yourwon&only♡

jay turns to you with that signature raised eyebrow. “why not? it would look perfect on you.”

“because it’s too expensive,” you whisper, glancing around like someone might overhear. “jay, that’s literally insane money for a necklace. i don’t need it.”

he sighs, the same sigh he always gives when you start this. “baby.”

“no. girl, no,” you insist, tugging his sleeve. “i already feel bad when you buy me coffee. this is way too much.”

jay looks at the necklace again, then back at you. without another word, he flags down the sales associate and says calmly, “we’ll take this one. and can you wrap it nicely?”

your eyes widen. “park jongseong.”

he just smirks and pulls out his card like it’s nothing. when the associate walks away, he wraps both arms around your waist and pulls you against his chest.

“you’re cute when you’re mad at me for spoiling you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“i’m serious,” you mumble into his shirt, cheeks burning. “i don’t want you wasting money on me.”

jay pulls back slightly so he can look at you. his expression softens, but there’s still that stubborn glint in his eyes. “it’s not wasting money if it’s for you.”

later that evening, you’re both on the couch watching a movie when a notification pops up on your phone. it’s a delivery update.

“jay… why is there a package coming tomorrow from that fancy skincare brand i mentioned once?”

he doesn’t even look guilty. “because you said your skin’s been dry lately.”

you groan and hide your face in a pillow. “i was just complaining! i was going to buy the small version myself!”

“the set is better,” he says simply, pulling the pillow away so he can see your face. “and before you say anything, no, it’s not a waste. you take care of me all the time. let me take care of you too.”

you peek up at him, lips pouty. “you already do enough.”

jay leans in and kisses the pout away. “never enough.”

the biggest fight happens two weeks later.

it’s your birthday, and jay has planned an entire weekend getaway. you only found out because he accidentally left the confirmation email open on his laptop. when you confront him, you’re standing in the kitchen with your arms crossed, trying not to cry from a mix of love and guilt.

“jay, a private villa? for two nights? that’s crazy expensive. we could’ve just gone to a nice dinner or something—”

“we can still do dinner,” he says, leaning against the counter, completely unfazed. “but i want to take you away. just us. no schedules, no members, no stress.”

you feel your chest tighten. “i don’t want you spending all that money because of me. it makes me feel bad, like i’m taking advantage—”

jay walks over and cups your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“hey. look at me.”

you meet his eyes, blinking back tears.

“you are not taking advantage of me,” he says firmly. “you never ask for anything. ever. you always tell me not to buy you things. you get embarrassed when i pay for dinner. you even tried to split the bill on our first date, remember?”

you nod, embarrassed.

“so let me do this,” he continues, voice softer. “i work hard so i can spend it on the person i love. it doesn’t feel good when you act like my money is a burden. i want to spoil you. i like spoiling you. it makes me happy.”

you bite your lip. “but… it’s too much.”

jay smiles, that gentle, patient smile that always melts you. “it’s not too much. you deserve the world, baby. and i’m lucky enough to be able to give you pieces of it.”

he pulls you into his arms and holds you tight, rubbing your back slowly.

“please let me take you on this trip,” he whispers into your hair. “let me show you off. let me wake up next to you with ocean views and order you breakfast in bed. let me do this without you feeling guilty.”

you stay quiet for a long moment, face buried in his chest. then you mumble, “you’re really annoying when you’re right.”

jay laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest. “i know. but you love me anyway.”

“unfortunately,” you tease, squeezing him tighter.

the weekend at the villa is perfect.

jay keeps catching you staring at the beautiful scenery, the huge bathtub, the massive bed, and every single time he says, “stop calculating how much it costs in your head.”

you try to argue when he orders the most expensive bottle of wine for dinner, but he just raises his hand in that sassy way (the same one he uses with the members) and says, “babygirl stop.”

you end up laughing so hard you almost choke on your pasta.

on the last night, you’re both sitting on the private terrace under string lights. jay pulls you onto his lap and wraps his arms around your waist, one hand resting protectively over your stomach even though there’s nothing there yet.

“thank you,” you whisper, playing with the necklace he bought you that’s now resting beautifully against your collarbones. “for everything. i’m… still learning how to accept it. but i’m trying.”

jay kisses your shoulder softly. “that’s all i ask. just let me love you the way i want to. money is just money. you’re priceless.”

you turn in his lap to face him, cupping his face with both hands. “i love you so much it scares me sometimes.”

“good,” he smirks, but his eyes are warm. “because i’m never going to stop spoiling you. get used to it.”

you groan playfully but lean in to kiss him anyway — slow, sweet, full of gratitude and love. jay kisses you back like you’re the only thing that matters in the entire world.

when you pull away, he rests his forehead against yours.

“happy birthday, my love.”

“best birthday ever,” you admit softly. “even if you spent way too much.”

jay chuckles and pinches your side. “there you go again.”

you laugh and hide your face in his neck. “sorry. habit.”

“it’s okay,” he murmurs, holding you closer. “we’ve got time. i’ll keep reminding you until you believe you deserve every single thing i give you.”

and as the waves crash softly in the distance, you think maybe — just maybe — you can start believing him.

because with jay, love isn’t just words.

it’s him ignoring your protests.

it’s him rolling his eyes with a fond smile when you say “don’t waste money on me.”

it’s him whispering “too bad, i’m spoiling you anyway” right before he kisses you stupid.

and honestly?

you’re the luckiest girl in the world.

© jongst4r, 2026

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***

When you wake up, it takes you a minute to realize you’re sleeping next to Sunghoon. 

Much like the first night you awoke in his guest bedroom, your panic subsides when you remember where you are. You blink slowly to grow accustomed to the morning light and look beside you to see a sleeping, naked Sunghoon. 

Your mind replays memories of the night prior and you start to blush all over again. It feels right to describe it like a night of passion. For as cheesy as that is, years of pent up sexual tension finally exploded in this bedroom. 

You’ve never seen Sunghoon look so peaceful before. His eyelashes look unfairly long against his cheeks and he snores quietly. You sit up on your elbow and peer at him below, taking in his quiet demeanor amidst the stillness of the room. He doesn’t feel like your boss right now. He feels like a lover. 

His chest anchors against the mattress with his face turned towards you, and you try not to reach your hand out to touch him. Sunghoon radiates warmth, even from the distance you put between your bodies. You’re still naked and push the sheets over your chest to give you some sort of dignity, but something tells you that isn’t necessary. 

Is it normal to feel so…calm? 

There’s no sense of dread about going into work and inevitably facing a million emails from people you don’t care about. You move on autopilot most days, running through the same routine to the point where you grow tired of it. But here, in Sunghoon’s vacation home, you feel more relaxed than you have since working with him. 

It’s weird and unsettling. You don’t scramble for your phone—did you even charge it last night?—nor do you push yourself to do something with your day to avoid feeling the endless doom of the incoming week. Something about seeing Sunghoon breathing peacefully beside you puts you at ease, and that thought alone makes you a bit nervous. It’s hard enough that you aren’t the type of person to fall for everyone you meet. Even harder when you’re in love with someone who might not feel the same way. What a recipe for disaster. 

As if he hears your loud thoughts, Sunghoon opens his eyes and sees you looking down at him.

“You like watching me sleep?” You shove Sunghoon at his bicep but he merely chuckles and turns on his back to look at you. You try not to blush too much at his shirtless nature and sculpted body. 

“Nothing to look at.”

“Right.” 

You’re lying, clearly. His morning voice is deep and raspy, unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. He blinks at you with those sleepy eyes after putting your body through the mattress for hours on end. Sunghoon looks painfully normal like this. 

“How long have you been awake?” Sunghoon asks, reaching for your hand before putting it on his chest. You feel how warm his body is. 

“Not long.” Your fingers start to trace on his skin. “Forgot where I was for a second, though.” 

“Mm,” he hums. “You forgot how I fucked you so good you came screaming every time?”

“Sunghoon.” You bury your head in his chest and feel him laugh from your hiding spot. Sunghoon wraps an arm around you loosely and pulls you closer to him.

“Can’t handle the truth, can you? What happened to my headstrong girl?”

“You’re such an asshole, Park.” 

“Your asshole, no?”

Your heart flutters. 

“Keep teasing me and you won’t be,” you say, looking up at him. He smirks and closes the gap, pressing a short kiss to your lips.

“We’ll see about that. Although, you should know I haven’t had a good night’s sleep like that in weeks.” 

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, baby. You have a magical pussy, or something.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

“I’m serious.” He lifts himself off of the bed until you’re lying back on his mattress, staring up at his deep brown eyes. Sunghoon’s lips quirk into a smirk when his hand disappears underneath the covers and lands on your bare core. “Fuck. Still as good as I remember.” 

You open your legs and welcome the intrusion. His fingertips dance along your folds and you look up at him with a somewhat mischievous grin on your face. Sunghoon brings his hand up to his mouth, sticks his tongue out to lick the pad of his fingers, then puts it back onto your cunt. 

Sunghoon inserts his middle finger and is pleasantly surprised to find you as wet as you are. He breathes heavily and supports his body on his elbow to get a better angle. He moves his hand at a slower pace, feeling every drag of your walls as he pushes himself in and out of you. 

“Pretty baby.” The compliment comes out of nowhere and he kisses you right after. It’s tender and warm, but hot and sensual at the same time. 

Somewhere along the way, you take initiative and reach out to his lap. He’s already half-hard by the time you touch him, and he groans into your mouth when you wrap your hand around his dick. Swiping your thumb against his slit brings out a deep moan within him, and Sunghoon plunges his finger into you even deeper. 

He grows harder in your hand by the minute. The two of you are barely kissing at this rate. Sunghoon’s added another finger into your wet cunt and you focus on hearing just how much you’re splashing against his palm while stroking him, using the precum that’s oozing out to make him wet too. Your lips are just touching. You can feel his uneven breaths when you tug on his cock and twist your wrist, and Sunghoon keeps a steady gaze on you when you squeeze his base. 

Sunghoon mutters a quiet fuck and your heart swells with pride. When it comes to your professional life, it seems difficult to get a positive reaction out of him unless you go above and beyond. But when it’s just the two of you in his bedroom, Sunghoon praises you like it gets him off too. 

His precum leaks from his tip and you use your hand to coat it around him. Your palm feels his warm, throbbing dick that pulsates every time you twist your wrist. Sunghoon’s fingers falter every now and then. It feels like a victory to have him let his guard down. Although your day job is to take care of him, you find that Sunghoon seldom allows you to actually do it. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

You whisper it against his lips so tenderly that Sunghoon pulls away and looks down at you like he’s trying to decipher a difficult riddle. His fingers pause inside of you. 

“Me? Don’t you do that enough?” 

You roll your eyes and pull your hips from his hand. Sunghoon watches you with a curious arch to his brow as you maneuver onto the bed and move yourself between his legs as he spreads them apart. You pull the sheets off him, not caring that you’re naked too, and drink him in like you’re seeing him for the first time. 

His dick stands tall and proud. It felt so big inside of you last night. The thought of putting it in your mouth and sucking the soul out of him makes you clench around absolutely nothing and you feel no shame for it. 

You don’t look at Sunghoon directly, but you know he’s looking at you. His gaze is somewhere between watchful and lazy. It’s a perfect combination of curiosity and expectation, especially when you lay your chest down onto his mattress and wrap both hands around his base. Sunghoon flexes his thighs and breathes like he’s willing himself to calm down. 

You kiss his tip first and savor the salty taste of his precum before moving your lips to put gentle kisses all over him. You don’t know what compels you to be as gentle as you are. Perhaps it’s the morning sunlight and the quiet of the neighborhood that’s making you feel this way. It’s unlike the loud, bustling city that Seoul is. There’s no expectation to hurry and get started on your day. There’s just Sunghoon. 

He hums when you wrap your lips around the head and suck on it. Sunghoon’s hands clench beside him like he’s trying to get a grasp on reality, especially when your tongue swirls around it. You let your spit collect until it’s nearly spilling out of your mouth before pushing another couple of inches into your mouth and suck. That elicits a gasp from Sunghoon, who pushes his hands deep into the mattress. 

Like he’s done with you before, you reach for his hand and pry his finger away from his palm. He opens his eyes and looks down at your hand as your mouth works on his cock and immediately laces his fingers with your own. You’re still surprised at how they’re so soft. Sunghoon must take good care of himself.

With your other free hand, you grab his balls and gently squeeze them as you rise to push yourself down on his dick. Your throat constricts around his girth and you don’t pay any attention to the spit that falls from the both corners of your mouth. It adds lubrication and you ignore every uncomfortable sensation to fit even more of him. 

Sunghoon makes the most gorgeous noises. His deep voice echo throughout the room and his chiseled chest makes him look like a supermodel who stepped out of a fashion magazine. He’s gorgeous in every sense of the word and the fact that he isn’t afraid to moan in front of you makes him that much hotter. Sunghoon lets his pleasure do the talking and doesn’t disrupt your ministrations to get him off faster. You like that he’s letting you take control. 

Eventually, you pull him out of your mouth to catch your breath and focus on pumping his cock while your mouth travels down to his balls. He moans even louder when  you massage them with your tongue and switch them in and out of your mouth. The noises he makes are unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him. Sunghoon sounds pained and pleasured at the same time, almost like he’s been waiting to feel this good his entire life. 

“Shit, baby,” he says finally after regaining his composure. The hand that isn’t holding yours grabs your hair into a messy ponytail and you put your mouth back around his cock. 

Sunghoon doesn’t have to say anything else. With the way his thighs clench and how he grits his teeth while grunting, you know he’s close to his orgasm. He doesn’t push your head until you move it up and down his shaft, and you feel him grip onto your hair tighter. It makes you moan around his dick and he rewards you by emitting the deepest, sexiest sound you’ve ever heard from him. He pulls and pushes you down on his cock until he’s spurting his come right down your throat. 

It’s a welcomed sensation, but only because it’s Sunghoon. You don’t fight his hot seed, nor do you try to pull your head away from him. His grip on your stills and keeps you right where he wants you. You do your best to swallow every drop without choking on it and breathe through your nose to avoid coughing it up. Some of it spills from your mouth and you desperately chase it when he lets go of your hair. You don’t even feel embarrassed to lick up all of him that escaped your throat and you don’t notice Sunghoon looking down at you like he can’t believe you let him do that. 

When you sit up, Sunghoon immediately pulls you to him and kisses you. He doesn’t seem to care that he can taste himself on your mouth, and that makes you that much wetter. His cock, still hard even after coming to an orgasm just a minute prior, prods at your bare hole when you situate yourself on his lap. 

“You’re perfect,” Sunghoon mutters through sloppy, wet kisses. “My perfect girl.” 

“I give pretty good head, don’t I?” 

He gently smacks the side of your thigh. “You like teasin’ me, baby?” 

“Maybe.” You giggle against his mouth and he grins, pecking you once. 

“Mm. Won’t argue with you because that mouth of yours just made me come.” 

Even after having his dick in your mouth, his boldness still makes you shy. You look at him and bite your lip before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and digging your head into the crook of his neck. He laughs and you feel that vibrate along his naked chest. Sunghoon merely pulls you away from him and strokes the side of your face to push the hair from your eyes. 

“You’re so cute,” he coos. “Such a shy little thing when I have you in my bed.” 

“Total bitch when I’m in the office though, am I right?”

His grin widens. “Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t have it any other way. You don’t want to know how many boners I’ve dealt when you rip me a new one.” 

“You’re so weird.” His hot cock rests under your slit and Sunghoon can feel you aching against him. He lifts your lap up to position his tip against your hole and allows you to slowly sink onto him at your own pace until you’re fully seated on his lap. 

“Fuck,” you moan while his fingers caress your back as you slowly ride him. “So big.” 

Sunghoon looks up at you with dazed eyes like he just might love you. That smile he gives you makes your heart flutter. 

“You have the most perfect pussy.” 

That makes your face hot. 

“Hoon…” 

“Hoon,” he moans, eyes closing shut for just a brief second while his mouth warps into a lazy smile. “Call me that again.”

“Hoon?”

“Again.”

He pushes you down on his cock and pushes into your lap until it reaches your depths. 

“Hoon!”  

You yelp when he pulls your body down to his chest and brace yourself by flattening your palms on his chest and the mattress. Sunghoon’s hips drill right into yours at lightning speed. His tip hits the very spot he’s been managing to find this entire weekend and you feel completely limp against him. Every time you try to position yourself upright, Sunghoon tightens his grip around you while bending his legs to push into you at a deeper angle. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way he feels inside of you. His skin is warm and sticky from the friction and his muscles are so hard underneath your grip. With one hand on his chest and the other on his bicep, your nails dig into his skin and you hear Sunghoon hiss at the pain throughout his moans. He doesn’t say anything, though. In fact, knowing how hard you’re clinging onto him turns him on even more. 

The room might as well be the scene of a pornography video with the way the two of you are moaning. Nobody’s ever pulled these kinds of sounds out of you and when you think about all of the women Sunghoon has slept with, you wonder if he’s ever fucked them as hard as he’s fucking you. 

Temporary jealousy takes over and that little pang in your chest makes you grab his jaw between your hands to kiss him hard. Teeth and tongue clash everywhere as Sunghoon responds immediately, mouth pushing against yours in a heated fury. You orgasm around him when he hits your sweet spot and he feels you moan right into his mouth. Sunghoon drinks it right up and uses his hands to pull your chest right against him as he finishes inside of you too. 

You don’t know what you’re a fan of more: the long, drawn out bedroom sessions or quick morning sex. Sunghoon still manages to leave you satisfied in a fraction of the time compared to the night before. He basks in your glory, hair sticking to his forehead and the sheen of sweat covering his naked body. Sunghoon watches as you look at him all over before you bite your lip and bend down to kiss him tenderly. 

Unlike the fast pace from moments before, Sunghoon accepts the slow kiss and keeps his hold on you with a feather-like touch. He caresses your spine like he’s done it a million times before, his dick softening inside of you with your shared orgasm spilling out. The plushness of his lips feel like two soft pillows you want to kiss over and over again. 

“Good morning,” you say, bringing your hand to brush the hair from his face. He looks at you fondly. 

“Good morning, baby.” 

“You look so good right now.” Sunghoon brings your hand from his hair to kiss your palm. 

“You’re so cute when you’re soft.” You bite your lip and hide your face in his neck and feel him laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. I learn something new about you everyday.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” you mumble. Sunghoon grips your ass and gives it a hard squeeze. 

“I love it when you get feisty with me. But I like seeing you when you’re soft like this. It lets me know you trust me.” 

You pull yourself upright. “Does it?” 

“I’ve learned that you’re not easily impressed and it takes a while for you to let your guard down completely. When we’re at work, that's one thing. But from hearing your dating stories, it sounds like these guys didn’t give you a reason to stick around.”

“Well…that’s true.” 

He kisses underneath your jaw. “I don’t care if you’re yelling at me to get my shit done or being gentle. I like everything about you.” 

“Careful. You might say something you regret.” 

He looks you in the eye. 

“I always say what I mean.” 

The tension in the room is palpable and you almost say those three little words that seem to come easily for Sunghoon and no one else. You keep your tongue to yourself, however. He doesn’t seem to notice the inner turmoil going on inside of you and pulls out of you slowly before leaving to get a clean rag. 

Sunghoon beckons your legs open and cleans you up with a warm, wet rag. He’s gentle with his hands and smoothes over your folds and inner thighs. He holds you with such a delicate touch that it makes you feel as if you must be made of glass or something of more important weight. 

When he’s done, Sunghoon holds the cloth in one hand and bends down to press a long kiss onto your slip with his lips pushed right against them. He slips his tongue out and licks a stripe up your slit like he’s a kitten licking milk. He’s so attractive between your legs, especially with his eyes closed like he’s enjoying the meal. 

It’s too much for you to look at. You push his face away and close your legs while Sunghoon laughs and helps you up onto your feet, handing you a spare sweater before kissing you goodbye with the promise of meeting you for breakfast in the living room once you’re decent.

***

Midday comes around and the weather has gotten hotter as the sun reaches its peak. Lunch is long forgotten on the kitchen island as you pack a bowl of fruit and grab a few bottles of water to bring outside to the pool area. Sunghoon fetches a few towels and sunscreen before removing the protective barrier covering the pool, revealing stunning tiling that makes it look like a blue lagoon. 

The bikini you’re wearing barely hides any part of your body. The cups accentuate your breasts and you might as well have ditched the bottoms you’re wearing because they barely cover your ass. You can tell Sunghoon likes them too, with the way he’s been ogling your body ever since you walked out. He stares at your legs and the curve of your ass before trailing his eyes to the valley of your breasts. He’s shameless about it, too. But nothing about this feels like objectification. In fact, you want Sunghoon to look at you like you’re something he wants to devour. 

“Can you put sunscreen on me?” you ask him, holding out a bottle for him to use. Sunghoon takes it from your grasp and stares at your chest before his eyes flicker up to your eyes. 

“Sure, baby. Where do you want it?” 

You turn around and his eyes immediately follow your ass. You tilt your head until you can see him, and Sunghoon averts his gaze when you catch him staring. 

“Can you start with my back? I can’t reach there.” 

“Mhm.”

He hums when you turn your head back around and you hear the sunscreen squirt from out the bottle and onto his hands. Sunghoon rubs the product between his hands and you feel him put his palms on your shoulder blades before working it down your back. 

“This bikini…”

“You like?” 

“Yeah,” he says in disbelief. “I like it a lot.” 

“Haven’t had an excuse to wear it. I don’t have a pool in my apartment building.” 

“Mm,” he mumbles. “We should fix that.” 

You giggle. “Yeah, I guess we should. More trips to this house?”

“Whatever you want.” 

He sounds so unfocused that it nearly makes you double over in laughter. Sunghoon’s fingers reach the hem of your bikini bottoms before he brings his hands to cup your asscheeks, temporarily removing himself from your body to grab more sunscreen. 

“Can’t forget about your ass, baby. They might get sunburnt too.”

You push yourself out to him and look behind you. He’s barely paying attention to anything but your ass. “You’re so right, Hoon. Do you think you can put sunscreen there, too?” 

Sunghoon pushes the fabric together until it resembles a thong, using both of his enormous hands to spread the sunscreen all over you. He pulls apart your ass as if to inspect it and massages the meaty flesh before him until the product disappears. Sunghoon pushes your bottoms back to the appropriate position. 

“All done,” he says, clearing his throat. “I should put sunscreen on you everywhere just to be on the safe side, right?” 

“Right,” you say with a certain nod. “How about my chest?” 

“Good thinking.” He twists your body until you’re facing him and tugs on your bikini strings until his fingers graze your skin. “I think we should put some sunscreen here.” 

Sunghoon pulls the fabric away from your breasts to expose your taught nipples and nearly drools at the right. He bends down to suck your left nipple and squeezes the other, flicking his tongue expertly while you grab his head and moan softly above him. He hums around your nipple and pinches the other one gently before switching, taking his sweet time exploring your body while you stand helplessly. 

He pulls away faster than you’d like, but you relish in the way he looks completely dazed and out of it, like he forgot he’s supposed to put sunscreen on you. Sunghoon, acting in a daze, puts sunscreen all over your chest and stomach before clearing his throat and turning away. It makes you laugh. 

Sunghoon jumps in the pool and it splashes against the bottom of your legs. When he emerges, you fight the urge to squish your legs together. He wipes the water from his eyes and somehow, Sunghoon likes twice as good with water dripping down his body. It accentuates his muscles and you’re dripping wet without having jumped in yet. 

“I don’t bite,” he says when he sees you staring. Damn Sunghoon and the uptick on his mouth. 

You roll your eyes and get into the pool by the steps instead of jumping in like Sunghoon did. He waits for you to approach him and watches the way your assets bounce against the small currents from your movements. He licks his lips shamelessly and reaches his hands out to squeeze your hips when you come to him.

“There she is,” Sunghoon says. “There’s my girl.” 

You swat his chest. “You only like me because my tits are out.” 

Sunghoon averts his eyes to your chest. “Can’t say that isn’t true.” You fix your bikini top until your nipples are nearly peeking out just to tease him.

“Better?” He squeezes your hips. 

“Much better. Though, I think they’d look better if you took the bikini off.”

Sunghoon turns your body around until your back is pressed against his chest. His lips attach to your neck and he peppers kisses along your hot skin while his hands trail up your body to cup your breasts. His thumbs pass over your hardened buds and you don’t shy away from his touch. 

In fact, you encourage it. There’s no mistaking the arch in your back to press yourself against Sunghoon’s crotch. He grunts against your neck and cups your breasts through your top, giving them a gentle and firm squeeze. It makes you whimper softly against the sound of the pool water moving against the two of you and you swear Sunghoon grows harder by the second.

“Sexy girl,” he mutters, pulling the fabric covering your chest to the side to completely expose you. He hooks his chin on your shoulders and peers down at your breasts. “Fuck, they’re so beautiful.” 

It exhilarates you like no other to have him touch you like this in public, even though his backyard isn’t accessible unless you come from the house. Still, the prospect is still the same. 

“Let’s say we take these off, hm?”

He doesn’t wait for your permission, but it’s not like you’d decline him anyway and he knows it. Sunghoon moves his fingers slowly to untie your bikini top until it’s floating in the water next to you. He groans when your chest is free and cups them in his palms as he thrusts his hard dick against your ass. 

“Need my dick between your tits.” Sunghoon squeezes you again and you match the way he’s rubbing against you by pushing on him too. “Wanna see my come all over them.”   

“Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah, baby. I’ll fuck your perfect tits until they’re nice and dirty for me.” He drops one hand to your bottoms and bypasses the fabric until his fingers graze your slit. “Jesus, darlin’. Making me so horny in this little number of yours.” 

“Fuck,” you moan out. Sunghoon plunges a finger inside of you hastily and groans against your ear. His breath makes your body shiver and you feel him smirk right against you when he feels it. 

“I want to taste you right now.” 

He moves the two of you closer to the shallow end where the steps are and nudges you to turn around. You whimper when he withdraws his finger but the way he looks at you makes up for it. 

Your body’s halfway out the water and you feel more exposed when he undoes your bottoms, letting that float away in the water too. Sunghoon’s is rock hard against his swimming trunks when he bends down to bring his face closer to your naked cunt and licks a wide stripe up your slit.

You don’t shy away from moaning loudly and that seems to please Sunghoon, who licks you again and again until you’re moaning in contentment. You feel unburdened by anything and his mouth takes the stress from your body, and turns it into something pleasurable. 

His hands grip your thighs to keep you in place while his mouth attaches to your folds, lips puckered while his tongue runs across the expanse of your cunt like he’s trying to memorize every bit of you from this experience alone. Sunghoon is so good with his mouth that it astounds you how turned on you are just from oral. 

He hums when he feels your feet touch his back and buries his head deeper in you. The water subtly splashes around and the cool droplets lessens the burn of the hot sun. 

You’ve never imagined yourself to be someone as bold as this. Seldom do men make you feel comfortable enough to let your guard down, much less eat you out in a semi-public area. Sunghoon’s tongue explores your inner walls with every pass and his hands keep you grounded, reminding you to enjoy the present and turn your brain off. 

The hard concrete underneath you starts to feel uncomfortable and Sunghoon strokes your skin with his thumb as if to say you’re doing a great job withstanding the subtle friction. He moves his face until his tongue is perfectly hitting your clit repeatedly, making you come right on his mouth with your legs spread impossibly wide. The thrill of it all makes your stomach coil and you don’t shy away from bucking your hips right into his face. 

Sunghoon pulls back and his face looks absolutely wild, from his lust-filled eyes to his hard dick standing upright in his trunks. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you push your legs back underneath the water and attempt to stand on your own. He takes a step forward when you falter and kisses your forehead like he didn’t just devour you in his pool. 

“So good for me,” he mutters, moving to kiss your lips next. “I knew I’d get you out of your shell.” 

“Can’t believe I let you do that in public.” 

“Not technically public.” 

“Anyone could’ve seen!” He rolls his eyes when you laugh at him. You try not to seem bashful when he pulls himself out of his swim shorts but his hard, leaking dick looks you right in the eye and you become some animalistic version of yourself. 

“Atta girl,” Sunghoon says when you prop yourself over the ledge of the pool. 

You part your legs to fit him in between and he rubs your ass with one hand while gliding the tip over your hole with the other. The feeling of Sunghoon against your cunt will never get old. The intrusion is welcomed and encouraged, and he senses your eagerness when you squeeze around the head. 

It’s hot, mid-morning, and today feels like the kind of day to relax and unwind. Unlike this morning, Sunghoon doesn’t rush to make either of you orgasm. He sets a moderate pace and holds your hips while pushing his pelvis against your body. You’re content hearing him grunt behind you and your tits hangs over the ledge as he pushes and pulls from you repeatedly. 

To you, sex could never be as casual as this. It’s amazing how Sunghoon makes you feel like you don’t have to be ashamed to feel pleasure. You don’t need an excuse to have somebody adorn your body with their mouth or fuck you like they’re desperate for it. Here you are, spreading your legs and ass for your boss, but it feels like you’re on your first vacation with your boyfriend. 

You try not to think about that too much. Instead, you let the feeling of pleasure and euphoria takeover until you’re both coming. Sunghoon finishes inside and mutters something about how he doesn’t want to make the pool all dirty, and so your pussy is the only logical place to come. That makes you horny again, and you make him fuck you on the pool chair out in the open.

***

After the pool, you and Sunghoon decide you’ve played too hard to do anything that requires a functioning brain cell. The two of you shower together. Sunghoon tries to start something while you wash your hair and pouts when you tell him you need to clean yourself in peace. He waits patiently and doesn’t rush you, and you reward him by deep throating his cock until he bursts. 

The two of you dry up and spend the rest of the afternoon lazily lounging in his bed with the TV on in the background. For an hour, the two of you talk about everything and nothing, sneaking in a few kisses until you inevitably fall asleep on his chest. Sunghoon falls asleep shortly after. 

When you come to, Sunghoon is awake and checking his phone. You blink the sleep out of your eyes and see that he’s looking at an email for a dinner reservation. Sunghoon, who notices you’re awake when you stir above him, glances down and kisses your nose.

“Good morning, princess.” 

“It’s four in the afternoon, Hoon.”

“Good morning, princess,” he repeats. You swat his chest and fall back against him. “There’s a restaurant nearby that I really love. Romantic, candle lit, and everything. We have a reservation at seven.” 

“It’s so weird to let you handle this stuff,” you mutter against his neck before kissing it once. “I feel useless.”

“Relax and let me do the work, yeah? You can go back to being my assistant when we’re at the office.”

“I guess…” He grins when he hears your playful tone. 

“I know you’re sleepy, but I think you should get up and start getting ready. We need to leave by six-thirty to make it on time.”

You groan. “Wanna sleep. Wanna have sex a little more too.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Sunghoon pulls his body until he’s hovering over yours and locks eyes with you. “I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.”

“Not you. Your dick.” You bring a hand over his shorts to cup his bulge before squeezing it. 

Sunghoon spreads both of your legs wider and presses his covered crotch along your own covered mound, pushing himself until you feel his body heat. You can’t help but gasp, especially when you feel that he’s already started to harden against you. Sunghoon slowly grinds himself and the friction feels a bit too good to admit. He lifts his hips up and down until his hard dick is slotting themselves against your pussy. Your slick is already pouring out and your panties are pasted to the shape of your folds. 

“Feels so good,” you whisper against his lips when Sunghoon bends down to kiss you.

“I’ll fuck you some more after.” You whine when he pulls away. “Go get ready, brat. Let me be good to you. Stop sabotaging me with those eyes of yours.” 

You pout when you realize your seductive gaze isn’t working on him, but get up nonetheless.

Sunghoon gives you space and breathing room to get ready. He says he wants to be surprised by what you’re wearing and steps out of the room before you can say anything else. You put on some music while you paint your face a bit more elegant than normal, and feel the excitement of a date creep upon you.

While the two of you have had dinner just the two of you before, this feels like a real date. The intention of impressing him is clearly there. Your lips are an incredible shade of red and the way you did your eye makeup makes you look like a seductive siren. You don’t overthink it too much. This is Sunghoon, the man you’ve known for six years. He’s seen you naked and has finished inside you. There’s no reason to feel nervous.

But the nerves are still there. The warm feelings you have towards him creep up like a sleeper spy. They hit you when you least expect it and when you’re not distracted by him. The weighted reality of going back to Seoul and the two of you never addressing this weekend is a fear you have, but it’s one that doesn’t need to be addressed at this very moment. 

The lingerie you packed makes your body look like a sinful temptation. It leaves very little to the imagination and emphasizes your assets in a way that makes you feel more confident than not. The dress you’ve chosen makes you might as well be the most beautiful person in the room. Every insecurity you have seems to have vanished when you look at yourself in the full length mirror, and your nerves stem from excitement rather than worry. For the first time, you get a feeling that tonight won’t end up in tears and drowning your sorrows in cheap wine and popcorn. 

“Holy shit,” Sunghoon curses when you come out of the room. You hold your sleek pair of heels in your hands—a tall peep toe shoe with a buckle around the ankle—while Sunghoon’s eyes roam all over your figure. “Fuck, baby. I think I might cum right now.”

“Don’t flatter me too much.” It’s hard to avoid his eyes. He’s staring at your legs and beckons you to give him your shoes.

You stare in utter shock when Sunghoon bends to his knees to help you put them on. One by one, you slip into the heel and feel his fingers brush against your ankle until he’s standing in front of you with parted lips. Sunghoon looks delectable when he’s on his knees for you.

“I want to kiss you, but I’ll ruin your lip gloss,” he mumbles, eyes gazing at your mouth while his hands touch your hips. Sunghoon slowly kisses both of your cheeks instead. The way he’s looking at you makes your heart race.

He loops his arm with yours and leads you out the door. 

As promised, the restaurant is as romantic as Sunghoon described it. There are small candles on every table and the lighting is just low enough to make you feel like you and Sunghoon are the only two people in the room. 

The host leads you to the reserved table right by the window and the combination of the natural moonlight and the live band makes you feel like you stepped into a cliche romance novel. Usually, you’d turn your nose up at romantic endeavors, but tonight you feel like you’re brave enough to bask in its glory. 

Sunghoon pulls your chair out for you and you let him. Tonight, you’re his date. Not his assistant. 

“You look amazing.” You laugh.

“You said that four times already.” 

He grabs your hand above the table and starts playing with your fingers. Sunghoon, too, looks breathtaking. He’s slicked his hair back and you can see the silver jewelry adorning his neck and fingers. Sunghoon is so stylish, even down to his shoes, that it makes you feel a bit embarrassed to remember all of the guys who’ve dressed so poorly when they took you out on a date. 

Maybe it’s mean to judge those men for not having the means that Sunghoon does. But he’s clearly secure in himself and doesn’t mind letting you take center stage without a moment's notice. You saw it when he let you walk in front of him from the valet to the restaurant, and you saw it in the way he kept his eyes on you the entire time. You know you look good. He knows it too. 

If there’s one thing you love about Sunghoon, it’s that he seems to know what you’re feeling before you do. It’s your job to know that when he’s at work, but you often forget that he’s learned a lot about you in the time you’ve been working alongside him. He expertly suggests appetizers and cocktails that he thinks you’ll like and you actually enjoy them. Men from your past puff their chest and talk big for people who don’t know what they’re doing. 

You feel taken care of. And, if you’re honest with yourself, it feels good to let someone else take the wheel for a change. Sunghoon understands you on a level that is beyond your imagination. Neither of you have to speak in order to be on the same wavelength. It’s as if the two of you are two foreign objects working in tandem, completing each other without intent. 

It’s scary to realize how fast you’ve fallen for him. But on the other hand, were these feelings already there, and did you only act upon it when Sunghoon started to show interest in you too? You thought you had squashed these feelings down years ago, chalking it up to loneliness when you developed a small crush on your boss. Viewing him like the authoritative figure who signed your paychecks worked for a little while. Now, that method has gone down the drain. 

You’d always been a bit envious of the beautiful women in Sunghoon’s life and those who wanted to rub elbows with him. You never believed you could measure up because of the wealth disparage, and most would ignore your presence for the sake of having a good time with him. Working alongside him the first two years of your career was a challenge and a half. Picking him up from far away locations at ungodly hours of the morning tested your patience, as did seeing him with post-sex hair at 2 A.M. 

It was like a breath of relief when Sunghoon stopped seeing women so frequently. No more envy of the rich and famous, and no more heartbreak over the fact that he’d been with women who weren’t you. It was you who he called to fix his messes and it was you who he “came home to” at the end of the day. Per the requirements of your contract, you were always there for him and Sunghoon knew you’d be a call away. 

People push you out of the way when they realize you’re his assistant and not his equal. You’ve had your fair share of women weasel their way into his life with bad intentions and mistreat you because of it. Some are polite while others are snarky. Some try to butter you up with gifts and sweet words of affirmations, while others turn their noses in your direction. 

Learning to develop a thick skin came with time. Part of growing up meant knowing when to shut feelings off. You’d grown comfortable leaving your morality and emotions at the door every morning you stepped into the office building. Only when you’d read the threshold of your apartment would you break down into a puddle of tears. It’s a dog-eat-dog world and your position did not make life easier for you. 

Somewhere along the way, Sunghoon started to feel like a colleague rather than your boss. He started asking for your input and entrusted you with a few of his projects. As time passed by, the two of you developed a way of working well together without stepping on each other’s toes. For some accounts, you were the coordinator and liaison while Sunghoon took the backseat. On others, you were his acting assistant and remained that way until the end of the project. 

It almost felt like you were an employee of his status, too. You felt like you could’ve made a great career out of it. But jumping through hoops and glass barriers in your way posed a great challenge that you were not able to meet. Perhaps the stagnation of your job and the repetitive nature was what started to burn your light. Traveling to far away places only seems fun when you take the work aspect out of the equation. 

There was never enough time for you, and the accumulation of boredom and routine was what drove you to resign. But even now, in the wake of abandonment, Sunghoon cares for you. The end of the meal is anything but a sobering thought after multiple glasses of wine and enough food to make you feel like a rich heiress. What’s left is your raw feelings and your relentless love for him.

“You’re so good to me.” Sunghoon tilts his head and looks at you. 

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re so…attentive.” 

“I’d like to think I know you pretty well.”

“It’s hard for me to trust people completely.” 

He smiles softly. “I know.”

“I’m not used to letting my guard down, is what I’m trying to say. It feels like we’ve been on vacation for weeks, even though it’s only been a day.” 

“I care about you a lot, you know?” Sunghoon says. He sips on his wine without breaking eye contact, your own glass on its second pour. “You know me better than anyone else does.”

“Sometimes, I feel like I’ll never get out of the cycle I’m in. I’m scared that I’ll always feel lonely.”

He strokes your hand. “Is the second glass getting to you?” 

“Maybe…”

“You’re really cute.” 

You pout. “You keep saying that, but I’m telling you some depressing shit about how my life is boring and I’m sad all the time.”

“So cute.” 

He bites his lip and looks at you for a moment. It makes you feel like you’re under inspection. Perhaps it’s the wine that’s making you feel vulnerable and light-headed, but Sunghoon looks at you like he wants you to believe him. 

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I could never be the man I am today without you.” 

“You…You’re giving me too much credit.”

“No, baby.” You melt at his deep voice. “I don’t think I knew how intertwined our lives are until you gave me your resignation letter. You’ve been a constant in my life for the past six years and I took that for granted every single day. I want you to stay, but I don’t want you to choose me if that means sacrificing your own happiness.” 

His words pierce your heart.

“I’m…drunk.” 

Sunghoon seems to know what you mean. Your mind is too loud and combined with the volume of your heart pounding in your chest, you feel like nothing could ever capture what you want to say. Your eyes feel wet and glossy from his words and the alcohol that’s just on the precipice of wearing off. You’re sure you must look like some hot mess with smudged lipstick and a dazed look. To Sunghoon, you look like the epitome of perfection. 

“Let me take care of the bill, yeah? Let’s go home.” 

He kisses the back of your hand before standing up to pay. The empty dessert plates, insistent by Sunghoon, who tells you a tiramisu won’t kill your savory taste buds, sit on the table like they’ve been licked clean. It’s nice to jump off the deep end and do things differently every now and then. You can still feel his lips where he kissed you. 

When Sunghoon comes back, he kisses your forehead quickly before leading you out of the restaurant with his hand in yours. You let him lead you to the valet and will your beating heart to slow down before you die of a heart attack. The only thing you can think about when you’re in the car is how it feels like you’re his wife coming home after a much needed date night. You’re not his employee. You’re his equal. 

Sunghoon parks his car inside of the garage when you unbuckle and grab his face with both hands. You push your lips upon him by surprise and he makes a sound from the sudden movement, but his hands find themselves on your waist when you kiss him. It’s somewhere between heavy and seductive, rushed and calculated. You throw all inhibitions out the window and let your body do all the talking for you. There are no reservations and hidden insecurities when you’re with Sunghoon, just love. 

He pushes his hands up your dress and you happily moan against his touch. Sunghoon rewards you by kissing you harder and pulls away when he needs to catch his breath. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mutters. His big, brown eyes look up at you and you wear you could finish right there. 

“I want you,” you whisper in the quiet of the garage. The hum of the fluorescent lights is the only thing you register, aside from how fast your heart is beating. 

“You have me.” 

Sunghoon beckons you out of the car after a few more kisses and promises to have fun with you when you resist. You see him harden up when you whine about him not touching you and it makes Sunghoon more aroused than ever before. He sees and hears your sheer desperation. It makes him want to take you on every inch of this house. 

Eventually, the two of you make your way inside the house and you nearly stumble when Sunghoon drops to his knees. His hands fumble with the strap of the ankle and you feel his fingers gently undoing the buckle. Every pass of his skin feels electrifying and so does looking down at him. He, who plays the role of an authoritative figure, is on his knees for you.

He’s still in control, but it makes you feel like you have all the power. You’re putty in Sunghoon’s hands and you’re starting to assume he’s the same when it comes to you. His surprisingly soft hands caress your leg with every touch that wakes up some pent up sexual frustration from the pit of your stomach. The desire is there and Sunghoon’s the first person to bring it out of you to this extent. 

Sunghoon puts your heels aside and kisses up your leg. He pushes the hem of your dress towards your upper thigh when he alternates legs until his face is right by your stomach. He kisses you there keeps his chin there to look up at you as if to admire you from where he kneels. It’s too much for you. It makes you want to suck the soul out of him and never return it. 

“You looked beautiful tonight,” Sunghoon says while maintaining eye contact with you. His hands come to cup the back of your legs, caressing your skin with his thumbs. You feel his warmth radiating off of him and he looks at you like he’s somewhere in between starving and satiated. 

You don’t say anything. You can’t say anything. Sunghoon has you stopped in your tracks that you feel like you’re frozen on the ground with nothing but the sound of your heart pounding in your ear drums. 

“You always look so good when you get dressed up. Did you dress up for me?” 

You blush at that. 

“I…”

“It’s okay if you did.” 

Sunghoon starts to feel up your body underneath your dress and touches the lace lingerie you have on underneath. He hums in satisfaction and looks up at you again.

“You’re so strong, you know that? It’s what I like about you the most. You don’t need me to tell you anything.” He snaps the band of your panties and you subtly jolt in your stance. Sunghoon rises from his spot on the floor, and you look up at him once he’s at his full height. 

“But I’m selfish. I like it when you dress up for me.”

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“Yeah. It makes me feel special.” 

“Special?” 

You never thought you could make him feel that way too. You’ve been so caught up in your own life and distracting yourself from falling too hard that you never considered how you affect him. His dark brown eyes reach the depths of your soul when he looks at you like this. 

“You don’t do things because anyone asks you to. You do it for you. You’re quitting your job as my assistant because there’s more to life than that. My brave girl. I like it when you dress up for me because I know you must feel the same way I do.” 

“I don’t want to leave you forever,” you quietly confess.

“I don’t want that either. You have me, remember? I’m not going anywhere. 

Sunghoon makes you feel all kinds of uncanny things. He makes you feel like the star of your own romantic movie. Every cliche is not meant with resistance, like you would with other men. Instead, Sunghoon says all the right things and you find yourself falling for every word. 

Except, there’s something about this that makes you believe it’s real. He’s not saying it to get into your pants and leave you in the morning. Everything about him fighting for your employment to taking you on a whimsical weekend vacation makes you think he feels just as deeply as you do. He’s never done this with any of his past flings and short lived relationships before. You’ve seen it firsthand when he blames work for keeping him busy instead of confronting whatever truth he’s hiding from. 

With you, Sunghoon seems to have let all of that go. 

The two of you kiss messily and stumble in the hallway until you’re in the bedroom. Sunghoon throws his jacket on the floor and doesn’t have time to think when you kneel before him and pull your dress down to expose your chest. He stutters and nearly trips, if not for the edge of the bed directly behind his knees, and takes his shirt off when you unbuckle his pants to fish out his cock. 

You don’t say anything before you put your mouth on him. No warning. Nothing but pure greed and lust mixed together. Sunghoon watches you lick him up and down with your warm tongue and groans at the feeling of your wet saliva smearing all over his dick. You don’t care that your cheeks are starting to dampen up. That makes him even harder.

You force his pants and boxers down when you fit him inside of your mouth. You’re not thinking at all. Sunghoon moans loudly when you take as much of him as you can in a single shot. His hands find the back of your head to balance himself while you hook your hands onto his legs to push more of him deeper in your small throat. Watching you pull your head back only to push right back in makes Sunghoon thrust his hips towards you. 

The gagging sound makes you wetter and it makes him quicken his pace. You breathe through your nose and focus on how good it feels to know you’re the one making him act like this. Every grunt, every moan, and every orgasm is because of you. 

Humming around his dick makes Sunghoon moan too. The two of you sound like a pornography film when you moan in tandem. The noises he makes are beyond anything you’ve ever heard before. Men before you have been too afraid to make any sounds during sex, but it’s like Sunghoon needs to let them out in order to feel true pleasure. His baritone voice makes you impossibly wet. 

He holds your head in place and starts to fuck your mouth without abandon. The tip hits the back of your throat and you gag until spit is falling all over the place, but you don’t care at all. Sunghoon’s pelvis touches your nose with every thrust and you arch your back and the pace he sets, sticking your ass out for him to see. He moans and widens his stance for a better angle and shoves his dick deeper in your mouth. 

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “I don’t want to cum yet.”

Sunghoon pushes your head away and holds you by the hair with a tight grip. You chase his dick after it slips out, but he holds you in your place instead of letting you suck him back in. Sunghoon’s cock twitches when you whine. He pivots and forces you onto the bed before he lies on top of it with his chest facing the ceiling. 

When he pulls your dress down your body, he curses upon seeing the red lace adorning your body. Your chest is pushed in all the right places and nearly spills over the cups. He throws the fabric somewhere behind him and spreads your legs for him to see, and feeling like an object he’s inspecting turns you on so much that you’re sure he can spot the wet patch by now. 

Sunghoon doesn’t comment on it, too focused on taking in the way you look underneath him. His hands reach to grip your breasts and stomach, his finger tracing the line of the lace hem above where you need him the most. 

“Can’t believe you wore this for me.” Sunghoon bends his head down between your chest and kisses the spot there before turning to lick your left nipple over the cloth. “You’re so fucking sexy, you know that? Do you know how hard it is to keep myself in check every time I see you? It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing a trash bag. I get so fucking hard every time you walk into a room.”

As if to prove a point, Sunghoon pushes his cock over your covered pussy. He moans quietly and pulls the cups of your bra down to suck on your buds with a gentle hum, like he’s satisfied a craving of his. His tongue feels like some kind of gentle heaven and you can’t help but arch your back, which pushes your chest right into his face. 

You paw at his dick and grip it hard in your hand, attempting to tug on it at this angle. He chuckles against your chest when you struggle to grip all of him. 

“I love how eager you are,” he mutters against your chest before crawling on the bed himself. “You look so desperate trying to touch my dick. Is that what you want?” 

Sunghoon obliges. His hands grab your body and place you on top of him with your mouth pointed at his crotch. His cock looks so much bigger from this angle and you’re dripping right onto Sunghoon’s tongue. The feeling of the first pass makes you clench your hole and grip the base of his cock to balance yourself. 

He pulls your panties aside and moans against your pussy and licks you simultaneously. You feel his warm breath and the way his hands are prying your ass apart for him. Sunghoon groans when you push your lap onto his face, slapping your asscheek. 

You get the hint and wrap your lips around his dick, trying to fit all of it in your mouth. It’s slower than Sunghoon’s languid licks, but you must be doing a good job because you feel the vibration of his voice on your clit. It sends shivers up your spine and it makes your mouth water. 

Eventually, you find a steady pace as your hands squeeze Sunghoon’s balls between your fingers. You suck his tip like it’s a goddamn lollipop and you’re mouthing him like you have an oral fixation when it comes to him. He nearly bites you when you swallow his sack in your mouth and let your tongue lick through the seam. A swell of pride resides within you when you hear him. He’s so put together most of the time. It’s nice to feel him let his inhibitions go. 

You hollow your cheeks until it becomes a makeshift vacuum and suck on his dick as hard as you can. The moans coming from your throat make it hard for Sunghoon to stay still beneath you, but you welcome the intrusion every time his hips buck right into your mouth. Your saliva makes everything that much wetter and the sounds of his wettened cock and your slick core, egg both of you on. You’ve never felt so turned on sucking someone off before. 

Sunghoon’s tongue thrusts into you and you push back on his face, momentarily fearing that you might suffocate him if you continue. But his movements feel too good to care at this point. Sunghoon slurps up your juices and massages your ass while he eats you like a man on a mission, tongue rolling everywhere with no real method.

It makes you feel jealous that other women have experienced his magical mouth. You hate that he’s tasted women who aren’t you and you hate that you’ve had to watch him come home from a one night stand while pushing your own feelings below the surface. 

This motivates you to suck him with a death grip. Your mouth never relents and you force your head down until you’ve shoved all of him down your throat. Sunghoon moans against your core and you feel his grip on your ass tighten the more you constrict yourself around his cock. 

With a new sense of pride for making him moan the way he does, it propels you to use your head like that. You pull back and push down over and over again, letting his thick, mushroom head hit the back of your throat while your saliva spills everywhere. You refuse to take a break when Sunghoon’s suffocating himself on your pussy. 

One hand continues to touch his balls and aid his pleasure while the other grips his base to keep his dick right where you want him. God, you think. Where has this man been all my life? 

You cum when Sunghoon sucks on your clit. You push yourself off of him to arch your back, and grasp anything to make you feel sane. He moans when he tastes your orgasm and keeps licking while you process your high and come down from it. His cock is untouched and twitching with excitement upon tasting your release. 

“Need it,” Sunghoon nearly growls. 

He pushes your body off of him until the back of your head touches the plush pillows. He puts his mouth underneath your jaw and kisses you every place he can touch. Sunghoon drags his tongue all over and tastes the salty sheen of your sweat, grinning to himself. His canines graze your pulse point and you buck your hips until the underside of his wet cock is brushing against yours. 

“Do you want me as badly as I want you?” he whispers against your neck. 

“I need you more than you know.” 

“Fuck. I want all of you.” 

You spread your legs wide open and Sunghoon takes this opportunity to reach between your bodies to guide his tip to your entrance after pulling your panties to the side again. The push is slow and monstrous, unlike the times you’ve had sex with him before. He feels bigger somehow. More girth than earlier this morning. The stretch is deliciously painful and the sting burns no matter how wet you are. 

You both moan out into the open when he slips it in. Sunghoon looks like something devilish when he shuts his eyes while moaning. He’s so fucking hot that it’s not fair at all. His face becomes flushed and his forehead glistens with the sweat he’s built up eating you out. He buries himself to the hilt until you feel his warm sack on your ass. 

Your toes curl and you both feel the way your hole flutters around Sunghoon’s dick. His breaths are slow and deep. They make you more aroused, especially in the quiet of the night with nothing but the moonlight illumination through the uncovered windows. 

Sunghoon doesn’t snap his hips like you expect him to. He raises his hips and rolls them in slowly as if trying to savor every drag of your walls against his wet cock. He’s so slow that you hear your combined breaths trying to regain some kind of dignity and failing. The wet sounds add to your euphoria. Sunghoon starts to increase his speed, but not by much. 

“Perfect,” he mutters to himself. “So fucking perfect.” 

He braces both of his hands on either side of you. Sunghoon’s muscular bicep comes into view and makes you clench around him, to which he hissed and loses his composure, pushing his chest to yours. Your nipples squeeze under his skin. His body is so warm against you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt like you lost your mind before this very moment. Sunghoon feels like he’s reached every untouched crevice in your body and it makes you feel like you're frozen in time. You don’t run from this pleasure either. You stay right where you are and tell yourself you deserve to have good sex and you deserve Sunghoon. 

You’ve enticed him. Sunghoon widens his own legs to better angle himself until he’s plunging his dick straight into you. The sheer force and depth at which he’s fucking you feels incredible. He doesn’t seem like he’s thinking at all. He acts like this is his primal instinct and he’s letting that version of himself takeover. 

Sunghoon groans with the sexual frustration he has within him and drills himself into you like he’s trying to make the two of you become one. His hips start to lose control the faster he thrusts into you, his cock warm and heavy even at the pace he’s setting. It’s all so hot. 

You think you might love him so much that walking away would shatter you. Your heart can’t help but choose him every time, and some part of you is desperate to know if Sunghoon feels the same way about you. 

Whimpers pour past your lips the faster Sunghoon fucks you. The gradual pace tells you he’s the absolute master of self indulgence and patience. You see elements of it when you see him in the office, and it’s always made you wonder just how patient he can be. Tonight, it seems like he’s trying to draw out your combined pleasure for as long as humanly possible. 

“Oh god,” Sunghoon chokes. He’s pounding into you with relentless force. “I’m cumming, shit shit shit.” 

He holds his breath, focusing on his orgasm. Sunghoon breaks you out of any thought that isn’t right here and right now. He arches his back so beautifully when he’s close and it drives his cock into you that much deeper. 

Sunghoon glances down at you before shutting his eyes and letting the first droplets of cum seep into you. You tighten your grip around his dick in preparation for what’s to come. Only, this time surprise you more than the time. 

“I love you.” 

He moans it without caring how loud he’s being. Sunghoon’s admission triggers your own orgasm and you thrash your body around while he chases your hips to settle you in your place beneath him. Your pussy clenched over and over again, collecting every drop from his leaning tip. Your shared orgasm leaks from the empty space between the two of you and you feel it drip between your legs. 

It’s like your heart is bursting with warmth and shock at the same time. Electricity flies off of your body and your mind runs so fast that you don’t know if you’ll ever come down from this particular high. Sunghoon finds your lips and kisses you with fervor and passion while he slows down his thrusts. He’s kissing you like he’s trying to make sure you’re real. He doesn’t pull away or pull out, even when he’s becoming soft. 

“You love me?” you ask.

“Yeah.” Sunghoon laughs incredulously and looks down at you. “Yes I fucking do.” 

“Sunghoon—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same, because I know you do. Your body tells me everything I need.”

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same.” Sunghoon soothes your lips over with a gentle kiss.

“I’ve loved you for a while now. I just started listening to my heart.” 

“That was so corny.” 

He grins against your mouth. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Well…you’re lucky you’re cute.” 

“Are you not gonna say it back?” he teases. You look away and pretend to be confused. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Brat,” he says, pushing his half hard cock deeper in you to make you yelp. “Say you love me back, baby.” 

You don’t need that much convincing.

“I love you.

***

he lies back against the pillows but sleep refuses to come. again. the same nightmare from last night flickers behind his eyes every time he closes them — blurry images of forgetting choreography, of the crowd turning silent, of reaching for your hand only for you to fade away.

he turns to his side, hugging a pillow that smells nothing like you, and sighs. practice today was rough. his moves felt stiff, his focus scattered. the members noticed but said nothing, giving him space he doesn’t really want.

his phone lights up on the nightstand. it’s a message from you, sent hours ago because of the time difference. thinking about you. hope the show went amazing today. love you so much.

he stares at the words until they blur. his chest tightens. god, he needs to hear your voice.

he dials before he can talk himself out of it. the phone rings once, twice, and then your sleepy voice answers.

“sunghoon? baby, are you okay?”

he tries to speak but his throat closes up. the exhaustion, the loneliness, the pressure — everything crashes down at once. a quiet sob slips out, then another. soon he’s crying properly, shoulders shaking as he presses the phone closer to his ear.

“i… i miss you,” he whispers, voice cracking. “so much it hurts. i can’t sleep. can’t even practice right. everything feels wrong without you here.”

you’re instantly awake on the other end. he can hear you shifting, probably sitting up in bed back home. your voice turns soft and soothing, the way it always does when you comfort him.

“oh hoonie… i’m right here. tell me what’s going on. breathe with me, okay?”

he tries. he really does. you talk him through it — reminding him how proud you are, how the fans love him, how this tour is temporary and soon he’ll be back in your arms. you tell him silly stories about your day, about the cat you saw on your walk that looked like him when he pouts. for a few minutes it helps. his breathing evens out and the tears slow.

but then another wave hits. the nightmare flashes again. the emptiness in his chest feels too big.

“it’s not enough,” he admits quietly, ashamed. “i know you’re trying and i love you for it but… i feel so lost right now. my body hurts. my mind won’t stop. i keep dreaming you’re gone and i wake up reaching for you and you’re not there.”

you stay silent for a second, then speak with even more tenderness. “i wish i could hold you right now. i’d play with your hair until you fell asleep. i’d make you that tea you like and kiss your forehead until the bad thoughts leave. you’re doing so well, sunghoon. even on hard days you’re still my strong, beautiful boy.”

the praise makes fresh tears spill. he curls up smaller on the bed, phone tucked between his ear and the pillow. you stay on the call for over an hour, voice never wavering even as sleep tugs at you. you sing softly — one of the songs he wrote for you — and it almost lulls him. almost.

eventually his sobs turn to quiet sniffles. you whisper goodnight promises, telling him to try and rest, that tomorrow will be softer. when the call ends, the hotel room feels even emptier. sunghoon stares at the ceiling, phone still clutched in his hand, missing you worse than before.

the next day is worse. rehearsals drag. his voice cracks during vocal warmups and he keeps missing counts in the choreography. the choreographer pulls him aside gently, suggesting he rest, but sunghoon shakes his head. he pushes through, sweat mixing with frustrated tears he refuses to let fall. back at the hotel he skips dinner with the members, claiming he’s tired. in reality he just wants to lie in the dark and think about you.

night falls again and the cycle repeats. another nightmare — this time he’s lost in an endless airport, announcements calling your name but you never appear. he wakes up gasping, heart racing, skin clammy. it’s 3am local time. he knows it’s late for you but he calls anyway.

you pick up on the second ring, voice thick with sleep but full of concern. “sunghoon?”

“i had another nightmare,” he chokes out immediately. tears are already falling. “i can’t do this anymore. i feel sick and empty and i just… i need you.”

you comfort him again, stronger this time. you tell him stories from when you first met, how his shy smile made your heart flip. you describe in detail what you would do if you were there — wrapping him in your favorite blanket, cuddling until he feels safe, tracing patterns on his back. your voice is a lifeline, warm and steady, but he can hear the worry underneath it. no matter how much you say, the distance feels like an ocean.

“i love you,” you repeat for the tenth time. “this tour is hard but you’re not alone. i’m with you even from here.”

he nods even though you can’t see, wiping his face. “i know. i’m sorry for calling so much. i’m being a burden.”

“you are never a burden,” you say firmly. “cry if you need to. i’m here.”

the call lasts even longer this time. nearly two hours of you holding space for his tears and exhaustion. when he finally hangs up, a small spark of determination lights in his chest. he loves you too much to keep dragging you through his pain from so far away.

the following morning he moves through schedules like a ghost. another show, another flawless performance on the outside while inside he feels like he’s crumbling. during the encore he looks out at the sea of lightsticks and forces a smile, but his mind is on you. on how your eyes light up when he comes home. on how your laugh fills every empty corner of his life.

back in the hotel after the show, he showers and collapses on the bed. he doesn’t call this time. instead he texts you goodnight messages, heart emojis and promises that he’s trying. but inside the ache grows.

you, meanwhile, are pacing your apartment. the last few calls have left you restless. hearing sunghoon cry, hearing the exhaustion in his voice, it breaks something in you. you’ve tried everything you can from this distance — words, songs, memories — but it’s not enough. he needs more. he needs you.

you sit at your desk and open your laptop. your hands shake a little as you check flight schedules. the tour dates, the cities, the time zones. there it is — a flight leaving in two days that would get you to him. your heart races. you have enough savings. you can take the time off work. you’ve already quietly arranged things in your mind.

you don’t tell him. this has to be a surprise. something tangible to break through the fog he’s in. you imagine his face when you show up at his hotel door, how his tired eyes would widen, how he’d pull you into his arms and finally breathe easy.

packing is quiet and careful. you fold his favorite hoodie of yours, the one he always steals, and tuck in small gifts — his favorite snacks from home, a new pair of warm socks, printed photos of the two of you. every item feels like a promise. you’ll hold him through the nightmares. you’ll rub his back until he falls asleep. you’ll be there when he wakes up.

as you zip the suitcase, a soft smile settles on your face. the distance has been too long, the pain too heavy. soon you’ll close that gap. you check the flight confirmation one more time, heart full of love and nervous excitement.

you’re going to him.

sunghoon wakes up the next morning with puffy eyes and a heavier heart than usual. the hotel room feels sterile, the sheets too crisp, the air too cold without your warmth beside him. he drags himself through soundcheck, his body moving on autopilot while his mind replays your voice from the calls. you sounded so worried last night. he hates making you feel that way. during a short break he leans against the stage wall, scrolling through old photos of you two — your smile buried in his neck during a winter date, your hands covering his eyes as a surprise birthday cake appears. it makes the ache sharper.

the members try to cheer him up. jake slaps his back lightly and says something about powering through, but sunghoon only nods weakly. he performs that night with everything he has left, pouring the loneliness into the choreography, letting the bright lights blur his vision. the fans scream his name and it helps for those few hours, but the second he steps off stage the exhaustion crashes back down. another night of fighting sleep awaits.

meanwhile you sit on the plane, heart hammering the entire flight. the hours stretch endlessly as you clutch the armrest, imagining his tired face, his soft cries through the phone. you replay his voice in your head and it fuels you. when the plane finally lands you feel a rush of nervous energy. you text a vague hope you're resting well tonight so he doesn’t suspect anything, then grab your suitcase and head straight to the hotel where the team is staying. you had messaged their manager earlier in secret, explaining the situation, and he kindly arranged a keycard for you after confirming with the staff.

the elevator ride up feels eternal. your hands shake as you stand in front of his door. it’s late — past midnight — and you know he’s probably trying and failing to sleep again. you take a deep breath, slide the keycard, and push the door open quietly.

the room is dark except for the faint city glow through the curtains. sunghoon lies curled up on the bed, back facing the door, shoulders tense even in sleep. his breathing is uneven. you set your suitcase down gently and slip off your shoes, heart swelling at the sight of him looking so small and drained.

you approach the bed slowly and slide under the covers behind him. your arm wraps around his waist, pulling yourself flush against his back. he stirs immediately, body tensing.

“what—” he starts, voice hoarse and confused.

“shh, it’s me,” you whisper against his neck, pressing a soft kiss there. “i’m here, hoonie.”

sunghoon flips around so fast he almost knocks you off the bed. his eyes widen in the dim light, disbelief written all over his face. for a second he just stares, like you might vanish if he blinks. then his face crumples and he pulls you into his chest so tightly you can barely breathe.

“you’re… you’re really here?” his voice breaks on the words. tears soak into your shirt instantly as he buries his face in your hair. his whole body trembles against yours. “how? when? i thought i was dreaming again.”

you rub slow circles on his back, feeling the tension start to melt under your touch. “i couldn’t stand hearing you like that anymore. i booked the flight right after our last call. surprise.”

he lets out a shaky laugh mixed with a sob, hands roaming your back like he needs to confirm you’re solid and real. “you flew all the way here for me… i don’t deserve you.”

“you deserve everything,” you murmur, kissing his forehead, then his damp cheeks, then his lips softly. he tastes like salt from the tears and the faint mint of his toothpaste. the kiss deepens slowly, full of longing and relief, his fingers threading through your hair as if afraid you’ll disappear.

you spend the next hour just holding each other. sunghoon clings to you like a lifeline, head on your chest while you play with his hair exactly the way he loves. you whisper all the comforts you couldn’t give him over the phone — how proud you are, how strong he is even when it feels impossible, how much you missed his scent and his little pout when he’s tired. his breathing finally evens out, the nightmares staying away for the first time in days because your heartbeat anchors him.

“i love you,” he mumbles sleepily against your skin, already drifting off. “more than anything.”

“i love you too. sleep now. i’ve got you.”

the next morning sunghoon wakes up first. he watches you sleep for a long time, tracing your features with gentle fingers, a soft smile on his face that hasn’t appeared in weeks. when you stir he peppers your face with kisses until you giggle.

“best surprise ever,” he says, voice still raspy from sleep and crying. he looks better already — eyes less shadowed, shoulders more relaxed.

you make him stay in bed while you order room service — warm soup for his throat, his favorite fruits, and steaming tea. you feed him bites between soft conversations, making him laugh with stories from home. he eats more than he has in days, leaning into your side the entire time.

later you join him at the venue. the members light up when they see you, teasing sunghoon about how whipped he is, but their relief is obvious. during rehearsals you sit in the corner and watch him. knowing you’re there seems to unlock something — his moves become sharper, his voice steadier. every few minutes he glances over at you with that bright, lovesick smile that makes your heart flutter.

during a break he pulls you into an empty dressing room and kisses you like he’s making up for all the lost time. slow and deep at first, then playful as he lifts you onto the counter, nose brushing yours.

“you make everything feel easy again,” he admits between kisses. “i was falling apart without you.”

“you were never falling apart,” you reply, cupping his face. “you were just carrying too much alone. now we share the weight.”

that night’s concert is one of his best on the entire tour. you watch from the side stage, heart bursting with pride as he shines under the lights. during the slower songs he looks straight toward where you stand, singing with new emotion. the fans sense the shift in energy and the cheers grow louder.

after the show he finds you immediately backstage, still sweaty and buzzing with adrenaline. he picks you up and spins you around, laughing freely for the first time in weeks.

back at the hotel the two of you take a long shower together. not rushed or heated — just tender. you wash his hair while he hums happily, eyes closed in bliss. afterward you tuck him into bed and crawl in beside him, legs tangled, his head resting on your chest again.

“no nightmares tonight?” you ask softly, fingers drawing patterns on his scalp.

he shakes his head, pressing closer. “none when you’re here. you chase them all away.”

you stay with him for the rest of that tour leg. every morning you wake up wrapped in each other. you attend practices and make sure he eats properly and rests between schedules. you leave little notes in his bag — you’re my favorite person or can’t wait to cuddle later — and he finds them during the day, sending you hearts and shy selfies in return.

on off days you explore the city together hand in hand. he buys you matching keychains and insists on taking couple photos even when he’s tired.

at night he falls asleep easily now, whispering love confessions until his voice fades. the hard times still come in waves — another tough rehearsal, another wave of homesickness — but now he turns to you instead of suffering alone. you hold him through the moments when tears return, kissing them away until he smiles again.

one quiet evening in another hotel room, city lights twinkling outside, sunghoon pulls you onto his lap on the couch. his arms circle your waist as he looks at you with those deep, sincere eyes.

“i was really struggling,” he says softly. “the nightmares, the pressure, missing you… it felt endless. but you came. you always come when i need you most. i don’t know what i did to deserve someone who loves me like this.”

you lean forward and rest your forehead against his. “you deserve the world, sunghoon. and i’m going to keep reminding you every single day.”

he kisses you then — slow, grateful, full of all the emotions he couldn’t express over the phone. the kiss turns into lazy cuddles that stretch into hours of quiet conversation and gentle touches. outside the tour continues with its chaos and demands, but inside these moments, it’s just the two of you. safe. warm. together.

and sunghoon thinks, as he falls asleep with your heartbeat steady under his ear, that this kind of love is what carries — and will carry — him through anything.

forever and ever.

© jongst4r, 2026

You'd been on the guest list before, your brand had collaborated with half the houses present tonight alone, but this year felt different. 

This year, you weren't just a designer in attendance. You were the fiancée of one of Prada's youngest ambassadors, and the whole world knew it.

You'd spent the entire morning preparing. Not because you needed the time, you could throw together a look in twenty minutes flat, a skill honed from years of running your own label, but because the outfit required precision. 

Every detail was deliberate, every accessory a statement, and if there was one thing you refused to do, it was to show up to a Prada event looking anything less than editorial.

The fuzzy grey high-neck winter jacket was your own design, a prototype from your upcoming fall-winter collection that you'd finished stitching at two in the morning the night before. 

The thick scarf wrapped around your neck was a mix of blue, white, grey, and brown plaid patterns, hand-woven by a small atelier that was run by the sister of your online friend in Scotland that you'd been supporting since your brand first turned a profit. 

The black mini-skirt was deceptively simple, a high-waisted silhouette that hugged your hips just right, the hem hitting mid-thigh. 

Your brown winter boots were lined with shearling, practical but polished, the kind of footwear that said you understood the assignment: fashion first, frostbite second.

But the highlight, the pièce de résistance, was the tights.

Black polka dot tights. 

Tiny white dots scattered across the sheer black fabric, close enough together to form a pattern but far enough apart that you could still see skin underneath. The dots caught the light differently depending on the angle, shifting from stark white to almost pearlescent when you crossed your legs. You'd spent an embarrassing amount of time deliberating over them, holding up pair after pair in front of your full-length mirror until Riki had finally wandered into your studio, chin resting on your shoulder, arms looping around your waist, and murmured, "The polka dots. Obviously."

You were also wearing a pair of black-framed glasses, rounded, slightly oversized, with thin metal arms, that Riki had gifted you on your six-month anniversary. He'd picked them up from a vintage shop in Harajuku during a tour stop, tucked them into his carry-on between his passport and a half-eaten pack of melon bread, and presented them to you in the back of a van with his manager yelling at him to hurry up. 

The frames suited you in a way that made his chest tight every time you put them on, which was precisely why he'd bought them. Your hair was curled at the ends, soft waves framing your face, and your bangs were clipped back with two small silver clips, half-moon shaped, another one of your designs. White fuzzy earmuffs sat over your ears, the kind that looked like they belonged on a snow bunny in a 1960s ski film.

When you finally emerged from the bedroom, Riki was leaning against the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone with a glass of water in his other hand. He glanced up, did a full double-take, and then just — stopped.

His phone slipped. Not all the way, not dramatically, but enough that he fumbled to catch it, his fingers closing around it a second too late, and it clattered against the marble countertop with a sound that made you wince.

"Riki—"

"Don't move."

"Huh?"

"I said don't move." He set his glass down carefully, deliberately, like he was afraid any sudden movement would shatter the image in front of him. His eyes dragged over you slowly, from the earmuffs perched on your head to the glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose, down the column of your neck wrapped in plaid, the grey jacket, the mini-skirt, the polka dot tights, the boots, and something in his expression shifted. His lips parted. His throat worked. He looked, for a moment, like a man who had just realised he was thoroughly, devastatingly out of his depth.

"You look," he started, and then stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. "You look unreal."

"You already said that when I tried on the jacket last week."

"I meant it then and I mean it now." He pushed off the counter and crossed the kitchen in three long strides, his hands finding your waist like they were magnetised to the spot. He dipped his head, pressing his forehead to yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath fan across your lips. "The tights," he said, voice low. His fingers skimmed down your side, over your hip, settling at the bare strip of thigh between your skirt hem and the top of your boots. "The tights are going to be a problem."

"Ow, you don't like them?"

"I like them too much." He kissed you then, soft and slow, his thumb tracing circles on the outside of your thigh where the polka dots pressed against your skin. When he pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded and there was a faint smudge of your lip gloss on his bottom lip. "We're going to be late."

"You started it."

"I'm aware." He smiled, the smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and showed the slight overlap of his front teeth. "Come on, baby. Car's waiting."

Riki's outfit was, by his own admission, "an attempt at restraint." A black puffer jacket with a fur-trimmed hood that made him look like he'd stepped out of a streetwear lookbook, a white sweater peeking out from underneath the hem and collar, baggy denim jeans that sat low on his hips in that effortlessly cool way that only he could pull off, and his trusty pair of winter boots, the same ones he'd worn to three different fashion weeks and refused to replace because, in his words, "they're broken in perfectly." Around his neck was a striped blue scarf that you were eighty percent sure he'd stolen from your dad's closet last Christmas, but you didn't have the heart to call him out on it because he looked so damn cozy wearing it.

The estate was beautiful in the way that only places with old money could be, ivory walls and wrought-iron gates, gravel paths that crunched underfoot, and a sprawling garden that had been transformed for the event. 

Heaters stood at intervals along the walkways, glowing orange against the early evening dark, and sheer tents had been erected over the main areas, their fabric catching the golden light of the chandeliers suspended within. 

The air smelled like pine and expensive perfume, and everywhere you looked, someone was wearing something that cost more than a semester of tuition.

You and Riki entered together, his hand resting on the small of your back, and the cameras erupted. Flash after flash after flash, a wall of white light that made your glasses reflect like mirrors, and Riki's grip on you tightened, not out of possessiveness, but out of practice. He'd learned to guide you through crowds like this, his body angling to shield you from the worst of the surge, his hand a steady anchor against the chaos.

"Over here, Mr. Nishimura!"

"Miss! Miss, over here! The tights—who designed them?"

"Are those your own brand? Can you confirm—"

You smiled, tilted your chin, let the cameras capture the outfit from every angle. Riki did the same beside you, effortless, practiced, the product of years in an industry that demanded you be both accessible and untouchable. But just before you stepped past the photo wall and into the venue proper, he leaned down and pressed his lips to your temple, and the resulting shutter sound was deafening.

"You're killing me," he muttered against your hair.

"Behave."

"No."

The event was the kind of thing that looked effortless but required an exhausting amount of social choreography. You and Riki had been seated at different tables, his as Prada's ambassador, yours as the founder of your label, and while the tables were only about twenty feet apart, the distance felt insurmountable in a room where every conversation was a negotiation and every smile was a calculated move.

You handled your end with the ease of someone who'd been doing this since she was nineteen, when your grandmother's old sewing machine had been your only investment and your kitchen table had been your cutting room. 

You shook hands with buyers, charmed editors, laughed at jokes that weren't funny, and somehow managed to compliment someone's shoes without lying. 

Your grandmother had raised you to be warm, to hug people when you met them, to touch their arm when you laughed, to lean in close when they spoke so they knew you were listening. It was second nature to you, as automatic as breathing, and in the fashion industry, where everyone was accustomed to a certain degree of frostiness, your affection was disarming.

Which was how you found yourself in conversation with a man whose name you hadn't quite caught, something French, maybe, or Belgian, who had apparently designed the installation's centrepiece and was very keen to tell you about it.

"Your work is extraordinary," he was saying, his accent rounding out the consonants in a way that made everything sound like a compliment. "The way you construct silhouettes—it's architectural. Structural. I see a lot of myself in it."

"Oh, thank you!" You beamed at him, genuine and bright, because you appreciated any kind of comparison to architecture. Your grandmother had been a seamstress, yes, but she'd also been the daughter of a carpenter, and she'd always told you that building a garment was no different from building a house, you needed a strong frame, good materials, and a steady hand. "That means a lot coming from you. The centrepiece is incredible, by the way. The use of negative space—"

He stepped closer. You didn't notice. You were too busy gesturing at the installation, your hands painting shapes in the air the way they always did when you were excited about something. He reached up and adjusted the clip in your bangs, his fingers brushing against your hairline, and said, "This was falling. I fixed it."

"Oh! Thank you," you said, smiling. "These clips are tricky, they slip sometimes—"

"Your glasses too. May I?" And before you could respond, he was sliding them further up the bridge of your nose, his fingertips grazing your cheek, and you blinked at the proximity but didn't pull away because why would you? He was being helpful. He was being nice. That was a thing people did — they helped each other. Your grandmother had always said that kindness was free and should be given freely, and you'd lived your whole life by that philosophy.

Across the venue, Riki was in the middle of a conversation with a Prada executive about an upcoming campaign, and he was doing an admirable job of appearing engaged. 

He was nodding at the right moments, asking the right follow-up questions, even managing a convincing laugh when the executive made a joke about a rival house. But his attention was divided. It had been divided since the moment you'd separated, his eyes tracking you across the room like a compass needle finding north, and right now, that needle was spinning wildly.

He saw it all.

He saw the man lean in too close — close enough that his breath was probably visible in the cold air between your faces. He saw the hand that reached up to fix your clip, fingers lingering a beat too long against your hair. He saw the way the man adjusted your glasses, his touch drifting from the frame to your cheek like it belonged there. He saw the way you smiled up at the man, bright and completely, heartbreakingly oblivious, because you were you, and you assumed the best in everyone, and it had never once occurred to you that someone might be using the excuse of helpfulness to touch you in ways that made Riki's blood pressure spike.

His grip on his champagne flute tightened. The glass was sturdy, Prada didn't skimp on glassware, but he could feel the tension in his knuckles, the fine tremor of restraint running through his forearm.

"Nishimura?" The executive's voice cut through. "You had thoughts on the Milan venue?"

"Sorry, yeah." He dragged his gaze back to the conversation, forced his expression into something neutral. "The Milan venue is great. The lighting is the main thing—we need to make sure the—"

The man had his hand on your shoulder now. Your shoulder. He was leaning down to say something near your ear, his thumb rubbing small circles against the wool of your jacket, and you were nodding along, completely unaware of the way his eyes were tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck, the dip of your collarbone visible above the high neck of your jacket.

Riki smiled through it. He smiled through the next conversation too, and the one after that, and the one after that. He smiled when a photographer asked for a solo shot, and he smiled when a stylist complimented his scarf, and he smiled when a fellow ambassador asked about the ring on your finger, visible now that you'd taken your gloves off to accept a drink, because what the hell could he say? That he wanted to cross the room, slide his arm around your waist, and tell every man within a ten-foot radius to back the fuck off? That he wanted to bite the spot where that stranger's thumb had touched your shoulder? That he was actively restraining himself from doing something that would end up on every gossip account by midnight?

He could practically see the tweets already. 

Oh my god.

PRADA’S NISHIMURA RIKI CAUSES SCENE AT PRADA EVENT—JEALOUS BOYFRIEND OR JUST BAD TEMPER? followed by a thread of clips taken from unflattering angles and captioned with takes so hot they could melt the ice on the garden paths. 

He could see the think pieces, the psychoanalysis, the stan Twitter wars between people who thought he was justified and people who thought he was toxic, and neither side would be right because neither side knew the truth — they didn't know that you were the most oblivious person on the planet, that you thought everyone was just being friendly, that if someone flirted with you using the subtlety of a sledgehammer you'd probably just think they had great posture.

So Riki stayed where he was. He smiled. He networked. He kept his grip on his champagne flute tight enough that the tendons in his hand stood out like cords, and he watched, and he waited, and every time the man touched your shoulder, three times, he counted them, three goddamn times, he filed the number away like a brand seared into his memory.

By the time the event wound down, Riki had shaken approximately forty hands, smiled through approximately sixty conversations, and consumed approximately four glasses of champagne on an empty stomach. 

He was tipsy, not sloppy, not sloppy enough for anyone to notice, but just enough that the edges of things had gone soft and warm and his tongue felt loose behind his teeth. The buzz was pleasant, distracting, a buffer between his brain and the image of that man's hand on your shoulder that he kept replaying like a scene he couldn't stop watching.

You found him near the exit, adjusting his scarf with one hand and his phone with the other, and you slipped your arm through his like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Ready to go, baby?"

"Yeah." His voice came out rougher than intended. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, let's go."

The car was waiting — a sleek black sedan with tinted windows, booked privately through the service Riki always used when he didn't want the company van's driver to overhear whatever half-coherent conversation would inevitably happen on the ride home. You climbed in first, pulling your earmuffs off and shaking out your hair, and Riki followed, immediately reaching for the partition button to close off the driver's compartment.

Then you were on him.

Not in a sexual way, not consciously, but in the way you always were when you'd been apart from him for more than an hour. You pressed yourself against his side, your cheek finding the curve of his shoulder, your fingers walking up the front of his puffer jacket to fiddle with the zipper pull. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, then another to the spot just below his ear, and you could feel the way his pulse jumped under your lips even though his posture remained carefully, deliberately relaxed.

"I missed you," you murmured against his skin. "The event was so, so long, baby. I kept looking over at you."

"Did you?" His arm came up around your shoulders, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against the curve of your arm. The gesture was affectionate, automatic, but there was something in the rhythm of it that felt… off. Like a metronome that was slightly out of time. "I was watching you too."

"Were you?" You smiled against his neck, your nose brushing the collar of his sweater. "Did you like how I handled the Barneys buyer? I think I got them to commit to the spring line—"

"You seemed pretty busy." The words were casual. Too casual. The kind of casual that was constructed, deliberate, a mask placed over something sharper. "With that guy."

"What guy?" You pulled back just enough to look at him, your brow furrowed. Your glasses had slipped down your nose again, and you pushed them up absently. "Oh—you mean the installation designer? He was super sweet, Ki! He helped me fix my clip, and he had really interesting things to say about textile architecture. Did you know he studied under—"

"He was flirting with you."

The car took a turn, and the glow of a streetlight swept across Riki's face, illuminating the hard set of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows, the way his eyes were fixed on the window instead of on you. You stared at him, blinking.

"He was what?"

"Flirting. With you." Each word was clipped, precise, like he was biting them in half before they could escape. "He touched your hair. Your face. Your shoulder—three times. He was leaning in so close I could practically see his dental work."

"Oh." You sat back slightly, processing this information the way you processed most social cues with a delay long enough to be endearing and a little bit tragic. "He was... flirting? With me? But he was just being nice. He fixed my glasses, Riki. Who fixes someone's glasses if they're not being nice?"

"Someone who wants an excuse to touch your face," Riki said flatly. "Someone who sees an opening and takes it because you're too sweet to notice that he's not being nice, he's being interested, and there's a difference, and you—"

He stopped himself. Exhaled through his nose. His jaw worked, the muscle there jumping, and you watched the tension ride through his frame like a current, shoulders rigid, fingers flexing against your arm, the tendons in his neck taut. He looked like he was physically holding something back, and the realisation hit you like cold water.

"Baby," you said softly, reaching up to touch his face. "Hey. Look at me."

He did. His eyes were dark in the low light of the car, the amber of the passing streetlamps catching in them intermittently, and there was something raw there, something unguarded that made your chest ache. You'd seen Riki walk for ten thousand people. You'd seen him navigate boardrooms and red carpets and interviews with the ease of someone who'd been trained to be likable since he was fourteen. 

But this — this was different. 

This was your Riki, the one who got sulky when you ate the last mochi, the one who practiced his confession in the mirror for three days before actually saying it, the one who was sitting in the back of a black sedan with champagne-warmth in his veins and jealousy sitting heavy and obvious in his chest.

"I'm sorry," you said, and you meant it. You were sorry — not for being friendly, because that was who you were and he'd never ask you to change, but for not noticing, for making him sit through that, for being the kind of person who could have a man practically draw her a map to his intentions and still think he was just being polite. "I didn't realize. I would've—I should have—"

"It's not your fault." He said it quietly, firmly, and his hand came up to cover yours on his cheek, pressing your palm against his skin like he needed the warmth. "I know that's just how you are. I know you don't see it. That's not—you're not the problem, okay? That bitch is the problem. I just—" He exhaled again, sharper this time, and his eyes fluttered shut. "It drove me insane. Standing there, watching him touch you like that, and I couldn't do anything. I couldn't just walk over there without it being a whole thing, and I knew if I said something it'd be everywhere, and—"

"Ki."

"—and he just kept touching you, and you were smiling at him, fuck, and I know you didn't mean anything by it, but you're mine, and—"

"Riki."

He stopped. Opened his eyes. Looked at you with that expression you'd only ever seen in the privacy of your shared spaces, hungry and soft and a little bit desperate, like he was standing at the edge of something and needed permission to fall.

"I'm yours," you said simply. "You know that."

"I know." His voice was rough. The champagne had loosened something in him, stripped away the careful composure, and what was left was raw and wanting. "I know. I just—need to remind myself."

The rest of the drive was quiet, but it wasn't the comfortable kind. 

It was the kind of quiet that hummed with tension, that filled the space between your bodies like static electricity, that made every point of contact, his hand on your thigh, your head on his shoulder, his thumb tracing absent patterns on the inside of your wrist, feel charged and significant. 

You pressed more kisses to his cheek, leaving faint traces of lipstick like signatures, and he let you, his eyes half-closed and his jaw still tight, and the offness you'd sensed earlier crystallised into something you could finally name.

He was jealous. He was jealous, and he was tipsy, and he was holding himself together with the kind of restraint that was fraying at the edges.

The house was warm when you walked in, you'd left the smart thermostat on before you left, and the heat had been cranking for the past four hours, turning the space into a cocoon against the winter chill outside. 

You kicked off your boots in the entryway, your feet finding the hardwood in just your tights, and you were reaching for the zipper of your jacket when Riki's hands found you.

Not your jacket. 

You. 

His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his face pressing into the curve of your neck, and his entire body folded into yours like a building collapsing in slow motion. 

He was heavy, taller than you by nearly a head, broader across the shoulders, all long limbs and lean muscle, and when he let go, he let go, his weight sagging against your back until you staggered slightly under the pressure.

"Whoa, hey—"

"You're mine." The words were muffled against your neck, damp and warm, and his arms tightened around your waist like he was trying to press you into himself, eliminate any space between your bodies. "You're mine, and he was touching you, and I couldn't—I wanted to—"

"I know, baby. I know." You turned in his arms, your hands coming up to cradle his face, and he looked at you with eyes that were glassy and dark and so painfully honest that it made your heart crack open. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've noticed, I should've—"

"Don't apologize." He shook his head, his hair falling across his forehead in that way that always made you want to push it back. "Don't. It's not—it's not your fault. You're too good. You're too good and people take advantage of it and it makes me—"

He broke off, his throat working, and something shifted in his expression. 

The whine was still there, the babyish, I-need-complaint pout that he wore when he was feeling small and wanted to be coddled, but underneath it, something else was surfacing. 

Something harder. Hotter. The jealousy that had been simmering all evening was reaching its boiling point, and the warmth from the champagne was fanning the flames.

"Enough." His voice dropped. Not angry, never angry with you, but firm, decided, the kind of firm that brokered no argument. "I've been patient all night. I've been good. I've smiled and shaken hands and let that man put his hands on what's mine without saying a word, and I'm done being patient."

Your breath caught. "Riki—"

"I need to mark you." He said it like a confession, like something he'd been holding behind his teeth all evening and could finally release. "I need to mark you, doll. I need to see my marks on you so that the next time someone thinks they can touch you, they'll see them and know."

He kissed you then, not the soft, reverent kisses from the car but something deeper, harder, his teeth catching your bottom lip and tugging until you gasped into his mouth. 

His hands were everywhere: cupping your jaw, tangling in your hair, sliding down your back to grip your hips and pull you flush against him. You could feel the heat of him even through the layers of your jacket and his puffer, the hard line of his body pressing against yours, and the champagne on his tongue was sweet and sharp and made your head spin.

"Up," he muttered against your lips, and then his hands were under your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck and held on as he carried you down the hallway to your bedroom.

He kicked the door open, not hard enough to damage it, but hard enough that it bounced off the wall, and laid you down on the bed with a care that contradicted the urgency of his movements. You sank into the duvet, your hair fanning out across the pillows, and he stood over you for a moment, chest heaving, eyes dragging down your body like he was committing every detail to memory.

"Keep the tights on," he said, and his voice was hoarse.

You blinked up at him. "What?"

"The tights." He sank to his knees at the edge of the bed, his hands finding your ankles and sliding up reverently over the smooth fabric dotted with tiny white polka dots. "Keep them on, baby. I have... plans."

His fingers traced the pattern, pressing gently into the sheer fabric, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath. The polka dots were like Braille under his fingertips, tiny raised dots that he read like a language only he knew. 

He pushed your mini-skirt up, baring the expanse of your thighs, and the sound he made, low, guttural, somewhere between a groan and a growl, sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"God, these tights." He pressed his lips to your knee, then to the soft skin above it, the fabric of the tights a whisper-thin barrier between his mouth and your skin. "Do you have any idea what you've done to me tonight? Walking around in these—looking like that—and then letting some other man put his hands on you—"

"I didn't know—"

"I know you didn't, doll. That's what makes it worse." He kissed the inside of your thigh, open-mouthed and hot, and your breath hitched. "You're so trusting. So sweet. You think everyone's just being nice, and meanwhile I'm standing across the room watching some guy memorize the shape of your body through these—" He bit down. Not hard enough to hurt, not yet, but hard enough that you felt the pressure of his teeth through the thin fabric, and you let out a startled, breathy sound that was half gasp and half moan.

"Riki—"

"He touched your shoulder three times." He bit down again, harder this time, and this time there was no mistaking it, he was leaving a mark, his teeth indenting the skin of your inner thigh through the polka dot tights, and the contrast was devastating: the delicate pattern of dots, the dark fabric, and the red bloom of a bruise rising underneath. "Three times. I counted. I counted every single time his hand made contact with your body, and each time I wanted to break his fingers."

"Baby—"

"Three." He bit down again, higher up on your thigh, and you arched off the bed with a cry that you muffled against the back of your hand. The pain was sharp and bright, but it faded almost immediately into something warm and throbbing, and when you looked down, you could see the mark already forming, a dark, mouth-shaped bruise against the polka dot fabric, the white dots like witnesses to the claim.

"Two." Another bite, on the other thigh now, and his tongue swept over the mark after, soothing and wet and obscenely hot through the tights. You were trembling, your fingers twisted in the duvet, your glasses askew on your face, and he hadn't even taken off a single piece of your clothing.

"One." The last bite was the hardest, placed high on your inner thigh where the skin was softest and the tights were stretched thin, and you felt the sting of it all the way down to your toes. He pulled back to admire his work, and the sound he made, low, satisfied, almost predatory, made heat pool in your stomach. Three marks. Three whole ass bites. One for each time that man had touched you, each one a brand that would darken over the next few days into deep, mottled purple.

"Perfect," he breathed. His fingers traced the marks, pressing lightly, watching the way your breath stuttered. "You look so pretty with my marks on you, angel. So pretty. And everyone's gonna know. Not that they'd see these—" He dragged his thumb over the bruise on your inner thigh, and you whimpered. "But I'll know. And you'll know. And every time you move your legs tomorrow, you're going to feel them and remember that you're mine."

"I'm yours," you whispered, and you meant it with every cell in your body.

He smiled at that, not the sharp, possessive smile from before, but something softer, something that cracked through the jealousy like sunlight through clouds. "Yeah," he said, and his voice was gentle even though his hands were still pressing bruises into your thighs. "Yeah, you are."

He reached for the waistband of your tights then, hooking his fingers under the elastic and dragging them down your hips slowly, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of newly exposed skin. The tights peeled off like a second skin, the polka dots sliding away from the bruises he'd left, and he tossed them somewhere over his shoulder without looking. 

Your underwear followed, a scrap of black lace that he pulled down with his teeth, and the visual of it, Riki on his knees, his eyes dark and fixed on your face, his mouth dragging lace down your thighs, was enough to make your breath come in shallow, desperate pants.

"Ki, please—"

"Please what?" He settled between your legs, his breath warm against your inner thighs, his lips ghosting over the marks he'd left. "Tell me what you want, doll. You have a mouth for a reason."

"Your mouth. Please—I need—"

"What do you mean by please?" He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you needed him, and his tongue darted out to taste the mark he'd left. 

The sensation was electric, warm and not nearly enough, and you squirmed beneath him, your hips lifting off the bed in silent pleading.

"I need your mouth on me. Please, Ki. Please, baby."

"Good girl." The words vibrated against your skin, and then his mouth was on you, and you stopped thinking entirely.

He was thorough. 

He was always thorough, Riki had never done anything half-heartedly in his life, and that included this, but tonight there was an edge to it, a hunger that bordered on desperation. His tongue was hot and precise, mapping every fold and curve with the focus of a cartographer charting new territory, and when he found the spot that made your back arch off the mattress, he stayed there, circling and pressing and sucking until you were making sounds you didn't recognise.

"Riki—oh god—Ki—"

He groaned against you, the vibration of it shooting through your body like a shockwave, and his hands gripped your thighs hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises alongside the bite marks. 

He was making noises too, low and guttural sounds that were half-moan and half-growl, the kind of sounds that came from a man who was losing himself in the taste of you, who couldn't stop even if he wanted to, who was drunk on champagne and jealousy and the sweetness of your body on his tongue.

"You taste so good," he murmured against you, his voice wrecked. "So fucking good, angel. My doll. Mine."

"Yours—ah—yours, baby, I'm—"

He didn't let you finish the sentence. His tongue flattened against you, broad and wet and relentless, and he licked into you with a determination that made your vision blur. Your glasses were completely fogged now, the lenses clouded with heat and moisture, and you reached up blindly to pull them off, tossing them somewhere on the nightstand, and the world went soft and dark at the edges. Not that you needed to see. You could feel every stroke of his tongue, every press of his lips, every sharp inhale he took between your legs like he was breathing you in.

The orgasm built slowly, a tightening coil in your lower belly that wound tighter with every stroke of his tongue. You could feel it approaching, cresting, your thighs shaking around his head, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even though closer was physically impossible—

And then he stopped.

You made a sound of protest that was embarrassingly close to a sob, your hips chasing his mouth, but he pulled back just out of reach, his hands pressing your thighs down against the mattress. "Not yet," he said, and his voice was steady even though his lips were swollen and glistening and his chest was heaving. "You don't get to come yet."

"What—why—"

"Three." He said it simply, and the meaning crashed over you like cold water. Three. Three edges. Three denials. One for each time that man had touched your shoulder, one for each moment Riki had watched from across the room and done nothing. This was the reckoning.

"Riki, I can't—"

"You can." He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, gentle and reassuring. "You can, and you will. Because I asked you to. Because you're mine, and you're going to take what I give you, and you're going to be good for me. Can you do that, doll?"

Your eyes were stinging. Your body was thrumming with unresolved tension, every nerve ending screaming for release, and he was asking you to hold on, to wait, to endure. But the way he was looking at you, soft and dark and so full of love that it made your chest ache, made it impossible to say no.

"Yes," you whispered. "Yes, I can be good for you."

"My good girl." He smiled, and then he was moving, shedding his puffer jacket and pulling his sweater over his head, revealing the lean lines of his torso, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, and the faint definition of his abs. He was beautiful. He was always beautiful, but like this, dishevelled and hungry and looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, he was absolutely devastating.

"Come here," you whispered, reaching for him, and he went.

He kissed you as he settled over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, sweet and strange. His hands worked at the remaining pieces of your outfit, the jacket, the scarf, the mini-skirt, until you were bare beneath him, your skin flushed and dotted with the marks he'd already left, and he pulled back to look at you again.

"You're so beautiful," he said, and his voice cracked on the last word. "So fucking beautiful, and you're mine. Say it again."

"I'm yours, Ki."

"Again."

"I'm yours. Only yours. Always yours."

He kissed you harder, his hands roaming your body with a reverence that bordered on worship. He traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, the dip of your collarbone, his touch feather-light and burning. "This body," he murmured against your jaw. "This body is mine. Every inch of it. Every curve. Every mark." 

His lips found your breast, his tongue circling your nipple, and you arched into the wet heat with a broken moan. "He can look all he wants. He can fix your glasses and adjust your clips and touch your shoulder until his fingers fall off. But at the end of the night, this—" He bit down gently on the swell of your breast, and you keened. "—this comes home to me."

"Yes—yes, baby, always—"

"Open your mouth for me, doll."

You did, without hesitation, without question, because you trusted him with every fibre of your being and because the look in his eyes right now, the raw and naked need, made it impossible to do anything but surrender. 

He shifted, his knees bracketing your shoulders, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he freed himself from his jeans, the hard length of him bobbing heavily against his stomach.

He was big. 

You'd never gotten used to it — the first time you'd been together, you'd actually laughed, because what else were you supposed to do when confronted with something that looked like it belonged in a textbook? He'd been mortified until you'd explained, and then he'd been insufferably smug about it for approximately five weeks. Now, though, there was no laughter — only hunger, only want, only the desperate need to feel him in whatever way he'd give you.

"Tap my thigh if it's too much," he said, and his voice was gentle even though his hand was shaking where it gripped the headboard. "Okay?"

"Okay."

He pressed the head of his cock against your lips, and you opened wider, your tongue darting out to taste the salt of him, and the sound he made, a sharp, bitten-off groan that he tried to swallow and failed, sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. 

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust, and you felt the stretch of him, the weight, the girth, the way he filled your mouth until your jaw ached with the effort of accommodating him.

"Fuck," he breathed. His head fell back, the long line of his throat exposed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Fuck, doll, your mouth—"

You hummed around him, and his hips jerked forward, pushing himself deeper, and you fought your gag reflex bravely, your throat fluttering around the intrusion. He noticed, he always noticed, and his hand came down to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek in a gesture that was so tender it made your eyes water.

"You're doing so good," he said, and the praise washed over you like warm honey. "So good for me, angel. Taking me so well. My perfect girl."

He started to move then, shallow thrusts at first, letting you set the pace, but gradually deeper, faster, his hips rocking into your mouth with a rhythm that was steadily losing its restraint. 

The sounds he was making were obscene: low, rumbling moans that came from somewhere deep in his chest, punctuated by breathless curses and fragments of your name. He was vocal always, had been since the very beginning, the first time you'd been together he'd been so loud that his neighbour had pounded on the wall and he'd just laughed, breathless and unashamed, but tonight, with the champagne stripping away his inhibitions, he was practically singing.

"Ah—fuck, yes—just like that, doll—your mouth feels so—god—"

His hand fisted in your hair, not pulling, just holding, and his thrusts grew more erratic, his breathing more ragged, and you could feel him getting close, the way his muscles tensed, the way his moans pitched higher, the way his thighs trembled against your shoulders. 

But he pulled back before he could finish, his cock slipping from your lips with a wet sound that made you both groan, and he was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his eyes squeezed shut like he was physically holding himself together.

"Not yet," he said, more to himself than to you. "Not like that. I need—I need to be inside you when I come. Need to feel you."

He moved down your body, settling between your legs again, and this time when he kissed you, it was slow and deep and tasted like the two of you mixed together. 

You could feel him hot and hard against your stomach, the slick of him smearing across your skin, and you reached down to wrap your hand around him, but he caught your wrist and pinned it above your head.

"Patience," he murmured against your lips, and you whimpered because patience was the absolute last thing you had right now.

"I've been patient," you protested, and your voice came out wrecked, raw and hoarse from his cock in your throat and the moans you couldn't stop making. "Please, Ki—I've been so good—"

"You have," he agreed, and his free hand was sliding down your body, over the curve of your hip, between your legs, and his fingers found you dripping and swollen and so achingly sensitive that even the lightest touch made you jerk. "You've been so good for me, baby. My perfect, perfect girl. You deserve a reward, don't you?"

"Yes—please—"

He entered you in one long, slow thrust, and the sound you both made was identical, a broken, desperate moan that harmonised in the quiet of the bedroom. 

He filled you completely, the stretch of him bordering on too much and then settling into something that made your eyes roll back in your head, and he held himself there, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in ragged pants.

"Feel that?" He rolled his hips, a slow grind that pressed against every sensitive spot inside you, and you sobbed. "That's mine. You're mine. Say it."

"I'm yours—fuck—I'm yours, Ki—"

He started to move then, really move, and the pace he set was punishing. Deep, hard thrusts that drove you up the mattress, each one punctuated by the slap of skin against skin and the wet sound of your bodies moving together. He was relentless, his hips snapping forward with a precision that spoke of barely contained control, and each thrust hit something inside you that made your vision go blank.

"This is mine," he gritted out, his hand sliding down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise. "This body—this pussy—all of it. Mine. Not his. Not anyone else's. Mine."

"Yours—only yours—baby, please—"

"Please what?" He shifted the angle, hitching your leg up over his hip, and the new position let him sink even deeper, and you heard yourself make a sound that was barely human, high and thin and desperate. "Please let you come? Is that what you want, doll?"

"Yes—yes, please, I need—"

"You need to wait." He thrust into you hard, and you screamed, and he swallowed the sound with his mouth, his tongue sweeping past your lips in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. "Three, remember? You've had one. You need two more."

"I can't—I can't take it—"

"You can. You will." He pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes dark and molten, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "You're so strong, doll. So perfect. So beautiful. You can take anything I give you, and you'll thank me for it. Won't you?"

"Yes—yes, I'll thank you—thank you, Ki—"

"Good girl."

He kept moving, and you kept climbing, and just as the coil in your belly was about to snap for the second time, he pulled out. Stopped out of nowhere. 

The emptiness was unbearable, your body clenching around nothing, your hips chasing the friction that had been so cruelly denied, and the sound you made was a full-bodied sob that echoed off the walls.

"I know," he said, and his voice was gentle even though his hands were shaking. "I know, baby. I know it's hard. You're doing so well. Just one more."

"One more," you repeated, like a prayer. "One more. I can do one more."

"My good girl."

He pushed back in, and this time the thrusts were slower, not gentler, not by a long shot, but more deliberate, more controlled, each one a calculated assault on your senses. His hand found the spot between your legs, his thumb pressing in tight circles, and the sensation of him inside you and his fingers on you was too much. You were shaking, tears streaming down your temples into your hair, your hands fisted in the sheets so tightly that your knuckles were white.

"You're so beautiful like this," he said, and his voice was reverent, worshipful, like he was looking at something holy. "All teary and desperate and mine. Nobody else gets to see you like this. Nobody. Not the designers, not the buyers, not the men who think they can put their hands on you at events. This—" He thrust deep, grinding against you, and you keened. "—this shit is mine."

"Yours—only yours—Ki, please—"

"Please what?"

"Please let me come—I can't—I'm going to—I need—"

"Not yet." But his voice was strained, his own control fraying, and you could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his thrusts were becoming more erratic, the way his moans were pitching higher and more desperate. 

He was close too, you could feel it in the tension of his body, the way he was fighting his own release alongside yours, and the realization that he was denying himself as much as he was denying you made something hot and tight twist in your chest.

"Ki—"

"One more, doll. Give me one more. You can do it. I know you can."

He changed the angle again, deeper now, impossibly deep, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix with each thrust, and the pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain. You were beyond words now, beyond coherent thought, reduced to a creature of pure sensation, every nerve ending firing, every muscle trembling, your entire being focused on the point where his body met yours.

He pulled out again.

The third denial was the worst. Or the best. You couldn't tell anymore. You were sobbing openly, your body wracked with tremors, your thighs shaking around his hips, and when you reached for him, your hands were so weak that you could barely grip his shoulders. The orgasm that had been building for what felt like hours was hovering just out of reach, a wave that had crested but hadn't yet broken, and the frustration was so acute it was almost its own kind of pleasure.

"I can't—" you wept. "Ki, baby, please—I can't take another one—please, I need to come—I need—"

"I know," he said, and this time his voice broke on the words. "I know, doll. You've been so good. So perfect. So patient. You took all three so beautifully. My good girl. My perfect, perfect girl."

He thrust back in, and this time there was no stopping. No pulling out. No denial. Just the relentless, punishing rhythm of his hips and the pressure of his thumb on your clit and the sound of his voice in your ear, low and rough and so full of love that it made your chest hurt.

"Come for me," he said, and it was a command and a plea and a prayer all at once. "Come for me, doll. Let go. I've got you. I've always got you."

You came.

It hit you like a wall of light, blinding, all-consuming, every muscle in your body seizing at once as the orgasm that had been denied three times finally, finally crashed over you. 

You were aware of screaming his name, of your nails raking down his back, of your body arching off the bed so violently that he had to pin you down with his weight, and the pleasure was so intense that for a long, terrifying moment, you couldn't see or hear or think, you could only feel, every cell in your body exploding and reforming and exploding again.

He followed you over the edge a moment later, his hips stuttering, his breath catching, and then he was spilling into you with a groan that seemed to come from the very marrow of his bones. 

You felt the warmth of it, the pulse of him inside you, the way his body shuddered with each wave, the raw, animal sound of his release, and it triggered another smaller orgasm in you, your walls clenching around him in aftershocks that made you both gasp.

He didn't pull out. He couldn't. His body had given out the moment the orgasm hit, and he collapsed on top of you with his full weight, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps that you could feel against your sweat-damp skin. 

You held him, your arms wrapping around his back, your fingers tracing the scratch marks you'd left, thin red lines that would be visible tomorrow if he took his shirt off, and you pressed kisses to whatever part of him you could reach: his temple, his hairline, the shell of his ear.

"I love you," you whispered, and your voice was wrecked—raw and hoarse and barely audible. "I love you so much, Ki."

"I love you too." His voice was muffled against your neck, thick and slow and sleepy, the champagne and the orgasm hitting him all at once. "I love you more than anything. You know that, right?"

"I know."

"Good." He pressed a lazy kiss to your pulse point, and you felt him smile against your skin. "Mine."

"Yours."

The silence that followed was warm and comfortable, the kind of silence that could only exist between two people who had just dismantled each other completely and were now lying in the wreckage, too spent to move but too content to care. The heater hummed in the corner. The snow was falling outside the window, visible in the glow of the streetlight, and somewhere in the distance, a car alarm went off and was ignored.

Eventually, Riki shifted, just enough to lift his head and look at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and soft and so full of affection that it made your heart do something embarrassing in your chest. 

"Hey," he said.

"Hello to you too."

"Are you okay?"

"Mm." You stretched, wincing at the soreness that was already settling into your muscles, and you shifted your legs experimentally, and that was when you saw them.

The marks.

What the fuck.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at your body, and the sight that greeted you made your breath catch. 

Your inner thighs were a patchwork of bruises, the bite marks from earlier, already darkening into deep purple and blue, overlapping and intersecting like some kind of abstract painting. 

Your hips were fingerprinted, ten small crescents where his hands had gripped you. 

Your breasts bore the faint impression of his teeth, and your collarbone — well. It looked like you'd been attacked by a very determined vampire.

"Oh my god," you breathed.

Riki followed your gaze, and the satisfied smile that spread across his face was entirely unapologetic. "Oh my god?" he repeated, his tone incredulous. "That's all you have to say?"

"Riki, there are—there are marks everywhere."

"That was kind of the point, doll."

"I know, but—" You shifted again, wincing as the bruises on your thighs pressed against the mattress, and then a thought struck you that was equal parts mortified and relieved. "Oh, thank god it's winter."

Riki raised an eyebrow. "Thank god it's winter?"

"So I don't have to head out in shorts twenty-four-seven," you explained, gesturing at the constellation of bruises decorating your thighs. "I mean, can you imagine? I'd walk into the office and my team would think I'd been attacked by a wild animal."

"A very handsome wild animal," Riki corrected, and you laughed.

"A very handsome wild animal who can't control his teeth," you amended.

"I control them just fine. I placed every single one of those marks with intent." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the mark on your collarbone, his lips warm and lingering. "And besides, baby, you won't need to worry about shorts. I just washed and prepared your maxi skirts, especially the denim one your mom reworked, so thank me later."

You stared at him. "You did what?"

"Washed your maxi skirts." He said it casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world, like he hadn't just confessed to doing your laundry — which he never did, not because he was unwilling but because you were particular about the way your garments were handled and he'd once shrunk a cashmere sweater and you'd made a face so tragic that he'd sworn off laundry duty entirely. "The denim one is hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I air-dried it like you showed me. And the grey wool one is in the closet, third hanger from the left."

"You, Nishimura Riki, washed my skirts. By hand. And air-dried them."

"Yes." He blinked at you, all innocent and earnest, like he wasn't lying there with love bites covering his throat and your lipstick still smudged on his jaw. "Is that... is that weird?"

"No." Your voice came out thick, and you realised with a start that you were getting emotional, over laundry, of all things, but it wasn't really about the laundry, was it? 

It was about the fact that this man, the same man who had marked you like a territorial wolf not fifteen minutes ago, had also spent time carefully hand-washing your skirts because he knew, somehow, that you'd need them. That he'd thought ahead. That he'd taken care of you in ways that were quiet and domestic and so fundamentally him that it made your eyes sting again. 

"It's not weird," you said again, softer this time, and you cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, slow and deep and full of a love so enormous that you couldn't possibly contain it. "It's the opposite of weird. It's the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Now who's being dramatic," he murmured against your lips, but he was smiling, and you could feel the way his chest expanded with the kind of quiet pride that he'd never admit to out loud.

"Thank you, Ki."

"You're welcome, baby." He shifted, pulling out of you with a wince that matched yours, and the absence of him left you feeling empty and cold and aching in ways that were both physical and emotional. 

He reached for the duvet, pulling it over both of you, and gathered you against his chest like you were something precious and breakable and infinitely worth protecting.

"Hey," you said, your voice muffled against his skin.

"Hm?"

"Next time someone flirts with me at an event and I don't notice, you have my full permission to come over and be insane about it."

He laughed, the kind that shook his whole body and made the bed creak. "You're going to regret saying that."

"Probably." You smiled against his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. "But at least I'll have the maxi skirts to cover the evidence."

"The denim one especially," he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "Your mom did a great job on it. The hem is perfect."

"You’re so weird."

"You love it."

"Yeah." You pressed a kiss to the centre of his chest, right over his heart, and felt it beat steady and strong against your lips. "Yeah, I really do."

Outside, the snow kept falling, blanketing the city in white, and inside, under the warmth of the duvet and the weight of each other, you fell asleep to the sound of his breathing and the knowledge that tomorrow, when you pulled on that reworked denim maxi skirt, the marks on your thighs would press against the fabric like a secret — yours and his and nobody else's.

When Riki handed you your glasses from the nightstand the next morning, his fingers lingering on the frames just a moment too long, you thought about the way he'd looked at you when you'd put them on the night before, like you were the only person in the room, in the city, in the world, and you smiled, and you didn't bother wondering whether the man from the event would reach out, because it didn't matter. 

None of it mattered. 

The only hands that would ever touch you like that, the only hands that had the right, were the ones currently reaching for the coffee maker, still clumsy with sleep, still wearing the scratch marks on his back like a badge of honour.

"Hey, baby?" Riki called from the kitchen, his voice rough with morning and fondness.

"Yes?"

"The tights—are they hand-wash only? Because I may have like… thrown them on the floor last night, and I want to make sure I don't ruin them when I pick them up."

You laughed, bright and so full of love it hurt, and you padded barefoot into the kitchen, your bruises hidden under the oversized sweater you'd stolen from his closet, and you kissed him until the coffee went cold and the snow outside melted into slush and the whole world narrowed down to this: his mouth on yours, his hands on your waist, his heart beating against your palms.

"Hand-wash only," you murmured. "Cold water. Lay flat to dry."

"I'll add it to the list," he said, and he smiled, the one that was just for you, and you thought, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, that you were the luckiest woman alive.

And the polka dot tights, when you finally retrieved them from the bedroom floor, were perfectly fine, ready for the next event, the next outfit, the next time Riki would look at you across a crowded room and know, with absolute certainty, that you were his.

Just as he was yours.

⭐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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💿 ࿐ . . moonlight by kali uchis

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

you had been scrolling for what felt like hours. the soft glow of your laptop illuminated your tired face as you sat on your bed, finger lazily flicking on the touchpad. retail, cafe barista, convenience store clerk, receptionist. over and over again, different titles but the same image in your head — you standing behind a counter, forcing polite smiles, counting hours by the ticking of a clock that never seemed to move.

it didn't feel right.

you sighed and were about to lock your phone when that exact listing caught your eye. it wasn't flashy. there were no emojis, no exaggerated promises. just straightforward. you thought about it for a moment and eventually clicked on it.

name : park jongseong address : 23 riverside residence, seoul, south korea number : 010-****-**** (text if you applied)

in need of : - a trustworthy and organized individual. - preferably a woman. - can be of any age.

you bit your lip, thinking. babysitting wasn't new to you. you'd done it before — neighbors' children, your cousin's toddler during summer breaks, even a part-time daycare assistant job in high school. you remembered sticky hands tugging at your sleeves, tiny giggles echoing in the living room, the strange but comforting responsibility of watching over someone small and fragile.

it wasn't easy, but it wasn't soul-draining either.

you entered the page. your fingers moved quickly at first, then slowed as doubt crept in. you carefully typed your name, your age, your previous experiences. you reread everything. once, twice, then a third time. your heart pounded as you pressed submit. you opened your messaging app afterwards and stared at the number.

you inhaled deeply and began typing.

[jang yn] : good afternoon, my name is jang yn. i assume this is mr. park jongseong. i found your number on a job application website. it said you needed a babysitter for your daughter. i have applied for it.

you stared at the message for a long second. before you could overthink further, you hit send. immediately, panic settled in. you locked your phone and tossed it beside you as if it had burned you. your stomach twisted with nervous anticipation. what if he already found someone? what if he didn't like your resume? what if—

buzz. your phone vibrated against your bedsheets. your eyes widened. that was way too fast. you slowly reached for it, bracing yourself.

[park jongseong] : hi, yn. please, call me jay. thank you for reaching out. i would like to interview you beforehand to see how you work. are you perhaps free tomorrow at 4 p.m.? we could meet at my address.

you blinked — an interview, tomorrow, at his house. you swallowed, reading the message again. his tone was polite and direct, not overly formal, not cold either. you sat up straighter, fingers hovering above your keyboard.

[jang yn] : yes, that sounds great.

you pressed the send button with a thumping heart. and right after, three dots appeared on the side of the screen.

[park jongseong] : perfect. see you then.

the next day, you arrived ten minutes early. the house wasn't huge, but not too small either. a neat one-story home with clean white walls, wide windows reflecting the afternoon sun, and a soft greenery lining the walkway.

your gaze dropped. a pair of tiny pink shoes sat neatly beside the door. that made your nerves worse.

you took a deep breath before pressing the doorbell. a faint shuffling sound echoed from inside. "coming!" a voice called out, slightly muffled. the door opened eventually.

jay looked different from you imagined. he was simpler — navy shirt that fit him well, jeans, hair pushed back slightly like he had run his hand through it. no accessories, no effort to impress — yet somehow it worked. his shoulders were broad, posture relaxed, and when he looked at you, his eyes were steady in a way that made you suddenly aware of how fast your heart was beating. "hi," he greeted first, offering a small smile. his voice was lower than you expected, steady and almost grounding. "you must be yn."

you nodded quickly. "yes, i am." you hoped your voice didn't sound as nervous as you felt. he stepped aside, opening the door wider. "come in."

you slipped off your shoes carefully beside the pink pair. the house smelled like fresh laundry detergent and something sweet, like baked goods. as he led you to the living room, you took in everything without meaning to.

a small rack filled with colorful, petite shoes next to a second rack holding darker, larger ones. photographs were framed neatly on the wall. a little girl with bright eyes and pigtails. the same little girl sitting on a man's shoulders — him. a picture of the two of them on what looked like a beach, her laughter frozen mid-moment. there were no other family photos. your chest tightened slightly at the realization.

the living room was warm. a fireplace, a television, a tall bookshelf with both adult novels and children's picture books, and toys scattered in organized chaos.

and then, a small blur ran across the room. tiny footsteps padded against the wooden floor, and a little girl collided gently with the man in front of you, hiding behind his leg almost instantly. she peeked at you with wide, cautious eyes. jay glanced down, tone shifting to something softer immediately. "seoyeon. say hi."

she didn't. she only stared. instead of forcing anything, you crouched down slowly so you were closer to her height. "hi seoyeon," you said quietly with a small smile. "i'm yn."

she blinked, then hid again. you noticed a drawing book open on the coffee table, pages filled with colorful scribbles of flowers, stick figures, and what looked like a purple cat. "i heard you like drawing. i'm not very good at it," you admitted dramatically, lowering your voice like it was a secret. "maybe you can teach me?"

there was a small pause, then she peeked again. this time, a little more of her face showed. you took that as an accomplishment.

jay lifted her into his arms. up close, you noticed how easily he carried her, one arm secure around her like it was the easiest thing in the world. "appa needs to talk to yn first, okay? you can color while we talk." seoyeon nodded lightly before he set her down again. she waddled back to her spot, glancing at you once more before sitting.

"please," he gestured toward the couch. you sat on the edge of it, posture straight. "so," he began, resting his hands together loosely. "i read your application. you've done this before?" he asked. you nodded, "yes, i have. mostly for relatives, and i volunteered at a daycare for a few months."

he listened carefully — not distracted, not checking his phone.

"are you currently studying?" he implied. you shifted in your seat, "no, i'm not. i graduated just a few months ago."

he asked more questions on discipline, emergencies, routines, and you answered as clearly as you could. but something felt slightly different. you couldn't pinpoint it exactly but maybe it was the way he watched you as you spoke — not rude, but attentive. or maybe it was how he held eye contact for a second longer than necessary every time after you finished answering like he was trying to read you beyond your works.

in the middle of the interview, you saw seoyeon take her small little steps to her father. she stood beside him, clutching a stuffed bunny to her chest. "is she your favorite?" you asked gently. she acknowledged and nodded this time. "what's her name?" you raised an eyebrow. "...mimi," she mumbled, voice low and shy. you gasped softly, hand over your chest. "mimi? well, mimi is very cute," you said seriously, leaning in slightly like it was official business.

that made her smile. a real one. jay noticed it. he leaned back slightly, observing the interaction carefully. you didn't rush her, didn't reach out without permission, didn't try to win her over loudly.

"you like coloring, don't you?" you questioned. she nodded again. you frowned and hummed as if thinking, "maybe next time you can show me your drawings."

"okay."

jay cleared his throat. "she's usually really shy with new people," he said, impressed. you glanced at him, "that's okay. i don't mind going slow." you turned back to seoyeon, face automatically going softer. "as long as this sweetheart gets comfortable."

she grinned, scrunching her nose slightly. you mirrored her expression without thinking. at that very moment, jay studied your face — really studied it. the way your eyes softened when you spoke to his daughter, the quiet patience in your voice. "you're patient," he commented. you shrugged a little. "kids need time," you responded. his gaze gentled slightly at your words because he realized that you understood what you were doing.

seoyeon stepped a little closer to you. she gazed at her dad, then back at you. "are you coming tomorrow?" the question surprised the both of you. you instinctively looked at jay. he met your eyes for a brief second before turning to her. "we'll see, princess. yn can be busy too."

after a few more practical details about hours and payment, jay stood. you stood too. "i'll let you know by tonight," he said. "thank you for considering me," you replied.

when you walked toward the door and slipped your shoes back on, you heard small, light footsteps behind you. you turned to see seoyeon. she held out mimi up proudly. you bent down just a little, "bye mimi. bye to you too, seoyeon." the small girl gave you a rather wide smile before waving her hands enthusiastically. you returned it.

before you shut the door, you looked back up and found jay already looking at you. you gave him a small girn, a little more relaxed now than when you first arrived. he returned it — softer this time — with a polite nod, though his gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary.

then, the door closed softly. behind it, jay remained still for a moment, hand resting on the doorknob. he exhaled slowly. he walked back to the couch, and seoyeon climbed onto his lap. "is she nice?" jay asked casually and seoyeon nodded without hesitation. "she's really nice, appa," she added. jay hummed, melting into the soft cushion.

he had interviewed others. some were too loud, some tried too hard to impress, some even looked distracted. but you? you didn't rush, didn't even try to win her over. he rubbed his hand over his face lightly. he didn't like trusting people easily — usually couldn't. but something about you felt correct. seoyeon shifted on his lap. "i like her."

jay looked down at her with a cocked eyebrow, "that fast?" and she nodded again. he stared at the ceiling for a moment. then he muttered quietly to himself. "she'll do."

that night, after seoyeon had fallen asleep, the house fell into a deep, comfortable silence. jay sat at the dining table with his phone in his hand. he opened your contact and typed.

[park jongseong] : hi, yn. it's jay. i'd like to move forward if you're still interested.

then, he added.

[park jongseong] : seoyeon likes you. said you're really nice.

he set his phone face down on the table immediately after, leaning back in his chair like it didn't matter. five seconds passed, then ten. he flipped it over again, but there wasn't a reply yet.

another minute passed, then— buzz.

[jang yn] : yes, i'd love to. thank you so much!

and the next day, you stood in front of the same door. it felt different from the previous day because this time, you were staying rather than only visiting. you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder and knocked softly.

the door opened almost immediately. jay stood there, already dressed for work — dark slacks fitted neatly, a simple button-up tucked in, sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. his hair was styled, sharp but effortless, and he smelled faintly of clean cologne and coffee. "morning," he said. you blinked. "...morning." you stepped inside with a small gulp.

seoyeon was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by a kingdom of toys. when she saw you, she paused mid-play, eyes widening slightly, then she waved. you grinned immediately, "hi, seoyeon."

jay cleared his throat, "okay. so. before i leave..." he walked toward the kitchen and you followed. "she already ate breakfast. but if she says she's hungry again, there are cut fruits in the fridge," he mentioned first.

then, he hit you with many of them.

"she's not allergic to anything, but don't give her too much sugar." "sometimes, she takes a nap around two, but that depends on her." "she sleeps at nine. i'll be back before then." "there's a small first aid kit in the cabinet above the microwave."

finally, he let himself breathe. you blinked slowly, trying not to smile. "okay." you could tell he wasn't doubting you. he just wasn't used to not being the one in control of every tiny detail. letting someone handle them felt foreign.

seoyeon padded into the kitchen and tugged on his pants. "appaaa." she mumbled. jay melted instantly, "yeah, princess?" his voice softened without effort.

"are you leaving now?" she pouted sadly, eyes glossy and round. he nodded slowly, "mhm. soon." he crouched down to her level, "i'll be back before bedtime, okay?" he patted her head gently. she looked between you and her dad, weighing her options. "okay," she decided.

jay stood, adjusting his watch. "if anything happens, call me. even if it's small. i just... like to know," he confessed. you gave him a small nod, "it's okay, i understand." and that seemed to ease something in him.

he grabbed his keys from the counter. before leaving, he looked at seoyeon once more, then at you. "thank you," he murmured. it sounded more sincere than yesterday. you nodded, "you're welcome."

and like that, the door closed and the house became quieter.

you looked down at seoyeon, she looked up at you. "appa talks a lot," she declared bluntly before running back to the living room. you laughed softly, the awkwardness fading.

it surprised you how easy it was to befriend her. all you had to do was step into her world — mimi had dramatic backstories, barbie dolls had complicated lives, coloring books required serious artistic discussion. somehow between the imaginary tea parties and emergency doll hospitals you had to run, you and seoyeon had practically become best friends.

and by the third day, you didn't have to ask where anything was. you knew where the cups were, which drawer had the extra hair ties, and that she absolutely despised bread crusts.

that morning, jay was getting ready for work while you crouched to help seoyeon put on her shoes for the park. "she didn't finish her milk," he called from the kitchen. "i know. she said it tasted weird today," you explained. he froze, "it's the same brand..."

"maybe it was just too cold. i warmed it a little and she finally drank some," you replied lightly. soon, you finished tying seoyeon's shoelaces. "there, all done."

jay observed quietly but was interrupted by seoyeon jumping up and hugging his leg. he absentmindedly rested his hand on her head, but his gaze was still on you.

later that afternoon, he came home a little later than usual. you were sitting on the floor with seoyeon, building a tower out of blocks. the living room was slightly messy with toys scattered around and cushions out of place. seoyeon burst into laughter as one of the pieces wobbled dangerously. "careful," you whispered dramatically as if the lightest gust of air could push the building, but the tower collapsed anyway. seoyeon gasped and clapped her hands like it was the most exciting event of the day.

that was when you looked up and noticed him. "oh. you're back early," you said, brushing hair away from your face.

he nodded, "yeah, meeting ended sooner." he stepped inside, his eyes drifting back to the half-destroyed tower. seoyeon was laughing loudly. "look, appa!" she shouted. "we made a castle!"

jay walked closer and knelt near you. "that's... really tall," he anticipated. "it fell three times," you admitted "four!" seoyeon corrected proudly. you both laughed, and jay found himself smiling without realizing it.

that night, something even stranger happened. seoyeon brushed her teeth without being reminded. "did you tell her to?" jay questioned. "about bedtime? no, she remembered," you shook your head. he glanced toward the bathroom, stunned. that almost never happened.

a few minutes later, seoyeon walked out in her pajamas. "i'm sleepy," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. the clock read 8:52. he looked at you, "you didn't tell her to go to bed?"

"no," you said. "she just started rubbing her eyes." you created the motion.

after seoyeon went to bed, the house felt calmer. jay leaned against the kitchen counter while you washed your hands. "you're adjusting very quickly," he praised. you glanced at him, "is that bad?"

"no. it's just... i'm used to reminding her about everything." he explained. you dried your hands with a towel. "everything's easier when there's two people, right?"

he didn't answer right away. because that was the thing. he wasn't used to there being two people. for years, it had only been him — managing, scheduling, remembering every detail so nothing slipped through. now, without even trying, you were sharing the weight. he looked at you again, "thank you," he said after a moment. you chuckled, "you don't have to thank me every day."

he almost smiled back. "i probably will anyway." and he did. he never once forgot to mention those words after every visit. and you always chuckled to yourself whenever he did.

the first week with seoyeon wasn't all that difficult. there were cries, of course. also some dramatic tantrums, the kind that started in her toes and worked their way up until her whole body trembled with injustice. and one particularly impressive floor-flop in the middle of the living room that would've earned a standing ovation from broadway.

but overall? normal and manageable. you handled it well — suspiciously well. and jay started paying attention more than he thought he should've.

one morning, you arrived at the house like usual. seoyeon ran to the door before jay could even turn the knob. "yn's here!" she announced proudly to absolutely no one and everyone at once. you laughed when the door opened. "i'm here seoyeon!" you echoed with equal excitement, crouching slightly as she barreled into you.

jay leaned against the doorway, watching the way she immediately grabbed your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. like you had always been part of her routine. "hey," jay said, quieter. you gave him that small, polite smile, "hi."

and for a moment, he forgot what he was about to say.

not even an hour into the shift, the first storm rolled in. seoyeon stared down at her drawing, lip trembling. "it's not a butterfly anymore," she whispered. jay saw the warning signs instantly. the shoulders rising, breath hitching, fingers tightening around the crumpled paper.

here we go.

but before he could step in, you slid onto the floor beside her. you studied the page carefully. "you're right," you agreed thoughtfully. "it doesn't."

jay's mouth parted slightly and seoyeon hiccupped mid-cry. you only tilted your head. "it looks like a butterfly that's flying really, really fast. maybe that's why the wings look like that. they're moving too quick."

a sniffle, "really?" she blinked. "mhm," you nodded. "fastest butterfly i've ever seen."

seoyeon stared at the drawing again. her breathing slowed, tiny brows furrowing in consideration. then, as if the universe had reset, she scrambled. "i need a magnet!" and five minutes later, the "fastest butterfly in the world" was proudly displayed on the fridge. jay stood in the hallway, arms crossed, equal parts confused and impressed. he glanced at you. you were smiling so casually, like the whole situation had been nothing. he shook his head slightly to himself.

how were you doing that?

that afternoon, the three of you headed to the grocery store. originally, jay had planned to go alone. but seoyeon insisted on going along with you, which meant the trip became a group event.

the candy aisle was inevitable. "yn, yn!" seoyeon gasped, clutching a bag of gummy bears like it was a life-or-death discovery. "i really, really want this! can i have it pleaseee?"

jay stepped in smoothly. "not today, princess. we have candy at home." and there it was. the face scrunch, the inhale, the rising tremor. you saw it too. her wail echoed dramatically through the aisle that a couple turned their head. jay braced himself.

but you simply knelt down, lowering yourself to her level. your voice stayed soft and steady — too quiet for him to catch every word. "you really wanted those, huh?"

her cries softened into shaky breaths. you continued, "do you want to help me pick a snack for movie night instead? something we don't already have?" you offered. she sniffed. you added, "and next time we plan for candy, we can put it on the list together."

then slowly, she nodded. she placed the gummy bears back on the shelf herself.

jay stared at you. when you resumed walking, he leaned closer, "how are you doing this?"

you glanced at him, confusion plastered on your face. "doing what?" you huffed. "this," he gestured vaguely at the now calm child inspecting crackers like nothing had happened. "you're not even stressed."

you shrugged lightly, "she's just communicating the only way she knows how." you looked at him like it was an obvious point. he let out a disbelieving laugh. "communicating? that was a full emotional hurricane."

"yeah," you smiled. "but hurricanes pass, right?"

you grabbed a box of cereal from the shelf and added it to the cart. "thing is, jay, i pick my battles. and i remember she's not giving me a hard time... she's having a hard time."

the words hit him harder than he expected. he thought about the nights he'd snapped a little too quickly. the times exhaustion blurred his patience.

seoyeon turned around suddenly, beaming at you. "can we get the star pasta?" her eyes brightened. you tapped her nose gently. "is it on the list?" you asked. she slapped her forehead, "i forgot!"

you whispered dramatically, "mission impossible." she giggled and ran ahead to fetch the crumpled paper from the cart's cup holder. jay watched the exchange quietly. he had expected exhaustion from you by now. or at least a crack in the calm. maybe even a frustrated sigh when you thought he wasn't looking. but instead, you moved through it all with steady hands and softer eyes than he'd ever seen.

even later that evening, when seoyeon refused to put on pajamas because "the clouds on them looked sad," you didn't argue. you asked her why they were and you suggested maybe they needed a bedtime story too. somehow, the pajamas were on within minutes. jay leaned against the hallway wall, arms folded, pretending he wasn't watching. pretending he wasn't thinking about how different the house felt lately.

after you tucked seoyeon in, you stepped into the kitchen to grab your bag. jay was already there, rinsing a glass. "you don't get overwhelmed?" he asked out of the blue. you considered the question honestly, "of course i do."

"i just don't let her see it when she's overwhelmed too," you added. "she needs someone steady, not someone sinking with her."

he swallowed. "you're kind of amazing," he muttered, almost to himself.

you couldn't hear him, too busy adjusting the strap on your bag. "sorry?" you leaned. he shook his head quickly. "nothing. drive safe."

that was that. but one night, everything took a turn.

jay had been in his room for hours, laptop open, spreadsheets blurring into one another as he answered emails and finished up reports. at some points, the numbers stopped making sense. he didn't realize how much time had passed until his eyes burned and he finally glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen. it was past seoyeon's bedtime.

his brows knit together. the house had been quiet for a while — too quiet, now that he thought about it. usually there was some last-minute protest, a request for water, s mall voice calling his name, a dramatic declaration that she wasn't sleepy at all.

he pushed his chair back and stepped out of his room, loosening the sleeves os his shirt absentmindedly as he walked toward the living room.

that's when he saw it. seoyeon was asleep on the couch. one small arm dangled off the edge, fingers limp and curled. her hair fanned messily against the pillow, cheeks warm and flushed. an episode of peppa pig played softly on the tv, bright animated voices murmuring into the otherwise still room.

and you. you were kneeling beside the couch. you didn't notice him, you were too focused on her. carefully, you lifted her hanging arm and placed it over her stomach. your movements were slow and deliberate like you were afraid the air might wake her. then you pulled the blanket up to her neck and tucked the corners in, smoothing the fabric with your palm.

jay didn't move. something about the scene held him there.

the lamp in the corner was on, casting a warm light over the couch, softening the edges of everything it touched. your hair fell slightly forward as you leaned closer to adjust the pillow beneath her head. you brushed a small strand away from seoyeon's face with the back of your finger. "sweet dreams, princess." you used the nickname jay usually did.

you looked natural there. the thought hit jay so suddenly that his chest tightened. he stood there longer than he thought, just staring. the house didn't usually look like this. it was usually quiet in a different way — empty, functional, clean but cold.

but right now? it felt warm, and you were at the center of it.

you stayed kneeling for another moment, eyes tracing the toddler's face. only then did you lift your head and froze slightly when your eyes met his. you stood up slowly, brushing your hands against your jeans. "she fell asleep while watching," you explained with a low voice, almost like you didn't want to disturb the silence too much.

he cleared his throat, "you could've just told me."

"it's okay, really. she looked tired," you replied gently.

he glanced at seoyeon before back at you. you didn't look tired nor annoyed. you looked calm and comfortable like this wasn't hard for you. and that realization unsettled him.

"i'll carry her to bed," he said finally. you nodded and stepped aside. he bent down carefully, sliding one arm beneath seoyeon's knees and the other around her back. she stirred lightly, nose scrunching, but didn't wake. her hand instinctively grabbed onto his shirt.

as he walked toward her room, he felt your eyes on his back. or maybe he just imagined it. he laid seoyeon down, pulled the covers up, and pressed a quiet kiss to her forehead. when you came back to the living room, you were already grabbing your bag. "i should go," you announced softly. he hummed, "yeah."

he walked you to the door like usual. you slipped your shoes on, "night."

"goodnight." the door clicked shut and the house was quiet again. but it felt different. jay stood there for a moment too long. his jaw tightened slightly, running a hand through his hair. it was ridiculous, nothing happened. you tucked his daughter in. that was it. so why did the image keep replaying in his head? you kneeling by the couch. the way it looked like—

"stop." he exhaled sharply. but the thought kept reciting itself and it irritated him more than anything. he had spent years building his life in a careful, controlled way — just him and seoyeon. it was manageable and safe. and now you were slowly becoming part of that picture without even trying.

trust was one thing, relying too. but letting himself get used to this was dangerous. but a small part of him didn't want to push the thought away. somewhere in that mind of his, mini but noticeable, he liked how it looked, how it felt. and that was exactly why he shouldn't.

he closed his eyes for a second, back against the door now, but the image didn't leave — refused to. "get a grip, jongseong."

"don't make it too tight," seoyeon complained as you gathered her soft hair into a small ponytail. you smiled, adjusting your grip. "okay, okay. tell me if it hurts."

she squinted at you through the mirror on the wall, dramatically suspicious. "it always hurts," she rolled her eyes. "it does not," you gasped lightly. "you're accusing me."

behind you, a door clicked open. jay stepped out his room, hair still slightly messy from a previous shower. he paused when he saw the two you. morning light spilled through the window, soft and golden. you stood behind seoyeon with quiet concentration, tongue pressed lightly to to the corner of your mouth as you tied the hiarband. seoyeon sat on the stool swinging her legs, wincing every few seconds like she was undergoing a life-threatening procedure.

you noticed him first and gave a small nod. "good morning." he gulped, "morning." his voice was normal and steady. like he hadn't spent hald the night replaying the image of you kneeling beside seoyeon's bed, brushing her hair back, whispering "good night" soft enough that he almost couldn't hear it.

he grabbed his coffee and leaned against the counter, pretending to focus on the steam rising from it. seoyeon suddenly twisted around to look at him, "yn's picking me up today, appa!"

you blinked. "only if that's okay," you added quickly. jay paused for half a second, cup hovering near his mouth. "...that's fine," he said after a second. your shoulders relaxed slightly and seoyeon cheered as if she had won something monumental.

later that afternoon, you stood outside the preschool gates. the sun was a little too warm. children ran in every direction like unleashed confetti. parents chatted in clusters, some glancing at you curiously — you looked young compared to most of them. you shifted your weight from one foot to another, scanning the doorway.

"yn!" your head snapped up. seoyeon burst through the gate the second she saw you, backpack bouncing wildly against her back. you crouched instinctively so she wouldn't crash too hard into you. but she still did. you laughed, steadying her. "hey, princess. how was school?"

"i painted a frog today but it looked like a blob," she declared. you tilted your head, "blobs are very artistic, you know?" she narrowed her eyes at you, unconvinced.

without thinking, you slipped her backpack off her shoulders and carried it yourself. she immediately grabbed your hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

jay arrived a few minutes later. he told himself he was nearby, that he had finished work early, that traffic was light — all reasonable excuses. he spotted the two of you near the small playground outside the school. seoyeon was talking non-stop, her hands moving dramatically as she narrated her day. and you were listening like every word mattered.

you noticed jay a few steps away and waved. "thought you were gonna arrive later."

"finished some things." he glanced down at seoyeon, "did you behave?" he squinted. "yes," she mumbled quickly. you raised an eyebrow playfully. "mostly," you corrected. jay's lips twitched before he could stop them.

the three of you began walking toward the parking lot. seoyeon walked between you. she grabbed your hand first. then, after a second, she grabbed his. so the three of you walked like that — seoyeon swinging your joined hands back and forth, humming something off-key.

a mother passing by glanced at the three of you and smiled warmly. "you have such a sweet daughter," she said to you. you froze slightly, fingers tightening around seoyeon's hand for just half a second. "oh— i'm not—" you began.

"thank you," jay said smoothly.

the woman nodded and continued walking. you looked at him immediately, he avoided your gaze, staring straight ahead like nothing unusual had happened. seoyeon kept swinging your hands, blissfully unaware.

when you finally reached the car, you let go first like you were putting distance back where it belonged. jay noticed that too.

the following days began to blur into something comfortable. you picked seoyeon up regularly now, remembered she preferred apple juice over orange, that thursdays exhausted her because of outdoor play, and she would get quiet and clingy around dinner,

you no longer waited for jay to give instructions. he stopped giving them, anyway — he didn't even realize it. he would come home to find the two of you on the floor surrounded by puzzle pieces. or hear seoyeon whispering secrets into your ear, her tiny hand covering her mouth like it was classified information.

once, he watched you both while drinking a cup of coffee. seoyeon was giggling uncontrollably while you dramatically pretended to misunderstand her drawing. "this is clearly a dinosaur, seoyeon," you insisted.

"it's a cat!" she insisted. you frowned, "it's a very ferocious cat," you joked. she gasped loudly. "it's not ferocious!"

you laughed at her reaction, and for some reason, jay's heart echoed loudly in his own ears.

one evening, as the sky turned soft orange, you knelt near the front door helping seoyeon put on her shoes. "other foot," you demanded gently. she leaned heavily into your shoulder while trying to balance.

"you're coming tomorrow, right?" she asked suddenly. you nodded without hesitation, "of course."

she wrapped her arms tightly around you before you could stand up. you froze for just a second — then hugged her back naturally. your hand rubbed her back slowly. "it's okay, princess," you mumured when she didn't let go immediately.

jay saw how easily she clung to you, how easily you responded.

seoyeon finally pulled back. "promise?" she lent out her pinky. you entangled it with yours. "promise."

you stood up and reached for your bag. jay walked you to the door like he always did now. it had become routine at this point.

your eyes met his. there was something unspoken lingering there. something neither of you named. as you slipped your shoes on, you felt his gaze again. "you don't have to walk me every time," you said softly. he leaned against the doorframe. "i know," he replied. you smiled with a shake of your head before stepping down the porch.

since then, it was like the universe had developed a quiet sense of humor. nothing dramatic, nothing loud. just small, accidental collisions that felt anything but accidental.

seoyeon's "castle hospital" took up the entire living room floor — plush bears with twisted imaginary ankles, dolls suffering from mysterious fevers. mimi tragically injured from a staircase incident that, according to seoyeon, involved "too much hopping and not enough holding the rail."

you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, sleeves pushed up, fully committed to your role as doctor yn. "doctor yn is on the scene," you declared. "we will save everyone."

seoyeon beamed, entirely serious. jay watched from the couch, tie loosened, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. he looked tired from work but softer here. he caught his eyes drifting back to you more than the stuffed animals.

"mimi fell down the stairs," seoyeon repeated gravely. you gasped, "not the stairs. that's the most dangerous place in the castle."

jay let out a low breath that betrayed him. you pointed at him, "sir, please. this is a hospital." he grinned, dimples faint but unmistakable. "apologies, doctor."

a moment later, seoyeon demanded a bandage. the toy medical kit was just within reach. and without thinking, both you and jay leaned forward at the same time. your fingers brushed. it was barely contact, just the faintest graze of skin against skin. but both of you stopped. your hand hovered under his. his breath shifted — so slight it might've been imagined.

you pulled your hand back first, "sorry."

"it's fine."

later, soeyeon suddenly promoted to "castle architect," demanded structural renovations that required moving cushions, chairs, and tables. "appa, hold this!" she commanded, handing jay one end of a blanket. he obeyed immediately.

you climbed onto the couch to drape the other side over the bookshelf. the cushion dipped under your weight more than expected, and your balance faltered for just a fraction of a second. jay stepped closer immediately. "careful," he murmured.

you felt him behind you before you fully registered it. his hand hovered near your waist, not touching but there.

you stepped down carefully, turning in the narrow space between the couch and coffee table. there wasn't enough room. as you moved, you almost bumped straight into him. his hand came up instinctively and this time, it did touch. his palm brushed the side of your waist through the thin fabric of your shirt.

your breath caught. you were close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you. close enough that if either of you moved an inch, it would mean something.

"appa, it's falling!" seoyeon cried from inside the half-built fort.

you stepped away fastly with a gulp. jay cleared his throat softly and moved to the other side, "right. sorry, princess." but his voice wasn't as steady anymore.

seoyeon, blissfully, oblivious, declared the fort a success and insisted both of you sit inside. it was cramped — very. jay sat across from you, knees almost touching yours in the dim blanket-filtered light. seoyeon nestled between you both, narrating an elaborate story about royal doctors and brave kings.

you didn't miss the way his gaze lingered a second too long when you laughed at something seoyeon said. and he didn't miss the way your eyes flickered to his mouth before you caught yourself.

the rest of the day, none of you spoke about it. but there was an obvious shift in the air. you thought it'd been just that, but another moment happened as you were cooking dinner.

the house was dimmer now, evening settling in comfortably, the fort half-collapsed but still standing proudly in the living room. you were cutting vegetables while jay stood beside you, making himself a cup of tea. you walked over to the fridge, there was a small toy car near it that you didn't notice

your heel caught it and your balance tipped backward. you didn't fall, though. because jay stood up quick enough and his hand landed at your waist instantly — holding you, steadying you. your hand flew up in instinct and grabbed his forearm. you felt the muscle tense beneath your fingers.

you were far closer than before. you could feel the warmth of his palm fully against your waist now, steady and sure. the faint scent of his cologne mixed with clean laundry and something unmistakably him.

your eyes lifted carefully. his eyes were already on you. "i'm okay," you said softly. but you didn't let go immediately. his gaze dropped briefly to where your hand was still holding his arm, then back to your eyes.

his hand slid away slowly — too slowly to be accidental. fingers trailing just enough to leave a line of warmth behind. "watch your step," he said quietly. it sounded like it meant more than the floor. you nodded, but neither of you stepped back right away. and somewhere behind you, in the living room, seoyeon's small voice floated down the hallway.

"appa? doctor yn? the king needs help!"

jay exhaled softly — almost a laugh. but his eyes never left yours. "duty calls."

you both walked back as seoyeon rushed you, insisting the king required immediate surgery. jay ended up sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, holding a plush lion while you wrapped it in gauze with the seriousness of an attending physician.

you could still feel the warmth of his fingers from the hallway. you were both pretending you couldn't.

"is he going to live?" seoyeon asked gravely. you glanced at jay, "that depends. has he been eating his vegetables?"

jay blinked once, then caught on. "terrible diet. refuses broccoli," he played along. you laughed, soft and unguarded. jay watched you and nearly smiled to himself.

later, after seoyeon was tucked in and the house had gone still, the quiet settled in layers. the dishwasher hummed softly and blended with the muted city sounds outside, the hallway light cast a dim amber glow across the wooden floors.

you stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing soap from your hands when you felt it — that awareness of someone still there.

he usually retreated to his study once seoyeon was asleep. but tonight, he lingered. he leaned against the kitchen counter, sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his forearms, tie loosened but not removed. "can i ask you something?" he said.

you reached for the towel, drying your hands slowly. "you just did," you joked. a faint smirk appeared on his face, but it faded quickly.

"she's been refusing to sleep in her own bed lately." his tone shifted, quieter now. "she ends up in mine every night."

you turned to face him fully. "that's not new."

"no," his jaw flexed. "but she used to at least try first." he stared at the marble countertop instead of at you. he continued, "i don't know if i should push her to sleep by herself or just let her be with me."

you tilted your head, "what do you think she's afraid of?"

he hesitated. "that i'll disappear." the words came out flat and controlled, but they hung in the air heavier than he meant them to. you stepped a little closer. "then forcing her won't fix it."

his jaw shifted again. he already knew that, of course he did. jay researched everything, prepared for everything. but this wasn't something you should spreadsheet your way out of. "stay with her until she falls asleep," you added gently. "consistency builds security. if she sees you're there every time she opens her eyes, eventually she won't be afraid you won't be."

he nodded slowly, like he was filing your advice somewhere permanent.

and ever since that moment, jay found himself seeking and caring for you more. you realized it too.

the next night, your phone buzzed at 9.47 p.m.

[park jongseong] : running late. don't let her stay up waiting for me.

you were sitting beside seoyeon on her bed while she carefully arranged her stuffed animals in a very specific order. you typed back right away.

[jang yn] : okay! she already brushed her teeth. i'll read one book for her. drive safe :)

three dot appeared almost immediately, stopped, then appeared again.

[park jongseong] : did you eat?

you frowned, fingers pausing above the screen.

[jang yn] : yep

a pause.

[park jongseong] : okay. just asking.

you leaned back against the headboard, staring at the screen. because he had never "just asked" before.

something happened two days later when he came home with grocery bags. seoyeon bolted toward him the second the door opened. "appa! did you bring treasure?" she skidded across the floor in her socks and collided with his legs. jay crouched, setadying her with one arm while ssetting the bags down with the other. "snacks," he corrected.

she immediately dug through the paper bag with dramatic intensity. "but i don't like those crackers," she declared, nose wrinkling. she took out a box of cheese crackers — the ones you loved.

jay didn't look at you when he replied. "you used to, princess."

"no, i didn't" she shot back stubbornly.

he cleared his throat, suddenly very focused on rearranging the contents of the bag. "well, um... we have them now."

then, his eyes lifted and your eyes met over seoyeon's head. there was the briefest flicker of realization in his. he hadn't bought them for her. he had bought them because one night, while cleaning up after dinner, you casually mentioned how those crackers reminded you of residency nights — vending machine dinners and hallway trips at 3 a.m.

you pretended not to notice. but after that day, small things kept happening. things that were easy to dismiss individually but harder to ignore together.

"should i sign her up for piano or let her choose?" "do you think i'm being too strict about screen time?" "she said you're coming tomorrow. is that still okay?"

and every time, he phrased it like he was just checking, gathering a second opinion. but he waited for your answer. and when you disagreed with him once — gently — he went quiet for almost a full minute before nodding. you suggested that maybe seoyeon didn't need two structured activities on weekends. "she's five," you said softly. "let her rest sometimes."

he went still, then nodded. like he trusted you more than he intended to.

one evening, you went out of the bathroom to find him already home. seoyeon was sprawled on the living room floor with crayons scattered everywhere, tongue peeking out slightly as she focused on her drawing. jay sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped, staring at nothing. he looked tired. emotionally. he glanced up when you stepped inside, and something in his shoulders loosened. it was subtle, but you saw it. "rough day?"

he huffed a soft breath. "board meeting."

you nodded, settling into the armchair across from him. a few seconds passed, then he surprised you. "they want expansion. two new branches. but i don't think it's stable yet," he continued. "cash flow projections look fine on paper, but market conditions aren't predictable. if it fails..." he paused. "it affects employees, even families."

he never talked about work like this.

you leaned back slightly, "then don't expand."

he finally looked at you properly. you held his gaze. "if you're hesitating, there's a reason." you said, calm and steady. the room was quiet except for seoyeon humming to herself. jay's eyes didn't leave yours. you could almost see the internal shift — the way he weighed your words instead of automatically countering them. he exhaled. "okay."

later that night, after seoyeon was asleep and you were gathering your things, he walked you to the door like he always did. but he stood a little closer than usual. you spoke first as you slipped your shoes on, "you don't have to answer every time. you know that, right?"

his brows drew together. "answer what?"

"every doubt."

his jaw tightened slightly. "i'm not doubting," his voice was nowhere above a whisper. you gave him a look, a soft one. he held your gaze for a long second. then, quieter than you'd ever heard him, "it's easier when you're here." it wasn't a confession, but it was dangerously close.

you only nodded slowly. you finally reached the door. "i'll see you tomorrow, jay."

you walked to your car, heartbeat a little unsteady. and as soon as you slid into the driver's seat, your phone buzzed. you didn't have to look to know who it was. still, you did.

[park jongseong] : text me when you get home.

the kitchen was dim except for the soft amber glow of the stove light. it was well past midnight and the whole house felt like it was holding its breath. seoyeon had fallen asleep on the couch an hour ago — curled into the corner cushions with the blanket half-dragged to the floor, one sock missing, and a children's book open against her chest. you carried her to bed carefully. she didn't even stir.

now the house was quiet again. you stood at the kitchen counter rinsing strawberries you didn't actually need to wash. the faucet ran in a gentle stream, water tapping against the sink in a rhythm that filled the silence just enough to keep it from feeling too heavy. it gave your hands something to do.

jay stood beside you. he didn't say anything when he first walked in. he had simply leaned against the counter next to you, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, arms folded loosely across his chest. you didn't look at him, but you could feel him.

"she talks about you a lot." his voice broke the silence. you glanced at him in surprise before a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "does she?" you murmured.

he nodded once, pushing himself slightly from where he had been leaning. "yeah," he exhaled faintly through his nose, the smallest hint of amusement in it. "all the time."

you tried to hide the warmth that spread across your chest. "what does she say?" you questioned curiously. he huffed a small, almost amused breath. "that you listen." and added, "that you don't treat her like she's... small."

"she hasn't been this comfortable with someone since..." he stopped. the unfinished sentence lingered in the air like a thread left hanging. you saw it happen — the split-second shift in him, the wall rising halfway. his jaw tightened just slightly, like he had bitten down on something too sharp. the openness in his expression pulled back just a little.

you didn't push, though. you just looked at him. and this time he noticed it. he lifted his eyes to meet yours, and for a brief moment, something passed between the two of you that felt different from anything before. there was something there that you had never seen before. not anger, not deflection, not that easy sarcasm he used like armor. more like getting exposed.

"she's just..." he ran a hand through his hair before letting it fall back to his side. the movement looked more frustrated than casual. "it's been a while since she's let someone in like that."

your voice softened, "that's a good thing, no?"

he nodded again, though his gaze drifted to the floor. "yeah."

the refrigerator hum grew louder in the quiet. you didn't know what to say — not because there was nothing to say, but because it felt delicate. like if you had moved too fast, he would snap shut again. you turned off the faucet and reached for a towel.

he studied you for a moment. "she used to—" he cut himself off. his throat shifted as he swallowed the rest of the sentence. your heart tugged a little.

he looked away. "i just..." he exhaled slowly. "i don't want her getting attached to someone who—" he cut himself off again. when he realized what he said, you saw it — the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of regret crossing his eyes like he could physically pull the sentence back into his mouth.

the silence stretched before he exhaled slowly. "when we decided to separate," he said quietly, not looking at you. "i thought she could handle it." he rubbed a hand over his face, fingers dragging down slowly like it exhausted him just from remembering. "i told myself it was better this way. that seoyeon wouldn't grow up watching two people who don't... love each other properly."

he rubbed his forehead. "i wasn't scared about losing her," he continued, voice lower. "i was scared about failing her." the vulnerability in the sentence was almost raw.

"the first night she stayed with me alone..." he huffed a humorless breath. "she cried for her mom. and i just stood there in the hallway outside her room thinking—" for a moment you could almost see it. a younger version of him standing in a dark hallway, one hand braced against the wall, listening to a toddler cry on the other side of the door.

"i didn't know how to do it by myself," he admitted. "i didn't know how to be both parents. i didn't know if i was enough." his throat tightened. "i still don't."

something in your chest ached. you stepped closer, more deliberately. close enough that you stood directly in front of him. "jay."

he lifted his head then, finally looking at you fully. his eyes were glassy. the guard he usually wore so carefully was lowered — defenses loosened in a way you had never seen before. "it was so messy," he continued. "the divorce, lawyers, custody schedules... seoyeon asking questions i didn't know how to answer." he shook his head slightly. "i felt like everything stable in her life was breaking because i couldn't make my marriage work." the guilt sat heavy across his expression.

your hand moved before your brain could stop it. you reached for his wrist gently, fingers wrapping around it with quiet certainty. "you didn't break her life, jay. you protected it." you comforted, making his brows pull together slightly. "you chose something healthier instead of something convenient. that is not failure."

his eyes searched yours like he tried to decide whether he was allowed to believe that. i was terrified," he added. "terrified she'd resent me one day. terrified she'd think i'm an awful father. terrified i was an awful father."

your hand slid slowly from his wrist to his hand. he didn't pull away. his fingers were warm, slightly tense. "you stayed," you whispered. "you learned. you showed up every single day." his grip then tightened around yours unconsciously. "she smiles," you carried on gently. "she feels safe. she laughs. she sleeps through the night. that doesn't happen by accident."

you exhaled. "i don't think you realize how much she looks at you like you're her whole world."

that did it. his composure cracked just a fraction more. he looked down at your joined hands, then at you. his thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles. "i really meant it, you know?" he said. you frowned in confusion, "meant what?"

"when i said it's easier with you."

your breath caught. his eyes moved slowly over your face — neither hurried nor reckless, just taking you in. like he was seeing you differently for the first time. like something had shifted inside him and he doesn't know what to do with it just yet.

"i didn't think i'd let anyone this close again," he said softly. jay's eyes dropped to your lips for half a second before lifting it back to your gaze. his hand still wrapped around yours, thumb still resting lightly against your skin.

the air felt too thin. for a moment, it felt like something was about to happen — something quiet but undeniable, the kind of moment where the world narrows until there's only the two of you standing in the same breath of space. but your heart panicked. you pulled your hand back quickly. "uh—" you glanced toward the hallway, toward the front door, anywhere but at him. "i should probably head home. it's kind of late."

he straightened immediately. the softness in his expression shutters halfway, confusion flickering across his face. "right. yeah, of course," he stuttered. you grabbed your bag from the chair near the counter, fumbling slightly with the strap because, for some reason, your hands felt extra clumsy.

why did you act like that?

"sorry, i didn't realize how late it got." you added, a little breathless. "it's fine." his tone was calm, but there was something underneath it — something unreadable. "i can walk you out." but he had already moved toward the door.

at the door, you slipped on your shoes, avoiding his eyes. the vulnerability from minutes ago hung between you like something fragile that neither of you knew how to pick back up. he opened the door for you, the cold night air rushing in.

you stepped onto the threshold, then hesitated. you turned back. he stood there, one hand still on the door, the other resting against the frame. his expression wasn't guarded anymore, but uncertain. like he was replaying the last five minutes and tried to figure out where the ground shifted.

"goodnight, jay."

he studied you for a second too long. "night."

the next evening, the air was cooler than it had been the night before. you noticed immediately when you stepped out of the car — the faint chill brushing against your arms, the smell of grass and damp pavement lingering after the sun had gone down, the soft rustling of leaves somewhere overhead.

the park lights had just flickered on, casting warm yellow circles across the walking paths. the playground glowed softly in the distance. seoyeon was already halfway across the playground before you had even finished closing the car door. "seoyeon—!" you called.

too late, she was gone. her small sneakers slapped against the rubber ground as she sprinted toward the jungle gym like she had been waiting all day to burn off energy. you shut the car door with a sigh, but there was a smile tugging at your mouth anyway. "seoyeon!" you tried again.

she turned around briefly while running, hair bouncing wildly. "no!" she yelled back with absolute confidence, then ran faster. you groaned, "oh, come on."

behind you, jay locked the car with a soft beep and leaned casually against it for a moment, arms folding across his chest as he watched the scene unfold. a quiet smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes drifted back to you. the way you had already started after her without hesitation, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy from the breeze. he caught himself watching for a second too long before he looked away.

somehow, after last night, everything felt slightly different. the kitchen conversation still lingered in your mind like an echo that hadn't faded yet. the way his voice sounded when he admitted he didn't know if he was enough. the way his hand had tightened around yours. the way his eyes looked at you like something inside him had shifted.

now here you were, standing a few feet away from him like nothing had changed. except it had, even if neither of you said it out loud.

"are you going after her or just letting her escape?" he called lazily from behind you. you glanced over your shoulder at him. his expression was relaxed, but his eyes lingered on you just a second longer than necessary. "i'm going. someone has to," you said, starting toward the playground. you pointed at him, "and i know it's not going to be you."

you jogged across the grass toward the playground. the moment seoyeon saw you coming, she gasped like a tiny criminal caught in the act. "noooo!" she darted behind the slide, disappearing from sight. you slowed down dramatically, placing your hands on your hips and pretending to look around. "hm, i could've sworn there was a tiny human here a second ago."

you walked slowly past the slide, a giggle echoing from behind it. "oh no..." you murmured. "i think she might be hiding."

another giggle burst out. you crept closer. "i hope she didn't disappear forever," you continued, playing along. her father would be very upset."

suddenly, seoyeon exploded from behind the ladder and ran straight past you. you gasped in exaggerated betrayal, "oh! there she is!" you chased her again, arms outstretched as she shrieked with laughter.

jay had wandered over to the benches by then, hands resting in his jacket pockets as he watched the two of you run circles. he didn't realize he was smiling. there was something about the way you treated her. not only playful, but also patient and easy, like being around her didn't feel like a responsibility to you. and when you laughed — breathless and bright — something in his chest tightened unexpectedly.

seoyeon finally ran out of steam near the swings. she bent forward slightly, breathing hard, hair messy from the wind and running. "appa," she called between breaths, pointing at the swing. jay pushed himself off the bench. "yes, princess?"

"push me."

you arrived a second later, trying to catch your breath. "she tricked me into cardio," you muttered. jay snorted, "rookie mistake."

seoyeon climbed onto the swing and grabbed the chains tightly. jay stepped behind her and gave the seat a gentle push. the swing moved forward slowly, then back, then forward again. "higher," the toddler demanded. jay pushed again, slightly harder this time. "you always say that."

you leaned against the metal frame of the swing set nearby, watching them. jay's movements were calm and familiar. there was something about him when he was with her. you noticed it more clearly now than you had before. your chest softened slightly.

seoyeon eventually dragged her shoes against the ground after a few minutes, slowing the swing until it stopped. then she hopped off as if she had finished an important mission, "okay!"

jay blinked. "that's it?"

but she had already grabbed both your hands before either of you could react. her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around yours and jay's. she started marching down the paved path that circled the playground. "walk with me."

seoyeon swung your arms as she walked proudly between you. the three of you moved slowly under the glowing park lights. the sky had turned deep blue, the first stars just barely visible between the tree branches.

for a moment, everything felt peaceful. then suddenly, seoyeon stopped so abruptly that you and jay nearly bumped into her. she looked up at the both of you with narrowed eyes. "why don't you two hold hands?"

your brain completely blanked. "i— what?" jay cleared his throat, "that's not really—"

seoyeon frowned, "you guys are walking weird. like this—" she exaggerated two stiff arm swings while still holding your hands. "like robots."

during the demonstration, she had shifted slightly. now your hand and jay's were only a few centimeters apart. your fingers brushed lightly when she swung your arms again. both of you stiffened. seoyeon looked between you suspiciously. "just hold hands."

neither of you moved, making her sigh dramatically — the kind only toddlers somehow perfected. "you're adults." then she suddenly dropped both your hands. before you could do anything, she ran several steps ahead down the path. "you two catch up!"

and just like that, the buffer between you disappeared. now you were walking side by side. your hands hung awkwardly near each other, the space very noticeable — too noticeable. your hands brushed again accidentally when your steps matched.

jay hesitated, a small pause in his movements. like he was deciding something. then, his hand reached out. his fingers wrapped gently around yours. "for balance," he said quietly, like he was explaining it to himself as much as to you. you looked up at him. he kept his gaze forward, jaw tight. but the tips of his ears were faintly red. your chest fluttered. and this time, you didn't pull away. your fingers shifted slightly in his hand instead — fitting more naturally. something in your shoulders relaxed without you realizing it.

ahead of you, seoyeon turned around when she realized you weren't immediately behind her. her eyes dropped instantly to your hands, and her entire face lit up. "there! see? not weird anymore!" she pointed out proudly. jay laughed quietly under his breath. your fingers tightened around his slightly. and as you continued walking down the path together.

seoyeon marched ahead of you both like she was leading an expedition, hopping from one crack in the pavement to another with the full seriousness of someone balancing over lava. "careful, princess!" you told her. "i know!" she shouted back. her arms stretched out like a tightrope walker, lips pursed in concentration. "if i fall, i die!"

jay chuckled softly beside you. "that's dramatic," he said. "hey, those are the rules," you spat with a quiet laugh. seoyeon leapt across a wider gap, landing with a triumphant little hop before continuing down the sidewalk.

jay walked beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed occasionally when the path narrowed. your hand was still in his. for a while, neither of you spoke. but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. if anything, it felt careful — the both of you aware of something new between you and didn't want to move too quickly and break it.

the air carried quiet sounds of the evening. leaves rustling, a distant car passing, seoyeon humming to herself as she chased her own shadow further ahead. you watched her with a faint smile tugging at your lips. then you said it without really thinking. "well... enjoy it while it lasts."

jay glanced at you, brow lifting slightly. "hm?"

"i mean this." you gestured toward seoyeon, who was now trying to walk along the edge of the curb again like a balance beam. "the park trips. the chaos."

jay tilted his head slightly, amused. "you're acting like we're moving away tomorrow."

you laughed softly, shaking your head. "i just mean... eventually. i won't always be around to do this stuff with her."

the words were meant to be casual — an offhand comment. but the moment they left your mouth, jay stopped walking. your hand was still in his so when his steps halted, your arm tugged slightly. you turned toward him, "what?"

he was staring at you. not confused. it was something sharper than that. "what do you mean?" your smile faded a little. "oh— nothing," you said quickly. "just... you know. life." jay didn't move. the warmth of his hand around yours suddenly felt tense. "what life?" he pressed.

"i meant like... that's how life works," you replied with a small shrug. "people move. careers change. i might take opportunities somewhere else eventually."

the moment the words left your mouth, jay let go of your hand. "you're leaving?" he asked. you frowned, "i— i didn't say that."

"but you're thinking about it."

"i'm thinking about my future," you defended, confusion creeping into your voice. he dragged a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps forward before turning back toward you. "that's not the same thing, yn." you were confused. lost. you couldn't pinpoint what he meant. "jay, it's normal to have plans."

"plans that don't include us?" the words slipped out before he could stop them. "us?" you repeated slowly.

he looked away immediately, jaw tightening like he wished he could talk it back. ahead of you, seoyeon was still kicking a small rock along the pavement like it was a soccer ball, completely oblivious to whatever storm was unfolding behind her. "why are you reacting like this?" you asked in a whisper. "why does it matter so much to you?"

"you remember what i told you last night?"

your chest tightened slightly at the memory. the kitchen, the quiet house, the way his voice cracked as he spoke about standing in the hallway while seoyeon cried. "i remember," you said softly. jay nodded. "then you know why." he stepped closer, lowering his voice instinctively even though seoyeon was far enough. "do you know how long it took her to trust someone after everything with her mom?"

your stomach twisted. "jay—"

"i spent two years making sure she felt stable again. making sure she didn't think people just... disappear like that," he continued. "and now she's attached to you. more than i've seen with anyone in a long time."

you swallowed, "i care about her too."

"i know you do."

you shifted your weight. "then what's the problem?"

he looked at you like the answer should have been obvious. "the problem is that you're important not only to her." he inhaled before continuing. "you think it's easy for me? pretending i don't feel anything?" his frustration spilled just like the previous night. you stared at him. "what?"

jay let out a breath like something inside him had finally snapped loose. "do you have any idea how hard it is for me to act normal around you?" his voice was tight. "after everything i told you last night?"

"i was terrified of letting someone into my life again. everything got messy. it hurt seoyeon so much." he said. "and then you walk into our lives and suddenly everything feels different again." he gestured vaguely toward the street, the quiet neighborhood, the direction seoyeon had run. "the house feels lighter. she laughs more."

he added, "damn it, i even start looking forward to seeing you like some idiot."

"and now you're casually talking about leaving," he finished, voice dropping.

the silence between you stretched tight. you crossed your arms slightly, biting the inside of your cheek. "you think you're the only one struggling here, jay?"

he blinked.

"you think this, whatever this is, has been easy for me?" you continued. your voice wasn't loud, but it was slightly shaking now. "i've been trying to keep distance for months," you admitted. "trying to act like i don't notice the way you look at me. or how things feel when we're around each other."

"you're the one who said you didn't want anyone close again. you made it clear," you muttered. "so what exactly was i supposed to do with that?"

his expression faltered. the question hit him harder than anything else you had said. your voice lightened despite the ache building in your chest. "i care about you, jay." the admission settled into the night air between you. "I care about seoyeon too. and that's exactly why i've been careful."

his gaze dropped to the pavement. "i know. i was just scared."

your heart thudded painfully in your chest. after everything he told you last night about his marriage, about the divorce, about feeling like he failed, about everything — his reaction made sense.

seoyeon's voice suddenly floated back toward you from near the car. "are you guys coming?" she was standing near the car now, hands on her hips, impatient.

neither of you answered. jay's gaze lifted back to yours. you blinked, a tear slipping free. you wiped it quickly with the back of your hand. "coming, princess!" you forced your voice bright.

you turned and started walking toward her. but as you passed jay, he gently caught your wrist. his voice was quiet. "i don't want you to leave." the words were simple, but they carried everything he hadn't said before.

seoyeon groaned dramatically from the car. "if you guys are kissing, i'm telling grandma!" she tested. you let out a startled laugh through the leftover tears. jay rubbed the back of his neck, muttering under his breath, "unbelievable."

the next few days felt different. not dramatically different. nothing obvious enough for anyone outside the house to notice. the routines were still the same — the same breakfast table, the same afternoon cartoons, the same quiet evenings after dinner.

but the air between you and jay had shifted. it was the kind of change that lived in small things — the way conversations ended a little too early, the way both of you suddenly found something else to look at whenever the other walked into the room, the way a thin and fragile silence lingered longer than it used to.

on tuesday noon you were at the dining table beside seoyeon, leaning your elbow on the table as you helped her with her homework. or... tried to help.

she sat cross-legged on the chair, a pencil wedged between her teeth, cheeks puffed slightly as she stared down at the worksheet like it had personally insulted her. you watched her for a long moment before finally speaking. “you’re not even reading the problem,” you said gently. her eyes stayed on the paper, “i am." the words came out muffled around the pencil.

“you’re staring at it," you corrected. “that’s part of reading.” she frowned, looking up at you. you tried very hard not to smile.

across the table, jay sat with his laptop open. a spreadsheet filled the screen — rows and rows of numbers and documents layered behind it. a small bowl of grapes rested beside the laptop. normally by now he would've said something — like some sarcastic comment about seoyeon negotiating with basic math like it was a business contract. or maybe even tease you for being too patient with her.

today he didn’t. he just kept working. the quiet tapping of his keyboard blended with the soft scratching of seoyeon's pencil. you felt his presence in the room the same way you had for months. but now it made your chest tighten so easily.

your eyes stayed glued to the sheet. “so,” you said, tapping the page with the end of your pen. “if there are twelve apples in a basket and you eat four of them—”

seoyeon immediately shook her head. “i would never eat only four apples," she protested. you let out a slow breath. “okay. let's say you heroically eat six apples.”

she considered that carefully, then giggled. “better.”

“how many apples are left in the basket?”

she placed the pencil down and began counting on her fingers with intense concentration. her lips moved silently while she counted. "...six," she announced proudly. you narrowed your eyes. "princess, if you eat six out of twelve— oh." you blinked once, then twice in defeat. she pouted. “still six.”

you couldn't help it — a quiet laugh slipped out of you. "you're right. still six," you nodded solemnly which made seoyeon smile smugly.

out of the corner of your eye, you saw jay glance up from his laptop. the moment was short — barely a second — but it was enough for your stomach to twist. because the second your eyes started to lift, he looked away. and your heart sank a little.

later that evening, you stood on the back porch with your arms loosely wrapped around yourself, leaning your shoulder lightly against the wooden post. seoyeon ran across the grass, kicking a soccer ball that was a little too big. every few steps the ball bounced too far away from her and she chased it with frantic determination.

"careful!" you called half-heartedly. "i am careful!" she shouted back before kicking the ball too hard again.

through the sliding glass door behind you, you could see jay moving around the kitchen. he wiped down the counter slowly, one hand holding a dish towel while the other steadied himself against the marble.

it felt strange. just a week ago, you would’ve been standing inside with him — leaning against the counter, talking about something stupid, teasing him about the way he always looked overly serious while doing the most mundane things. now, it felt like there was an invisible line neither of you wanted to cross.

the memory of the evening at the playground had been replaying in your head on a constant loop. the quiet moment, the conversation, the words that hovered in the air between you. and your own words right before it.

i might take opportunities somewhere else eventually. you groaned quietly to yourself, pressing your fingers against your forehead. why did you say that? why did you make it sound like you were already halfway out the door?

the door suddenly shifted open behind you with a soft sound. your shoulders instinctively straightened. jay stepped outside, the cool air brushing past him as he closed the door. neither of you spoke right away. he walked over to the railing and leaned his forearms against it, his hands clasped together. his gaze drifted toward seoyeon running across the yard. “you’re gonna break something!" he called out to her. “i won’t!” she shouted back instantly before kicking the ball again — it flew sideways and nearly hit a garden pot — and jay could only sigh quietly under his breath.

he shifted slightly beside you. “you don’t have to stay out here,” he said after a moment. your brows knit together, “i know.” another pause settled between you.

god, this was painful. you used to talk so easily. now every sentence felt like stepping on unstable ground. you rubbed your arm absentmindedly, brushing your hand over your sleeve. jay noticed, “are you sure you’re not cold?”

“i said i'm fine.”

seoyeon suddenly kicked the ball too hard. it rolled straight toward the porch and bumped into the steps. she sprinted after it, slightly out of breath when she reached you. “did you see that?” she asked, pushing hair out of her face. “very impressive,” you smiled. jay nodded. “future professional.”

she beamed. then her eyes bounced between the two of you. her expression slowly changed, brows now scrunched. “why are you guys weird?” she asked. jay frowned slightly. “what do you mean weird?”

seoyeon planted a hand on her hips like a tiny detective. “you don’t talk anymore.”

you opened your mouth. nothing came out. jay shifted beside you. “that’s not true,” he said gently. “yes it is," she insisted right away, then pointed at both of you accusingly. “you used to laugh together, and now you don’t,” she added. the bluntness of it hit harder than you expected.

you crouched down in front of her. “we still laugh,” you said softly. she shook her head without hesitation. “no you don’t.” then, her voice grew smaller, “did you fight?”

your heart squeezed. “no,” you responded.

she looked unconvinced. her gaze shifted to jay. “appa?” jay hesitated for a moment, then he crouched down too, meeting her eye level. “we didn’t fight,” he said.

“then why aren’t you two smiling together anymore?” the question hung in the air. it was heavy. jay didn’t answer right away, neither did you. seoyeon looked between the two of you again, clearly waiting for a real explanation. jay rubbed the back of his neck in deep thought. “sometimes adults just… think too much,” he said.

“that’s a dumb reason.”

a chuckle escaped out of you. jay huffed out a quiet breath that might’ve been the beginning of a laugh too. seoyeon brightened immediately. “there!” she shouted suddenly, pointing. “you did it! you smiled at the same time.”

your chest tightened again. jay’s eyes lifted to yours for a brief moment. and this time neither of you looked away immediately, but the weight of everything unspoken was still there — lingering, quiet, and unresolved.

seoyeon kicked the soccer ball again. “okay,” she declared. “you’re both coming to play.” she grabbed your hand, then jay’s, and started pulling both of you toward the grass. jay sighed under his breath, but he let her drag him forward anyway.

the “soccer game” lasted longer than either of you had expected. mostly because seoyeon kept inventing new rules every five minutes. at first, it had been simple enough — kicking the ball back and forth across the yard while she ran wildly between the two of you, giggling every time she managed to steal the ball.

but at some point, the game stopped being soccer entirely. the rules had evolved into something closer to chaotic running, dramatic flopping, and occasional ball kicking. jay jogged after seoyeon as she attempted to run across the yard with the ball clutched under her arm. "hey! no hands, princess!" you yelled playfully. she stopped and gasped at herself, "oops." then she tossed the ball back down and kicked it again.

jay jogged past you with a quiet huff of laughter. "this kid is impossible," he groaned. you looked at him, "you're her dad, jay."

by the time seoyeon finally wore herself out, the sky had turned fully dark and the yard lights cast soft yellow circles across the grass. seoyeon flopped dramatically onto the ground, breathing hard. “i’m done,” she groaned, starfishing on the ground. jay nudged the soccer ball toward the porch with the tip of his shoe. “go grab some water.”

“i can’t move.” her chest heaved up and down rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. jay squinted suspiciously. “you can run ten laps,” he mentioned. seoyeon shook her head in disagreement, “no. i can run one lap ten times.”

“that’s still ten laps.”

seoyeon groaned louder but pushed herself up from the grass anyway, trudging toward the house like she had just completed a marathon. “i’m getting juice!” she shouted as she opened the sliding door. the door slid shut. and just like that, the yard fell quiet again. the sudden silence was noticeable. the distant hum of crickets filled the space where seoyeon's constant chatter had been seconds before.

you leaned your hands on your knees slightly, catching your breath. “she’s going to sleep well tonight,” you said. jay hummed. “one can hope.”

you were both watching the closed door, waiting to make sure seoyeon didn’t immediately reappear with another rule... or a snack she definitely wasn’t supposed to have. when she didn’t, jay finally stepped closer to the porch railing and rested his forearms against it. you joined him a second later.

jay rubbed the back of his neck slowly. your stomach tightened slightly — you knew that gesture. he was thinking about something. “hey,” he said quietly. you glanced over at him. “yeah?”

he didn’t look at you right away. instead, he watched the dark yard like the answer might be somewhere out there. “about what i said the other night," he started. your chest tightened immediately. of course. you tried to keep your voice steady. “which part?”

“…the part where i told you i didn’t want you to leave.”

your fingers curled lightly against the wooden railing. jay finally looked over at you. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”

you turned toward him a little more. “then why did you say it?”

he didn’t answer just then. the porch light cast soft shadows across his face. his jaw shifted slightly the way it always did when he was choosing his words carefully. “i didn’t plan to.” he rubbed his thumb across the railing absently. “for the record, i wasn’t trying to pressure you.” he said quietly. “i just…” he paused, searching for the right words. “i reacted.”

“to what?”

he finally turned his body toward you. “to the idea of you not being here.” the honesty in his voice made your stomach flip.

“like… you could wake up tomorrow and decide that a job somewhere else makes more sense,” he continued. “or that being tied to… this situation isn’t what you want long-term.” he gestured faintly toward the house — toward the life inside it, toward seoyeon.

your chest tightened. “that’s not fair.” jay looked deep into your eyes. “i know. but it matters to me.”

jay took a step closer, closing the distance enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence more clearly now. “you asked earlier why I reacted like that,” he said quietly. “this is why.”

your pulse thudded loudly in your ears. “jay…”

“i spent a long time convincing myself that i didn’t need anyone like that again,” he continued, his voice remained steady. “but then you showed up.” your heart was beating way too fast now. he carried on, “and suddenly everything I worked so hard to keep simple got complicated again.”

you let out a quiet breath. “you make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

he shook his head slowly. “that’s the problem, yn.” he looked down for a second before lifting his gaze back to you. “it's not.”

he took another small step forward. now the space between you was barely a couple of feet. “do you know how many times i’ve almost said something to you?” he said quietly. your lips parted slightly. “what kind of something?”

his mouth twitched faintly, “exactly the kind you’re thinking.” your stomach flipped hard. his gaze dropped briefly to your hands resting against the railing, then slowly lifted back to your face. “i really tried not to. because i know that the moment i say it out loud, things will change.”

he studied you carefully. he inhaled like he was finally about to say the thing he’d been circling around for days. “yn, i—”

“appa!”

seoyeon’s voice burst through the open sliding door. the both of you jumped a little before turning toward the house. she stood in the doorway holding a bottle of juice. “i can’t open this!”

jay closed his eyes briefly, a quiet and defeated exhale escaping him. you couldn’t stop the small laugh that slipped out. the timing was almost unbelievable. seoyeon waved the carton impatiently. “hello?!”

jay rubbed his forehead. “coming, princess.”

he glanced back at you. then, seoyeon shouted again. “appaaaa!”

jay shook his head with a quiet sigh and started walking toward the door. but before stepping inside, he paused. his gaze flicked back to you once more. and even though he hadn’t finished what he was about to say… you were almost certain you already knew what it was.

that night, the kitchen smelled of garlic and sesame oil. the scent had slowly filled the apartment over the last twenty minutes, warm and savory, drifting down the hallway and curling around the living room like an invitation to come closer. the overhead light above the stove cast a soft golden glow across the countertops, reflecting faintly against the stainless steel pots and the glossy tiles behind the range.

jay stood at the stove, one hand gripping the handle of a pan while the other stirred slowly with a wooden spatula. every few seconds, the pan hissed quietly, the sound sharps but comforting in the otherwise calm kitchen.

you sat at the small dining table helping seoyeon arrange chopsticks beside the plates. the table had already been set with plates and napkins, but she had taken it upon herself to handle the chopsticks like they were the most important responsibility in the house. she approached it with the seriousness of a tiny event planner.

each pair had to be perfectly parallel. she placed one down, leaned back slightly to inspect it, then leaned forward again to adjust it by barely half a centimeter. then she frowned, then moved it again.

you rested your elbow on the table and propped your cheek against your hand, watching her reposition the exact same set for the third time. "princess," you muttered lazily, voice quiet but amused. "they were fine the first time."

"they're not," she replied stubbornly. she nudged one of them again, then the other.

you exhaled a quiet laugh through your nose. "you're very particular for someone who just spent thirty minutes making up illegal soccer rules," you murmured. "that wasn't illegal!" she protested, placing both hands on the table as she defended herself.

jay let out a quiet huff from the stove. he was still focused on cooking, shoulders relaxed while he stirred the pan again, but the corner of his mouth twitched faintly like he was fighting a smile. seoyeon noticed it. "see?" she pointed a finger toward him. "appa agrees with me."

"i didn't say anything, princess," he replied without looking up. she shrugged sassily, "you didn't have to."

you snorted softly, shaking your head.

the quiet comfort of the kitchen wrapped around the three of you after that, the argument dissolving into easy silence — the clink of dishes, the scrape of the chair leg against tile, the low hum of the range hood above the stove.

jay reached forward to turn the heat down slightly, stirring the vegetables once more before adding a splash of sauce from a small glass bowl. the pan hissed louder for a moment as the liquid hit the hot surface. the smell immediately deepened. seoyeon sniffed the air dramatically. "it smells so good," she announced. jay nodded, "that's the goal, princess."

a minute later, jay turned off the stove. the sudden quiet after the sizzling stopped made the room feel calmer somehow. "dinner's ready," he stated simply. seoyeon immediately climbed onto her chair at the table like she hadn't been the one pretending to be exhausted twenty minutes earlier after the so-called soccer match. you carried the last bowl over while jay set the pan down in the middle of the table, steam curling upward in thin ribbons.

the three of you settled into your seats. jay sat across from you. seoyeon sat beside you, swinging her legs under the chair while she picked up her chopsticks. for a few minutes, the only sounds were chopsticks tapping lightly against bowls and seoyeon happily chewing her food. then— "appa, i have something important to say."

jay glanced up. "that sentence never leads to anything good," he said. seoyeon's eyes widened, "it does!"

she then sat up straighter in her chair, clearly preparing for something dramatic. you glanced between the two of them with mild curiosity. "i have a performance next week!" she cheered. you raised both eyebrows, "really? what kind of performance?"

"dance!" her eyes sparkled with excitement. jay wiped his mouth with a napkin. "the one you mentioned yesterday with the sparkly shoes?" he cocked an eyebrow. she nodded vigorously, "yes!"

seoyeon then turned her full attention toward you. her expression suddenly softened into something hopeful. "yn?" she pouted. you blinked, "yes?"

"will you come?"

the question caught you a little off guard. your eyes flickered briefly toward jay. "i—" you hesitated for a second before answering carefully but warmly with a grin. "i would love to." her face immediately lit up. "but," you added, lifting a finger. "only if your appa says it's okay."

seoyeon turned her entire body toward jay so quickly her chair squeaked against the floor. "appa, you have to say yes. you're going to say yes. pleeeeeease."

he narrowed his eyes slightly as he studied her, leaning back in his chair slowly. "why are you negotiating like this?"

"because this is really important."

jay looked at you. you tried to seem neutral, suddenly very interested in your rice. seoyeon leaned across the table toward him. "she has to come," she practically threatened. jay frowned slightly, "why?" he questioned. seoyeon looked like the answer was obvious. "because." she uttered. jay tilted his head in mild amusement, "that's not an explanation."

she thought for a moment. then pointed at you. "because she's my person." the words landed softly but heavily in the space between you. your chest tightened a little, warmth flooding up into your throat. you stared down at your plate, blinking quickly as you felt the slightest sting behind your eyes. across you, jay went still for a mere moment.

seoyeon continued, completely unaware of the emotional bomb she had just dropped. "and everyone's parents will be there," she explained. "and some people even bring their grandparents and cousins and stuff."

jay rubbed his temple. "you'll already have me there."

she crossed her arms stubbornly. "yeah, but that's not the point." she leaned closer, lowering her voice like she was revealing a top secret mission. "i want both of you there."

your heart skipped a beat. jay stared at her. "...both of us."

seoyeon then slid out of her chair. she marched around the table and planted herself beside jay, wrapping her arms around his arm dramatically. "appa," she pleaded. jay looked down at her, "you're emotionally manipulating me."

she only squeezed tighter. "please?" she begged over and over. jay sighed quietly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "you know she doesn't actually need my permission to attend a public school performance," he explained, glancing toward you. you shrugged lightly. "she asked you."

"appaaaaa," she sang. jay looked at her again. her eyes were wide, hopeful, completely determined. he stared at her for a long moment, then his gaze shifted toward you. something thoughtful passed through his expression. "...fine."

seoyeon gasped like it was a miracle. "really?!"

he nodded, "yes." when the words left jay's lips, she immediately launched herself into a hug around his neck. "you're the best appa ever!" she celebrated. he chuckled, patting her back, "i know."

she spun around toward you with pure excitement. "you're coming!" she jumped up and down. you laughed softly, "i guess i am."

and the next week arrived quicker than you expected. the days seemed to blur together in a strange mix of routine and anticipation. every morning started the same way — seoyeon reminding both of you about her performance like it was a national holiday. at breakfast, before school, after school, during dinner, and once while brushing her teeth with toothpaste foam still clinging to the corners of her mouth.

"you're coming, right?" she had asked for what had to be the fifth time that morning while tugging on her backpack straps. jay stood near the door holding his car keys, already half prepared to drive her to school. "yes," he said patiently. "we're coming."

seoyeon narrowed her eyes slightly, studying him like she was checking for signs of dishonesty. she looked at you next, "you too?" she interrogated. you nodded, "i said i would."

she puffed her cheeks out slightly and tilted her head up toward you, eyes wide and suspicious in the most adorable way possible. "promise?" she inquired. you nodded with a chuckle, "promise."

the sky was gray by the time you and jay arrived at the school that afternoon. clouds hung low overhead, heavy with the kind of rain that felt inevitable. the parking lot buzzed with parents arriving, umbrellas tucked under arms just in case. children ran through the front gates laughing, their voices echoing across the courtyard.

jay walked beside you toward the gymnasium, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jacket. he looked somewhat tense. not obviously, but you noticed the small things. like the way his jaw shifted slightly, the way he kept checking the time on his phone, the way his fingers tapped lightly against the side of his leg as you walked.

"you look more nervous than she does," you murmured. jay glanced at you. "i'm not nervous," he claimed but his voice was slightly shaking. you hummed quietly. "right, of course."

he sighed under his breath. "it's her first performance," he said defensively. "and she worked really hard on it. so i just want it to go well." he looked ahead toward the gym doors, gulping. your lips curved slightly. "it will."

his eyes scanned your expression. "you sound very confident," he raised one eyebrow. you squinted, "she's literally seoyeon, jay." and that seemed to satisfy him more than any detailed explanation could have.

inside, the gym was already filling with families. rows of folding chairs stretched across the floor facing a small temporary stage decorated with colorful paper stars and balloons. soft music played from speakers near the stage while teachers hurried around organizing the children.

you and jay found seats about halfway back. the seats were close enough that your shoulders brushed occasionally when either of you shifted. neither of you commented on it.

jay leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees while scanning the stage. "do you see her?" his leg bounced anxiously. you squinted toward the curtain where a cluster of small dancers stood waiting in glittery costumes. "third from the left," you spotted. he followed your gaze. seoyeon stood near the edge of the group, wearing a sparkly blue outfit and matching hair ribbon. she was bouncing lightly on her feet like she physically couldn't stand still. jay let out a quiet breath. "god, she looks tiny."

you giggled, "she is tiny."

"i know, but still," he muttered. you could see the pride written clearly across his face.

when the lights turned off and the music finally started, the chatter in the gym quieted. the children ran onto the stage. seoyeon spotted the two of you almost immediately. her eyes widened and she waved enthusiastically. jay lifted his hand in a small wave back. "focus," you whispered, slapping his hand lightly. he dropped it quickly.

the dance began. it was a chaotic mix of enthusiastic arm swings, slightly delayed steps, and occasional confusion about where everyone was supposed to stand. but seoyeon danced like she was performing in front of a stadium. she spun dramatically, clapped off-beat, and at one point she looked directly at you and jay again just to make sure you were still watching.

jay leaned closer to you just a little. "is she supposed to be that far to the left?" he scratched the top of his head. you licked your lips, "...probably?"

"she's not following the line," he mumbled. you shook your head, "it's interpretive."

he huffed quietly and answered many questions, but the widest grin ever never left his face.

when the music ended, the entire gym erupted into applause. seoyeon bowed enthusiastically with the rest of the group. then the moment the curtain started to close, she bolted off the stage. you both barely had time to react before she came sprinting across the gym floor straight toward the two of you. "appa! yn!"

jay stood up just in time to catch her, carrying her into his arms. she crashed into him at full speed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "did you see me?!" she had the widest smile you'd ever seen. "yes! you were amazing, princess." he pulled her into a tight hug and landed a small kiss on the top of her head. she immediately turned toward you next. "did you see my spin?" she beamed. you leaned to hug her, "i saw everything."

without really thinking about it, the three of you ended up wrapped together in one tangled hug. seoyeon clung to both of you proudly. for a moment, none of you moved. it felt... natural. like something that had happened a hundred times before.

a voice suddenly spoke nearby, "oh! there she is."

you turned slightly. one of the teachers walked over with a clipboard in hand. she smiled warmly at the three of you. "she did wonderfully, didn't she?" she raised her eyebrows. jay nodded instantly, "she did."

the teacher looked between the two of you. "you must be very proud," she exclaimed. "we are," you said.

she tilted her head. "are you seoyeon's parents?"

your brain froze for a second. you wanted to deny it, the words were on the tip of your tongue. but before you could answer, jay spoke first. "something like that."

the teacher smiled kindly. "well, you two make a very supportive couple," she didn't forget to mention. you instinctively glanced at jay. he didn't correct her, didn't clarify, he simply held seoyeon in his arms while looking down at her with twinkling eyes. "thank you," he responded calmly.

the gymnasium slowly began to empty after the performance ended. parents gathered their children, teachers stacked folding chairs, and the low hum of conversation filled the space again as families filtered toward the exits. the stage lights dimmed, leaving the colorful paper stars hanging above the curtain swaying slightly.

you and jay walked toward the front entrance while seoyeon bounced between the two of you, still wearing her sparkly blue costume and ribbon. the tiny dance bag hung loosely from jay's shoulder as he followed along beside you.

jay glanced down at the two of you and shook his head softly when seoyeon couldn't stop talking and asking questions to you. "we created a monster," he said. you nudged him lightly with your shoulder and corrected, "you created a star."

by the time you reached the front doors, the sky outside had darkened noticeably. the heavy gray clouds that had hovered all afternoon had finally given in. it wasn't pouring yet, but a soft drizzle had started falling across the parking lot. seoyeon pressed both hands against the glass doors and peered outside, "rain!"

"we should run to the car," jay frowned. before he could even reach into the bag for an umbrella, seoyeon had already pushed the door open and darted outside. "what— seoyeon!" you said.

she skipped straight into the drizzle, tilting her face up toward the sky while raindrops dotted her ribbon. you laughed quietly and followed her out into the cool air. "hey, hey. you're going to get soaked, princess," you called, jogging a few steps closer to her. she stretched her arms out as the light rain fell around her, "but it feels nice!"

behind you, jay was still fumbling through the bag. by the time he finally found the umbrella and stepped outside, he noticed the two of you already several steps away in the rain. he sighed then jogged toward you.

you had just brushed a small raindrop off seoyeon's cheek when footsteps splashed quickly behind you. "seriously?" jay said as he reached you, slightly out of breath. you turned just in time to see him open the umbrella over his head. "i leave for five seconds and you two start a rain festival."

he then instinctively grabbed your wrist and pulled you under the umbrella with him. the movement was quick and automatic, and suddenly, you were standing directly beneath the umbrella with him — very close.

the umbrella wasn't very large, which meant your shoulders nearly touched. rain tapped softly against the umbrella above you, the steady sound filling the quiet space.

a few stray droplets had caught in jay's hair before he opened it. one slowly slid down along his temple before disappearing into the collar of his jacket.

you noticed it. and apparently he noticed you noticing.

the world suddenly felt a little quieter. seoyeon's splashing in a nearby puddle echoed faintly somewhere behind you, but the sound felt distant. jay cleared his throat softly. "you'll catch a cold," he murmured. you looked up at him, and he was already looking at you. there was barely any distance between your faces.

jay inhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling beneath the damp fabric of his jacket. the faint warmth of his breath mixed with the cool rainy air between you. rainwater slid off the edge of the umbrella and dripped steadily onto the pavement beside your shoes.

his hand brushed lightly against yours. your heart began beating just a little faster. jay's eyes flicked downward for a brief second — just long enough for you to notice — before returning to yours. his grip tightened slightly around the umbrella handle. another inch closer and—

splash! cold water exploded across the front of your shoes. both of you jumped. seoyeon stood there beside a large puddle, staring at you proudly. "look!"

the moment shattered instantly.

seoyeon stomped again and again. jay dragged a hand down his face with a quiet groan, "princess..."

you burst out laughing. jay turned to look at you, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "you're encouraging her," he accused. "i'm not," you protested through your laughter.

seoyeon grabbed your hand suddenly, "come jump with me!" she grinned. not giving you a chance to object, she tugged you toward the puddle. "hey—" jay began.

too late. splash! water soaked the edge of your pants as seoyeon jumped again, giggling loudly. jay stood there for a moment watching the two of you. then he sighed quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "unbelievable." but instead of stopping you, he stepped closer and tilted the umbrella so it covered the both of you again. "if you get sick, i'm not explaining to the doctors that you caught penumonia because you joined a five-year-old puddle gang."

you laughed again, breathless. jay watched you for a second longer than necessary. rain dotted the sleeve of your jacket, and you hair started to curl from the moisture. and for a bried moment, he thought — you looked really good like this. he cleared his throat quickly and looked away before the thought lingered too long. "alright, car. now."

by the time you returned home, night had settled quietly. the rain from earlier had faded into a softer drizzle that tapped lightly against the windows. inside, everything felt calm again after the excitement of the performance. seoyeon had changed out of her sparkly costume and into her pajamas, though the blue ribbon still hung slightly crooked in her hair because she refused to take it off. "i'm keeping it!" she declared, and jay didn't bother to argue.

now the three of you sat around the small living room coffee table. seoyeon laid on her stomach on the floor with a box of crayons scattered around her while she worked very seriously on a sheet of paper.

jay leaned back on the couch behind her, absently scrolling through his phone while keeping one eye on whatever she was doing. you sat nearby, legs tucked beneath yourself, watching the quiet little scene unfold.

"done!" she suddenly announced as she popped up onto her knees. "look!" she held the paper up proudly. you leaned forward immediately and jay lowered his phone. the drawing was exactly what you'd expect from a five-year-old — uneven stick figures, bright crayon colors, and a large yellow sun floating in the corner.

three figures stood in the center holding hands. "that's me," she said, tapping on the smallest one in the middle that had a blue ribbon scribbled on top of its head. then she pointed to the taller one on the left, "that's appa," she said. jay smiled faintly. then she pointed to the third figure, "and that's yn."

she beamed, "it's our family picture."

you breath hitched slightly. then you smiled softly, "it's beautiful," you told her. jay nodded slowly, though his eyes lingered on the drawing longer than yours did. "yeah, it is," he murmured. seoyeon happily hung the drawing on the fridge with a magnet before running off to brush her teeth, still humming the dance music from earlier.

the moment passed — or, at least it seemed like it had. later that night, the house was dark and still. seoyeon had fallen asleep almost instantly after jay carried her to bed. the hallway light glowed faintly under her door while rain continued to fall softly outside.

you were in the kitchen, rinsing a glass when you felt someone step into the room behind you. you dried your hands and turned to see him eyeing the fridge — seoyeon's drawing. something in his expression looked tight. "don't do that." his voice was quiet, but it cut through the silence.

your forehead bunched. "do what?" you queried. jay exhaled slowly, running a hand over the back of his neck. "don't make her get used to you if you're planning to leave."

the words hit harder than you expected. you stared at him for a moment, trying to process what he had just said. "i'm not planning to leave," you assured. his jaw shifted slightly, and he started rambling. "she's a kid and she gets attached. and if you one day just decide to leave—"

"i'm not planning to leave, jay," you repeated, now with a much louder voice. a long pause followed as he looked at you with his lips parted. then your voice softened, "...unless you don't want me to stay."

he froze. for a moment, the only sound in the room was the rain hitting the windows. "why would you say that?" he asked quietly. you crossed your arms, "because you're acting like i'm temporary. but what about you?"

his expression shifted, "what about me?" he blinked. you held his gaze, "if i left tomorrow, would that really just hurt seoyeon?" silence stretched between you. then he looked away, "no."

you hadn't realized how close you had stepped until you noticed you were standing only a foot away from him now. "she already sees you as a family," he said. you nodded once, "and you?" your voice barely rose above a whisper. his shoulders rose with a slow breath. with a rougher voice, he answered, "i tried not to. but i started looking for you too."

your heart thudded painfully in your chest. "you think i want to walk away from that?" you chuckled like it was ridiculous. jay looked at you again, the tension now thick enough to touch. "you have no idea what you've become to us."

you swallowed. "then stop acting like i'm going to disappear," you added. jay stepped closer without even seeming to realize it, and something in his expression broke then. he reached for you like it was reflex. his hand wrapped around your wrist before sliding up your arm, pulling you toward him.

the kiss happened before either of you could think twice. it wasn't gentle — weeks of tension crashed together in one breathless moment. his mouth found yours with a kind of urgency that made your pulse spike. jay's other hand slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him. the kiss deepened quickly, now hungry and desperate. all the words you'd been holding back poured into it instead.

when you finally broke apart to breathe, his forehead rested against yours. the both of you breathed a little harder than before. jay's hand was still resting at the back of your neck, fingers lightly tangled in your hair like he wasn't ready to let go. "you shouldn't have said that you'd stay," he murmured quietly.

your brows knit together, "why?" you asked as you tried to catch your breath. his thumb brushed slowly along your jaw, gaze searching yours. "because now i'm going to hold you to it."

the way he said it made your stomach tighten. "good," you said softly. something in his eyes flickered at that. his hand slid down to your waist and pulled you closer again. this time the kiss started slower and much deeper — like he was taking his time learning the shape of you.

jay backed you a few steps until your hips bumped lightly against the kitchen counter. his hands settled there, gripping while your arms slid around his shoulders. he paused just long enough to look at you again. "tell me to stop."

you didn't. instead, you pulled him down into another kiss. that was all the answer he needed.

he exhaled softly against your mouth, one hand sliding from your waist to rest against the small of your back. the warmth of his palm pressed you closer against him. your fingers slid into his hair, tugging lightly. he groaned when you did. "god..." he muttered under his breath, like he couldn't quite believe it was real.

he broke the kiss once more, both of you gasping for air. his breath came in ragged puffs. "i've wanted to do that for so long," he managed to breathe out. you chuckled to yourself, earning a smile from him.

you leaned back just a little, enough to see his whole face. you brushed his hair with one hand, then moved it to his cheek. your thumb rubbed lazy circles on it, jay unconsciously leaning to the warmth of your palm. for a moment, jay just looked at you, chest rising and falling, eyes dark and unreadable. then he let out a slow breath and muttered, "are you... willing to try something real?"

your heart skipped. the words carried so much weight, so much meaning, that it felt like the air itself had grown heavier. your gaze deepened, feeling the vulnerability and honesty behind his question. "yes. i want to try. i want... this."

a slow, relieved smile spread across his face, and he exhaled quietly, as if the words themselves had been holding him hostage. "you mean it?" he asked, caressing your hip.

you nodded, pressing closer, resting your head on his chest. his arms engulfed you in a warm embrace as he placed his head on yours.

"appa?" the small, high-pitched, and all too familiar voice cut through the moment. jay's arms tightened instinctively before he slowly pulled away, turning toward the source of sound. you peeked past his shoulders to see none other than seoyeon, mimi clutched in hand, hair tousled and eyes half-lidded.

jay coughed, clearing his throat. "hey, princess... why are you awake?"

the little girl rose on her tiptoes, eyes landing on you. "yn?" she called. you straightened and plastered a bright grin on your face, "hi, seoyeonnie."

seoyeon yawned. "what are you guys doing?"

jay inhaled sharply, you could practically hear the gears in his head turning. "we, uh—" he hesitated, then scratched the back of his neck.. "appa was just grabbing something behind yn."

seoyeon stared at him for another beat, unimpressed. then she rolled her eyes and turned away. "you could just say you were hugging." she walked back inside her bedroom, closing the door behind her, not forgetting to mumble a small "good night" as she did so.

your mouth hung open right away, a small chuckle of shock leaving your lips. jay stood frozen in front of you. "did she just—" he said, turning around to face you.

you placed a palm on your mouth to stifle your laugh, only to fail right away as you burst out laughing. jay only looked at you, clearly not amused. "you cannot be laughing in a situation like this."

"i'm sorry," you nearly choked on your own words as giggles kept coming out of you.

he rolled his eyes with a groan and dropped his forehead against your shoulder. "i hate you," he murmured. you only laughed harder, knowing his words meant anything but that. "right," you teased softly, "of course you do."

you were still laughing when he let out a long sigh, his breath warm through the fabric of your shirt. "unbelievable," he mumbled. "i just confessed my feelings, almost died of embarrassment, and my daughter decides to humble me." you bit your lip, trying to compose yourself, but a grin kept tugging at the corners of your mouth, "she's too smart."

he straightened, expression now softer and less guarded. "stay."

you blinked, "tonight?"

he nodded, a little hesitant. "not for anything like that," he added quickly. "just... stay. in case she wakes up again. in case i mess up explaining things in the morning." a small pause, then, "in case i need you."

your heart warmed. "i wasn't planning to," you smiled. relief flickered across his face, followed by something quieter and deeper. he glanced at your lips for a second, and you took that as a sign to lean in, lips locking with his again. he moaned, the sound muffled.

your hand travelled down to his chest, then lower to his toned stomach. you felt him shiver under your touch. he leaned back with a small whine escaping his lips, "fuck, yn." you only managed to smirk before he crashed his mouth onto yours yet again.

this time, his hands travelled under your top, landing on your waist and gave it a small squeeze. you whimpered and gripped his hair, inching closer to his body, leaving little to no space in between the two of you. he caressed the soft skin with his thumb, making you melt more each second. he managed to slip his tongue inside your mouth, his spit now mixing with yours. and when the kiss was broken, a string of saliva connected you. you panted lightly, catching your breath. he sighed. "my room?"

you had never accepted to an invitation to bed so fastly, but you didn't (and don't) regret it. honestly, how could you when he was such a gentleman even in an intimate situation?

you laid on the bed, now bare, with jay hovering above you, clothes stripped off as well. "no condom? you sure, baby?" he reassured once more, looking at you with eyes full of care. you nodded once, "i'm so sure, jay. i'm on the pill." and jay mumbled an "okay." you split your legs apart on instinct, a silent call for him to scoot closer.

he looked down, lining up his shaft with your folds. he moved his hips, dick sliding on your slicked pussy. the pressure on your clit made you roll your eyes, "jay... please."

and without further delay, his cock slipped inside you in a painfully slow motion. it felt too good, how his cock slowly and surely filled you up inch by inch. you covered your mouth with a hand, stifling your moan. "ngh!" you muttered, back arching slightly.

jay was no better. god, the feeling of your tight pussy hugging and pulsing around him — he had never felt so much pleasure. "shit, so fuckin' tight," he groaned, voice small, careful not to wake up seoyeon next door.

bottoming out, he asked you, "can i move? do you need a moment?"

you shook your head, and jay immediately got to work. he pulled out more than half, only to slide in again with the same painful amount of force. you moaned along with him, walls now clenching harder around his shaft. "my god, jay—" you cut yourself off with a gasp when he grinded deeper. - he dropped his body on top of yours, pleasure too much to take. he whined beside your ear, "mmh, pussy's practically gripping my cock."

you wrapped your arms around his neck. "jay, more. please," you begged. he thrusted in and out of you with a faster pace then. he latched his lips onto your neck, suckling and leaving marks. "ah—!" you yelped when you felt his teeth nibble slightly on the skin under your ear.

"god, you drive me crazy, yn. you don't know," he muttered between wet kisses on your collarbone. "wanted this for so long." his hand moved up to your breasts, fondling then flicking a nipple. you whined at the feel of it.

he then propped into a slightly different position before continuing his movements. his cock brushed deeper with the new angle, making you moan louder than intended. "jay, fuck—! so deep!" you scratched his back, leaving a red line on his skin. he groaned at the sensation, "y'like that?" and you couldn't form any words, moaning as an answer instead. he chuckled, "yeah, you do, don't you?"

he straightened back up, eyes scanning your body under his. he nearly let out a sound at the sight of you — face contorted in pleasure, hair all messy, sweat glistening your skin, breasts bouncing with each thrust, pussy swallowing his cock whole. "so beautiful, yn. prettiest girl ever," he praised.

your hands fell to your sides, fingers gripping the sheets. your mouth parted, eyebrows scrunching. "jay, i—" you tried to speak, only for the air to be knocked out of you with a hard thrust. "hm? what is it, pretty?" he tilted his head.

"gonna— cum!" your pussy tightened unconsciously, making him groan. "wanna cum, baby? all around my cock?" he teased with an annoyingly attractive smirk on his face. you nodded, "mhm."

"cum for me, then."

and when you let go of the knot in your stomach, you nearly screamed from the feeling. your eyes rolled to the back of your head, body arching more than it ever had. above you, you heard jay curse, "oh, fuck— you squirted, baby, shit—" you looked down to see a liquid covering jay's abdomen. his pace started to falter, his grip on your waist also loosening now that he is closer to his climax. "ngh— gonna fill you up. you want that? want me to fill you with my babies?"

you whined in response, "please."

"shitshitshit—!" he chanted. you felt ropes of warm liquid filling you full from the inside. you looked up at jay whose head was thrown back, mouth opened with a loud moan following it, abs convulsing. he gave one last thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

he then fell beside you, breath heavy with his chest heaving up and down. you turned your head to look at him, and he did the same. a small laugh broke the tension. "come here," he murmured after a second, quieter now.

you shifted closer, resting your head against his chest like you had earlier. his time, he didn't tense. his arms came around you naturally, settling you against him like you belonged there. his fingers traced absent patterns along your arm, slow and careful, like he was memorizing the moment. "that was..." he questioned softly. you nodded against him, "crazy."

you both giggled. you looked up at him, eyes staring deep into his. he leaned down to plant a kiss on your forehead. you beamed, smiling widely. and slowly, your eyes closed and you drifted to sleep with the sound of his steady heartbeat beneath your ear.

morning came with sunlight slipping lazily through the curtains and the unmistakable sound of small footsteps racing down the hallway. you had barely stepped out of jay's room when the door across the hall flew open. "appa!" seoyeon stood there, fully awake now, hair still messy but eyes bright with energy. jay, who had just come up behind you, froze instantly. "morning, princess," he said, voice still rough with sleep.

she tilted her head, eyes bouncing between the two of you, suspiciously observant for someone her age. "hi yn," she greeted more calmly. "good morning, seoyeon," you smiled.

there was a pause. a very loud, very telling pause. "did you guys hug again?"

jay choked. you pressed your lips together, already feeling laughted bubbling up. jay turned to you, eyes wide in silent betrayal. "why is that your first question?" he demaned. seoyeon shrugged, completely unfazed. "i'm curious. it's also because you lie weird, so i'll know if you are."

you couldn't hold it anymore. you laughed, turning away as jay groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "i do not lie weird," he muttered. "you do, appa. you say too many words," she insisted. you leaned down slightly, lowering your voice as if sharing a secret, "i agree with you, seoyeon." she giggled while jay pointed at you. "stop encouraging her."

seoyeon gasped softly, "so you did hug."

"no— yes— i mean—" jay stopped, exasperated. "we're not having this conversation." jay blinked furiously in embarrassment. she crossed her arms, looking entirely unconvinced.

you reached for jay's hand then, lacing your fingers with his before he could overthink it. he stilled for a second, then glanced down, a quiet smile tugging at his lips despite everything. seoyeon notice immediately, eyes widening. "ohhh," she dragged out, pointing at your joined hands. "that's not just hugging."

jay closed his eyes, "i'm never speaking again."

and judging by the way his fingers tightened around yours, he didn't really mean that. not even a little.

© 2026 wonarchy. all rights deserved.

The first thing Sunoo registered every morning was warmth.

Not sunlight, though the pale gold creeping through the curtains always came eventually. Not the soft hum of the heater or the distant rush of morning traffic outside the apartment window.

No—warmth meant you.

Your body curled against his, your sleepy breaths brushing faintly against his collarbone, your scent wrapped around him like the thickest blanket in the world. Vanilla detergent. Honey shampoo. Something uniquely yours underneath it all that made the fox half of his brain dissolve into contented mush every single time.

Sunoo buried his face deeper into your neck with a tiny whine.

The movement earned him a sleepy noise from you.

“Mm… Sunoo…”

His fluffy ears twitched instantly at the sound of his name.

You weren’t awake yet. Not really. Your voice still carried that soft, rough edge of sleep he adored so much. It made his tail sweep lazily beneath the blankets.

“Morning,” he mumbled against your skin, though it came out muffled because he refused to move away from you.

You shifted slightly, trying to stretch, but Sunoo immediately tightened his hold around your waist.

“No,” he said.

A laugh escaped you, quiet and breathy. “No?”

“No getting up.”

“You know I have work today, right?”

“You can work later.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Tuesday is evil.”

You finally opened your eyes enough to squint at him. Sunoo looked unfairly pretty in the early morning light. Silver-blond hair tousled in every direction, sleepy amber eyes half-lidded, and those soft fox ears drooping adorably from exhaustion.

He looked even prettier when clingy.

Which was unfortunately every morning.

“You said that about Monday too,” you pointed out.

“Because Monday is also evil.”

“And Wednesday?”

“We’ll see when it gets here.”

You smiled despite yourself and reached up to brush his hair back. The second your fingers slid through the soft strands, Sunoo melted further into you with a pleased sigh.

There it was.

That reaction.

You had discovered very early into dating him that physical affection completely destroyed whatever composure he had left. Head scratches? Fatal. Running your fingers through his hair? Absolutely devastating. Stroking the base of his fox ears? He basically stopped functioning.

Right now, his eyes drifted shut again as you scratched gently behind one ear.

“Baby,” you whispered fondly.

“Mhm.”

“You’re purring.”

“I’m not.”

The faint rumbling against your chest immediately proved otherwise.

You grinned. “You literally are.”

Sunoo opened one eye, playfully squinting at you. “Don’t expose me this early in the morning.”