is great, by the way.”

You hide your face, overcome by shyness. 

Can it really be that all of your dreams are coming true?

You’d half expected this to be a one time thing, and were prepared to face any heartache that came with it. You were not prepared for Johnny to tell you he wants to date you.

“I’d love to go on dates with you,” you manage to stutter.

“Perfect, so we’re on the same page.” Johnny gets onto the bed with you, and you wrap your legs around his hips, tugging him in for a kiss to distract from the shyness still bubbling through you.

The kiss is more passionate than ever, and Johnny grinds down against you, his condom covered cock teasing your clit and making you shiver.

You feel yourself relaxing again, pushing your fears to the side, allowing Johnny to lead as he works you up again.

“Okay,” he says, after a minute or so of making out, “I’m going to try to push it in.”

“Okay.”

“Try to breathe and not tense up, okay?” he asks, kissing your throat.

“I’ll do my best.”

Johnny grabs the base of his cock, directing the head toward your drenched hole. 

He’s extremely gentle as he pushes slightly into you, and your breath catches. He nuzzles your throat, pressing soft kisses that you know are meant to distract you as your body gets used to being stretched out by his huge cock.

You let out a sigh, relaxing your tight grip on his shoulders. “Okay, I think I’m ready for more.”

He pushes in another inch or two, pausing to let your inner walls adjust to such a large intrusion.

It goes this way for a short time, slight pushes, small breaks, adoration filled kisses, and soon, he’s almost fully inside of you.

“How’s this?” he asks.

“Tight,” you admit with a small laugh, your core gripping him even more desperately with the contraction of your muscles.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans. “You can say that again… I’m going to move a little now, if it hurts, tell me to stop.”

“Yes, Sir,” you whimper, feeling yourself begin to fall into what Yeji and Yuna have sometimes called ‘the submissive mindframe,’ wherein you feel like a pleasure fueled jelly that’s ready to take anything and everything your partner wants to give you.

Johnny is slow as he begins to move, and you marvel at the way your squirt soaked core allows him such smooth thrusts. The dragging of his cock along your inner walls feels like magic, and your body relaxes. The pleasure is a welcome distraction from the stretch of his cock in your tight pussy, and as his pace increases, so do your moans.

“Oh my gosh,” you whimper, clutching at his shoulders and crying out desperately.

“Fuck, you feel so good for me,” Johnny groans, his breath hot against your throat where he buries his head.

“Johnny,” you gasp, too lust drunk to think coherently as he bottoms out fully inside of you, making you both groan, your fingernails digging into his strong shoulders.

“Just like that, Princess, just like that,” he tells you, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses against your neck.

Your eyes roll back into your head, your entire body overwhelmed by the feeling.

Nothing in your life has ever felt this good, and you can’t believe you held yourself back from such pleasure. 

In a way, the repetitive sound of Johnny’s name that echoes through your mind feels like prayer, and you know it’s blasphemy, but you can’t help the way that this is akin to worship.

Johnny is worshipping you, and you are worshipping him.

Two bodies, perfectly in sync, giving each other everything they have- it’s the most perfect and natural union, and you can’t imagine this being a sin.

Johnny hikes your thigh higher on his hip, and suddenly, he’s hitting even deeper spots. You cry out, clinging to him as your entire body is engulfed with hot pleasure.

“Fuck, I think I’m close, Princess, this is just too good,” Johnny admits.

“I’m close too,” you gasp, core tightening around him like a vice, your muscles screaming at you for release.

“I want to cum with you, I’ll hold off, but when you cum- fuck, when you cum, we cum together, okay?”

“Yes, Sir,” you whimper desperately, a feeling like flames licking at you from your core outward.

“Just like that, Princess, you’re doing so fucking well,” he praises you, and his words make your entire body tingle with delight.

“Johnny-” you gasp, teetering on the edge.

“Cum for me, fuck, cum for me, Princess.”

You let out a squeak as your orgasm slams into you, your entire pussy clamping down on his cock. The pleasure radiates through you in hot, throbbing waves, and you cling to Johnny like a life line.

He releases a deep groan, his thrusts faltering, and you think he’s cum too, which sends another flash of pleasure through you.

Johnny does his best to ride you through your high, but soon, he comes to a stop, slumping over you and breathing heavily.

You wrap your arms around him, marveling in the way your hearts race, chests pressed together like two puzzle pieces. 

You’re not sure how long you hold him, how long you both try to recollect yourselves, but soon, Johnny lets out a groan, and he pulls out of you, falling on the bed at your side.

“Come here,” he says, tugging you to his body, cuddling you close while you still try to overcome such a mind numbing orgasm.

You listen to the fast drum of his heart, neither of you saying a word as you bask in post orgasmic glow.

Without knowing it, you drift off, and when you wake up, it’s dark outside. Johnny is stroking your arm, and he looks down at you when you adjust slightly.

“Hi, Princess.”

“Hi, Johnny.”

He swallows thickly. “I want to do right by you,” he explains. “I want to take you on dates, and pamper you, and do all of the things you deserve.”

“But?” you ask, sensing there’s a but somewhere in his words.

“But…” Johnny chuckles. “If you want to stay the night, I’d also be good with that. We don’t have to have sex again, but… even just cuddling. I just want to take care of you.”

That works well, because your whole life, you’ve just wanted to be taken care of. 

“I’d like to stay,” you tell him.

In the dim light, you see Johnny grin. “That makes me happy.”

You smile, cuddling closer to his side. “It makes me happy, too.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! Spring has sprung and it just felt like a good time for another trusty nct frat fic :)

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🔮 preview.  Being pushed and pulled makes you feel like a slutty chew toy, but God, it’s amazing. With Jaehyun behind you and Johnny under you, all of your needs are being met, so there’s nothing to do except enjoy it. You take what they’re giving you, and you’re thankful your boyfriend suggested that you get to try a threesome just once before getting engaged.

cw/ tw. Threesome, protected sex, unprotected sex, foreplay, oral (f recieving), body worship, breast worship, fingering, anal, anal prep, mention of sex toy, double penetration, anal penetration, manhandling, dirty talk, power play, soft dom!Johnny, voyeurism, exhibitionism, multiple reader orgasms, creampie, etc…   I petnames. (hers) princess.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.4k I teaser wc. 140

🌙 starring. Johnny & Jaehyun x afab!Reader

bonus

You’ve been with Johnny for two years now, and it’s the final term before he graduates. In those two years, you have explored so many things with Johnny, and he’s allowed you to fully get to know yourself and your body in a safe, loving relationship.

Even so, Johnny knows there’s a few things you haven’t yet tried, and you’ve had many discussions about the fact that he intends to ask you to marry him after he graduates and finds a job, that the two of you want to be together for the rest of your lives.

“I just… and I can’t believe I’m saying this, Princess,” Johnny laughs one night as you cuddle in bed. “I’m the only man you’ve ever slept with, and I think it would be unfair of me to restrict you like that.”

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“nah. im just watching dumb videos. you okay? you sound weird.”

weird. yeah. that was one word for it.

he leaned forward a little, curling into himself, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder while his other hand kept working over his cock. he was flushed to the neck, chest mottled with heat, pulse visible in his throat.

every time he heard your voice through the speaker, it was like a jolt right to his cock — he could feel the way your mouth moved, imagine how your lips would wrap around syllables if he were just a bit closer.

he bit his bottom lip, hard.

“i’m fine,” he said quickly, too quickly, then swallowed. “just… wanted to talk to you.”

he was already so close and that was humiliating in its own right.

your voice was casual, kind. “oh, yeah? what about?”

mark gritted his teeth, hips twitching upward into his palm. “i… i dunno. just missed your voice.”

a pause. you laughed softly.

“that’s weird. you literally saw me earlier today.”

“i know.”

mark closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his palm against the base of his cock to try and slow himself down. it didn’t help. he was throbbing. leaking. his stomach muscles clenched tight every time you said anything.

“but… i like hearing you.”

you went quiet for a beat. “you sure you’re okay? you sound kinda…”

“i’m fine,” mark said again, but his voice broke in the middle of it, strained and raspy, like he was talking through gritted teeth.

he had to pull the phone back a little as a soft, stuttered moan slipped out of him.

shit.

his hand kept moving — too fast now, driven by pure instinct. he tried to breathe slow, tried to pretend he wasn’t literally jerking off with your voice in his ear, but you weren’t helping.

you chuckled again. “you sound like you’re sweating or something. hot in your room?”

“y-yeah,” mark gasped, closing his fist tighter. “hot. so, so hot.”

his knuckles were turning white around the phone. he pressed it harder to his ear, needing to hear every note of your voice. his eyes fluttered shut, head falling back against the wall behind his bed. sweat was already gathering under his arms, on his lower back, on the backs of his thighs. jus toes curled into the sheets, ankles twitching with every slick stroke of his hand.

you kept talking. talking like everything was normal. like your best friend wasn’t secretly jerking off to your voice and biting his fist to keep from moaning into the receiver.

“you been staying up late again?” you asked. “you really sound tired.”

mark choked on a sound that wasn’t a laugh, wasn’t a sob, wasn’t quite a moan.

“mmh—yeah. c-can’t sleep…”

“you should take melatonin or something. or stop watching porn at 3am.”

if only you knew.

mark was panting now, trying to keep it quiet, but every breath was a tremor. his thighs shook with tension, every muscle in his body drawn tight like a bowstring. he sped up again without meaning to, his body begging for release. it wasn’t just the friction. it was you — your voice, your laugh, the way you sounded like you were half-asleep and smiling through every word.

and fuck, he wanted you to hear. even if it ruined everything.

“hey,” you said again, more curious now. “you really okay? you sound like you’re—”

“i’m f—fuck,” mark hissed through his teeth, a broken sound slipping out before he could stop it.

his back arched. he turned his face into the pillow beside him and bit down, hard. his whole body jerked with need.

“s-sorry, sorry—”

you blinked on the other end. “mark… are you… are you sick or something?”

“n-no,” mark whimpered, voice cracking again.

his chest was heaving, cock twitching wildly in his hand now. the wet slick noises of it were starting to get louder — he was so close it hurt.

“just… ngh—just don’t stop talking. please.”

you paused, clearly confused.

“mark, you sure you’re okay? your voice sounds—like you’re in pain or something. you’re not crying, right?”

he almost was.

“no—n-not crying. j-just…”

his fingers slipped, the slick glide of his palm stuttering for a second. he couldn’t do this much longer. every syllable you said was like fuel thrown on the fire. his entire body was one big live wire, and all it would take was one more second of your voice, soft and unknowing in his ear, and he’d—

“oh fuck—fuckfuck—ah—” he gasped suddenly, louder than he meant to.

he couldn’t stop it. his hips jerked up off the bed, his legs kicked once, hard, heel catching on the sheet.

“shit—”

“mark?”

bit it was too late.

he came with a guttural noise halfway between a gasp and a whimper, hand still pumping as thick heat spilled across his abs, wrist, stomach. his thighs were trembling, whole body shaking, the pleasure rolling over him in uncontrollable, stuttering waves. he clenched the phone so tight it creaked in his palm.

your voice cut through the haze.

“…wait. are you—holy shit. were you jerking off?”

mark froze. his face was bright red, chest heaving, jaw slack as the last pulses of pleasure shook through him.

he didn’t answer. he couldn’t.

the silence stretched — the only thing in his room now was the sound of him breathing. hard and shallow. still a little shaky, his hand still cupped over the base of his cock, half-hard and twitching against his sticky palm.

the mess was cooling on his stomach, and he was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating somewhere between orgasm and panic.

“…mark?”

you sounded different now. not angry. not teasing. just… surprised. confused. and a little quieter. your voice had dropped half a note, softer in a way that made his throat close. mark swallowed.

his voice cracked when he finally said it :

“y-yeah.”

one word. barely more than a whisper.

he shifted in bed, feeling how damp the sheets were under his thighs, how raw his skin felt, sensitive to the air now. still holding the phone, mark let out a low, shaky breath and forced himself to speak again.

“i was. i… i was jerking off.”

silence.

god, he wanted to disappear. the shame was burning. he shut his eyes and dragged a hand down his face, fingers shaking slightly. his cock gave a small, involuntary twitch in his hand even now. he should’ve hung up. should’ve made up some lie. should’ve said anything else.

instead, he added : “i couldn’t stop thinking about your voice. it—fuck, it made it worse. better. i don’t know. i just—needed it.”

there was a pause on the other end. but this one felt different.

“…damn,” you finally said.

the word came out low, cautious.

mark’s breath caught. he squeezed his eyes shut.

“you’re mad,” he mumbled, voice hoarse. “i get it, i’m—fucked up, i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have called—”

“no,” you cut in fast. “no, i’m not mad.”

mark blinked. “you’re… not?”

“i mean…” you hesitated. “that’s kinda… hot.”

mark sat up straighter, heart kicking into a full sprint again. “what?”

your voice was a little different now. lower. a little breathy. “you really called me… while you were doing that?”

mark nodded before realizing you couldn’t see it.

“y-yeah.”

he was still hard. somehow. his body didn’t know how to stop with you still on the phone, your voice suddenly filled with something heavier. curiosity? tension? hunger? whatever it was, it sparked like a live wire right in his chest.

“you… wanted to hear me that bad?” you asked.

and mark could picture the look on your face now — confused, pink-cheeked, maybe biting your lip the way you always did when you were trying to process something fast.

“i did,” mark whispered. “i wanted to imagine you in my ear. i already was. but when i actually heard you… i couldn’t stop. you sounded so warm. like—like you were laying next to me.”

“shit,” you mutter, your breath hitched now. “that’s…”

mark gripped the phone tighter. “what?”

“kind of really hot,” you admitted. “like, weirdly hot.”

something inside mark broke open at that.

his hand reflexively slid down over his cock again — not stroking yet, but holding it, grounding himself in sensation, in your voice and the feeling of still being on the edge, desperate for more. his stomach clenched, hips shifting under the blankets.

“are you…” he tried. “turned on right now?”

a soft exhale from you bedore you anwser.

“yeah.”

the sound mark made wasn’t even a word. just a needy gasp, like he’d been underwater and your answer let him breathe again. he rolled his hips forward a little into his palm, dragging his fingers lightly over the head of his cock. still sensitive. almost unbearable.

“can i come over?” you asked.

mark’s breath hitched. the thought was overwhelming, making his cock twitch even more.

“yes,” he said immediately, too fast, too eager. his voice cracked on it, raw and wet with want. “yes, please—fuck, i want you to.”

there was a pause — not hesitation, but heat. you were quiet for a second, and he could hear you shifting on the other end, probably sitting up now, heart racing like his.

“leave the door unlocked,” you said.

mark nodded again, even though you couldn’t see.

“hurry.”

he didn’t hang up.

you’re twenty-nine, and the number feels heavier than you thought it would. not because it’s old—not really—but because thirty is close. and thirty means expectations. by now, you were supposed to have it all figured out. at least, that’s what they say. your friends certainly make it seem that way with their photo-perfect marriages, toddlers learning to walk, houses in peaceful neighborhoods. meanwhile, you still live in a quiet apartment with plants you often forget to water and a fridge that holds more takeout containers than groceries.

you work at an architecture firm—clean lines, big ideas, and even bigger egos. the kind of place where late nights are common and recognition is rare. you’ve built a name for yourself, though. you lead your team well, your ideas consistently get approved, and your work ethic has never been in question. the other women whisper that you’re just trying to impress the boss, that your dedication is nothing but a strategic flirtation. they don't know that your passion isn’t about pleasing anyone but yourself. well, mostly. maybe part of you does want to be seen. to be acknowledged by him.

jeong jaehyun.

your department lead. two years younger than you, but somehow always carrying himself like he’s lived three lives already. he doesn’t talk much. doesn’t engage in the small talk that fills the office kitchen or the empty flattery some of your coworkers throw his way. he’s serious, focused, almost too calm. the kind of man who’s unreadable, and yet somehow always watching. you’re not close, not really, but there’s a quiet understanding between you. he trusts you. you can feel it in the way he gives you space to lead, the way he nods subtly in meetings when you speak, the way his eyes linger sometimes—not in a way that feels invasive, but like he’s... thinking.

you’ve never seen him flirt with anyone. never seen him talk about his personal life. no ring, no photos on his desk, not even vague mentions of a girlfriend or family. and while no one dares to say anything to his face, everyone wonders. he's a man, though—no one criticizes him for being single. no one asks him what he's waiting for.

you, on the other hand, can barely go a week without someone making a comment. still not married? you’re so pretty, what a shame. your mother means well, but every call ends with a variation of you’re not getting any younger, sweetheart.you smile through it. you tell them you're happy. you tell yourself that, too. but deep down, there's a quiet ache. because you’ve always wanted a family. always dreamed of being a mother, of coming home to someone who knows you—not just your schedule or your favorite takeout order, but the way you think, the way you feel things deeply and try to hide it. but love hasn’t knocked in years. not since your last relationship ended at twenty-two, before the world hardened your heart. since then, you’ve been too busy, too careful, too tired.

tonight, you're staying late again. the office is nearly empty, save for a few flickering lights and the buzz of a vending machine down the hall. you're finessing the last pieces of a major project, making sure every detail is just right. you're in the zone when you hear soft footsteps approaching, and then his voice—low, familiar, closer than expected.

“you’re still here, byun?”

you glance up to find jaehyun standing by your desk, hands in his pockets, that usual unreadable expression on his face. there’s no judgment in his voice, just quiet curiosity.

you offer a tired smile, leaning back in your chair. “oh, mr. jeong, i just wanted to polish a few things before the presentation. i figured if i leave anything messy, the senior managers will rip it apart. and then you’ll take the heat for it.”

he raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that almost looks like a smile. “you care that much about how i look to the execs?”

you shrug, turning back to your screen. “you’re my boss. if you look bad, i look bad.”

he lets out a soft exhale, a sound that's dangerously close to a chuckle. then he leans against your desk, his body relaxed but his eyes still sharp as ever. “you’re too committed.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he shakes his head. “not bad. just... rare.”

a brief silence settles between you, not awkward, but weighted. it feels like he’s about to say something else, and when he does, it’s not what you expect.

“doesn’t your family mind that you stay this late?” his gaze holds yours. “your husband? kids?”

you blink, the question catching you off guard. your smile falters just slightly, and you look down at your hands before answering.

“no husband. no kids. no one waiting at home.” you try to sound casual, even throw in a little laugh. “i guess i’m just married to the job.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t look away. “i didn’t know.”

you nod, suddenly very aware of the silence around you. “most people assume. but... yeah. i live alone.”

another pause. then, gently, you ask, “what about you, mr. jeong? i mean, you’re always here late too. no one waiting on you?”

he looks away for the first time, his jaw tightening slightly before he answers. “no one yet.”

and there it is again—that silence between you. but this time, it’s different. it hums with something unspoken. curiosity. surprise. maybe even recognition.

you return your gaze to the screen, not really seeing it. he’s still standing there, close enough to feel but not close enough to touch. something in the air shifts, and for the first time in a long time, your chest feels... not heavy, but full.

the next morning, you arrived a few minutes early—just like always. being punctual wasn’t about impressing anyone; it was about control, about proving—at least to yourself—that you had your life together. it made you feel reliable. consistent. in a workplace full of half-assed excuses and people who couldn’t meet a deadline to save their lives, your discipline was something you wore like armor. something no one could take from you.

your outfit was soft, delicate even—rose-pink skirt brushing just above your knees, a crisp white button-up tucked in neatly, the blazer matching your skirt in a subtle pastel tone. your heels clicked softly against the tile floor as you made your way to your desk, and as you passed the reflection on one of the glass panels, you couldn’t help but think: i look good today.

you did. your hair was in place, makeup light but elegant, lips tinted a faint nude-pink. polished. pretty. professional. but beneath all that... you also looked a little alone. not that anyone would say it to your face—but you could see it sometimes, in the glances people gave you. admiration, maybe. pity, sometimes. curiosity always.

you sat down, smoothing your skirt and adjusting your chair, reaching for the little yellow post-it you’d stuck to the side of your monitor the day before. your handwriting was neat, methodical. a short list of pending tasks, each one already being mentally checked off as you booted up your computer. you didn’t waste time—your fingers flew across the keyboard, and within minutes the familiar sounds of productivity filled your small corner of the office: the rhythmic clack of keys, the soft hum and spit of the printer warming up to spit out proposals and reports.

you didn’t hear him come in.

you were too deep in the flow, too focused on aligning the final report with the visual standards the company demanded. your eyes scanned the document line by line, searching for typos, ensuring everything was clean, sharp, presentable. the sound of footsteps behind you didn’t register until you felt it—that subtle, electric awareness that comes when someone is watching.

“good morning, byun. please leave the project report on my desk once it’s ready.”

he didn’t look at you. just passed by, smooth and quick, his voice calm and firm, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, the familiar scent of roast beans and expensive cologne trailing behind him like a silent presence. his stride didn’t falter, his gaze fixed ahead, like he’d already moved on to the next ten things in his mind. you barely had time to nod, mouth parted to respond, but he was already disappearing behind his office door.

you blinked.

right. the report.

you gathered the last printed pages, slid them into the presentation folder, double-checked the order, smoothed the cover with your palm before rising from your seat. your heels clicked softly against the floor as you made your way down the short corridor, your fingers lightly tapping the edge of the folder, nerves tightening with each step even if there was nothing to be nervous about. it was just work. just jaehyun. just another report.

you knocked once and entered when he answered. he was seated behind his desk, sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, the dark veins of his forearms visible as he typed something on his laptop. he glanced up, briefly, then reached for the report when you held it out.

“thank you,” he said, flipping it open with precision, already scanning the contents. “at two p.m. we have the meeting with upper management. you’ll be joining me at the table. along with choi and hwang.”

you nodded. “understood.”

“good. go over the numbers one more time before then. they’re likely to ask.”

“yes, mr. jeong.”

and that was it. no warm smile. no thank you. just professional, cold efficiency. you turned and left, closing the door gently behind you before returning to your desk, the weight of the upcoming meeting settling on your shoulders like a familiar cloak. you’d been through this before. plenty of times. but it never got easier. not when the room was full of men in suits who barely hid their condescension, who chewed through ideas like tasteless gum until someone—usually jaehyun—said something smart enough to catch their interest.

you spent the next few hours fine-tuning the financial section, making sure your data was clean, graphs properly labeled, estimates realistic but still ambitious. it was a delicate game—making things sound innovative without actually suggesting anything too risky. they didn’t want bold. they wanted impressive illusions of boldness packaged in safe wrapping.

the meeting room was as bland as ever. too much glass, too much beige. you sat at the long table beside jaehyun, your laptop open, presentation ready. the managers arrived first, already complaining about another team’s failed prototype. the director entered last, stone-faced as always, his tie perfect, his opinion impossible to read.

as expected, the meeting dragged. they picked apart the proposal, paragraph by paragraph, expressionless until one of them grimaced like the very concept of originality offended them. you watched them, these men who nodded at each other but rarely smiled, who offered feedback that wasn’t feedback, just empty phrases like “it needs more punch” or “is this trend even scalable?”

then jaehyun spoke.

his voice was calm, slow, measured. and yet he made every single line sound convincing. powerful. like there was no other way forward but the one he was laying out. the room shifted around him. the tension eased. eyes narrowed—not in skepticism now, but interest. he wasn’t just presenting; he was selling a vision, and you felt yourself straightening with pride even if the credit wasn’t yours.

until he said your name.

“y/n,” he said, still facing the director. “if you could present the budget projections.”

you froze for a half second. not out of fear—just... surprise. you hadn’t expected him to call on you so soon.

you stood, smoothed your skirt unconsciously, and took a breath before switching slides. your voice was steady, even if your palms were clammy.

“these are the projections for the next two quarters,” you began, pointing at the chart. “we’ve estimated a moderate increase in cost during the development phase, with a break-even point projected for the beginning of q3. depending on the approved budget, we’re looking at a return on investment of approximately—”

you kept going, explaining the graphs, walking them through the numbers with careful clarity. no embellishments, no guesswork. facts. you swallowed once, clearing your throat before the final slide, then ended with a nod.

when you sat back down, jaehyun glanced at you. just a moment. a flicker of something almost soft in his expression.

like you’d done well. like you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.

the rest of the meeting blurred. the managers began tossing in extra suggestions—small changes, tweaks they hoped would impress the director. the man nodded, offered vague praise, and you remained at your seat, listening to it all with a practiced, patient expression.

when the meeting finally ended, you stood beside jaehyun again. he didn’t say much—he never did—but as he packed his laptop, he looked at you.

“good work today,” he said. “you’re an essential part of the team. if you keep this up, i’ll make sure your name’s considered for the upcoming promotions.”

you stared at him, momentarily stunned. the words hit harder than you expected. you’d worked for five years, given everything to this company, and this—this was the first time someone above you had said something that felt... real.

“thank you,” you said softly, trying not to let your smile get too big. “really.”

he nodded. “you earned it.”

later, when the director extended the dinner invitation, you didn’t hesitate. it wasn’t optional. the team needed to show up, needed to mingle, to pretend everything was a celebration and not an endless cycle of office politics masked with clinking glasses.

the bar was upscale but casual enough to loosen people’s ties. smoke from grilled meats hung faintly in the air, the tang of sweet sauces and roasted garlic filling the space. you sat between your supervisor and jaehyun, trying not to feel too stiff in your work clothes. everyone was drinking, toasting, laughing louder than they had all day.

the supervisor leaned forward, voice slightly slurred. “you know,” he said to the director, “the whole prototype? the mockup? the execution timeline? all her. y/n practically carried the whole thing.”

the director turned to you, surprised. “really? how long have you been here?”

“five years,” you replied, sipping from your glass.

he raised a brow. “how is it possible i haven’t noticed you until now?”

jaehyun, still beside you, said nothing—but you felt the subtle tension in his posture.

“you’ve got a good employee,” the director told him. “it’s your job to shape her. teach her. sounds like she’s already on the right path. with the right guidance... she’ll move up in no time.”

he raised his glass. “to y/n.”

“to y/n,” echoed around the table.

you lifted your glass, cheeks warm—not just from the alcohol but from the unfamiliar sensation of being seen. you smiled, surrounded by coworkers and approval and good food, and for a moment, just one moment, everything felt like it was finally going somewhere.

you were finally going somewhere.

the dinner had blurred into noise.

conversations overlapping, laughter rising and falling like tides. glasses clinked, meat sizzled on the grill, the warm lighting softening everyone's expressions into something hazy and unguarded. you sat at the long table, just a bit to the side, the smoky scent of barbecued meat in your hair and the echo of compliments still lingering in your chest. across from you, your supervisor had long since slipped into a drunken retelling of his glory days. to your left, jaehyun sat quietly, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. his arms were strong, veins defined even in the low light, and on his left wrist, a sleek, expensive watch glinted every time he reached for his glass. he hadn’t touched his soju in a while, though. he just held the rim between his fingers and occasionally let his gaze wander across the room.

when your eyes met, it was casual, almost accidental. but you didn’t look away.

“you’re not drinking,” you said, quietly enough that only he could hear.

he offered the ghost of a smirk, the kind that barely pulled at one corner of his mouth. “someone has to remember what was actually said tonight.”

you laughed, a soft breathy sound, grateful for his clarity amidst the chaos.

a silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. rather, it felt like a small space carved out just for the two of you—unbothered, untouched, a bubble where you didn’t have to keep smiling or pretending. you let out a quiet sigh, swirling your untouched drink in your hand.

“do you ever feel like you're running out of time?” you asked, voice low, not even sure why you were asking him of all people.

jaehyun looked at you, brows drawn slightly, intrigued but still calm. “time for what?”

you hesitated, fingers tightening around your glass. the alcohol was warm in your chest, but not enough to numb this confession.

“for everything,” you admitted. “i mean, professionally… things are going great. i can’t complain. i’ve worked hard, and it’s starting to pay off. but…” you looked down, lips pressing together. “sometimes i feel like i’m trapped inside a giant hourglass, watching the sand fall, grain by grain. i’ll be thirty in a few months. and i know that shouldn't mean anything, but in a world where people expect you to have everything figured out by now—marriage, kids, some picture-perfect life—i feel like i’m falling behind. like my dreams are moving farther and farther away.”

you took a breath, not daring to look at him.

“it’s just… sad,” you continued. “when you achieve something big and there’s no one waiting at home to celebrate it with you. no partner, no family. no one to say, ‘i’m proud of you.’”

jaehyun was quiet for a moment. then his voice came, soft and even.

“i can celebrate with you.”

you looked up, surprised, blinking at him. “thank you, but… that’s not what i meant. it’s not the same.”

he held your gaze. then, calmly, like he was offering a solution to a logistics problem, he said it.

“then marry me.”

your brain stalled.

you didn’t understand at first. maybe you misheard him. maybe he was joking, or drunk—except his voice hadn’t changed. his tone hadn’t wavered. your stomach dropped.

“…what?” you whispered.

“you want a family. you want someone to come home to. marry me.”

the words hung between you like smoke. absurd. unreal. your mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. you glanced around—everyone else was too busy laughing or slurring their next toast to notice what had just happened.

you leaned in slightly, voice tense and hushed. “mr.—jeong—what are you talking about? we don’t even know each other like that.”

“we know enough,” he said without blinking.

“we’ve never even had a real conversation outside of work until now.”

“so let’s have more,” he replied, as steady as always.

you felt like your heart was beating too loudly. “are you… are you seriously suggesting we get married?”

“i’m not suggesting it. i’m telling you i’d do it. if you said yes.”

you stared at him, at the cool detachment on his face, the quiet certainty in his voice, and felt your world tip on its axis.

he shrugged. “how long until you turn thirty?”

“…my birthday’s in november,” you muttered, the words escaping before you could even process them. “it’s april now. that’s seven months.”

jaehyun nodded slowly. “then you have seven months to decide.”

he finished his beer in one slow, final gulp. then he stood up, reaching into his wallet and placing a few bills under his empty glass. you were still frozen when he stepped beside you.

“i’ll take you home,” he said.

you tried to protest, voice stumbling over half-formed refusals. “you don’t have to—i can call a cab, really—”

he looked down at you, expression unreadable.

“that wasn’t a request. it’s your boss giving you a ride.”

and with that, he turned, waiting for you to follow. your legs felt heavy as you stood, your mind racing, still reeling from what had just happened. marry him? seven months? he was serious. he was actually serious.

you had no answers. only questions. and one man who had just offered you everything you’d spent your life pretending you didn’t need.

you didn’t sleep.

not really. you tossed and turned, arms flung across the bed one minute and buried under the covers the next. jaehyun’s words echoed in your skull like an intrusive melody, looping over and over again.

then marry me.

you have seven months to decide.

like some sort of countdown had been triggered.

you must have stared at your ceiling for hours, trying to make sense of what he meant—what it meant for you—and whether he’d been serious. but the worst part wasn’t the proposal. the worst part was how calm he’d been, how effortlessly he’d said it, and how easily he’d walked away afterward like it hadn’t upended your entire sense of self.

your alarm went off at seven, and you hit snooze five times. by the time you dragged yourself out of bed, you felt like your bones had aged a decade overnight. you put on your makeup with the heaviness of someone trying to erase exhaustion from the inside out—concealer, color corrector, foundation. you went over your under-eyes twice, then a third time. you looked like yourself, but blurry. off.

you arrived to work twenty minutes later than usual, which was already enough to earn a few raised brows. no one said anything, but they noticed. you noticed them noticing.

you sat at your desk and stared at your drawers, forgetting which one you kept the monthly reports in. your fingers shook slightly as you shuffled through folders, trying to find the stupid paperwork you'd seen a million times. a stack of them slipped from your grasp and scattered onto the floor like a metaphor. you groaned and crouched down to collect them, muttering under your breath. your brain still felt like it was swimming through molasses.

then—

“good morning.”

his voice. that casual, bored tone he always used in the office. neutral, even, no trace of anything buried beneath it. no sign that he’d ever said something as life-altering as what he’d said last night.

you startled so hard you hit your head on the underside of your desk.

“good—ouch!” you winced, clutching your scalp with one hand and your pride with the other. “good morning, mr. jeong.”

he kept walking. didn’t glance down at you. didn’t smirk. didn’t check if you were okay. he passed your desk like any other morning, like he hadn’t proposed to you over beer and smoke and shared loneliness.

a few coworkers peeked over their partitions, concerned. you gave a shaky thumbs-up and a whispered, “i’m fine,” even though you felt anything but fine.

you weren’t like this. not at work. not ever. your name was synonymous with precision. discipline. control. and here you were, dropping papers and bumping into furniture like your brain had short-circuited.

you finally gathered the reports and brought them to his office.

he was seated at his desk, focused on his screen, the sleeves of his dress shirt still rolled to his elbows. your eyes caught briefly on the line of his forearm, the watch still there, still ticking.

“these are the reports from last month,” you said, setting the folder down.

“thanks,” he replied without looking at you.

you lingered.

“mr. jeong.”

he finally looked up.

his eyes were calm. cool. like nothing was wrong. like he hadn’t detonated a bomb and walked away from the wreckage.

you hesitated, your throat dry. “about what you said last night—”

his expression didn’t change.

“we’re at work,” he said simply. “i’m being professional.”

you blinked, almost offended. “so that’s it? you say something that insane and then just—go back to normal?”

“we’ll talk after work,” he said, returning to his screen. “if you want to.”

you stood there, gripping the folder even though it was already out of your hands, heart thudding with something sour and hot and unnamable. frustration? humiliation? confusion? all of it?

he was treating you like you were the one out of line. like you were being inappropriate for even bringing it up.

you turned around without saying anything else and walked out of his office, pulse hammering in your ears. the rest of the day dragged like wet cement. you couldn’t concentrate. you couldn’t remember what you were supposed to be doing half the time. you reread emails four times before hitting send. and every time someone walked past your desk, you wondered if it was him, if he’d say anything, if he’d look at you, if he even remembered what he said or if the memory of it belonged to you alone now.

you’d never felt so out of control.

you didn’t know what was worse—his silence or the fact that you wanted him to break it.

you tried to focus. god, you really did. you stared at spreadsheets until the numbers blurred into static. you answered emails with words you didn’t remember typing. every time the phone rang, your heart jumped, irrationally convinced it might be him—even though you were in the same building, separated by maybe thirty feet of glass, air, and unspoken tension. it felt like the longest day of your life. your temples throbbed with a slow, building ache, like your thoughts were pressing too hard against the inside of your skull.

you popped two painkillers around lunchtime, washed them down with lukewarm water from your reusable bottle, but they didn’t help. not really. because the pain wasn’t just physical—it was mental. emotional. a kind of pressure that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

your mind wouldn’t shut up.

you kept looping the same questions, over and over again, like your brain was stuck on a carousel with no exit.

why would he say that? why now? why you?

he already told you he'd wait. seven months. seven impossibly long, slow-burning months.

so why talk? why meet? it wasn’t for him. it didn’t serve him. he’d been clear. he had time, he had patience. this conversation—it was for you. you were the one desperate to make sense of it. to understand his motives. to justify the insanity of it all.

but how were you supposed to justify something that made no sense?

he’s twenty-seven. handsome. polished. wealthy. he could have anyone—literally anyone. girls younger than you, brighter than you, women who weren’t crawling toward their thirties with a fading list of half-achieved dreams and a fridge full of takeout leftovers. why you?

a mid-level employee in a department no one paid much attention to. someone who had to fight tooth and nail just to be noticed in board meetings. someone who had accomplishments but no one to toast with. someone who fell asleep most nights with their phone face-down and on silent because no one was texting anyway.

why you?

you didn’t have an answer.

you finished your tasks—barely—and the moment the clock hit the end of your shift, you shut your computer down with shaky fingers and grabbed your bag. your steps felt heavy, reluctant, as you made your way through the hall toward the entrance. part of you wanted to bolt, to pretend nothing had ever been said, to go home and crawl into bed and put on a show you wouldn’t really watch. to sleep off the confusion like a bad hangover.

but the doors opened before you could entertain the thought. those clean, automatic glass doors slid apart with a hiss, and there he was.

leaning casually against one of the white pillars just outside, his suit jacket draped neatly over his forearm, his other hand gripping his sleek black briefcase like it weighed nothing. he looked like something out of a commercial—well-dressed, composed, the perfect image of success. but when his eyes met yours, something flickered beneath the surface. maybe restraint. maybe tension. maybe nothing.

he walked toward you calmly, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the smooth tile.

“get in the car,” he said, voice even. “we’re going to talk. like you wanted.”

not a question. not a request.

he turned without waiting for your answer and made his way to a parked luxury sedan—shiny, deep black, windows tinted so dark you could barely see the interior. he opened the passenger door for you, as if the conversation that waited inside was just another part of his routine.

you hesitated, only for a second.

but then you followed.

because no matter how messy your thoughts were, no matter how terrified or confused or unworthy you felt, one truth cut through the noise:

you wanted to know.

you slid into the passenger seat, trying to calm the way your heart was sprinting inside your chest. the door closed beside you with a quiet thunk, sealing you into a space you weren’t sure you were ready for.

he walked around the front of the car and got in behind the wheel, smooth and unhurried.

you stared straight ahead.

ready—or not—to finally ask the questions that wouldn’t leave you alone.

the silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable. not exactly. but it was dense—like fog inside your chest, heavy and silent and there to stay.

you stared out the window as the city drifted past, familiar buildings made foreign by the storm in your head. beside you, jaehyun drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. there was music playing—low, jazzy, old—but he didn’t speak. not until you passed a traffic light and he tilted his head, casually.

“did you get enough sleep last night?” he asked, like he was commenting on the weather.

you didn’t look at him. “not really.”

“figured,” he said, turning smoothly into another avenue. “you looked like hell.”

you gave a humorless chuckle, resting your elbow against the door and propping your chin in your hand. “thanks for the compliment, sir.”

“anytime,” he said dryly.

and that was it. that was all the small talk he offered. nothing personal. nothing intimate. just an acknowledgment that he saw you. that he’d noticed.

the drive was short, and before you could make sense of anything, you were already parking in front of a modest little korean restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore. it smelled like steam, garlic, and simmered bone broth. a place where people went for real food and no-frills comfort.

“this place has the best gomguk in the city,” jaehyun said, grabbing his briefcase from the back. “been coming here since i was a teenager.”

you hesitated at the door. “you like bone soup?”

“love it.”

you wrinkled your nose. “i can’t stand that stuff. never could. not even as a kid.”

he paused mid-step and gave you a look, slightly amused. “well,” he said, “there’s our first disagreement as a couple.”

you blinked at him, caught off guard. “what?”

“now i know you don’t like gomguk. guess i’ll have to avoid cooking it for you.”

you said nothing.

because he wasn’t joking. not really. not entirely. and that was the part that made your mouth dry.

how could he say things like that so easily? so naturally? as if you hadn’t spent the entire day unraveling at the seams while he strutted through the office like nothing had happened?

he sat across from you at the table, unbothered, scanning the menu like it wasn’t even necessary. he already knew what he wanted. meanwhile, you still didn’t know why you were there.

you picked something else. kimchi jjigae, maybe—safe, familiar, strong enough to mask the taste of your confusion.

once the server took your orders and disappeared behind the curtain, you leaned forward, folding your hands together to stop them from trembling.

“why me?”

his eyes lifted slowly from the empty table to your face. “there’s no reason,” he said. “i just want to give you what you want.”

“do you say that to all women?”

he smirked. “if i did, i’d probably be married to half the city by now.”

you shook your head. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“don’t treat this like a mission,” you snapped, trying not to raise your voice. “i don’t need your pity. i shared something vulnerable with you, yeah. but that doesn’t mean you have to swoop in and rescue me from a miserable life of solitude by offering a ring. this isn’t some fairytale. i don’t need a man to save me.”

“i never said you did.”

you exhaled slowly. “i want to love and be loved. to build something. something real. not this... whatever this is. a contract. a deal. a deadline to escape loneliness.”

his expression didn’t shift. not a single flicker. but his voice softened.

“then let’s say this. if in seven months, you still haven’t found someone—someone who makes you feel like you can build something... try it with me.”

you stared at him. hard. trying to read every intention in the lines of his face.

“just like that?”

“just like that.”

you couldn’t look away.

and then he said it. the words that settled into the cracks of your resolve like warm rain after a drought.

“we can love. i can love you. you can love me, if you want to. if you want to date, we can date. you don’t have to feel pressured. i just think... you’re worth the risk. and i don’t think you should torture yourself every day that passes just because you haven’t ‘settled down.’ opportunities don’t always come twice. sometimes you have to grab them while they’re here. or regret it forever.”

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

you looked at him then—not as the cold, polished man who walked the halls like a ghost in tailored suits. not as your boss. not as someone who confused and overwhelmed you.

you saw him as a man.

a man who knew what he wanted. who wasn’t afraid to take action. who looked you in the eye and offered you something you weren’t even sure you deserved.

his jawline. his eyes. the little wrinkle between his brows when he got serious. the calm way he listened. the confidence. the clarity.

you saw him differently.

you weren’t ready to give him an answer. not yet.

but something inside you had shifted.

you just didn’t know what to call it.

he didn’t rush you.

he didn’t push.

he just sat there across from you in that tiny booth, his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loosened, waiting with the kind of quiet confidence that only made your heart beat louder. he stirred his soup gently, letting it cool, occasionally taking a sip without ever looking away from you for too long.

and then he said it—casually, as if proposing something as simple as lunch next week.

“let’s do this. i’ll pick you up after work from now on. we’ll go out. have dinner. spend time together. see what happens. let it unfold naturally.”

just like that.

your breath caught. “i… i have doubts,” you admitted, almost in a whisper. “i don’t know what to say. i don’t know what to feel. this is all so sudden, so... fast.”

he nodded, unbothered. “that’s okay.”

you blinked. “that’s okay?”

“yes. it’s not a race. but you heard what i said—opportunities don’t always knock twice. you don’t have to say yes right now. just think about it.”

but you were thinking. too much.

his voice played on repeat in your mind: we can love. i can love you. you can love me. and god, wasn’t that the exact thing you’d been terrified of never having?

your fingers trembled under the table. your palms clammy, your mouth dry. you rubbed your hands together slowly, grounding yourself in that simple motion, trying to breathe.

he didn’t flinch. didn’t ask again. just kept sipping his soup, patient as stone, like he’d already accepted whatever answer you’d give him.

you stared at your food, at the steam rising, the way the aroma filled the space between you and him like something sacred. you still couldn’t stand bone soup. but somehow, being across from him made it smell less... offensive. less like something to run from.

and you remembered.

all those nights crying in silence.

all those mornings brushing your teeth with tears stuck in your throat because you didn’t know if ever would come.

ever finding someone.

ever being enough.

ever being loved without begging for it.

maybe he wasn’t what you imagined.

maybe he was better.

you looked up at him.

“okay,” you said, softly. then stronger. “okay. i’ll try. i’ll let you pick me up. we’ll go on these dates. maybe… maybe i can love you. maybe i can let myself be loved by you.”

he paused mid-sip, eyes lifting.

your voice cracked slightly when you added, “maybe i can stay with you.”

for a beat, the world went still.

he didn’t smile wide. didn’t gloat or tease.

he just gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. his eyes warm, deep, but controlled—like someone who’d been expecting this moment and didn’t want to scare it off.

“good,” he said. “that’s all i needed.”

you swallowed hard.

and for the first time since that strange proposal, something in your chest loosened.

you weren’t sure if this was love.

but it was a beginning.

the next morning. everything is different.

you walk into the building like you own the damn place—heels sharp, suit immaculate, makeup clean and fierce, ponytail slicked high like a crown. the memory of yesterday—your stumble, your throbbing head, your wandering thoughts—now felt like a distant, irrelevant dream. that wasn’t you. this was.

a woman who knew what she wanted.

a woman who said yes.

you smiled to yourself in the elevator. not just any smile—that kind. the kind that curled at the corners, the kind that held secrets, the kind that felt like sin dressed in silk. the kind that belonged to someone with a man waiting outside a restaurant, ordering bone broth, and talking about love like it was something simple. doable. inevitable.

you were early. again. not by accident this time, but by choice.

you slid into your desk, organized, efficient, present. the hum of the office hadn’t started yet, and you took advantage of the calm, catching up on reports and scheduling the week like the good girl you were trained to be. but this time, it was different. you weren’t surviving the day. you were anticipating it.

and then—at exactly the hour—he walked in.

jung jaehyun.

same black suit. same silver watch. same air of cool detachment.

but today, when he passed by your desk and muttered his usual, “good morning,” you didn’t just nod like before.

you stood up—too fast.

too happy.

“good morning, mr. jeong!” you sang, voice lilting and almost musical, like you’d just won the lottery.

it was instinctual. not calculated. just... you.

the entire floor stopped.

heads turned.

some eyebrows shot up. a few eyes narrowed.

jaehyun himself halted in his tracks, looking back at you slowly, his brows drawn together in the tiniest frown. he cleared his throat.

“everyone, back to work,” he said, voice firm. and then, after one last look—eyes narrowed at you in something between confusion and amusement—he turned and walked away.

you bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, barely suppressing the giggle building in your throat.

the memory of last night echoed in your mind, maybe i can love you, maybe i can stay with you—and now here you were, trying not to beam like a teenager with a crush. you watched his back disappear into his office, and your lips curled up, despite yourself.

you could still feel his eyes on you. even if he wasn’t looking.

after work, you waited by the entrance as the glass doors slid open.

he was already there—like he promised. leaning casually against his car, black coat folded over one arm, briefcase in hand, gaze scanning the horizon like the perfect ceo out of a drama. but as soon as his eyes met yours, they softened—barely, subtly—but you noticed.

“get in,” he said, opening the passenger door for you.

you slipped in without protest, heart beating faster than it had any right to.

once the car pulled away from the curb, the silence settled—but it didn’t last long.

“you can’t do that,” he said, not harshly, just... firm.

“do what?” you asked, knowing damn well.

“greet me like that. like that.” he glanced at you sideways. “at work.”

you shrugged. “what? we’re dating now. aren’t we?”

“we’re seeing where this goes,” he corrected. “but we still have to be professional. people talk. your position can be affected. and mine—”

you cut in, not harshly but with a certain fire. “i’m not going to apologize for being happy.”

“i’m not asking you to apologize.”

“then don’t ask me to pretend. i’ll dial it down, sure. but i’m not going to act like you don’t mean something to me when we’re under the same roof eight hours a day.”

he stayed quiet for a beat, tapping the wheel with one hand, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile.

“is this how you are with all your boyfriends?”

you grinned. “i’m worse.”

he laughed. actually laughed. that deep, velvet sound you hadn’t heard much outside of formalities.

“well, i’ll brace myself,” he said. “i might enjoy it.”

you turned to the window, hiding your smile. this was really happening.

the drive back was quiet at first—a comfortable silence that didn’t demand immediate conversation. the kind of quiet that says: you don’t need to perform, just exist here with me.

the radio was on. a soft playlist of english ballads played in the background—songs about longing, beginnings, maybe even second chances. you doubted jaehyun picked them himself. it was probably just the algorithm. still, the timing felt so precise… so intentional, that you wondered if the universe was helping him out tonight.

you played with your fingers over your thighs, crossing and uncrossing your legs slowly, watching the night pass outside the window. city lights in the distance. trees swaying softly in the wind. you tried to guess where he was taking you next, but the truth was… you didn’t really care.

not knowing was part of the charm.

“where are we going?” you finally asked, unable to resist the curiosity.

he smiled without turning to look at you, eyes steady on the road ahead.

“it’s a secret,” he said. “you’ll have to wait and see.”

you squinted at him with mock suspicion, amused—and yet, inside, your heart started to thump a little faster with every mile.

there was something strangely beautiful about not being in control this time. about letting yourself be taken somewhere, not out of submission, but out of trust. you weren’t used to that. you weren’t used to letting anyone drive. but tonight, you wanted to believe you could lean back and just... be.

and then… the car turned down a dark, barely lit road, and you saw it.

a wide, open lot. a giant projector screen glowing at the far end. dozens of cars parked in neat rows, some with trunks open, fairy lights, blankets, snacks. couples curled together under the stars.

it was a drive-in movie. like something out of an old romance film.

you gasped, both hands flying to your mouth as you turned to him.

“oh my god. no way. are you serious?! i love the movies—but i've never done this. i’ve always wanted to, but… i don’t know. it just never happened.”

jaehyun glanced at you sideways. and this time, he smiled. really smiled. not the polite, composed smile he wore in the hallways or meetings—but something warm. something real.

“then it was a good idea,” he said simply.

he parked in the middle row. good view of the screen, but far enough for privacy. you were already melting—and then he popped the trunk.

a thick blanket. two small pillows. a tote bag with snacks—popcorn, a big soda bottle, even the exact chocolate bars you’d once said you liked during a random, probably drunk, late-night conversation. you didn’t even remember mentioning it.

he did.

“did you plan all of this?” you asked, curled slightly sideways in the passenger seat while he arranged everything with care between you.

“i just wanted you to be comfortable,” he said. “i wanted it to be... special.”

no posturing. no hidden motive. just sincerity. you felt it in the way he unfolded the blanket and draped it gently over your lap. in how he checked the window—cracked just enough to let in the breeze, not enough to let in the cold. In how he handed you the soda first, before even opening his own drink.

the movie started. some lighthearted rom-com with ridiculous dialogue and cheesy plot points, but it didn’t matter. it was perfect. low-stakes. no pressure. you curled your legs under you, blanket snug, the flickering light from the screen dancing across your skin.

every once in a while, you’d glance at jaehyun. and more than once, you caught him watching you instead of the film.

“are you bored?” you whispered.

“not even close.”

“you haven’t laughed once.”

he turned to you, that sarcastic little smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed just slightly.

“you’re already making enough noise for the both of us.”

you gave him a playful slap on the arm, pretending to be offended.

“that was a compliment,” he added, amused.

you rolled your eyes—but smiled. god, you smiled so much that night.

as the credits rolled, something shifted in the silence. the mood thickened—not heavy, just… deeper. weighted with something. a moment hanging on the edge of change. your head leaned against the window as the screen dimmed, your eyes distant but your heart so very full.

he still didn’t touch you.

he didn’t grab your hand. didn’t lean in.

but his presence wrapped around you all the same—solid, patient, waiting. not pushing, just there. learning how to be near you without demanding anything in return.

“thank you,” you said softly, voice almost too quiet to hear. “for this. for everything.”

“you don’t have to thank me.”

“yes, i do. it’s not every day someone goes out of their way like this.”

he paused before answering. his tone was steady, but low.

“i want this to work,” he said. “and if that means planning teenage-level dates with blankets and popcorn, then… yeah. i’ll do that.”

you laughed, eyes dropping to your lap.

“you’re doing well so far.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

and then you looked at each other. just looked. no words needed.

but inside… you felt it.

your shoulders, usually tense, were light. your heart, bruised and cautious for so long, was opening again. quietly, but surely. as if whispering, i’m still here. i still want to believe.

you weren’t sure where this would go. if it would last. if it would end in tears or something worse.

but right now, in his car, under the stars, with the last notes of the film still echoing through your skin…

you wanted to find out.

you wanted to try.

the next morning at the office felt different—less chaotic, more grounded. you greeted the receptionist with a small smile, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor as you made your way in, clutching your coffee cup like a security blanket. you weren't glowing, exactly, but something about you was… softer. less guarded. like a petal finally relaxing in the warmth of spring after a too-long winter.

jaehyun noticed immediately.

you caught him watching you from the glass-walled conference room as you entered the bullpen. he didn't stare, not in a way that would make it obvious to others—but his eyes followed you, just long enough to clock the change. your navy blue pencil skirt hugged your hips, the slit in the back offering just the right amount of grace as you walked. the cream blouse you wore was modest but elegant, the top button left undone, showing the delicate line of your collarbone. your hair was half-up, your makeup minimal, professional—but the gloss on your lips and the quiet shimmer on your eyelids betrayed a whisper of mischief. not overt. just enough for someone paying attention.

you met his gaze briefly through the glass and raised your brows in a silent hello before looking away, sipping your coffee with forced nonchalance.

by the time you crossed paths an hour later—both of you heading into a smaller briefing room—he gave you that look again. the one that asked, really? amused, but faintly disbelieving.

"good morning, mr. jeong," you greeted him politely, eyes straight ahead as if you hadn't spent the last night wrapped in his blanket, watching a movie with your legs tangled under it.

"miss y/l/n," he replied, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he held the door open for you. “very formal today.”

you didn’t rise to the bait. just gave him a brief, professional smile and walked past, heels clicking, not looking back. you were committed to the bit.

the meeting was brief, technical—a review of deliverables, some feedback loops, nothing out of the ordinary. you contributed where you needed to, kept your tone measured, avoided lingering glances. even when he made a rare joke and the room chuckled, you only allowed yourself a small, polite laugh, hands folded neatly on the table.

he didn’t push. but when you passed each other near the coffee station later, his voice dropped low, just enough for you to hear.

“you’re really leaning into the whole executive assistant with boundaries thing, huh?”

you smirked as you refilled your mug, still not looking at him. “just trying to keep things professional, mr. jeong.”

“of course.” he nodded once, pretending to adjust his tie. “wouldn’t want to cross any lines.”

you bit your lip to suppress your grin. the game was on.

at 3:47 PM, your phone lit up with a text from his office number: meeting with the department heads in fifteen. boardroom. don’t be late. signed J.J.

you rolled your eyes but your stomach did a little flip.

the 4 PM meeting dragged—there was a lot of back and forth over campaign numbers and rollout schedules, but you held your own, taking notes, speaking clearly when your insight was needed. you could feel jaehyun watching you when others weren’t—his gaze warm, grounding—but he didn’t speak to you directly unless it was related to the discussion. you appreciated that. It let you stay in control, let you breathe.

after everyone had trickled out and the room was quiet, you stayed behind a moment, closing your laptop and straightening the chairs without a word. he didn’t move from his seat at the head of the table, just watched you as you moved, his fingers idly spinning a pen.

“dinner?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.

you didn’t look up right away. “are you asking as mr. jeong or...?”

he tilted his head, eyes playful. “just jaehyun.”

you looked up, meeting his eyes. something flickered between you—recognition. of the past few days, the softness in your chest, the way your shoulders had finally stopped bracing for disappointment.

“okay,” you said quietly. “dinner.”

he didn’t take you to a fancy restaurant or anywhere showy. just a quiet little rooftop place downtown, dim lights and mellow music, open air and the sound of the city below. you sat across from him at a small table, knees brushing under the surface. you shared dishes, laughed softly, talked about nothing and everything. he asked about your childhood; you asked about his first heartbreak. there was no rush to get anywhere. just being there—together—was enough.

at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you.

at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you with that open expression he reserved for moments like this—unguarded, gently curious.

“you said you grew up outside the city,” he said, casually swirling the remnants of his drink. “what about your parents?”

you set your fork down and rested your elbows lightly on the table, exhaling. “they still live in the same town. a couple hours from here.”

he nodded. “siblings?”

“one,” you replied. “older brother. married. two little boys.”

jaehyun smiled at that. “you’re the cool aunt.”

you laughed softly, the sound bittersweet. “i try. i send them stickers and weird snacks from the city. but i think i’m mostly the mysterious aunt who lives alone in seoul and doesn’t have a husband, which is a major point of concern for my parents.”

jaehyun raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “concern?”

“oh, huge.” you leaned back, crossing your arms with a mock-serious nod. “they think i’m one heartbreak away from crawling back into my childhood bedroom with a suitcase and giving up entirely. i get the same call every weekend—‘have you met someone yet?’ and ‘when are you coming home, sweetheart?’ like my single status is a national emergency.”

you smiled, tried to make it sound light. funny. but the knot in your chest tugged a little tighter with each word. because underneath the teasing tone, it hurt. the weight of expectation, of having let them down without really meaning to. you’d always thought, by now, you’d have that picture-perfect family. a husband. maybe a child. but life had taken its own sharp turns, and somewhere along the way, you'd lost the map.

before your thoughts could spiral too far inward, you turned your eyes toward him and asked, “what about you? any siblings?”

he shook his head. “only child.”

“wow. that explains the drama,” you teased.

he grinned, playing along. “what drama?”

you shrugged, playful. “the perfectly tousled hair. the quiet confidence. the whole mysterious boss with a tragic past vibe.”

jaehyun laughed, the sound low and warm. “nothing tragic, thankfully. my parents own a condo complex back in busan. they keep to themselves. ever since i moved out, they’ve stayed out of my decisions. no guilt trips. no blind dates.”

he smirked a little, taking another sip. “which is great for me.”

you smiled at that, but there was something about the way he said it—casual, yes, but laced with a kind of loneliness you recognized. the kind that came with being left alone a little too much. with being successful but still carrying a shadow no one quite asked about.

you watched him for a second longer than necessary. then nodded slowly. “that does sound kind of great.”

he looked at you then, really looked, and the silence between you shifted—deeper now. heavy with things not said.

the city hummed around you. glasses clinked from other tables. somewhere, a violinist was playing faintly near the street below. but you only heard the soft cadence of his breath, the way it matched your own.

and then he stood and offered you his hand.

you didn’t hesitate this time. you let him lead you to the edge of the rooftop, where the view was clearer, the air colder. your arms brushed as you looked out together, shoulder to shoulder, warm skin against cool wind.

he turned to you first, eyes darker now, thoughtful. “you don’t need to rush anything. marriage, or whatever they want from you. you’re… okay. just as you are.”

you looked at him slowly, your heart caught somewhere between gratitude and ache. “thanks,” you whispered. “sometimes i forget.”

he stepped closer—barely—but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

you met his gaze, and something shifted between you again. tighter. stronger. the kind of tension that doesn’t demand to be broken, only… felt.

he leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn’t.

your lips met his softly, a single, tentative kiss that carried the full weight of everything left unspoken. sweet, searching, the kind of kiss that says i see you. that says stay.

and when you pulled back, your eyes didn’t dart away.

they lingered.

because something had begun. and neither of you was pretending anymore.

there was no big speech. no sudden declarations.

just the quiet gravity of this moment. the closeness. the way his eyes searched yours with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

april melted into may in soft, golden increments—like a candle burning slow at both ends. the weather grew gentler, the evenings warmer, and with each passing day, your relationship with jaehyun unraveled in small, tender pieces that neither of you rushed to name.

you had more dinners together. nothing extravagant—he wasn’t the kind to impress with grand gestures—but always thoughtful. ramen tucked away in a quiet corner shop with mismatched stools. a spontaneous detour after a work meeting that led to an art gallery’s closing hour. coffee at a tiny cafe with mismatched mugs and jazz playing softly from a dusty speaker. with every outing, something softened between you. the way you spoke to each other, the way you lingered a second longer when saying goodbye, the way your eyes found his in a crowded room and stayed there.

still, at work, everything remained perfectly composed. restrained. you never touched, never called him anything but mr. jeong. no one suspected a thing—and that secrecy gave it all the thrill of something sacred. childish almost. like passing notes under a desk. a shared joke disguised in a spreadsheet. your fingers grazing when you exchanged documents. a glance too long in the breakroom when he poured your coffee before you even asked. you could feel it in the air, that charged silence of two people pretending to be just colleagues, and failing quietly, deliciously.

the project itself was moving well—smooth timelines, promising data. it gave you an excuse to spend more time in his office, laptop open across from his, sometimes both of you too focused to speak for long stretches. sometimes one of you talking while the other typed, nodding with half-listening affection. sometimes, on the slow days, the lines between work and personal conversation blurred gently, like ink on damp paper.

today was one of those days.

you sat across from him, legs crossed under the conference table, scrolling through performance reports while he adjusted a chart on his screen. outside the windows, the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting pale lines across the carpet and the sleeves of his shirt. he leaned back, stretching slightly, then caught your gaze with a small smile.

“so…” he said, voice lower than usual, “what are you doing this weekend?”

you glanced up, biting your lip to hide a smile. “why? do you need me to run more numbers?”

“maybe,” he said, teasing. “but i was thinking something less tragic. maybe the museum? or that poetry cafe you mentioned.”

you shrugged, trying to sound casual. “depends. are you asking as mr. jeong or as… jaehyun?”

he smirked, eyes playful. “i guess that depends on your answer.”

you were about to respond when the door opened without a knock. both of you sat up straighter instinctively, like students caught passing notes. the supervisor from the analytics division stepped in, scanning the room with barely concealed curiosity.

“mr. jeong,” he said, tone clipped, “the director wants to see you.”

jaehyun stood immediately, buttoning his jacket with an easy nod. “i’ll be there in a moment.”

the supervisor looked at you then. his eyes lingered—not long, but long enough. something unreadable passed over his face. “you’ve been spending a lot of time here,” he said, like it wasn’t a question.

you gave him your most neutral smile. “just supporting the project. we’re on a tight schedule.”

“mm.” he said nothing more, just nodded once and stepped out.

jaehyun glanced at you before leaving, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe. or quiet warning. you went back to your laptop, fingers pretending to type while your heart tried to calm its sudden gallop.

the evening found you both in his car again. the sun had already begun its descent, turning the sky a soft shade of apricot. you slid into the passenger seat, closed the door behind you, and without thinking too much, leaned over to kiss his cheek.

his skin was warm under your lips.

he blinked, clearly caught off guard, and for a second, he forgot to hide it. the tips of his ears flushed red. he cleared his throat and reached for the ignition, like nothing happened, but his smile lingered, crooked and faint.

“you keep doing that,” he murmured, not looking at you.

“doing what?” you asked innocently.

he shook his head, eyes on the road. “making it hard to pretend we’re not dating.”

you grinned and didn’t answer.

he drove you to the han river, where the breeze was cool and kind, and the crowds were light enough to feel private. you sat cross-legged on the grass, sharing tteokbokki and fried dumplings from paper trays, watching cyclists blur past under the lamplights. a small speaker nearby played an old ballad, sweet and melancholic, and you leaned into his shoulder without needing permission.

“i like this,” you said softly.

“what part?” he asked.

“this part. where everything’s… quiet.”

he didn’t speak immediately. just reached over and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“me too.”

you looked at him, really looked—and it hit you in that moment how far you’d come. from formal greetings and polite distance to soft laughter and shared silence. from stolen glances to kisses on the cheek that left him blushing.

and somehow, without realizing it, you’d stopped keeping count of how many times you thought about him during the day. because now he was part of your days.

and you didn’t want to imagine them without him anymore.

june arrived with a subtle shift in rhythm—projects moved faster, deadlines drew closer, and the sun stayed longer in the sky. the office felt heavier in the afternoons, warm with late spring air and the quiet hum of new beginnings.

one of those beginnings came in the form of kim jungwoo.

he was transferred from the incheon branch—a bright-eyed analyst with quick wit and a laugh that filled corners. you were told he'd be supporting the data team, and since your department handled most of the projections, he was placed right in front of your desk, where your eyes met every time you looked up. your first impression of him was that he was disarmingly charming—too friendly, too easygoing for the stiff, quiet culture of the office—but undeniably efficient. he asked questions that made sense, learned fast, and had a way of easing tension with a joke delivered just under his breath.

you kept things professional, as always. showed him how you sorted the quarterly metrics, how to navigate the company’s outdated database system without crashing it, how to color-code your sheets for easier reading. he listened, smiled, nodded. and eventually, he joked. made you laugh when you’d been staring at the same budget chart for hours. brought you coffee with your name scribbled on the lid in dramatic calligraphy. sometimes too much, sometimes exactly what you needed.

you liked him. platonically. comfortably. it was easy to like jungwoo.

but jaehyun noticed. of course he did.

at first, it was subtle. he’d call you into his office more frequently, asking for reports he usually didn’t request until later in the week. you didn’t think much of it—until you realized he was keeping you in there for hours. even when the topic had already run dry, even when both of you were silently pretending to still be discussing something relevant. you’d glance at your watch, mumble about needing to check on jungwoo’s progress, and jaehyun would give you this look—tight-lipped, unreadable, almost irritated.

the third time it happened, you couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“are you seriously going to keep me hostage in your office every time jungwoo asks me a question?” you asked, laptop balanced on your knees, arms crossed.

jaehyun didn’t answer right away. he leaned back in his chair, one hand draped lazily over the armrest, watching you. but there was tension under his cool expression, the kind that coiled in his jaw.

“you’re my girlfriend” he said, voice low, measured. “even if we have to act like colleagues in this building, you’re not just anyone to me.”

your breath caught. not because of what he said—because of the way he said it. with that sharp, quiet certainty, like it wasn’t up for debate.

“you’re jealous,” you muttered, trying to smile, to turn it into something lighter.

“of course i’m jealous,” he said, leaning forward. “he’s new, he’s charming, and he’s looking at you like he already knows what you taste like.”

your face flushed.

you looked away, but only for a second.

because when you met his eyes again, he stood.

in two strides he was in front of you, taking the laptop gently from your knees and setting it on the coffee table without a word. then he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you—deep, slow, and hungry. there was nothing tentative about it. it wasn’t sweet or shy. it was possession, poured soft and molten through the shape of his mouth on yours. you sighed into it, hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulse thudding in your throat.

he pulled away just enough to speak, voice rough. “don’t tease me about this.”

you nodded, breathless. “okay.”

and then he kissed you again.

the kiss tasted like all the things you weren’t allowed to say out loud. frustration. longing. the ache of pretending, day after day, that you were only what the world let you be. his thumb stroked your jaw as his mouth opened against yours, deeper now, slower. you felt your knees weaken and your thoughts scatter, all logic melting into the heat of the moment.

that night, like every night since the start of your secret, you met him outside the office. his car waited at the edge of the lot, tinted windows and the soft thump of quiet music playing through the speakers. you slid into the passenger seat, your heart already dancing.

this time, he didn’t say hello.

he reached over and kissed you—harder than before, lips parting yours in a way that made your body sing. the car wasn’t moving. neither of you were thinking. you kissed like it was all you knew how to do. mouths hungry, breath shallow, his hand tracing the edge of your thigh just enough to make you gasp. every time you pulled away for air, he followed. every time he groaned into your kiss, you shivered.

he never rushed.

never crossed that line you hadn’t yet spoken about.

but you felt how close it hovered. just under the skin.

and as your lips brushed his one last time before pulling back, your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “i like it when you get jealous.”

his smile was crooked. dangerous.

“you better not like it too much,” he said, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth, “because next time… i might not let you leave so easily.”

thursday crept in quietly, with no big plans or messages of anticipation. the city, usually loud and hungry for excitement, felt unusually tame that week—like it had spent itself on too many events, too many evenings out, too many people chasing novelty in crowded cafés and rooftop bars. maybe it was just you, though. maybe everything had started to feel dull because your world had shifted to revolve around something—someone—entirely new. and nothing outside of that circle could compare anymore.

you barely spent time in your apartment lately. always out. always in his car, in places that weren’t quite home but felt more real because he was there. so on that afternoon, with your head tilted against the cold surface of your desk and your brain spinning from spreadsheets, you blurted it out between quiet keyboard taps.

“don’t make any plans tomorrow night.”

jaehyun glanced at you from across his office, pen in hand, eyebrows drawn. “should i be worried?”

you smiled without looking up. “you’re staying over. the weekend. at my place.”

the pause was heavy. not uncomfortable, but... loaded. you didn’t dare lift your head until he spoke.

“wait—what?”

and there it was. you looked at him finally, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too wide. he looked stunned. genuinely caught off guard.

“you heard me. pack a bag. pajamas. toothbrush. snacks. i don’t know. whatever you need to survive two days with me.”

his face went red. a deep, rich pink that spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. you laughed. he was thinking things.

“ya, what were you imagining?” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk.

“nothing!” he defended too fast. “i just... i didn’t expect we’d be spending the weekend... alone like that. it’s not a bad thing. i like it. i like the idea. i just—i mean, we’ve been doing great. this relationship. it feels good. real. and... if it keeps going like this, who knows—maybe one day we’ll get married.”

you froze.

he didn’t say it as a joke. it was quiet. casual. but he meant it.

married.

you hadn’t thought about that in weeks. you’d been so swept up in the rush of the new—new glances, new kisses, new secret dates and stolen evenings. but that word made your heart skip, stumble, leap. it opened a future you hadn’t dared imagine.

married to jeong jaehyun. walking down an aisle. your coworkers gasping. your parents trying to stay calm. him lifting your veil. kissing you like it was the beginning of forever. sunday mornings with kids and cartoons and coffee. vacations. shared bookshelves. him waiting at the door when you got home.

you shook the image out of your head.

“you can’t just say things like that,” you whispered, barely breathing.

“why not?” he asked softly, his eyes sincere. “it’s where we’re going, right?”

friday night came like a slow exhale.

he arrived with a small black duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a sheepish grin. you wore mismatched pajamas—striped pants and a faded hoodie from a school club you barely remembered joining. the sight of you like that made him laugh, and the sound was so unguarded it made your chest ache with affection.

you stayed in. ordered too much food. picked a cheesy rom-com that made you cry halfway through. he kept making sarcastic comments at first, trying to pretend he didn’t care, until somewhere in the middle he got quiet. his hand found yours under the blanket, warm and steady. when the credits rolled, your head was on his shoulder and your eyes were puffy.

“i hate that you made me cry,” you sniffled, wiping your face.

“i didn’t make you cry. blame julia roberts,” he said, kissing the top of your head.

the rest of the night blurred. an improvised dinner of instant noodles and wine, soft music from your phone speaker, him dancing stupidly in the kitchen with a wooden spoon, trying to make you laugh. and you did. hard. the kind of laugh that made you forget to be careful.

when it got late, and the lights dimmed, the kisses came back. slow. long. searching. his hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, breathing each other in like you were afraid to stop. the heat built, like always, but neither of you pushed further. it wasn’t time. not yet. but god, it was close.

saturday was lazy and warm and beautiful.

you woke up tangled in the blankets, his arm draped over your stomach, his breath soft against your neck. the kind of morning you never thought you’d get to have—where nothing was urgent, and everything felt right.

you took turns in the shower, argued over who finished the milk, and spent an hour sitting on the floor flipping through old photo albums you’d forgotten you had. you didn’t plan to show him—but he insisted. and once he started looking, he didn’t stop.

“wait... this is you in high school?” he asked, pointing at a photo.

“yeah,” you said, embarrassed. “why?”

“you were so cute.”

you rolled your eyes. “i wasn’t popular or anything. i had one boyfriend. lasted a week.”

he stared. “a week?”

“he said i was too uptight and boring.”

jaehyun’s mouth dropped open. “that guy was an idiot.”

you laughed. “no, he was probably right. i’ve always been... structured. controlled. even back then. guess that’s why i’m like this now—such a workaholic.”

he didn’t laugh. instead, he kept looking at your photo—finger brushing over the glossy paper like it meant something.

“if i had met you back then,” he said quietly, “i would’ve fallen in love with you. no doubt.”

your breath caught.

he didn’t look away. “i wouldn’t have let you go. not for a second.”

“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, unsure what else to say.

“i do,” he said, firm. “you’re not boring. you’re brilliant. you’re thoughtful. you see things no one else sees. you work harder than anyone i know. and... you make me want to be better.”

tears pricked your eyes again. not from sadness. just—too much emotion. too much truth.

“you’re going to make me cry again,” you whispered.

“then cry,” he said, pulling you close. “but only if you let me hold you through it.”

the rest of the weekend passed like a dream.

grocery runs in sweatpants. a half-burnt attempt at making pancakes. arguments over which playlist was better for cleaning the kitchen. you wore ridiculous socks with cartoons on them. he made fun of you until you found his even worse ones.

you kissed between chores. kissed while brushing your teeth. kissed while folding laundry.

it wasn’t glamorous.

but it felt like home.

and when sunday night came, and he packed his bag again, you didn’t want him to go. not because of the sex, or the thrill, or the high of newness. but because somewhere between instant noodles and high school photos, you realized something terrifying and beautiful—

you were falling in love.

for real.

for the first time.

towards the end of the month, your phone rings. you’re in your apartment, folding laundry with the window cracked open to let in the soft breeze of early summer. the sunlight filters through sheer curtains, painting everything in golden hues. you glance at the caller id and feel a knot tighten in your stomach. mom.

you answer.

“it’s your father’s birthday this weekend,” she says, skipping greetings as always, her voice a mix of cheerful anticipation and subtle reprimand. “you should come visit. he’s been asking if we’ll see you.”

you agree, almost without thinking, but then comes the dreaded question.

“and? have you found a boyfriend yet or do i need to talk to mrs. lee again?”

you rub your temple. “mom—”

“her son is still single, you know. owns a good piece of land. sells vegetables to that big food corporation. you’d be set for life.”

you exhale deeply, eyes closing in frustration.

“i’m… i’m seeing someone.”

a pause. then her voice lights up like fireworks. “you are? oh, this is wonderful! finally, you’re not wasting away alone up there in that office job.”

“mom, we’ve just started seeing each other,” you say, hesitating. “it’s too soon to—”

“no,” she cuts in firmly. “you don’t have time to be unsure. the train is about to leave the station, sweetheart. you either get on or it’s gone. bring him. we want to meet him.”

before you can argue, the call ends with a clipped goodbye, and you’re left staring at your phone, pulse racing and chest tight.

the rest of the week, you feel like a ghost of yourself. distracted at work, distant on your dates with jaehyun, your mind spinning in loops. he notices immediately—of course he does—and it only takes one missed joke and a quiet dinner for him to call you out on it.

you’re sitting across from him, poking at your food. the restaurant is softly lit, cozy, but there’s a distance in your eyes.

“y/n,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. “what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you mutter, but he leans in.

“don’t give me that. we’re together now, remember? you can talk to me. or… if you’re second guessing this… if i’m moving too fast, just tell me. i can handle it.”

your heart aches at his words. you reach across the table, grabbing his hand.

“it’s not that. i’m not doubting us,” you say quietly. “it’s just… my mom called. she wants me to visit this weekend for my dad’s birthday. and she… kind of expects me to bring you.”

he blinks. then, without hesitation, he says, “okay. then i’ll come.”

you blink right back. “wait, seriously?”

“yes. if it means that much to them—and to you—I want to go. i want to meet your family, y/n. it feels right.”

your chest swells with something warm and terrifying. you nod, silently.

friday comes and your suitcase is zipped and ready by the door. you’re wearing a floral summer dress, light and breezy, with your favorite pair of nude heels that make your legs look longer than they are. your hair is pinned loosely, lip tint soft and rosy. there’s a nervous flutter in your chest when you step outside.

jaehyun is already waiting beside his car, leaning casually against it like he belongs in a photoshoot. he’s in cream linen pants and a sage green button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open at the throat. his sunglasses reflect the afternoon sun, and he looks, frankly, too good to be standing in your quiet little street. you gulp.

“need help with those?” he says with a grin, reaching for your bags before you can answer.

the ride is filled with music, laughter, and long, thoughtful silences. the kind that don't feel awkward, but full. pregnant with meaning. he holds your hand on the highway, thumb stroking the back of it lazily, his warmth anchoring you through your nerves.

when you pull up to your parents' house—a modest home with stone finishings and a neat little front garden—your heart thunders. everything feels smaller, more fragile, like stepping back in time. your mom rushes out first, apron still tied around her waist, eyes wide and wet with excitement.

and when she sees jaehyun? she nearly cries. “you’re real,” she says, pressing her hands together like she’s witnessing a miracle. your dad comes out next, chuckling as he wipes his hands on a dish towel.

“so this is the young man,” he says with a knowing nod, clapping jaehyun on the back. “your mother hasn’t shut up about you since she found out.”

inside, the dining table is set with your dad’s favorite dishes. everything smells like memory. you sit in the living room afterward, your parents across from you, jaehyun beside you on the couch, close enough to feel his knee brushing yours.

he speaks up first, voice calm and clear.

“i just want to say that i’m very serious about your daughter,” he says. “i have genuine intentions. we’re still getting to know each other, but… if things keep going the way they are, i’d like to build a future with her.”

your mother gasps, reaching for a tissue. your father nods slowly, visibly moved.

“this… this is the best birthday gift i could ask for,” he says.

you shrink into the couch, cheeks burning, while jaehyun’s hand finds yours again and squeezes gently.

then comes the chaos.

your older brother, baekhyun, bursts through the door with his wife and two kids in tow. he takes one look at you and smirks.

“who’s the guy and what have you done with my perpetually single little sister?”

you groan. “shut up, baek.”

the two of you bicker like teenagers, tossing playful insults back and forth while your nephews cling to your legs, shouting your name with delight. you hand them the toys you brought and their eyes light up like it’s christmas.

jaehyun watches it all, amused, until one of the boys climbs into his lap and hands him a toy too.

he freezes.

and in that moment, something shifts in him. the sound of children’s laughter, the image of you with a soft smile, cradling one of your nephews in your arms. the warmth of this home, the love in every corner. he imagines it—having this with you. kids with your eyes. a house that’s yours. your framed wedding photo on the wall. vacations. birthdays. late-night talks in bed. wrinkles and silver hair, but still loving you with the same fire.

he blushes.

and you notice.

“what?” you whisper as you lean close.

he shakes his head, smiling to himself. “nothing. just… i really, really like this. all of it.”

the night unfolds gently. dinner turns into stories, stories into laughter, and soon the sun has long set and the house is lit with warm yellow lights. you and jaehyun sit outside for a moment, watching the stars.

he wraps an arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“you feel like home,” you whisper, not even realizing the words have slipped out.

he turns to look at you, eyes soft. “so do you.”

and in the quiet, with the cicadas singing and the echo of your family’s voices drifting from inside, you know.

this might just be the beginning of everything.

the month of july passed by with little to no complications. your parents were pleased with jaehyun, and you could tell that their approval meant the world to him. jungwoo, on the other hand, was playful and teasing, but with a newfound sense of respect, especially as jaehyun started to show more signs of being protective, making sure that jungwoo didn’t cross any boundaries. you were still professional with everyone at work, but the chemistry between you and jaehyun was undeniable. nights together were spent laughing, and weekends were filled with stolen moments of joy, where you both shared something more than just professional courtesy.

jaehyun had made a habit of calling you during the day, just to check on you, and you found yourself doing the same. the conversations were simple, but they felt important. visits to his office became more frequent, sometimes just for work, but other times, it was an excuse to sneak in a kiss or two. the passion between you two continued to build, a slow, steady fire that became increasingly hard to ignore.

one night, a wednesday, you both ignored the weather forecast and decided to take your date out in the city. the air was warm, and the lights of the city sparkled as you walked the streets together. the mood was light, but as midnight approached, the weather took a sharp turn. dark clouds rolled in, and soon, rain began to pour, turning into a violent storm. the wind howled, and the streets quickly flooded. jaehyun’s car struggled against the force of the water, and you couldn’t help but grip the seat, anxious.

jaehyun tried to keep calm, glancing at you with a reassuring smile. “it’s okay, nothing’s going to happen,” he said, though you could tell he was also feeling the weight of the storm.

the rain pounded against the windows, and the car barely moved as the currents began to grow stronger. after what felt like an eternity, you both agreed that waiting in the car wasn’t safe anymore. as you both discussed where to go, a motel appeared in front of you. it seemed like an odd choice, but the parking lot was dry, and there were few other options at that hour. both of you hesitated, unsure of what to do. it was a strange situation—neither of you wanted to suggest anything that could be misinterpreted.

jaehyun was the one to break the silence. “let’s just use the parking lot, at least we’ll have shelter from the rain,” he said. “and if it lasts all night, we’ll have a warm place to stay.”

you nodded, a little nervous. “yeah, i mean, we’re not going to do anything else, right? just sleep, then in the morning, we’ll head back to our places and go to work, right?”

jaehyun smiled at you, trying to ease your nerves. “of course, just a safe place to wait out the storm. no pressure.”

you both parked and got out of the car, a little stiff from the tension, but the moment you entered the motel, things started to feel different. jaehyun took the lead, making sure you were comfortable and settled in, giving you space to breathe. He didn’t rush you, always checking to see how you felt.

both of you were tired from the day, and the weather didn’t help the situation, so after some brief, awkward glances, you both decided to take separate showers to unwind. you both changed into something more comfortable, but since it was summer and it was warm, you decided to just sleep in your underwear. when you looked at jaehyun in his, the moment felt almost surreal. his gaze lingered for a moment before he quickly turned away, as if both of you were still trying to adjust to how close you had become.

“you know,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence, “you don’t have to feel awkward. we’re taking things at our own pace.”

you smiled, feeling your heartbeat quicken at the sound of his voice. “what if i want to go faster?” you said, your words surprising even yourself.

jaehyun looks at you, eyes widening slightly before they darken with something deeper—something he’s clearly been holding back. “are you sure?” he asks, voice low, almost trembling with restraint.

you nod, stepping closer, your fingers brushing against his bare chest. “i’m sure.”

his hands find your waist gently at first, testing the waters, but when you lean into him, he pulls you in like he’s been waiting forever to hold you like this. his lips find yours in a kiss that starts soft, exploratory, but quickly deepens, hungry and needing. he walks you backwards slowly until the back of your knees hit the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp, taking him with you.

his hands roam your body, reverent and slow, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. he whispers your name against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, and lower still. your breath hitches when his mouth lingers between your thighs, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for any sign to stop—but you nod again, your fingers threading into his hair, guiding him closer.

what he gives you isn’t rushed. it’s worship. like he’s been dreaming of this moment for too long to waste it. you lose yourself in the rhythm of his mouth, the way he listens to your body, adjusting, teasing, giving. he doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking and your voice is broken with moans you couldn’t hold back.

when he finally crawls back up your body, his lips kiss yours again, slower this time, tasting you. he whispers, “still okay?” and you nod, pulling him closer.

when he slides into you, it’s not hurried or careless. it’s deep, slow, and overwhelming in the best way. you cling to him, breathless, as your bodies move together like they were made to. he holds your gaze, foreheads pressed together, sweat-damp skin sticking in the summer heat, but neither of you care.

you whisper his name like a prayer, and he answers with yours, over and over, like he’s trying to brand it into the moment.

you fall apart in his arms, not once, but twice, and he follows soon after, burying his face in your neck as he trembles against you. 

his lips are still on yours when he pushes deeper inside you, and this time, there’s no hesitation. your body arches under him, the stretch of him delicious and overwhelming all at once. he fills you slowly, inch by inch, like he wants to feel every reaction he pulls from you.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes out, forehead resting against yours. “been thinking about this for so long.”

you moan softly, nails dragging down his back as he starts to move, slow at first, rolling his hips into you with precision that makes your legs tremble. he kisses down your throat, biting softly at your skin as he picks up the pace, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. the headboard taps gently against the wall, a quiet rhythm that matches the sound of your breathy moans and his soft, low groans.

your fingers clutch the sheets, the pleasure building with every thrust. jaehyun’s hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider for him, and the new angle has you gasping his name, your voice breaking. he doesn’t stop—he can’t stop—lost in the feel of you, the sounds you make, the way your body clings to his like it’s the only place it belongs.

he pulls out just enough to see the way you take him, watching your slick coat his length before sliding back in with a filthy, wet sound that makes your toes curl. “look at you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip, eyes locked on yours. “so fucking beautiful like this.”

when he shifts, propping one of your legs over his shoulder, the angle has you crying out, your whole body shuddering. “you’re so deep,” you whimper, and he groans, hips snapping faster, harder, chasing both your highs like a man starved.

your climax hits hard—white-hot and blinding—as your walls clamp down around him, dragging him over the edge with you. he cums with a strangled moan, burying himself to the hilt, his hips stuttering as he spills into you. he stays there, chest pressed to yours, breathing heavy, hearts pounding in sync.

after a few moments, he pulls out slowly, carefully, kissing your shoulder as he lies beside you and pulls you into his arms.

your body’s still trembling when he runs a hand down your spine, voice low and thick with affection. “think we’re still just sleeping?”

you laugh softly against his chest, lazy fingers tracing circles on his skin. “not a chance.”

he kisses the top of your head. “then let’s not sleep yet.”

and before you can even respond, he’s already kissing down your body again—because one round clearly wasn’t enough.

you barely have time to catch your breath before jaehyun’s mouth is back on your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your chest, between your breasts, over your stomach. his hands roam your thighs with greedy fingers, and even though you’re still sensitive, your body responds instantly—needy, aching, already ready for him again.

“you’re still so wet,” he murmurs, spreading you open with his fingers, dragging two of them slowly through your folds. “fuck, baby… you’re dripping.”

your hips jerk when he circles your clit, light and teasing, and you whine, fingers gripping the sheets. “j-jaehyun…”

he smirks, dark eyes meeting yours as he sinks his fingers into you—slow, deep, curling just right. “you can take it, can’t you?” he says, voice thick with lust. “you want it again.”

you nod helplessly, mouth parted as your back arches off the bed. he fucks you with his fingers until you’re trembling again, begging for him, grinding down onto his hand like you can’t get enough—and you can’t.

when he pulls his fingers out and lines himself up again, there’s no patience this time. he pushes in all at once, rougher, deeper, making your breath catch in your throat. the stretch, the pressure, the heat—it’s almost too much, but you crave every second of it.

he fucks you like he owns you now, one hand on your hip, the other pressing down on your stomach so he can feel himself inside you. “you feel that?” he groans. “you’re taking all of me.”

your moans turn shameless, high-pitched and raw, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with every thrust. the bed creaks, the headboard pounds against the wall, and you don’t care who hears. he flips you onto your stomach without warning, pulling your hips up, and slides back into you from behind.

you cry out at the new angle, your hands clawing at the sheets as he drives into you, deeper than before. “god—jaehyun, i’m gonna—”

“cum for me,” he growls, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back to kiss the side of your neck. “cum all over my cock, baby.”

your orgasm hits like a shockwave, blinding and hot and overwhelming. your whole body shakes, legs giving out beneath you as he keeps fucking you through it. he follows moments later, groaning your name as he fills you again, hips jerking against your ass, the sound of it all so filthy and perfect.

this time, when you collapse together on the bed, everything is soaked in sweat and heat and the scent of sex. your body is limp, your mind dazed, and he just pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he’s never letting go.

“okay,” you whisper, laughing breathlessly. “now we might need to sleep.”

he chuckles against your hair, voice rough. “maybe. after round three.”

that night at the motel changed everything.

it wasn’t just the sex—though, god, it was incredible. it was the way his hands learned your body like a second language, the way he whispered your name like a secret, the way you both let yourselves fall without fear. that night was messy, breathless, and soaked in want. but more than anything, it was a turning point—a quiet, unspoken agreement that this was no longer just something casual. not for either of you.

after that, the line between love and lust blurred beautifully. sex became part of your rhythm, part of how you communicated. stolen glances in the office turned into stolen kisses in the elevator. late nights became sleepovers, and every morning-after was filled with lazy touches and knowing smiles. you memorized each other’s moans like favorite songs, found new ways to say i want you, even when the words themselves weren’t spoken.

but there was one night that stood out. the one you still think about more than any other.

it was the night you stayed over at his apartment—just the two of you, no distractions, no storms outside, only the slow burn between your bodies. dinner turned into kisses. kisses turned into the first round on his kitchen counter, then the second in the shower, steam fogging up the mirror as your bodies tangled and slipped together like water and flame.

by the third round, it was past midnight. you were already sore, breathless, but insatiable. he pulled you back into bed, whispering things in your ear that made your skin burn. he was rougher that time—hungrier—gripping your hips as he fucked you deep and slow, drawing out every moan until your voice was hoarse and your mind was gone.

you were on top, riding him with lazy, desperate rhythm, your head thrown back, your nails digging into his chest. he looked up at you like you were something divine, his hands guiding your pace, eyes locked on the place where your bodies met.

and just when your orgasm started to hit—when everything went hot and tight and unbearably good—the words slipped out of you.

“i love you.”

your voice cracked around it, high and trembling, your body still grinding against his, your climax crashing over you like a wave. for a split second, everything stopped. you felt him freeze beneath you, heard the sharp intake of breath, saw the shock in his eyes.

you hadn’t meant to say it like that. not in the middle of fucking. not when you were bare in every sense of the word.

it was reckless. vulnerable. raw.

but not wrong.

his hands gripped your waist tighter, and then he was sitting up, arms wrapping around you, thrusting up into you so hard and deep that you sobbed out his name.

“i love you too,” he groaned against your neck. “fuck, i love you so much—too much.”

and then he came—hard and fast, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

afterward, you just lay there on top of him, chest to chest, skin to skin, hearts pounding in unison. there was no awkwardness. no regret. only this strange, beautiful calm that settled over the room like dawn.

it was in that moment you realized just how deep your feelings for him ran.

what had started as a simple plan—just something to avoid growing old alone—had become the best part of your life. somewhere along the way, between the office visits and shared glances, motel rooms and quiet mornings, you had fallen hopelessly, madly in love with jaehyun.

and the craziest part?

you couldn’t imagine ever thinking of anything—or anyone—else but him.

august wrapped around you like a golden ribbon, thick with heat and filled with the kind of breathless anticipation that only comes after months of hard work. the project was done—finally—after weeks of stress, endless reports, last-minute corrections and late nights. but it was done. and not just done, but successful. glowing feedback, client satisfaction, numbers that sang. it was more than you had dared to hope for.

and then—the email.

subject line: promotion confirmation.

you stared at it for a full minute before opening it. and when you read the words “congratulations, supervisor,” your breath hitched. you covered your mouth. you gasped. and then you ran.

jaehyun wasn’t even at his desk anymore, he was just walking into the hallway when you caught him. “jaehyun!” you called, your voice trembling with a kind of joy that had nowhere to go.

he turned, concerned for half a second—until he saw your face. and then you said it.

“i got it.”

“you got what?” he blinked, confused.

“the promotion.”

his eyes widened. he froze for a second. and then—his arms were around you before you could even finish breathing. he lifted you, spinning you once, twice, both of you laughing as you clutched his shoulders and buried your face in his neck.

“oh my god, baby—you did it! i knew it, i knew you would!”

you were dizzy, and not just from the spinning. he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips. everything was warm and golden and right.

he took you out that night.

you didn’t go anywhere fancy—jaehyun insisted that celebrations should be personal, not performative. so he drove you to that one little pizzeria you loved, the one that made the potato crust just the way you liked it. he ordered your usual without asking, and when the wine came, he raised his glass first.

“to you,” he said, his eyes soft and gleaming under the low light. “my brilliant, unstoppable, incredible woman.”

your heart swelled so fast it almost ached. the clink of your glasses felt like the sound of a new chapter opening.

“i’ve never had this before,” you confessed, fingers curling around the stem of your glass. “celebrating something this big. with someone i love. it feels…” you laughed, shy and overwhelmed. “it feels like everything’s different now.”

jaehyun reached for your hand, his thumb stroking the back of it slowly.

“it is different,” he said. “because now, every good thing that happens to you—we get to celebrate it. together.”

you stared at him, your chest tight with emotion, with the kind of love that had no bottom, no edge. just more.

you leaned across the table, kissing him slow, deep, grateful. pizza between you, wine in your veins, your laughter echoing off the walls of that tiny booth.

you didn’t need fireworks.

this was better.

this was yours.

mid-september arrived with a softness that clung to the air—warm enough to feel like summer still lingered, but mellowed by the early hints of fall. the leaves hadn’t turned yet, but something in the wind carried change. maybe that’s what had been stirring inside you all week—a restless certainty that had taken root in your chest and bloomed with every kiss, every sleepy morning wrapped around each other, every whispered i love you that escaped your lips without hesitation. it had been five months, five months of chaos and clarity, of fire and softness, and you knew now—you didn’t want to wait anymore.

you wanted jaehyun. not in a month. not after careful plans. now.

so you climbed the steps to his office, heart thudding like a war drum, nerves tangled with determination. you paused outside the door, breathed once, twice, and knocked.

“come in,” his voice called, muffled behind the heavy door.

you stepped in and found him at his desk, back slightly hunched, focused on the glow of his screen. he looked up, and the moment he saw you, he smiled—that slow, dazzling smile that always made your knees feel like melted wax—and stood immediately, walking toward you without hesitation. he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you like he’d been waiting to do it all day.

“jaehyun,” you said, voice almost trembling, more from the gravity of what you were about to say than nerves. he pulled back slightly, tilting his head.

“yeah?”

you met his eyes and, without giving yourself the chance to second-guess it, you let it fall from your lips.

“i want to marry you.”

his lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his features. he blinked, as if trying to be sure he heard you right.

“i know, baby,” he said, a soft chuckle lacing his words. “that was the whole deal, right? but remember—we said after november. we’d have more time to plan, get everything ready—”

“no,” you interrupted, stepping forward, clutching his hands tightly. “i don’t want to wait till november. i mean it. i want to marry you now. today, tomorrow, next week—i don’t care when or how. i just want to be yours. forever.”

he stared at you, quiet. processing. his brows drew together, and then lifted again like the meaning had just landed fully. his hands gripped yours tighter.

“but—what about the wedding? your parents, mine—”

“we’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “but this... this love we have, i don’t want to keep treating it like something that needs to be scheduled. it’s real. it’s now.”

he took a breath, deep and full. and then, his expression softened into something vulnerable and glowing—his eyes shone with something deeper than just affection. he leaned his forehead against yours and whispered, “you want to be my wife.”

you nodded, lips brushing his as you breathed, “more than anything.”

his thumbs brushed over your cheeks, as if committing this moment to memory. “then we’ll do it. not because it’s rushed, but because we know. we’ve known. and if you want to be my wife now... then i’ll make it happen. we’ll get married. i promise.”

and he kissed you again, this time slower, as if sealing an oath between your mouths.

the proposal happened three days later.

he told you it was just a normal date—dinner, then a walk somewhere scenic. no pressure. he even played it off by wearing something casual: a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled, soft beige slacks, and the cleanest pair of loafers you’d ever seen. he looked devastatingly handsome without trying.

he picked you up and drove toward the edge of the city, toward the river trail where the summer festivals were usually held. the area was quiet now, early autumn having driven the crowds away. but fairy lights still dangled from the trees, twinkling faintly as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting a warm, honeyed hue over everything.

he walked with you along the wooden path, your fingers tangled. his hand was slightly clammy. you noticed, and your heart fluttered, thinking—he’s nervous. the realization made you giddy.

and then, just as you reached the little bridge that overlooked the water, he stopped.

“wait here,” he said softly, squeezing your hand. “don’t move.”

he jogged a few steps ahead, ducked behind a low fence near a cluster of trees, and returned with a bouquet of peonies—your favorite. you hadn’t told him that. he remembered.

your eyes began to water.

he handed them to you, smiling shyly, and then pulled something out of his pocket.

a velvet box.

he opened it without a speech, without fanfare. his voice was soft, his eyes locked on yours like the world outside didn’t exist.

“you already said yes,” he whispered. “but i want to do this right.”

he got down on one knee, the gravel crunching beneath him, and held the ring up.

“y/n, will you marry me—not next month, not in theory, not in some future we’re still trying to picture... but now. for real. because i’m yours. and you’re mine.”

you didn’t cry. you sobbed. like an idiot. like a girl who had waited her whole life for someone like him. you nodded so fast your vision blurred and fell into his arms, and he kissed you like he was promising you the rest of forever.

in that moment, september never felt sweeter.

telling the company was a whole thing.

it started with a scheduled meeting—a weekly operations check-in with the usual suspects: team leads, upper management, the supervisor, and a couple of sharp-eyed executives who never missed a detail. it was jaehyun’s idea to make it official at work, to do it clean and direct and proudly. no rumors. no hiding. just the truth, glowing and solid like the ring that now lived permanently on your finger.

you both walked into the meeting room together, which wasn’t unusual, but something in the way your hands brushed as you took your seat already had jungwoo giving you the side-eye.

the presentation started, charts and projections lighting up the screen behind jaehyun as he stood with calm confidence. it was business as usual—until the last slide.

"before we wrap up," he said, glancing back at the room, his eyes finding yours briefly before turning to the group again, "i have one personal announcement to make."

you swallowed. jungwoo leaned forward like a damn hawk. mr. choi narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if he'd been waiting for this moment since spring.

jaehyun smiled—soft, boyish, unbothered. “as some of you may know… or have guessed," he said, and gave jungwoo a teasing look that made him gasp, "i knew it," he muttered dramatically—"y/n and i have been seeing each other for a while.”

the room exploded. a gasp from the secretary and the supervisor actually choked on his coffee. someone in the back whispered “what the fuck” under their breath.

jaehyun held up a hand, a little smug, a little amused.

“and, as of last weekend… we’re engaged.”

your cheeks were burning. your heart thundered. you expected chaos, maybe disapproval, but what followed was—

cheering. clapping. wide eyes and stunned smiles. even mr. choi looked like he was trying very hard not to grin.

“you’re marrying jaehyun? our jaehyun?” he blinked at her, then looked at jaehyun like he’d just discovered a double life. “okay, i knew something was going on. i’m not blind. but marriage? dude, that’s insane. like, insane in the good way, but—holy shit.”

you stood up, feeling brave. “we just didn’t want to hide it anymore,” you said. “we’re really happy. and we hope you’ll be happy for us too.”

the room burst into applause again. someone shouted, “wedding invites or we riot!”

the parents came next.

you visited your family first. your mom opened the door and immediately noticed the ring. she gasped, dropped the dish towel she was holding, and squealed in that way only mothers can. within seconds, your dad was there too, grinning, eyes glossy, holding jaehyun’s shoulder like he was already part of the family.

"are you kidding me," your mom kept saying. "you're engaged? oh my god, you're engaged!"

you nodded, trying not to cry as she hugged you so tight it hurt.

“he’s everything i ever wanted for you,” your dad told you quietly, before giving jaehyun a very serious handshake. “you take care of her.”

“always,” jaehyun promised, voice thick with sincerity.

then it was his parents' turn.

you were more nervous, but you shouldn’t have been. the moment jaehyun’s mom saw you, she pulled you into a hug, muttering in korean how beautiful you were, how she’d been praying her son would be smart enough to not let you go. his dad was more reserved, but the sparkle in his eye said everything. when jaehyun said, “we’re getting married,” his mother clapped her hands and screamed like she’d just won the lottery.

“we’re so happy,” she said, eyes shining. “you are already family.”

they brought out food, wine, photos from jaehyun’s childhood. his mom made you take home a tupperware of kimchi and a crocheted doily she claimed she made for whoever he married one day. she said she just had a feeling it was going to be you, and jaehyun turned red.

it turned out that weddings—real weddings—took a lot more time to plan than y/n had expected. even with jaehyun’s calming presence and the help of a surprisingly competent wedding planner, the months passed like petals falling from a tree: softly, quickly, too beautifully to hold onto.

they settled on march 28. it gave them just enough time to breathe, to build, to dream together.

from the moment they told everyone—first their friends, then their families, and finally, in a hilariously formal email, the entire company—the whirlwind began. the announcement caused a stir so loud in the office that y/n had to leave her desk just to get some peace.

the directivos were equally shocked, though mostly amused. her supervisor just nodded sagely, like he’d been betting on this since the beginning.

“you two were always ‘too in sync’,” he said, raising his coffee mug in mock toast. “i give it six months before one of you becomes the other's boss at home too.”

and then came the parents.

jaehyun’s mother cried when she met y/n, tears slipping down her cheeks as she hugged her tight and whispered in korean, “you’re even more beautiful than he said. and i knew he was in love the first time he said your name.”

her own parents, after recovering from the initial shock, became obsessively involved in the planning, sending flower samples, playlist suggestions, and opinions on wedding favors at all hours of the day. but none of it was overwhelming. not with jaehyun there, always pulling her back into calm. always making sure this was their wedding, not anyone else’s.

they chose a venue outside the city—a small vineyard with soft hills, blooming wisteria, and golden light that melted everything it touched. march 28 arrived with the scent of earth and lilac, a warm wind, and the sky so blue it almost hurt to look at.

y/n stood before a mirror in a white gown that made her feel like everything good in the world had been sewn together just for her. she could hear the quiet rustle of guests arriving, the soft music playing in the distance, the laughter of children running between the rows of flowers.

and then, jaehyun.

when she saw him waiting at the altar, dressed in a suit that fit like second skin, with his hair slightly tousled and a look in his eyes that could undo galaxies—she forgot how to breathe.

he mouthed “you’re perfect” as she walked down the aisle.

she mouthed “you’re mine.”

the ceremony was intimate, emotional, wrapped in vows that made everyone cry—even jungwoo, who tried to play it off by pretending he had allergies.

“i promise to protect your dreams as fiercely as my own,” jaehyun said, voice trembling slightly, “and to always make sure your pizza has the right amount of potato crust, even when we’re eighty.”

“i promise to choose you, even on the days we forget how lucky we are,” y/n replied, tears in her eyes. “and to never let the fire between us die, even when we’re old and gray.”

they kissed.

and the world felt new again.

their first dance was under strings of fairy lights, barefoot on the grass. the song was soft, a slow jazz tune that jaehyun had played for her once in the car when she’d been crying. now, with her head against his chest, they swayed like the wind had been made just for them.

“we did it,” she whispered.

“we did,” he said. “and i’d marry you again tomorrow if i could.”

the honeymoon came a few days later. they chose santorini, greece, not for the postcard beauty or luxury, but because y/n had once told him, offhandedly, that she always dreamed of watching the sun melt into the sea from a white rooftop. he remembered.

their suite was perched on a cliff, overlooking the caldera, with white walls and blue domes and windows that opened to eternity. the first night, they sat on the balcony with a bottle of wine, their feet touching, their hands always searching for each other.

they kissed under sunsets and made love under stars. they danced in narrow streets, shared kisses between sips of ouzo, fed each other olives and sweet baklava. they were ridiculous. and in love. and utterly themselves.

“this is the life i want,” y/n whispered one night, tangled in cotton sheets, her cheek against his chest.

“then it’s the life we’ll have,” jaehyun said. “forever.”

and this time, forever didn’t sound like a fairytale.

it sounded like a promise.

three years passed like chapters in a love letter—written slowly, lived fully.

you and jaehyun made a home out of a sleek little apartment tucked into the rhythm of the city. it was all black wood and soft gray, velvet cushions and open windows where sunlight poured in like gold. it wasn’t big, but it held your whole world. your toothbrushes leaned against each other. your shoes tangled by the door. your laughter lived in the walls.

mornings were sleepy and soft—coffee mugs clinking, your legs wrapped around his under the kitchen table, newspaper pages ignored in favor of each other’s eyes. nights were even softer—blankets twisted around you, movie soundtracks playing in the background while your fingers danced across his skin. the kind of love that didn’t need grand gestures—just the warmth of his palm on your thigh and the way he said “come here” like home itself.

but then, one evening, the quiet changed.

you were in the bathroom. pacing. heart in your throat. your phone timer ticked like thunder in the silence. the test rested on the sink, small and still—like it held the weight of the universe. you sat on the edge of the tub, knees pulled up, trying to breathe.

when the timer stopped, you moved like you were underwater. slow. hesitant. scared.

two pink lines.

you stared. blinked. stared again.

your lips parted, the shape of a whisper you couldn’t form. your hands trembled, and for a moment, the whole world tilted—just you and that tiny piece of plastic and everything it now meant.

you stepped out of the bathroom, barefoot, holding the test like it might shatter.

jaehyun was on the couch, lounging with his phone, one leg bent lazily, hair tousled from running his hand through it too many times. he looked up. paused. frowned softly. “baby… what is it?”

you didn’t answer right away. just walked toward him—slow, like the floor might disappear—and placed the test in his hand.

“we’re gonna be parents!!”

the silence cracked. and then—

jaehyun surged forward, arms wrapping around you so tight you gasped. he lifted you off the ground, spinning you around the living room like a kid on christmas morning, laughter bursting from his chest, from yours, from some place deep inside where all the hope had been hiding.

you were both crying. laughing. kissing. saying “we did it!” over and over again like a prayer you never thought you’d get to say out loud. he pressed his forehead to yours, voice shaking, “we’re having a baby.”

“we’re having our baby,” you whispered.

months passed like petals falling from a blooming tree.

you were glowing. exhausted, but glowing.

your blush-pink maternity dress clung gently to your growing belly, printed with tiny white florals that made jaehyun smile every time he saw you in it. your feet were bare, your ankles swollen, your back ached constantly—but he was always there, hands rubbing your spine, lips on your shoulder, whispering, “you’re magic, you know that?”

the nursery was nearly finished—lavender walls painted with care, gold stars twinkling on the ceiling, and a soft mobile that played lullabies like stardust. the crib waited, delicate and perfect, with a plush bunny nestled in the corner.

jaehyun was kneeling by the dresser, sweat on his brow, tongue between his teeth as he finished the final drawer. he looked up, eyes finding you immediately, and god—he looked at you like the whole sky lived inside your smile.

“she’s gonna love this room,” he said, standing to press a hand to your belly. his palm warm. grounding. full of quiet awe. “our little moon.”

you leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “i hope she gets your eyes,” you whispered.

he smiled, eyes soft with wonder. “and your heart,” he murmured. “especially your heart.”

the room went quiet again—except for the soft hum of the mobile spinning slowly above the crib. gold stars turned, catching the light.

and in that moment, just one suspended, breathless moment, everything was still.

you. him. her.

and the love that built it all.

finally. completely.

you were on the couch in an oversized black t-shirt and nothing else, legs tucked under, scrolling on your phone, back decorated with that full snake graphic tattoo that curled from your shoulder blades down to the dip above your ass. you looked up when the door shut and your whole face changed—eyes softening, lips parting like you’d been waiting for this exact second.

he dropped the bag. didn’t even kick his boots off properly.

“hey,” he said, voice low, tired, but already thickening with something else.

you stood up fast.

he crossed the room in three strides, caught you by the waist, and lifted you clean off the floor. the size difference hit immediately—your feet dangling, his biceps flexing under the fabric as he pulled you against his chest.

he was bulkier now, months of training carved into lean muscle, abs tight, happy trail disappearing under his belt. you fit against him like you were made to disappear there.

“missed you so fucking much,” he muttered against your mouth before he kissed you.

it wasn’t soft. he swallowed you whole—tongue sliding in deep, wet, controlling the angle so your head tilted back. you whimpered into it, eyes fluttering shut, mouth going slack almost instantly because he didn’t let you lead.

he did everything: sucked on your tongue, licked the roof of your mouth, bit your lower lip just hard enough to make you gasp. one big hand cupped the back of your head, the other gripping your ass, squeezing, kneading like he needed to remind himself you were real.

your back hit the couch first. he followed right after, caging you in, knees on either side of your hips. you were already breathing hard, cheeks flushed. he pulled your t-shirt up and off in one motion, mouth latching onto your neck, then lower—collarbone, the soft swell of your breast, sucking marks that would bruise tomorrow. his dimples flashed when he looked up at you for half a second, that boyish smile cutting through the hunger.

“jaehyun—” you started, but he was already moving down, spreading your legs with his shoulders.

he ate you like a man starved. tongue flat and slow at first, then focused, relentless. every lick, every suck had your hips twitching. he groaned against you, the vibration making you whine louder. one arm hooked under your thigh, holding you open while the other hand pressed down on your lower stomach, keeping you still. you came the first time fast—back arching, small hands fisting his short hair, a broken “fuck” slipping out.

he didn’t stop.

second time he added two fingers, curling them just right, mouth still working your clit. you were shaking, overwhelmed, eyes glassy. he looked up at you, lips shiny, dimples deep. “that’s it, baby. let me have it.”

by the third you were pushing at his shoulders, too sensitive, but he just kissed your inner thigh and murmured, “one more for me, my wife. missed this pussy so bad.”

when he finally pulled back, his cock was straining against his pants—thick, heavy, already leaking. he stood just long enough to shove his fatigues down, shirt ripped off over his head. abs flexing, biceps bulging, that happy trail leading down to where he was rock hard. y/n’s eyes widened a little every time, like you still couldn’t believe how big he was.

he flipped you over without warning, pulling your hips up so you were on all fours on the couch, back arched, that snake tattoo on full display. he ran his palm down your spine, thumb tracing the inked bones and scales. “love this fucking tattoo,” he said, voice rough. “love looking at it while i fuck you.”

he pushed in slow at first—letting you feel every inch, stretching you open. you were so tight, so wet from his mouth, but still gasping at the fullness. your waist in his big hands looked tiny. he bottomed out and stayed there a second, forehead pressed to your shoulder blade, breathing hard.

“so good,” he whispered. “my beautiful wife. so fucking perfect for me.”

then he started moving.

rough. desperate. months of pent-up need in every thrust. skin slapping, couch creaking under you both. he gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, one hand sliding up to press between your shoulder blades, pushing your chest down while he fucked you deeper. backshots for what felt like forever—half an hour at least, pace never letting up. he’d slow down when you got close, edging you until you were crying into the cushion, then slam back in harder.

“jaehyun—please—” you whimpered, voice muffled.

“i know, baby. i got you.” his voice stayed soft even when his hips were brutal. “cum for me again. wanna feel you squeezing me.”

you did—over and over. he talked you through every one: low praises, “good girl,” “that’s my wife,” “missed you so much, missed being inside you.” his hands never stopped moving—groping your ass, squeezing your waist, reaching around to rub your clit when he wanted you to fall apart faster.

he pulled you up once, back against his chest, still buried deep, one arm banded across your stomach while the other hand tilted your head for another messy kiss. tongue fucking your mouth while he ground up into you. you went boneless, mouth hanging open, little gasps and whines the only sounds you could make while he did all the work.

by the time he finally let himself go, you were both drenched in sweat. he came with a deep groan, hips stuttering, filling you until it leaked down your thighs. even then he didn’t pull out right away—just held you close, kissing the back of your neck, dimples pressing into your skin as he smiled against you.

“we’re not done,” he murmured, voice hoarse but already hungry again. “got a whole month, baby. and i’m not letting you leave this apartment much.”

you laughed weakly, still trembling, pussy aching in the best way. “rip me then.”

he flipped you onto your back, settled between your legs again, mouth already descending.

“that’s the plan.”

both of you barely made it to the bedroom.

jaehyun had you in his arms the second he pulled out from the couch, your legs wrapped around his waist like muscle memory. cum was still leaking down your thighs, but he didn’t care. he carried you down the short hallway, mouth never leaving yours—tongue slow and deep, licking into you like he was trying to taste every whimper you made. your arms were loose around his neck, brain already hazy, body buzzing from the first round.

he kicked the bedroom door open with his foot and dropped you onto the bed face down. the sheets were cool against your overheated skin. you didn’t even have time to push up on your elbows before he was on you—big body covering yours completely, one knee shoving your legs together so they stayed straight and tight. he mounted you like that, chest pressed to your back, weight pinning you down just enough that you couldn’t really move. the snake tattoo on your spine flexed under his palm as he ran his hand down your back.

“stay like this, baby,” he murmured against your ear, voice low and rough. his cock, still hard and slick from before, nudged between your thighs. “gonna fuck you just like this.”

he pushed in slow, forcing your legs to stay closed so the fit was ridiculously tight. the squelch was loud—wet, obscene, every inch sliding through the mess he’d already left inside you. you moaned into the pillow, the sound muffled and broken. you were already so full, so sensitive, but the way he stretched you with your thighs pressed together made everything feel sharper.

jaehyun groaned deep in his chest, forehead dropping to the back of your neck. “fuck… so tight. hear that? that’s my wife’s pretty pussy.”

he started moving—long, heavy strokes that made the bed creak. every thrust pushed you deeper into the mattress, your small frame swallowed under his taller, bulkier one. the happy trail on his stomach brushed against your lower back with every roll of his hips. his biceps flexed on either side of your head as he braced himself, one hand sliding under you to grip your waist—21 centimeters of soft skin and bone that fit perfectly in his palm.

you sobbed.

not from pain—from being completely overwhelmed. the kind of brain-clouded sob that came when you were already fucked dumb and he just kept going. your moans turned wet and shaky, face flat against the pillow, mouth open, drool starting to soak the fabric. every time he bottomed out the wet slap of skin and the squelchy sound of your pussy taking him made you cry out louder.

“jae—hyun… ah—fuck—”

poor neighbors. the walls weren’t that thick and it was past midnight, but he didn’t slow down. if anything your broken little sobs fueled him more. he loved when you got like this—completely lost, eyes unfocused, body limp except for the way your walls fluttered around him.

he leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “that’s it, my beautiful wife. let it out. sound so good when you cry for me.”

always a kisser. he turned your head to the side with two fingers under your chin and kissed you like he was starving for it. tongue sliding in deep, playing with yours, sucking on it, licking the roof of your mouth while he kept fucking you in that tight, closed-leg position. you couldn’t even kiss back properly anymore—your mouth just stayed open, letting him do whatever he wanted. soft whines and gasps vibrated against his tongue every time he thrust hard.

he pulled back only to kiss the corner of your lips, your cheek, the shell of your ear, then dove back in again. one hand stayed on your waist, the other reached under to rub slow circles on your clit. the dual sensation made you sob louder, legs trying to twitch but trapped between his.

“so fucking wet,” he whispered against your mouth, voice soft even as his hips snapped harder. “missed this. missed filling you up every day. my wife… my pretty little wife taking me so well.”

he edged you twice like that—slowing down right when you were about to tip over, grinding deep instead of thrusting, kissing you through the frustrated whimpers. then he’d pick the pace back up, rougher, deeper, until the squelching noises got louder and your sobs turned into desperate, hiccuping moans.

third time he didn’t stop.

you came hard, body shaking under him, pussy clenching so tight around his cock that he hissed. your face stayed smashed into the pillow, mouth open in a silent cry for a second before the sound broke free—high and wrecked. he fucked you through it, never pulling out, just slow deep rolls of his hips while you pulsed around him.

“good girl,” he praised, lips brushing your temple. “cum on my cock again, baby. wanna feel it.”

he didn’t let you come down. flipped you just enough to slide one arm under your chest, pulling your upper body slightly off the bed so he could kiss you better while still fucking you from behind. tongue in your mouth, lazy and filthy, matching the rhythm of his hips. you were completely brainless now—eyes half-lidded, tears clinging to your lashes, little whimpers every time he hit that spot inside you.

he kept going. minutes blurred. the wet sounds of your pussy, the slap of his hips against your ass, your muffled sobs and moans filling the room. his hand never left your clit, drawing another orgasm out of you until you were shaking so hard he had to hold you tighter.

“jaehyun… can’t—too much—”

“you can,” he said gently, kissing the side of your neck, then your jaw, then claiming your mouth again. “one more for me. my beautiful wife. let me have it.”

when he finally let himself finish, it was with a low groan against your lips, hips stuttering as he pumped you full again. he stayed buried deep, chest heaving against your back, arms wrapped around your small frame like he never wanted to let go. sweat slicked your skin. the snake tattoo on your back glistened under the low lamp light.

he kissed you again—slow, deep, tongue gently playing with yours even as you both tried to catch your breath. you were limp, fucked out, barely able to respond, but he still licked into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough.

“love you,” he whispered, voice hoarse but soft. dimples pressing into your shoulder as he smiled against your skin. “missed my wife so fucking much.”

he didn’t pull out yet. just held you there, cock still twitching inside you, kissing the back of your neck, your tattooed spine, murmuring praises while your body trembled with aftershocks.